OLBUR OF Rokol had found it prudent to leave the city of his birth
following a brief return, due to a violent disagreement with his monarch. He
and his protégé-cum-lover, Minon-Azal, took employ with a merchant
sailing north across the chill sea to the distant, icy land of Inganok.
Inganok was also the name of the capital of that land, a welcoming city
built of the onyx that was its major export. Comfortably spread out, the city
rose from the docks on the shore of a narrow coastal plain to pleasant
suburbs built on hills and rising ground beyond which lay the mountains
with their quarries. At the centre of the city on a high hill was the Temple of
the Elder Gods, into which none but the temple’s priests and the city’s
mysterious Veiled King might enter.
But it was not their employer’s intent to linger there. When Olbur, in
his haste, had agreed to act as a guard, the merchant who called himself
Temsol had said he was taking a cargo across the sea to Inganok. The story
had seemed entirely plausible, given he required only a couple of guards as
might be expected for visiting the market place of such a city, but although
some cargo was being offloaded at the docks, he did not head for the market
or guild hall.
‘I heard you sending your servant out for supplies and beasts of
burden,’ Olbur told Temsol. ‘Just what is your plan?’
Temsol smiled guilelessly. ‘We have delivered a shipment of fruit from
the south; now, we head inland in search of goods to trade back across the
sea.’
It sounded entirely plausible and Olbur believed him. He would come
to regret his trust.
They set out from the onyx city on the second morning after their
arrival. As was their usual approach, Minon-Azal took the identity of the
young swordsman named Peltamash, in order to accompany her lover.
Being one of the old stock of southerly Mnar, Peltamash was short, lithe,
and dark. Wrapped in heavy furs, the youth was almost invisible amongst
the bundles upon the back of a long-haired yak. Tall and broad, one of the
blue eyed northern stock, Olbur towered over the men of Inganok who
served as porters.
The winters in southern Mnar were seldom worse than chilly with a
little frost or the lightest dustings of snow, and although Inganok was not
yet in the grip of winter, Peltamash found it cold and unpleasant, huddling
ever deeper into furs. It did not help that the cold bit deep into half healed
wounds.
‘I thought you said the youth would make a good guard,’ Temsol
complained from his place upon a shaggy yak, as they wound their way
through ice hardened mountain passes towards the frozen lands that lay
beyond.
Olbur shrugged. ‘Peltamash has yet to become used to the cold.’
‘Cold? Ha! Beyond these mountains it is ever ice and snow, even at the
height of summer.’
‘Still, come the time to draw a blade, I assure you that Peltamash will
not fail. Not, I trust, that there is much risk of banditry here.’
As valuable as furs and ice gems could be, they were plentiful enough
to supply the few who came here in search of them. You were in greater
danger of being robbed in the marketplace—whether by thieves or canny
traders—or by pirates at sea, than out here amongst the snow and ice and
ever grinding glaciers.
Except that it soon became clear that Temsol had no interest in such
tradable goods, ignoring a cluster of gems that Olbur spotted and a passing
herd of petite, white furred deer.
Olbur came to realise that the man he had imagined to be a merchant
was, in fact, a mage.
‘Have you noticed,’ he said to Peltamash, ‘that Temsol has no trouble
in conjuring a flame to light our fire even when snow is flurrying about
enough to snuff it out?’ The pair were pressed together beneath a makeshift
tent of stretched hide and close against the warm flank of a yak.
Peltamash nodded. ‘Yes, and the peculiar way in which he seems to
divine the route we will follow.’
At regular intervals, the man would pause their journey across the
frozen landscape and carry out a simple ritual that began with him chanting
a prayer to Math, the god of fire and the funeral pyre. Then, when the chant
was finished, he would take some ash from a pouch on his belt and toss it
into the air. Despite the near constant north wind blowing in their faces, it
would somehow flow before them to settle upon the snow in a dark line that
seemed to serve as a guiding arrow for them to follow.
The discovery that Temsol was a wizard was not a pleasing one to
Olbur, for he had no liking for the tricky ways of such folk.
