FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Zerafin laughed. “A little, though Ralliad is not my most proficient of skills. If I may, good dwarf, you seem to be a Krundar, an elemental, with a proficiency in the power over Keye, or earth. That is what my sister was getting at earlier.”

  Roakore scoffed and rolled over. “Bah. I be a master of me dwarf ways, call ’em what ye want.”

  Tarren had fallen asleep at last, and nothing more was said that night. Whill lay back, his mind racing, thinking of the different factions and arts to study. How would he really learn anything but the basics in just a year with the elves?

  Chapter XXI

  Kell-Torey

  THE COOL NIGHT AIR BLEW softly, the scents of spring lingered. The sky was black, but for the soft orange light emanating from the city and faintly illuminating the clouds above. From their perch on the hill, the companions took in the extraordinary sight.

  Kell-Torey was a city built during war times, when borders and boundaries were uncertain. Thus it boasted a fifty-foot wall, thick and strong, which circled its entirety, more than four miles from end to end. Every five hundred feet along the wall there stood a watchtower, which loomed more than twenty feet above the wall. Though the wall stood fifty feet high, it did not obscure the view of the surrounding world completely. Not being within a flat valley, the city enjoyed many views of the wider world. Thus, from their viewpoint, the companions could see many buildings beyond the city walls, including the immense, breathtaking Castle of Kell-Torey, which sat higher than all others. Though Whill was still many miles away, he could guess its enormity. Its size was not due to the royal family’s greed but rather to the fact that the castle acted as a fortress in times of war. It could easily house thousands of citizens, and sustain them comfortably for months.

  “There it is,” said Abram. “Here, Tarren, we can find you safe passage back to Fendale.”

  Whill gestured toward the city. “Shall we?”

  They made their way down the hill and to the city gates at a slow trot. They were tired, one and all, but they were away from danger for now. As they approached the open gates, four soldiers advanced to block the way. Rhunis went to the front of the group as they halted, pulling back his cloak and hood to reveal both his face and his armor.

  “General Rhunis!” said the closest guard with a bow, which the other three copied.

  “Stand tall, soldiers,” Rhunis ordered. “Put this to ledger and quickly. We have traveled many miles and seek hot food and warm beds.”

  “Of course, sir, we will not hold you up.” The soldier nodded to the ledger-keeper, who sat on the right side of the gates, quill in hand.

  “I, Rhunis, High Knight and General of the Eldalon Army, arrive with six guests to Kell-Torey: Abram and Whill, who should be known to you by now, the Prince and Princess of Elladrindellia, Zerafin and Avriel. The dwarf Roakore, soon to be king of the Ebony Mountains, and the boy Tarren.”

  The ledger-keeper quickly wrote down names and titles. Rhunis said no more and led the companions into the city.

  At this late hour the city was asleep but for the patrolling guards and the occasional group of drunkards. The part of the city they traveled much resembled Fendale; its houses and buildings were built mostly of wood and brick and clay, and being closest to the gates, they were the newest expanse of growth. Here those new to the city made their homes. People of all trades—blacksmiths, healers, mystics, shopkeepers, traders, and even thieves, gamblers, and other shady elements—would first have to make their names known in this part of the city, the Outer Rim. To come to a city as great as Kell-Torey and not start out within the ever-changing and often-dangerous Outer Rim, one needed to have a good connection to someone on the inside. The Rim swallowed more dreams than it nurtured, often sending men down dark paths of self-destruction. Thus taverns and opium lounges were plenty along the Rim’s many lonely miles.

  Given the common failure of the many would-be entrepreneurs, many found themselves joining one of the thieving guilds of the Rim. Within Kell-Torey, as in most large cities of Agora, thieving guilds were commonplace. Though their locations were usually unknown, their presence was undeniable. One could make a very comfortable living within the guilds, assuming one was fast with the blade and quick with the tongue. Guild-masters themselves seldom kept residence within the Outer Rim, but rather lived lavishly near the center of the city.

