WINDDREAMER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  His toe struck something. He tripped, going to his knees hard enough to bang his teeth together. His hands went out in front of him to break his fall, encountering jagged rocks that inclined upward. With a grunt of frustration and a wince at his scraped knees, he realized he had come to what appeared to be steps. He felt upward, finding more steps. The air drifted down from somewhere above. Although he craned his head and tried to pierce the darkness, he still saw no light.

  Resolutely, he got to his feet and began to climb.

  The steps proved steep and slippery with some kind of noxious slime. He could hold on to nothing as he climbed either. Not being able to see made it difficult enough, but maintaining his balance on the narrow steps seemed nearly impossible. He shifted his weight forward and prayed the steps wouldn't fall away into nothingness.

  The closer he got to the cool air, the louder the humming noise became. It reverberated through his aching skull like a million bees. He shook his head--a mistake. Strong bile leapt up his throat with lightning speed to flood his mouth. He swallowed, too afraid if he bent over to retch, he'd lose his balance; one awkward movement could send him plunging into the blackness. He could do nothing but swallow as another wave of fluid bubbled up his throat and filled his nostrils.

  How far he had climbed, he could only guess. He had tried counting the steps, but his concentration rapidly dwindled. His calf muscles strained, his right thigh muscles seemed an agony, while his groin became an ache that defied description. His shins and knees felt on fire from the scrapes and bruises.

  He shivered, for the swirling air above turned frigid, blowing down with enough force to ruffle his hair. His teeth chattered and his lips grew so numb, he couldn't feel them with his tongue. It seemed the higher he climbed, the colder he became.

  Something wavered above. He stopped, squinting when he became aware of a faint blue streak of light about five feet away. It glowed in a long, thin strip around what could only be a doorway. The vibrations grew so loud, he felt as if he were back in the wind tunnel, deep in the godforsaken mines of the Labyrinth.

  The intense light changed from a pale blue to a darker teal as Conar reached the top step. His head violently throbbed. He couldn't see beyond the haze, but heard the sound of bubbling water and smelled the tang of salt.

  He pushed at a damp door. The portal swung open, revealing a bright blue light that left him hurting with its vibrancy. He put up his right hand, shielding his eyes to the glow.

  Something, or someone, shoved him hard from behind.

  He went sprawling to his knees in the thickly swirling dust beyond the doorway. He landed with a thud, his chin hitting the ground, making him bite his tongue. Furious at the attack, he spat and looked behind him to see the door slam shut. Over the loud humming and vibrations that shook his body, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being driven home.

  "Son of a bitch!" he snarled, shaking his head, ignoring the burst of pain.

  He pushed up from the ground and crouched on all fours. Hanging his head, drawing in breath, he saw blood seeping from the gouges in his knees. He let out an angry hiss and leaned back, plopping down on his haunches. With hands on his thighs, he glared at the blinding light, trying to see through the shimmering haze.

  "What now, Tohre?"

  No answer.

  His mind shot back in time to his first night in the Punishment cells at Boreas, at the shaft of light that had rained over him as he knelt on the cold floor, his arms painfully bound behind him, his wrists dragged toward the low-slung ceiling. He now felt the same overwhelming sense of hopelessness and abandonment as he had felt then.

  He clenched his fist. "You wanted me, Tohre! Here I am!"

  "Did you lose something, Conar?" came a seductive whisper.

  Conar flinched and looked down, bringing up his right, then his left hand. His heart pounded in his chest, while his lips parted in disbelief.

  He had lost Liza's talisman.

  "Damn it, no!" He swung his head, searching the ground for the medallion. He couldn't remember when last he had held it. Was it before he climbed the stairs? Before he fell down the hole? Before something pushed him into this hellish place?

  He couldn't recall.

  His fingers swept the ground, stirring up dust that wafted into his nose, mouth, and throat as he tried to breathe. He dug through the fine silt, but couldn't find the talisman. Turning on his knees, striking out in each direction, paying no attention to his pain or the dirt being driven into his wounds, he scooped up handfuls of the loose sand in an effort to locate the talisman. Beneath his shirt, his own twin talisman swung against his sweaty chest as he moved.

