The Dragonstone

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Aiko, however, was unfazed by the drop, for her training in Ryodo had included many a vertical climb. But even though the fall held no fear for her, still Aiko was distressed, for her tiger was greatly unsettled and Dara Arin rode ahead; if danger came upon them, she and not Aiko would meet it first.

  In the lead, the drop into the depths held no meaning for Arin, only the faint ribbon ahead, for she concentrated fully on the pathway downward in her attempt to .

  Near the rear of the procession, Ferret leaned over and looked at the ruddy stone falling sheer below. Then she glanced back at Delon to see him staring downward, too. “Are you not afraid?” she called. “It’s quite high, you know.”

  Delon smiled. “No, luv. In my youth in the Gûnarring, my father and I often scaled such steeps, though not in a bloody red Hèl like this. —But I say, what about you?”

  “I walked the rope before I was nine,” she replied, “and flew the trapeze as well. Heights are to be respected, not feared.”

  “Aren’t you afraid your camel will bolt?”

  At Delon’s question, Alos moaned and clapped his hands over his ears.

  “Animals have more sense than to do such,” replied Ferret. “At least in the cirque it was so.”

  “Cirque? You were in a cirque, luv? You’ll have to tell me of it.”

  Ferret took a deep breath and then let it out. Except for the story about Old Nom, Ferai had told none of the others aught of her past, not even Delon. She looked down into the depths below and then back at the bard to find him yet looking at her, awaiting a reply. “Someday, perhaps,” she called out to him, then turned and faced front once more. Someday, perhaps, someday.

  Down they went and down, twisting and turning into the depths of bloodred rock, the angled way sometimes shallow, sometimes steep, but always narrow and ever clinging to vertical ripples frozen forever on the face of perpendicular stone. Along this slant they rode for nearly six miles, the path arcing ’round meandering curves and angling past sharp bends, until at last they came to the enshadowed floor of the jagged canyon below, where crimson walls rose some fifteen hundred feet straight up to a ragged slash of sky. Here in the depths they could no longer see where they had begun high on the rim above, for it was lost beyond uncounted crooks and twists and turns in the pathway behind.

  Though fairly level, the canyon floor was no more than ten paces wide, with schist and scree and shattered rock strewn throughout and piles of rubble ramping up against the vertical walls. All was barren stone—no soil, no plants, no life whatsoever could be seen—and a raw drift of air whispered through the chasm, like voices murmuring on the very edge of perception. And here the world was scarlet-drenched, as if the very rock itself had been drowned in blood. Even the shadows seemed to take on a crimson hue.

  “Adon,” breathed Delon, “but it is a vision of Hèl.”

  Two paths stood before them, twisting away left and right.

  “Which way?” asked Aiko, looking to Arin, as did they all.

  The Dylvana stared at the canyon floor. “The rightward path has a faint glow.”

  Aiko touched her chest. “Peril lies that way as well, Dara.”

  Arin shrugged. “Nevertheless—”

  “Perhaps we ought to turn back,” interjected Alos.

  Arin looked at the old man. “Nay, Alos. Herein we should find the cursed keeper of faith in the maze.”

  “But we don’t even know if this is the right maze,” quavered the oldster.

  Egil canted his head. “Come, helmsman, of the two we’ve encountered this seems the best bet.”

  Alos glanced at Aiko only to meet an impassive gaze. He lowered his eye and nodded.

  Rightward they turned, now Aiko and Egil able to ride alongside Arin: Aiko to the left; Egil to the right. Following behind came the three pack camels on their tethers, and then after came Alos, Delon, and Ferret, each of the trio also towing a camel.

  “Which way is north?” asked Ferret. “We’ve twisted and turned so much that I’m all at sea. And down here I can’t even tell.”

  Alos grunted and pointed to the fore and left even as Delon pointed back and to the right. Delon shook his head and burst out in laughter, but Alos growled and said, “Look, I’m a helmsman so I ought to know which way north lies.”

  But Delon pointed to the red canyon walls high above. “See the angle of the sun? Well, not the sun itself, but the shadows, instead. It’s yet early morn, and so they fall from east to west. And given their slant, that puts north off to our right. We are headed southwesterly.”

