The Chains of Capitulation (Journey Book 3)

Prologue

Doraux shook her head in undisguised frustration. She had traversed the entire length of the continent, doggedly surmounting the worst horrors imaginable, only to suffer this perfunctory dismissal. Do you not grasp what I’m trying to tell you? she began, attempting to contain her ire. The world is on the brink of absolute destruction. I might add that you are not without culpability in bringing it to that brink.

Artumas accepted the recrimination with a sorrowful nod.

This is an opportunity to rectify those errors in judgment and help undo the evil that Myrhia has wrought. We need your help and yours is an obligation as king to give it.

Artumas regarded her with pale blue eyes which were tinged with an irrepressible sadness. Watching him, she thought, ‘This is how it feels to bear the weight of all sins as a personal burden.’

Perhaps once I was a king, he murmured softly, though I’ve since come to believe that royalty is a mantle born of arrogance and presumption. Whatever the case may be, I am no longer qualified to hold that title. The specters of failure and exile have eroded the requisite characteristics from my heart and soul.

Artumas paused long enough to meet her incisive gaze. In those flaming emerald depths, he glimpsed the man whom he had once been before Myrhia and humiliation had come to disabuse him of his illusions. He briefly wondered if he could aspire to those lofty ideals again and knew that to even entertain the notion was folly. I am a man and nothing more…flawed and broken of kingly pretensions. As I’ve said, if the fate of the world is to be decided, it will be through the actions of women such as Myrhia and yourself. My time has come and gone.

Islena began to object, but Artumas stood and brushed past her. She sat silently for several moments, attempting to gather her composure. Of all the possible futures her mind had conjured, none had been as bleak as this depressing reality.

As she stood morosely near the fire, she watched the man who had so utterly rejected her plea. Artumas, the legendary king of Emercia, was stooped over, mechanically hoeing rows of soil in his garden. His movements were bereft of vitality, as though he knew that his efforts were pointless and hollow…an exercise meant only to occupy the idle hours before death.

As Artumas toiled beneath his pall of despair, Islena realized that he had spoken the truth.

Chapter One

1

She stood for a moment, gazing out over the bleak landscape that sloped up from the shore of the great lake. A vast and profound silence gripped this place and if there was a deity, his gaze did not fall here. Her five companions did not speak. Like her, they had been reduced to wordlessness by the bleak desolation of this land as if to speak would stir the malevolent specters that must surely dwell here. Malice seemed to ooze from the infertile gray soil and a high, eldritch odor permeated the air, irritating eyes and lungs alike.

At last, Lorio disembarked from the boat and trudged through the shallow water, instinctively drawing her quarterstaff as she did. Hers was the posture of one who expects violence to befall them at every step.

Islena watched her companion with a vague sense of alarm gnawing at her insides. Against her muscular thigh, the Dragonsword blazed in strident flashes of vermillion. Then she shrugged off her disquiet and followed the woman who had been her constant companion since the beginning.

Even the earth felt as though it possessed a conscious and willful evil and Doraux was assailed by the irrational certainty that it was about to open up and consume her.

Gradually the others left the relative safety of the boat and took their first tentative steps onto the Upper lands. Islena noticed that the two Emercians cast wistful glances back at the long boat and she imagined that they had long since come to rue the day that they had agreed to join the quest for Artumas.

‘We are the walking dead in search of a specter.’ The thought had leapt unbidden to her mind and yet the inherent truth struck her as blackly ironic. In the extreme of their desperation to find Myrhia, she had trudged through the demesne of the restless spirits in search of a man who, in all probability, was long since dead. The laughable became absurd when she considered that this grim Odyssey had been set in motion on the unsubstantiated word of an incorrigible miscreant named Ynthrax, who had served as the High Commander of Myrhia’s army.

A harsh, self deprecating laughter escaped her lips, causing the others to stop and regard her curiously.

There is something here that strikes you as humorous, Islena? Emian inquired, genuinely perplexed.

She swung around to the Metocan, and though her voice was light, her expression was edged and grim. I wonder, Emian, if one can become philosophical about enduring torment and horror. I mean to say, after one dives through layer upon layer of misery and suffering, do they eventually come to a place where it all becomes…laughable?

She uttered a thin chuckle spawned from nervous tension. If one endures the madness that we have and somehow manages to survive, does the act of surviving almost become cursory?

Emian continued to regard Doraux, his gaze shifting briefly to Arminda, who appeared equally puzzled by Islena’s odd soliloquy.

Seeing their confusion only caused Doraux to chuckle all the harder. I’m talking about purity of emotion. Zealots can maintain a steadfast, unremitting love for the object of their zeal, but is it possible that their zeal is rooted more in obsession than in true emotional passion. When I first came to this place, I vowed that I would not believe in most of its purported characteristics…magic or even the existence of this world as anything more than the creation of my own infirmed mind. As adamant as those original intentions were and as tenaciously as I attempted to cling to my own disbelief, events continue to unfold and shatter my every conviction.

With fear, it is the same thing. We’ve accrued horrifying experiences the way that a miser hordes pieces of gold. I have lived with constant terror since the first moment I awoke in Kornas and yet I am still able to function. Why? Gradually, if it does not succeed in killing us, fear begins to lose its sway over us. If the purity of emotion was irreducible, we would finally be immobilized by our terror, eventually only capable of awaiting death. As virulent as terror might be, it cannot be maintained and it is this that Myrhia and the tyrants before her have failed to comprehend. Sooner or later, fear is attenuated by other emotions such as outrage, indignation and hatred. At the very worst, terror must give way to indifference.

The Metocan’s eyes narrowed speculatively and he suddenly realized, ‘these thoughts are not her own.’ His eyes were involuntarily drawn to the Dragonsword. ‘The collective consciousness of the Jerhia is beginning to inculcate itself in her mind.’

Islena paused for a moment. In the oddly diffused light of the western shore, she appeared indescribably beautiful. Only her emerald eyes betrayed any hint of the tribulations which they had witnessed. There is only one emotion that does not relent; despair. It frightens me, Emian, because once you have fallen into that particular pit, your soul very often surrenders the means to raise itself out again. The only chance of reprieve is to find someone with the compassion and courage to enter your dark place and drag you…wrench you…out of the muck by force.