  He stopped and glared at the locked door. He struggled to his feet and rammed himself against the black oak surface. The door held; its handle refused to move.

  "Open the door!" he shouted, pounding it with his fists.

  "Not in this lifetime..."

  Suddenly, the light dimmed, almost going out. Conar spun around. A fine mist rose from the ground, swirling around his legs, rolling over the cavern floor in cresting waves. The walls soared upward hundreds of feet, their glistening sides damp with moisture, shining as though inlaid with millions upon millions of diamonds.

  In the center of the vast cavern, the source of the vibration throbbed out a warning. Conar clearly saw the thing, his mind reeling with the implication. He took a step forward, his eyes on the vibrating source, and drew in a long, slow breath.

  A giant chasm yawned into the core of the mountain, dripping away from a ragged cliff only a few feet from where he stood. Water swirled out of the center of the chasm and sprayed the sides of its rim, wetting the floor and pushing back the fog as though the vapor feared the water.

  Conar had heard tales of this place, but the chasm, with its horrible secret, could wait. He had to find Liza's talisman. He turned his back on the evil thing and pounded the door again.

  "Open it, Tohre!" He kicked the wood, shoved against it with his shoulder. Anger saturated his mind, driving away the pain.

  "Conar..."

  He spun in the direction from which the soft voice had come, but saw no one. Only shadows drifted amidst the rolling fog.

  The same voice came again, from another direction. "Do you know where you are?"

  "Aye, I know where I am!" he bellowed, taking a step from the door, his head swinging in each direction, trying to locate the speaker. As a boy, he had learned the lessons of the Domination well. Tohre had seen to that. Kaileel had taken great pleasure in telling him about this place.

  "It is the Chasm of C-a-s-i-s," the sorcerer had said, spelling out the name, "but we never speak that god's name, Conar. That one is dedicated to the foulest of evils. So evil is He that whenever His name is spoken, calamity befalls the speaker. Not even during the time of His festival when the young girls are brought to be sacrificed to Him, do we call His name. So horrible is His vengeance, even His name can bring tragedy to those who even think it. Be careful--never utter His name. When you speak of His abode, you must call it the 'Maelstrom,' for it is the entranceway to the Abyss."

  Conar shuddered, remembering that long-ago conversation. The chasm, feeding downward into the deepest part of the ocean, had become the final unresting place for the lost souls thrown into its surging waters during the festival of the Nameless One.

  "Conar...Conar...Conar..."

  He turned his back to the chasm, searching the rocks, the shadows. "Come out, Tohre!" he ordered to the disembodied voice. "You wanted me, you bastard? Well, come and get me!"

  A low laugh.

  "Where is my woman, Tohre?"

  "Conar..."

  "Damn you! I want my wife!"

  "Is this what you're looking for?"

  Conar stiffened, then turned toward the chasm.

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  Conar couldn't believe what he saw. Near the cavern's ceiling on a narrow ledge that jutted precariously over the chasm, stood Duncan Cree. In his hand he hel
d something metallic, shining, dangling from his fingers, swinging back and forth, catching the glow from the eerie blue light--Liza's talisman.

  "Oh, I'm not Kaileel's man." Duncan laughed, swinging the chain until he could drop the talisman into his palm. He closed his fist over it with a finality that caused Conar to grunt his frustration. "But he's been quite a help to me, though. Haven't you, Holiness?"

  Conar saw Tohre striding from the shadows. his thin face split in a grin of indulgence. He was wearing the red robes of the Domination's Consecration and around the loose flesh of his neck dangled the symbol of Raphian, the Stormbringer, the Destroyer of Men's Souls. He carried a black crystal goblet, which he extended toward Conar.

  "Are you ready to fulfill your obligation to me, sweet Prince?" he crooned, his smile loathsome.

  Conar turned his steady gaze back to Duncan. "Where is she? What have you done with Liza?"

  The eerie blue light from the churning waters lit Duncan's face, making him look brutal and supremely evil when he threw back his head and laughed. His booming voice echoed through the cavern, an eerie sound, a sound filled with mirth. "Where you can't get to her, little brother. Rest assured I'm taking good care of our little darling."

