Otherworlds

By Jonathan Moeller

Dragons, knights, wizards, monsters, and more! Visit other worlds of fantasy in this short story collection!

Combined for the first time in one volume are the OTHERWORLDS series of fantasy and science fiction short stories from Jonathan Moeller, for 23 total stories.

In these stories, a knight hunts for his wife, kidnapped by wicked elves.

A dragon wishes to live quietly in Chicago, but ancient enemies will not leave him in peace.

An emissions-free car promises to revolutionize global transport, but the cost might be more than mankind can pay.

A telepath realizes the government agency helping her does not have her best interests at heart.

All these tales and more await you in OTHERWORLDS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Sep 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005464967

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

Description

Dragons, knights, wizards, monsters, and more! Visit other worlds of fantasy in this short story collection!

Combined for the first time in one volume are the OTHERWORLDS series of fantasy and science fiction short stories from Jonathan Moeller, for 23 total stories.

In these stories, a knight hunts for his wife, kidnapped by wicked elves.

A dragon wishes to live quietly in Chicago, but ancient enemies will not leave him in peace.

An emissions-free car promises to revolutionize global transport, but the cost might be more than mankind can pay.

A telepath realizes the government agency helping her does not have her best interests at heart.

All these tales and more await you in OTHERWORLDS.

***

Otherworlds

Copyright 2021 by Jonathan Moeller

Smashwords Edition

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All Rights Reserved

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Introduction

I’ve been writing short stories for a long time.

How many have I written? I’ve been writing short stories long enough that I don’t actually know how many I’ve written, and the prospect of going back and calculating how many short stories I have written is a sufficiently daunting task that I can think of more productive uses of time.

Since I’ve started self-publishing in 2011, I have frequently written and given away a free short story to my newsletter subscribers when I publish a new novel, and I have written a lot of novels. For example, in summer 2021 I decided to combine all my SHIELD KNIGHT short stories into a single volume since readers had been asking for that. While preparing the anthology I was surprised to see that I had written seventeen SHIELD KNIGHT short stories.

But I’ve been writing short stories for much longer than that.

I think I first wrote a short story in 1997 or 1998 – long before self-publishing ebooks came along. For many years after that – almost through 2011 – a lot of my focus was on short stories. Short stories were a lot easier to sell than novels, which almost always had to go through literary agents, and so I wrote a lot of short stories. I sold some to magazines and other publications, and quite a few more never sold at all.

When I started self-publishing, in 2014 I published several of my older stories as the Otherworlds series. They didn’t sell very many copies (though I am grateful to those who did buy and read them!) and I concluded that selling individual self-published short stories doesn’t work very well, which is why I mostly give away short stories for free with my email newsletter.

However, for years now some readers have been asking for an Otherworlds collection, and I’ve decided it’s finally time.

Collected in this volume are X stories from before I started self-publishing ebooks in 2011. I should note that I was more cynical when I was younger, so these stories tend in places to be a bit darker than my novels. Additionally, long-term readers may find familiar ideas from my other books in these stories, since I later explored some of those ideas to a greater extent in my novels.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy Otherworlds.

-September 24th, 2021

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The King of Tears Unnumbered

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1

The King of Tears Unnumbered

When her husband rode to war, Lady Isolde busied herself with the business of his household. Yet dread gnawed at her, and she took long rides through the countryside to soothe her mind. Every day she ranged farther, until at last she came to a clearing on the border of her husband's lands. In this clearing stood a great standing stone, carved with weathered sigils, its sides heavy with moss. The ancients had erected it, the peasants whispered, long before Christian men had ever come to these shores.

And in the clearing waited the King of Tears Unnumbered.

Isolde gazed upon him in fright, her mare shying at his approach. He was beautiful to look upon, and eyes like golden coins and hair like silver fire marked him as one of the Elven folk. His armor gleamed like moonlight upon still water, and his cloak seemed woven from the night itself.

Who are you, sir? said Isolde.

Who I am, fair one, is unimportant, said the King, for your beauty has enchanted me, and the radiance of your eyes has bewitched me. Come lie with me, and I will father a strong son upon you, one who shall win great glory.

Isolde shied away. I shall not, sir, for I am a married woman, and I love my husband. I shall not betray our troth as he rides to war under our king's banner.

Again I say, said the King of Tears Unnumbered, lie with me. What matter your husband? He is far away, and surely your bed must be cold. Come to me and I shall comfort you.

