The Qualinesti

7 — The Black Amulet

“Clear Away, clear away there! Do you want to be mashed to jelly? Get out!” The dwarf overseer, Lugrim, bellowed down at one of the workers pushing a granite block ten feet long, eight feet wide, and six feet high. It didn’t help the grunt gang that the rotund dwarf stood on top of the block, adding his own weight to their overall burden. The block was sliding slowly down an earthen ramp. Other workers, human and half-human boys, skipped back and forth in front of the stone, sweeping the wave of displaced dirt out of the way with shovels and rakes. Theirs was a dangerous job; the block could not be stopped once in motion, and if the boys got caught or fell while sweeping, the stone would crush them. Only the most nimble worked as sweepers. Ulvian was embedded in a mass of sweating, straining bodies, his hands flat on the block and his bare toes dug into the dirt. The red rain had stopped just two days before. Its remains were evident all over Pax Tharkas in the form of crimson puddles, and now the damp soil gripped like glue. Five days he had been at Pax Tharkas. Five days of exhaustion, toil, and fear.

“Push, you laggards!” Lugrim exhorted. “My old mother could push harder than you!”

“I knew your mother,” Dru shot back quickly, face to the ground as he strained. “Her breath could move solid rock!”

The overseer turned and glared in the direction from which the voice had come. A squat fellow, even by dwarven standards, he could barely see over his thick, fur-wrapped belly. “Who said that?” he demanded, his eyes darting over the gang.

“All together, lads,” grunted Splint. As one, the convicts gave a hard, sudden shove. The block slid forward, skewing to the left. The dwarf atop the stone lost his footing and toppled over the side. He let out a loud “oof!” and lay stunned. The block ground inexorably onward.

Merith appeared, elegantly clad in burnished armor and a fur mantle, his fair hair clean and neatly combed. Helping the fallen dwarf to his feet, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Aye.” Lugrim braced his arms against his back and winced, then turned ponderously to face the grunt gang, who were watching him. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, scum?”

“Yes, Master Lugrim,” they replied in unison, sing-songing their words like naughty children.

Merith easily picked out Ulvian in the crowd of twenty convicts. The prince didn’t meet his glance but kept his legs driving forward in the blood-colored mud. In spite of his growing blond beard, the marks of his beating by Splint still showed. Gossip had told Merith what happened, but the warrior refused to intervene. Kith-Kanan’s son had hard lessons to learn if he was to survive.

Below the pinnacle where Merith stood, the two square tower keeps that were the innermost defense of the fortress rose to unequal heights. Construction on the west tower was farther along than on the east. Its parapets were already in place. From this distance, Merith could see tiny figures walking on them and on the great wall that connected the two towers.

The camp was situated in the valley behind the fortress. In front of the citadel, farther down the pass, two curtain walls had been erected as the first lines of defense against any attacker. Tall, single gates of hammered bronze were the only openings in the walls. They stood open now, propped apart by huge timber balks. Workers and artisans poured in and out like streams of ants around a bowl of fruit.

Looking down on all this, Merith could well believe the completion of Pax Tharkas was not far away. A year, perhaps less. Feldrin Feldspar had done a magnificent job, building the citadel not only quickly but also well.

The night before, the master builder had shown him detailed drawings of the underground galleries that were being hollowed out of the mountainside beneath each tower. Enough food and water to last for years could be stored there, making Pax Tharkas resistant to any siege. An elaborate throne room, suitable for either the King of Thorbardin or the Speaker of the Sun, was also being constructed. Details such as these might take a few more years to finish, but the basic fortress would be ready to occupy much sooner than that.

A shadow fell across Merith; a cloud had covered the sun. As he turned from his study of the fortress, tiny particles peppered his face, and he inhaled grit. Vibrations tingled the soles of his shoes. It was an odd, tickling sensation, and Merith shifted his weight, looking down at his boots. Then he became aware of a deep humming sound, like the bass drums the priests of E’li sometimes played during festivals. The dust cloud was thickening. Below, workers scrambled in confusion.

