Kellanved's Reach

The creature’s dried hand creaked as he took hold of the leather-wrapped grip of his flint sword. Dancer drew twinned heavy parrying gauches and pushed Kellanved behind him. Though he frankly thought it hopeless, he still wondered how to slay an apparent undead. The usual killing techniques certainly wouldn’t apply … perhaps dismemberment was the only practical answer. A tall order with his daggers.

Onos hunched slightly, drawing the blade from the belt of twisted leather at his waist. That same motion continued, blindingly fast, as the blade arced behind in one blink of an eye to pass through Jadeen’s neck.

Dancer stared, stunned; even Jadeen appeared shocked, her eyes blinking rapidly. Dancer was certain the blade must have passed just before her throat until the witch’s head began to slide, wetly, forward on her neck to topple down her front in a jet of blood. Shortly thereafter, her body tumbled forward from the throne.

Dancer and Kellanved stepped backwards from the spreading tide of blood.

Onos calmly thrust his flint blade home in his belt once more. ‘This one,’ the Imass grated, ‘has been found unworthy.’

Dancer swallowed, his mouth dry. He shared a glance with Kellanved, who appeared to have paled. ‘I … see,’ Dancer managed. ‘Then that about does it for us …’ He glanced back, searching for the way they had entered, but the tunnel was gone. They appeared to be trapped within the cavern.

‘If you could—’ he began, but Kellanved stepped forward – rather daintily around the pool of fresh blood – and motioned to the throne.

‘So … it is unoccupied now?’ he asked.

Dancer hissed: ‘You’re not really considering—’

‘Yes,’ Tem answered, breathlessly and emotionlessly. ‘It is unoccupied.’

Dancer lunged forward, nearly slipping on the blood, to take Kellanved’s arm. ‘Don’t. Isn’t it obvious? No one’s been found worthy. Not in all these ages.’

The wizened Dal Hon mage eased his arm free. ‘That is entirely possible, yes.’

‘So?’

Kellanved raised his walking stick and tapped its hound’s head to his temple. ‘I have a plan.’

Dancer had to roll his eyes. ‘Please, this is not the time or place for one of your tricks.’ He pointed to Jadeen’s staring head. ‘You’ll end up like that!’

‘On the contrary,’ the little mage huffed, ‘this is entirely the time and place for such things. Where ever else would one need do so?’

Dancer shook his head, pleading. ‘Please. Don’t do this. Let’s just go …’

The mage fluttered a hand to where the tunnel once lay. ‘It may be that leaving is no longer an option. Therefore …’

Dancer let out a long hard breath. If they could not go, then fine. What other choice had they? Still, he couldn’t help but see in his mind’s eye all the other countless hopefuls before them driven to the same conclusion – and all failing, one after the other.

He stepped away, nodding.

Kellanved moved, and the five Imass watched, silent and immobile, as he turned and eased his bum down on the leather cradle of the throne’s seat.

Dancer and he waited, peering at the Imass, all silent and watchful. Then, as one, they half bowed to Kellanved, who raised his brows to Dancer. ‘So,’ he murmured, ‘am I … worthy?’

Onos T’oolan appeared to look him up and down. ‘We are … considering … your occupancy.’

‘And when will I know?’

‘You will know,’ T’oolan answered.

Kellanved rubbed his neck, wincing. ‘Ah. Yes. Of course.’

The one named Tem bowed to Kellanved. ‘Your orders?’

The mage flinched, fluttering his hands. ‘No orders! No, none at all.’ He appeared to shoo them away with his fingers. ‘Do what you must …’

The dry flesh of Tem’s neck creaked as he inclined his head. ‘Very good. We shall go, then, to search out our brothers and sisters.’

Kellanved brightened. ‘Yes! Excellent. Do so.’ One by one the hoary shapes dissolved into dust until only Onos remained. ‘You, Tool,’ Kellanved called.

‘T’oolan,’ the Imass corrected him.

Kellanved waved that aside. ‘How shall I, you know … contact you?’

‘You call us,’ the Imass answered, sloughing away into dust.

Kellanved drummed his fingers on the antler armrests of the throne, squirming now, edging back and forth. ‘Damned uncomfortable seat,’ the Dal Hon grumbled. He rose, rubbing his behind, and Dancer had to shake his head.

‘How did you know?’

Kellanved blinked up at him. ‘How did I know what?’

He pointed to the decapitated corpse and Kellanved nodded. ‘Ah. Well, you see, did you not notice how she was fine until she ordered them to do something? And that order was to slay us?’

‘So?’

‘So – it is in the legends and stories, my friend. The Imass are sworn to war against their enemy, the Jaghut. And we are not Jaghut. There you go.’ He paused then, thinking, tapping his fingertips together. ‘That, or just the fact that she gave an order. It may be that just because you occupy the throne doesn’t mean you can give orders. Perhaps you are more a chief than a king – you sit at their permission.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Or one of those two. I’m not sure which.’