I shall not, sir, said Isolde, for I am a Christian woman, and I shall not sin so grievously.

The King's eyes flashed at that, for the Elven folk cannot speak the name of the Savior, nor of any saints, and their mention spurs the Elves to wrath.

What of your god? said the King. Shall he deny you joy and pleasure? Come, my fair one, discard your fears, and come to me.

I shall not! said Isolde, stung to wrath. I shall not betray my husband and my Lord. And were I to do so, I certainly would not lie with one of the Elven folk, so deceitful and cunning!

She expected his wrath, but instead the King of Tears Unnumbered laughed.

Ah, my pretty one, said the King, gesturing at the stone. Do you not know what this is?

A standing stone, a relic raised in ancient times, said Isolde.

It is more than that, said the King. Those you call the ancients raised it in honor of their treaty with me. For this forest is mine, and all those who enter it are subject to my power. I may make a request of any trespasser, and should the intruder refuse me thrice, I may make him my slave, to serve in my Court until the sun burns to ash and the stars are quenched.

Isolde turned her mare to flee, but the King beckoned, and his hunters rose from the woods, Elven knights sworn to his service. They cast nets over Isolde, dragging her from the saddle, and her horse fled in terror. And so the King put a jeweled collar around Isolde's neck, and carried her beyond the boundaries of the mortal world to the lands beyond the mists, to the Elven kingdoms. And in the Court of Tears Unnumbered the King forced Isolde to act as a servant, to bear his wine cup and to scrub his floors.

But that very day, her husband Sir Nicholas returned from his king's wars, eager to look once more upon his wife and home. He galloped into the courtyard of his castle, and his retainers rushed to greet him.

Where is my wife? said Nicholas.

My lord, said his steward, she is sore troubled by your absence, and often goes riding to clear her mind of worries. No doubt she shall return presently.

Yet even as the steward spoke, Isolde's mare galloped into the courtyard, terrified and panicked.

What is this? said Nicholas. That is my lady's horse, but where is she?

My lord, said the castle's priest, the poor animal has been stricken by Elf-terror, it is plain to see. What else could have maddened it so? The peasants whisper that the Elven folk linger near the great standing stone by the forest’s edge, and sometimes sally forth to take mortals to everlasting servitude in the Elven kingdoms beyond the circles of the world.

The thought of his wife enslaved by an Elven king filled Nicholas with wrath. If you speak true, priest, then I swear by all the saints that anyone, man or Elf, who dared to lay a hand upon my wife shall suffer dearly.

And so Nicholas galloped from his castle, riding for the woods, clad in his finest armor and bearing shield and sword. Soon he came to the standing stone, and reined up before it. Taking his horn from his belt, Nicholas blew a long blast.

Come forth! he bellowed. I am Nicholas, knight and lord of these lands, and husband of the Lady Isolde! If anyone, mortal man or Elven lord, has dared to lay hands upon her, then come forth and face my wrath, or be named forever craven!

A cold wind blew through the clearing, mist swirling about the hooves of Nicholas's charger.

And the mist cleared, and the King of Tears Unnumbered stood at the edge of the clearing, arrayed for war, a tall helm upon his head and a blade of unearthly steel in his hand.

Name yourself! said Nicholas.

I am the King of the Court of Tears Unnumbered, said the King, laughing. You dare to cast your gauntlet in my face? For your wife is mine! By ancient treaty this forest is my demesne, and anyone who refuses me three times is my slave, to toil in my Court until the seas run dry and the heavens turn to dust.

Nicholas sprang from his horse and flung his gauntlet at the King's feet. Scoundrel! The bonds of marriage supersede any treaty, no matter how ancient. Return my wife to me, or feel the edge of my blade!

The King's laughter redoubled. You think to challenge me, I who have reigned in Tears Unnumbered for centuries beyond count? I walked this land before it ever knew the foot of mortal man! Ere your race learned the secrets of fire, I was already ancient, and I shall endure long after the last man has returned to the dust from which your kind sprang.

Nevertheless, said Nicholas, I defy you, and cast my challenge before you.

So be it! said the King, lifting his sword of unearthly steel.