“Landslide!” someone shouted.

Merith whirled and saw behind and to his left what he had only felt before. Boulders and rain-soaked chunks of wet soil were rolling down the east face of the mountain. Paralyzed, the elf warrior could only stare in amazement as tons of rock and dirt hurtled toward the quarries in the high pass. The noise increased to a deafening roar, and the ground shook so that he lost his footing and fell.

Screams filled the air, piercing the thunder of the avalanche. Merith rolled about like a pea shaken in its pod. He clawed at the stony earth, trying to keep his balance.

The landslide hit the pass. Rock chips and boulders flew, crushing everything they hit. Merith watched helplessly as a huge stone bowled over half a dozen quarry workers. A pall of reddish dust descended over the scene. The roar faded. The sobbing of the terrified and injured was everywhere.

“Help!” A loud cry sliced through the moans of the injured and dying. “Help, somebody! Help me!”

Merith stumbled to his feet and ran down the earthen ramp. The overseer was lying on the path on this side of the block. The convicts had scattered, as had the sweeper boys. Merith knelt beside the dwarf. Lugrim had an ugly, bleeding gash on his forehead. His heart beat strongly, however, so the elf warrior knew he was only knocked unconscious.

“Help, in the names of the gods! The stone is moving!” The shout came again, nearer this time. Merith looked up and caught his breath in a gasp. The severe vibrations from the landslide had twisted the path of the granite block. It was teetering on the edge of the ramp, and people lay prostrate in the very shadow of the rock.

Merith left the dwarf where he lay. A few paces closer, he saw two gang members close to the block. One was a Silvanesti he didn’t know; the other was Prince Ulvian. The prince’s pant leg was caught under the block! The granite had run over his trailing hem and was dragging him along. Only one of his comrades remained behind to help him.

“Merithynos! Help me!” screamed Ulvian. He kicked vainly at the huge stone with his left leg. His other was hard against the rock. The block crept forward on its own, driven by the slope of the ramp and its skewed position. In another yard or two, it would be far enough off the ramp that it would topple over on its side. Anything or anyone in its way would be crushed.

Merith and the Silvanesti pulled on Ulvian’s arms, trying to tear him free. The prince’s forester clothing was made of deerhide and was very tough. The warrior drew his knife and sawed at the leather. Too slow, too slow!

“Do something!” Ulvian pleaded, tears streaking his face.

“I’m trying, Your Highness!” Merith replied. The other elf stiffened for a moment, staring at Merith.

The lieutenant sawed harder at the deerhide and finally succeeded in making a small slit.

The block ground a sweeper’s broom into the stony ramp. The crushing sound of the wooden handle being pulverized sent fresh paroxysms of terror through the prince. “Please don’t let me die!” he groaned piteously. “Save me, Merith, Dru!”

The enormous cube of granite wobbled on the edge of the ramp. Merith cursed and tore at the leather pants with his hands. Ulvian’s lower body already hung over the rim of the ramp, while he was pinned on his back.

The Silvanesti, Dru, grabbed Merith by his cloak and dragged him away. “Go to the tent of Feldrin Feldspar,” he shouted at the warrior’s horrified face. “Get the onyx ring he keeps on a thong around his neck!” When Merith continued to regard him with utter incomprehension, Dru shook him and roared, “Go now, if you hope to save your royal charge!”

Merith scrambled up the ramp and sprinted toward the master builder’s tent. Mobs of dazed workers clustered around it, seeking Feldrin’s attention. Merith had to whip out his sword in order to convince them to part to let him through.

Feldrin stood at the door of his hut, a cold wet cloth pressed to his head. He took it away and dipped it in a bowl of fresh water. There was a goose-egg-size bruise over his left eye.

“Quick! Give me the ring!” Merith demanded.

