M McNally - The Sable City

Zeb had no time to reload his crossbow and snatched his axe from his back. He barked, “Stay behind me!” as he stepped toward the charging trio.

Tilda shot one in the head before it made the bottom of the stairs, then drew two throwing daggers from her vest and cast both. Her right-armed throw was better but the blade skipped off a hobgoblin’s helmet. The other at least stuck in the creature’s knee, toppling it howling to its side. The third charged up the stairs at Zeb until realizing it was alone, at which point it stopped and blinked at the man with the axe. Tilda took the moment to snatch up her bow and an arrow, and shot it in the face.

Zeb turned to Tilda with his eyes wide. “Maybe I’ll stay behind you.”

Deskata whistled sharply. He, Shikashe, and Heggenauer had driven the mass of hobgoblins back into the hall before breaking off the fight, and Amatesu slammed the second of the double doors behind them, locking them with a hobgoblin axe dropped into braces. There were perhaps a dozen hobs scattered around on the floor, lying still, bleeding out, or merely bleeding and crawling away. No more had appeared on the catwalk above.

“It is clear! Pull out!” Tilda called, and the party turned to run around under the catwalk back for the hall by which they had entered. Tilda nocked an arrow and backed away more slowly, still eyeing the catwalk. Zeb slung his axe and scampered back for the crossbow he had left on the floor.

Zeb was beside Tilda when he passed between the two horn-like pillars, and Tilda cried out and dropped to the floor as the two posts suddenly rang like a massive tuning fork, filling the room with a booming throom of sound she could feel in her bones. Tilda grimaced and looked around wildly, but there was no sign of Zebulon Baj Nif to be seen.

*

One step between the pillars took Zeb from the stone floor atop the dais into snow nearly two feet thick on the ground, and whipping through the air. He stumbled and plowed into the stuff head first, sliding a drift down his chest through the neck hole of his ring mail. His face was buried as well, which at least muffled the profanity.

He snapped his head up but could barely open his eyes as the wind was sharp and icy, and he began to shiver as he was in no ways dressed for the weather. Zeb rolled to a seat and looked back, and thought he dimly saw the outlines of the platinum horns behind him against the whipping wind and night sky. Then suddenly both were illuminated, and Zeb saw that though the shapes were the same, these were two great tusks rising out of the snow on the ground, more massive then those of any pachyderm of which he had ever heard.

Zeb turned around again the see where the white light was coming from, his teeth now chattering and face feeling numb. A figure stood some distance away, tall and bundled in heavy robes of thick animal skin. One sleeve flapped loose in the wind for the figure had but one arm, held high above its head to raise a staff. Bright white light shone from the staff, and threw sharp shadows across the snow from a second figure struggling toward Zeb. This one was dressed the same as the first, bundled in heavy furs, yet its gait seemed to be that of a woman despite the fact that it was made awkward by a pair of snow shoes strapped to her feet.

She was almost on top of Zeb before he could hear her voice over the wind. She was shouting his name.

Zeb tried to rise but it was difficult in the loose snow, and he did not manage it until the woman arrived beside him and hooked her hands in mittens under his arms. She picked up his axe and thrust it into his numbing hands.

“Who are you?” Zeb shouted, for he was actually more curious about that at the moment than he was about his location.

With the light coming from behind her Zeb could not see the woman’s face in a deep fur-line hood, plus she had a snapping scarf wrapped around most of it. She leaned in close to shout by his ear, but not an answer.

“No matter what you see, do not linger! Turn, and flee through the gate!”

“The say what now?”

The woman leaned back and pulled down her scarf. Zeb could still hardly see her as his eyes were tearing up and the lashes had begun to freeze together. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Turn and run through the gate!” she shouted, then shoved Zeb hard in the chest with both hands.

*

The echo of the tuning-fork buzz lingered in the great round chamber. Uella had squealed and clapped her hands over her ears, falling backwards off the balustrade of a high balcony near the top of the tower, where they had moved for a better view of the fighting on the floor. Poltus winced and hissed, and Balan shuddered in the soft silk of a fresh smoking jacket.

“That was unexpected,” he muttered.

The monkeys on the floor below converged on the dais, where now only the dark-haired Miilarkian girl stood, shouting a name. The others scrambled up to join her and she started shaking the Circle Wizard by the front of his robes. Balan could not hear her words from the distance, but she was screaming. Booms echoed through the chamber as the hobgoblins began to beat on the barred door.

“What the hell was that?” Uella demanded.

“Trouble,” Balan said.

Several of the monkeys shouted at the Miilarkian in alarm, but she produced a dagger in either hand and hopped between the two platinum pillars flanking the Node space. Nothing happened. She hopped back the other way, and nothing happened that time either.

“The gate is not fully open,” Poltus said, sounding relieved. Balan did not share his emotion.

“Give it a minute.”

*

Zeb stumbled backwards between the pillar tusks on the tundra, wind-milling his arms and almost hitting himself in the face with his axe. Then he hit the ground with a grunt, and soft, dewy grass tickled the back of his neck.

He was on his back beneath a blue sky supporting fluffy white clouds. He sat up, snow crunching inside his armor, but it was pleasantly warm here. He was in the woods, tall trees all around him with white trunks and verdant branches moving on the soft breeze. Water burbled somewhere nearby. Standing stones stood among the trees under the boughs, irregular gray rocks with yellow flowers blooming around them. Their polished faces were carved with lines that looked to Zeb like the old runic alphabet of ancient Danoric, the mother tongue of his native Minauan. For a moment, Zeb thought he was going to cry, though he could not imagine a reason why he would, for this was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. It felt like home and Zebulon Baj Nif, born a Warchild of the Riven Kingdoms, had never felt that feeling before.

There were two tree trunks directly in front of him, stripped of branches though they still looked alive. They were bowed wide in the middle and the tops were sharpened points, like tusks.

Do not linger. Run through the gate.

Zeb did not want to leave this place, but he did what the strange woman had told him. He had not seen her face but for some reason he thought he had known her, and he trusted her completely.

*

“Somebody do something!“ Tilda shouted, then she jumped as the pillars rang a second time. Zebulon Baj Nif barreled out from between them and neither had time to do anything but widen their eyes before he slammed into her. They went down in a pile and almost slid off the top of the dais before Brother Heggenauer knelt and stopped them against his leg.

“Tilda?” Zeb blinked down at her. His helmet was gone and his hair was wet. Cold water dripped off his nose and onto Tilda’s.

“Get off!” Tilda hissed at the couple hundred pounds of Minaun and ring mail on her chest.

He did so with a helpful yank on his collar from Shikashe, who hoisted Zeb to his feet. Claudja helped Tilda to hers, and as Zeb stood up facing her a chunk of wet white material Tilda was unfamiliar with plopped to the floor from under his armor.