She averted her eyes and murmured, I fear the pit because I doubt whether anyone has the strength to pull me out, should I blunder in. Given the choice between despair and laughter, I will cling to laughter, even if it is hollow.

Islena fell silent and the others regarded her as though gazing upon something aloof and unobtainable in the enormity of her torment. Arminda inhaled sharply and turned back to the lake. Though she did not grasp all of what this strange woman had said, the elaboration of her raw fear profoundly shook the Jerhia. She found herself pitying Islena and the mammoth burden that fate had imposed upon her.

The sounds of commotion shattered the moment and Lorio appeared at the top of the slope which led down to where Islena and the others stood. The Lamish woman’s exotic features displayed an animation which Doraux could not recall having seen since the days before their captivity in Perdwick.

There is something here that you should see, she declared mysteriously before vanishing from sight. Curious, Islena raced up the sandy incline with the others only feet behind her.

It is not often that your friend displays such animation when she is not enraged, Emian observed from behind her and Islena merely nodded in response.

When the group crested the slope, the source of Lorio’s excitement immediately revealed itself, plunging them into an incredulous silence. After several moments, one of the Emercians, his voice tremulous with wonder, remarked, Surely this is not possible. It must be some trick of light and distance.

It is all too real, the Metocan remarked, unable to drag his eyes away from the baffling spectacle.

Doraux heard none of this. Her sensory reality had been reduced to herself and the natural bluff which stretched majestically from northern to southern horizon in an unbroken line. She blinked several times, half expecting the massive bluff to evaporate like a mirage.

It did not and Islena felt herself inching ever closer to that dread pit of despair which she had mentioned earlier. She shook her head in a gesture of absent dejection and turned away. How could we have not seen this thing from the lake? For that matter, how could we not have seen this thing from that damned island?

Emian shook his head while gazing speculatively at the towering bluff. I’m not sure, but I would suggest that the strictures of our world do not necessarily apply here.

How high do you suppose that thing is? Arminda inquired. Islena would have surmised that the sheer face rose at least a thousand feet above the sterile soil, but Emian’s remark prompted her to remain silent.

Lorio moved back to join the group. Her eyes were ablaze with a secret emotion that caused the Jerhia to shudder. A most imposing obstacle, wouldn’t you agree?

That it is, Emian allowed. But from this distance, it is impossible to assess exactly how much of an obstacle it represents. To do that, we have no choice but to move closer.

Right, Islena grumbled in a voice that was suddenly surly. Let’s move closer.

She started to move away, but Lorio abruptly laid a hand upon her shoulder. Doraux regarded the Lamish woman questioningly and for a brief instant, Islena thought that she could detect a trace of the ingenuous girl that she had once been. Then the sardonic smile spread across Lorio’s face and she remarked, Whatever drove the islanders from this shore awaits us at the cliff. I suspect that this is why we were unable to see it from the water.

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Islena thought that she could detect a subtle hint of desperate entreaty couched within the other woman’s tone. I just can’t turn back, she whispered. Nor can I expect anyone else to come with me.

Lorio nodded grimly and then inclined her head toward the improbable bluff. Then let us go if we’re going.

2

Islena’s initial assessment of the rock face’s height had fallen woefully short. The vertical face was closer to two thousand feet. The distance from the western shore was in excess of twenty miles and the party did not reach the rock face until mid morning of the next day.

The atmosphere of the plain was unrelentingly bleak to the point where the Blighted Lands of the Eastern continent appeared positively cheerful by contrast. The infertile soil was a uniform, lifeless gray that seemed to find its way into everything, irritating skin like course grained sandpaper. What little vegetation there was consisted primarily of weeds set with the wickedest thorns that Islena had ever set eyes upon. Once, isolated in a shifting sea of choking sand, her eyes had seized upon a solitary bloom with delicate pink and purple petals. She wondered how something of such fragile beauty could possible have thrived in these barren wastes. It occurred to her that the bloom grew as a living symbol of eternal hope…a testimony to the perseverance of life and beauty amidst an ocean of sterile desolation. She wondered if the bloom had been meant as a portent of her own ultimate survival and fervently hoped that this was so.

When the party had come to within a mile of the escarpment, they spotted the first of the gray bulbs that dotted the surface of the sheer rock face.

What do you suppose they are? Arminda inquired of no one in particular. Islena glanced at her sharply and saw that the girl was shuddering. Her eyes had the nervous, harried gleam of a gazelle that has caught the scent of a prowling lion.

A deformation of the rock perhaps. In a place such as this, who can tell for certain? Islena offered, hoping to allay the Jerhia’s anxiety. With her customary brusqueness, Lorio undid Islena’s efforts despite the sour glance from Doraux. Whatever they are, they are not anything as innocuous as rock deformations. Is there not anyone amongst you who has noticed the odor? It grows more pronounced and rank with every pace we take toward that escarpment.

Doraux did smell it then…the pungent odor of dry rot that one might encounter in the walls and ceiling of an abandoned attic. The party considered the odor in silence and then continued their trek toward the rock wall. With each successive step, the instinct to flee grew stronger, as the stench grew to bewildering levels. Soon, Islena and the others were forced to inhale in short, rapid breaths to save from being overwhelmed by nausea.

Finally, they reached a point where a massive crevice prevented further westerly progress. Upon first glance, Islena gleaned much of what must have transpired here.

Cautiously, she picked her way to the edge of the precipice and peered down. The perspective spun her head with a terrifying vertigo; the drop falling into darkness so deep that it appeared as though the entire world had been cleft in two.

She tried to imagine the cataclysmic upheaval that might have created such a fissure and found that she could not. She recalled enough of her high school geology to recognize the massive rock wall as the upside of a thrust fault and briefly wondered if the formation was similar in nature to the Great Mother.

Turning back to the others, she announced that there would be no reaching the escarpment anywhere in this vicinity.

Glancing south and then north, Emian asked We will have to follow the fissure until we find a suitable location, but which way do we go?

