Neversfall

by Ed Gentry

  “How did you fare in the battle? Are you injured?” Taennen asked.

  “Four fell to my blade,” Bascou said.

  “And your health?”

  “I am uninjured. You appear unharmed as well,” Bascou said. Taennen shook his head and pointed to several wounds. Bascou nodded. “You were brave indeed. That Maquar spirit—it is something to see.”

  The late afternoon sun washed over Taennen out on the plains, and he soaked in the warmth, glad to be in the open again, away from the dark forest. The woods felt like his mind had for the last two days: murky and dark, full of things he did not understand or want to see. Things that, no matter how he resisted, held sway over his actions, forcing him into situations he couldn’t get himself out of. Though the grass was no higher than his knees, Taennen felt each blade as if it were a dark tree looming over his head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Very tidy,” Jhoqo said, prying the sword from Adeenya’s limp hand. He nudged her body on the floor of the holding cell with his foot and sighed.

  Marlke groaned as he rose to his feet, the motion causing his gut wound to spill forth a new gobbet of blood. “How was I to know that wench was here?” he asked, wobbling on unsteady legs before continuing. “I asked around for her, but no one had seen her. I figured she was off somewhere bossing someone else around, and this was the best time to handle things. I was trying to think ahead.”

  “Thinking is exactly what you weren’t doing,” Jhoqo said.

  “It doesn’t matter now. She’s out of our way. You know, I can’t say I’m sorry to see her go. Acting an underling to that one …” Marlke screwed up his face.

  “Give me some rope. We need to bind her before she rouses,” the Maquar said as he knelt to position Adeenya’s arms behind her back.

  “Tie her? Just kill her,” Marlke said.

  Jhoqo said nothing.

  Marlke pulled a coil of rope from his belt and tossed it to the man. Jhoqo proceeded to tightly tie the unconscious woman’s wrists together. The dwarf slumped against the wall, his face taking on a dull pallor. He glared at the formians who stood silently in their cells as if the scene before them had not just played out.

  “I’m going to enjoy gutting them too,” the dwarf said.

  Jhoqo finished his knots, tugging on the bindings a few times, and stood, pleased with his work. He removed a pouch from his belt and fingered through its content for a moment before fishing out a small vial of brackish liquid. He placed the pouch back on his belt and uncorked the vial. His placid face wrinkled as the fumes from the vial hit his senses. He held the slender glass at arm’s lengths but still suffered from the scent. It smelled of cockroaches, like the acrid tang that comes from insects who live, eat and survive on death and filth.

  “What are you doing?” Marlke asked.

  “She could wake at any moment. We do not want that,” Jhoqo replied. “This will keep her down.”

  The Maquar commander rolled Adeenya onto her back and moved his hand along her jaw, tracing the lines of her face. He pulled her chin down to open her mouth and tilted her head. Still shrinking from the nauseating odor of the vial himself, Jhoqo inclined the vial until a drop fell into Adeenya’s open mouth. Jhoqo gently closed her jaw and settled her head back to the floor.

  “There. Now she won’t bother us for a while,” Jhoqo said. He turned to Marlke. “I find it hard to believe that working with her would have been unpleasant. By my observations she’s a fine officer, possessing a good head on her shoulders and strong—though certainly misled—morals.”

  “Aye, good—she’s a wonderful person,” Marlke said. “Now, give me a hand, will you? I know you’ve got a lovely elixir somewhere in that pouch of yours. Let’s have it.”

  “No,” Jhoqo said without looking at the dwarf. His eyes were trained on Adeenya, his hands on his hips. “I don’t think that would be prudent.”

  “No? I’m bleeding out here,” Marlke said.

  “How do you suggest I deal with this?” Jhoqo asked, pointing at Adeenya.

  Marlke’s face wrinkled as he said, “Deal with … you kill her, of course!”

  Jhoqo shook his head. “Why would I do that? It will turn the rest of the Durpari against me and draw unnecessary attention,” he said. “Besides, she’s a fine officer, and that’s a terrible thing to waste.”

