Dennis McKiernan: City of Jade

Across the line, sloping slightly upward, Pipper ran, praying to Elwydd and Adon that Uncle Arley’s training in the pines would see him through. Don’t place a foot wrong, don’t place a foot wrong, Pip! And the howling wind tore at him, as of a creature seeking to hurl him to his death on the jade stone far beneath.

And the swirl of darkness within the thing below moved on to another sailor. Just beyond writhed screaming Lissa, yowling Vex twisting at her side.

Pipper lost his balance just as he reached the arched opening, yet with a final lunge he managed to grasp the sill and pull himself in.

He jumped to the floor and looked about, and did not see the shadowy grey form slumped against the far wall, an astral being who had spent too much power loosing the deadly creature, a thing that had just finished sucking the life from a Human and now descended upon a Pysk.

But up above in the tall tower, Pipper could see an urn at rest on a high pedestal. Yet, what did that have to do with-? But then with his Warrow sight he saw the twisted rope of darkness extending from the footed vase and leading out and down to the plaza below.

As Pipper loaded a bullet into his sling, he did not see the astral form that struggled to its feet and limped to that same opening, nor did he hear the frantic aethyrial shout.

And the blackness below sucked up into a ball and flew toward the arched opening high above.

With a whirl and a snap, Pipper loosed the bullet, just as he was engulfed by darkness and hideous pain once again.

Yet the missile flew true, and it shattered the delicate, rune-marked vase, scattering the ashes of a deadly wraith.

And the howling wind whirled up those ashes and hurtled them out from the tower, scattering them wide, spinning the motes spiralling away like the long-dead dust they were, the wraith mewling even as its unnatural life bled away on the storm.

And Pipper fell unconscious, released from unbearable agony.

And even as an astral being fled toward a far-distant mountain fastness, the skies opened and a torrential rain thundered down and down on the long-lost City of Jade.

DARK DESIGNS

MID AUTUMN, 6E9

Nunde expended nearly every bit of the remainder of his essence just to reach his stronghold in the Grimwalls. It had been a close call, for he had spent too much of the stolen ‹life force› as well as his very own merely to release the wraith. He certainly had not retained enough ‹essence › to imprison the Shade again, and he knew that when the fiend had finished with Aravan and his band, he, himself, would be the next victim. Yet even as Nunde had been gathering his strength to flee back to his fortress, where he planned to slay many more Chun for their ‹fire›, enough to defeat the wraith, that fool of a Warrow had entered the sanctum of the jade tower.

And when the Necromancer had seen the Warrow ready his sling to break the funerary urn, he knew that only the Shade could stop the intruder. And Nunde, at peril of his own life, had cried out a warning. Yet the Warrow had succeeded, and though Aravan was most likely slain, mayhap his trollop had survived. Nunde could not risk that whore of a Seeress discovering who he was, for she would send legions of Magekind to track him down, and he would spend the rest of his existence in flight.

And so Nunde had fled, and now he was back in his own body and wheezing for each feeble breath, while locked away safely in his chamber, locked away from Ghoki and Driki and Oghi and all other Chun, any of whom at an opportune moment might try to slay him, and he was oh, so very weak.

And it was a frail, greatly aged Necromancer who struggled up from his dark throne to totter to his bed and collapse. On the morrow he would slaughter many Drik and wrench their fire from them to restore his own youth and essence. But for now, totally spent, he needed rest, and he fell into a black and dreamless sleep.

ELVENSHIP

MID TO LATE AUTUMN, 6E9

A ravan awakened in a drenching rain to the sounds of someone shouting in the distance and the whines of a fox nearby. Slowly he rolled to his side to see Aylis, lying as if dead. Up he wrenched and scrambled to her and took her form in his arms. She breathes. He looked about. Dwarves lay strewn like tenpins-sailors, too. But Brekk was stirring, as were some of the other members of the warband. Water runnelled everywhere, it seemed, and Vex whined and licked the face of Lissa, the Pysk not moving. And Aravan swung his gaze about, trying to locate and identify who was shouting.

Atop one of the towers, with water cascading from runoff slots, he saw Binkton standing at the lip of what looked to be a parapet, with a rope strung loosely from where the buccan stood to one of the high openings in the central tower. Aravan could just discern that Binkton called for Pipper, but the swirling wind and hammering rain drowned out what else he cried.

Aravan looked down at Aylis. Her eyelids twitched, yet she did not come awake.

Brekk heaved himself to his knees and took his war hammer in hand, the armsmaster glaring about, seeking foe. Yet there were only felled Dwarves and fallen sailors at hand. He glanced across at Aravan. “Captain?”

“See to the others,” said Aravan, yet cradling Aylis. The cold rain beat on her upturned face, and he leaned over a bit to shield her from the worst of it, though it was rather like trying to stem a flood.

As Brekk slowly moved among the crew, others came to.

And still the rain hammered down.

“Find us some shelter,” said Aravan. “One of these structures will do.”

Brekk looked about. “There is a door open to that tower.” He looked up. “And what is Binkton doing atop?”

“I know not,” said Aravan, rising to his feet, Aylis yet in his arms.

Nikolai regained consciousness and got to his knees.

Aravan paused at the side of his second in command and said, “See to Lissa, Nick.” Aravan inclined his head toward the Pysk. “Bring her to the tower where I go.” And, carrying Aylis, Aravan crossed to the door and in.

Nikolai got to his feet and stepped to where Vex whined over Lissa. “ Aylos Garlon!”

“What is it?” asked Brekk.

“See?” said Nikolai.

Brekk looked. The Pysk lay on a yellow jade pavestone laced with metallic streaks.

With a puzzled gaze, Brekk looked up at Nikolai. “I don’t-”

“Pysk brown hair now gold,” said Nikolai, even as he squatted and took tiny Lissa up. Cupping her away from the rain next to his chest and, with Vex trotting at his side, off toward the open door he strode, leaving an astonished armsmaster behind.

Still the rain poured down, and Brekk sent Bruki to discover just why Binkton was shouting. Occasionally Brekk would look up, and long moments later he saw Binkton shinnying along underneath the rope to get to the central tower. The armsmaster could see Bruki standing at the edge of the parapet, one end of the line cinched about the Dwarf’s waist.

“Pip, Pip, wake up, Pip,” urged Binkton, soaked to the skin, holding his cousin close.

Pipper moaned, but did not awaken.

“Come on, Pip. Come on.” Binkton patted Pipper’s face, and his cold hands seemed to rouse Pipper. So Binkton drew Pipper to one of the openings, where rain swirled in on the wind.

Pipper sputtered and wakened. “Oh, Bink, I was having the most terrible dream; there was this darkness and-” He looked about. “It wasn’t a dream, was it? Oh, my”-his face filled with alarm, and he struggled to get up-“we’ve got to get out of-”

“No, Pip, no,” said Binkton, pressing his cousin back down. “You killed the thing. It’s gone, wailing away on the wind.”