The Crown and the Sword

CHAPTER NINE

A nkhar gradually noticed the warmth, which struck him as unnatural in this dark, sunless place. For timeless miles and uncounted days, the trio had trudged through chilly blackness, cloaks wrapped tight against the penetrating cold. Deep into the world they went, far away from the sun, and still they descended. Ankhar shivered when he slept, longed for the comfort of a campfire. But there was no fuel, no light beyond what their little party carried.

Until, one day-or was it night? — the half-giant felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead and unconsciously loosened his woolen cloak. Curious, he reached out and touched a nearby outcrop of stone and found it warm to the touch. The air felt thick and moist, with a hint of acrid smoke. Within a few moments, they all had removed their outer garb, and suddenly the cavern seemed like such a sweltering place, he began to wonder if he was taking leave of his senses.

“We are very far below the surface,” Hoarst declared, mopping his brow with a soft cloth. “We must be drawing near to the fires in the very belly of the world.” The wizard still carried his glowing blade, but now with its point slanting downward at his side. The once-bright light had faded to a pearly glow. Even so, that faint illumination was enough to show the path before the trio’s increasingly sensitive eyes.

“How long we been on this dark path?” grumbled Ankhar. “I lose track of miles… and of sleeps.”

“The sun has come and gone six times since we entered the cave,” Laka declared. “It is now dawn on the world of the surface.”

Ankhar found himself longing for a look at the world above, even just a glimpse of the bright sun that he had taken for granted throughout his life. He tried to imagine how dwarves and even some goblins could spend so many of their days underground, shielded from that blessed warmth, that refulgent brilliance. He shuddered at the very idea.

Hoarst knelt to sip from one of the pools of clear water that were common in these caves. When he did, the flap of his cloak briefly covered the blade of his sword, yet Ankhar realized that he could see quite well without its illumination. The dark was fading!

The half-giant squinted ahead, noticing a faintly reddish cast to the cavern walls in front of them. It was as though they traveled through a canyon after sunset, and the fading glow of daylight lingered in their surroundings. Like some sunsets, this one glowed a faint orange color, which marked the high walls to either side of them, even casting shadows from the stalactites on the arched ceiling so high over their heads.

As they came around another bend in the still-descending cavern, they saw that the horizon was limned in fire, a strange, hellish light that forced the half-giant to raise his hand in a futile effort to shield his face from its infernal glare and heat.

“We are drawing near now,” Laka said, “for this is another place that was revealed to me in my dream.”

“Good,” Ankhar said. Now that they were actually close to encountering the mysterious, powerful ally Laka had been searching for, he felt more bluster than courage. He thought a growl might be impressive and made a sound that rumbled deep in his chest.

The brightness continued to build as the subterranean canyon twisted through a few more turns, until finally they came to a ledge, where a series of shattered rocky outcrops formed a descending stairway. For the moment they halted, all three of them staring wordlessly at this remarkable place.

The trio stood high above a cavern that was as vast as a deep valley in a large mountain range-except that the rocky faces above them soared upward to merge into an upside-down version of a chasm that twisted and curved through a central, vaulted ceiling. The depths of the upper gorge were lost in shadow, but the rest of this great cavern was outlined in the brilliant fires that surged and crackled everywhere.

Most striking was the river of liquid fire, glowing orange and red, which appeared to emerge from a channel on the opposite wall of the great valley, spilling downward like a garish, mighty waterfall. The spume tumbled hundreds of feet from its lofty origin, burning the whole way, splashing explosively at the base of the wall. There the liquid fire bubbled and churned amidst a great lake of crimson-orange. Dark outcrops of rock jutted like islands above the surface, while currents eddied and surged along the inhospitable shores.

Other lakes and ponds-some fiery lava, others dark and sludgy as oil, or lightless water-dotted the broad valley floor. Far to the right the wall of the massive cavern was obscured by mist, as water from some unseen source made contact with the scalding rock and sizzled into steam. The cloud seethed and shimmered like a living curtain, and as they watched, it expanded to fill the whole end of the cavern. A few moments later, it dissipated, dissolving into a shower of rain that spattered and hissed on the hot rock, instantaneously evaporating, then thickening into fog, as the process started over again.

