Dream of a City of Ruin: Dreams of QaiMaj Book II

Chapter 14: Svardark: Medoc

Medoc was not aware of losing consciousness, not during the long journey up the Spiral, through the dusty mines of Iskalon, nor in the fetid Outer Tunnels. He was still awake when Kieira handed his leash to one of her dark robed minions and he was pulled brutally up through a steep shaft lined with ice.

He was alive and conscious when he was pulled out into the brightest yellow torchlight he'd ever seen, flung on rough, stony ground like a hippole in a slaughter cavern. The cries of fear and pain coming from the thousands of Sholaeners surrounding him, from Iskalon and Chraun alike, kept him livid even when exhaustion and hopelessness made him want to lie down and die.

After what seemed like forever, he was jerked aloft again, gripping the rope to keep it from strangling him, and carried through the air over a lake so vast it made the lake of Iskalon look like a puddle. In spite of the exhaustion of holding his rope taut, Medoc was still awake and aware when they reached their destination.

This is SoJing. Kieira entered his mind without warning. The greatest city in the world, once. I suppose it still is. After all, it is the only city in the world, now.

Her thoughts still carried a tone of amusement, as though she were laughing at her own private joke. Medoc could still make no sense of her words. What was SoJing? He did not see a city, just a jumble of ruined black cliffs and towers, like a giant version of a child's stone block sculpture.

He was rushing headlong toward one of the towers, and then he awoke.

He lay in his bed in the King's quarters of Chraun. He did not know the hour, but the torches were low, and Wilmina was breathing a steady rhythm of sleep beside him. He heard a noise in the parlor and rose. Was it one of his daughters, coming in late from a stroll with a suitor?

Bolv sat in the parlor, with a Semija beside her.

"I know you desire me, King Medoc," Bolv whispered. "I've seen it in your mind. You can have me, you know."

Have her? Medoc would rather have a pitviper. She wore a more conservative outfit than usual, a tidy platinum-plate skirt and a full bodice gently speckled with firedrops. Her hair was up, showing the slender curve of her neck. Medoc hesitated. Wilmina was sleeping. It had been years since they had made love, perhaps—he could not recall—a full sixteen years; that was when they'd conceived their youngest daughter. And here was the Kinyara, a woman he had a right—no, a holy duty—to, offering herself up.

"No," he said. "It is a trap. I would rather die than bed you."

"You truly mean that," Bolv murmured. "Fascinating. There is another you desire, but I can't find her—she is buried so deeply in your mind. Or is it a him? The one who betrayed you? I know you are fond of him. You can have him if you wish."

Tejusi appeared beside Bolv, lust burning in his eyes, and began to strip off his breastplate.

"No!" Medoc said hastily. "No. Guards! Arrest them both!"

He could not quite recall why they were to be arrested, but no guards came. Tejusi froze like a statue, and Bolv watched Medoc thoughtfully.

"Ahhh," she said at last, triumphantly. "There she is."

The room spun away from him, and everything shifted. Medoc was falling, deeper and deeper into his own mind.

Medoc sat in his throne room, surrounded by Guards and Nobles. The pretty, dark Icer stood silhouetted in front of the portcullis. The Nobles hissed and the Guards stamped their spears against the floor. Larc came forward and knelt on the floor just before the steps to Medoc's throne.