  The companions, led by Rhunis, made their way down the winding main street toward the Castle of Kell-Torey. Tarren, who now rode with Whill, asked candid questions about the city. Rhunis answered many of them, being the most knowledgeable on the subject.

  As they rode deeper into the city, the surrounding structures changed noticeably. Gone were the clay and wooden homes and huts, replaced by large stone buildings. The buildings grew taller, the streets cleaner. Taverns there were, as loud and smoky as any, but in fewer numbers. The shops and stores boasted well-crafted signs and woodwork, unlike their shabby Outer Rim counterparts.

  The Kell-Torey guards became more prevalent here as well. They patrolled almost every corner in pairs, each with a shining whistle around their necks and sword at the ready. They did not don the elaborate armor of the Knights of Eldalon, but rather a less cumbersome breastplate, shin guard, and forearm guard. An open-faced helmet sat upon their heads, and around them flowed a long blue cloak with the Kell-Torey standard upon the back.

  To the right Rhunis pointed out two, twenty-foot-high statues. They were of men similar in appearance, one only slightly taller than the other. They stood side by side each with an arm around the other. In their free hands they each held a sword to the heavens.

  “They were the founders of our great city and the first kings of Eldalon. The brothers Kell and Torey,” Rhunis stated as they passed by the statues.

  More than halfway to the castle, the city’s architecture became ever grander. Great pillars rose up out of the cobblestones on every corner of every building. Whill knew that this was the most ancient part of the city. Here the heroes of old were depicted in the form of statues—kings of days past, queens, famous knights, and scholars. The famous poet Corindia’s statue stood tall and proud upon the steps of the Kell-Torey School of Knowledge, his head bent in thought as he looked down at the scroll in hand.

  Rhunis pointed out the grand coliseum a block away and to their left, looming over the neighboring buildings. It was well over four times the size of the one in which Whill and Rhunis had battled within during Fendale’s Winter’s End Celebration. The Kell-Torey coliseum hosted many events, from circuses to gladiator battles and public executions.

  A few more blocks and to the right stood the immense Eldora Library; founded by the renowned scholar Arious Eldora. The library boasted the largest collection of books, scrolls, and writings in all of Agora, and poets and scholars from all reaches of Agora came to study here.

  The companions passed the Kell-Torey School of Healing, the great Alamora School of Law, and the First Bank of Kell-Torey. Finally they came to the castle gates. In the moonless night, with only the orange glow of the many torches, the castle wall looked even more immense. Before them stood only iron gates, but they knew that beyond the gate, great metal doors sat ready to be engaged at a moment’s notice.

  Rhunis was again easily recognized by the castle guards, who unlike the others were Knights of Eldalon. He dismounted and approached one of the guards with open arms.

  “Theolus Klemus, what Knight of Eldalon did you steal this armor from?” laughed Rhunis as he embraced the knight and gave him a heavy pat on the back.

  “I was promoted from city guard last week,” said Theolus, beaming.

  “Long overdue, I say, long overdue indeed.”

  “I’ve been on this post for five days, you know, ordered to wait for you and your friends. Damn glad I am to see you finally arrive unharmed.”

  Rhunis raised his unscarred eyebrow. “Ordered to wait for us, eh? Then that means you can show us to warm beds. We’ve had a long journey and wish nothing more than
sleep on a soft bed.”

  “Considering the companions you travel with, I imagine your stories will be worth more than a dwarf’s hoard—forgive the analogy, good sir,” Theolus added hastily to Roakore. “But word has it, Rhunis, that you left Fendale chasing the pirate Captain Cirrosa. And news came just hours ago about a battle within the port town of Sherna.”

  Rhunis chuckled. “Amazing how word can travel faster than horses. You’ll hear those stories and more, my friend, but not this night. We are weary and wish to be led to our boarding.”

  Theolus gave a disappointed sigh but smiled. “Of course. Follow me.” He led them beyond the castle gates and then past seven more.