A thunderous blast rent the air, shaking the bedrock beneath Ankhar’s boots. To the left a geyser of liquid fire erupted, shooting a spume of burning rock hundreds of feet into the air. Several massive pieces of stone broke free from the walls and ceiling, jarred by the force of the blast. They tumbled and rolled down the slopes, most coming to rest in tangled piles, while a few plopped into the viscous lake of fire to be quickly swallowed up.

“Do we cross this place?” Ankhar asked skeptically. “Did dream show you that?”

“No. We must go down there.” Laka pointed to the vast lake situated in the middle of the cavern. “That is where we will find our ally.”

“Huh! Then let’s go find this ally,” the half-giant grunted, though he was hardly eager to visit the lake of fire.

“Be ready with your spear,” the ancient shaman hissed before turning to Hoarst. “And prepare to use your spells. There will be enemies here, and we must vanquish them or die.”

Ankhar drew his great weapon off his shoulder, taking comfort in the feel of the smooth, familiar haft. He looked around for something to stab, mildly disappointed to discover the absence of any foe. He started down the rocky slope, his long strides easily taking him from shelf to shelf of the natural staircase. With his spear in one hand, he helped Laka over the ledges, some of them set at precipitous intervals. All the while, he kept alert, his eyes scanning the cavern, looking for the enemies his mother had warned of.

The first such enemy abruptly rose into view close to them as they neared the cavern floor-it had crouched among the rocks, indistinguishable from the boulders strewn everywhere, until its sudden movement. The thing reared now, a giant-sized being made of stone, with rippling sinews of rock outlined in two legs, two arms, a torso, and a great crude block of a head. A pair of dark hollows gaped beneath a clifflike brow.

Despite being startled, the half-giant struck at once, thrusting his great spear against the stone fist punching toward his face. The emerald head of his weapon, enchanted with the blessing of the Prince of Lies, shattered the stone fist, and the elemental creature of stone and dirt staggered back. The creature was larger than Ankhar but less nimble, and the half-giant followed his first thrust with a series of fierce stabs, chipping pieces away from the grotesque being. Finally Ankhar thrust his weapon straight into the stony torso, a blow that knocked the beast backward off its perch. Tumbling to deeper bedrock, the elemental shattered into so many crumbs of gravel.

Before Ankhar resumed a more cautious descent, he saw Laka reach down, paw through the shards remaining from the elemental, and select a piece that was small enough to hold easily in her palm. Nodding in satisfaction, she tucked the stone away in one of her many pouches and curtly gestured to the half-giant to continue his pace.

They proceeded downward, alert and careful, toward the cavern floor. They came to a broad ledge, perhaps halfway down from the vantage where they had entered the chamber. Ankhar took a step onto what he thought was a solid shelf of rock, but stumbled as his foot sank into soft, oozing mud. He toppled and lurched forward, maintaining his balance only by plunging his second foot into the mire. In a matter of a breath he had sunk to his knees and felt the warm goo steadily rising up toward his thighs.

“Hsst-beware!” cried Laka, raising her totem. The green light outlined a shape rising from the mire just a few paces beyond Ankhar. This was another elemental, forged from the muddy water much as their first opponent had been crafted from rock. The half-giant stabbed with his spear, but his balance was poor and the blade made only a small gash in one of the elemental’s limbs. The water swiftly flowed back to close the wound, and the magical creature continued to rise from the pond, drawing the liquid from the pool to collect itself into a gigantic foe more than twice the height of the half-giant.

“Drop down-duck!” said Hoarst, and Ankhar instantly squatted. So much earth had been drawn into the creature’s body that the half-giant could fling away mud and hurl himself to the side as the wizard behind him snarled out the words to a spell.

