Yenjil Thallon looked on with satisfaction as the first rays of dawn graced the land and the last of the column crossed the second ford. The infantry and archers had performed well the previous day, completing march of nearly twenty leagues in about eighteen hours. The weary soldiers had eaten like wolves, slept like the dead, then broke camp and crossed the ford, completely rested from the previous day's ordeal.
"Your bridge has made this crossing a pleasure, Feldspar," the captain said, marveling at the glittering sheet of magical energy that hovered inches above the water's surface.
"It gives me such pleasure to know that my feeble talents are of some small value." Sarcasm dripped from the old wizard’s lips. "But if you intend today's trek to mirror yesterday's, my services will no longer be available, for I'll die of exhaustion."
Thallon smiled, knowing that the wizard was tougher than he let on. There was wiry muscle under that wrinkled skin, and he suspected that the oldster nipped elixirs to ensure his health.
"We camp on the far side of the last ford tonight, my cantankerous friend. If the weather holds, we should be there before dark, crossed and bedded down not long after." The captain looked sidelong at the wizard, noting his weary eyes. Perhaps the old man was being more truthful than he thought.
"If you are truly fatigued, I could arrange for you to ride in Cercy's wagon. It might be less taxing, if not quiet."
"Me ride with that blob of flesh-colored pudding?" Feldspar's bushy eyebrows arched like a bat's wings. "You must be feverish. I would sooner be dragged behind Minister Cercy's wagon, even if the road were paved with cactus!"
Yenjil burst into laughter, spooking Gargantua. The horse whuffed and stamped as if to agree with Feldspar's opinion of their military advisor. The captain opened his mouth to assure the wizard that he could ride on any wagon he wished, but came up short when he noticed one of the wagons pulling off the trail.
"Damn! What's wrong now?" Thallon cursed, spurring Gar to investigate.
"What's the holdup here?" Thallon barked, reining in abreast of the vehicle's front seat. "I gave orders to—"
"Ah, Captain," Minister Cercy blubbered from above his quadruple chin. "Exactly the reason I instructed my driver to pull off the road. Our pace has caused me great concern, nearly disallowing me sleep last night. If you insist upon continuing to push the column day and night without adequate rest, we will be in no condition to perform any military maneuvers when we reach our destination. A similar case arose in year twenty-four of Emperor Gelixian III's rule when a commanding officer named Fennalin drove his troops two days and nights without rest, then lost a decisive battle. I have no doubt that the emperor would agree with my analysis of our—"
"Driver, move that wagon onto the road," Thallon ordered.
"You will stay here, driver," Cercy countered with a petulant smile, patting the driver on the arm. "Captain, if you refuse to recognize my authority, I will be forced to—"
"Minister Cercy," Thallon cut in, his hand straying to his sword hilt, "this operation is under MY authority by order of the emperor himself! You are merely an advisor here, and can give orders to no one. I am in command of everyone assigned to it."
"Well, I am sure that doesn't include—"
"I am sure you are also aware that it is within my power to summarily execute anyone disobeying my direct orders!" Silence reigned as sweat beaded on the wagon driver's brow.
"Now, driver, move that wagon back onto the road, and do not stop until I tell you to, personally! Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!" the driver yelped, lashing the reins.
The wagon rumbled onto the track, bumping along to catch up to the last one in line, Cercy's protests shrilling out over the clatter. Yenjil took a deep breath to calm his temper, and relaxed his grip on his sword. The driver really had not deserved that, but he dared not allow a wagon to fall under Cercy’s command.
"I could turn him into a slug, if you wish."
Yenjil turned to find Feldspar's mare standing behind Gargantua, the wizard's expression a mix of amusement and pity.
"No, thank you, Feldspar," Thallon said. "That wouldn't be fair to the slugs of the world."
The two laughed, kicking their mounts into a trot to catch up with the column. As they rode past Cercy's wagon, the last in line, Thallon wished today's trail to be a long, dusty one.
Lysethra toed a charred bit of bone out of the way to reveal a tiny scrap of parchment. She retrieved it, wiping away the soot and dried blood, but it was no use. The room was a shambles; the plans, scroll tube and Skkreel a complete loss.