“What?” rumbled Feldrin. Merith thrust a hand into the dwarf’s collar and found the onyx ring on a thong, just as Dru had said. It was made of black crystal, slightly larger than a finger ring, square cut, with odd glyphs engraved around the edge. Just then a shriek pierced the air. Merith yanked the ring from Feldrin’s neck and took off at a run. The master builder bellowed for him to stop.

If the prince dies, it will be my fault, Merith thought desperately. Not only Ulvian, but also perhaps the entire dynasty of the House of Silvanos might come to an end under that block of gray stone. Dru was a few feet from the block, kneeling, his eyes mere slits, his hands clasped around the four-inch-long cylinder of onyx he constantly carried with him. Ulvian was calling out to the gods, begging for a merciful, quick death. As Merith approached, he saw the near end of the stone begin to lift off the ramp, about to topple over.

“Here!” he cried, thrusting the black crystal ring into Dru’s fingers. The elf’s eyes snapped open. Not even the terror of the moment could overcome Merith’s shock at seeing the Silvanesti’s eyes. They were solid black, with no white at all.

Dru took the ring from the thong and fitted the cylinder of onyx into its center hole. The result was an object that looked very much like a child’s top—indeed, Dru balanced the two onyx pieces on the tip of the cylinder and removed his hand. The piece didn’t topple over, but instead began to spin. All by itself.

A roaring filled Merith’s ears. The air above the spinning top coalesced into a tight vortex, like a miniature whirlwind. Dust whirled and spun, caught up by the racing air. Dru rose to his feet and walked straight into the vortex. Merith, trying vainly to shield his face from the flying grit, was pressed backward. Invisible hands shoved him to his knees and then onto his back. It was as if lumps of stone had been laid across his chest. He could barely move his head, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

Through a haze of flying dirt, Merith saw Dru step up to the granite block and, with his bare hands, turn it over! The black-eyed elf simply grasped the lower edge of the stone and lifted it, with no more strain than shifting an empty barrel. The block slammed down on the ramp. Ulvian was saved!

Dimly Merith saw figures move past him. Feldrin Feldspar, walking jerkily, slowly, went straight to where the onyx top still rotated. The dwarf pulled a sparkling silver cloth from a small leather pouch and dropped it on the top.

Instantly the tremendous magical force dissipated. Blessed air filled Merith’s lungs with a rush. His straining muscles, freed from the terrible force, slackened, and he lay limply on the ground. Through a pounding headache, he discovered a dampness on his face that proved to be a nosebleed. Painfully he sat up.

Armed overseers seized Dru and shoved him to the ground. A large wooden fork was thrust around his neck, pinning him to the dirt. Ulvian dragged himself to the elf who had saved his life and demanded in a weak voice that Dru be released.

“That cannot be done,” Feldrin said, grimly surveying the area. “He could slay us all.”

Workers and artisans had gathered in a crowd around the scene. Feldrin bent down and scooped up the silver cloth and onyx top, being careful to keep the black crystals wrapped in the shiny covering. Merith hauled himself to his feet and stood swaying.

“Come with me” Feldrin told him. “The rest of you, return to your tents! The healers will come and tend to your injuries!”

Feeling quite battered, Merith sluggishly followed Feldrin back to his tent. The master builder put the onyx pieces and silver cloth in a small golden box and locked it. Then he poured the grateful lieutenant a mug of Qualinesti nectar. Merith gulped it down.

“That was a very dangerous thing you did,” Feldrin said, crossing his powerful arms over his broad chest.

The room still seemed to Merith to be spinning like the magical onyx top, and he put a hand to his head. “I don’t understand,” he protested.

“That elf is Drulethen, the infamous sorcerer. For fifty years, he ruled a portion of the Kharolis Mountains from his hidden keep, and he used his terrible magic to kill and enslave anyone who passed by. Finally, the King of Thorbardin led an expedition of elves and dwarves against him. The clerics managed to defeat his spells only with great difficulty, but the warriors were finally able to storm the keep and take him prisoner.”