The eruption of magic was soundless and lightless, but the great power of it penetrated to the half-giant’s core. The savage blast of cold passed just over Ankhar’s body, leaving an icy chill skittering across his skin as it swept outward in an expanding cone of lethal frost. The spell struck the mud-giant full across its body, covering it with an instantaneous layer of frost, then freezing the creature hard in its posture of mid-attack. One leg still twitched, but the rest of the body twisted rigidly, awkward and frozen.

“Now-strike it with your spear!” cried the Thorn Knight.

Ankhar stabbed with all of his strength, again holding his weapon with both hands, driving the chiseled emerald head into the frozen water elemental’s midsection. The monster shattered like a statue made from ice, blocks of frozen water tumbling to the ground, slowly melting back into the residual muck of the ground. As with the stone elemental, Laka paused to reach down, collected a piece of the creature’s remains, and placed it safely in one of her pouches before giving Ankhar the signal to continue.

“We must hurry,” Ankhar urged, lifting Laka by one arm and swinging her to the far side of the pit before striding after her. Hoarst, moving quickly, skirted the bowl-shaped depression to join them on the far side. The half-giant glanced back warily, wondering if the pieces of the water-monster would show signs of reassembling into life. But the blocks of ice remained inert, even as they melted into little puddles of muddy water.

Strangely, the ancient shaman seemed gratified by their encounter. “These are the servants of the one we shall enslave,” she said proudly. “And to judge by his retainers, he is mighty, indeed.”

Next to materialize were guardians made of fire, a trio of flaming giants spewing up out of the liquid rock. Waving crazily, uttering roars like the fiery blasts of a furnace, they emerged from the lake of lava to block the travelers’ path. Casting sparks, dripping flames, they surged up the slope toward the mortal intruders. Ankhar pierced one with blows of his enchanted spear, though not before their flames singed both his fists. Laka doused the other pair when she brandished her skull totem and somehow conjured forth a rainstorm that spilled torrents of water over the fiery shapes. They hissed and sizzled and eventually, washed out of existence. Before they completely faded, she gingerly picked up the glowing ember of one fire guardian and hastily dropped it into a chain-mesh pocket.

As they drew near to the edge of the fire lake, the searing heat practically baked their skin. Sweat flowed in rivulets down Ankhar’s face, and he had to blink repeatedly to clear his eyesight. Shielding his eyes, he felt something surprisingly pleasurable-something cool. A breeze wafted over his skin, evaporating his sweat and easing the infernal heat. The only trouble was that the growing breeze came from another attacker.

This attacker was a guardian drawn from the very air. Now it swirled like a tornado, sucking at them with winds so powerful, they were almost forced off the ledge and into the bubbling, churning lake. Rising taller than any of the other elementals, this air guardian screamed like a tortured goblin, wailing all around them, leaning in close.

Ankhar’s strength saved them, for he planted his feet, crouched low, and wrapped a brawny arm around the shoulders of each of his two companions. The gale whipped and pulsed and whirled. Like the other elementals, the creature of air had taken a physical shape, and it appeared like a tornado with whirling tendrils that reached out, tried to suck and pull the mortals apart from each other, drag them forward into the lethal, bubbling magma.

Hoarst pulled some kind of powder from his pocket, blinking at the dust that flew up and stung his eyes. The wizard gritted his teeth and spat out the words to the spell, finally spreading his hands wide and stepping forward into the very heart of the cyclone’s suction. The air elemental almost lifted him up and away-only Ankhar’s strong hands held him in place-until, at last, Hoarst’s magic sparked into being. The bright flash of light utterly dispelled the enchanted creature, leaving only a series of random gusts swirling across the lava lake, churning up smoke, blowing futilely at the tiny rivulets of fire.

Laka produced a small suede sack, supple and empty and very tightly sewed. She waved it about with both hands, capturing one of the errant gusts and trapping it inside so it puffed out the bag like a balloon. She quickly drew a string around the mouth of the sack, closing it tightly shut, then lashed it to her belt where it bobbed lightly.

