the elders teach the poem any longer?”
Gwydion’s memory stirred, and he heard his grandfather’s voice repeating a childish rhyme:
“In Shar’s domain of night I rest,
So dreams may show me how I’m blessed.
If screams of terror break my sleep,
Then Dendar’s sunk her fangs too deep.”
A shudder wracked the sell-sword. Dendar was a myth meant to frighten children into going to bed when their parents wanted - or so he’d always believed. His grandfather had told him that the Night Serpent ate the horrible dreams of disobedient boys and girls, growing fat so she could rise from Hades at the end of the world and swallow the sun. Each nightmare you couldn’t remember was another pound of flesh on Dendar’s bones.
The Night Serpent nodded her black snout, recognizing the fright in Gwydion’s eyes. “Ah, I see you do know me. I’m relieved.”
“Er, excuse me, Dendar,” said Perdix, “But you’re blocking the way. We can’t go any farther into the cave unless you give way.”
“My body has grown so large only my head has room to move,” the Night Serpent said. “So the mouth of the cave is the only place big enough for anything to hide - and, as you can see, there is nothing here.” Dendar swept her snout slowly back and forth over the pile of bones. “I like to think my predicament means the world will end soon.”
Perdix nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster. “We can only hope. Well, we’ll be going. Let Cyric know if you see anyone suspicious lurking around your cave.”
“Certainly,” the Night Serpent purred.
“Come on, Af,” the little denizen said. He turned to his brutish fellow, but found the wolf-headed creature frozen in place. “What is it?”
Af lifted a misshapen skull from the scattering of bones beneath his coils. “These are from denizens,” he murmured.
“Of course,” Dendar said nonchalantly. “They don’t taste very good - not as good as a fresh soul, anyway - but Cyric throws in a few denizens along with the shades for variety. The whole idea of a levy is for show. The forgotten nightmares are food enough for me, as you might guess from my bulk.”
“But we’re his servants,” Af said to no one in particular. He shook the denizen’s skull until it broke. “Cyric can punish us or torture us, but we’re not supposed to be destroyed. The levy should be drawn from the False!”
“How can you destroy a soul?” Gwydion asked. “I mean we’re already dead.”
“There are ways to pass beyond death,” Dendar hissed with smug self-satisfaction. “But your denizen friends would have no reason to seek out oblivion. They’re happy with their lot in death. As for the False or the Faithless - well, Cyric has absolute command over their fates. They can’t die unless he wills it, and he only sends shades to oblivion after he tires of torturing them.”
“Let’s talk about this on the way to the marsh, all right? We don’t need to bother Dendar with it.” Tugging on one of Af’s spider legs, Perdix hopped toward the cave mouth.
“No!” Af barked. “There’s a pact. I was there when it was signed. Cyric himself told us-“
Sudden, bitter laughter filled the cavern. “And you believed him?” Gwydion scoffed.
Perdix and Af glared at the shade with hate-filled eyes. When he didn’t stop laughing, they beat him viciously, but even their blows and threats couldn’t stop him.
The look of helplessness on Af’s lupine features had shown Gwydion that the denizens had no more power than he, that they, too, were victims of Cyric’s madness. With that realization, the shroud of despair slipped from his soul and a giddy dream took root in his thoughts: the False and the denizens were brothers in damnation. Why couldn’t they rise up and free themselves from suffering?
It was the Night Serpent who finally silenced Gwydion’s mad laughter. She turned one yellow eye on the shade and said, “Oh yes, dear Gwydion, dream of freedom. But
Gwydion’s memory stirred, and he heard his grandfather’s voice repeating a childish rhyme:
“In Shar’s domain of night I rest,
So dreams may show me how I’m blessed.
If screams of terror break my sleep,
Then Dendar’s sunk her fangs too deep.”
A shudder wracked the sell-sword. Dendar was a myth meant to frighten children into going to bed when their parents wanted - or so he’d always believed. His grandfather had told him that the Night Serpent ate the horrible dreams of disobedient boys and girls, growing fat so she could rise from Hades at the end of the world and swallow the sun. Each nightmare you couldn’t remember was another pound of flesh on Dendar’s bones.
The Night Serpent nodded her black snout, recognizing the fright in Gwydion’s eyes. “Ah, I see you do know me. I’m relieved.”
“Er, excuse me, Dendar,” said Perdix, “But you’re blocking the way. We can’t go any farther into the cave unless you give way.”
“My body has grown so large only my head has room to move,” the Night Serpent said. “So the mouth of the cave is the only place big enough for anything to hide - and, as you can see, there is nothing here.” Dendar swept her snout slowly back and forth over the pile of bones. “I like to think my predicament means the world will end soon.”
Perdix nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster. “We can only hope. Well, we’ll be going. Let Cyric know if you see anyone suspicious lurking around your cave.”
“Certainly,” the Night Serpent purred.
“Come on, Af,” the little denizen said. He turned to his brutish fellow, but found the wolf-headed creature frozen in place. “What is it?”
Af lifted a misshapen skull from the scattering of bones beneath his coils. “These are from denizens,” he murmured.
“Of course,” Dendar said nonchalantly. “They don’t taste very good - not as good as a fresh soul, anyway - but Cyric throws in a few denizens along with the shades for variety. The whole idea of a levy is for show. The forgotten nightmares are food enough for me, as you might guess from my bulk.”
“But we’re his servants,” Af said to no one in particular. He shook the denizen’s skull until it broke. “Cyric can punish us or torture us, but we’re not supposed to be destroyed. The levy should be drawn from the False!”
“How can you destroy a soul?” Gwydion asked. “I mean we’re already dead.”
“There are ways to pass beyond death,” Dendar hissed with smug self-satisfaction. “But your denizen friends would have no reason to seek out oblivion. They’re happy with their lot in death. As for the False or the Faithless - well, Cyric has absolute command over their fates. They can’t die unless he wills it, and he only sends shades to oblivion after he tires of torturing them.”
“Let’s talk about this on the way to the marsh, all right? We don’t need to bother Dendar with it.” Tugging on one of Af’s spider legs, Perdix hopped toward the cave mouth.
“No!” Af barked. “There’s a pact. I was there when it was signed. Cyric himself told us-“
Sudden, bitter laughter filled the cavern. “And you believed him?” Gwydion scoffed.
Perdix and Af glared at the shade with hate-filled eyes. When he didn’t stop laughing, they beat him viciously, but even their blows and threats couldn’t stop him.
The look of helplessness on Af’s lupine features had shown Gwydion that the denizens had no more power than he, that they, too, were victims of Cyric’s madness. With that realization, the shroud of despair slipped from his soul and a giddy dream took root in his thoughts: the False and the denizens were brothers in damnation. Why couldn’t they rise up and free themselves from suffering?
It was the Night Serpent who finally silenced Gwydion’s mad laughter. She turned one yellow eye on the shade and said, “Oh yes, dear Gwydion, dream of freedom. But
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