On The Rocks

He never slept.

Since the very first day he had arrived within the shard of Mongbatica, since the moment he had taken up the role fate had provided him, Dahak had not once slept. Occasionally he dozed, but more often he just dreamt. Awake, his eyes wide and focused far beyond the now.

Since the cataclysmic exodus from Trammel, his dreams had been dark – visions and flickering glimpses of a dark and barren land, of an irritatingly familiar black citadel looming over a town shrouded in darkness. Of daemons and monsters of the Abyss stalking the land – and through it all, of a shimmering fragment of red gemstone. Always the waking dreams left him feeling drained, empty, violated.

And he could do nothing to stop them, nor to bring on sleep.

But now…

Shuddering from the long-forgotten feeling of waking up, Dahak picked himself up from the floor of his study. The stippled pattern of the carpet was indented into his cheek, and the feeling brought back memories of his old life, of countless afternoons waking up face down in pizza after working through the night.

His two guards stood impassively either side of the throne dais, spears held tightly in their paws. They were there to protect him from harm, and sleep could hardly harm him.

Staggering slightly, he grabbed the arm of the nearest throne, raising a small cloud of dust, and took a deep breath. The reaction startled him slightly – that was something else he hadn’t done since arriving.

“What…?” he muttered, groggily.

Something had changed. Something that had been nagging at the back of his mind had vanished – as if a sore tooth had been pulled.

It was then that his eyes fell on the morning mail, piled in a rough heap on the table. Scrolls from Turgon, scrolls from Larni… and a rather tatty scrap of parchment from Skreethak. Unfurling it, he swiftly read the scratched runes inside –

“Skreethak, purveyor-seller of manyfine things, is look-seeking to buy-buy

Lilies, any size-shape.

Collection-gathering chest is on beach-sand near my barge-ship“

“Lilies…” Dahak whispered to himself, tapping the parchment against his lips.

***

For the famous trader, life was far from a bed of roses. It was one thing to run deliveries between the worlds – quite another to get hijacked along the way. Oh yes, he’d heard the stories – but there were so many stories passed around by the survivors these days. Tales of brooding evil everywhere, of corruption in Empathy Abbey, of shadows walking the woods…

And now this. He’d heard the tales – an ancient being, one of the four Outer Gods, frozen in ice and buried for a thousand years and a day – but that was just culture. It wasn’t supposed to be true.

“Uh…” the ratman cleared his throat, wishing he had a stiff cheese brandy to hand, “You wish to buy-buy central heating, yes-yes?”

An icy fist slammed through the frosty wall beside his head, tiny fragments of ice scratching bloody lines in his face.

“Do not toy with me, rat,” the chilly voice snarled, icy breath blowing against Skreethak’s face, “you know that which I desire. If I release you, you will bring it to me?”

“Yes-yes!” squeaked the salesrat, “very-fine thinks I bring! Very-fine!”

“Just the rocks, rat. The rocks and the crystal.”

“Crystal… I not know-seek crystal…” Skreethak stammered.

With a gesture punctuated by the crackling of hoar frost, the powerful figure pointed to a recessed hole in the wall, shaped like a many-faceted crystal.

“Oh… that crystal-gem! Yes-yes, Skreethak find-seek…”

“Do not fail me, rat, or I shall unleash such a power on your land,” the figure snarled, baleful blue light shining deep within his translucent body as his anger built.

“Not fail-fall! No-no!” Skreethak cowered, “Find-seek crystal, yes-yes!”

“If you succeed, I shall make it worth your while. Bring me the Fly’s Eye, and your reward will be the ransom of a king.”

“Not fail-fall!” Skreethak gasped again, cowering and ducking back, “find-seek gem-rock, yes-yes!”

“Get out of my sight, vermin!”

Bowing and scraping, Skreethak darted from the audience hall. With a crackling of frost, the Ice King settled back into his frozen throne, thin blue lips cracking in a vicious smile.

“Go, puppet,” he murmured, too low for Skreethak to hear, “you foolish worm – unleash the power of the gem for me. Cover Ilshenar in snow, and bring down pestilence on them all…”