Dreams of Darkness Rising

by Kitson, Ross M.

The key, Emelia thought in panic. Her mind raced and then she realised what they were seeking. They wanted the blue crystal. That same fateful day that Lord Talis had met the Arch-mage she had heard their discussion of this crystal. Earlier today she had seen him on the floor below with a key entering a locked room.

  “It’s around his neck,” she said, gesturing at the door leading through to the lord’s bedchambers. “On a cord around his neck.”

  Hunor and Jem both smiled at the same time and glanced where she pointed. Hunor flipped the dagger in his hand, caught it and then offered it to Emelia handle first. She gawped at the weapon; the silver and blue of the moons that shone through the large window gave the metal an icy quality.

  “It’s to cut the cord, love,” Hunor said. “Regard this as your trial by fire.”

  ***

  It took a good minute for Emelia’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the Ebon-Farrs’ bedchamber. The day room had been relatively bright with moonlight. In the bed chamber the smaller windows were concealed by heavy curtains, thickened to trap heat within the chill room. A fire in the corner had burned out, leaving a faint scent of wood smoke in the chamber.

  The bedroom was a testament to Lady Ebon-Farr’s adoration of soft furnishings. Emelia had always been fascinated by the explosion of cushions that adorned this room. They came in every shape and size. The majority were from local weavers in the town of Melton, a picturesque place that sat on the edge of the harsh Plain of Meltor. These cushions mixed yarkel and sheep wool stuffing with cow leather trim in beautiful patterns. Dotted between were the plush fineries of Mirioth and some extravagant giant Feldorian cushions. As bad luck would have it they were scattered across the polished floorboards and made traversing the room in the near pitch black a true challenge for Emelia.

  Emelia weaved silently past the dressing table, with its powders and perfumes, past the leather armchairs and towards the four-poster bed that dominated the far side of the room. It loomed like an ominous beast from a fairy tale, emulating Mother Gresham’s best yarns about evil dragons and gargantuan mountain giants.

  Emelia caught a movement out of the corner of her eye as she neared the foot of the bed. She froze, the dagger clasped firmly in her hand. In an instant she recognised it was only her reflection in the full-length mirror, given extra clarity by a slim chink of blue moonlight slipping past the lined curtains.

  Emelia turned cautiously to face her own image. It had been many years since she seen any reflection, bar a glimpse in a grubby puddle or a distorted caricature in the curve of a brass kettle. Her reflection stared back nonchalantly as she looked herself up and down, fascinated by the change.

  Gone was the awkward adolescent, overly conscious of her maturing figure and in its place stood a young woman, proud and confident. Her blonde hair was tied back allowing the pale moonlight to illuminate her face. It was long, with a thin nose, large glittering eyes and full lips that had never forgotten how to smile. She had a tall athletic physique, with muscled arms, toned legs and small breasts pulled flatter by the overly small tunic she wore.

  When had she become this woman that stood before her? Minutes ago when she had met Jem’s intense gaze? Hours ago when she had challenged vile Uthor and unleashed some strange force? Days ago when she had unknowingly said her last words to her closest friend? Or was it that moment when Hirk the Netreptan had whispered for her to flee the coup when the time was right? They could not clip her wings now.

  With new resolve Emelia slipped past the foot of the bed and towards the slumbering occupants. Lord Talis slept flat on his back. The scanty moonlight that fell upon him gave him the appearance of a corpse. At his side Lady Ebon-Farr was sprawled. She was evidently a far more exuberant sleeper. She regularly moaned and mumbled and changed position, tangling the bed sheets around her like a bizarre ball gown. The scent of wine hung in the air and Emelia surmised that they had continued the drinking after Uthor had been taken to the Citadel of Air.

  Inch by inch Emelia moved towards Lord Talis, her own breath slowing to near silence as she came closer. She could see a moist patch of saliva on his cheek and a light wine snore was rasping from his lips.

