The Hag of Calix

by Rod Fisher

  * * * *

  The dwarf was an emissary from Calix. After discovering his new drinking partner was the "Felic" that he sought, he explained that his sovereign, Queen Gwenay, requested the services of the famed seaman and warrior.

  "Queen?" Felic hid his amusement behind a long swallow from the flagon. "I didn't know Calix was a kingdom, or a Queendom, or anything more than a hive of dwarves living in a mountain. Is your, ah?queen?perhaps known as the 'Hag of Calix' as well? "

  Tword stiffened. "My queen no hag!"

  "In her present domain she may be the least haggish of all," Felic agreed slyly. "But why would I honor her request. What does she offer in return?"

  Tword produced an exquisite dagger with a large ruby mounted on the flower pommel. The hilt was of bronze in the shape of a wood nymph entwined with a snake. The guard was embellished with twisted gold inlay.

  "This would be yours for to come there."

  The weapon was obviously of great value. Felic agreed to accompany him, and the following morning they left Seaskal and traveled on foot for the mountains of Calix. In their second day of the journey Felic asked the dwarf his name.

  "Tword...I am named Tword," he answered, and that was the extent of their conversation until they entered the broken and heaped terrain of the Calixian foothills. Tword picked the path, sprinting from boulder to boulder with bandy-legged agility. He was adept at squeezing his gnarled torso through the narrow crevices and snagging copse of the mountainside.

  "Hold up, you tireless runt!" Felic's shout rattled the rocks. "Hold up: I must rest by this stream."

  Tword settled to a squatting position on a fallen tree and tucked a pinch of crested nightshade into his cheek. From under iron-gray brows his eyes glittered with contemptuous mirth as he studied the exhausted man by the stream.

  The humiliation of being outdistanced by the cretin added irritation to Felic's fatigue. He drank from cupped hands and let the cool water run down through the sweat on his bare chest. He shaded his eyes and looked up. The sun beat waves of heat from the rocks. An eagle soared lazily in the updrafts of the promontory beetling above them. The cliffs presented a formidable barrier-a vertical rock face separating the two travelers from their destination.

  With a weary grunt, Felic removed his horsehide buskins and sighed at the excessive wear they had sustained in the course of the journey. He stretched out on the mossy rocks and dangled his feet in the water. When he arose refreshed, the dwarf still perched like a gargoyle on his log. The strange stunted little man had made no move to evade the merciless sun, or to join him for a drink.

  "Lead on," Felic waved, "but pick a path that a human can follow." He put cruel emphasis on "human."

  Tword sat for a moment before moving. The humor faded from his eyes and he spat a brown gob against the log. Then he weaved and scrambled higher and higher up the rugged slope. Felic was hard-pressed to stay with him.

  At the base of the promontory the dwarf sat down. He was prodding a small lizard with one finger, killing time, when the big man came puffing up. Felic mopped stinging moisture from his eyes and squinted right and left along the towering formation. The cliff hedged off the sky, an invincible hurdle for creatures without wings.

  "Where now, Tword?" he asked.

  "Easy...Tword now take to easy way. You follow again, then you see." He led Felic to a blind mass of undergrowth--a thick tangle of tall grass, ferns and bushes that hid the entrance to a narrow cave. They pushed through the web of foliage and entered a rough-hewn vestibule carved from the rock of the mountain.

  Inside, the dwarf pulled a pair of torches from a cache racked against the wall. With flint and tinder he got them alight. Their flame pushed back the gloom shrouding the rear of the chamber. Felic saw a small shaft leading upward.

  Tword climbed ahead with the torches, leaving the big man to squeeze his broad shoulders through as best he could. He found Tword waiting in a long tunnel. Accepting the second torch, he followed the dwarf deeper into the bowels of the mountain, brushing through festoons of clinging webs. The ceiling was low. Felic's head took a rap from the uneven rocks and his curse sent bats fluttering off in the grotesque shadows.

  As they entered a larger, vaulted chamber, the air turned dank and sour. Felic felt the presence of menace lurking beyond the torchlight. He suppressed a shiver and commented on the chill of the cavern, but Tword paid no notice, nor did he answer; he pushed ahead with his quick ambling gait until the torches were almost spent.

  They passed through the mildewed chamber entering a second tunnel. They followed a short twisting course ending at an ironbound door. The dwarf seized a stone hanging from a leather lanyard and beat a signal on the massive portal. They waited. The echo faded away in the passage behind them. Then an answering signal sounded from the other side. Tword countered with another rapid tattoo. Felic heard the scrapings of a bar being removed, and the great door groaned outward.

  A crinkled face bordered with whiskers was framed in the opening. The fresh smell of the surface world flooded the tunnel.

  "Open...move it open. This is Tword."

