The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 11: The Realm of Queen Sefwyn

ELEVEN: The Realm of Queen Sefwyn

The General who achieves Victory by Adapting to the Enemy is called a Genius, but a Ruler who uses a Rival to transform his own People fathers a Dynasty.

—Orlon 2:13 The Craft of Kings

Bodelic led the men to the edge of a turbulent pool just as the sun set among the notched peaks to the west. From high above, a cascade of water rushed in a ragged path over a great black central boulder: which split the stream into two hissing white curtains that hit the pool so hard, a great mist rose from the surface like steam from a boiling cauldron. Patchy green moss clung to the dark rocks of the waterfall. The stones stood out in bright relief where shafts of light from the setting sun lit them and rested in dark emerald green where they hung in shadow.

The weary company stared dumbly at the powerful falls while standing on a huge granite slab that overhung the far bank. Cal briefly wondered if Bodelic had chosen the rock as a good place to set up camp. Before Cal thought to form an inquiry, Bodelic shot a questioning glance toward the orange-stained sky and raised his staff.

The dwarf whispered a fervent torrent in dwarvish for aching long minutes; sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his blunt face. Gradually, the white crystal atop Bodelic’s staff began to glow until it shone like a star, blasting back the shadows and showing the waterfall in a brilliant mosaic of green moss, black stone, and white water.

Joint-numbing cold assaulted his limbs as Cal belatedly noticed he expelled his breath in long icy bellows from his throat. The stars shone from above, revealing jagged ice chunks bobbling in the roiling pool that he would have sworn were not there just moments before. A great rumbling rose from the earth. The sound seemed to issue from the dwarf-door’s gaping mouth.

In moments, Cal recognized the mechanical grind from huge gears buried beneath the earth. Slowly—ever so slowly—a great black stone bridge majestically rose from the pool, water sluicing in torrents from flues carved in regular intervals along the sides.

At last, the gears fell silent as the bridge locked into place, connecting the dwarf-door to the stone slab at the company’s feet. The red glow shone from the door, reflecting off the glistening black causeway like the slithering tongue from a viper’s mouth. The men instinctively recoiled from the ominous gateway.

The bright light atop Bodelic’s staff died just as the sun set. When the men’s incandescence-blind eyes adjusted to the darkness, an eerie red glow shone across the water from the black boulder in the middle of the falls. Fiery lines etched out a great arching dwarf-door from the rock.

“Behold the door to Nidafall!” cried Bodelic. The door’s frame glittered with dwarvish pictographs leafed in gold. Cal abruptly realized that the wildlife had fallen into silence. Even the insect noise that his mind had filtered into the background, no longer filled the air.

 Bodelic shouted, “Hurry! We can’t hold the door long!” The dwarf bolted across the bridge with short choppy strides. The startled men sprang after him, their longer legs chewing up the gap between them, until fatigue burned in their muscles and their pace lagged. The dwarf maintained his sprint beyond human endurance, gaining the door well before the men. Impatiently, he turned to implore his companions to speed up.  

 As the last man (Gellan Ware) gasped across the door’s threshold, ten dwarves holding staffs in their trembling hands sagged in relief. Cal’s final backward glance showed the bridge rapidly disappearing beneath the waters. Moments later, the mountainside’s solid rock rematerialized before his eyes. Bodelic stood beside Cal, his chest expelling breath tinged with alcohol. Before Cal’s mind could address this puzzle, twenty dwarf warriors lowered ridiculously long spears at Gellan Ware’s company.