  “Her men? Her? Once she’s dead, they’re my men!”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Jhoqo said. “Do you feel that you’ve earned the responsibility of leadership?”

  “What are you doing?” Marlke said. “Give me that potion … I’m dying! I can already see two of you.” Marlke tried to climb to his feet, but his shaking arms would not lift him from the floor. He flopped back to the floor with a moan. A long moment passed as the dwarf rolled onto his side to once again look upon Jhoqo. The flush of his anger slowly drained away as his body lost blood. The puddle of his own gore grew around him, expanding every moment. The smooth stones resisted the fluid, spreading the crimson stain.

  “Are there three of me yet, or does it only go to two?” Jhoqo asked. “I wouldn’t know as I’ve never died before. But that’s obvious, I suppose.”

  “Help me,” Marlke stammered.

  “Now, why would I do that?” Jhoqo asked. “If I let her live, I gain the chance to train a fine officer and show her the truth of the world. She’s partway there. I feel confident I can guide her the rest of the way.”

  “If you let her live? What are you saying? She’ll tell everyone it was me in here, trying to kill the beasts.”

  “Of course she will. It’s the truth.”

  “They’ll lynch me!”

  “It’s difficult to punish a dead man,” Jhoqo replied.

  Marlke squinted and tried to push himself to a seated position, but his hands slipped in his own blood, slamming his chin hard to the floor. He rolled his head to one side and pleaded, “He won’t like me being dead, and you know it.”

  Jhoqo smiled, ignoring the remark and said, “Besides, you do not have the trust of her men. Why would you? You’re incompetent. If she dies but you live, I will certainly lose control of them. They will be none too happy when I accuse her of being a traitor, but she will be alive to face a fair trial. That should keep them civil enough.”

  “But you cuffed her on the head. Had to be you, she’ll see that,” Marlke said.

  Jhoqo nodded and began to pace as he said, “True. I suppose. But then, to everyone else’s eyes, I wasn’t sure if both of you were involved or not. I was doing what I had to in order to protect the lives of our prisoners. I think they’ll understand. Even she’ll have to understand that I meant no harm.”

  Marlke’s lips, turning a purplish blue, moved but no sound came at first. After a few attempts he managed to speak. “You can’t …” he started but was interrupted by a cough. “You can’t kill her, can you? He won’t let it happen,” he said through a bloody laugh. He licked the liquid life from his lips as his eyes fluttered. “Figures. Sentimental fool, that one.”

  Jhoqo said, “True enough. You’re not entirely an idiot. You know what I dislike most about you, though? Your greed. It is boundless.”

  At that, the dwarf’s eyes shot open. “Me? What about you? You’re not getting paid?” he said, his words slow and beginning to slur.

  Jhoqo paced back and forth in a tight circle before the dwarf and said, “Of course I am. I would be remiss in my duty as a citizen of the South to perform a job without compensation. However, you are a different matter. I am trying to open commerce, to see that every man, woman, and child in the Shining South gets an opportunity to seek their fortunes with a new and powerful ally and source of untapped wealth.”

  Marlke coughed, trying to respond.

  Jhoqo nodded and continued, “But you—you, dwarf, merely wish to control as large a portion of the wealth as you can get your hands on. You would decrease worker wages, buy out competitors, and drive up your own prices, no doubt blaming the rise on growing prod
uction costs.”

  “He won’t like it,” Marlke whispered, returning to his earlier line of reasoning.

  Jhoqo ceased walking, knelt outside the puddle of blood and said, “I am confident that, were our employer here, he would agree with me. You are just not the patriot we thought you to be, and your service is no longer required. Besides, there won’t be much to be done about it in a few moments, will there?”

  Taennen followed Bascou back toward the citadel. The grass on the empty plains smelled dead and defeated under the scorching sun. Taennen glanced over his shoulder many times as he followed the man before him.

  As they approached to within an arrow shot, the front gates cracked open for them. Bascou sang the praises of the fallen men to those gathered just inside the citadel, proclaiming Taennen a warrior of unmatched prowess. The observers joined in his praise.