And the King of Tears Unnumbered and Sir Nicholas fought in the shadow of the ancient standing stone. The King thrust and stabbed with the speed of a striking serpent and the strength of a waterfall, and his blows fell like a rain of steel upon Nicholas's shield. Yet Nicholas was a warrior grim and hale, and he yielded not before the King's fury. Again and again the King attacked, and every time Nicholas caught the blows of the Elven blade upon his shield.

Well done, sir! said the King, drawing back. Truly, you are a valiant warrior, for few among mortal kind could have withstood my wrath for so long. Swear to my service as a knight, and I shall offer your rewards beyond the mortal ken. And perhaps I shall even give your wife to you as gift.

But Nicholas knew better than to bandy words with a sly-tongued Elven lord. Shouting his challenge anew, he went on the attack, swinging his broadsword like a smith hammering hot iron, and the King backed away. Sparks flew from his armor and blade, and Nicholas's sword came near to hitting its mark.

Yield! said Nicholas. Yield, and surrender my wife to me, and I shall spare your life!

You dare to make such an offer? said the King, enraged. You think to bargain with the life of an immortal?

The King leapt forward, sword raised, and left himself open. Nicholas lunged forward, all his weight and strength behind his sword, and buried the blade to its hilt in the King's chest. Yet the wound did not slow the King, did not even trouble him, and he plunged his sword of unearthly steel into Nicholas.

How? gasped Nicholas, falling to his knees, his life's blood spilling through his clenched fingers.

The King laughed, lifted Nicholas's broadsword, and smashed it against the standing stone. Fool. Did you really think that a blade of mortal steel could wound me? He threw the broken hilt before Nicholas. Die, then, and know this - your wife will toil in my Court until the uttermost end of days.

He took Nicholas's shield and vanished in a swirl of mist.

Nicholas tried to stand, but his strength fled. For wounds dealt by Elven-forged steel do not heal, and sap the strength of those who bear them. He fell prone upon the earth, darkness reaching to take him.

Long he lay, delirious and in pain. He saw his wife's face before his eyes, pale and fair-haired, but it changed to another woman's face, dark-haired with cold eyes. Trees floated over him, and then stone walls. He heard the dark-haired woman singing over him, her fingers writhing in intricate patterns.

At last, Nicholas awoke.

He lay in a wooden bed, covered with furs. Walls of rough stone rose around him, a thatched roof overhead. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, filling the room with light and warmth.

A woman stood before the hearth, watching him. She was tall and imperious, with long dark hair, and wore a robe stitched from furs. A worn oak staff rested in her left hand, and she bore strange amulets of polished bone.

So you awake at last, hmm? said the woman, her staff tapping against the flagstones. It seems you were not ready to be quit of your life after all. She walked closer. Your wound is healed, though it was certainly not a trifling task.

How? said Nicholas. I had thought that wounds dealt from an Elven blade do not heal.

They do not, said the woman, not naturally, but I know the secret to healing them. She smiled. I know a great many secrets, sir knight.

Who are you, madam? said Nicholas.

Who am I? said the woman. A question with so many interesting answers, that. I am a woman who knows things others do not. I am a woman who has cause for vengeance. But since that is cumbersome to say, you may simply call me Caelyna.

The woman my peasants call the Witch of the Woods, said Nicholas.

Caelyna sneered. They do, indeed. And what does their lord say?

Their lord is grateful, said Nicholas, for I suspect I would have perished in the woods, without your aid.

And so you would have, said Caelyna. The King of Tears Unnumbered? You have potent foes, my wayward knight. Long before Christian or pagan ever came to these shores, the King of Tears Unnumbered reigned, and the mortals that he slew...well, those were the fortunate ones. Others he snared in his web, to toil forevermore in the Court of Tears Unnumbered.

He has taken my wife, the Lady Isolde, said Nicholas.

Caelyna's eyes seemed to flash. Ah. I wondered why you were so foolish as to challenge him. Will you renew your challenge?

Nicholas rose to his feet. I shall. Knightly valor shall overcome this miscreant, Elven or not.

Oh, it shall? said Caelyna. Tell me. How did knightly valor fare when last you challenged the King? Your buried your sword to its hilt in his chest, did you not?

Nicholas said nothing.

And yet it is you who lay dying in the forest, said Caelyna, and not the King.

Then what am I to do? said Nicholas. I cannot leave Isolde in the hands of this villain...I cannot bear it! I must get her back! And if I die in the attempt, so be it! Better to die than to live with this shame and grief.

