Stardeep (17 page)

The Empyrean Knights were outnumbeted, but despite the bloody toll exacted by their foes, and regardless of the fair-featured nature of their enemy, the defenders slashed the wood elves, split chests protected only by stitched leather, cracked wooden shields, and finally slew the Yuirwood elves to the last man and woman.

Silence descended for a beat, followed by a victoty shout. The Empytean Knights had again defended Stardeep’s entrance from the latest infiltrating attack by the suddenly, unaccountably warlike wild and mixed elves of Aglarond.

Kiril topped a wooded rise and saw the great boulder beneath which she had once so often rested, though now it was tufted with patches of snow. A little farther, there was the old birch ttee, still standing tall and regal among the conifers after so many years. Here was the narrow ravine that sheltered a small, trickling tributary to the Chabala River, which fed into the Mere—on which sat the Causeway.

“We’re close,” she threw back over her shoulder—her right shoulder; Xet perched on the left. Gage stiffened, as if hearing difficult news, then showed her his impish smile. Her self-proclaimed friend seemed oddly shaken since their encounter with Sathra. His jokes were few and far between, and forced. A strange melancholia gripped him. Of course, she didn’t have time to worry about him now. She could be moments from finding Nangulis!

If she allowed herself, she could project herself back into the memories of her life before the events of the last decade, before she’d become merely a “swordswoman.” When she had

been a Keeper of the Cerulean Sign. When she had performed an important duty, one she had executed fot yeats. She and Nangulis both—he in the Inner Bastion, she in the Outet, though no day passed that didn’t allow time for them to be together, either within the guarded bulk of Stardeep, or beyond its dimensional veil in the sunlit groves of the Yuitwood.

When off duty, she and Nangulis spent more time in Faerun than in Sildeyuir, for that realm, their home, required a longer trek than a mere stroll down the Causeway. If the Ttaitor were ever to escape, Stardeep’s remote location would prove a buffer between the Traitor’s curses and the home realm. The elders sited the dungeon in a tenuous pocket of Sildeyuir, one they further splintered in order to make it its own discrete space. To penetrate the starry realm, if he escaped, the Traitor would have to emerge, when open, on the tightly controlled Causeway, then travel overland through the Yuirwood to find the closest active menhir gate.

Either that, or travel the ancient dungeon tunnels beneath Stardeep, where the mazelike passages, dug by no star elf, were black mystery. A mystery, except that if one traveled their labyrinthine twistings all the way through, one might find a way back to the realm from which Stardeep was calved. When she’d first come to Stardeep, Kiril thought the connection was myth. But upon becoming a Keeper, she’d learned such a path indeed existed, but it was a path possible only for those possessed of great power. Dire threats menaced all who attempted that dim path. In any event, a trip to Sildeyuit was not a simple process, whether you were a Stardeep escapee or a Stardeep Keeper.

Ahead, the trees thinned, revealing the edge of a broad pond. A thin sheen of ice coated its surface. The far side was lost in a low mist that clung thick, heavy, and impenetrable to the water’s surface. Kiril walked to the edge and squinted into the edgeless white.

“I don’t see the land bridge you described,” Gage groused. The man was uncommonly out of sorts. Moody, quiet at turns, then accusatory.

Kiril said, “Like”—she decided not to tell Gage about Sildeyuir and cleared her throat—”other realms beyond this world, Stardeep can be reached only when a way is opened. When the portal is not open, only a mist-drenched marsh is apparent. When open, a causeway—the Causeway—is visible.”

“All right, let’s… hold up. There’s been a fight,” said Gage, standing back among the ttees, his gaze low and intent on something in the brush.

The swordswoman scanned the edges of the Mere, recognizing disturbances in the ice and the telltale sign of erased tracks in the newly disturbed soil. “I see signs of recent activity, but a fight? That seems unlikely.”

“Come over here,” replied the thief in a subdued voice.

Kitil turned and joined Gage among the trees. He used a dagger to scrape away a recently piled mound of earth. More digging revealed a shallow grave in which lay an ashen wood elf, wearing a uniform of green, gold, and dun.

“Blood!” exclaimed Kiril. The wood elf had been hewed nearly in two.

“The ground’s been disturbed all through here. It was a big fight, with many deaths.” “Many deaths?”

The thief held out his gauntleted hand, the one with the disturbingly toothed cavity. He said, “My gauntlet can smell many more corpses buried all through the area, though this one was the most lightly covered.”