  Their forces were waning, and soon there would be none of them left unless they could stem the tide of the invaders’ attacks. Taennen’s prowess didn’t matter if they were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. He ignored the remarks and strode past Bascou, headed toward the building Jhoqo had designated for citadel operations.

  Taennen’s mind wandered as he walked through the courtyard. He needed to have his wounds dressed, and his sword needed to be cleaned or he would risk damaging the fine blade. He needed to write letters to the families of the men lost on the patrol that day. He pictured Loraica’s face along with the rest of his fallen friends’ and focused his attention. Right then, he needed to speak to Jhoqo.

  The list of concerns to bring before Jhoqo formed in his mind. He chose his words carefully to tread the fine line between being too lightly critical of Bascou, whom Jhoqo clearly believed in, and smearing the man unnecessarily to the point of closing Jhoqo’s mind to the possibilities he would present.

  Thoughts still whirling, he knocked on his commander’s door. There were no guards on duty—not surprising, given the dwindling number of bodies still upright and breathing in the citadel. Jhoqo’s voiced beckoned him enter.

  The late sun found every crevice it could to leak through and the room shone. Jhoqo sat behind the planning table, still covered with maps and notes on the geography and vegetation of the area. The commander held his head in his hands, not raising his eyes to greet his durir.

  Still not moving, and speaking very slowly, Jhoqo asked, “Do you have word of the mission?”

  “Aye, sir,” Taennen replied. “It’s not good.”

  Jhoqo lifted his face. “Taennen.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I am glad you are well, son. Report.”

  Taennen cleared his throat. “We lost all eight men.”

  “And Bascou?”

  Taennen wanted to roar in the face of his commander. Four of his own were dead, and their commander cared first and foremost about the foreigner?

  “Alive, sir,” he said.

  “You found them, then?” Jhoqo said.

  “A contingent, not their base of operations if they even have one. Sir, we had the opportunity to learn more, but Bascou decided not to pursue the tracks of the enemy. That’s why I came, sir, I don’t think he—”

  “I’m sure he had his reasons. Unfortunately, further issues have arisen,” Jhoqo said.

  “Sir, we lost—”

  “I heard you, Durir. Now, listen to me,” Jhoqo said as he slumped back into his chair. He pointed to another seat, but Taennen declined the offer. Jhoqo ran a hand through his dark hair and said, “There was a traitor in our midst, a saboteur. Two of them, it seems.”

  Taennen stood silent. Jhoqo continued before the younger man could ask the obvious question.

  “Marlke’s dead. Killed by his conspirator, whom I captured,” the commander said.

  Taennen responded before the words had finished leaving the man’s mouth, “Who?”

  “I’m sorry, son,” Jhoqo said, and Taennen felt his knees soften. “I know you had grown close with her.”

  Adeenya’s eyes flew open and then slammed closed just as quickly when a shaft of light in the room lanced them, sending a sharp pain through her skull. Her head jerked away from the brightness, eyes cracking open again. She pulled herself up to a sitting position on the floor. Her head ached, but a check at the source of pain showed no blood or severe injury, though a bruise would doubtless fill the space. There was blood on the floor, and her face throbbed. Her fingers found a large, sore crevice of a wound on her chin as well as a split lip. Her right cheek and eye were swelling even as she felt them. Her mouth tasted terrible.

  The wall behind her was rounded, a half circle that met with the flat wall before her, and a single covered window was set in the wall instead of small openings close to the ceiling. She was in one of the towers of Neversfall, she realized.

  The moments prior to finding herself in that place began coming back to her. Marlke was the traitor—he had been about to kill the formians, but she had stopped him. After that, she was unsure what had happened. She had wounded the dwarf, almost certainly incapacitating him.

  Adeenya glanced around the spartan room, deciding she had not been taken here for medical attention. Even the most unskilled healers would place a patient on something other than the floor, and at the very least would have cleaned her wounds. Gray walls met bare floor that held only dust. She was a prisoner, then.

  Marlke’s face came to her mind, his eyes looking past her, his lips turning up in a smile even as blood poured from the wound she had given him. As if it were a stone thrown at her by a giant, Adeenya felt the truth crash down upon her. Jhoqo had knocked her unconscious while she stood over Marlke.

