The House of Yeel (5 page)

“Whatever pleases you, my
Lord Yeel,” Jymoor answered. The traveler spoke sparingly, Yeel
thought. Was all her race so loathe to speak?

Yeel considered the idea for
a moment longer before dismissing it. Although beautiful, it wasn’t
important enough to remember. There might soon be vital matters to
commit to memory.

“Lead the way, Jymoor. I
don’t remember where your kind…your people…make their homes.
Although surely you build your cities in places that meet certain
basic criteria. I could attempt to locate your home without
assistance, should you so prefer.”

“No, my lord. I am more than
happy to show you the way. Will you follow me?”

“That depends. I’ll follow
you for the moment, with the understanding that you are leading me
to your nation.”

“Um…very well my Lord,” said
Jymoor. Yeel thought the girl didn’t sound very
confident.

Jymoor turned and started
down the bluff. The twisting, ragged trail wound down toward the
trees that grew to the edge of the Far Coast. Yeel observed the
peculiar wobble of the biped before him for a moment and then
followed with his own smooth undulation. The wide base of his
support foot knocked stones aside and smashed the grass flat as he
passed.

Yeel looked beyond Jymoor and realized that a
diminutive man awaited them at the edge of the trees. The figure
watched Jymoor and Yeel carefully. The person wore tattered rags, a
mixture of once-fine silks and dyed fabrics that had faded in the
sun and become soiled with age.

Jymoor spotted the man a few moments later,
and she came to a halt. It looked like she was about to call out a
greeting when Yeel spoke.

“Faverhind, of the Meridalae,” he said. Here
was one that Yeel had been forced to take the effort to remember.
It would have been too dangerous to do otherwise.

“Yeel. Formerly of the
Meridalae. You remember me. I’m flattered.”

“Truly, I had estimated your
demise to be the highest probability given the absence of the
harapins which you oversaw. I see that in this case the improbable
has occurred, an unfortunate turn of events for me to be sure.” As
Yeel spoke one of his tentacles wormed its way into his reagent
pack. He covered the movement by planting the idea that he
scratched his beard in his observer’s minds.

“You thought me dead? As it happens, two
large firkir serpents, a mated pair, stumbled upon the aerie.” The
twisted old man massaged his bandaged arm. “It was quite a battle,
I assure you.”

As Faverhind finished speaking, a thin ring
of green flame snapped into being around him, floating in the air
at the level of his chest. He cast a bone onto the ground at his
side.

“You do appear to have degenerated somewhat
since our last encounter. It is unfortunate that you did not find
yourself eaten, consumed, down the gullet of one of those noble
reptiles,” Yeel ranted. “Without you, the universe would have
spiraled to ever greater heights I have no doubt. I contemplate no
other result of the termination of your existence.”

As Yeel spoke, Faverhind formed complex
sigils with his hands and muttered to himself. The green flame ring
left the wizard and floated above the bone on the ground.

“The years have not shortened your tongue,
Yeel,” Faverhind growled. The old man slipped his good arm into a
fold of his ragged garment.

A dense shadow began to form
in the ring of fire. The silhouette formed into a sinister shape
with broad shoulders and a horned head. Jymoor stood rigid and
stared, her eyes wide. Yeel’s tentacle had found its goal in his
reagent pack, and he launched into a tirade to cover his
action.

“I see no reason to limit
one’s speech. Don’t you find it liberating to fully express
yourself at your leisure, without concern for self-imposed
boundaries on your means of expression? Better too much said than
not enough, that’s my view on the subject. Speak and speak more, as
silence is an abhorrent abyss lacking thought and
reason!”

At the end of this diatribe,
Yeel found himself talking to two slumped bodies. The shadow being
snarled. It fixed its eyes of green flame onto Yeel for a moment,
then began to fade. The eyes sank toward the ground as the shadow
body evaporated, guttering then disappearing as they struck the
ground.

A loud snore erupted from Jymoor. His
sleeping formula had worked rapidly, rendering the nearby
mammalians helpless.