  As his camel plodded forward, Alos looked long at the rim above, then shook his head in resignation.

  “Don’t feel bad, old man,” said Delon. “I was raised in the mountains, while you were raised at sea. And when we are on the waters again, ’tis you will know and I who will not.”

  They held this direction for less than a furlong as the canyon bent back on itself. Twisting and turning, within a mile they came to a junction, where three slots lay before them. Again Arin chose the right-hand way, and zigging and zagging, veering and wrenching, through the labyrinth they fared, at times the way wide, at other times narrow where they could go but single file—and through these slots Aiko took the lead with Egil next after. And time after time they came to junctions: two-way, three-way, four-way splits, some narrow, some wide, some but cracks, some paths smooth, others rough, some choked with shattered debris. At these breaches, Arin would gaze at the choices before her and spy out the glimmering way, and onward they would fare.

  Midmorning came and then midday, the sun directly overhead, pressing back the crimson shadows, replacing them with a bright red glare. Yet they paused not for a midday meal but ate as they moved ahead, for they did not want to camp in these canyons at night, hoping to reach the temple instead—wherever it might lie. At times they rode, at other times walked, giving the camels some respite, but always they pushed forward.

  “I don’t think we’re on the right road at all,” puffed Alos, during one of these strolls. “We’d better turn back, get out from these blasted canyons with their pressing walls.”

  “Why’s that, old man?” asked Delon.

  Alos fixed his white eye on the bard. “Surely we’d’ve reached it by now if this were the way. I think we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. Either that, or the temple isn’t even in this place at all.”

  Ferret shook her head. “Look about you, Alos. The stone is crimson, as shown on Old Nom’s card. And the ‘âlim said this is where we’d find it. As to the wrong turn, have faith in Dara Arin. Think on this, too: it is a great treasure we are after: a pure, translucent pale jade egg…the size of a melon. Surely we can sell it for an enormous sum, even if we have to carve it up. There’s a buyer out there somewhere: a Dragon, a Mage, a collector, someone who will make all this worthwhile. We’ll be set for life. No more hunger, no more wanting, no more having to—” Ferret glanced at Delon and abruptly stopped talking.

  They walked in silence for a while, and at last Delon said, “Luv, as much as I cherish the good life—fine wines, delectable foods, pleasures for all the senses—we aren’t after this thing for reward. It isn’t a treasure we seek. Instead it’s a token of power whose doom we hope to entirely set aside.”

  Ferret looked over at him, but what she was thinking did not appear in her eyes.

  Ahead, Arin called for them to mount up again, and onward they rode through chasms of bloodred stone.

  The midday sun passed beyond the rims above, though now and then as the canyons twisted and turned they could see it in the west. Midafternoon came, and then late day, and all about them scarlet shadows mustered once more as the angle of light shifted with the sinking of the sun. Finally there was a short twilight down in the canyons below and darkness fell in the land of red stone, and still there was no sign of a temple.

  * * *

  A narrow slash of glimmering stars emerged overhead with the onset of night, and Arin reined her camel to a halt, the
others stopping as well. The Dylvana turned in her saddle and said to all: “The time has come for us to decide: shall we push on, or instead make camp? Have ye any preference?”

  Egil said, “I think we need rest the camels. They’ve had little ease all day, nor aught to eat or drink since yester.”

  Aiko reached down and tapped her mount on its ribs. “Fear not for the camels, Egil One-Eye, for they can go long without either food or drink.” She gestured ahead along the canyon. “Fear instead for us; with every step forward our danger has grown.”

  In the glint of starlight, Arin nodded, but Egil raised an eyebrow. “Your tiger?”

  Aiko inclined her head.

  “I think we should go back,” said Alos. “This ‘âlim of yours has led us into a trap.”

  Aiko grunted yet did not gainsay his words, but Arin said, “I think not, Alos, for Aiko’s tiger found no untoward peril in him.”

  “That’s because the peril’s out here,” retorted Alos.

  “That I do not deny,” said Arin.

