The crackle of the fire to my back stirs the air, throwing shadows around the prairie to be obliterated by the noonday sun. The fire is isolated to the hill, the dry brambles catching flame far easier than the lush field of flowers and grass around the base. The harsh orange light causes the cuts and bruises to stand out on Jor’Mari’s skin, even the slightest injury turned gruesome. His eyes roam over me, investigating, attempting to figure me out. The look in his eyes confirms something I suspected since first meeting him. Jor’Mari is more intelligent than I am, and I don’t think that it is just by a little bit.
His eyes linger on my right hand where my dragonfire begins to stir. “Are we going to come to blows, girl?” he asks.
“That depends on you,” I reply, continuing to build my fire. “And that isn’t my name, my lord.”
Jor’Mari’s eyes flick back and forth, thinking. The man heaves a great sigh and opens his arms wide. As his left hand opens, the grass to his side sighs back, smashed into the earth as if a great weight falls upon it. An indent of an invisible weight is left in the grass and flowers near him.
“How impolitic of me to speak in such a way, Ms. Devardem,” the man says, bowing at the waist towards me. “You must understand, for the past two weeks I have needed to handle all comers in a quite violent way. Aggression seems to be the theme of this trial, as I have found it, aggression and deceit. Truthfully, I am quite pleased to learn that you are not dead.”
I relax a bit at his words, though I do not let the fire building in my hand dissipate. “Who told you that I was dead?”
The grin stretching across his face quirks, a momentary flash of anger on his face that is quickly smothered. “Why, it was that bitch, Coriander Mel’Draven. Following the collapse of the rafters, confusion surrounded all of us as the monsters poured into the parade ground. I came out of my momentary stupor to find that woman digging through my pockets. She claimed to have been searching for healing items that I might have smuggled into the contest; her boy toy was injured in the fall.”
“Kendon.”
“Just the one,” he quips, pointing toward me. “Though, I am certain now that she had no high-minded intentions such as assisting that boy. Not that I thought she did at that time either; the girl is awfully self-interested. It was then, as I was about to strike her down for attempting to steal from me, that she revealed having seen you and that other one die when the risers collapsed. I did not believe her, of course, but when Kendon stated that he also saw the two of you die with his own eyes, I found the story more credible.”
I relax a bit more at his story. “You haven’t seen Coriander and Kendon in the last few weeks then?”
Jor’Mari quirks an eyebrow. “No,” he says, his voice serious. “If you know where they are, then I would be inclined to have you tell me. There is some…business that I have left unfinished with those two.”
“Kendon stabbed you with his artifact didn’t he,” I say. The surprise that flashes over Jor’Mari’s face is enough to let me know how accurate my guess is.
He laughs, brushing back his hair. “I did not expect you to be so insightful. Tell me, Ms. Devardem, how did you come to such a conclusion?”
“You don’t remember, do you?” I ask. “This is not the first time that we have met after the contest started. After my team finished the first dungeon, Macille and I came face to face with you. You seemed out of your mind at the time, but I would have thought that you at least remembered what happened. There was a sickness spreading over your skin, black veins.”
I take a moment to recount the series of events after meeting him there in the forest: the ambush by an unknown group, my running into Kendon and Coriander, their betrayal, and how they left me to die. Jor’Mari listens to my words, the grin disappearing from his lips as my tale goes on.
“Who is this man you claimed that I killed?” he asks when I finish speaking.
“His name was Forsin Al’Ruino, he was the son of a duke apparently.”
Jor’Mari nods, tapping his chin and looking thoughtful. “That name does not ring a bell. That viper has turned me into a murderer.”
“What happened after Macille and I were separated from the rest of you?” I ask. “There seems to have been some kind of falling out.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, there was.”
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The sliding of a great stone door rumbled through the room of broken shale and rock. Despite knowing that the monster on which he stood was well and truly dead, Jor’Mari did not stop. Standing on the thing’s terrible green shoulders with his hands clasped beneath its chin, he hauled with all of his augmented strength, reveling in the feeling of the great beast’s vertebrae snapping one after another. His bare and clawed feet digging into the flesh of the dead monster’s back, he finally ripped the head free, falling back and off the monster as its one-eyed head flew high into the air.
Coriander Mel’Draven screamed as the monster’s head fell to the floor at her feet, splattering her fine boots with viscous black blood. Jor’Mari couldn’t help but fall into a fit of laughter at the sight, the flash of anger in the woman’s eyes only making the scene all the more hilarious. He used the moment to disengage his power, feeling the raw strength the ability granted him drain away, the three horns on his head and the claws on his feet and hands shrinking away to nothing. Neither Coriander nor Kendon had caught on to the weakness that flushed him whenever he disengaged the ability, and with Jor’Mari’s mask of laughing and brushing off his robes, they continued to remain ignorant of it. At least, he was fairly certain that they did. These two were far too unobservant to pick up on his subtle changes, he figured.