  She shuffled to her feet and checked the window. Crossed with wooden planks, it was well sealed. She pushed and pulled on the boards but to no avail. Perhaps if she had a weapon, she could work her way out, but she counted herself lucky to be alive, never mind armed. Her chin throbbed worse as she loosed a small growl.

  “The door it is, then,” she said.

  “There’s no mistake, Taennen. The Durpari dorir is dead by her sword. The prisoners nearly died as well,” Jhoqo said, rising from his seat. The smaller man passed Taennen, motioning toward the door with his chin as he said, “Come, we must tell the others now that you and Bascou have returned.”

  Taennen had not yet spoken since Jhoqo had revealed the second traitor. He could feel his tongue in his mouth, but it felt transitory, temporary, as though his first attempt at speech would cause it to streak from his mouth and fly away, never to return. He felt like a child again, confused beyond cognition. Marlke? Adeenya? Why would Adeenya have launched such an elaborate campaign to discover the traitor if it were her?

  They crossed the courtyard, Jhoqo shouting for the men to gather in the center. Word spread in ripples, one man shouting to the next, so on and so forth, until even the guards on the walls were sprinting down the stairs. The crowd fell in behind Taennen, murmuring among themselves about what the commander might say. Bascou’s voice could be heard over the whispers, telling soldiers to get out of his way as he moved to stand beside Jhoqo.

  Jhoqo stopped and raised his arms high, patting his hands in the air. He called for silence and, after several moments, had it.

  “Friends, I have news. News that is tragic,” Jhoqo said.

  Shouts issued from the audience, prompting the man to continue.

  “We have been betrayed, brothers,” the urir said.

  Loud protestations and utterances of anger boiled forth before quieting at Bascou’s insistence.

  Jhoqo nodded his thanks to the Chondathan leader and continued, “But there is good news. The traitors have been found!”

  The Maquar slapped their leather armor and whistled, until Jhoqo again called for silence and added, “Know this, friends, had it not been for this treachery, our other brethren who are lost to us would surely be standing with you now. Without the help of these betrayers, surely no foe could begin to harm us!”

  The last several things his commander had
said began fitting together in the durir’s mind. Taennen looked out over the gathered crowd and saw what remained of the Durpari soldiers. What would they say when Jhoqo proclaimed their leaders as traitors? How would they react? What would a Maquar say or do if someone accused Jhoqo and himself of treachery? By sheer practice of duty, Taennen steeled himself for trouble.

  Jhoqo stood tall and went on. “I know that you all wish vengeance upon those who have betrayed us, but I beg your stay in this matter. These filthy dogs should be tried, publicly acknowledged as being in violation of the Adama, in their homeland. Their faces will be spat upon by their former friends and family, and they will know the true depth and consequences of their treachery.”

  Cheers came in a short burst, the crowd anxious to hear the names. The Durpari seemed to be moving toward one another in the crowd, massing together as if sensing what was about to be said. Surely they had noticed that neither of their leaders was present.

  Jhoqo moved toward the Durpari, asking Maquar and Chondathan alike to part from his path. When he reached the first Durpari, he raised his arms and said, “Brothers and sisters, please understand it is with great regret that I lay before you the names of the traitors. Please know they will receive every benefit our legal code has to offer.”

  A few of the Durpari nodded, while the others stood silently, hands away from their weapons. They had no doubt seen the caution on the faces of everyone else present.

  Jhoqo nodded and motioned the Maquar and Chondathans to back away. “My Durpari comrades, I am afraid you have been deceived. Your leader and her second have betrayed us all, and the dwarf lost his life by Adeenya’s own hand.”

  Taennen’s eyes moved at lightning speed across the scene before him. When Jhoqo finished his sentence, one of the Durpari drew his sword, the steel singing against the scabbard. Taennen’s khopesh was in his hand and arcing up as he moved to intercept the Durpari.

  “Halt, for your own good!” Taennen shouted. “We will resolve this without steel. She will be treated fairly.”