“Keep your eyes open as you go with this man. He is dangerous, and I’m afraid your father is easily swayed.”
The following day, Zarkof, Balog, and Beorn flew over the surface of the snow in a sleigh pulled by oversized reindeer. They wound their way deep into the mountains of ice that ringed the flatlands. And then Zarkof waved a hand toward cliffs that rose high.
“Thus you see the palace of the pale wizard.”
The cliffs were marked with barred windows. At the top glittered a structure that caught the sun. It had walls like white marble, and Balog gasped. “I have never seen anything like it, wizard!”
“It is my palace and my fortress. As you see, it is surrounded by steep walls that cannot be scaled. There is only one entrance, and it is guarded day and night. I do not invite many into my fortress, but since we are to be friends and companions serving under the same master, I think it is well that you see his strength.”
They entered through the single gate, which rose into a recess with a clanging sound. Beorn said nothing as he walked along behind his father and the wizard. He did not trust Zarkof, but he was impressed by the strength of the man’s fortress.
Guards were everywhere, heavily armored and with swords drawn. Each wore a medallion around his neck bearing the same symbol that Zarkof wore around his, except that theirs were silver and his was gold. Beorn could not see clearly what was on the medallions, but he was sure that it was a symbol chosen by the Dark Lord.
“First, Chief Balog, I will give you a tour of the palace so that you can see the magnificence you are joining yourself to.”
His palace was indeed a magnificent structure. It was carved out of the mountain, and there were corridors that turned and twisted into the depths. These were illuminated by both torches and glowing stones that gave off faint light. The strange lighting gave the place a ghostly atmosphere.
The wizard took them all the way to the top, where they viewed his opulent and magnificent private quarters. Everything was gold and ivory and silver. It was wealth beyond Beorn’s imagination.
“And what do you think of my palace?”
“I have never seen anything like it,” Balog grunted. “It would be hard to take such a place.”
“Hard, indeed. Impossible. I have one more thing to show you.”
He led Beorn and his father down a winding staircase, passing by windows that admitted light. Guards stood at every window, and the lifelessness in their eyes disturbed Beorn.
“Father, have you noticed the faces of the guards?” he whispered. “They’re like dead men.”
Balog waved his son off. “They’re not our servants to worry about. This man is strong. Just come. We must see everything.”
When they reached the lowest level, a huge gate made of heavy black iron barred their way.
Zarkof said, “You will now see the source of my power.” He unbarred the gate and pushed it inward. Then he stepped into the passage beyond, followed by his two guests.
It was a large passageway, at least ten feet high and that wide or more. It was carved out of solid stone. It appeared to be old.
“This must have been the work of many generations ago,” Beorn said.
“Yes. I inherited it. It was dug long ago by others.”
The wizard suddenly halted and grew rigid. “Careful. We are in some danger here.”
Both Beorn and his father stood dead still, and then Beorn gasped again—this time from fright. In the passage ahead loomed a terrifying monstrous shape. He had seen bears and tigers and white saber-toothed tigers and killer whales and ice wraiths, but nothing like this.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“That is Shivea.”
The monster was in the shape of a great spider. Powerful legs rose up over her head. At the end of each leg was a cruel claw. Her eyes were multifaceted and glowing, as though there was light behind them. Venom dripped from her fangs as she sidled toward them.
But Zarkof held out the medallion that hung from his neck, and with relief Beorn saw the creature back away and slowly disappear into the gloom of a side cavern.
“Anyone who got this far would have to deal with Shivea. No trespasser has yet gotten past her.”
The wizard then led his guests down a series of twisting passageways. Beorn was still shaken, but for some reason he memorized the turns. He had no thought about what he would do with such information, but he was that kind of young man. He loved knowledge, and now he knew that he was one of the few who could find their way to the heart of the mystery of the pale wizard.
Finally, at the far end of a corridor, Zarkof held out the medallion toward a door. It opened before them. And there in the center of a large room sat a chair, glowing as if it had an inner fire.
Zarkof turned toward them with his face alight. “And there is the power. The crystal chair. Observe.”
He sat in the chair, and his body suddenly glowed. Power of some sort appeared to flow into him, and he cried, “I am your servant, O Lord of Darkness.”
Then the voice of another reverberated in the cavern. It seemed to come from everywhere. “Well done, wizard. I am pleased with you. Now take these two and all their people into my service.”
The voice faded away, and Zarkof arose. Some of the power of the chair still glowed in his eyes. He said, “That was the voice of the Dark Lord. You have heard what he said. Are you with us or against us?”
Beorn saw his father hesitate.
“You must choose,” Zarkof said. “There can be no middle ground.”
And then Balog said, “We are with you, wizard. Arm us with weapons to defeat our enemies, and we will serve the Dark Lord.”
For some reason, as his father gave his oath of allegiance, Beorn’s heart seemed to freeze. It was as though a cold mighty fist had closed around it. He glanced fearfully at the chair, glowing still with a pale, evil light.
“Very good. Now I will go out with you. Otherwise, you would never make it alive past Shivea.”