Olbur explained his fears to Peltamash.
‘As long as it keeps us away from Rokol,’ Peltamash yawned, ‘and we
get paid, it works well enough for us to be here. I guess I can learn to
tolerate this cold.’
‘I just don’t trust him.’
‘There are many priests and wizards in Mnar and not all of them are
sinister. I don’t think Temsol has deliberately misled us, merely been
circumspect in what he has revealed. Ask him and see what he will share. If
he lies, then we will have good cause to be concerned.’
‘I suppose so.’
He waited until the next day when they had got underway before
asking their employer just what his plans were. In the twilight of the far
north, the division of night and day grew increasingly arbitrary.
‘I must apologise for not being more open,’ the wizard said in a genial
tone, ‘but there are others who would interfere with us had they heard about
our expedition. I needed you and Peltamash because we may face attacks
from the Gnophkeh tribes and certainly from the guardians of the place to
which we are headed.’
‘Which is?’
‘Teloth.’
‘Teloth?’ Olbur vaguely seemed to recall a legend associated with the
name, but could not place it.
‘A far distant city constructed from the very ice that caps the world.’
‘A lost city?’ That seemed to fit with his memory.
‘Of sorts.’
‘And what is it that you seek there?’ Olbur probed.
Temsol was silent for a moment, then spoke. ‘Within the central palace
of frigid Teloth, there is a flame frozen within a great ice crystal—a flame
that is the source of immense mystical power. It is that flame which I seek.’
‘For what end?’ he asked, suddenly suspicious.
‘Not an evil one, if that is what you fear. Power, yes, but not of the
earthly sort, of dominion over men. Rather, I seek the power to traverse the
cosmos and learn the deepest secrets of existence and of the Elder Gods
themselves.’
Before Olbur could consider this, he heard a scream from up ahead.
Turning, they saw one of the native bearers had plunged waist deep into the
snow.
Thinking only that the man had stumbled upon a cavity filled with
loose snow, Olbur ran forwards to help him, not fully registering the other
bearers’ panic. He sensed Peltamash leaping down behind him.
Reaching the flailing, shrieking man, Olbur saw that he was not the
victim of mere mischance, but had been seized in the jaws of something
like a large serpent covered in a coat of long white fur. Olbur had heard
tales of such things but had never seen one before. Blood splashed upon the
snow as man and snow serpent thrashed wildly in their struggle.
There was no time to consider the situation further, nor even time to
draw his sword. Olbur was carrying a spear that served to act as a staff to
test the deceptive ground, and that would have to do. He began to jab at it,
adding the creature’s blood to that pinking the snow. Then Peltamash was
there, sword in hand, swinging it down, the honed edge biting deep into the
snow serpent’s flesh, severing its head from its body. The creature thrashed
for a moment longer, then was still. The man did not move.
‘Too late,’ Olbur commented with a world-weary tone as he looked
down into the glassy eyes of the dead man.
‘Another hazard to be wary of,’ Peltamash added wryly, as if such
things were no different to the risks of hidden crevasses and weak layers of
ice atop chill bodies of shallow meltwater.
The other native bearers were in an agitated state, but Temsol spoke to
them in their own tongue and either cajoled or threatened them into
continuing the journey.
‘They will accompany us to a point about a day’s travel from the city,
but will proceed no further lest they become cursed,’ Temsol told Olbur and
Peltamash as they clustered about a roaring fire to eat a meal of the
serpent’s flesh, their first fresh food since beginning their journey weeks
before. ‘That last leg,’ he added, ‘we travel alone.’
Assuming, of course, that they made it that far. Whether the weather
was on the turn or if this was merely due to their journey taking them ever
northward, it was growing colder and snow fell heavily, impeding their
progress more and more. In addition, behind the howl of the frigid north
wind, there was another sound, a different sort of howl, which the natives
identified to Temsol as the cry of the Gnophkeh.
The nature of the Gnophkeh baffled Olbur. He had heard vague tales
referencing the name as a sort of bogeyman of the frozen north, but could
not pinpoint whether it meant a human tribe as Temsol had intimated,
monsters that dwelt in the snowy wastes, or even a single being, whether
god or demon.
