Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (61 page)

 
          
Kedryn
threw Drul’s glaive onto die pebbles and sprang after it, snatching at the dory
as it threatened to depart on the maelstrom. Tepshen caught up what little food
they had left and leapt to join him, followed dose by Brannoc. Kedryn let go
his hold and watched the dory carried away, turning, once, twice, three times,
before the flood smashed it against the isthmus and the planks cracked, the
craft sinking as it was born away. Brannoc held out the cords that nightly
bound him, a sad smile on his haunted features as he said, “Do not forget
these. You will need them again.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, taking the cords and tucking them under his belt. He looked about,
feeling sweat run free down his face, his shirt plastered to his back. The heat
was intense and the stench of sulfur stronger, but it seemed they were
sufficiently close to the fire-breathing mountains for the rain of heated stone
to be spewed farther out, saving them at least one danger. The beach spread
back along the line of the isthmus, a wide triangle that sloped upward to its
apex, a path showing there. For want of any other likely direction they took
it.

 
          
The
pebbles gave way to polished stone, black and shiny as glass, an avenue that
rose between saw-edged rocks, winding up toward the ominous hills. It was
smooth beneath their boots but still the going was difficult for the terrible
heat seared their lungs, the acid stench of sulfur watering their eyes. They
fastened cloths over mouths and nostrils, forcing legs made rubbery by the
stinking atmosphere to plod the trail. Speaking was impossible for all their
efforts were concentrated on the business of climbing through the miasmic fog
of falling ash that now surrounded them. It grew denser as they ascended and
they walked close together, fearful of becoming separated and of the dangers
that might lurk with the brume.

 
          
How
long they climbed Kedryn could not tell, for his world was become gray, the
only light the burning sky above, his eyes so stung by the noisome emissions he
could see no farther than a few paces ahead, could barely discern Tepshen and
Brannoc to either side. He felt his lungs must bum within him, each breath a
painful victory, each step an effort that cost him dear. To pass a night in
this hellish inferno was a thought both terrifying and inconceivable, for he
imagined the dawn, if dawn rose here, must see them suffocated beneath the pall
of ash, roasted by the very ground he could feel burning through the sturdy
soles of his boots. He clutched the talisman, seeking its reassurance, willing
it to grant him strength, but the touch disturbed him now, for he felt again
that strange difference in the stone’s crystalline life and fear for Wynett joined
the physical discomforts of the climb.

 
          
Then
he grunted, raising a hand to wipe at his tear-filled eyes, staring into the
gray and fiery fog. Tepshen and Brannoc looked to him as he halted and pointed,
unable to speak, indicating the wall of stone that rose before them.

 
          
It
was a curtain of sheer rock, dark and glossy as the trail, as if stone had
melted and run, sleek and devoid of handholds, the glassy black trail ending at
its foot. He felt his hope dissolve then, for there was
no
way around the barrier nor
any way over it, and with the dory sunk they
had no means of escape from this hellish place. He mouthed a curse through the
cloth masking his face and paced a little closer, his hands raised in fists as
if he would beat the stone. Then the curse became a hoarse cry of optimism as
red light blazed within the darkness of the cliff face and he realized that a
cave opened there.

 
          
He
put his mouth close to Tepshen’s ear, shouting over the relentless roaring of
the fires above, “Can this be Taziel’s cave?”

 
          
The
kyo nodded, unsheathing his sword as he moved into the looming opening. Kedryn
followed him, Drul’s great blade at the ready, Brannoc at his side with saber
drawn.

 
          
Flame
flashed again and a searing wind rushed through the tunnel, bringing the beat
of metal on metal. They moved toward it, the cave affording protection from the
endless fell of ash if not from the heat, which became stronger as they paced
cautiously down a corridor of gleaming ebon stone.

 
          
The
corridor ended and they stood within a great cavern, lit by the flames that
gouted from a molten pool at the center. An anvil stood there and beside it a
malformed, trollish creature
who
beat a massive hammer
against the block. He turned, sensing their presence, revealing a face that
seemed ill-molded from unready clay. His pate was naked, the pink of raw flesh,
domed huge, with thrusting brows that hung above tiny red eyes sunk deep in
hollow pits, as if pushed there by careless thumbs. His nose was no more than
an indication, a slight swelling marked by the vertical slits that flared wide
open as though he savored their scent. The mouth was lipless, a wide, flat gash
that parted in ghastly approximation of a smile to display twin rows of
blackened, pointed teeth. He had no neck, his head jutting forward between
enormous shoulders, his arms and chest massive and corded with muscle, the
torso incongruous on a narrow waist, the legs bowed and spindly, ending in
overlarge feet, the toes clawed, as were the hands that now set down his
hammer.

 
          
“Human
folk,” he declared, the words a slobber that sent spittle dripping over his
receded chin. “Living folk come to feed Taziel.”

 
          
Kedryn
tugged the mask clear and answered the creature: “Come to ask work of Taziel.”

 
          
“Work?”
The distorted head twisted against the torso,
turning first to left, then right, the glittering eyes studying each in turn.
“What task would human folk have Ashar’s smith perform?”

 
          
He
chuckled as he said it, spilling gobbets of saliva over his pink hide, his
obscene form shaking, a long, gray tongue emerging to lick over his ragged
teeth.

