by Adam Thomas
Alurel traced her finger over the map from the mine to Cold Harbor. “The necromancy would hit all these towns. Strange, though, for magic to behave like that.”
“Depends on how much you understand it,” Shonasir said with a chuckle. “How did I end up in a tree hundreds of miles from my meteorology classroom?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know, and I bet Professor Cloudchaser doesn’t either. I went into his experimental storm chamber, and the next thing I knew, you lot were extricating me from the branches.”
Alurel patted Shonasir’s hand. “I’m glad for it.”
“As am I.”
Alurel shivered. “But I’m not glad about this cold.”
Shonasir let out a breath and watched the steam dissipate. “The temperature is dropping precipitously.”
On the opposite bench, Emric squeezed his fist together, and when he opened his hand, a ball of fire rested in his palm. “Perhaps this will help?”
Sitting next to him, Rhys goggled at the magic. “How’d you do that?”
“A gift from Agmar.”
“Who?”
“An elemental spirit I communed with before we met. I am a member of the ancient order of the Disciples of Four.”
Alurel snorted. “Come on, Emric, ‘communed’ is a bit underselling. You let the thing light you on fire!”
Emric grinned sheepishly. “It all worked out in the end.”
“Not for me,” Jeral yelled from the enclosed driver’s bench.
Shonasir arched a questioning eyebrow and Alurel explained: “Jeral tried to ‘commune’ as well, but he died instead.”
“Only for a minute,” came the dragonborn’s muffled voice.
“Sounds like you all had some fun before you found me in the tree,” Shonasir said.
“I missed that part too,” Rhys said.
“It was right before we met you,” Emric said. “Our first job for Duna was gathering some information at the Obsidian Citadel south of Kelentir. The place turned out to be a repurposed temple of the disciples.”
“Intriguing,” Shonasir said. “As an elementalist, I’d like to hear more about that some time.”
“There’s not much more to tell,” Emric said. “The result is that I can make fire right now to keep everyone warm.”
“Everyone but me!” Jeral shouted.
“I’ll go spell him,” Alurel said, and she climbed through the window into the driver’s seat.
“I can make fire, too,” Rhys said, tapping his yellow karest. “With this.”
“That’s not fair,” Shonasir said. “My blue one only makes me a little quicker.”
“But you can already shoot fire!”
Jeral squeezed himself through the window and tumbled into the carriage’s interior. “What are we talking about?”
“What our kaerest do,” Shonasir said.
“I thought they were called KAH-rests.”
“Karest is the singular. Kaerest is plural.”
“Weird language,” Jeral said absent-mindedly as he displayed the black amulet in his green-scaled claw. “Mine lets me see in the dark.”
“Mine lets me shoot little puffs of wind,” Emric said, fingering the white amulet he wore. “Before, I could only do that when I ate cruciferous vegetables.”
Emric said these words in such a deadpan tone that it took the others a moment to realize he was joking. But then laughter filled the carriage, a raucous counterpoint to the silently falling snow.
The temperature continued to drop as they pushed northward. They rotated drivers once an hour, and everyone took a turn except Emric who stuck to his duty of heating the cabin with his palm fire. Thankfully, the horses were of a hearty, Sulun-bred stock, and they could withstand the cold. At length they reached the foothills of the Northern Mountains, and the carriage began a steady ascent through a sparse evergreen forest.
“We’ve got to be nearly there,” Shonasir said with another glance at the map. “But I can’t pinpoint our location. We’re going to need to get out and look around.”
“Everyone, bundle up,” Alurel said, though her voice was muffled beneath several layers of scarf, and she opened the door.
A cold wind surged into the carriage and snuffed Emric’s fire. The party gritted their teeth against the frigid air and stepped out into the snow. A beautiful white owl swooped low in the moonlight to investigate the odd creatures that the big wooden creature had just disgorged. But they were too large to eat. It winged away into the night in search of smaller prey. Alurel watched it go, and gratitude thrummed through her body at the sight of such a majestic creature fitted so perfectly into its habitat.
The owl gave her an idea, and she slogged her way through the snow to a spruce tree. Touching the bark, she cast the same spell she had used on the mushrooms in the jungle. “Hello, tall one.”
“Greetings,” the spruce said. “Your touch is warm.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“You may.”
“Has anyone been by here recently?”
“What is recent to one such as I? Is the bird who nested in my branches fifty rings ago?”
“Right,” Alurel said. “How about since the moon last shined with this much light?”
“A beast made of trees was here before, and a few shaped like you. A bear, as well, rumbled by since last the big light shone.”
“A beast made of trees?” Alurel repeated. “Oh, you mean the carriage. Sorry about cutting down your friends to make stuff. Awkward.”
Alurel pulled her hand away from the spruce. “We’re on the right track. Also, carriages are murder.”
The others stared at her, confused by this proclamation. In the silence, Shonasir’s elven ears twitched. “Do you hear that?”
The others listened. “Hear what?” Rhys asked.