  “The eight castle gates of the Castle of Kell-Torey,” Whill mumbled under his breath. Seeing the immense gates, he understood how the castle and city had survived hundreds of years of war. Whole armies could try for weeks to get through to no avail, losing thousands in the process. More than a thousand years before during the War of Eztule, the Eztulian army had advanced as far as the fourth gate. But early one morning, two weeks into the siege, the horns of the Ky’Dren dwarves had rung out and the fourth gate opened. Side by side the dwarves and humans fought, as they had countless times before, and by nightfall Eztule had been defeated. The losses for both sides had been great. Much of Kell-Torey had been destroyed, along with half its army. Of the ten thousand dwarves who marched to defend their neighbors, only three thousand returned, without their beloved King Korzonn. Both dwarf and human songs spoke of the dwarf king, and both say he took more than one hundred of the Eztule with him before he fell.

  Whill recited the story to Tarren as Roakore bowed to the fifteen-foot statue of Korzonn, which stood tall and proud atop the fourth gate. It had been made of steel and encrusted in gold leaf from the axe tip to the boots. Korzonn stood defiantly, his axe at the ready and fire in his eyes. Whill guessed that many foes had fallen to the crazed dwarf, frozen with fear. Roakore slammed his fist to his chest and bent low. Tarren mimicked the action with a serious expression.

  Beyond the gates lay the courtyard, which was huge even by the standards of a castle, for the Castle of Kell-Torey more resembled a small village than anything else. The courtyard held hundreds of buildings—housing for soldiers, weapon storehouses, training rooms, and the like. To his right Whill noticed an immense archery range, which he made a mental note to visit; to the left stood one of many stables. The companions dismounted as Theolus instructed the stable boy and called for servants to take the baggage.

  They were led into the foyer, which opened into the Great Room. The ceiling was more than fifty feet high, from which hung a brilliant chandelier holding dozens of torches. Before them was a staircase wide enough to accommodate ten men abreast. It went up twenty feet and split into three separate stairs, one going straight and the others veering off to the left and right. Upon the walls hung many portraits of kings and queens past, along with the banner of Kell-Torey and Eldalon’s other major cities.

  Theolus led them up the middle stair. “You will be staying in the royal guest suites, of course,” he said, leading them down a hallway off the stair. After a few minutes they turned right once again and finally came to a large wooden door. Theolus led the companions through it and to their rooms before bidding them all good night.

  Whill entered his room with Tarren in tow. Without even a look around, he fell upon the bed and quickly went to sleep, exhausted by the long journey.

  Roakore lay upon his bed, which was too big and too soft. He could not sleep and found that he was not tired in the least. Since Whill had “helped” him with his wounds, he had found himself full of energy. He mumbled to himself as he tossed and turned. He had been healed by elf ways, he knew. He cursed under his breath at the thought of it. What would his people think, what would his father think? Here he was, lone heir to the throne of the Ebony Mountains, and he had gotten himself wounded in a battle aiding humans.

  Roakore was sure his wounds had not been grave, but then there was Whill’s aid. Deep down Roakore knew that Whill had used his elf-like powers to heal his broken ribs. That made it twice that he had been healed. That would not do. Roakore promised himself that he would save the lives of Avriel and Whill and even the score before this cursed business was through.

  Five days they had until the meeting. What in Ky’Dren’s name was a dwarf to do in a human city for five days? Roakore huffed, threw back his covers, and got up from his too-soft bed.

  Whill awoke abruptly and looked around at his surroundings. He did not recognize where he was, but then remembered he was in Kell-Torey. Next to him, sleeping soundly, was Tarren. There came a knock at the door and Whill got up and answered it. He opened the door to find an older-looking man wearing purple robes. He was bald but for short white hair about his temples and the back of his head. He looked to be in his sixties. He wore no facial hair but for his bushy eyebrows, and his face had seen too many winters. But his eyes were kind, his smile bright, and Whill knew that the man before him did not feel as old as half his years.

  “Good day, Whill,” the man said with a bow. “My name is Johanah, and I have been appointed as your servant for the entirety of your stay here.” Before Whill could argue that he did not need a servant, Johanah continued, “And may I say that it is a great honor to serve one such as you.”