They dug up a few more—each was an elf or half-elf, and all wore the same colors. None of the elves were star elves, Kiril was relieved to discover. “These colors indicate some sort of uniform, I think,” said Kiril. “I’m not familiar with the rangers of Yuirwood. Why did they attack Stardeep?”

Gage shrugged.

Kiril shook her head, looked down at the blade sheathed at her side. No more idling. She returned to the Mere’s edge and tried to recall the access keys. Only one Stardeep function extended from the dungeon’s core to the edge of the Mere, and Keepers were trained in accessing it. She mentally probed across the water, calling on skills she’d forsaken a decade earlier. Contact! Though Stardeep lay across a planar veil, she could trigger a connection…

The mist churned and rolled away from the Mere’s center. A narrow land bridge slowly resolved, as if always there beneath the mist. Perhaps it always was. The blue sky above slowly darkened, and stars came out, strange to the sky of Yuirwood forest, but familiar to Kiril. She’d memorized those constellations as a child.

A horn sounded, pure and glorious. Xet chimed, dug his crystal claws painfully into her shoulder, then launched himself straight up. Kiril jerked her gaze down from the darkening sky to see chargers plunging across the Causeway—Empyrean Knights! The defenders of Stardeep. Not a danger, despite Xet’s swift departure—merely a welcoming committee.

She raised both hands and waved, yelling. The Knights were a doughty crew, if formal. Their training demanded no less—theirs was a duty every bit as demanding as a Keeper’s. Despite her anxiety over Nangulis, her spirits rose at seeing the Knights in their flashing hauberks and military poise. The Knights in the lead, halfway across the narrow bridge, lowered their lances to point. Their speed did not slacken.

The swordswoman frowned and called, “It is me, Kiril Duskmourn, a Keeper. Slow your steeds!”

The full-throated braying of horns split the air. The forest boughs rang with the echo. Arrows burst from the rear of the charging column. Most clattered harmlessly from Kiril’s mail, their force spent and tips blunted or shattered. A few, however,

bit flesh. The swordswoman let out a wounded howl, as much in pain as disbelief.

The Knights didn’t recognize her, didn’t believe her, or didn’t care. Kiril dodged left, just avoiding the barb-tipped lance of a scowling Knight.

She scrambled to avoid falling backwatd into the Mere, spewing obscenity. “Pox-faced rats on a bender! What the Hells ate you doing? Look at me! I’m a Keeper, gods roast your blood-flecked souls!”

Five elves on horseback charged off the end of the narrow causeway, wrenching their mounts around in a tight arc to face her. The two in the lead, who’d nearly skewered her, dropped their lances as they wheeled their mounts. Kiril’s back was to the dark, wintry Mere.

“Where’s Commander Brathtar? By your rutting gods, bring me the Commander, he’ll know who—”

One of the Knights raised his long sword and spoke. “The Commander is indisposed—we take our orders from the Keeper of the Outer Bastion, who commands that imposters and liars be slain.” The man spurred his mount, which reared, its steel-shod hooves flashing. Kiril ducked beneath the hooves. The man’s sword flashed down and she dropped flat into the frozen mud.

Stamping hooves and sword tips harried her into the water’s cold gtasp. The near-freezing chill shocked her as she dipped into the Chabala, but even half-submetged, she heard the sudden high-pitched scream of a horse and the clatter of metal on metal. It sounded like a mounted Knight being brought low—had Gage revealed himself?

Kiril didn’t know to what depths the Mere plunged, nor did she wish to personally plumb it. She got her feet beneath her and stood up off the soft bottom. The water reached only to her waist, but the slope dropped steeply away. Water streamed from her hair and face. The cold shock of the biting

liquid sought to freeze her muscles, reminding her of a creature she’d once fought whose breath was winter itself.

Blinking water from her eyes, Kiril saw that a Knight was down and still, a dagger butt protruding from his neck, his horse rearing. Five Knights wheeled away from her, bringing their weapons to bear on the threat materializing on their flank. Gage. The crazy thief stood just within the soft cover offered by a copse of trees tufting a small rise, his hand with the disturbing gauntlet raised high. The gauntlet’s demon mouth screamed forth a terrible, mind-punishing keening. The Knights advanced, bringing their barbed lances low, deadly tips toward the thief.