Doraux considered the fissure silently for several seconds, trying to see if intuition would point the way. What lies to the north of Metocan?

Emian glanced sharply at Doraux, a speculative expression dawning upon his limpid face. Quite frankly, that has never been ascertained. The most northerly portion of Metocan is in the province of Ulgak. Emian noticed how Islena shuddered at the mention of the homeland of the creatures who had attempted to abduct her in Othgol. I see that you are familiar with our cousins. They are rather disconcerting, but are well suited to the climate in northern Metocan. As to your question: the mists which cover most of Metocan grow thicker as one moves northward. Beyond Ulgak, they become impenetrable. I doubt that even Myrhia could find her way through that forbidding region. Why do you ask, Islena?

Judging by the appearance of the wall, it will stretch over the entire length of the continent. Yet, if there is an ocean or river to the north, we might be able to circumvent this thing.

It could well be a hundred leagues to the north, Islena? Emian protested.

True, but the prospect of attempting to scale that vertical face isn’t exactly filling my heart with boundless joy.

The Metocan offered Islena a thin smile. Lorio, who had viewed this exchange with an ironic grin, suddenly stepped forward. It would seem that your islander friends not only have a penchant for abusing women, they also take delight in keeping secrets.

Both Islena and Emian glanced questioningly at their Lamish companion, who merely inclined her head toward the length of rope which Ramod’s men had provided for the party. The implication of the gesture made it clear that she believed the islanders knew precisely what the party would encounter here. Five lengths of stout climbing rope and not a word mentioned about the existence of this obstacle.

Maybe they thought that its presence would be obvious, Islena offered by way of explanation.

Or perhaps our hosts never really expected us to reach this point, Lorio countered, her grin broadening.

Your grim pronouncements grow tiresome, Emian grumbled in a rare display of ire.

Lorio merely scowled menacingly at the Metocan, prompting Doraux to impose herself between the pair. Lorio, Emian is right; pessimism isn’t going to do much for moral.

The taller woman grunted and spun away, leaving the pair staring after her in bewilderment.

Your friend is a dark well, Islena. It is impossible to predict what secrets might be harbored in the lightless labyrinth of her soul. Emian’s comment elicited a noncommittal grunt from Islena.

Anxious to change the subject, she remarked, If only Sormias were here.

The Golgar’s continuing absence troubles me. Like your Lorio, it is difficult to discern what motives work behind his actions.

Talk of Sormias roused thoughts of Gillian and she immediately regretted broaching the subject. Wanting only to move, she gathered the group about her. Scanning every face, she saw weariness warring with trepidation, save for Lorio, whose lovely countenance remained inscrutable. Whether we climb the escarpment or try to go around it, we cannot reach the base here. Unless someone has a specific objection, I say that we follow the fissure northward. We all understand that time is our enemy, so we’ll have to limit how far we’ll go before we cross the fissure and try to scale the rock face.

When no alternative suggestions were forthcoming, the party picked up their packs and began to follow the cleft.

The thrust face had been broken through a series of rolling hills. On each occasion that the group crested an incline, Islena hoped that a pass would reveal itself, yet the rock wall remained unbroken. It soon became apparent that the party would have to look for a way to ford the crevice, though the prospect filled Islena’s heart with a formless dread.

Arminda drifted up beside Doraux. Her eyes were hooded, but Islena could sense that she radiated fear like a low level heat. Misconstruing the source of her apprehension, Islena offered Rock climbing isn’t exactly the greatest of my talents. You and I will work together.

The Jerhia glanced up at Islena, revealing the full depth of her anxiety. It is not the prospect of the climb that frightens me, Islena. Our country is mountainous and Jerhia children are taught to climb not long after they learn to walk.

Doraux frowned. I’m sorry, Arminda. I thought that it was your arm making the notion of the climb unsettling.

The pain in the girls eyes intensified and she glanced away. I will not be a burden to the quest, Islena…at least, not in that regard.

What fills me with dread are the…abominations, she whispered, pointing to the gray bulbs which littered the rock face like some manner of deformity. They are obscene and terrible, like diseased growths. I sense that they possess an awful purpose…a terrible patience.

I think that you’re beginning to take Lorio to heart, Islena laughed, attempting to sound nonchalant. Still, she had also tried to thrust the thoughts of the hanging gray bulbs from her mind. The Jerhia shook her head morosely. I fear, on this one occasion, your morbid friend might just prove correct.

Then the girl quickened her pace and moved ahead with her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched as though to ward off her own terror. Islena glanced back at Lorio, to find the hybrid regarding her with an intensity that was utterly disconcerting. Exasperated, Islena glowered and looked away, trying not to be affected by the mounting pessimism that seemed to be creeping over the party’s mood like an invisible pall.

The group traveled northward for the remainder of the day, with their hopes of finding a pass waning with each successive mile. The sun was beginning its final descent, when they happened upon a ravine where the chasm spanned no more than fifteen feet. Doraux directed the Emercians to range ahead to determine what the crevice might do in the next few hundred yards. In her mind, she had already reconciled herself to making the climb and now she commenced the battle to hold her fears at bay. Natural athleticism and power aside, Islena understood that she had no experience in rock climbing and was faced with a challenge that might have proved formidable for the most experienced of climbers. Drawing an unsteady breath, she deliberately turned her back on the wall.

She approached Arminda and Emian, who were both drawing food stuff from their packs. Near the edge of the crevice, she saw Lorio staring fixedly at the bulbs which littered the face of the rock wall. ‘There are more of them here than at any point thus far,’ Islena realized and felt the icy thread of terror burrow deeper into her guts. ‘What do you see, Lorio? And why are you never afraid?’

These were but two of the questions to add to the growing list of others which Islena had accrued regarding her cryptic friend.

The Jerhia smiled as Islena approached, but her ashen complexion clearly conveyed her displeasure at Islena’s imminent decision. Islena shrugged apologetically as if to suggest that she had been left no other choice in the matter…to which Arminda merely nodded glumly. Emian observed this silent exchange with an expression of puzzlement. Unlike the others, who suddenly seemed attuned to everything about them, the Metocan had been dismayed to discover that his percipience had vanished the moment that the party had crossed the Hiberas. His ability to divine the thoughts of others had likewise vanished, leaving him feeling isolated and vulnerable…two conditions to which he was not accustomed.