  A strange feeling arose inside her as she came within a foot of his hawkish face. In truth it was difficult to describe exactly how she felt for here was a man who had become the all encompassing force in her life. This was her master and her lord. His will and whim dictated how she lived, how she ate, what she wore and what she thought. She scurried around in the shadows he cast, as if he were imbued with the morose grey of the stones, a part of this castle like some living statue. He was the all. He was a god that ruled in this domain she was trapped within. So as she looked down at him and the golden key that was lying on his bony chest she was transfixed by a sense of obligation and loyalty to this man, bound to him as servant and master in the way a babe would be bound to its mother at birth by its umbilical cord.

  The voice that she kept repressed within her came to her rescue once more. It surged to the surface, like a shark breaking the still sea at night. Emelia, it is past time we did this, Emebaka implored. Cut it now. Cut that cord.

  She slipped the razor sharp dagger under the leather cord and with a tiny pressure it slit. Her eyes were glued to the rhythmic breathing of Lord Talis as she tentatively gripped the key and then gently lifted it away from him.

  His breathing paused then continued and Emelia slowly exhaled, little spots dancing in her vision from the prolonged holding of her breath. She stepped back carefully, noting the brass bedpan within inches of her right foot as she did so. Now that would have been a poor trial by fire, she smiled.

  The cord had finally been cut.

  ***

  It was apparent as she returned to the pale light of the day chamber that Hunor and Jem had been discussing her and also that Hunor had been observing her progress through a chink in the doorway. He made a show about being disinterested in her return but she could see his eyes focused on the gold key.

  Emelia handed him the key and then began to make towards the main door from the day room that lead out onto the corridor. She saw her pendant lying under the table as she neared the door and with a sigh of relief she picked it up and tucked it away safe. It was then she realised neither man was following her. Jem was pacing slowly across the floor, muttering to himself. Hunor had a leather roll out on the same table that had borne Uthor’s bottles of wine hours before. He seemed to be examining a selection of spindly metal picks and hooks.

  Jem looked up and gestured her over to where he stood. She walked over as he pulled a small ball of food from his pouch. He offered it out to her and indicated for her to begin chewing it.

  “It’s a mixture of mint and coriander herbs, bound by sap from the golden willow tree,” Hunor said as she winced in distaste.

  “How do you plan to get past the first door below?” Emelia asked, attempting to take her mind from the pungent taste. “Lord Talis is the only one who can open it. I’m certain I heard them say it was enchanted.”

  “It would be a challenge,” Jem said. “The nature of the enchantment is probably too elemental and complicated for me to break. I would propose—I suppose obviously—that there’s been some help in its creation from the Air-mages.”

  “Then how are we to get past it?” Emelia asked.

  “It’s one of his party tricks, love,” Hunor said, taking her hand. “There’s a proper magic name for it but I call it fizzy wall.”

  Jem snorted in derision and took both Hunor’s hand and Emelia’s other hand so that they now stood in a small circle.

  “The term amongst Wild-mages is phase-shifting. It’s hard to explain to the uninitiated and I don’t mean to be patronising by that. In essence I use the magic to stretch the Web and we slip ourselves through the gaps by precisely lining our auras up.”

  “But it feels like your backside is sat in a pool of frisky minnows,” Hunor said to her out of the side of his mouth. “Keep chewing the cud and you’ll no
t feel as sick.”

  Emelia felt a sudden sense of panic but Jem and Hunor held her hands tight. The air began to coalesce around them as Jem uttered arcane words. Emelia noticed a bright green glow pulsing in his eyes, like two radiant emeralds. Then a sudden cramp struck her stomach and she nearly bolted the chewy concoction from her mouth. With terror she realised she was sinking through the wood floor. The chairs and tables now loomed over her head and as she looked down in astonishment she saw her waist appeared to begin within the floorboards. Her legs were numb and tingling, the sensation she would occasionally get from lying with her arm pressed against the hard rim of her bed in the dormitory.

  Emelia stifled a cry as the floor ascended up her chest to her neck. She felt a cold tingle that flowed like icy water through her head and then her vision went black.

  An instant later she was drifting slowly down through darkness. Her body was light and felt insubstantial, as if she were now a spirit. After what seemed an eternity, yet in truth was but a few seconds, her feet touched solid floor and the tingle disappeared leaving a wrench within her gut. The heady scent of the mint and coriander overpowered her and she retched violently, feeling warm vomit splash down her arms.