Pausing to warm his hands close to the waning heat of the fire before
retreating to the shelter of their makeshift tent for the night, Olbur asked
Temsol about the Gnophkeh.
The wizard’s answer was not terribly enlightening. ‘If you listen to the
natives, they could be all three. Perhaps the tribes take the creatures or the
being as a totem. Perhaps the tribes propagate tales about horrific monsters
as a means to scare their enemies away. If we should meet one of them, we
might learn the answer.’
Temsol was silent as Olbur and Peltamash rose, then added, ‘If the
bearers are right, we may do so soon—they seem to think we are being
stalked…’
‘Well,’ chuckled Olbur, as they hunched close together to ward off the
chill, ‘that was reassuring.’
‘Perhaps,’ Peltamash yawned, starting to fall asleep in Olbur’s arms,
‘the Gnophkeh are also guardians of the city…’
‘Perhaps…’ Olbur listened carefully to the mournful howl of the wind,
but could discern nothing of that sound said to be the cry of the Gnophkeh
as he drifted off into sleep. The wind was still howling when they awoke in
the morning.
The natives called a halt just before midday at a pillar of twisted ice.
‘This is as far as they will go,’ Temsol told them. ‘From here, we
travel alone. We will arrive at the city tomorrow, I think. We will take two
yaks to carry such supplies as we shall need.’
Neither Olbur nor Peltamash felt confident about the journey, yet
neither was willing to admit their fears. And a sense of curiosity was
driving them. So, they joined their employer in proceeding without
assistance.
That night, when they made camp, a bright aurora was visible upon the
horizon.
‘The lights of the city,’ Temsol said, ‘or so the natives say. Perhaps it is
the glow of the flame in the ice,’ he added, his tone wistful.
The howl of the Gnophkeh could be clearly discerned behind that of
the wind. Peltamash shivered at the sound.
Despite their cries and what may have been their tracks in the
windswept snows about their encampment, the menace of the Gnophkeh did
not materialise that night.
‘They seem to exist more as a threat than a reality,’ Olbur said
dismissively as they proceeded on their way in the wan light that briefly
passed for day this far north.
‘Are you sure,’ Peltamash called down to the mage from atop a yak,
‘that we remain in the lands of the living and haven’t stumbled into the
twilight realm of the dead?’
Temsol gave a low chuckle. ‘Oh, I have seen where the dead dwell and
this is not it.’
Finally, ahead of them, a cluster of towers came into view on the
horizon, resolving into a cityscape composed of ice structures against which
snow had piled like the sand of a beach. At its heart rose the palace that
held the crystal they sought. The city seemed suffused with a pale glow,
roseate like the dawn.
‘Does it not seem familiar?’ Olbur said.
Peltamash nodded, but could not say why.
Temsol gave a laugh of recognition. ‘Inganok!’
There was indeed a similarity of layout between Teloth and the city
from whence they had travelled, with the great palace occupying the central
position and sharing certain similarities of form with the Temple of the
Elder Gods in Inganok.
‘It would appear that the people of Inganok modelled their capital
upon this city,’ said Peltamash.
‘Or, that Teloth modelled itself on Inganok,’ Temsol said.
Peltamash shivered and not because of the cold.
‘We shall leave the yaks here,’ decided Temsol when they finally
reached the outskirts of the ice city.
Cautiously, they proceeded on foot. Olbur would have preferred to
advance sword in hand, ready for any danger, but even with gloves on, the
metal was unpleasantly cold to hold for any length of time. He still carried
the spear that served as a staff for probing for loose snow in addition to its
martial properties, and that would have to do. Although not his favoured
weapon, the spear offered him a reassurance as they explored the narrow
streets between the soaring towers of ice.
Nothing seemed to live within the city, but there was a continual
screech as if it were in pain, the constant north wind blowing through the
spaces between the towers. In some ways, the lack of any presences within
the city was more disturbing than had they encountered inhabitants of some
horrific ilk.