Islena gestured toward the rock face. How long do you think it will take us to scale that thing?

Arminda peered through the deepening shadow, experienced eyes assessing the face and the difficulty of the climb. The rock is striated and appears to have no shortage of hand and foot holds. For a proficient climber, the top might be attained in two hours. With the composition of our party, we could reasonably expect to double that time. This is assuming that we encounter no difficulty or panic. I would also recommend that we do not attempt the climb in the event of rain or if rain is imminent. The rock would become treacherous and the difficulty would increase tenfold.

Islena considered this for a moment. Very well, we’ll start first thing in the morning.

The three settled into a supper of dried fruits and meat. The sun had vanished beyond the face of the escarpment when the Emercians returned from their reconnaissance of the north. They sprinted down the slope as though they were being pursued by Myrhia herself, coming to a breathless, skidding halt before Islena.

Cerindyn took several seconds to regain his compose and then made his report. The fissure widens as it moves northward. Oddly, the rock seems less stable as though it might be rotten. The escarpment did not diminish in height.

Then it looks like this is the place to make the climb, Doraux concluded. Did you see any sign of habitation?

Cerindyn shook his head. Not the slightest indication of habitation of any kind, human or otherwise. This accursed world is utterly deserted.

On that point, you are wrong, Lorio contradicted. All eyes turned to the Lamish beauty, whose mysterious pulchritude seemed enhanced by the darkness. In the darkness, her black eyes glistened like diamonds. Open your eyes to the night.

As one, the group lapsed into an expectant silence, but the only sound that Islena could discern was the popping and cracking of the campfire. Then, gradually, she became aware of another sound, one so sly and furtive that it was not possible to pinpoint a specific source of origin. Slowly, the five climbed to their feet and peered about. Suddenly, the night seemed alive with the low menacing sound of sly movement.

What could it be? Arminda asked, her voice edged with the first stirrings of panic. The night had suddenly closed about the party like a blanket and nothing could be distinguished beyond a few feet outside the circle of flickering light.

Be prepared to fight, Doraux commanded and drew the Dragonsword, the rubies of which flickered a hectic warning. Lorio shook her head. I don’t think that they intend to attack. It is more likely that they seek to discover just what we are and assess what manner of threat we pose to them.

How can you possibly know that? Islena snapped irritably. Lorio merely shrugged and glanced away.

Damn it, if they won’t fight, then we’ll have to flush them out. Doraux raised the sword aloft, closed her eyes and unleashed a controlled blast of power. The ruby light illuminated the surrounding area from hill to hill, but revealed nothing. Islena sustained the fiery display for several seconds, but when nothing revealed itself, she allowed the power to abate.

Perhaps whatever is out there fears fire or light, One of the Emercians observed hopefully, evoking a gaze of twisted pity from Lorio.

We’ll have to divide the night into two watches. Lorio and the two Emercians will take the first watch, establishing a triangular perimeter about the encampment. Keep your torches burning constantly and midway through the night, we will relieve you.

Lorio and the second Emercian immediately moved to comply but Cerindyn stepped closer and in a quiet voice, inquired, Might I have a word with you, Milady.

Islena nodded reluctantly, surprised by the degree of hesitation she experienced. The Emercian retrieved a torch and the pair moved silently off to his portion of the watch.

No words were exchanged for several seconds and Doraux could sense that he was groping for the proper commencement to whatever he felt he needed to say. Milady, I am a soldier, not an orator; fancy speech is not natural to me. Still, there is something that I feel compelled to say to you.

Cerindyn paused and after a protracted silence, Islena nodded for him to proceed.

I want to begin by saying that Nymal and I are honored to be members of this quest. Though we have tried to render the best service that our limited talents allow, I sense a certain reticence towards us…not only from the others, but from you as well. He paused and glanced at Doraux as though in search of confirmation. In her heart, Doraux was forced to concede that she did regard the two through jaundice eyes, as though she fully expected them to commit some vile act of treachery at any the first given opportunity. She nodded thoughtfully and offered the Emercian an apologetic grin.

Milady, there is no possible justification for many of the things which have been done over the course of the last seven years. These things have left an indelible stain on the face of our nation. Emercia was once recognized as a veritable paradise, but now it is viewed as the centre of hell, itself. Under Artumas, we became known as the arbiters of peace, holding forth the promise of prosperity. With the coming of Myrhia, all of this has been forgotten.

Your army’s actions at the Hiberas will help restore some of that credibility, Islena offered, not entirely believing her own words. In this world, hatreds were hoarded like precious gems.

Cerindyn’s expression became somber. Milady, many of the atrocities were acts of the barbarian mercenaries. Myrhia incorporated these elements into the Imperial army to insure that it would remain loyal and…divided. I am not trying to deflect the blame to others, yet…

There is no need, Islena remarked uncomfortably.

There is a need! he countered fiercely. It is essential that you understand that Emercia is as much a victim as the countries which fell under Myrhia’s fist. We were forced to become the puppets of her will. Had she been human, something would have been done to remove her scourge.

He turned to Islena and clutched her forearm. Even in the darkness, she could sense the vehemence radiating from his eyes. Myrhia is not human. If she is to be destroyed, it must be at the hand of one such as you.

Doraux wanted desperately to repudiate this charge of burden, but in a moment of blinding insight, she realized that this was the unequivocal truth. She offered the Emercian a curt nod and then strode back to the fire and her blankets.

Despite the prevailing atmosphere of anxiety that had enveloped the party, Islena fell immediately into the embrace of a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Chapter Two

1

Doraux was surprised to find that it was the first warm rays of sunlight which summoned her out of sleep on the following morning. Disconcerted, she sat up and gazed about to find the two Emercians sound asleep on the opposite side of the dead fire. At triangular points along the crest of the valley, she spotted Emian, Arminda and Lorio. Rising, she stretched languorously and gestured for the three to come down from the hills.

Why was I not awakened? she demanded.