  Emelia pulled her hands away from Jem and Hunor and stood straight. Hunor chuckled in the pitch black.

  “Don’t worry love, I caught it at the lower end my first time. Thought someone had sat me on a cursed privy! I swear I never left it for an entire week.”

  Emelia pushed out her wet arms, trying to orientate herself in the inky blackness. Her hand brushed against one of the men’s back.

  “Easy, darling,” Hunor said. “We’ve only just met. I haven’t even asked your name. Some gallant Thetorian I am, eh? Now hang on a second. That’s the trick.”

  A spark flashed in the dark and a torch sputtered to life, Hunor’s flint box having caught the oily material that wrapped around its top. Hunor took the torch and lit the six others in the cold chamber they now stood within. Jem was rubbing his arms clean with a large cloth, a look of intense concentration on his face.

  The roof was vaulted with six pillars rising from the room’s edges and then curving at their apices to merge in to the stone of the ceiling. It gave the chamber the feel of a shrine and despite the glow from the torches there was more shadow than light. Emelia shivered, partly with the cool of the room, partly with the awareness of how she was crossing a line of no return.

  “What is it then?” Hunor asked as he approached one of the doors in the chamber.

  Emelia looked puzzled at him as he slid the key into the lock of the door.

  “Your name?” Hunor asked as he opened the door.

  “It’s Emelia. My name. Emelia. Just Emelia,” she replied and moved forward to join Hunor at the door. Jem took one of the torches from its sconce and followed.

  Hunor smiled and then stepped carefully into next room and the other two followed.

  Lord Ebon-Farr’s vault contained the culmination of the heirloom of perhaps fifty generations of his family and Emelia was rendered speechless by its content. She heard Hunor emit a slow whistle as the torches cast a warm light over the array of gold and platinum that cluttered the room. The walls had a heaviness that seemed to soak up the sound so that their footsteps were eerily silent as they strode across it. Racks of gilded goblets leant against the pale walls, interspersed with bejewelled platters, tiaras, sceptres and rings. They had a certain order to them that spoke of some attempt to catalogue the treasures that sat within this place. Jem slid his torch into a vacant sconce and set about rooting through the glittering prizes, like an oversized squirrel.

  Hunor looked with admiration at a suit of plate armour, its enamelled breastplate emblazoned with a silver eagle. He gently stroked the front and commented to Jem. “It’s a magnate alloy, really light. I’ll bet that’s what those air knights wear.”

  Jem nodded, rifling through a rack of swords and maces. He paused as he found a broad sword and slid it from its scabbard. The torchlight reflected off the blade and Emelia gasped at the beauty of the weapon. The hilt and grip were gilded and the pommel was hooked into the image of an eagle’s head. Jem muttered some strange words and Emelia saw symbols carved on the blade begin to glow green.

  He turned, re-sheathed the sword and then tossed it to Emelia. She squealed in surprise and caught the weapon, then looked sheepish at her clear inexperience with such an item.

  “It’s got some Galvorian enchantment on the blade I think. It must be magnate too, to be able to hold the charm,” Jem said. Emelia looked in awe at the sword, afraid to draw it from its scabbard again. It was amazingly light in her hands.

  “Well Emelia, that’s the first payment in your apprenticeship. In the markets of Azagunta that’d be worth twenty times your pretty face, I’m afraid to say. Perhaps for the first lesson Jem’ll show you some card tricks and I’ll show you how to stick that in some ruffian before he sticks a cheaper one in you.”

  “Hunor, I think this is the chest we need. Take a look,” Jem said.

  Emelia noticed a change come over Hunor, as if a switch had been clicked in his mind. His face became serious and he handed Emelia the torch as he stalked past.

  The chest was small, perhaps two feet across and eighteen inches deep and tall. It was made from polished mahogany inlaid with golden bands and small discs of platinum. Each disc was inscribed with a protective rune and the central disc had a tiny keyhole in its centre.