“Now we must go over there, to that island,” Laka declared, pointing.

“How?” demanded Ankhar, gazing at the dangerous crimson liquid that seemed to surround the pinnacle of dark rock indicated by his stepmother. “Swim?”

“There seems to be a path,” Hoarst said.

The half-giant blinked, shaking his head skeptically. Nevertheless, he could see the snaking path of black rock, like the ridged back of a stony crocodile, that jutted above the surface of the lava. They might be able to walk across it without coming into direct contact with the liquid rock. And if they soaked their cloaks in water and wrapped them tightly as protection, they might be able to withstand the baking heat.

“Are you sure?” the half-giant asked, his jaw jutting belligerently. “Why can’t slave, er, ally come to us?”

“Because this is the path showed to me in my vision,” Laka replied calmly. “It is the Truth.”

There was no argument against that. Grudgingly, Ankhar stepped in front of his two companions, leading the way to the terminus of the narrow, steep-sided isthmus of rock. The heat felt searing against his face, burning his skin wherever it peeked out; he had pulled his cape over his shoulders and head, tightening it into a narrow chute around his eyes and nose.

The ridge was narrow, capped with loose and blistered rock, and each footstep kicked some of the rubble free to tumble down the steep sides and into the lake. Wherever they struck, flames erupted from the liquid. To Ankhar these snaky tendrils of flames seemed like hungry lampreys, mouths lunging upward, seeking their flesh.

The heat became a smothering blanket, wrapping him in a cocoon of pain. He could barely see through the tears that streamed from his eyes, the sweat that poured from his brow. Each breath was like a blast of fire sucked into his lungs, more pain that sustenance, and he staggered along, fearing any misstep that would send him plunging into that bubbling cauldron-promising an instant death that began to seem like a mercy.

Stumbling on loose rock, he dropped to one knee, burning his gloved hands when arresting his fall. Grimly, almost unconsciously, he pushed himself to his feet. He almost sobbed in relief as, finally, he stepped onto the solid ground of the black island. He crawled and scrambled upward, climbing away from that horrible, killing lava.

Only when he reached the summit of the hill on that conical island did he remember his stepmother and the magic-user. He spun, somewhat surprised and ashamed to see that she was gamely hobbling after him. Sweat glistened in the creases of her wrinkled face, but her eyes gleamed with a triumphant glare that could only make the half-giant feel guilty about his momentary cowardice. He extended a hand, helped her up the last steps of the incline-and was grateful for the touch of her strong, wiry fingers, the encouraging squeeze she administered as she arrived to stand behind him.

Hoarst came last. Ankhar was amazed at the Thorn Knight’s calm, even arrogant appearance. He calmly brushed his dark hair back, and looked around through narrowed eyes-as if already relegating the unpleasant ordeal of the crossing to memory.

Ankhar was busy gasping for breath, wiping the sweat and tears from his eyes, and thanking the Prince of Lies and all the other gods for his survival. Then he noticed that the clearing upon which they stood, which was only about twenty feet in diameter, had been leveled by some purposeful force-it was as smooth as the marble floor of a nobleman’s great hall. In fact, the coal-black bedrock had been polished to such a sheen that the surrounding fires were reflected in it everywhere he looked.

There were four curious features in the floor, each carved from the same black stone as the floor, and when Ankhar stepped over to look at one, he saw that it held a smooth bowl, a semicircular depression that had been chiseled out of the pedestal’s flat top. A quick glance confirmed that there were three other pedestals of similar design.

Hoarst inspected the stone pillars, touching them, looking closely at the surface around each bowl, and finally nodding as if they were exactly what he had expected.

“Fire and water, stone and air,” he explained, indicating the bizarre hieroglyphics that Ankhar had noticed etched into the stonework around the rim of the shallow bowls. Each pedestal was devoted to a different one of the earth elements.

“Here, take this,” Laka said, handing a piece of stone to Ankhar. He recognized it as one of the shards of the rock elemental that he had shattered with his spear. The shaman looked at the wizard expectantly. “I cannot read the signs-tell me which is which.”