Merith’s mug was empty, and Feldrin refilled it. “It was discovered that his power was chiefly invested in a simple onyx amulet. When that was taken away, he was powerless. We didn’t know about the other piece of onyx. Drulethen must’ve kept it hidden for just such an occasion.”

The nectar was sweet and strong. It sent strength coursing through Merith’s veins as his head cleared. “But—he saved the prince!”

Feldrin sighed gustily. “Yes, thank Reorx! I don’t know why he did it, but I can’t fault his deed.”

“Why don’t you destroy the amulet? Or send it to Thorbardin, or somewhere else where Dru can’t possibly get at it?”

Feldrin smote the table top with his fist. “That’s the trouble! We can’t! My king originally took the ring to his palace in Thorbardin. While it was in his possession, he was so wracked by illness and his sleep so tormented by dreadful nightmares that in desperation he sent it back to me.” The master builder lowered his voice, though they were alone in the tent. “You see, my friend, the amulet is alive. It sometimes talks to mortals, and indeed there are those who say it was fashioned by the Queen of Darkness herself. It cannot be destroyed. Only the silver cloth can confine it once its power has been unleashed.”

Merith asked about the cloth. “One of the most sacred relics of my people,” Feldrin informed him. “No less than a scrap of hide from the Silver Dragon, the same one who loved and fought with the great human warrior Huma Dragonsbane.”

This revelation stunned the already woozy Merith. “By the gods,” he breathed. “I had no idea who or what I was dealing with! My only thought was to save the prince!”

“No harm done, young warrior.” Feldrin put a hand on Merith’s shoulder. “The Speaker of the Sun and the King of Thorbardin made a bargain to put the evil Drulethen to work. Personally, I would have struck his head off, but my royal master believes he can use the sorcerer’s knowledge for his own benefit, and the great and wise Kith-Kanan thinks he can actually reform Drulethen!” Feldrin shook his head. “The Speaker is always trying to improve his enemies.”

“Aye,” Merith agreed. “Ofttimes I have heard him say, ‘I used to kill my foes; now I make them my friends. A warrior needs as few enemies as possible, but a Speaker needs as many friends as he can make’.”

The barracks were quiet, save for the coughs of sleeping grunt gang members trying to expel the dust they’d breathed all day. Ulvian lay on his side, wide awake. Aside from some scrapes and an aching right leg, he was essentially unharmed by his brush with death, yet he could not sleep. Over and over he replayed the scene—the block teetering above him, Dru pushing it aside with his bare hands, the awesome presence of the power in the black crystal.

The prince sat up, wincing as his wrenched muscles protested. He padded on bare feet to Dru’s bed. Peering through the darkness, the prince realized his savior was not lying down but sitting with his knees drawn up to his smooth chin.

“Dru?” he whispered. “I need to talk to you.”

“If you answer one question for me. Are you in truth the son of Speaker Kith-Kanan?” Ulvian admitted he was. “I knew the Speaker had some half-human children,” Dru, said softly. A gruff voice nearby rumbled a demand for silence. The sorcerer rose and took Ulvian by the arm. He led the prince to the relatively open area by the water barrel, where they could talk more freely.

“I won’t forget your deed,” Ulvian began.

“I should hope not.” Dru said dryly. He smiled, his teeth showing white in the darkness. “We are a natural pair of allies, are we not? A prince and a sorcerer, both sentenced to labor on this ridiculous mausoleum, both required to hide their true identities.”

Dru lifted a dipperful of water to his lips. Once he’d taken a long drink, he asked, “What did you do to end up in such a place, Your Highness? Why did your infamously just father send you here to work like a dog?”

With some hemming and hawing, Ulvian explained his activities as a slave trader.