“The door is open,” Kendon said, nodding to the open passage at the end of the room. The man held his side, a nasty wound from the first room of the dungeon still festering in his side.
One stumble too many in the earlier rooms had pushed Jor’Mari to taking over the bulk of the fighting in the dungeon. He didn’t mind the duty, it gave him a way to demonstrate his dominance, and though he was coming to like Kendon, he would never pass up a chance to display his prowess. Besides, he felt himself approaching the apex of the first rank, so he would take all of the glory that he could get his hands upon.
The troll had been difficult, the strongest monster he had killed yet, but in the end it too fell. Coriander had supported in that fight, but at the end of the day, it was Jor’Mari that had ripped its heart out of its chest.
Jor’Mari looked between his two companions and the door leading from the room. There was no doubt in his mind that treasure waited ahead. He had never conquered a dungeon before; his father didn’t believe in exploiting artificial obstacles. The maiden Mel’Draven hid herself behind Kendon to shrink from his sight, odd. He thought to investigate that oddity for a moment, but the woman’s own clothes had been torn in the battle, her blouse torn open somewhat indecently. Jor’Mari tsked, turning his attention back to the open doorway. Of course, the woman would think that he had some inappropriate lust for her, small wonder then that she would seek to hide behind the man playing at being a knight, no point thinking about it overmuch.
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“We approach the end,” Jor’Mari said, thumbing in the direction of the next room. “I’ll go ahead, clear the way and all that.”
“Surely, you do not wish to make off with all of the potential treasures,” Coriander said. She held onto Kendon’s arm, still hiding behind him.
Jor’Mari shook his head. “You would question my honor?” he asked, faking offense. He knew well and good that this woman didn’t believe anyone other than full-bloods could even possess honor. “Follow along at your leisure.”
The last chamber of the dungeon caught Jor’Mari off-guard as he entered the room. The green and blue theme that had carried throughout the entirety of the dungeon persisted inside the chamber of aquamarine stone, but the odd decor meant to evoke feelings of the ocean was absent. Replacing them, two murals telling a strange story stretched the lengths of either wall. Jor’Mari looked over the pictures and the script for a moment before shaking his head and turning away. Certainly, the carvings were delicate, detailed, and interesting in their depictions of battle and death, but he did not have a whit as to the meaning of any of the markings. Instead, Jor’Mari focused on the four pedestals that stood at near the back of the room, four pillars of blue stone that jutted from the ground, three bearing items of power. As he progressed towards the pedestals, he noted a slope in the floor behind them that lead down towards a doorway of light, the exit no doubt.
“You were correct,” Jor’Mari called back, knowing that his companions continued along behind him by the scraping of Kendon’s boot against the floor as he limped. “There does in fact seem to be treasure here.”
Three objects dominated the pedestals: a ring, a runic talisman, and, unmistakably, a soul cage. Jor’Mari’s gaze fell directly to the soul cage, and he ignored the other trinkets, only sparing a glance towards the central pedestal that held some kind of map on its surface. He snatched the soul cage, holding it up to the pervading green light in the chamber, feeling the power trapped inside its runes pulse against the skin of his palm.
The light made it difficult to tell, but he thought that it might be made of a fusion of gold and amber, the filigree of the ornate decoration made of the two materials spiraling around one another as they continued throughout the shape of the orb. There had been doubt in Jor’Mari’s mind when that man mentioned soul cages were a possible find inside the dungeon, but now that he held one in his hand, he was truly excited. The soul cage was an exquisite piece, perhaps not so valuable and potent as the soul cage Jor’Mari had arranged for himself prior to being sent off with that woman Arabella Willian, but the difference was slight. Such a slight difference wouldn’t harm him too terribly if he were to select this piece to use in his advancement to the second rank. Any deficit in its makeup would likely be offset by the power he would achieve at reaching the second rank so early in the competition. Already, no one would be able to stand a chance against him; why not guarantee his excellent result in the contest?
“This is my claim,” Jor’Mari said, turning for a moment to look back at the two. They stood halfway down the long walk of the chamber, Coriander eyeing him while Kendon gazed about at the walls. The man seemed completely out of it. He had taken his brother’s death pretty hard. Jor’Mari could sympathize with that at least.
“That’s fine,” Coriander dismissed with a smile she thought was charming. Jor’Mari pretended that it was. He hated women like her, hated them with the deepest part of himself, but what would he gain by letting her know that?
He turned away, studying the map as he listened to Coriander approach a moment later. If he was reading the etching correctly, which, of course, he was, then there seemed to be quite a trek ahead. The fact that the valley between the eastern and western mountain ranges was bisected by another range of mountains confused him for a moment, but that oddity was easily dismissed as well. The pulse of the soul cage in his hand was a constant reminder of the mortal world, a distraction that made it clear just how difficult taking apart the entire dungeon had been.