Die if you wish, but it is better by far to rescue your wife and take vengeance upon the King, said Caelyna. If you wish to throw your life away, sir knight, I shall not lift a finger to stop you. But if you truly desire to save your wife and defeat the King, cunning shall make a more potent weapon that mere valor.

What do you mean? said Nicholas.

Think on this, said Caelyna. You struck the King a mortal blow, yet your weapon did nothing. For the King is Elven-born, and cannot be harmed by weapons of earthly steel.

What am I to do, then? said Nicholas. I am a knight and a Christian man, not a priest or a sorcerer.

Why, the answer is simple, said Caelyna. You need a blade of unearthly steel, an Elven sword.

Nicholas laughed. As simple as that? Where shall I obtain this blade?

From the hand of the King of Tears Unnumbered himself, said Caelyna. For this is the great weakness of all Elven folk. Their word is their bond, and their word, once given, cannot be revoked. And the Elven folk desire amusements and distractions, for immortality grows wearisome without diversions. Therefore you must disguise yourself and challenge the King to a contest of riddles. Such a contest is ancient, and he must answer it, if only to assuage his own boredom. Name a sword of Elven steel as your prize...and you shall have the power to slay him.

I have lived but thirty years, said Nicholas, and the King of Tears Unnumbered is ancient. How can I find a riddle to overcome his wisdom?

Simplicity itself, said Caelyna. For the Elven folk cannot say the name of the Savior, or of any saints. Merely ask a riddle with the Savior's name or a saint's name as the answer, and you shall overcome him.

Though if I challenge him, said Nicholas, then he will have the right to ask a riddle first, will he not?

Yes, said Caelyna.

Then how I am to overcome him? said Nicholas.

By laying aside knightly valor for cunning, said Caelyna. Remember that the King rules over the Court of Tears Unnumbered. The suffering of mortals is an amusement to him, and the cries of the widow and the orphan are music to his ears. Any riddle he asks will reflect the darkness of his corrupt heart.

So be it, said Nicholas. If this is what I must do to rescue Isolde...then I shall do it.

Good, said Caelyna. Then perhaps there is hope for you yet.

But how am I to leave the mortal world and reach the realms of the Elves? said Nicholas. Has any man ever done so?

Fear not, said Caelyna, for I know the way. Now, come, sir knight! There is a cloak of fur in the corner, and a traveler's staff - use them to disguise yourself. Let us be off.

So Nicholas donned the cloak and took up the staff, and followed Caelyna into the woods. Soon they reached the standing stone, and Nicholas shivered to see his dried blood staining the ground at the stone's foot. Caelyna lifted her staff and began to sing, her voice rolling among the trees. Mist swirled from the forest floor, and soon Nicholas saw a road that had not been there before, a road that vanished into the mists.

Behold, said Caelyna, the path into the Elven kingdoms.

The tales say the Elven kingdoms are vast. How shall I find the Court of Tears Unnumbered? said Nicholas.

Look for a raven, said Caelyna, perched upon the branch of a dead oak. Follow the raven, and it shall guide you to the Court.

Thank you for this aid, said Nicholas. If I survive, I beg you, come to my castle, and I shall reward you richly.

Caelyna laughed. I need no reward, sir knight. If you overcome the King of Tears Unnumbered, then I shall have my reward.

Nicholas frowned. Why are you aiding me?

You should go, sir knight, said Caelyna, still smiling, for the way will not remain open for long.

Nicholas hesitated, but took his staff in hand and strode into the misty road. The mists engulfed him, and for a moment he walked in darkness. Then the mists departed, and Nicholas found himself alone on a deserted road. A forest stretched away on either side, but the trees were dead and lifeless, and countless bones littered the dry ground. Stars shone overhead with a cold radiance, their patterns strange and alien.

Dark wings flapped, and a raven perched on the branch of a dead oak, its eyes glittering in the ghostly starlight. The bird cawed and pointed its beak, then took to the air once more, circling overhead.

Nicholas followed the raven along the empty road. Long he walked through the dead forest. Ruined mansions crowned some of the hills, their walls standing forlorn among the lifeless trees. At last the forest ended, and the road came to a black sea, its waves glittering like jagged glass.

And there Nicholas saw the Court of Tears Unnumbered.