Emian shrugged helplessly. Lorio insisted that you not be awakened.

She turned to the Lamish beauty, who offered her a rather cryptic smile…an expression which had become her trademark as of late. The ultimate burden has fallen upon your shoulders, the hybrid observed softly. The occasional special consideration is the least you deserve in return.

Islena smiled fondly at the other woman. For the first time since the day before the nightmare in Runesholm, Lorio displayed some traces of her former personality. Doraux had no way of knowing that this was the final instant that the old Lorio would surface for some time to come.

The party consumed a quick breakfast of dried fruits and nuts. As they ate, Islena discussed the initial problem of spanning the fifteen foot fissure to reach the base of the rock wall. Ponderously, Arminda rose to her feet. There is a simple method…one developed by the Jerhia for rapid movement through exactly this type of obstacle.

She abruptly averted her eyes. Unfortunately, I do not know if I am capable of making the required archery shot.

Her gaze drifted to her paralyzed arm, which she regarded with intense hatred. Islena sprang to her feet and gripped the girl by both shoulders. Gazing into those pale blue eyes, Doraux glimpsed the pool of despair of which she had so recently spoken. It occurred to her that the Jerhia had reached a critical juncture in her life and if she failed in this one crucial task her infirmity would inevitably destroy her.

Tell me how to cross the crevice, Islena demanded, her tone emphatic, almost harsh. Arminda’s eyes widened briefly and then she nodded tightly. She retrieved her crossbow and quiver of bolts. From this, she drew forth two bolts with serrated tips that appeared capable of pulverizing bone. The end of the bolt tilted away from the shaft, ending in a heavy iron loop and an iron sleeve.

Though she immediately grasped the principle, Islena could scarcely believe her eyes. Arminda beamed, proud of the Jerhia ingenuity which the simple concept represented. Obviously, the rope is fastened through the sleeve. This part of the shaft has been tilted away so as not to interfere with the action of the crossbow.

Her smile faded and she glanced pleadingly at Islena. I am no longer able to use this.

Islena was attempting to use some words of encouragement, when Lorio gripped the smaller woman by the collar of her ragged tunic and threw her to the ground. The others gaped in horror, while Islena stepped between the pair and raged, How dare you?

Lorio merely grinned and Islena immediately understood that the hybrid had not been motivated by anger. Still, her actions had been unspeakably cruel. The girl is worthless, Lorio intoned evenly, gazing down upon Arminda, who had pushed herself to one elbow. You are a liability to the party.

That’s enough, Lorio, Islena growled and stepped forward, trying to usher the hybrid away from the fallen Jerhia. Lorio merely took a compensating step backward and continued to berate the girl. As you are now, you disgrace your people. The party would be best served if you would throw yourself into the fissure. If you lack the courage, I would gladly assist you.

Damn you, Lorio, Islena barked and started to reach for the hybrid. Yet, before she could grip the other woman’s wrist, she heard a cry of fury, felt a sharp shove to her lower back and found herself sprawled in the lifeless dirt.

Doraux shook her head and glanced up to see that it had been the Jerhia who had struck her from behind. Presently, she launched herself at the taller woman, pummeling Lorio with her good fist and both feet. Lorio absorbed the blows impassively. Islena rose to intervene, but Emian placed a restraining hand upon her shoulder. Patience for a moment, please. Your mysterious friend has no intention of harming the Jerhia.

Still doubtful, something nonetheless induced Doraux to remain still.

Arminda heaped incoherent, tearful derision upon Lorio. Never had Doraux witnessed such a display of overt emotion from a Jerhia. Finally, Lorio seized Arminda by her paralyzed arm and ducking forward, threw the girl over her shoulders like a sack of feathers. The Jerhia landed with a grunt but quickly bounded up and charged the taller woman. The Lamish woman slapped her down with the casual ease of one swatting an annoying bug.

Though the Jerhia landed heavily, she refused to be deterred. Springing up, she started cautiously toward Lorio, who marked her approach with eyes that were as cold as glaciers. Unable to endure any more of the humiliating spectacle, Islena shrugged Emian off and seized Arminda up in a mighty bear hug. The Jerhia’s fruitless efforts to free herself caused her to keen like a wounded animal.

Tears tracked meandering pathways down her dirty face. Stop, Arminda! Islena pleaded. We can’t afford to fight each other.

The woman’s thrashing abruptly subsided, but her tears did not. Lorio regarded Arminda’s display of emotion dispassionately. Suddenly, she strode forward and snatched up the Jerhia’s forgotten crossbow.

I imagine that you despise me at this particular moment? she inquired mildly. Arminda glared balefully, but said nothing. If so, your hatred is misplaced.

She abruptly thrust the weapon into Arminda’s face. This should be the object of your rancor. It mocks your infirmity more savagely than I ever could. If you wish to vent your wrath upon something, vent it upon this…your true enemy.

She threw the weapon into the dirt at Arminda’s feet. This was once an appendage of your body and possibly your truest companion. Now it is a symbol of your disability. Do you have the courage to bend it to your service again?

I can’t, damn you! Arminda hissed, her pain echoing over the deserted valley.

You can…and for all of our sakes, you must, Lorio countered in a surprisingly gentle tone. If you are to live, you must conquer that which was once yours. Ominously, she added, Or it will conquer you.

Arminda lowered her head and asked quietly, Release me, Islena. Please.

Doraux hesitated for a moment and then stepped back. The two adversaries regarded each other in silence. Lorio did not flinch, but Islena doubted that she would have blinked in the face of Lucifer, himself.

Lorio again retrieved the weapon and offered it to Arminda. You’ve shown me your hurt and outrage…now show me your courage.

Arminda merely stared at the crossbow for several seconds and then snapped it away. In a voice tinged with frost, she declared, You have a talent for imparting harsh lessons. Pray that you are never so cruelly instructed.

Lorio cast a significant glance at Islena and murmured, You can’t begin to imagine what truly harsh education can be. Now I say that you cannot provide us with access to the other side of this fissure. Prove me wrong!