  Whill could only offer a thank you and a nod. “I am available all hours of the day or night for anything you might need,” Johanah said. “So please do not hesitate to call upon me, I will answer swiftly.” Whill then noticed the chair that sat outside his door on the right. He realized that his servant literally sat waiting instruction.

  “Have you been waiting here all night?”

  “Of course I have, sir.”

  “And this is where you will wait until I call.”

  “Of course, sir, unless I require bodily relief, for which of course I will ask permission.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I will get along fine. You need not spend your days and nights waiting on me.”

  Johanah looked puzzled, even hurt. “But I must, sir. I have been ordered to serve you and the lad Tarren as long as you sleep within these walls.” He bowed his head sadly and took a deep breath. “I can assure you, my age in no way inhibits my duties. My family has served the kings for seven generations, sir. We are the best at what we do, renowned even. Please do not send me away, good sir. I will serve you well, I promise.”

  Whill put up a defensive hand. “No, no, it’s not that. I am sure you are excellent at what you do. It is just…I am not used to such treatment.”

  Johanah’s head was bowed in shame, his eyes on the floor. Whill knew he had upset the old man. He put a hand upon Johanah’s shoulder and said what he knew he must to give the man his dignity once again.

  “I am sure you will serve me well, Johanah. I am glad to have one such as you in my service. Forgive my ignorance in such matters.”

  Johanah lit up once again. “Thank you, good sir, but it is not my place to forgive you for anything, only to thank you.”

  Whill nodded with a half-hearted smile. This would take some getting used to.

  “Do you or the lad require anything at this time, good sir?”

  Whill thought for a moment. What would someone of his apparent stature ask of a servant? “We could use fresh bath water, and our clothes need to be washed. Some fruit and eggs and bread would do also, please.”

  Johanah visibly cringed at the word please, and Whill made the connection. One did not say please to a servant.

  “It is now seven in the morning. The king asks that you and your friends join him for breakfast at nine. Shall I send confirmation?”

  “You shall.”

  Johanah smiled and bowed again. “Very well, good sir, I shall send confirmation and return to start your bath water.” With that he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way down the hall.

  Whill sighed and returned to his room and a sleeping Tarren. He had not taken th
e time the night before to look around his room, so now he did.

  The room before him was immense. It boasted white marble floors and walls, with a twenty-foot-high ceiling. The bed in which he had slept and Tarren now slept in was huge. It looked as though it could sleep ten, with its numerous blue and purple silk pillows and thick blankets. The headboard was wooden, as were the posts, which held a thin blue fabric that hung down on all sides and matched the bed decor. The banners of both Eldalon and Kell-Torey hung upon the wall to the right. Next to the bed was a wardrobe that boasted numerous dressers and shelves. Whill found that his traveling pack and weapons lay within, untouched. To the right of the bed and closet, adjacent the wall from which the banners hung, was an opening to another room. This room, like the other, was crafted with marble floors and walls. To the right was a large bathtub built up from the floor.

  Whill returned to the bedroom and walked out onto the balcony and gazed at the courtyard below. The morning sun had risen and its bright light now fell upon a marvelous garden of early-blooming flowers of every color.

  Beautiful, is it not? Said a voice within his mind, the voice of Avriel. Whill turned right, then left, and saw her twenty feet away, standing on her own identical balcony. Gone were her traveling clothes, replaced by a thin white silken robe opened slightly in the front, revealing more than Avriel may have intended. Whill was left speechless, mind and mouth alike, at the sight of her. He felt his face flush and a strange heat overcame him as he looked upon the elf maiden. The sun’s light pierced the robe, making it all but translucent. Whill was paralyzed in the midst of Avriel’s well-proportioned beauty.

  I spoke of the garden, came Avriel’s voice with a laugh. Embarrassed, he turned his head quickly to regard the flowers. When he looked once again to Avriel’s balcony, she was gone.