“It’s barely there,” Shonasir whispered. “No way your human ears can hear it.”
“I can,” Alurel said. “Sounds like...like breathing?”
Shonasir nodded. “But far, far away, up in the mountains.”
“Mountains do strange things to noise,” Emric said.
“There’s something else,” Alurel said. “Closer.”
“That I hear,” Rhys said. “Howls.”
“This way!” Alurel tramped off through the snow and presently found the bear that the spruce had mentioned. It was surrounded by white wolves, who pelted off into the trees at the sight of the party.
The dead bear was laying on its side with frozen blood spattering the snow all around it. Its torso was slashed just like the cushions in the carriage, and the brown fur of its neck was matted with blood. Alurel knelt by its large brown head and nuzzled against its cheek. It was ice cold to the touch.
“Poor creature,” Alurel said, stroking the unbloodied fur between its ears. “What could have done this to you?”
“Those wolves?” Emric said.
“No, they were completely clean. No blood on them. If they were planning on scavenging the bear, they hadn’t gotten to it when we arrived.”
“Yeti?” Jeral offered. “They’re the apex predator in these parts.”
“Why would a yeti leave its prey to die? Wouldn’t it have carted its meal to its den? Also, don’t yeti –”
“What’s that?” Shonasir said, cutting off Alurel, and pointing into the gathering gloom.
Rhys peered in the direction they were pointing. “What’s what?”
“Come with me.” Shonasir motioned for Rhys to unsheathe his swords, and the pair waded through the snow a dozen paces towards the cliff face of the nearest mountain. “See that red splotch?”
Rhys bent to Shonasir’s eye level and squinted. “I see something.”
The elf stepped forward. “It’s a bloody
handprint. And look at this seam. See if you can shift this.”
Rhys put his back against the spot in the wall that Shonasir was indicating. He pushed, and, expecting more resistance from a mountain, fell through and landed on his posterior when the hidden door gave way.
“Over here,” Shonasir hissed, and the other three hurried to them. Alurel gave the mutilated bear a last lingering look of grief and turned her attention to the secret entrance.
“This must be one of the Kindred Society’s mines,” Emric said. “I thought they’d be marked better by the officials who shut them down.”
“Weapons out, spells at the ready,” Rhys said, standing up and rubbing his backside. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
The B-Team crept into the mine. They hadn’t gone far when they heard the echoing sounds of pickaxes striking rock and shovels scraping the ground.
“I thought all the mines were dead,” Emric said.
“I think you mean all the miners.” Jeral stopped and flung his arms out to halt his companions’ progression. “Look!”
Up ahead in the tunnel, a row of people were wielding the axes and shovels. But their movements were jerky and unnatural, a sign the party had grown accustomed to over their last few days of zombie extermination.
“Do you think they’ll let us pass?” Emric asked.
“They look rather occupied,” Jeral said.
Alurel crept to the front of the group. “Why would zombies be mining in the first place?”
“Because someone told them to,” Shonasir said and gave Alurel a significant look.
“You mean your theoretical vampire?”
Shonasir nodded.
“And the bear outside?”
The elf nodded again. “This place is all kinds of wrong. I say we take them out.”
Jeral agreed by sending two blasts of pure energy at the nearest zombie. Shonasir followed with an arrow to the throat, and the undead creature went down. They moved methodically up the tunnel, attacking at range, and Emric set fire to each corpse as he went by. None of the zombies offered resistance: so single-minded were they on their mining task.
The tunnel expanded into a cavern where more undead drones were working against the far wall. The party let them be for the moment as they stumbled across a cart loaded with raw diamonds. The cart stood at the entrance to a small alcove, from which issued the soft sounds of weeping.
“Is someone there?” Alurel whispered. “We’re not zombies.”
“I’m here,” came a small voice, and a moment later the voice’s owner crawled out of the alcove. Standing up, she was about as tall as Alurel and so skinny as to be labeled ‘underfed’ as opposed to ‘slender.’ She had light copper skin and dark copper hair and her features were somewhere between an elf’s sharpness and a human’s softness.
“Thank goodness you found me,” she said.
“Who are you?” Emric asked, his face contorted into a look of suspicion.
“I’m Celia Cooper. I was one of the half-elves enslaved to work this mine.”
“Why didn’t you get rescued with everyone else months ago?”
Celia shook with suppressed sobs. “I don’t know. I must have been deeper in and no one found me.”
“We’ve found you now,” Alurel said. “Let’s get you out of here. We have a carriage nearby.”
“Thank you so much. It’s been ever so horrible remaining here surrounded by those awful creatures.”
“How did they not eat your brains?” Emric asked.
“I don’t know. They don’t pay attention to anything but their mining.” She grabbed Emric’s arm. “You believe me, right? You’ll be my friend?”
No one saw Emric’s eyes flash pink. “Of course I will, Celia,” he said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
The scared half-elf clung to Emric as the other members of the B-Team dealt with the remaining zombies. While Emric watched them work, Celia watched Emric.”What’s this?” she asked, tapping the white gem hanging from the dwarf’s neck.