Linking the Jerhia’s arm in hers, Lorio led Arminda to the edge of the chasm. Islena regarded the Lamish beauty, her oldest companion, with a turbulent mixture of ambivalence; uncertain if the other woman’s action warranted applause or loathing.

The rest of the party gathered up their gear and followed the two women. Lorio helped Arminda feed one end of the rope through the circular loop of the bolt and then unfurled the coils of heavy climbing rope.

Islena gingerly crept to the edge of the fissure and peered down into the impenetrable darkness. She picked up a large stone and allowed it to drop into the abyss, waiting for the faint echo as it struck bottom. When none was forthcoming, Islena shuddered and closed her eyes.

After the bolt had been prepared and the rope unfurled, Lorio stood erect, and spreading her stance, extended her right arm. Brace the bow upon my arm. You need only fire.

Arminda regarded Lorio silently for several seconds, her face clouded with a turbulent storm of emotions. Slowly, she raised the crossbow and braced it on the Lamish woman’s unmoving forearm. For a fleeting instant, the Jerhia was sorely tempted to fire the bolt into the sadistic woman’s black heart, but the impulse passed quickly.

Her index finger settled over the trigger as she sighted the target some forty feet away. She had performed this very action routinely perhaps ten thousand times before, but now the bow felt cumbersome and unfamiliar. Drawing a deep breath, she depressed the trigger and the bolt sprang from the bow with a resounding twang. Time seemed to suspend itself on a hinge and then the bolt stuck solid rock and shattered some six inches from the crack which Arminda had selected.

Damn my soul, the Jerhia whispered despondently and sagged away from the Lamish woman. Watching, Islena felt her heart wrench painfully in her chest.

Have you never missed a shot? Lorio inquired casually, while she hauled back the rope and segment of shattered bolt. Arminda flashed a baleful glance at her antagonistic companion.

Yes, I’ve missed, she snarled between clenched teeth. But never so badly.

Lorio straightened and turned her benign gaze upon the smaller woman. Who is to say that it was not I who faltered?

There is only one arrow left! Arminda exclaimed, and beneath the Jerhia’s grief, Doraux could detect a hint of desperation.

Lorio produced the remaining bolt and began to fasten the length of rope. Then you’ll have to compensate for the error and make a perfect shot, won’t you?

For a long while, Arminda remained motionless and then she came forward to prepare for the crucial second shot. Islena understood that, should this bolt suffer the same fate as the first, the party would be forced to trek north until the fissure narrowed sufficiently to allow a crossing. Some pessimistic sense warned her that such a trek would be a long and arduous one indeed. A quick glance around those assembled revealed that the others had drawn the same conclusion.

Again, Lorio braced herself and extended her arm. Arminda closed her eyes, attempting to catalogue the various mechanics which had made her a superior archer. Gradually, she constructed an image of the weapon wielder that she had been before her maiming and again opened her eyes. Watching the Jerhia’s change of expression, Lorio began to smile.

Arminda locked in the target, closed her eyes to prevent second guessing and depressed the trigger.

A hollow twang filled the air, followed by a profound silence, and when she opened her eyes, the Jerhia was ecstatic to find that the bolt was buried deep in the cleft of the opposite wall. She then shifted her gaze to Lorio, her face alight with a mixture of relief and incredulity.

Perhaps you can delay your destruction for another day, the hybrid allowed evenly, before turning away to test the strength of the line.

The Jerhia averted her eyes from the gaze of the others, surprised by how profoundly shaken the experience had left her. She drifted over to Islena, who hugged her and observed happily, I think that you actually earned her admiration…not an easy thing to do.

The bolt will hold, Lorio declared, though her eyes were fixed upon the profusion of gray bulbs which littered the face of the towering rock wall. Her preternatural hybrid senses informed her that the things contained within the bulbs were undergoing a subtle transformation of some sort. This bit of alarming insight, she elected to keep to herself.

Moments later, the six began the laborious process of crossing the fissure. Doraux was the first to cross. Hanging upside down, powerful thighs wrapped about the taut length of rope, she conveyed herself across, while refusing to gaze anywhere but the opposite shelf of rock. She experienced a moment of profound gratitude when again her legs swung down to solid earth.

That gratitude quickly degenerated in to a coughing fit as the noxious odor filled her lungs. Cries of concern reached her ears from the opposite side of the fissure, but she waved them off.

This place smells like a cesspool. she croaked and untied the safety rope, while trying to confine her breathing to short, shallow gasps. As the others made the crossing, Islena turned her attention to the daunting task of scaling the rock face. ‘You’re really going to try to climb this thing,’ she inquired of herself. ‘Yep, I intend to do just that.’

Above her, the vertical face vanished into the low sailing clouds. The foot and hand holds which Arminda claimed would facilitate their climb now seemed like blemishes in an otherwise smooth face.

There came a tense moment as Lorio attempted to cross the crevice. As the last to cross, and with nothing upon which to tie off the rope, crossing would require that she swing down and scale the far wall of the chasm. While Islena and the Emercians held the safety and main lines, Lorio prepared to make her leap. As she moved to the edge, her foot snagged on a small outcrop of rock and the normally agile Lorio tumbled over the side in a sprawl of limbs.

She plummeted down twenty feet and then slammed heavily into the west wall of the abyss, very nearly dragging her three anchor people into the fissure. The three managed to avert that calamity and slowly hoisted Lorio up onto the rock shelf. To the surprise of all, Lorio seemed uninjured by the fall, save for her wounded pride and a small, bloodless abrasion just above her left eye. She muttered an apology, brushed sand and dust from her tunic and went off to examine the rock face, leaving the others gaping after her in exasperation.

After a moment, a shaken Islena turned to Arminda and inquired, What now?

The Jerhia gazed up and then northward along the rock ledge. I suggest that we follow the shelf until we find a location where there are more hand holds and less of those gray bulbs. She pointed to a spot some three hundred yards further along. That looks like a more promising area.

The six gathered up their goods and began moving along the narrow rock shelf. Islena could feel the constant thrum of the Dragonsword against her thigh. It’s formerly vague message had grown more urgent now that they had reached the base of the escarpment. When they came to the spot which Islena had indicated, the girl hung her crossbow over her shoulder and nodded thoughtfully. This is more suitable. We will begin the climb from here.

