Endling: The First: Chapters 7–11

So it was with more than mere trepidation that I climbed atop a slimy white slug pony, with a boost from a helpful natite.

He was not my favorite steed. Without a saddle, being astride was like sitting in a puddle of goo.

He was dour and quiet, and his voice had none of Lar Camissa’s music in it.

Near the lake, the phosphorescence lit our way, but in the depths of the tunnel, the only light came from the glowing eyes of our natite guides.

“When we fled persecution and came to live beneath the ground, we took with us our most sacred objects: the Crown, the Shield, and the Eye. The first among them, the Crown of Beleeka, was a symbol of Lar Camissa’s noble birth. Second was a less important but still venerated object, the Ganglid Shield. Finally, there was the Eye, a toy of no great importance, except that it was a childhood gift given to the Queen by her mother.”

A traitorous band of the Queen’s soldiers tried to abscond with the objects soon after our arrival here.

“If you continue on, you will find a stream amid streams, pools within pools, peril and promise. Within the inner pool at the bottom of the unscalable height lie those three sacred objects.”

He was lying by omission, leaving out details to outwit me, to fool my senses.

She’d made no promise, just a request. Once again, Daf Hantch was being evasive.

Between us and the pool we hoped to reach were great plopping drops of molten rock, a network of magma rivulets, a stream of steam, and beneath it all, a crusted black floor.

“Do these natites think we're invulnerable to falling lava?” Khara demanded, laughing in disbelief.

“I can get to the pool and grab whatever’s there.”
“You’re daft,” Khara said.

He gave a rather smug smile.

“If you survive to reach the pool, the water is billowing steam,” Gambler said.

Renzo made a small smile and tilted his head impishly.

When I break the cistern, the water will flow out.

We’d climbed perhaps a hundred stairs when we heard a huge blow, a yelp, a clattering of footsteps, a banging of steel, and, most heartening, giddy laughter.

Renzo opened the ornately carved box.

It had been cunningly made, and perhaps protected by durable theurgic spells, for the objects inside the box were bone dry.

“It’s worth far more intact.”

We returned to our exhausting, relentless climb.

The only sounds were our labored breaths and heavy footfalls.

I used to chafe at being the runt. My siblings teased me.

The moon had slipped away on its own long journey, followed by a handful of luminous and steadfast stars.

Tobble, for some reason, seemed to think the cylinder from the box was a weapon, so he brandished it.

It was breathtaking, after the dank recesses of the natite cavern.

We were at the rim of a caldera, and the whole world seemed to spread before us like an endless map.

To the north and east, dark mountains loomed. To the west, the land grew flatter and less imposing.

“I see a large lodge at the center. And timber walls and earthen palisades around, oh”—he muttered to himself, counting—“maybe fifty buildings.”

The temperature seemed to fall with each step downward. It was invigorating at first, but soon we found ourselves shivering and donning every last bit of clothing in our packs.

It was invigorating at first, but soon we found ourselves shivering and donning every last bit of clothing in our packs.

An armored knight, his face concealed behind a slitted visor, appeared atop the wall, and beside him a herald. It was the herald who challenged us.

“We felivets have left those times, those beliefs, behind us. They were poisonous. Especially the notion that we are destined to rule all other species.”

If it was true that war threatened, what might come from a clash between the Murdano and a dangerous rogue felivet?

“Gambler, what should we expect from an army ruled by one of these valtti?” Renzo asked.
“Cunning. Deception. Subtlety. And absolute ruthlessness.”

At the juncture of two small rivers, we came upon an army camp, a vast array of tents in neat rows.

Two blacksmiths hammered horseshoes, while others pumped bellows to keep the fires hot.

You’d still need to get through the sentries and their dogs.

“I’m no geographer, but from what I know of Dreyland, if we go north, we should find a ford, a ferry, or an unguarded bridge eventually.”

I smiled and tousled his fur.