“It’s the orulanon karest,” he said.
“May I see it?” Celia’s voice had lost its anxious tone.
“Of course.” Emric passed her the amulet without a second thought.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “May I keep it?”
The dwarf bowed deeply. “It would be my pleasure to give it to you.”
By the end of this exchange, the zombies were dead and silence filled the cavern.
Or silence should have filled the cavern. Instead, intermittent pounding echoed through the space even though there was no one else hammering the walls.
“What’s that noise?” Rhys said, still gripping his swords.
“It’s coming from this way,” Shonasir said. “That door there. It’s barred from this side.”
Celia shook her head violently and grabbed Emric again. “It’s nothing. Please, can we get out of here?”
“Yes, let’s go,” Emric agreed, shielding his new charge.
“No, wait,” Alurel said, and she crept after Rhys and Shonasir. Jeral followed.
“You can’t go in there,” Celia cried out, her desperation making her voice high and piercing. “She’s not ready!”
They stopped and turned back to the rescued half-elf.
“She?”
“Damn,” Rosamund said and dropped her glamour.
At the same moment, Jeral lifted the bar from the door, and the door exploded outward.
last week
Rosamund in a Bind
You said next month last month!”
Even though they were standing in the middle of Serafina’s dining room, Serafina was not bothering to keep her voice down.
“I know, I know,” Rosamund said, keeping her tone low and mollifying, like she was trying to coax a scared cat out from under a bed.
“And the month before that!” Serafina punctuated her words by slapping the heavy oaken table with each one.
“Can we go somewhere more private to talk about this please?”
“No, we talk about this here and now. I don’t care if the staff hears. What will it matter once it’s done!”
Rosamund dropped her indulgent tone and hiss-whispered, “It matters because I don’t want to have to kill your servants to protect us.”
“Then you know what you need to do!”
Rosamund took a few deep breaths – or at least simulated ones – to model for Serafina what it looked like to calm down. As long as Rosamund did not respond with words, Serafina would not shout any more accusations. Hopefully, the staff who could hear them thought they were merely talking about running away together. It would be true enough to satisfy the city’s biggest gossips, but it would not contain the one piece of information that Serafina had yet to say out loud.
The problem was Serafina’s accusation was true. Rosamund had promised to change her months ago. They were going to take the Sindars’ specially equipped carriage to the secret entrance to Sulun Depths where Rosamund’s thralls were still at work. There she would sire Serafina and then hide her away while she underwent sharirana, the great desire for blood that overcomes all new vampires. Rosamund would hunt wolves and bears in the forest and bring them back for her to drink. And in a few weeks time, she would be able to control herself well enough to begin moving about society.
But Rosamund had let their original date slip by, saying she needed more time to get the mine ready. Then the second date came and went, and Rosamund made more excuses. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Serafina the real reason for the delay.
Rosamund was scared.
Years ago she had tried to turn Doyle Lynn of the Grasp – back when she was still Lorelei Crane – and everything had gone horribly wrong. He was caught halfway between life and undeath, which shattered his mind and left
him emanating uncontrollable vampiric magic, on top of sharirana. His own agents in the powerful criminal syndicate put him down, allowing Lorelei time to escape. This episode prompted her hasty return to Sularil from the Islands of Shattered Glass across the ocean. She had no desire to repeat that experience with Serafina. Rosamund’s vampiric self was beyond one hundred now, the magic age which Apranashar taught her was safe for siring. But still her impatience last time haunted her. She could not do to Serafina what she did to Doyle Lynn. And so she delayed.
Serafina stared at her from across the dining room table. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed scarlet. So much blood pumping so quickly. But now her breaths began slowing, and a new look of purpose hardened on Serafina’s face.
“You promised,” she said, lower this time so that only Rosamund could hear.
“I know. And I’ll do it.” Rosamund tried on a pained smile. “Soon, all right?”
Serafina’s hard look remained. “Not good enough,” she said, and she backed away from the table, bumping into the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Rosamund began moving around the long table, walking at first, then quickening her pace.
From the next room came Serafina’s voice, loud and commanding, “Get out.”
“Yes, Mistress,” came a series of replies. So the staff were listening.
The doors swung open and a pair of maids hurried past Rosamund, keeping their heads down as they padded away on slippered feet. Rosamund heard the kitchen’s exterior door creak open and more sets of feet scrambling into the yard. She stalked into the kitchen and found Serafina holding a keen chopping knife at her own throat.
“I’ll do it right now, I swear,” she said, her voice an odd mixture of fury and calm. She was not bluffing.
Rosamund held her hands up in surrender. “Don’t. Please. Not here. We need to keep this our secret. I’ll take you north, I promise.”
“When!” Serafina pressed the knife against her pale neck, where Rosamund could sense the pounding of her carotid artery.
Rosamund hesitated.
And in that moment of hesitation, Serafina screamed and drew the knife across her throat.