‘I keep imagining that there are shadowy figures watching us from the
doorways and windows of this city,’ Olbur complained.
‘I think this place is dead,’ said Peltamash, ‘if ever it were alive.’
‘I doubt any living man ever dwelt here,’ Olbur replied, ‘unless they
were immune to the cold.’
‘This entire place is rich with magic,’ Temsol told them. ‘It is no
normal city built by the hand of man, but grown from the very ice upon
which it stands. Perhaps…’
‘Perhaps what?’
The wizard did not have the chance to answer Olbur, for at that
moment an enormous bulk of fur and flesh exploded from a side street. It
burst forth with such speed that they had little chance to register any details
beyond its size, an impression of too many clawed limbs and a pair of
snapping jaws.
Olbur barged Peltamash aside, away from the ravening beast, and
thrust with the spear. The leaf shaped bronze spearhead bent against the
creature’s thick hide and the warrior felt certain his luck had run out, but the
momentum of the beast drove it down upon the shaft regardless.
Letting go, Olbur threw himself backwards, rolling away. Rising into a
crouch, he saw the creature recoiling as it howled with pain. Blood splashed
the pallid fur.
Drawing his sword, Olbur lunged forwards, accompanied by
Peltamash, slashing and stabbing.
Behind them, Temsol was chanting some incantation. A moment later,
tendrils of darkness shot past the warriors and struck the creature, wrapping
about it for a moment, seeming to burn it like acid. It roared and retreated,
vanishing from sight down a side street, leaving splashes of red upon the
icy ground.
Peltamash made to pursue it, but Olbur called the warrior back, saying,
‘It may flee to its allies and lead us to our deaths.’
‘What was that thing?’ gasped Peltamash, turning back.
‘I think,’ Olbur replied, ‘that we may just have discovered what a
Gnophkeh is. I wonder… was it hunting us for food, or was it trying to
prevent us from reaching the palace?’
‘The latter, I believe,’ their employer said.
‘In which case, perhaps we should not linger lest it return with its
fellows to finish the task.’
As quickly as they could, they covered the remaining distance to the
central palace. The towering building, like the rest of the city, glowed
slightly, providing just enough light for them to see by as they searched for
an entrance.
Discovering a grand arch, tall enough for a giant and wide enough for
a dozen men to pass through side by side, they entered the building and
began to explore.
‘Earlier,’ Olbur said to Temsol as they walked along a corridor of ice,
‘before we were attacked, you started to say something about this city.
What was it?’
The wizard cast his mind back. ‘Oh, yes. I was about to speculate
that… Teloth is, in some sense, alive; a living entity.’
‘An entire city alive?’ asked Peltamash.
‘Perhaps. I could be wrong, but there are strange things in this world
that man cannot fully comprehend. Is such an idea really much stranger
than a deserted ice city?’
Before they could continue the discussion, Olbur hushed them.
‘I heard something.’
From around a corner ahead of them, moving almost silently, came
something reminiscent of a crab or spider in form, only crystalline, as if
shaped from the same ice as the city. Like the walls of the palace, a pale,
rosy glow emanated from within it, pulsing slightly, like a heart pumping
blood.
‘I think I would rather have a club about me now,’ Olbur said as he
drew his sword again. ‘And firmer ground than this.’
‘Or a flame?’ Temsol asked before beginning to utter words of power.
Sheets of fire whooshed into life in the corridor, engulfing the ice spider,
melting it away to nothing. The same spell dealt with three more such
entities as they penetrated to the heart of the palace, and the warriors’
swords hacked another apart with some effort and a few minor wounds after
it managed to ambush them.
At last, after what seemed like hours, they arrived at a great chamber
in the centre of which was a large crystal of ice, or perhaps an ice-like
diamond. The crystal was as big as a barrel and, within it, unmoving as if
frozen, was the image of a flame that shone a bright red, saturating the
room.
‘The flame in the ice,’ breathed Temsol.
‘Impressive.’ Olbur could sense the power of it.