The vast, mournful castle stood on a rise overlooking the black sea, its towers tall and grim, its walls ancient and strong. Nicholas walked unchallenged through the great gates, his footsteps echoing on the flagstones. Light and strange, exotic music came from the doors to the castle's great hall.

The raven fluttered to a landing atop the doorway, watching him with black eyes.

Nicholas drew up his hood, and opened the double doors.

A vast hall, larger than any he had seen, stretched before his eyes. Long tables ran its length, and here sat the Elven knights of the King, feasting and drinking. Mortal men and women in jeweled collars bore goblets of Elven food and drink, while others played music or danced for the amusement of the watching Elves. Mourning filled their expressions, some weeping for the lives and loves they had left behind in the mortal world. Tears unnumbered had indeed been shed here, soaking into the very mortar of the castle, the stones themselves radiating misery and despair.

And over them all, on a high stone throne atop a dais, sat the King of this grim place, watching revels and mourning with amusement.

The raven perched one of the great hall's beams.

Nicholas saw Isolde, kneeling before an Elven knight and holding his goblet of wine, and his heart flamed with wrath. Yet he remembered Caelyna's counsel and kept walking, staff tapping against the floor. Neither the Elves nor the collared thralls paid him any heed until he stood before the dais.

King of Tears Unnumbered, hear me! shouted Nicholas, smiting his staff against the floor.

Shocked silence fell over the Court of Tears Unnumbered, and every eye, Elven and mortal, turned to Nicholas.

So it we have a visitor! said the King, laughing. Come, then, stranger, and name yourself, that we might know you, and lower your hood, that we might gaze upon your face.

But Nicholas knew better, and remembered Caelyna's counsels of cunning. My name is threefold. I am the wanderer, who has come from afar. I am the seeker, who has journey over wood and hill and road. And I am the voyager, who quests for treasure beyond riches, beyond gold.

Come, sir, you speak in riddling talk, said the King, though his amusement was plain to see. Name yourself.

Do I speak in riddles? said Nicholas. Their meaning is plain, if only to me. Perhaps you seek to challenge me?

The King roared with laughter. I seek to challenge you? Bold, stranger, bold! I think you seek to challenge me! And that is folly! I have crushed every foe, mortal or Elven, that ever stood before me. He gestured at the wall, and Nicholas saw the rows of battered and hacked shields hanging there, his own among them.

No doubt Isolde thought him dead.

Whether in trials of arms or wits, I have been victorious! said the King. He leaned back upon his great throne, smiling. So think well before you challenge me.

Nevertheless, I challenge you, said Nicholas. And if I win, you shall grant me a boon of my choosing.

Done! said the King, rising. And if I win, then you shall be my thrall, to toil in the halls of my Court forevermore.

Done, said Nicholas, hand tightening about his staff.

So be it! said the King. We shall follow the ancient traditions, then. You challenged me, so I may speak the first riddle. And you challenged me under my own roof, so I shall speak the second riddle as well. And since you have not named yourself, I will speak the third riddle as well. Should you answer all three of my riddles, then you may ask me one.

A titter of amusement went through the Elven knights and lords, appreciation for their King's cleverness. The thralls groaned aloud and bowed their heads in despair, for they knew another slave would come to join their misery.

Nicholas gripped his staff like a shield. Three riddles? How could he hope to answer three riddles posed from the King's ancient mind? Yet cunning, and not knightly valor, must be his weapon, as Caelyna had said. And the King rejoiced in cruelty, and his riddles would reflect the darkness of his heart.

Done, said Nicholas. I pray you, speak your first riddle.

I shall oblige you, said the King. Hearken, then! His voice grew formal, as if reciting a long-remembered lesson. I am the conqueror of all. For I throw down the king and peasant alike, the rich man and the poor man, the good and the wicked both. None have escaped from my sword, and none ever shall. Who am I?

Nicholas he knew of no such warrior, no such captain of men. And even the mightiest knight, one undefeated in battle, would one day perish in his bed.

In his bed...

Nicholas blinked. He remembered Caelyna's words, how the King rejoiced in the suffering of all mortals. And what fate did all mortals share?"

He straightened. You speak of Death, the fate from which no mortal man, no matter how mighty, can escape.

A murmur of appreciation went through the Elven knights.

Well spoken, stranger, said the King, smiling like a wolf. Perhaps your wisdom will hold for another riddle? Hearken! For I am the master of all. Both the king and the peasant bow before me, and the rich man labors that he might escape me, and the poor man lives in dread of me. Mothers fear that I might take their children, and I have conquered mighty citadels without raising a sword or drawing a bow. Who am I?