  The door guard gave way and they emerged blinking into the sunlit stronghold of the Calixian Hag, Gwenay.

  Looking around, Felic found they were in a circular valley, a sequestered oasis in the crater of a dead volcano. A lake, fringed by aspen and pine, lay at the center where its surface reflected the deep blue of the sky. Across the lake paths criss-crossed the face of the cliffs, leading to the mineshafts that produced the coveted jewels of Calix.

  The afternoon sun sparkled over shimmering aspen and the terraced garden plots on the east side of the crater. But the opposite side had a morbid aspect. Felic surveyed the scene with apprehension. On the shadowed side of the bowl the gaping rock formation that was the cavern of Queen Gwenay sat like a bleached skull. Felic presumed the ancient and mysterious crone, ruler of this hidden vale, would be found within.

  In the lake a turgid shadow moved below the surface, sending small ripples to lap the shore. Felic feared no flesh and blood creatures, but the nameless evils attributed to this place sent a foreboding chill through his brawny frame.

  In the royal quarters of her cavern, Gwenay fretted at her loom, impatient for her first look at the legendary man who was responding to her summons. She laid down her threads and went to the mirror where she addressed her image.

  "So, after a score of years you will see a man--a real man. I wonder how he will like this so-called 'Hag' of Calix." She brushed her hair and smiled at herself. Then she prepared for his arrival by moving to the reception hall where she positioned herself on a fur-draped dais.

  Felic had to stoop to follow Tword through the low entrance into the hall, and he remained in a tense, half-crouched stance while his gray eyes swept the room. The only light came from thin spirals of flickering blue flame that rose from openings in the floor and circled up smooth pillars to disappear in the vaulted ceiling. The lights were behind and to either side of the female figure silhouetted on the dais.

  "Tword, bring our guest a chair, then begone!" Her voice was dry, hard-edged with authority. "Come now," she addressed Felic in a softer tone, "approach and be seated. I wish to examine you."

  Felic stood by the chair and gaped at her. She was anything but a hag. Silky black curls hung long and loosely around her classic features. Her lips had the hint of a pout and her piercing green eyes froze him for a heart-stopping moment. There were no wrinkles or warts as expected. Her complexion was the peaches and cream of poets. Her body, resplendent in emerald satin, had the proportions of a goddess.

  "What is it? You are ill?" she asked. "Be seated."

  Felic sat clumsily. Her scent boggled his composure and he shifted uneasily. "I was expecting a withered old woman. You are...very beautiful."

  "I am in a cycle of renewal." her tone softened, "It is pleasant to be complimented again. Many years...", she cleared her throat, "it has been many years since a man ha
s...but never mind that. You are here to discuss my offer. Pull your chair closer." She rested her slim hand on his huge fist, knotted about the arm of the chair. "You are Felic m'Lans...hmm, and your reputation precedes you. I am Gwenay of Calix, once the queen of all Dagra. These days my domain consists only of the stony porringer outside that door. My minions are the devoted dwarves and the strange creatures that rattle around in the honeycomb of their shafts and tunnels. But I am mistress of powers beyond your understanding. Powers once misused by others have been placed in my care."

  Her eyes were penetrating and she seldom blinked. "I plan to regain my rightful throne in Dagraskal, and there is a place for you in my plans ...if your reputation is justified." Her glance slid over his powerful body. "You could be of great service to me. In return I could bestow wealth, power, high station...I have unusual resources at my disposal."

  Felic licked his lips and swallowed. His hand burned under her touch, and her candid appraisal pinned him in his chair. He cleared his throat and answered, "Wealth and Power only interest me when I have neither."

  "Is that why you came?"

  "In part. I was also curious to see," he paused searching for words, "--to see what no man has seen."

  Gwenay smiled. "Well, not for many, many years. In the old days when King Jult was alive, when we ruled Dagra side by side..."

  Her eyes looked through him for a moment as though he weren't there. She caught herself and the softness went out of her voice. "But you need no lesson in Dagran history. What reward can I offer for your services?"

  "What service do you require?"

  "Your strength...your wisdom of the sea..."

  "A sea mission?" he interrupted. Felic's interest was ignited.

  "Yes, your escort and protection in the execution of a journey across the western waters."

  "To what place?"

  "To the islands of the Maijads. To the tomb of King Jult."

  Felic's pulse quickened; he hunched forward. "I confess, oh queen, that fortune has cursed my recent endeavors. My ship is at the bottom of the sea. My men are all shark food. My pockets are empty. I am reduced to the sum of what you see before you--not even a decent weapon. "Perhaps you have been misled..."

  "No, it is only you I have need of," she explained. "You will have a deck under your feet. That is the easiest part." She squeezed his hand. "But first, Felic m'Lans, you must eat, rest and renew yourself from your journey. Tomorrow will be our day for making plans."