"Did you have to reduce the whole room to cinders?" she asked Calmarel, dusting her sooty hands in frustration.
"It seemed like the proper action at the time," Calmarel seethed. "The scrolls were probably already destroyed, and I wasn't about to let that thing loose in the keep!"
If the truth were told, which it would not be, Calmarel had been impressed by Iveron's trapped scroll case. They had been spying on Skkreel, of course, when a shimmering sphere of energy materialized around the wizard. When Skkreel cast a counterspell, ropy green tentacles erupted from the scroll tube, each sprouting the hissing visage of a cobra and striking at the hapless wizard. Skkreel was torn to shreds.
Only when the sphere of energy vanished had Calmarel become concerned, for the writing ball of vipers was undaunted. When it began tearing at the door, she called on Pergamon's power, summoning chains of searing fire to constrict the writhing mass. The thing had blazed and thrashed for several minutes before finally stilling.
"So here we sit with a pile of ashes for our trouble, and still no clue as to what Iveron intends to summon." Lysethra began to pace, kicking charred bits of Skkreel out of her path. "We have few options remaining, sister younger."
"We still have one asset, sister elder," Calmarel said. Absently, she brought her amulet to her lips, only to drop Jundag's ivory token in surprise. She retrieved her spider medallion with a quick mental apology to her deities. "We can still follow Iveron's every move with my spider golem. If we watch him constantly, he's bound to reveal the secret eventually."
"Worth a try," Lysethra admitted, "but if he regains the gems before we discover anything, we will have to confront him."
"If we do so without knowing what he is summoning, we could be in trouble." Calmarel pressed the spider to her lips; she doubted it would protect her from the fangs of a demon lord.
"So we wait," the elder sister said, "and watch."
"And we pray, sister elder." Calmarel said. "We pray..."
Avari cleaned the grooming brush, replaced it in the saddlebag and patted Behemoth hard on the neck. He had performed admirably on the long day's ride, keeping pace with the smaller mounts even when he became fatigued. The less robust horses had an easier time, but Avari would not have traded Bo for ten of the others. He might not be a long distance runner, but in battle, he could bowl over smaller horses. Avari arched her back, noticing for the first time the dazzling sunset. Bo whuffed, nudging her out of her reverie. She planted a kiss on his nose and fixed his feed bag. One more pat, and she lifted her saddlebags and headed to where the others had supper ready.
"Miss Avari Two-leg," Hufferrrerrr greeted her as she dropped her bags and plopped onto a blanket. "You should have let me being the one who is to be taking care of the horses. Is it not the reason you were bringing me along?"
"Don't be silly, Huffer," Avari scolded, never having mastered the leotaur's name. "Today was a lot harder on you than me. Besides, I like taking care of horses; it relaxes me."
"I am being thanking you profusely, Miss Avari Two-leg." The leotaur bowed, which looked like a contortionist's trick in his current prone position.
"Please, Huffer, just call me Avari," she insisted while marveling at the strength and flexibility of the leotaur's spine. He could easily twist his torso around to scratch his tail. "After all, I don't call you Huffer Four-paw, do I?"
"No, you most assuredly do not. And would it not
be being more correct if you were to call me Hufferrrerrr Four-fore-paw?" he asked with a toothy grin, indicating his two hands and two front paws. "Or perhaps, Hufferrrerrr Two-hind-paw-four-fore-paw? Or maybe, Hufferrrerrr Four-leg-two-hand?"
"Exactly," she pointed out.
"Here ye go," DoHeney interrupted, offering huge sandwiches to the two. "Careful, now, they're hot."
"How did you heat it up?" Avari asked, taking the sandwich of steaming meat, melting cheese and mounded onions while noting the lack of a fire. "I thought Shay was studying."
"He is," Lynthalsea said proudly. "I did it."
"I was not knowing that Miss Lynthalsea was also being a wizard-type person," Hufferrrerrr said around half his sandwich.
