Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 11: Marked by Fire: Dynat

 Dynat watched from a ledge high above the prison chamber as the last Icer was pushed into her cage. Her silver hair was piled on her head in intricate designs. The elaborate crown holding it in place gleamed in the yellow light. That's her . . . The Fire Spirit's voice was unconfined excitement.

 “Is that her?” Dynat did not turn to look at Medoc, but continued staring at the prisoners below. Fewer than fifty Icers sat huddled in separate cages. They looked miserable, ill from the heat. They had pleaded to be sent back to their lake, said something about promises made under the condition of surrender. Dynat had ordered a few killed as an example to put a stop to it. But Dynat did not really care about the other prisoners. He was just relieved that they finally had the Dreamer. Now, perhaps, the Fire Spirit would give him peace.

 “That is her, Majesty.”  Medoc's voice was sullen. “Majesty, I still think—”

 “Yes, yes, you have told me what you think. For the last time, Medoc, they will not be sent to the lake. Whatever you promised them, it worked, but I did not authorize it.”

 Killlllllll, the Fire Spirit drawled, and Dynat felt a sense of relief. At last. Killll them all. But keep her close.

 Not kill the Dreamer? Dynat almost questioned the Fire Spirit, but stopped himself. Frustrated, he passed on the orders.

 “Have a cage shaped beside my throne, and transfer her to it.”

 They were the Fire Spirit's words, but they came out of Dynat's mouth, and neither Dynat nor Medoc considered disobeying. The next words Dynat spoke were his own. “Question the others. We know there were more than fifty Icers living under that ice shaft. I want to know where the rest of them went. When you are done, kill them all.”

 “Your Majesty, I promised them—”

 “Silence!” Dynat was surprised to find himself shouting. Or was it the Fire Spirit? “The Fire Spirit wishes them to die, so they will die. I will not hear another word on this, Medoc. Go now. Transfer her yourself, and give the orders.”

 Medoc bowed quickly and turned away before Dynat could see his expression. Dynat took a deep breath, calming his anger. Medoc over-thought things, that was all. What were a few broken promises? No one would be alive to care, after he had routed the rest of the Icers and their untrained Semija. Iskalon would be finished, for once and for all.

 He continued to watch the prisoners. After a time, Medoc entered the cavern below and melted away the bars to the Dreamer's cage. They exchanged words that Dynat could not hear, and the Icer stood stiffly, unmoving. Medoc waited far too patiently before he simply reached out with a mass of warm air and scooped her limp body from the cell.

 Her Dreamsssss . . . Silent for a few moments, the Fire Spirit's voice once again whispered through Dynat's mind, an echo coming down a long tunnel. Plunder her Dreamsssss . . .

 “Her Dreams?” Dynat spoke the words out loud, but the Fire Spirit fell silent. Dynat squeezed his fist so tightly that a trickle of lava fell from it to the floor and hardened. Dynat was to enter her mind? No. Surely Dynat could learn her Dreams by questioning. He could not enter her mind, for then she would know him completely, and if she did she would know the truth that he had buried long ago. He would question her and kill her, that was all.

 Dynat turned away from the ledge and swept down the hallway toward his throne room. The Fire Spirit returned, murmuring about Dreams and visions. Dynat fought an urge to run in the other direction, to seek comfort in Bolv’s touch or solace in a slink hunt, something to quiet the endless whisper of flames in his head. The Fire Spirit had never led him astray. He had to continue to trust.

 When he entered his throne room, the Icer was there already, cramped in a little cage directly beside his throne. She sagged against the bars, unconscious from the heat. Her long hair shone like burnished silver in the dim red light. He could see her face, and though he had never seen her before, she looked familiar. It was probably her resemblance to her treacherous sisters. She wore the same crown Maudit had worn when he killed her, but she did not look half as impressive as the eldest of the Ice King’s daughters. This Queen was a little, weak, cold, pitiful thing. He knew he should wake her and begin to squeeze her Dreams out of her, but for a long time he just stared at her, strangely fascinated by her lithe form and her shallow breath. The Fire Spirit did not prompt him to begin; it was reveling in victory in the back of his mind. Dynat was still staring at her some time later when Medoc brought his report on the search for the remnants of Iskalon.