When they were outside the palace, ready to return to the village, Balog took a deep breath. “We will win over the Lowami people now. We will have a weapon that they cannot fight against. The very power of the Dark Lord.”
Beorn said nothing, but he was depressed at heart. As the sleigh spun along, he kept wanting to protest. But he knew that his father was a stubborn man and that he would not go back on what he had vowed.
8
Weapons of the Yanti
One day the Sleepers were invited to join the hunt for a great whale that had gotten itself caught in the shallows of a bay. The creature could not get out, but Fairmina said, “The tide will rise, and then we will lose him. We must kill him now.”
As the Sleepers climbed into small wooden-frame boats covered with waterproof hides, Wash seemed nervous. He told Josh, “I never did like boats, and that whale is big as a mountain.”
The whale lay half exposed, blowing high into the air. Its top was dark blue, its belly white. Josh didn’t see how anything could be done with such a monster.
The rest of the Sleepers sounded equally doubtful. Sarah and Abbey stayed on the bank with the women and rather fearfully watched them go.
“One slap of that thing’s tail, and it will be all over for you,” Abbey warned.
But Sarah called encouragingly, “The Lowami have done this many times.”
The Lowami carefully maneuvered their small craft around the whale, which had been lying still for a time. The boats floated up beside its hulk, and the harpooners all stood.
Josh was sharing a boat with Dave. Awkwardly he got to his feet and looked at the mountain of whale in front of him. He saw Fairmina raise her harpoon and nod. As he had been instructed, he threw his weapon with all his might. He heard the others grunt as at least twenty harpooners threw their barbed spears at the same time.
Instantly the whale rose higher out of the water. He thrashed about, upsetting several of the flimsy boats.
Josh fell to the bottom of the
ir boat, then quickly seized a paddle. Dave did the same, and they rowed out of immediate danger.
The monster stoved in two other boats, but the warriors swam away and were pulled to safety.
Then a cry of victory sounded from Fairmina’s lips, and the hunters all echoed it.
“Well, I guess that means we killed our first whale.” Dave wiped his face with the back of his hand and said, “Pretty messy, isn’t it?”
“You know what I’m thinking?” Josh asked.
“What?”
“How do you clean a thing like this. I mean, I’ve cleaned fish that weighed ten or fifteen pounds, but look at that!”
Josh was to find out that cutting up the whale was probably the messiest job he had ever encountered.
First, all the men attached ropes to their catch and, paddling with all their might, dragged the monster to land. Then they hitched reindeer to the whale and dragged him up onto the shore.
The women descended then with long knives, the same knives used to make igloos. The blades flashed in the sun, and huge chunks of blubber began to disappear. Fires were built, and the blubber put in pots.
“What are they doing that for?” Josh asked.
“They’re making oil. It’s what we burn in our lamps. Also we cook our food in it,” Fairmina told him.
After they’d worked for a while, Abbey was miserable. She was always very fussy about her appearance, and she cried, “I’ll never get clean! Never!”
Sarah was little better off, but she managed to laugh. “It’ll all wash out, and someday you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren that you once helped clean a whale in Whiteland.”
The cleaning of the whale went on the rest of the day.
The sun was just starting to go down when a shout attracted everyone’s attention. Fairmina straightened up and said, “That’s trouble!” Then she hurried forward to meet a runner, who came up gasping for breath.
“The Yanti are coming! They are coming to the village!”
Instantly Fairmina began to shout commands. The warriors all cast their cleaning tools aside and reached for their weapons.
“We’ve got to help,” Josh said. He ordered the Sleepers to grab their bows and quivers full of arrows, which they always carried with them.
And they all began the race to head off the Yanti before they reached the village. Fairmina was, by far, the most fleet of foot. She would get so far ahead that she had to wait for the others, all the time urging them on.
They reached the valley near the village just as night was closing in. Almost at once a scout came back to say, “They’re coming—right over that rise.”
“Archers, take your positions! Spearmen, get ready for battle! Fight for your homes, your wives, and your children!”
And the battle line was drawn.
Out of breath, Josh gasped to Sarah, “It looks like we got here just in time.”
“They’re headed straight for the village all right.”
“Well, we can stop them. We whipped them the last time.”
The Lowami warriors all waited, scarcely breathing. Arrows were notched on bowstrings, and spears were clutched firmly.
And then a cry of terror sounded, for over the rise came not Yantis but three ice wraiths.
Cold fear closed around Josh’s own heart. This was no Yanti raid. They could stand before that. But three ice wraiths …
“And see—they have riders!” Denhelm cried.
Even in the growing darkness it was obvious that the ice wraiths had been fitted with harness, and on the back of each sat a warrior, holding a sword high in the air and urging the monsters on. Behind them came a line of Yanti warriors, totally protected by the fierce ice wraiths.
“How can this be?” Denhelm gasped. “No man can tame an ice wraith.”
It was at that moment that Fairmina showed her true courage. Other hearts may have quailed, but she cried out, “Do not be afraid! We are warriors of the Lowami! Aim for the riders on their backs! They somehow control the wraiths!”
“If nobody can tame an ice wraith,” Josh muttered, “this has something to do with the Dark Lord. I know it has. He can control things like that.”