Nicholas bowed his head in thought. Again, he knew of no such king or captain. But answer of the King's first riddle had been Death, that which stalked all mortals. Might not the second riddle be something that also tormented mortal man? Something that could conquer a mighty citadel without weapons? Nicholas remembered his campaigns with his king, remembered the sieges of the enemy strongholds...

Hunger, said Nicholas, lifting his face to look at the King once more. You speak of hunger. For all men, no matter how high or low, powerful or weak, are slaves to their bellies.

Another murmur of appreciation went through the Elven knights, and the thralls stared at Nicholas in astonishment.

Again, well spoken, stranger, said the King. You are clever. Especially for a mortal. For you must be mortal, no? How else could you have answered my riddles so quickly?

Perhaps I am mortal, perhaps I am of Elven birth, said Nicholas. Who can say? But could a mortal have so quickly discerned your riddles?

The King laughed. True enough, stranger. Now! Are you clever enough to unravel my final riddle? He leaned forward. Hearken! For I am the master over all. For my sake men while undergo hunger and thirst and hardship, will defy death itself. For my sake they will even die. Yet I am a cruel master, and those who suffer for my sake are never satisfied. And, in the end, I inflict terrible pain upon all those who follow me. Yet they follow me willingly.

Nicholas stared hard at the king, his hand tightening around the staff. What could the answer be? Thirst? Water? Pain? Disease? Injury? Warfare? The King delighted in the torments of mortal life, and there were so many. Yet none fit the riddle.

Nicholas bowed his head in thought, and the Elves laughed at him.

The King and his knights would never know the pains of mortal men. But there were others things they knew not. The constant, frenzied feast and music of the hall filled a void, a distraction from the boredom of eternity. They had eternity, but nothing to live for. What did a mortal man live for? What made a mortal man risk his life?

Why had Nicholas risked his life and soul to come here?

And he knew the answer.

Love, he said, looking at the King of Tears Unnumbered once more. For love alone will drive a mortal man to such dangers, to risk his life among unnumbered perils. For love a mother will go hungry, that her children might not starve. For love a man will risk death itself, that he might rescue those he loves from dire harm.

A hush fell over the hall. Nicholas felt Isolde's eyes upon him, yet he dared not look at her.

You have spoken well, said the King quietly. This love the mortals know...the Elves comprehend it not. It seems a weakness to place part of one's heart in the keeping of another. He sighed. And yet...and yet it gives them a strength that no power can overcome, that we Elves cannot match, alas. His expression brightened, his golden eyes flashing. You have answered my riddles, stranger...and now I must answer yours. Choose wisely, or else you shall serve in my halls for an eternity.

I have but one riddle for you, King of Tears Unnumbered, said Nicholas, praying that Caelyna had not led him false. When the Savior came to the mortal world, he named one of his disciples the Rock upon which he would build his kingdom, the Rock against which the gates of hell could not prevail. Who was this disciple?

An angry growl went through the Elven knights, and they edged closer to Nicholas.

You dare to ask me this? said the King, rising from his throne in wrath. You dare to ask such a question of me in my own hall?

Who was this disciple? said Nicholas.

You insult me! thundered the King. Your impudence! To ask a question of mortal affairs - you dare!

Who was this disciple? said Nicholas.

The King glared at him, golden eyes ablaze with fury.

If you cannot answer the riddle, said Nicholas, then I have won the challenge.

I know the name of this man, said the King.

Yet you cannot speak it, said Nicholas, can you?

The King said nothing.

And if you cannot speak the name, said Nicholas, then I have won our challenge.

The King, it seemed, was much less appreciative of cleverness at his own expense.

So, growled the King, you have won the challenge, and the right to a boon. He sneered. What boon do you desire?

Only this, said Nicholas. An Elven sword, forged from otherworldly steel. He looked at the King. For I have powerful enemies, and I must have a powerful weapon to wield against them.

Very well, said the King, gesturing. A thrall hurried forward, eyes downcast, jeweled collar glittering around his neck. In his hands he bore a sheathed sword. Nicholas drew the blade, the Elven steel glittering like frozen lightning in the hall's dancing light.

A fine blade, said Nicholas, fingers tightening around the hilt.