"Neither did I," Avari admitted, exchanging smiles and raised eyebrows with the elf. "But it doesn't surprise me."
"I'm not really a wizard," the elf protested, patting the thin book of apprentice spells. "The spells in this book are about as much magic as bumblebees are birds of prey. I've had a lot of time to practice them, and I've gotten pretty good, I guess, but I couldn’t use them before Shay knew... Well, you know."
"Something smells wonderful!" Shay hobbled into their midst, stiff from the long ride. He laid his books on a blanket and returned Avari's dagger, which he had been using for light. "I cannot concentrate with such aromas filling the air." He accepted a sandwich from DoHeney and began eating.
"Not ta change the subject or nothin', but I been thinkin' about our little trip here." The dwarf spread out one of their many maps. "The way I figure it, if we keep this pace we got about five days ta go before reachin' the mountains, which I'd be willin' ta bet me gran-mammy's whiskers is where we'll find the last cornerstone."
The others nodded in agreement, preferring to continue their meal and let their companion get to his point without comment. DoHeney digressed easily and often if given the opportunity.
"Which puts us between two thorny bushes, if ye understand me thinkin'." None did, so they encouraged him to elaborate. "Darkmist's got ta know by now that we been snatchin' his pretty rocks, so he's bound ta have somethin' extra specially nasty waitin' fer us when we get ta this last one. Now, the other thorny bush is them assassins."
"Do you think they're still on our trail?" Avari asked.
"Well now, there's no easy way ta tell," he admitted, "so I'm thinkin' we gotta run on the theory that they are."
"What exactly do we do about these two thorny bushes, DoHeney?" Shay asked.
"Me point is, we'd better pick up our pace a tad. The last thing we'd be wantin' is ta have ta deal with both the assassins and Darkmist's trap at the same time. Since you can bet yer pointy ears them Shadowknives are ridin' like their hair's on fire tryin’ ta catch us, we'd better light a fire ta our own tails, if ye follow me thinkin'."
Indeed they did understand his thinking, and silence reigned as each considered options to increase their pace. As far as the horses were concerned, DoHeney's pony was the slowest, though the shaggy little beast's endurance was endless. The major problem was Hufferrrerrr: he could not ride a horse, and his own stamina was limited.
"I will stay behind," the leotaur offered. "Perhaps I am being a thorn in the paw of your pursuers, even."
"No." Avari was not about to leave the leotaur to deal with three ruthless assassins. "We'll let you set the pace, Huffer. If they catch up, we'll just have to deal with it."
"Agreed," Shay put in. "No one will be left behind. But I have a spell that might help our feline companion increase his pace."
"Oh, that would be being most acceptable, Master Shay Wizard-priest-two-leg. I would be most interested in receiving your enchantments."
"Also," the priest continued, "I think I will ask Tem once again for the use of his limitless cornucopia in the morning, not only for us, but for our mounts as well. The blessing of his fare will increase their endurance."
That settled, they bedded down for the night. The companions slept peacefully, oblivious to the three assassins who thundered closer with each passing moment.
CHAPTER 23
Iveron's morning inspection led him, as always, to the summoning room. He paused in the doorway and let the majesty of his masterwork seep into him like a soothing tonic. Although the room looked quiet and empty, to Iveron it seethed impatiently with unawakened power.
The room was a work of art, flawless in every detail. The circle of power and all the engraved runes had been inlaid with molten silver and polished to the same mirror sheen as the floor. At the cardinal points of the circle stood four stands. Wrought of purest gold, their intricate geometry was specifically engineered to focus the power of the four cornerstones.
Of which I possess exactly zero. Iveron’s pale eyes narrowed. It is long past time for Ghendal to have reported.
He strode around the circle of power, stopping here and there to examine the workmanship. The lack of communication could mean one of two things: Ghendal had been defeated, and the diamond was now held by the thieves, or he had claimed the three gems for his own and was eying the fourth. Either way, the problem would have to be addressed soon.
Then there were his sisters; they were undoubtedly plotting something. If they had taken his plans to the mediator, she should have reached a decision by now. They were either stalling, or trying to circumvent the trapped scroll case.
