Douglas Niles - Winterheim

For an interminable time-at least two heartbeats-nothing seemed to happen, then the elf felt the impact of a powerful, albeit muffled, explosion. The monstrous mouth gaped open, emitting a huge rush of blue flame, and the polar worm swelled, suddenly growing much fatter. The remorhaz thrashed violently, the lashing tail breaking loose chunks of the enclosing cliffs, and a howl of unspeakable fury and pain emerged from that great form. More blue flame jetted from between the chinks in its chitonous plates, and a billowing cloud of filthy smoke roiled in the pass.

In the next instant, the monster lay still, motionless except for the acrid smoke that continued to belch from both ends of the body as well as from several huge gashes along its segmented flanks.

The remorhaz was dead.

It gleamed in her mind like the sun, shining and golden, limned in fire. It was more glorious, more precious even than the life-giving orb in the sky, for it was the talisman of her master, the image of his power and the symbol of his omnipotent will. She could discern every detail, each carved symbol and immaculate, perfect facet. Once it had been hers, to hold and cherish, but she had failed her master, her god.

The Axe of Gonnas remained just out of reach, but Stariz tried-she tried desperately-to seize that magical haft once again. Her blunt fingers strained, but they were too short for the task. Her arm was inadequate, her great weight held her down like an anchor, and the glowing object seemed to be getting farther and farther away with each panting breath. Her feet were mired in clutching mud, and a strong brute-her husband, Grimwar Bane himself-held the ogress by her shoulders, bearing her down, holding her back from that which she so desperately desired.

She was soaked in a cold sweat when she awoke to gasp aloud in anguish, for she knew that the cherished trophy remained beyond her grasp. It was gone, lost-she acknowledged in the depths of her soul-by her own failure to kill the Elven Messenger when she’d had the chance. Though he was now dead, the axe remained unattainable, locked away in the fortress of humans.

Or was it? As her pulse ceased racing, she reflected more carefully upon her dream. The intense emotion, the brilliant colors … these were signs of more than just a mundane, sleep-induced fantasy. There had been a magical quality, a vivid presence that she could feel in the pit of her stomach. Truly, this dream had been sent by Gonnas himself.

For what purpose? What was he trying to tell her? What did he want her to do?

“Please, O Willful One, forgive my ignorance,” she whispered. “Grant me the wisdom to understand.”

The great sleeping chamber, her private sanctuary, remained lightless and silent, except for the measured sound of her breathing. The walls were cold, the lamps dark. Whatever the purpose of her god’s dream, it remained for her alone to decipher.

The axe remained on her mind as she rose and went about her toilette, disdaining the services even of her handmaidens, since she desired solitude for reflection. Could it be that one of the humans had dared to use the axe for some new purpose? Had it been moved from the hall of Brackenrock? She would pray and meditate on this matter and hope for enlightenment.

One of the house slaves informed her that the king had already departed, intending to inspect his treasury. She believed this, for it was too early in the day for one of his assignations, and Grimwar Bane would know better than to try and deceive her with a lie she could so easily confirm or disprove.

Satisfied that she had some time to herself, the queen lit three candles around her table and focused her mental energies on the flickers of flame. The tiny lights amplified her thoughts, and the power of her brooding god allowed her to send a silent message through the ether of magical space. She was pleased-albeit unsurprised-when Garnet Dane arrived at the secret door to her apartments only a few minutes later.

“Enter quickly,” she said. “The king is gone for the next hour, but I have much to do in these precious minutes of freedom.”

The spy nodded humbly and nervously scuttled through the door, standing in the shadowy alcove near the back of her dressing chamber. He looked up at her with wide, fearful eyes, and she was pleased to see that her recent discipline had apparently made a lasting impression. Long ago she had learned that fear was an important tool, a key means to instill obedience in her subjects, even in her husband.

“There is a slave in the city, the man whom we brought back from Dracoheim, captured on that island,” she declared curtly. “He is a savage fighter, a very dangerous man, and I think that my husband does not understand the menace he poses. Ten days ago the slave was placed somewhere in Winterheim upon the king’s orders.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. I observed him debark from the ship and understand he came to blows with one of the overseers during his initial march to the barracks.” The spy looked up at her slyly. “Do you wish to have him killed?”

Stariz snorted contemptuously. “What I wish is my own concern. I do not wish for you to kill him, however. I command you to locate him!”

“Of course, Majesty. Please forgive my impertinence. Am I to assume that he remains somewhere in the city?”

“Yes, certainly. My husband has posted him somewhere and will not reveal the location to me. I think it is safe to assume that he has not been sent off to the southern mines-we have plans for him, after all, at the ceremony of Autumnblight. Rather, I had the impression that Grimwar Bane had a place of relative safety in mind for this particular slave. I would not be surprised to find him in the upper city, in some private household. I don’t expect him to be at the Seagate or in the fish market or the lumber yards.”

“As you know, I have many contacts in the Middle Terraces. There is one woman in particular who is very well placed to provide information on matters such as this. I will go to work at once,” pledged the spy.

“As I knew you would,” the queen replied smugly. “Make your report to me as soon as possible-but for now, I do not want this man know that he is the subject of royal inquiry.”

“Naturally, Your Highness. As ever, I maintain discretion.”

“It is your best quality,” the queen replied, her eyes narrowing to bore in upon the suddenly perspiring spy. “You might say that it is all that has kept you alive … so far.”

The secret door closed behind Garnet Dane a moment later. The queen turned to other more mundane matters, certain that the man would do everything in his power to see that she was not disappointed.

“Whalebone-I am taking you to the Nobles’ Market-you will carry back the salmon for this evening, two of them.” Thraid Dimmarkull made the announcement with an air of excitement, the first enthusiasm she had displayed in the week or so of the slave king’s service. She reclined on the fur-lined divan where she had spent the past few hours, now pushing herself to a sitting position.

“Yes, my lady,” replied Strongwind Whalebone. He masked his own reaction, but he was glad to have an opportunity to get out of these stultifying rooms in which he had been confined.

“Brinda, fetch my walking cloak,” commanded the ogress.

“Yes, lady.”

Brinda was making bread in the kitchen. She stopped her mixing only long enough to wipe a strand of gray hair back from her forehead. Strongwind thought she looked tired, and he wasn’t surprised. Every morning the slave woman was already working when he got up from his slave’s pallet. She remained busy throughout the day and was still cleaning up when he and Wandcourt retired for the night. Now she went without complaint to get a white bearskin cape, trimmed in red fur. Her husband took it and reached to drape it over their mistress’s shoulders.