“It was a harmless diversion,” he insisted. “A few wealthy traders approached me and asked for my patronage. I had influence and knew warriors who could be bribed to look the other way. It was a mere lark, an adventure to keep boredom at bay, but my enemies in Qualinost used my capture as an excuse to exile me!” His voice rose until Dru had to quiet him. “I will reclaim what is rightfully mine,” the prince finished darkly. “I will fulfill my destiny!”

Dru squatted and began to idly trace elaborate designs in the dirt floor. Curving lines, loops, and squares took shape. “What enemies do you have, my prince? Who are they?”

Ulvian hunkered down across from his friend and said, “There is my sister, Verhanna, for one. The old castellan, Tamanier Ambrodel, thinks I’m immoral and wicked, and his son, General Lord Kemian Ambrodel, believes he is better suited to be Speaker than I. There is an old Kagonesti senator, Irthenie by name, who—”

“I see.”

Dru brushed the designs away with his hand. “I think we should make common cause, Your Highness. Your father and the king of the dwarves put me here. I’ve had to keep my true identity hidden because some of the elves and dwarves we work alongside would kill me if they knew who I really was.” The sorcerer thrust his face close to Ulvian’s. “Together we can escape this place and regain the power and position we are destined to have.”

“Escape?” Ulvian echoed weakly. “I-I can’t. My father will declare me an outlaw if I flee the country.”

“Who said anything about fleeing the country? You and I will go to Qualinost. There must be nobles, senators, and clerics who favor you, my prince. We’ll rally them round you and demand a pardon. What do you say?”

Ulvian rubbed his palms together. Despite the cool mountain air, his hands were damp with sweat. “I-I don’t know,” he said faintly. Much as he loathed his current situation, the prince realized that such a plan was risky at best. “When would we leave?” Ulvian asked hesitantly.

“This very night,” Dru said, and Ulvian actually started at the abrupt words. “Both parts of my amulet are in camp. We can break into Feldrin’s tent and get them. Then no power within a hundred miles can stop us.”

The prince sank back slowly on his haunches. Bracing himself with his hands, he said, “Feldrin won’t just hand—”

“With your help, I’ll kill the old stonebreaker,” the sorcerer snapped.

“No.” Ulvian stood up, looking around nervously. “I can’t do that. I can’t murder Feldrin. I plan to be vindicated and pardoned. I won’t murder my way to freedom.”

Dru stood and shrugged expressively. “As you wish, my prince. I’ve been here for many years, you only a short time. After you’ve broken your back working on this damn fortress for a while longer, perhaps you’ll change your mind.”

Ulvian was about to reply when Dru’s head suddenly snapped around, as if he’d heard a strange noise. He held up one hand to forestall Ulvian’s words. “Wait,” he said. “Something’s amiss.”

Ulvian followed the sorcerer to one of the two windows in the barracks. It seemed brighter outside than it should be this late at night. As they watched, it grew brighter still. The outline of the camp became clearer. Silhouetted tents gained distinct features. To Ulvian’s astonishment, the sun appeared in the sky directly overhead. At first, only a faint red glow was visible, but then it blazed more and more brilliantly until the mountain pass was bathed in the full light of noon.

“What—what’s happening?” Ulvian cried, shading his squinting eyes from the sudden glare.

Dru stroked his dirty, pointed chin. “Someone is tampering with the balance of nature,” he said coolly. “Someone—or something—very powerful.”

Men and dwarves emerged from their huts to stare at the bright sky and scratch their heads in wonderment. By the water clocks, it was still two hours till sunrise, yet sunlight flooded the tents.

Dust from the landslide tinted the sky over the Kharolis Mountains rusty red. The gritty fog hung in the still air, unmoving. The day after the avalanche, the sun burned like an orange ball through the haze. It hung fixed at the peak of the heavens. As measured by notched candles and water clocks, several hours had passed, yet the sun had never budged.

“Master Lugrim, what o’clock is it?” called Ulvian to the overseer, whose face was hidden by a dripping dipper of cool water.