That thought brought a pitiless smile to his blue-grey lips. If they tried to unravel the spells he’d placed on the scroll case, the next message he received would be from the mediator, informing him that he was next in line for a council seat.
He stopped to let his fingers trace the curves of one of the gem stands. He rubbed a slight smudge off of the gleaming metal, then backed up to view the entire circle as a whole.
"Perfect.”
A tone, the note of a fine crystal goblet being struck, interrupted Iveron's musing. He fished a piece of quartz from a pocket; it was attuned to his scrying mirror. Someone was trying to contact him. The stone chimed again. He stared at it for a moment in trepidation; the news would be good... or very bad.
He started out of his apprehension at the third note and pocketed the trinket. It was a long walk to his quarters; too long to think the worst. He spoke words of magic; the summoning room vanished, and his laboratory appeared.
Swirling clouds of color roiled within the depths of the mirror. He touched several points on the rim and spoke the words of activation. A ruby-colored haze settled over the scene as the mists cleared; the Shadowknives were contacting him.
"Dart! What do you report?" Darkmist snapped. The view was obscured by the lining of a cloak, or perhaps a furred collar. "Do you have the gems? Report! Speak, damn you!"
A low growl interrupted his tirade. Something was amiss. A bout of hisses and growls emanated from the mirror; Iveron took a cautious step back, a quick defensive spell coming to mind. The image cleared as a furred hand receded from the view. It was replaced by two yellow-irised eyes and a flattened nose, the entire face framed by a tousled mane.
"By the Deathless One, they've been eaten by lions," he mumbled. His hasty presumption was dashed, however, when the maned visage spoke in the tongue of the surface dwellers.
"What magic are you, little statue?" it said. "Your eyes glow brightly, but your words say nothing."
Iveron thought furiously; what had become of the Shadowknives? If they no longer possessed the statuette, perhaps they had fallen prey to these creatures. If so, what had become of the gems? Had the thieves gotten as far as the glacier? The carefully laid trap must surely have gone awry, but perhaps he could trick these creatures out of some information.
"Oh, Great Lion Master," Iveron said in the surface language. "You have rescued me from the tattooed ones. Tell me how you vanquished them, and I will grant your every wish."
Much mumbling and hissing answered his charade, the view wavering to show many of the lion-faced people. Iveron nearly lost his composure when he caught a glimpse of the beasts' hind parts. W
hat hideous creatures lived on the surface!
"Speak! Or feel the wrath of my magic!" he snapped.
"I am Rrrufferzzzazzz, Shaman of Tribe Black Paw," the beast stated. "What are you, little statue, that you threaten us?"
"I am Arch-Teal, spirit of the dragon-serpent, trapped in this accursed stone prison by the master of the tattooed ones," Darkmist lied, "but you are not beyond my reach. If you do not tell me of my former masters, you will feel my wrath!"
"Your former masters were driven from our hunting grounds," the shaman answered. "They still live, but they will never return to our lands. Tell us how to free you, spirit, that you may find revenge on them."
"Break the statue," Iveron ordered. There was no way he could allow such a device to remain in their hands. "Break it, and I will be free to grant your every wish!"
After a short bout of hissing and sputtering, the view jumped and blurred, then suddenly went black as the delicately wrought onyx was dashed against a stone.
Iveron Darkmist's alabaster eyes stared at the blank scrying mirror. His assassins were alive, but unreachable; his damnable sisters were doing Mortas-knew-what, but certainly nothing to his advantage; and he had no idea if Ghendal even lived. With effort, he stilled his agitation and considered each issue. He would have to assume the Shadowknives were still on the trail of the thieves, but knew now that he could not rely on their performance. He would deal with his sisters personally, but not until he knew the status of the gems. And Ghendal... There was no way to know if the Dukarr was dead or alive, friend or foe.
"Messenger!" he bellowed, moving to his desk and recovering a spell book from a shelf of black-bound tomes. He gave orders without even looking up. "Send for my armor and weapons. And send a zykell to Captain Fnarengul. He is to report to me here as soon as possible. Go!"
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