 
          
“I
would have you set this stone as pommel to this sword.”

 
          
Kedryn
indicated Drul’s glaive, drew the talisman from his shirt. Taziel’s laughter
ended, his little eyes blinking as though in disbelief; or amazement at
Kedryn’s presumption. “Drul’s blade,” he croaked. “I forged that glaive on my
master’s bidding that his word be carried on its edge. How came you by it?”

 
          
“Drul’s
shade gave it me,” Kedryn answered.

 
          
“So,”
rasped Taziel. “And what price did Drul’s bones extract?”

 
          
“A
fair exchange: my sword for his.”

 
          
Taziel
nodded as best he could and said, “The stone is of the other. It is a thing of
my master’s enemy. I feel its power and it makes me angry.”

 
          
“It
is Kyrie’s stone,” returned Kedryn, “and if you will set it to the sword I
shall remove it from your presence.”

 
          
“To
what end?” Taziel demanded.

 
          
“Your
master has my bride,” Kedryn said, “and I would win her back.”

 
          
“You
would have me forge you a weapon with which you may destroy my master,” came
the hoarse response. “How came you by the stone?”

 
          
“It
was given me,” Kedryn answered. “The Sisters of Estrevan gave me one half, my
bride the other.”

 
          
“Given?”
Taziel’s tongue extended to probe a nostril. “You gave nothing in exchange?”

 
          
Kedryn
shook his head, struggling to conceal his disgust. “I accepted a duty,” he
said, thinking that he saw it clear for perhaps the first time. “When I took
the stone I accepted that I should defend the Kingdoms.”

 
          
Taziel
grunted, the sound expressing satisfaction: “Nothing for nothing, all has its
price.”

 
          
“What
is yours?” Kedryn asked.

 
          
The
trollish creature stared at him and Kedryn felt that had his mouth been capable
of such movement it would have curved in a smile, and that the smile would be
ugly.

 
          
“A
life,” said Taziel.

 
          
“No!”
Kedryn had no need to consider his response.

 
          
“Then
you shall not have your sword,” croaked the smith, “and you all die here and I
shall feast on your flesh.”

 
          
“Ask
some other fee,” Kedryn pleaded.

 
          
Taziel’s
head rocked from side to side. “There is no other. All has its price and that
is mine. When I forged that blade for Drul to bear he gave nine times nine
lives to the blood eagle. Of you I ask but one.”

 
          
“It
cannot be,” Kedryn said.

 
          
“Wait.”
Brannoc moved past him, his face haggard in the red glow of the molten pool.
“Should you have your price, smith, you will grant this service?”

 
          
Kedryn
clutched at the half-breed’s arm, saying, “No!” Brannoc shook him off, his
haunted eyes firm on Taziel’s hideous features. Taziel said, “I will.”

 
          
Brannoc
said, “And if it is done, how may he come to Ashar?”

 
          
“Easily,”
said Taziel. “Let stone be fixed to sword and the way will open there.”

 
          
He
pointed to
the for
side of the cavern, where a dark
mouth showed.

 
          
"That
leads to Ashar’s lair?” asked Brannoc. “He may reach your master through that
passage?”

 
          
Taziel’s
head bobbed in confirmation.

 
          
“Unharmed?
Without hindrance or snare?”

 
          
“You
ask much,” the smith complained, “but it is long since I tasted sweet human
flesh so I will answer you: aye; unharmed to Ashar he will go. But,” he
chuckled horribly, “he shall not return.”

 
          
“Then
ply your forge," Brannoc said, “and you shall have your price.”

 
          
"No!”
Kedryn shouted. “Brannoc, I
command you! We find some other way. ”

 
          
“There
is none other.” Brannoc turned to face Kedryn, speaking low, his tone urgent.
“You know that well as I. Without stone and sword as one you may not defeat
Ashar; may not save Wynett. This foul creature is the only one who may perform
this task and he will not without his price.”

 
          
“Still
I forbid it,” Kedryn said.

 
          
A
ghost of his old smile flickered on Brannoc’s lips and he sheathed his saber to
place his hands on Kedryn’s shoulders. “I am damned,” he said gently. “The
succuba’s poison flows in my veins and makes me . . . what I become by night. I
am a danger to you, and I have no wish to live as some were-creature, some
monster that my friends must fear and bind by moon’s rise. That is no life,
Kedryn. I would sooner end it, and in this way I am able to further your
purpose.”

 
          
Kedryn
shook his head and Brannoc turned to Tepshen. ‘Tell him it is the only way, my
friend,” he asked. “Do we refuse the price and we shall, as the smith says, die
here.
Uselessly.”

 
          
Tepshen
studied the half-breed with solemn eyes. He set a hand to Brannoc’s wrist,
squeezing. “I have never doubted your courage, wolf’s-head, but this is more
than courage.”

 
          
“Do
you say aye or nay to it?” Brannoc demanded.

 
          
Sadness
entered Tepshen’s gaze then and he nodded. “I say aye.”

           
Again Kedryn said, “No!” and Brannoc
embraced him.

           
“It is the only way. I have no wish
to live cursed, and thus may I aid you.”