Lugrim poured the last few drops on his brow, which was already wet with sweat. “Nigh time to work again,” he growled. “Are you men or camels? How much do you plan to drink?”

“I’m no man,” Splint said acidly, “and I’ll drink how I please.”

“ ‘Tis fearful hot,” added a human named Brunnar in a thick Ergothic accent.

Six hours had passed since the sun’s abrupt appearance, and the temperature had been growing steadily warmer. The air was unusually dead; no breeze wafted through the pass, and no clouds shielded the workers from the sun. Only the ever-present dust diffused the sunlight, coating the workers’ sweltering bodies.

At Feldrin Feldspar’s hut, a crowd of overseers and guild masters had formed. There was much debate over the strange sunrise. Some in the group insisted that work be halted until the heat abated, while others argued that work should continue.

“Our covenant with the Speaker of the Sun calls for us to work till sunset,” the chief mason complained. “We must honor our pledge.”

“Our people can’t work forever,” objected the leader of the carpenters’ guild.

“Quiet, you shortsighted fools!” rumbled Feldrin, waving his hands over his head. “The sun hasn’t moved for hours. Merciful Reorx! A calamity is upon us, and you quibble about schedules and quotas!”

The overseers and masters lapsed into embarrassed silence. Merith appeared and stood on the fringe of the crowd. He’d shed his armor in the heat and wore a lightweight white tunic and baggy gray trousers.

“This must be yet another of the wonders,” said the elf warrior. “Like the darkness, the lightning, and the scarlet rain.”

That set off a fresh wave of contention in the group. Feldrin let them argue a while, then shouted for quiet again.

The chief mason wailed, “What are we to do!”

“Collect all the fresh water you can,” ordered Feldrin. “Fill every pot and jar in Pax Tharkas. Tell the sewing women to make canopies—very large canopies. We will erect them over the quarry walls to shade the workers.”

The master builder loosened his fur mantle and let it fall to the ground. “Let it be done. And tell everyone to get rid of his heavy garments!”

“Do we resume work?” asked Lugrim.

“In two hours, by the water clock.”

Feldrin’s assistants dispersed to carry out his bidding. The trumpets blew, signaling an end to work, and every worker in the pass hurried indoors, out of the broiling sun. Feldrin and Merith watched the teeming site become a ghost fortress in a matter of minutes. The last people in sight were the dwarves who had been working on the parapet of the west tower. They secured their hoist and winch, then ducked inside the massive stone structure. For some time after that, the hoist swung to and fro, the block and tackle creaking loudly.

The sight of the sun-baked, lifeless fortress bothered the master builder. It was unnerving. In a gloomy tone, he said as much to the lieutenant.

“Why so, my lord?” asked Merith, surprised.

“The other marvels were like conjurer’s tricks—they seemed mysterious and impressive, but they were essentially harmless. This is different. A few days of unrelieved sun could be the end of us all.”

Feldrin dabbed sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his yellow linen shirt. “I can’t help but wonder who has the power to do this. Who can stop the course of the sun itself through the sky?”

“Drulethen?” the lieutenant suggested.

“Certainly not,” Feldrin said firmly. “Even if he possessed both halves of his evil talisman, he could never do such a thing.” The dwarf shook his head. I wonder if even the gods themselves…”

“Nothing is beyond the gods,” Merith replied reverently.

“Perhaps. Perhaps.”

The dwarf picked up his discarded cloak and draped it over one arm. Already his salt-and-pepper hair was clinging to his damp face. With a sigh, he said, “I shall retire indoors now. Can’t have my brain getting scrambled in this blasted sun.”

“A wise notion, master. I shall do likewise.”

Elf and dwarf parted company. Merith crossed the winding road to the fortress site alone, the only living thing moving through the entire construction site. Overhead, the hoist continued to sway and creak. The lieutenant thought it a mournful, lonely sound.