by A. R. Wilson
Jerricoh’s amused expression added new shivers to Tascana’s growing fear. The vine of dread within her, that anxiety induced hallucination permeating every thought since waking in the castle, sprang to life.
“I release you. The Master says your services are no longer required.” The man in black dropped his torch and grabbed a wad of blond hair.
Yanking her to a stand, he kept her head level with his chest. Dellia’s screams filled the cavern, her hands frantically working against the man’s grip. With a single motion, Jerricoh did something which cut Dellia’s screams silent. The girl’s hands dropped limp to her sides.
Holding his victim against the wall, Jerricoh opened his hand. Dellia crumpled.
“Now what to do with you.” His ice blue eyes penetrated Tascana’s soul.
Chalance lunged forward. Jerricoh made a motion as though catching a fly in midair. Chalance froze in place, knees bent, knife in hand, poised to drive a dagger in the man’s leg but unable to finish the task.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Jerricoh wagged a single finger. “Your time away from the castle has made you brave, yet foolish.” Jerricoh stepped past the immobilized Chalance to stare down at Revel. “Are you going to try something, too?”
Revel shook his head. Hands rested palm up on the ground. His chin lifted off his chest. Was he positioning himself for Jerricoh to take his life quickly?
The man in black narrowed his eyes. “I see your submission. The Master always has use for of those who acknowledge his sovereignty.”
With a snap of the fingers, Jerricoh turned his gaze to Tascana. The stench of goblin increased. Its thick odor making her eyes water. Something brushed past her arm. She pulled away as a massive form with gray skin lumbered past her. A hunched back pivoted to face her. Turning to smile as it passed, parted lips exposed jagged, irregularly arranged teeth. Tascana rubbed a hand against her arm, leaning as far into the wall as she could.
Jerricoh pointed at Revel as he spoke to the goblin. “This boy knows his place. Take him back to the castle. The other two are yours to dispose of.”
She watched the gray beast take a grip of Revel’s tunic, then sling him over his shoulder. Hooking a hand under Chalance’s frozen elbow, the goblin dragged him to Dellia, then snatched a handhold of blond hair. With three humans in tow, the creature trudged into the darkness.
The vine of dread in Tascana’s gut writhed. Part of her begged to run, while the rest tried to convince her it was all a dream. A nightmare no different than the visions she endured while in Tretchin Valley.
“This is no dream. This is fate.” Jerricoh closed the distance between them, leaning a shoulder into the wall a few feet away, casual as ever. “How was your stay in Tretchin Valley? It is lovely this time of year, isn’t it?”
The vine shot another root into her soul. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.
The man’s tone darkened. “How. Was. Your. Stay.”
Tascana closed her eyes. Please, just kill me. She remembered his temper. If she refused to do as she was told he might kill her, which would spare her from — she gagged as the taste of bile entered her mouth — the plan The Master had for her.
Tightness ripped along the back of her scalp and still she kept her eyes closed.
“Answer me!” His words punctured the foul air.
Pain increased as his grip tightened and reflexes shot her hands over his. Clamping her lips together, she hoped it would end as quickly for her as it had for Dellia. The Master will never — she gagged again, her throat burning — never make me become someone’s mother.
Pain shattered above her ear as stars exploded behind her eyes. Then everything went black.
* * *
Her left temple pulsed and throbbed. Touching it caused the sensation to flare. She eased back, gingerly testing the lump.
Cracking her eyes open, she saw a flame burning inside a glass lamp. Beige and pink flowed around her in a tangle of fabric. She lifted her head. An oversized bed filled with blankets and pillows obscured most of her view. Sitting up. she saw tables, chairs, tapestries, and all manner of objects one might find in the room of a princess. Ornate rugs decorated the floor and walls. Elaborate carvings adorned the edges of each wooden surface.
A door stood off to the side and she snapped her eyes away. She remembered that door. The carving of unicorns and fairies hiding as they gazed up at the elven toddler above them. The child’s eyes oozed with an evil presence. As though somehow the etching held the soul of that monster in child form. Only now the image held a deeper warning. Remembering her nightmare of a man stretching out plague after plague over the face of the earth, then calling her his mother, made her inner most being shiver against the cold future. She knew why Jerricoh had brought her back to this room, but she still hoped for death.
Someone knocked at the door. She gasped.
“I have brought your breakfast, miss.”
Rothar. That squat man with a missing ear. The one who looked in on her while she was locked in a tower. A man who seemed as fearful and helpless as she. Would he be as gentle with her as before?
Tascana slunk under the blankets.
Metal clinked against metal then the door squeaked on its hinges.
“Jerricoh bids you to eat, miss. He will come for you shortly.”
She pulled into a fetal position.
“Miss? It would be best for you to be ready when he arrives.”
“I will.” She managed to push the words out.
The door closed and the sound of metal scraping against itself signaled Rothar had engaged the lock.
Tascana stayed curled on her uninjured side. Jerricoh was coming. Did she dare hope for death? Or would the injuries continue to build until he shattered her will?
A whimper escaped her lips. Then another. Balling a wad of blanket into her mouth, she screamed her despair to no one.
Bang! The door slammed open.