My word has been kept, said the King, turning back to his throne. Now take your boon and go.

I shall not, said Nicholas, throwing aside his staff.

The King turned in surprise. What is this?

Nicholas cast off his cloak and pointed his sword at the King, and a stunned silence fell over the hall.

He saw Isolde staring at him, eyes wide, hands to her mouth.

Behold! said Nicholas. I am Nicholas, knight and lord, and I have come for my wife, who you have unjustly taken. Before your court and your prisoners, I issue this challenge. Release my wife to me, or face my wrath.

The King smote his fist against his throne in rage. How do you yet live? No mortal man can survive a wound from an Elven blade.

Perhaps you are not as wise as you think yourself, said Nicholas.

You offer me insult in my own hall? said the King.

Or are you craven, said Nicholas, and you fear to face me a second time?

The King roared his fury, the walls shaking with his wrath, and the very stones of the Court of Tears Unnumbered trembled in time to his rage.

Do you think I fear you, mortal worm? screamed the King, holding forth his hand, and a thrall hastened to place a sword in his grasp. I, who lived uncounted millennia before your remotest ancestors ever looked upon each other in lust? I, who shall live for millennia after your bones have crumbled into nothingness and every living tongue has forgotten your name? I shall slay you, mortal, I shall rend the life from your flesh, I will spit your heart upon my blade! And your wife shall see your mortal agonies and think upon them for the eternity she spends toiling in my halls!

Proud words, haughty princeling, said Nicholas. Have you the strength to back them up?

The King leapt from the dais, sword raised.

And Nicholas and the King dueled before the Throne of Tears Unnumbered. The King's sword flashed like lightning, his blows like a falling avalanche. Yet Nicholas met him blow for blow, the Elven steel of their blades chiming. And the King flinched from the glittering edge of the Elven steel, fearing its power to wound him. Nicholas drove the King back, thrusting, slashing, and stabbing, his heart aflame with anger. The thralls watched, rapt, and even the Elven knights could not lift their eyes from the spectacle, for in all in their long millennia, even they had never seen such a contest of swordsmanship.

Yet the King stood fast with immortal stamina, and Nicholas's strength waned, his breath coming hard and fast, his arms and shoulders burning with effort. The King drove him back, laughing with the joy of the kill.

Where is your Rock now? said the King. Perhaps if you pray to him and his Master, they will deliver you from my wrath!

Nicholas tried to strike the King, but his strength waned, and the King drove him across the hall. Finally Nicholas could retreat no further, and in despair he knew that the fight was at an end.

The King drew back his sword for the final blow.

Then a scream rang from the hall's rafters. Black wings fluttered across Nicholas's vision, and the raven dropped from above, clawing at the King's face. The King reeled back with a cry of rage and pain, grabbing for the raven.

It was Nicholas's last chance.

He sprang forward, his failing strength behind his sword, and drove the blade of Elven steel to the hilt into the King's chest. The King roared, eyes wide with shock and panic. He tried to raise his sword for a stab, but Nicholas dodged the King's weakened attacks.

And at last the King of Tears Unnumbered fell to his knees, and crumpled upon the cold stones of his Court.

The raven landed besides his head. The creature blurred, and in its place knelt Caelyna, her hand twined in the King's silver hair, a triumphant smirk upon her face.

Behold! hissed Caelyna, twisting the King's face to look upon the shields hanging from the wall. Look upon the shield of my husband, whom you slew as you laughed at my tears. And as you die, look upon his shield and know that I am the author of your doom.

With a final laugh, Caelyna took a raven's form once more and flew away.

So, whispered the King, staring up at Nicholas. Even eternity has an end.

And so the King of Tears Unnumbered perished, his immortal life brought to an end. Filled with terror, the Elven knights fled the Court, lest death find them as well, and soon Nicholas and the thralls stood alone in the hall.

He strode forward, and using the blade of Elven steel, cut the collar from Isolde's neck.

Hear me! called Nicholas to the assembled thralls. From this day forward you are free. My blade will shatter your collars, and you will follow me back to the world of men. From there you may return to your homes, or settle upon my lands as my guests, as it pleases you.

Cheering, the thralls pledged their loyalty to him. And so Nicholas took his wife in his arms and led her home, leaving the Court of Tears Unnumbered behind forever. The thralls settled upon his lands as free men and women, and grew strong and prosperous.

Yet