  "Where is she, you bastard?" Conar yelled, his face hot with fury.

  "Such rudeness does not become the Heir Apparent to the throne of Serenia." In his eyes glowed the reality of a hatred long festering. "You, of all people, beloved Prince of the Wind, should know how to deal calmly and righteously with your subjects!" He spat the last word from between clenched teeth.

  Duncan reached into the darkness beyond. He drew a struggling Liza to the rim of the ledge and forced her toward the yawning chasm with its swirling vortex of water far below. A heavy band of hemp secured her wrists and ankles, and a cloth had been jammed between her lips, silencing her. She stared into the waters below with terrified eyes.

  Conar's heart plummeted. "Liza!" he called, the pain of the situation in his voice. He wanted to scream when she raised her head and looked beseechingly at him. "Oh, Liza," he whispered, feeling the cut of that stare to his very soul.

  Duncan held a length of rope, attached to Liza's wrists. He pulled her against him, snaking a long arm around her waist. With his free hand, he threw the end of the rope toward the ceiling, where it looped over a crossbeam anchored from one side of the chasm to the other. Liza tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her waist.

  "She's a handful, isn't she, little brother?" Grinning, Duncan placed his hand over her left breast, caressed her through the fabric of her gown. "So soft."

  "Keep your hands off her!" Conar reached down to his thigh and pulled out his dagger.

  "She's a hot-blooded woman, Conar. If she's as fiery in bed--"

  "I'll slit your throat!"

  "You're in no position to make threats, dear boy." Kaileel smiled as Conar faced him. "It's quite a climb, don't you think? By the time you make it, Duncan will have finished his task."

  Conar's breath came in shallow gasps of fear. "What task?"

  "You'll see."

  Conar reluctantly tore his gaze from Tohre and looked up. Duncan had stepped back from Liza. He jerked on the rope and laughed as he dragged Liza's arms above her head. He pulled until her toes left the security of the ledge.

  "Duncan, no!" Conar shouted, rushing to the chasm's edge.

  "Your days of telling me what to do are long gone!" Smiling, Duncan drew on the rope again, lifting Liza higher. Coiling the hemp around his massive forearm, anchoring it, he tugged until he suspended Liza a good three feet from the ledge.

  The rope that held Liza's wrists lurched sideways. Her feet swung over the chasm as the rope slid farther across the beam. Duncan had swung her completely away from the ledge and she dangled helplessly over the Maelstrom.

  Conar started to go around the side of the chasm, but Kaileel's shout made him falter.

  "Stay where you are or Duncan will cut the rope!"

  As though to underline Kaileel's promise, Duncan drew a dagger out of his boot and put the blade on the thick column of rope traveling to the crossbeam. Conar recognized the dagger--one Occultus had forged for him in Chrystallus.

  Conar stared at Kaileel. His hands trembled on his own dagger. "Kaileel, please!" he begged in a tortured voice.

  "Throw down the dagger!"

  Immediately, Conar tossed away the weapon. "Tell me what you want."

  "You only have to do as I bid you." He held the vessel he carried toward Conar. "Drink."

  "I won't."

  "Do you think to bargain with me?" Kaileel asked in a humor-filled voice.

  "If I drink that potion, I will cease to exist."

  "Not true." Kaileel smiled. "You will exist--in me."

  A burst of disgust shot through Conar. He looked up at the terrified eyes of his woman, swinging over the gaping hole. He looked at Duncan, saw the hate blazing in his amused face, and knew Liza was as good as dead.

  "You can save her. You have it within your power to do so."

  "Tell him to bring her down, Tohre."

  "Not until you drink the potion."

  "Let her go, then I'll do whatever you want."

  "No, first, you drink the potion. Then we will discuss your whore."

  The pain in Conar's voice had deepened, making him hoarse. "Once I drink the potion, I'll have no say in what you do to her. I'll have her down from there, now, safe, out of Duncan's reach, before anything is finished between you and me."