“Rise. Now.” The vibrato of Jerricoh’s voice shook the room.
She willed herself to prop up on one elbow.
“I said rise!”Power shot through Tascana as Jerricoh shouted his command, forcing her to a stand atop the bed. “You can oblige me, or can suffer me. But you will not refuse me.”
Jerricoh walked to the edge of the footboard, his black cloak billowing at his sides. Long, dark hair draped over the front of his shoulders. He made the motion of catching a fly again. Wind whipped around her. Threads loosened and cinched over her skin. Her tunic and pants transformed into a long, silken dress. The white of the fabric brought back that same feeling of repulsion as it had the first time. She hated dresses almost as much as she hated white. That empty color devoid of any character. But now the sight filled her with a new fear. As with the carving in the door, knowing The Master’s plan brought omens with everything she encountered. This was the garb of a bride.
The wind from his spell raced up and through her hair, smoothing out the snarls of her auburn waves. Itching prickles told her the spell also removed any trace of dirt from her trek through the catacombs.
“Now, you are ready to begin.” Jerricoh tiled his head, admiring his work.
The force holding her erect dissipated. She slumped to bed, catching herself on all fours. He stood there staring at her. His ice blue eyes piercing, causing the vine to shift again. She stared back.
“You will follow me to the west library.” He turned on his heel.
She found the strength to slink off the bed. Her knees nearly gave out as she crossed the room and she had to grip the doorpost. Outside the door, he waited with a patient smile. She remembered this game. As long as she did what she was told, when she was told, he remained pleasant. When she refused him, that mask came off and he revealed his true nature. Compliance kept the mask on, and she liked the fake Jerricoh far better.
He held out an elbow and nodded for her to take it. With a hard sweallow, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. The feel of the fabric conjured images of clasping horse manure wi
th her bare hands.
“Do not think ill of Dellia for aiding me in receiving you back. She was merely a tool. Had she not betrayed you, Arnya would have soon enough.”
Tascana gave a single nod and gazed at the stone floor. She remembered the brief flashes behind Arnya’s eyes, hinting at a spell cast over her. But Arnya had warned me to never leave. Tretchin Valley was the only place beyond The Master’s reach, or so Arnya kept saying. Perhaps it did hold some semblance of safety. Why else would Jerricoh need to make a deal with Dellia?
The thought of the girl’s betrayal caused the vine within Tascana to push out a new branch. How dare that... that... worthless twit do such a thing! Surely Dellia had to understand that Jerricoh owed her nothing regardless of the service she performed. The Master he served was a warlock! What did he care about keeping the spirit of an oath?
Jerricoh turned down a hallway, walked up a staircase, then guided her along another corridor. On and on they walked for several minutes. Eventually, they came to the library. She had been here once before with Rothar, waiting for her bedroom to be prepared.
Jerricoh motioned for her to take a seat at the far end, and she peeled away from him. A high-backed chair waited at a table under a narrow window. Through the glass she saw several towers and halls of the castle. Beyond them lay tall, rolling hills. White dots clustered on one of the hills, moving like a grouping of animals. Too large for sheep. Perhaps they were horses.
Thunk!
Tascana startled at the book Jerricoh dropped on the table. The brown leather had darkened from age, its binding greater than the width of her hand. In the bottom, right corner rested a small symbol of a triangle within a circle inside of a square.
“The Master wishes you to read this.” Jerricoh stood at arm’s length.
“What is it?”
“It is a book.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I mean, why does The Master want me to read this? I don’t understand. He kidnapped me to read a book?”
Jerricoh leaned in so fast, she feared his forehead might crack into her. Tascana pulled back and he leaned in further still.
“It is never your position to question why The Master does anything. Should you choose to make a habit of this,” he paused, taking a quick glance at her lap before piercing her soul with those ice blue eyes, “your accommodations will change drastically.”
The vine of dread quivered.
Straightening, Jerricoh walked to the other side of the library. He picked a chair and slumped into it with one leg draped over the side.
Tascana gulped. Of all the things she feared this morning might bring, reading in a library was nowhere on the list. Didn’t The Master intend her as someone’s mother? Not sitting in a comfortable chair next to a beautiful view?
Opening the cover, she saw the familiar language and script of the scrolls from her secret cache in Gaulden Forest.
"Im, leban motae nerhkae anwanit cres sut'preskar tchent lere drentae."
As she read, Tascana heard a faint voice reciting the words in her head. She recoiled, shaken. Across the room Jerricoh’s eyes narrowed on her. He pointed a single finger at her then dipped to indicate the book. She looked back at the line on the first page. Again, the words resonated audibly in her mind. A kind and soothing voice. Like a treasured older brother she never had. A little taste of home while lost in this wilderness of chaos.
Going on to the next line and the next, she melted into that silvery voice. So calm and welcoming. Strong and safe. The pain and fear of the past two weeks dissipated in the resonance of the captivating narrator. Each word, each phrase, felt like joy painting along the vine of dread.
Biting her lip, she turned the page. It felt so good, so right. Like the song of a siren—
She slapped the cover shut.
“You were not told to stop.” The edge came back into Jerricoh’s voice.