2

The six divided into two groups of three; the first consisting of Emian and the two Emercians, while the other team was comprised of the three females. Connected by lengths of rope looped about the waist of each climber, the two groups began their ascent. By unspoken agreement, the two groups selected routes which would allow the gray bulbs the widest berths possible.

Islena attempted to confine her line of sight to the area immediately in front and above her, concentrating on the task of seeking out sturdy foot and hand holds. She adamantly refused to glance down, despite the temptation which nagged at her like an insatiable itch. With Lorio in the lead, her group progressed slowly. The Lamish woman climbed with the agility and confidence of a mountain goat, though she deliberately slowed her pace to accommodate Arminda’s infirmity.

Above her, Islena was painfully aware of the Jerhia’s labored breathing. The girl, once a natural climber, was now forced to haul herself up to the next available hand hold with her one good hand…making each transfer of weight an exercise in exhaustion and potential disaster. She experienced her most difficult moment when the upward progress was halted by a smooth section of rock face. Then it became necessary to move laterally, but for the handicapped Arminda, this proved excruciatingly difficult. On several occasions, Islena was forced to climb up to the girl and assist her from one handhold to the next.

Gazing into the Jerhia’s eyes, Islena could discern that it was grim determination alone that warded the girl against utter capitulation. On these occasions, Arminda would accept Islena’s hand with a sheepish grin. After an eternity (or so it seemed) Doraux chanced a glance downward and was dismayed to find that they had not yet reached the halfway point. Emian and the two Emercians labored perhaps a hundred yards beneath the group. Fetching a deep breath, she turned about and resumed her climb. Her body was bathed in a sheen of perspiration and she was constantly forced to draw her sleeve across her face. Still, despite the prolonged deprivation of the climb, her muscles thrummed with power and her surplus of energy seemed virtually inexhaustible.

There appears to be a ledge no more than a hundred feet above us, Lorio called out. We will rest there.

Like Islena, the Lamish woman displayed no outward sign of fatigue. More to the point, her lovely features seemed set in lines of sardonic amusement as though she viewed the entire situation as uproariously funny. Finally, the group reached the ledge and Lorio sat with her back to the cold stone, feet dangling over the precipice.

Islena finally reached the ledge and pulled herself next to Lorio. A few feet away, Arminda lay slumped across the narrow ribbon of stone, her chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. Doraux glanced at the taller woman, her expression fraught with concern. Lorio smiled and reached across to lay a gentle hand upon the Jerhia’s shoulder. Watching, Islena felt a vague tension loosen in her chest…a tension that had plagued her since their departure from Othgol. If Lorio was capable of this simple gesture of humanity, then it was possible that Islena’s dark misgivings were unfounded.

Lorio abruptly glanced at Doraux, her dark eyes burning fiercely. Why did you allow that bastard to flog you on the island?

She had posed the question with such vehemence that Islena discerned that this had plagued the Lamish beauty since the party had left the island. After a brief hesitation, Doraux reached out and gently took Lorio’s hand. The statuesque warrior tensed and then Islena could feel her relax. Lorio, there are times when pain can be more poignant than raw aggression. The islanders are simple people and I sensed that I could make a lasting impression upon them if I willingly subjected myself to a striping.

Still, you are the One! These wretches should crawl at your feet and beg for your favor and benevolence. Their actions are an affront to destiny. Lorio’s cheeks had colored a hectic red. In the uncompromising view of the Lamish warrior, Doraux had debased herself by allowing common islanders to inflict their crude justice upon what she had come to perceive as sacred flesh. By doing so, Islena had lost much of the other woman’s hard won admiration and respect.

Doraux smiled and placed a hand over the other woman’s, squeezing slightly as she did. This savior business is a difficult proposition and I’m still not sure that I’m well suited to it. There is one particular insight that I’ve obtained…violence and incessant warfare is very much like quicksand in that…once you’ve blunder into it, you are very likely to be consumed. After a while, it becomes impossible to distinguish one side from the other. Often, as generations go by, it is difficult to recall what precipitated the conflict to begin with, but everyone is left sullied by the heinous acts they’ve committed.

She paused and searched Lorio’s face for some sign of comprehension, but found that the Lamish woman regarded her as though she had suddenly begun to speak another language. Islena sighed and stole a brief glance downward, wincing as the sheer drop gave her a rush of vertigo.

Islena, you must inure yourself if you are to have any chance against Myrhia, Lorio advised tightly.

Islena shook her head vehemently. In the days and hours since I left Perdwick, I’ve constantly thought about Myrhia and how I feel about the woman and her actions. At first, I despised her with every fiber of my being and would gladly have torn her throat out with my teeth had the opportunity arisen. Oddly enough, my hatred has evolved into a kind of pity.

Lorio’s expression of disbelief intensified, but Islena pressed on. I suspect that Myrhia is the emptiest, loneliest being in existence. All of her power cannot compensate for the void in her soul. I’m not sure how I know this, but I do. Some deeper sense tells me that this dark drama in which we are enmeshed is but a chapter of a much longer saga. Perhaps this makes little sense, but there are occasions when I feel certain that I’ve experienced other versions of this particular conflict. Despite all of the suffering and misery that she has engineered, I still wish that there was another way to resolve this battle, to defeat Myrhia. The lessons learned would be far more enduring.

Lorio said nothing and the two women sat in silence for several moments. The inscrutable beauty stared out at the eerie desolation of the Lower Lands as though arranging her thoughts. Finally, still not glancing at Islena, she remarked, You know that I love you more than anything in my life. Indeed, you are the sole reason that I have survived all that I have. Still, I must warn you that this pacifist ideal of yours is one of sheer folly. Your assessment of Myrhia is not only inaccurate, it is fatally misguided. The need for absolute dominion is her only desire and companion. She is not encumbered by concepts such as compassion and mercy. These are weaknesses that she will masterfully exploit. When the moment comes to face her, you must do so with all possible violence and all of the rancor and belligerence that your soul can muster.