There was no time for more talk. The wraiths were advancing swiftly toward the Lowami battle line.
“Shoot!” Fairmina cried, and the air was filled with hissing, whistling arrows. Most bounced harmlessly off the wraiths’ tough hides. “The riders!” Fairmina ordered. “Shoot the riders!”
The ice wraiths came on, and those who stood against them fell. With sinking heart, Josh saw warrior after warrior go down under their slashing claws and saberlike teeth. He could not help admiring the men’s courage, but at the same time he knew it was foolish. “Come, Sarah—Dave!” he urged. “We’ve got to get close enough to hit those riders.”
Sarah and Dave grunted, and each notched an arrow.
Fairmina was involved in a raging fight alongside her father. The line of Yanti warriors was now in the battle, and swords were clashing.
“You take the rider on the left, Dave!” Josh cried. “You take the one on the right, Sarah! I’ll get the middle one.”
The three separated, and Josh advanced until the dark form of the center ice wraith loomed over him. Now he could see the face of the warrior on its back. He was grinning and shouting for the monster to kill.
Josh didn’t want to slay the rider, but he had seen too many friends, companions that he had learned to trust, going down under the wraiths’ fangs and claws. He bent his bow, drew a dead bead, and released the arrow. It caught the warrior above the armor that protected his chest. He fell backwards.
Instantly the rider’s ice wraith stopped its advance. It seemed paralyzed.
Josh glanced to the right and saw that Sarah was in trouble.
He raced over to help, and the two of them managed to take the second rider out of the saddle. His wraith too then stood dead still.
Josh quickly turned to see that Dave had finally knocked the third wraith rider out of the harness.
“They don’t know what to do when their riders are gone!” Dave yelled.
“I see that!” Josh shouted back. “Let’s go help the others!”
He heard the Yanti commander order, “Back! Mount the ice wraiths! They must be controlled!”
But then another factor entered. Volka advanced into the fray, swinging his club like a terrible scythe. Yantis fell right and left before him until most of the Yanti force began a disorganized retreat.
At this point, Fairmina apparently lost her head. Josh saw her run straight toward the uneven battle line. Almost at once she was engaged in a deadly duel with a skillful warrior, one who appeared to match her in ability and strength.
And then reinforcements arrived to cover the Yanti retreat. The fresh troops drove Chief Denhelm and his forces backward, and the ranks closed.
“They’ve captured Fairmina!” Josh yelled. “We’ve got to get her back!”
But there was no hope of this. Although the Yanti forces were in retreat, there was no breaking through their line.
Denhelm, who had taken a wound in the arm, stood holding it. “My daughter,” he moaned. “Fairmina!”
Fairmina stood surrounded by a ring of Yanti warriors that included Chief Balog and his son. She had soon learned that it was the son she had dueled with. Neither had won the duel, for she had been overpowered by other warriors and her sword taken from her. She would have been slain, but the son—Beorn—had leaped to her side, saying, “No! She is a courageous woman, a warrior. Foolish, but brave.”
Fairmina stood straight. She had been wounded slightly on the neck and the back of her hand, but she paid no heed. “You are no men!” she spat. “Beasts must fight for you!”
The Yanti chief was understandably angry over the way the battle had gone. “Take her back, and she will be a hostage. Maybe we will offer her as sacrifice to the Dark Lord.”
The chief’s son stood watching as warriors bound her hands. He stepp
ed close enough to say, “You have courage.”
“Do not speak to me, Yanti! You are cowards—all of you—to fight under the spell of the Dark Lord!”
A rope was placed around Fairmina’s neck, and the Yanti guard pulled her roughly.
But the chief’s son spoke sharply to him. “She does not need that!” Drawing his knife, he slashed the rope away. “You will be well treated,” he said.
Fairmina stared at him and raised her chin. “I will not be well treated! It is not in you or your people to be generous!”
The chief’s son said nothing more. He turned away, and the Yanti began the long march back to their village.
9
What to Do About Fairmina
It was a pitiful group of survivors who made their way back to the Lowami village. Almost half of their number had severe wounds. Volka pulled four of their dead on a quickly thrown together sled. By the time they arrived, all were totally exhausted except, of course, Volka, who never seemed to tire.
Mat looked up at the giant and grumbled, “I wish one time you’d get tired, Volka.”
“Volka never get tired,” the giant replied. He looked back toward the bodies of the slain on the sled he was pulling. “Too bad. Nice men.”
Tam tried to look on the bright side as usual. “It could have been worse. If those ice wraiths hadn’t been stopped, we’d all be dead. But here we are, mostly with just a few scratches.”
Mat held out his arm. His sleeve was ripped from elbow to wrist. “Look at that.” He pulled it back to reveal a deep wound.
“Come on, then,” Tam said hurriedly. “We’d better get you sewed up. I’ll do the job myself to make sure it’s done right.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to sew up my underwear!” Mat complained. Nevertheless, he was weak from loss of blood and soon was lying on a table while Tam cared for the wound.
“There,” Tam said. “You’ll be good as new.”
Spell of the Crystal Chair Page 7