A slight pressure on his arm sent a jolt through Jor’Mari. He glanced to his side, finding Coriander curled around his arm, pressing her breasts into his bicep, her eyes glued on the map in front of both of them. “So, this is the grounds of the Passage,” she said, effecting a breathy tone.
Jor’Mari groaned at the blatant attempt. “I am not giving you the soul cage,” he said flatly.
Rather than look disappointed, the woman leaned forward to look down at the map, a smirk spreading on her face. A silver locket, its cover inlaid with a polished emerald slipped from her torn blouse, hanging in the air in front of her. The scrawling on the locket caught his attention. The sight of the necklace kicked Jor’Mari’s tired mind into motion, stories, news, and his studies blurring through his head. It fit a description he knew; there had been a record of such a thing in the histories of Gale’s annexation, the traditional bonding items of an old family. It didn’t make sense however, the bonding item, the artifact, that he stared at had belong to the exiled Glaess clan, not Mel’Draven.
His body moved before the full revelation could condense in his mind. Jor’Mari tried to turn to face the threat at his back, but the woman’s grip around his arm held him fast. Before he could throw her off, a vicious sting tore through his neck, a feeling like fire pouring into his veins. He cried out, trying and failing to rake his claws over the woman’s face as he fell backward, his free hand gripping the wound in his neck. Coriander dodged away from his swipe, walking backward as her knight stepped in front of her. The weakness was gone from Kendon’s posture, and he stared at Jor’Mari without thought in his eyes. Jor’Mari had been tracking the man’s footfalls, keeping an eye on his position in the room, but Kendon’s approach had made no sound.
He wanted to congratulate the two on their ambush, to taunt them with the horrible death he was going to unleash upon them, but Jor’Mari’s jaw refused to open, the muscles in his face contracting horribly as the fire burned through his neck. One of his legs buckled and he needed to catch himself on one of the pedestals, barely enough focus left in his mind to curl his fingers around the ring his hand came down upon. He tried to speak again, only managing to push spit through his clenched teeth. Jor’Mari watched as Kendon stepped forward. He could not feel the boot being planted squarely in his chest, and his body did not register its collision with the cold stone of the floor. There was just enough strength left to Jor’Mari to push away from the stone pedestal, helping Kendon’s kick to send his body sailing down the decline in the floor, tumbling into the light of the doorway.
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“So, that incensing sting was from an artifact,” Jor’Mari reasons as he finishes his story.
I study the man a moment, trying to find if there are lies in his tale. That the two would turn on him so quickly does not exactly square with what I had thought of Coriander; she seems far more calculating to me. No doubt, the man has spun the truth into near truths, he seems like the kind that prides himself on not telling outright lies. After a moment of contemplation, I decide that it doesn’t matter much to me if he is telling the truth. I saw him in the forest after the dungeon, the black poison spreading through his neck had been the same poison that had nearly killed me. Clearly, this man is not an ally of Kendon and Coriander. Now, all I need to determine is whether he is a threat to me.
“You seem to have come quite far, Ms. Devardem.” Jor’Mari nods to the burning hill at my back. “That would have required quite a lot of work in just a few weeks’ time.”
“I grew up on an orchard, my lord. I am not a woman unaccustomed to difficult work. Besides, you could say that I had a powerful motivation.”
“Do you seek revenge, Ms. Devardem?” he asks.
“I do,” the venom in my voice surprises even me.
The tension in Jor’Mari’s face vanishes and he smiles in a genuine way I don’t know if I have seen on his face before. “You know, all of the tales I have read–poetry, epics, and myths–would tell you that revenge is a hollow thing and that it brings with it no satisfaction.”
“Horseshit!” I swear. Flashes of the story I just told to this man, of my humiliation and my powerlessness, being tossed off a damned cliff and left for dead, race through my mind. “Whoever wrote such things doesn’t know what it’s like to hate someone as much as I hate those two. When I stand over them, my heel on their throats, I am going to feel such bliss.”
The man in front of me laughs and shakes his head. “You have a vindictive streak, Ms. Devardem, and not a shallow one.”
“I’ve been told that I have a temper,” I say.
Jor’Mari laughs again, and I can’t help but chuckle as well. He startles me by walking forward, but I stop myself from shrinking away. The man stands before me, his form huge and muscled, looking down into my eyes.
“I would like to help you with that, if you will help me with my own petty vengeance,” he says, offering me his hand.
“I think that I can do that, my lord.” My own hand slides into his own. For the first time in what feels like a long time, someone other than a disembodied spirit that lives in my head truly sees me. Not just that, he wants to help me, in his own self-serving way.