Do you realize that you are asking me to become precisely like her, Doraux pointed out, her tone echoing a thread of revulsion.

If you do not, we are lost, Lorio declared gravely. Then she stood gracefully, unmindful of the precipice. If you do not, I am lost.

Before Islena could ask her friend to elaborate, Lorio turned away and prepared to resume the climb. Doraux stared glumly after the taller woman and thought, ‘I pray that you are wrong, Lorio, because if hatred and violence are our only sources of deliverance, then we are lost already.’

Gingerly, Islena climbed to her feet and gazed up at the sheer face that remained to be scaled. As she did, there came a surge of jubilation so profound that it set her legs to trembling. The party had come nearly two thirds of the way up the face without incident. Despite her intense apprehension, she had availed herself well and pride would propel her over the remainder of the climb. Tracing the sheer face, Islena could see nothing that would hinder the party’s quest for the Upper lands.

‘Two hours. Perhaps less,’ she told herself, ‘and the final leg of this nightmare trek can begin.’ She recalled her initial terror as the party had first come ashore. Now that trepidation seemed unwarranted.

‘You’re not at the top yet, kiddo,’ she reminded herself as her gaze happened upon the misshapen gray bulbs that hung suspended in silent mystery. The two Emercians and Emian gingerly picked their way across the narrow rock shelf. Both Emercians seemed drawn and visibly anxious, while the normally unflappable Metocan showed signs of exhaustion. His limpid eyes met Islena’s and he declared, The Jerhia love their mountainous terrain and they are welcomed to it. I long for the gently rolling hills and drifting mists of Metocan.

It’s an arduous climb, Islena responded diplomatically, though her powerful body thrived on intense physical challenge, filling her with a vitality that her old life had only provided in the rarest of moments.

As the climb resumed, Doraux was touched by a burgeoning excitement. In that instant of clarity, she knew that everything that Ynthrax had said would prove true; Artumas did live. She could feel his presence as thought the lost king radiated a pulsing energy that reached her on the most visceral of levels. Perhaps the hinge of fate was about to turn in her favor. It was in this mood of ebullience that Islena began the final leg of the climb. Her mood was augmented as the first three hundred feet sped by in an abundance of hand holds.

That sepia glow of optimism immediately dissipated when Lorio abruptly stopped and uttered a string of vile curses.

What is the matter? Doraux called up, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the source of Lorio’s consternation. Lorio abruptly gestured to a point some fifty feet above her. Islena traced the gesture with her gaze and upon seeing, sagged disconsolately. A band of intrusive quartzite, perhaps two hundred feet thick, thrust its way across the face of the escarpment just above them. Its surface was as smooth as the surface of a shallow pool on a windless July afternoon. Echoing Lorio’s curses, Doraux turned her head in both directions to determine that the band stretched from horizon to horizon.

Lorio picked her way back down to Islena and intoned somberly, There is no point in attempting to go further. The damnable rock is totally smooth and we will find no purchase there.

Her tone reflected a disappointment that echoed as contrived to Doraux’s ears and she glanced sharply at the taller woman. There must be a way.

Lorio’s brow furrowed in concentration and then she glanced speculatively at Islena, an esoteric emotion shaping her expression. We lack the picks and hammers necessary to scale this face, but the Dragonsword may allow you to carve out hand holds and see us to the Upper lands.

Doraux frowned. The prospect of utilizing the power still filled her with a formless dread that she could not entirely qualify, though she did suspect that her reservations were rooted in her own notions of power and responsibility. Sensing her hesitation, the Lamish woman whispered, Your refusal will signify the end of the quest and Myrhia’s eventual victory.

Doraux sighed and drew the back of her hand across her brow. Lorio’s bleak assessment was nonetheless irrefutably correct…to go back now would be akin to capitulation. For her, capitulation was synonymous with death and she would be better served by plummeting from the rock wall and denying the enchantress her coveted prize.

Very well, I’ll use the fucking sword to cut out the hand holds, Doraux snorted, surprised by the degree of rancor that the notion aroused. As the others reached them, she silently unsheathed the massive sword, which now pulsed in perfect syncopation with her heartbeat. Wanting to be away from the others, she climbed to the lower edge of the quartzite, while Lorio outlined the situation to the rest of the party members.

Gazing down along the length of her torso, she could see that Lorio and Emian were engaged in a heated discussion. Knowing the Metocan’s aversion to vulgar displays of power, she wondered if he had proposed an alternate means of surmounting this latest obstacle. She was briefly considering retreating to join the pair, when a tiny alien voice whispered from the depth of her subconscious. ‘You have reached a crucial juncture in time and destiny. To turn back is to succumb to darkness.’

She was dimly aware of her name being uttered from somewhere below her, but she elected to ignore the summons. Reversing her grip, Doraux leaned back as far as she dare, closed her eyes to commence the process that would connect her to the Jerhia collective, and then she drove the Icon into the unyielding quartzite.

The realization that she had committed a grievous error was instantaneous. The encrusted rubies blazed into life, unleashing a devastating wave of power that bore into the rock as if into living flesh. There followed a low rumble that quickly intensified into rapid oscillations. The frequency exceeded the tolerance of the brittle quartzite which exploded in a burst of white powder and sharp fragments that rained down upon the party members.

Arminda lost her foot hold, but Lorio snatched her tunic as quick as an adder and pulled the ashen faced Jerhia back up to solid ground. She flashed a look of pure gratitude, but Lorio was already climbing up to Islena.

Doraux clung precariously onto the handholds while the Dragonsword poured forth a steady stream of power into the rapidly destabilizing rock face. Desperately, she fought to bring the puissance to heel, and when she finally succeeded, she was devastated to discover that the outburst had reduced the face to an impassable span of craters.

Closing her eyes in dismay, she muttered, What have I done?

Her reverie of misery was broken by a harrowing scream. Lorio’s husky voice filled the air with a single word, delivered in an exigent tone that could not be ignored. Doraux need only glance down to immediately discern the source of the chaos.

The mysterious gray bulbs had begun to change, pulsing like repulsive gray hearts. To her eternal horror, she realized that the process was occurring all along the cliff face in both directions. In her hands,