  “Why don’t we just set up camp in a place we can easily defend?” suggested Ferret, touching the bandoliers of daggers crisscrossing her breast.

  From the bowels of the labyrinth there came a long, ghastly howl, the echoes slapping back and forth across the canyon walls.

  The camels flinched at this sound, yet held their ground for it was distant still. But Alos groaned and cowered down in his saddle.

  “Adon, but that was much louder than before,” said Delon.

  “We are closer to whatever it is,” said Arin.

  “We are closer to peril,” said Aiko.

  “Since it seems to come out only at night, I think Ferret has the right idea,” said Egil. “We should make camp in an easily defended place.”

  “There is that narrow canyon a furlong or so back,” suggested Arin.

  * * *

  They set up camp in a box canyon, more of a fissure than aught else, for it extended into the crimson rock less than a hundred feet.

  “This is good,” said Egil, surveying the site.

  “Good?” muttered Alos. “This stone crack?”

  “Aye,” replied the Fjordlander. “They can only come at us from one direction.”

  “They?” quavered Alos.

  “They. The foe. Whether one or many,” replied Egil.

  “Like the thing that howls,” added Ferret.

  “Eep!” squealed Alos, and he huddled down against the stone wall behind.

  * * *

  That night they stood ward in overlapping shifts: Aiko and Alos, Alos and Delon, Delon and Ferret, Ferret and Egil, Egil and Arin, Arin and Aiko. Again there came in the middle of the night another prolonged howl, seeming louder than before, jerking sleepers awake, weapons springing to hand, yet nought came at them from the darkness.

  With a half moon above, just ere dawn Egil moaned and thrashed in his sleep, visited by a hideous dream.

  * * *

  They broke camp as the slash of sky lightened, and soon were on the trail again, the camels grunted in sullen ire, angered at having had nothing to eat but a meager amount of grain and nothing to drink at all, angered as well at having to bear riders and cargo, or so it seemed.

  Once more the dark shadows turned scarlet as the day seeped down into the land of red stone. The trail twisted and wrenched through the labyrinthine maze, passages shattering off in directions without number, leftward, rightward, veering hindward as well. Choice after choice Arin made as the rarely glimpsed sun angled up in the sky, seen only when the chasms skewed easterly.

  “Garlon, but I’d swear we’re going in circles,” grumped Alos. “That, or we’re lost altogether.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Ferret.

  “This canyon, that rock, I vow we’ve passed it a thousand times.”

  “A thousand times?”

  Alos growled. “Well, more than once, that’s for certain.”

  Ferret shook her head. “I don’t think so, Alos. I believe with all this red rock, everything looks the same.”

  Delon grunted in agreement. “Even the red is beginning to look normal to my eyes. —I wonder if it’s possible to become used to Hèl.”

  Midday came and went, and still they pressed onward, riding and walking, peril growing with each stride, Aiko now insisting on taking the lead every step of the way, though she paused at the junctions for Arin to make a choice.

  Midafternoon came and then eve drew nigh, the crimson shadows mustering again deep in the chasms below.

  Alos groaned. “Another night in this blasted maze, with night after night to come. Lost in your Hèl, Delon. Trapped forever. We’ll never find our way back out.”

  Before Delon could reply, Aiko rounded a turn and there before her in solid rock stood the opening of an arched tunnel, low and narrow and black. “Yojin suru!” she called. “Beware.”

  * * *

  “This is carved, not natural,” said Egil. “See: hammered drill rods and mattocks shaped this way.”

  As Aiko looked up at the steep canyon walls, a canyon dead-ended but for the tunnel, Arin said, “The trail goes in.”

  Egil glanced from one to the other. “Then so do we.”

  “Can the camels squeeze through?” asked Ferret. “I mean, it’s like an eye of a needle.”

  Delon looked at the camels and then at the opening before them. “I think so. But we’ll have to lead them.”

  “Not yet,” said Egil.

  Aiko, her swords in hand, nodded and said, “Egil is right. I would not want to be trapped in there with camels blocking the retreat. I will go afoot and see where this leads.”

  “Not alone,” said Egil. “I will go with you.”

  “As will I,” said Delon.