‘I don’t like it,’ Peltamash said in a small voice.
‘All the secrets and the power of the flame shall now be mine.’ The
wizard’s tone had grown covetous and he approached the crystal without
caution, reaching out to seize it.
‘Careful,’ cautioned Olbur, but Temsol paid him no heed.
As the wizard’s hands touched it, the crystal glowed bright like a fire
and Temsol’s body was wracked with tremors as it too glowed. He gave a
scream somewhere between the ecstasy of success and the agony of terrible
pain. The sound and light made it seem as if he were ablaze.
‘I am Teloth!’ he cried in a strangely high pitched voice. ‘Teloth shall
be free in me!’
‘Olbur…’ Peltamash murmured fearfully.
‘Yes…’ he nodded in reply. He considered the situation for just one
moment as the wizard squealed like a stuck pig. ‘It might just work, or
doom us…’
Without wasting further time on thought, he charged forward, sword in
hand. Dodging around the impassioned Temsol, Olbur raised his sword high
with both hands and swung it at the ice crystal which shattered at the blow
with a blinding flash.
Released, the flame in the ice burst free in an inferno, engulfing
Temsol, whose screams now were purely of pain and didn’t last for more
than a few seconds before his body fell to the floor, a charred husk.
The burst of freed flames also caught the momentarily blinded Olbur,
who fell back with a cry, the furs he wore alight.
Blinking, Peltamash ran across to Olbur, splashing water from the
melting chamber onto the burning patches to put out the flames before
pulling the charred and sodden cloak from his shoulders.
‘We have to leave!’ Peltamash told him, helping him to his feet,
passing him a sword, Olbur having lost his, and drawing a knife.
Around them the roof and walls and floor of the chamber were melting
from the intense heat of the freed flame. Given the height and weight of the
structure that rose above them, the palace would surely collapse—the
falling ice might quench the ever-growing fire at its heart, but would surely
kill them too. They needed to escape before they were burnt or crushed to
death.
Running as fast as they could, they had no idea whether they were
going in the right direction or not. The only consolation was that the ice
spiders made no appearance to assault them as they made their escape. With
a certain irony, given the threat it presented, the blaze proved their saviour
—as the ice melted and buckled under the strain of supporting the upper
levels, a fissure opened through the walls to the streets beyond, through
which they could escape.
Through the city streets they ran as, behind them, the flame grew as
intense in brightness and heat as the summer sun, expanding in size. All
about them, the soaring towers of ice melted and fell.
Ahead, they thought they saw the large, furred, many limbed shadows
of the Gnophkeh, but the enormous ball of flame overtaking the city seemed
to terrify them as much as it did Olbur and Peltamash, and they fled from
sight.
Finally, when they could run no more, the pair staggered to a halt and
dared to look back. They were a little surprised that they could see.
Teloth, the city, was gone. Where it had stood was a vast, wide pit
from which rose a glow and a pall of steam. Then, as they watched,
shielding their eyes from the light, the glow intensified and they had to turn
their gaze away as the ball of flame, freed from its icy prison, rose into the
sky like a new born sun.
‘I’m scared…’ Peltamash, Minon-Azal, squeezed Olbur’s hand. Olbur
squeezed back.
With a sudden roar, like a storm’s wind, the blazing ball shot skyward
so fast that it appeared as a pillar of flame ascending to the heavens. A
sucking wind howled forwards to fill the space where Teloth had stood.
Peltamash clung desperately to Olbur to avoid being dragged into the
steaming pit. Olbur could barely resist the awesome suction.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind was gone and they fell to
their knees.
The flame continued its ascent, receding from sight until no more than
a pinprick of light, like a star, was visible in the now darkened sky.
Olbur looked about and spotted the yaks some distance away.
Seemingly, they had fled when the flame had first erupted from the ice and
had been far enough away not to be sucked into the gaping pit.
‘At least we have a chance. Although, if our guides have fled…’
‘Well,’ said Peltamash with a wry smile, ‘all we have to do is go
south…’
Shivering, they began to walk, thankful to be alive.