  Hunor scratched his light stubble, his gold earrings glinting in the torchlight. His hands slipped over the surface, probing its contours and crannies before settling on the keyhole.

  “Oddly enough I’d have said it was Pyrian in design, but I think that’s a red herring. It’s a Mirioth trap-chest,” Hunor said.

  “I assume you can crack it, Hunor?” Jem asked. “The runes mean that it’s protected against magic which ultimately means that I can’t phase shift it back up with us.”

  Hunor glanced at Emelia and Jem, then grinned.

  “Is Esmerelda Fishgusset the least successful harlot in the port of Kir? Of course I can crack it! The trick’s not loosing my face or my fingers from the acid behind the lock whilst I open it.”

  Jem nodded and subtly stepped back from Hunor. He indicated for Emelia to hold the light closer to the crouching thief. The chamber suddenly felt very claustrophobic as Emelia watched her new mentor begin his work.

  Hunor had pulled out a leather roll of picks and implements and was carefully selecting two to use. He slid two long picks gingerly into the lock and then gently began to manipulate the tools. Sweat beaded his brow and his concentration was total. Emelia found herself holding her own breath.

  After about five minutes Emelia heard a click. Hunor placed his hand on the lid of the chest as a spring began to propel it open. He reached to his leather roll and pulled out a slender pair of tweezers and then slipped the implement under the crack between the lock and the lid. He slowly extracted a minute vial of purple liquid.

  Emelia backed away as he placed it in a cloth bag and then slid it across the stone floor. “Acid cloud. That’s just really mean.”

  Jem had been busy arranging some of the treasures he had disturbed back into order. Emelia noted the pedantic way he had lined the rows of weapons and shields against the wall.

  Hunor opened the chest and chuckled in delight. The interior was padded with velvet—within it were three diamond rings and the blue triangular crystal that Emelia had seen the day Inkas-Tarr had returned it to Lord Talis. Hunor slipped all the items from the chest into one of the pouches that hung from his belt and stood with a flourish.

  “The job’s in the bag, my friends. Let us make haste from this chill place and into the frigid embrace of Lower Eeria!” Hunor said, drawing the sword he kept strapped to his back.

  Despite the tension of the last ten minutes Emelia burst out laughing, taken up by the charm of this man. She smiled at Jem, who shook his head in mock despair and drew his own sword. E
melia awkwardly pulled out her new sword. Both Jem and Hunor stepped back as it jerked out from the scabbard and almost sliced them both. They both grinned at the deep blush that blossomed on Emelia’s face.

  Their moment of silliness over, the three exited into the antechamber that they had first entered, re-sheathing their swords. Jem gestured at the ceiling.

  “Back up is the better option I’d say. We can’t go through the vaults walls or floor as it’s enchanted and if we descend from here I’m fairly sure we’ll land in the officers’ mess, which will be good for my strange love of vintage port but not so good for our escape. So up we must go and then a swift and silent escape the same way we came, eh Hunor? No diversions to take some impressive work of art?”

  “You loved that bust we took from that merchant in Bomor, Jem. If you hadn’t made me drop it…”

  “It weighed eighty pounds and we were sliding down a rooftop four stories up,” Jem said to Emelia.

  “No appreciation of art these Goldorians,” Hunor said as he began to chew the mint once more.

  ***

  Something subtle had changed in the day chamber when they ascended into its cool interior once again. Emelia sensed it immediately but the tension in the air seemed lost on her two companions. The wave of nausea hit her once more but less vividly than before and after a minor retch, with little to show for it, she was back on her feet.

  Emelia shivered as she surveyed the room. All was as they had left it: the faint embers of the huge fire; the leather armchairs; the cluster of tables in the room’s centre; the cabinets and sideboards on the room’s periphery. It was the same sensation she had experienced when she had walked down the corridor earlier in the day: a feeling of being observed.

  Jem and Hunor were securing their packs and talking in hushed tones about their pre-planned escape route. It was as they did this that Emelia noticed a wisp of blue smoke worming its way under the door from the corridor and into the room. She watched in fascination as it spiralled upwards and then began to coalesce, unnoticed by her two companions.