  “Me, too,” added Ferret.

  “I’ll guard the camels,” said Alos, drawing back from the dark entrance. “But not by myself.”

  Arin looked from one to the other, and then sighed. “I will stay with thee, Alos.”

  Egil turned to the Dylvana and embraced her and said, “Be ready to flee.” Then he kissed her and stepped away and hefted his axe.

  Delon lit a small oil lantern, and weapons at the ready, they entered the dim opening.

  The tunnel floor was level, and within ten strides the corridor turned sharply to the left. “It reminds me of the way beneath Gudrun’s fortress walls,” whispered Egil.

  “Just so,” said Aiko. “Carved to keep siege engines at bay.”

  “There are no murder holes,” hissed Delon.

  “Not in this stretch, at least,” replied Egil.

  Again the corridor turned sharply, this time to the right, and ahead they could see a portcullis down and a glimmer of the dying day beyond.

  “Put out the light,” sissed Aiko. As Delon quenched the lantern, Aiko added, “Go softly. The peril lies just beyond the gate.”

  Cautiously they approached the heavy grille, and in the dim light, just as they reached the bars a voice called out, “Mîn int?”

  Startled, they flattened themselves against the walls in the narrow way. And again the voice called out, “Mîn int?”

  It came from above.

  Egil looked up, but saw nought. He took a deep breath. “We are friends.”

  There was a slight pause, and then: “Friends?” replied the voice, a woman’s, accented as was the ‘âlim’s. “Yet you come with weapons in hand?”

  Egil glanced at Aiko. “We sensed peril.”

  “Ah. Many things are perilous. What do you seek?”

  Again Egil looked at Aiko, and then at Ferret and Delon. At a nod from each he replied, “We come in urgency and seek a keeper of faith in the Temple of the Labyrinth.”

  Long moments passed, but finally, with a clanking and grinding of gears and the clack of a ratchet, the heavy portcullis screeched upward in its tracks. It stopped at the halfway point.

  “Enter,” called the voice.

  Egil started to stoop under, but Aiko stopped him. He
turned to her and said, “If the temple is here, we must take risks.”

  She looked at him, her gaze impassive, and then nodded.

  Together they ducked under the teeth of the grille, Delon and Ferret following.

  They came into a vast opening, a sheer-walled circular basin nearly two full miles across, hemmed in all ’round by vertical red stone reaching up to the evening sky above.

  “Stand!” came a command from behind.

  They stopped and slowly turned.

  Behind a low castellated parapet upon a wall above the portcullis stood perhaps fifty dark-haired women of varying ages, all dressed in red robes matching the stone and armed with bows drawn to the full, nocked arrows aimed at the foursome’s breasts. Among them and in the center, at a notch in the wall where leaned a ladder, stood a tall man dressed in a red robe as well. Looking to be in his early thirties, he was some six feet four and weighed perhaps two hundred twenty lithe pounds. His hair was a sunbleached auburn, his skin desert tanned, and his eyes were ice-blue. His hands rested upon the hilts of a great two-handed sword, its point grounded on the banquette above.

  Aiko looked at him, puzzlement in her eyes, and she sheathed her swords and said to Egil, “I do not understand. He is not the peril, yet the peril is within him.”

  CHAPTER 52

  You say you come seeking a keeper of faith,” called down one of the women, an elder, standing to the left of the man. She wore no veil, nor did any of the women. “We are all keepers of faith herein.”

  Egil slipped his axe into his belt and motioned Delon and Ferret to sheathe their weapons. As they did so, the woman called out in a low voice, “Wakaf lataht’.” The women released the tension on their bows and lowered the weapons.

  Empty-handed, Egil said, “We have come far and have a tale to tell.”

  “Before you begin, do you wish me to send someone to bring in your last two companions along with your camels?” she asked as she signaled to the man to descend. Shouldering his great sword, he started downward, the woman following.

  Egil glanced at Aiko. Keeping a wary eye toward the big man descending, the Ryodoan nodded and said, “Unless provoked, there is no peril in these women. But as to the man, I cannot say. Even so, Dara Arin should be safe.”