“I’ve beaten you this time,
Faverhind,” Yeel said. “So very different from last time…so ends my
imprisonment…and yours begins.”

***

Jymoor stirred, opening her eyes ever so
slightly. Bright sunlight poured past her lids. It must be the
middle of the day, she thought.

“Erm. Hmm,” she
mumbled.

“You return to consciousness! Excellent!
Perhaps our journey may now resume? I estimate a high probability
that it may!”

“Lord Yeel! What happened?”

“I apologize, my friend,”
Yeel soothed the scout. “I was forced to release an anesthetic gas
in order to control the situation. I’m afraid that you were
overcome by the fumes. This was unfortunate but I felt that the
need overrode the slight chance that any permanent damage might
have been rendered to your person.”

“Ah, what?” fumbled Jymoor. A yawn escaped
her.

“I had to put you to sleep. I apologize for
that, but it was for the best, I assure you.”

“Oh,” Jymoor said. “Where’s
Faverhind?”

“Faverhind? Where is he? Ah,
a natural question. You do have a sharp memory, don’t you? I felt
sure you didn’t have time to remember him. He’s no longer here. I
removed him from the area, placed him in holding, a neutral place
of stasis where he can no longer offer danger to
anyone.”

“You used your magic to transport him away
from here?”

“Well actually it was a
matter of…hmm.” Yeel’s brows knitted for a second and then a smile
broke across the thin face. “Yes, it was magic; actually, now that
I think about it, magic is exactly the method I employed. Raw
mystical power, of which I command a weighty amount on a daily
basis. You guessed it exactly.”

“Is he…dead?”

“Well in some senses of the
word,” Yeel said. “Dead to many…dead to most. The universe still
remembers him, as do we. Dead and yet alive, as it were; the simple
black and white of these terms merges into ambiguity under
circumstances such as this, so I must say that I cannot express
myself any more clearly in this very special and restricted case.
So you see, you have it exactly, my friend.”

“Uh…yes, my lord,” Jymoor
said. Jymoor had been struggling to understand everything, but she
found that most of the time Yeel’s meaning eluded her. Was the
mighty wizard purposefully being vague, or did he simply work in
spheres so complex that Jymoor couldn’t follow his most basic
thoughts?

“There’s no problem, I
assure you,” Yeel said. He took another breath to continue
speaking, but Jymoor jumped in, fearing another lengthy repetition
of the sentiment.

“Who was he?” Jymoor asked.
“If I may be so bold as to inquire, my lord? You seemed to know him
well, despite your…selective memorization habits.”

“He was no one.
Inconsequential. Irrelevant. A mere brigand. A passerby of ill
intent.”

Jymoor’s eyebrows jumped.
She turned away from Yeel and kept moving down the trail. That had
certainly been someone of import…Yeel had addressed him as being of
some group or order. The Meridalae. “Of the Meridalae?” Jymoor
said. She bit her tongue. If Yeel felt that she was questioning his
word…

“Oh, well, yes. The Meridalae. Uncanny how
you remember these things so perfectly. Simply a group of
criminals. Think nothing more of it, my friend.”

Jymoor’s eyebrows rose
again. For once she had stumbled upon a subject that the loquacious
Yeel didn’t want to talk about at length. Jymoor stifled another
yawn and pried herself up from the stony ground. She felt around
her body to make sure that she still possessed her travel pack,
filled with food, and her meager pouch of copper and
silver.

“Yes, we may resume our
journey, my lord,” Jymoor said. She took a few unsteady steps,
feeling the strength slowly returning to her legs.

“That would be a fine way to
proceed, but I have a superior option. Surely we can delay our
departure by a few more scant minutes. You see, I had hoped to
avoid Faverhind as I thought him to be a more formidable opponent
than he turned out to be this time. Thanks to a couple of firkir
serpents, it seems. In any case, now that he’s been dealt with,
there is the matter of his lair in this very aerie behind us. I
think that a raid is in order.”

“If you think it wise, my lord. Which way is
the lair?”

“We shall reverse our roles. You, to that of
follower, and I, to that of the guide. Accompany me, if you
will.”

