Douglas Niles - Winterheim

Gently he opened that door. He could see the outline of his lover’s body on the bed, the soft curves actually making him short of breath. With trembling hands he moved the door mostly shut, allowing just a sliver of light into the room. This dimness was the perfect illumination for lovemaking, he knew.

“My pet?” he whispered.

Ah, the coy wench was playing with him, lying still. Hesitancy gone, he crossed the room in three long strides, sat on the edge of the bed and touched her shoulder.

“I am here-” he began then stopped.

Something was wrong. His touch had provoked no reaction, not even the trembling playful stillness she sometimes affected, knowing it increased his desire.

“Thraid, my lady,” he said, shaking her gently.

No response. In growing confusion he pulled the blanket back and rolled her from her side onto her back. He saw those red lips, so carefully rouged for him, but there was more redness, too, a horrible crimson gash through her throat, the wound gaping like some ghastly caricature of her sensual mouth. Blood soaked the sheets and her sleeping cloak, still sticky but already cool to the touch. He gagged and staggered across the room, crashing into the wall. His hands flew to his face, but they could not stifle his moans, could not wipe away the cruel truth.

The Lady Thraid Dimmarkull was dead.

She, Kerrick, Bruni, and Barq had descended the gently graded trail down to the floor of the Moongarden, and now they walked, entranced, among the stands of giant fungi, along the stone-lined bank of a rippling stream. The rest of the warriors were trailing behind, each stopping for a moment to gape in awe at this vast and illuminated garden.

At Kerrick’s suggestion, the fighters lingered behind in the shelter of a small grotto while the four companions scouted ahead.

“This Moongarden is huge-several square miles I’d say,” the elf ventured. “I see passages, a half dozen or more, going off to either side. Who knows where it all leads.”

Moreen nodded. She was thinking about all the food represented by these mushrooms, which resembled the little caps and stems that were so common in the groves and meadows of the Icereach. They grew almost overnight during the warming days of spring, and for three or four months they were gathered to form a staple of the Arktos diet. Her people even dried them so they could be stored throughout the cold months.

But here! She imagined that just one of the bigger mushroom-trees would have provide sustenance to all of Brackenrock for several days.

“It’s no wonder they can support a whole city underground,” she said. “They must farm this place, use it as a food warren all year around.”

“If this is a farm,” Bruni said, raising a hand in caution, “don’t you think we might run into some farmers?”

“Good point,” Barq agreed, scowling into the shadows of a particularly thick grow of giant fungus. “They might be watching us right now.”

“They might,” Kerrick said, “but I don’t think they are. I’ve been looking around, and-at this end of the Moongarden at least-I don’t see any sign of tending or cultivation. It’s as if all of this stuff just grows wild here.”

“It’s so big that maybe they don’t have to come this far to get what they need,” Moreen speculated. “After all, we have to assume that the city lies somewhere beyond the far end of this cavern, don’t we?”

“It has to be in that direction,” the elf agreed, pointing. “We haven’t come far enough from Icewall Pass to reach the mountain of Winterheim yet. I’m certain that we’re underground, maybe right under the Icewall, but still someplace between the pass and the city.”

“Well, we’re on the right path,” the chiefwoman declared. “We just have to keep moving.”

“How’s your face?” Bruni said, speaking to Barq as they ambled along. “Do those bruises still hurt?”

The big warrior put his hand to his nose and wiggled, then shook his head. “The old lady’s ointment’s good stuff. I can even breathe with my mouth closed again.”

“The power of Chislev Wilder,” Moreen remarked. “Dinekki has long been in favor with our goddess.”

“Perhaps we should find a place to rest while we’re still in the wild part of the Moongarden,” Kerrick said. “This might be our best chance to gather our strength and have plenty to eat, before we try to push on into Winterheim itself.”

“Good idea,” Moreen said. She turned to Kerrick and Bruni. “Over there looks like a nice grotto. It’s out of sight from the main cavern. I see signs of a waterfall, and it might be large enough to give us all some soft ground for sleeping.”

She led them along the bank of a rapid stream. Nearby, the uneven floor of the cavern rose from the ground level into a ten- or twelve-foot embankment, a ledge that would serve very well to conceal them. The clearing was small but flat, and a layer of lush moss cushioned the ground.

“This looks like a good place,” Kerrick offered. “There’s enough space for all of us to stretch out, make a camp, and still be out of sight.”

“I’ll have a look around,” Barq One-Tooth said. “Make sure we don’t have any neighbors.”

“Be careful you don’t meet the neighbors,” Moreen warned.

“No chance o’ that,” the Highlander snorted.

He stepped across the stream on several small, dry-topped stones, showing surprisingly nimbleness for his size. Three steps later he had disappeared between the trunks of the mushroom trees in the nearby grove.

In a few minutes the two Arktos women and the elf had dropped their packs and shucked their heavy boots. Moreen sat down and relished the feel of her feet immersed in the cold spring water flowing past. Nearby, Kerrick found a pool of comfortably warm water in which he quickly washed his hands, feet, face, and hair.

Bruni, meanwhile, was delegated to go back to get the rest of the war party. Rolling her broad shoulders, stretching after she relieved herself of the heavy load of her pack, she lumbered toward the entrance where Mouse waited with the others. Kerrick made himself comfortable, dropping on his back and closing his eyes.

Moreen felt refreshed and invigorated but not yet ready to bed down, so she decided to take a walk along the shore of the stream. She scrambled up a steep stretch of jumbled rock beside the small waterfall where the water spilled over the embankment.

She stopped in shock when she saw movement a short distance away, someone walking in a meadow beside the stream. Ducking down, she recognized the rounded shoulders and hulking size of a bull ogre. The creature, who carried a heavy whip, stopped suddenly and planted his hands on his hips.

“All right, Tookie, you get out here!” he barked.

Moreen gaped as a human girl suddenly stepped from the cover of the fungus grove, barely ten feet away. The youngster’s eyes flicked in panic to the chiefwoman, who was still concealed from the ogre’s view. The child turned to the ogre and stepped out of Moreen’s sight, but the Lady of Brackenrock could hear her clearly as she spoke.

“Yes, Master Harmlor. What do you want from me?”

The chiefwoman drew farther back, leaning against the stalk of a giant mushroom, her pulse pounding. She couldn’t see the girl any more but knew that the child had spotted her. Would she reveal the presence of intruders to the whip-wielding ogre? There was no way to know.

Turning back to the grotto, Moreen skidded down the stones of the steep embankment, dropping the last few feet into the meadow where her elf companion rested.

“Kerrick! Wake up!” she whispered urgently, kneeling beside the elf, nudging him.