  Kaileel's smile faded. "You seem to think you have bargaining power, my Prince. Let me assure you, you do not! Drink of the cup and I give you my word the bitch will live to see her children once more." He walked toward Conar, holding the cup in front of him. "Drink or there will be reason to mourn at Boreas Keep."

  Angrily, Conar shook his head. "I have firsthand knowledge of your word. It has as much worth as dog shit!"

  Kaileel looked up at Duncan. "Cut the rope."

  "No!" Conar stared at Liza. Terror etched her sweet face, and he could feel her desperation like a tangible force, could sense her begging him to leave, not to do as Kaileel ordered. She shook her head in denial, as if willing him to give her up rather than suffer what Tohre had planned. He tore his gaze from hers, unwilling to see the self-sacrificing love so plainly stamped on her beloved face.

  "Such a tender sight, Conar," Kaileel cooed. "She's willing to die for you."

  "She's going to!" Duncan called, laughing.

  Conar stared into his brother's face, wishing with all his heart he had the man's throat in his hands.

  "I'll kill you, Duncan," he said so low only Tohre could hear him, but Duncan seemed to understood the look on Conar's face.

  "She's as good as dead," Duncan said. "If I die, it won't matter. She'll already be a thousand fathoms below the sea."

  Conar's heart ceased to beat. His life passed before him on a wild spin of pain and misery, fear and shame, with only a minute particle of joy flying among the debris. His only real happiness in life was connected to the woman staring at him with such loving forgiveness in her beautiful face, a face he would not see floating beneath the waters of the Maelstrom. He would take his own life before he'd allow hers to be snatched away.

  "Let her go, Kaileel," he said, his shoulders sagging. "I'll do whatever you ask. I give you my word I won't fight you."

  "You'll do as you're told?"

  "You want me on my knees, I'll go to my knees. You want me to crawl, I'll crawl on my belly like a whipped dog. Just let her go."

  Kaileel came to him. He placed the chalice in Conar's hand and closed his stiff, blood-streaked fingers around it. "Drink now. Until you do, she remains where she is. I have given my word I will not harm her. She means nothing to me. Duncan could care less what happens to her, but he will do as I say. Once you drink, once you are a part of me, she'll not want you anyway."

  Conar flinched.

  "Without you as you are, she is no threat to me. I have no reason to
kill her. She will be powerless once you are beyond her reach."

  Conar looked at the chalice's vile contents. "I will see her free or you know what you can do with your damnable potion! Let her go!"

  A muffled shriek sounded high above.

  Conar's head snapped upward. Duncan had moved backward off the ledge. He stomped on the narrow rock until it splintered with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the cavern like a snap of lightning. Stepping back, he loosened the rope around his left forearm and began to lower Liza, all the while grinning at Conar.

  "Oh, Alel!" Conar whispered. The horror on Liza's face as water rushed up to soak her cut him to the core of his being. "Don't do that to her!"

  "She's as good as drowned if you hesitate much longer," Kaileel warned.

  Looking at the chalice, Conar trembled so violently the liquid sloshed within, flowed over the top and splashed onto his hand. He glanced at Tohre, seeing the gleam of triumph lighting the skeletal face. Staring into Kaileel's insane eyes, Conar divined the chalice contained a deadly poison that would render him paralyzed in a matter of seconds, his body engulfed in agonizing pain. His mouth watered at the rancid smell, and his breath drew in the strong vapors.

  "The ancients called it Maiden's Briar," Tohre said. "It is made from a sea creature's secretions. A horrible death, I am told, but one necessary to what has to be accomplished."

  Even above the roar of the Maelstrom, Conar heard Liza's garbled sobs. He tried to blot out the sound, tried only to concentrate on the vile brew in his hand.

  Kaileel shook his head. "It will do you no good to beg. My days of being lenient and tolerant with you are long gone. Drink."

  Conar took one last look at his lady, begging her with his eyes to understand, ignoring her muffled denial through the gag covering her mouth. He scanned her beautiful face, mentally touched its contours, kissed the eyes, the cheeks, the hidden lips. He let his gaze wander down her precious form, trying to memorize the exquisiteness of her beauty.