Yeel moved sharply to the
left and down into a rocky cleft. Jymoor hesitated, peering ahead.
It looked as if the divide emptied straight down toward the ocean,
and she feared the way might be dangerous. As she took a few more
steps after Yeel, however, she saw that a ledge had been formed
along the side of the rocky hillock that led to the amazing palace
above.

The two moved along the trail for several
minutes. The sound of the ocean crashed in every few moments,
reminding Jymoor of her proximity to the waves. The rock felt
slimy, as if covered with the secretions of unknown sea creatures.
Yeel came to the end of the ledge, a spot where he could see out
over the sharp rocks and the sea below.

“It is here,” Yeel said,
pointing a thin hand toward a recessed hollow in the cliffside.
Jymoor stepped into the niche, shielding her eyes from the sun. She
saw a weathered wooden door set into the rock, hidden by the shadow
cast from the overhang. The scout tried to peer in through a
knothole but her eyes were used to the bright sunlight
behind.

“I will gain entrance, if you would kindly
step back,” Yeel said.

Jymoor heeded Yeel’s wishes,
stepping away from the door. The man stepped forward and produced a
weapon from his belt. Jymoor saw three silver balls attached by
cord to a handle in Yeel’s hand. Yeel began to spin the orbs with
great speed, until Jymoor could barely follow them and then the
door erupted into fragments of shattered wood. Jymoor hadn’t even
seen the strike.

“I continue to underestimate you,” Jymoor
said. “I had finally come to understand your immense mystical
powers, but I had no idea that you possessed such physical
prowess.”

“Oh…I apologize if I have
misled you, my friend. It is simply the power of my weapon that
allows me to deliver such blows. The malinthander lends a strong
mechanical advantage.”

Jymoor gave no answer. She
found it hard to believe that anyone could spin the weapon so fast,
but she didn’t dare contradict Yeel. They turned to the entrance,
and Yeel led the way in.

The scout felt an underlying
sense of unease at her first step into the lair. Several black
tables squatted under a low stone ceiling, supporting a vast array
of arcane paraphernalia. A chill fog swirled at her feet. Jymoor
decided the chamber embodied evil doings and dire intent as surely
as Yeel’s palace displayed elegance and sophistication.

“Is there danger here?” Jymoor whispered.

“Yes. Most certainly. Why at any moment an
earthquake could render this place—”

“I meant something more
immediate or…inevitable. Faverhind was of this Meridalae…are there
others of that sect here now?”

Yeel shook his head.
“Them…no. Faverhind would never let such dangerous acquaintances
stay at his home without being around to watch them. They would
have engaged us at the same time as he did.”

The conversation failed to
distract Jymoor from the fear she felt. She scanned the room again,
looking for threats. The items stacked on the tables included
ornate totems carved with spiraling, many legged creatures, the
flat skulls of humanoids, and black pots with rotten corks oozing
fluids of various colors and consistencies.

She stepped closer to the first table,
avoiding coming into contact with anything. In the center of the
dark wood platform movement caught her eye. A live snake had been
woven through hoops in a metal chest, holding it shut. At first
Jymoor thought it a single red and black serpent, but as she stared
she realized that actually a red snake engulfed the tail of a black
snake, and vice versa. The pair formed a long twisted ring that
held the chest sealed. As Jymoor watched the black one gave an
angry hiss and writhed, attempting to advance its grip on its
adversary.

“Seven sons!” she whispered, stepping
back.

Yeel scanned the table and
spotted the source of Jymoor’s reaction. “You spoke of dangers. Is
this one immediate enough to qualify? I believe that the red one is
armed with substances toxic to your kind. The poison holds the
breath in your chest. Oh, wait a moment, the black creature is
deadly as well! Although it doesn’t affect your breathing, its
venom tends to reduce the cohesion of your internal
membranes…”

“Oh, Lord Yeel, let’s just
stay away from there!”

“Hmm…perhaps…although I must
admit to some measure of curiosity. What treasure might be
concealed within? A means of opening the container must
exist…”