One Knight remained intent on Kiril. His horse stood at the water’s edge as he regarded her, denying her access to dry land.

The Knight’s attack made no sense! She tried diplomacy as her aggressor stood silently. “You’ve made a terrible mistake! I was once a Keeper here—I’m no threat! If you force me to draw my weapon, your life will end here, in the sun! You’ll never see Sildeyuir’s stars again!”

The Knight hesitated, looking back to his brethren who now occluded her view of Gage, then back to her. She saw by the insignia on his shoulder the Knight was a captain.

The captain explained. “Telarian foresaw you to say exactly that. He said if you give up your sword without a fight here and now, you’ll be allowed to enter Stardeep, where we can discern friend from foe, imposter from the genuine. Hand it across to me.” He extended one palm, open and waiting.

Kiril sought to gather her wits to understand the captain’s request, but the hellish screaming of the thief’s demonic gauntlet rattled her. Despite wondering if she would regret it, she replied, “I give up my sword to no one!”

The Knight looked surprised. He said, “Are you sure?

Keeper Telarian was certain you’d give up the blade to gain entry. He sees all futures…”

Over the yowl of his hellmouth, Gage called, “Kiril! They want the sword, that’s all! They want Angul—this is a trap!”

“What?”

A gap in the crowding Knights btiefly revealed the thief. He extended his gauntleted hand higher above his head, and the hellmouth’s scteam redoubled in volume, a soul-grating shriek promising insanity.

Stardeep’s defenders, closer than she to the hellish sound, shuddered and cringed, their eyes suddenly wild with supernatural dread. Some moaned, others dropped their weapons, but most importantly, they allowed their discipline to fail. Kiril bolted from the water, boldly ducking past the one who’d offered parley, then through the mounted, milling Knights nearer Gage.

One Knight, perhaps harder of hearing than the rest, lowered his lance and charged the thief. Gage ducked to the side, but howled as the horseman thundered past and down the other side of the rise. A moment later, Kiril reached Gage’s side.

The thief had taken a lance strike to his right shoulder. His gauntleted hand hung limply, and the hellmouth was silent. Blood flowed down the front of his creased leather armor. His eyes were full of amazement. He mumbled, “I think he landed a good one…”

Kiril put off questioning the bleeding thief about the “trap.” She said, “They’ll flank us, but we can hold them. I’ll take your right.”

Gage nodded and drew a long knife into his left hand.

She unsheathed her weapon. A spark of well-being stole through her, but Angul failed to burst into blue flame. What?

“Angul, aid me!” she ordered.

These Knights Empyrean are aligned with the cause of righteousness, the sword imparted into her mind, and I will not destroy them.

“You bloodstained monster, help me or these brainwashed Knights will slay your wielder!” The sword remained adamantly unlit. Nor did it attempt to overpower her sense of reality…

The Knights most affected by the hellscream were shaking off its effects. They began to separate, intent on spreading out around Kiril and Gage.

Before they could implement their strategy, a pebble of flame skipped into the midst of the Empyrean Knights and exploded, briefly silhouetting them against a field of boiling red light before enveloping elf and horse alike.

Someone was throwing fireballs! And that someone had attacked the Knights, not herself and Gage, thank the Sign.

Kiril scanned the perimeter of the clearing. She spied two figures. One figure… a human male, she saw, was gesticulating as if preparing to cast another spell.

Gage cried a new warning. She whirled to see the same Knight who’d skewered the thief retracing his path, this time his lance aimed at her.

She dropped into a crouch as she raised Angul in a vertical line, pointed at the earth. Her blade clashed along the lance shaft, deflecting the tip sideways then into the ground. The Knight held his seat despite the terrible jolt, but his lance remained behind. The impact nearly caused her to drop Angul; the blade was staying true to its promise, and provided her not one drop of supernatural strength, speed, or solidity of frame. At least it wasn’t actively inhibiting her from using it as an ordinary weapon.

Gage flipped his grip from hilt to blade in a blink, then threw the knife after the Knight. His aim was off, and his target cantered forward, undeterred.

“What’s wrong with your sword?” he asked, his voice weak. Blood continued to run from his wound.

Before she could answer, two of the Knights upslope launched their lances as if they were javelins. Gage stepped left and avoided the one aimed at him. Kiril stumbled, and the sharp pole plunged into her right leg, driving right through flesh and into the ground. An unfamiliar tug pulled through her entire body and she gasped in surprise.