“That is the bowl for the stone,” Hoarst said, pointing to the pedestal nearest to the half-giant. “And these others,” he gestured to each in turn, “are for water, fire, and air.”

“Good.” Laka took out the three sacks holding the scraps of the other elements. She set each beside the appropriate bowl then glanced solemnly at the Thorn Knight. “Now you must be ready with those bracers. You will have only a short time to clasp them onto our slave.”

“What if there isn’t enough time?” Ankhar asked.

“Then we will all be killed, and our bones will be devoured by the fires in the belly of the world,” Laka said with a shrug.

“Be ready!” the half-giant ordered Hoarst unnecessarily as the dark wizard bore a very serious mien as he took out the manacles and held them in his hands, watching Laka warily.

“Now follow these instructions,” the shaman continued. If she was as worried as her companions, she was giving no outward sign. “Place the stone in that bowl. Good. Now the water.” Ankhar spilled the muddy contents of the pouch into the depression on the second pedestal. He glared at it expectantly, but nothing much seemed to be happening.

Laka herself rolled the glowing remnant of the fire elemental into the third bowl. Ankhar’s hand nervously clutched the haft of his spear as she readied the fourth sack, the puffy balloon of air. Hoarst’s eyes followed the shaman’s every move.

The ancient shaman held the sack of air over the fourth bowl and abruptly compressed the bag, forcing the little gust into the depression. Immediately Ankhar sensed a new, ominous presence. That was the only change, except perhaps for the ember of the fire elemental, which flared brightly, as if it had been fanned by a bellows. The half-giant spun on his heel, looking to the right and left, hardly realizing that he had raised his spear before his chest and was holding it at the ready in both of his big hands.

Then he heard a fresh sound, a faint roaring, like a distant gale that gradually swelled in volume and power. The lump of stone quivered, and the little puddle of dirty water shimmered and shook. It seemed as though the ground under his feet were vibrating. The shaking caused several large pieces of the cavern’s ceiling to break free. These shattered on the rocky wastes or splashed into the lava lake, raising great spumes of liquid fire into the air. Debris rained down, barely missing the three intruders.

But this random bombardment was all but forgotten when the tangible presence of something massive, magical, and monstrous took shape on the little clearing atop the island. Ankhar lifted the spear, but there was nothing to strike, no tangible foe.

Yet, undeniably, something was there.

Amid the noise that howled around them like a hurricane, Ankhar felt a faint tickle of something, like a breath of wind, caressing the back of his neck. He spun around, stabbing with his spear, then felt the same eerie touch behind him. The sensation raced down his arms and along his spine, and he imagined invisible ants crawling all over his skin. He glared at his companions, wondering if they felt the same disturbing sensations. Laka’s eyes were aglow, her thin lips drawn back, revealing her irregular yellow fangs in a grotesque caricature of a smile. She threw back her head and crowed exultantly, a ululating cry that was almost overwhelmed by the cacophony swelling in the air.

Hoarst stood still, the slender metal bracelets in his hand. Ankhar wanted to curse the Thorn Knight for an inept fool-how could he think those little trinkets could contain even a fraction of the palpable, fundamental force that was drawing in on them like a cloak, a noose.

A physical presence pushed against him, shoving Ankhar almost to the lip of the steep slope. He pushed back, and though he couldn’t see anything, he felt resistance, as solid and palpable as a rock. The half-giant pushed as hard as he could, but it was like trying to push away a mountain; not only did the unseen presence fail to budge, it barely responded to his exertion.

Ankhar saw that Laka and Hoarst, likewise, had been pushed to the perimeter of the small clearing by the new threat that was taking shape. Although he raised his spear, the half-giant realized it would be futile to strike a blow, and instead he gaped upward, wondering how the three of them could possibly hope to survive this creation of a god.