Quick! Think of something!
“I just suddenly had the feeling of someone watching me.”
“The Master intends to watch you quite closely until you prove yourself.”
Wait, what? She meant the remark as a ruse, but Jerricoh’s answer caused her skin to chill. The sensation of being watched sprung against her. She could practically feel the eyes roving along her face and shoulders. Shaking her head did nothing to dispel it. She rubbed her cheeks, trying not to scream.
His eyebrows pulled together. “You will do what you’re told, when you’re told. Now read.” The last word gritted through clenched teeth.
Tascana lowered her face as though reading the book, but clamped her lids shut. If a siren’s song resided within the book, then what hope did she have? A siren could trick even the strongest soul of dancing to their death. Reading this book would guarantee The Master could gain control over her, as he had over Jerricoh and Arnya. But how could Tascana refuse? Jerricoh’s power could force her eyes to scan the page. The song would bind her whether she tried to fight it or not.
Stinging filled her eyes.
So this was why The Master desired for her to read. What better way to ensure the success of his plan than to turn her into a mindless slave? And he intended to watch it happen like some kind of deranged play. But that first line in the book translated into, ‘Force of my spirit, allow these words to bring light to all who read them.’ How could such a spell bring the darkness of servitude upon her if the first words were about bringing light?
What is he really up to?
The crack of snapping fingers pulled her out of her thoughts. Jerricoh sat on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, jaw set.
“Bending towards the page is not reading. This is your final warning, apprentice.”
Tascana nodded, tracing her finger to the last line she had read. The first spell listed in the book promised to bring light to the reader. If nothing else, she could hope against hope that a light would shine to show her something good to come out of all this. After all, being a servant of The Master meant gaining power in magic, right?
Inhaling deeply, she started to read. A tear slipped over her cheek.
CHAPTER 3
Jurren watched Azredan continue to stay on one knee, head bowed. The dwarf marched until a few feet separated them.
With a strike of his axe against the stone floor, Dumarse shook his head. “Why do you torment us with your presence?” Red, thick facial hair bristled with each heaved breath the dwarf released.
Taking in the detail of the man’s face, Jurren suddenly realized he could see far better than the light of a single torch allowed. Where was the other light source coming from? The only shadows resulted from the flame Dumarse carried.
“It is never my intent to torment, only to help.” Azredan lifted his head. “My history has consistently proven that.”
“But you are one of them. Your kind continues to conspire against us with the Fates.”
“The Roan Order has nothing to do with the Fates, which is the reason for our banishment from the elven city of Chlopahn.”
“And what of your new friends? What pledge have they taken with the warlock to be allowed to roam free?”
“These men were not born under Einiko’s rule.” Azredan stood, motioning for Jurren to come forward. “They have crossed the Great Barrier of the canyon beyond the elven mountains.”
Dumarse squinted. “Men from the north?” He shifted his axe into a tether on his hip. “What business brings you here?”
Azredan spoke before Jurren even thought to attempt a response. “We seek passage through to the mines. Nothing more. We have brought all our own supplies and require nothing but permission to travel.”
“That will be for the Hall of Lords to decide.”
“If you would be so kind as to assist us with an audience.”
Dumarse crinkled his nose, looking past Jurren to appraise Kidelar and Arkose. “You already know the way. My place is here.”
“I do know the way, but I w
ould never walk these paths without the eyes of a dwarf to witness my crossing. It is out of respect for the reputation of all those under the mountain that I must repeat my request for a guide.”
“There are always eyes watching.”
“Yet few of those eyes are as shrewd and noble as yours.”
The snarl of Dumarse’s lip almost curved into a smile. He barked something in another language and a dozen dwarves stepped out from their hiding places.
Jurren’s eyes tightened. How had they stayed hidden from sight? They appeared to have walked straight through the walls.
Dumarse gestured at the elf, the men, the door, then to the other dwarves, and back at the door, all the while speaking in the other language. Probably explaining to another dwarf that he was to assume command until the captain returned.
When he finished, he gave a curt nod to Azredan. “Follow me.”
“You honor us with your presence.” Azredan looked back at Jurren, giving the faintest hint of a wink.
Is this what the elf referred to when he warned them to respect being despised?
Dumarse’s reaction gave no hint to the trust Azredan claimed to have with the dwarves. But perhaps it was merely their way. The slight grin on the captain’s mouth when referred to as ‘shrewd and noble’ suggested the words flattered him. Or maybe it referenced a memory the two of them shared. Either way, at least he agreed to lead them on.
Walking past the glaring stares of the other dwarves, Jurren saw niches carved into the rock. From his earlier perspective the tunnel looked smooth. Now he saw the many nooks and alcoves hidden from his initial view. The perfect ambush for an intruder. They passed at least a dozen more guards as they followed Dumarse into the tunnel.
The group walked and walked and walked, the light dimming as they went. Within an hour, only the light of Dumarse’s torch shone in the stone hall. Down narrow passages, steep stairs, wide branch points, and over underground streams. When Kidelar’s labored breathing drifted towards him, Jurren decided to break the silence.
“How much further?”
Dumarse grunted a laugh and kept walking.