A pair of burning eyes glared down at the three intruders, like spots of fire in the heart of a blast furnace. A mouth took shape amidst the vague semblance of a face, and when that mouth opened, the bellow that emerged shook the very air with a pure power that superseded the hurricane roar surrounding them, rattled the ground, and roiled Ankhar’s guts, almost compelling him to drop to his knees and beg for mercy.

Only his unwillingness to shame himself in front of his companions kept him on his feet. Laka was glaring upward with her usual fierce, exultant grin, while Hoarst looked remarkably calm as he shifted the pair of manacles he held in his hands.

But as yet, there was nothing to shackle. Between the fiery eyes and cyclonic breath and the rock-solid pillars of legs, there was an intangible middle, only a wispy outline that churned and billowed like a storm cloud. The wisps parted for a moment, and Ankhar briefly spotted a heart of pure water, pulsing and surging like a living organ, shooting gouts of fire and water and air throughout the condensing, gigantic form.

Abruptly, two arms took shape, each as large around as Ankhar’s waist. They were capped by fists of black rock, attached to the huge torso by seething tendrils of black cloud. The half-giant almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of trying to subdue those great limbs with the tiny manacles, toylike, that Hoarst was now raising in the air.

“It is time!” cried Laka, her shrill voice somehow piercing the thunderous commotion-almost as if she had spoken directly into the minds of Ankhar and Hoarst.

The magic-user shouted out some arcane phrase that was immediately swallowed by the din. He held aloft the two measly rings of metal. But the manacles glowed brightly and caught the attention of the fire-eyed giant. Its mouth gaped, a cavernous maw that sucked in air like a vortex, sweeping Ankhar off his feet and sending Hoarst, clutching his manacles, lurching forward toward that ravenous orifice.

The mighty creature’s two fists swung together, down toward the Thorn Knight, a blow that would inevitably crush the magic-user to jelly. Ankhar felt awe at the human’s courage, to face such a fate without quailing. He himself was ready to turn and run, uncaring of the steep hillside or the burning lake at ground level. The half-giant was doomed, for certain, and the only choice he had was to select the manner of his death.

Instead of fleeing, however, he continued to stare, rapt and horrified, as the creature’s mighty fists swept toward the Thorn Knight. As they did, the glowing bracelets changed, surprisingly; they were still shooting beams of golden light, but they had grown huge all of a sudden and were great hoops outstretched in the magic-user’s hands. Then, in a flash too quick for Ankhar’s eye to follow, the manacles were gone from Hoarst’s grasp, magically transported to clap themselves around the arcane giant’s wrists.

In that same instant the great gale of noise fell away, utterly vanquished by the power of Hoarst’s spell. The monstrous creature still stood before them, but its mouth was closed, its blazing eyes banked. The thing raised its two great fists, staring in stupefaction at the golden rings that encircled its arms and compelled its obedience.

A groan sounded in the stillness. The Thorn Knight, pale and trembling, was swaying on unsteady legs, and Ankhar quickly stepped to his side, grabbing him before he collapsed.

Laka, overjoyed by their success, launched into a frenzied, primitive dance, gyrating around the shackled monster and calling out praises in the name of the Prince of Lies.

Ankhar lowered the unconscious Hoarst to the ground and looked up at their new slave, the king of the elementals, a mighty recruit for his surely now-invincible horde.

Laka grinned triumphantly at her son, making a dismissive gesture toward the Thorn Knight, stretched on the ground. The magic-user would recover soon enough.

She produced a small box, studded with bright rubies, and opened the lid. She hurried to each of the four pedestals to collect a bit of residue from each, scraping it into her box. She placed that box between the mighty feet of the elemental king, and it slowly began to shrink, as if the entirety of that massive form was being sucked into the little container. In just a few breaths, indeed, the monstrous being had disappeared, and all that was visible, when Ankhar peered down into the box, were the two metal rings, circlets again small enough that they would have looked comfortably sized around his stepmother’s thin, bony wrists. She lifted the sparkling red box and handed it to the half-giant.

He gazed upon it in wonder. Ankhar muttered in pleasure, “The walls of Solanthus will not stand for long.”