"Jazlyn!" shouted Tyloren delightedly, and rushed up to hug her in a burst of not very priest-like zeal. But Jazlyn was wary, and kept her eyes firmly on the strangers, especially Lenora. Nya, in her eyes, was hateful, and Lenora had the characteristic height and gangliness of a spindly.
"Quick, Lenora," he called, "bring some water and a little food."
As she approached Jazlyn holding out a flask and a folded napkin containing dried bread and cheese, she smiled her wide-mouthed grin and her eyes shone with a gentle glow in the dimly lit underground space.
"These are my companions and friends, Jazlyn, and I would like to introduce you to them. This is Lenora, behind her is her husband, Loman, and this is Mahoo. They are all from Nithrania."
"She's a spindly." Was all Jazlyn could say, and didn't reach for the offered food.
"Yes, she was once. And her husband, Loman – as his name suggests – was once a ‘lo', but they escaped from Athrak just as I did and found refuge in Nithrania. It doesn't mean they are bad, Jazlyn just because they look like they might be. These fine people have left three young sons behind in order to help me in my quest. I trust them completely."
"Come on!" interjected Mahoo, "there will be time for all this later. Now we must find the trove! It's close, I know it is." The voice contained urgency, and Jazlyn eyed the strangely dressed little man standing before her with surprised fascination.
"Yes," laughed Mahoo, "we're a strange assortment of folk, aren't we? But we've come a long way to do this job, so please take the food and drink you're being offered, and try to help our situation. We're losing precious time!" The rebuke worked on Jazlyn, and with a little shake of the shoulders, she seemed to come round.
"Thank you," she said politely to Lenora as she took the provisions. "That's plenty, for now. My stomach won't take much." Lenora's motherly arm encircled Jazlyn's shoulders, and she smiled again, but Jazlyn's memories of Nya were too fresh, and she recoiled, pushing her away roughly.
"Enough!" hissed Mahoo in frustration. "Our mission is urgent! This way, Tyloren?"
"Yes, yes this way," he agreed without hesitation, and the two small-bodied men scuttled away determinedly, leaving the others to follow them. Jazlyn tagged along as best she could, though she stumbled from time to time, and once the strong arm of Loman scooped her up and set her on her feet again. She mumbled her thanks, but tried as best she could to put some distance between herself and the odd couple behind her.
They entered a tunnel where darkness was blacker than pitch, and halted at the sudden change in climate. Not only was the blackness deep, but there was a solemn, potent feeling in the air, which they all felt at once. Mahoo's voice whispered in a higher pitch than usual, "We're so close! Feel them Tyloren, feel them!"
"Yes! But there's something else here – some barrier to our approach; my legs feel like lead and there's a force pushing me back."
"Together, Tyloren!" said Mahoo.
"Jazlyn, come up here and help!" hissed Tyloren agitatedly.
The three stood in the darkness, and some oily substance wove itself around their ankles, working itself higher by the inch and leaving everything it touched icy cold.
"What is that?" whispered Jazlyn, her voice betraying her fear.
"Keep your mind clear! Don't let it master you!"
"Try to move forward, one step at a time!" said Mahoo, his voice beginning to tremble with the cold.
Jazlyn struggled, "It feels like walking through freezing mud!'
Tyloren grabbed for her hand, "It's all in your mind. Fight it!"
They made a determined effort, and managed to move forward a step.
"Here, let me!" said a voice behind them, and Loman suddenly pushed past them into the lead. He waded through the stuff with no trouble, and in his wake, the other three were able to move with him.
"I cannot feel this barrier," he called over his shoulder in his deep warm voice. They were now moving ahead at a steady pace, and the feet of the three who could think-talk began to feel slightly less heavy and slightly less cold as the strength of the bulky Loman pushed effortlessly before them through the gloom.
As he completed his sentence, Loman's voice changed timbre, and the hollow sound informed them they were now in an open space. Strange shapes played around them, black on black, discernible only vaguely to the eye; while icy coils seemed to lick their faces, slither around their necks and threaten in silent accord to smother or choke them. Jazlyn's voice came out in short, breathless gasps, "It's stran-gling me!" Lenora was quickly at her side, and this time the arm around her shoulders worked in a kind of clearing motion, her hands pulling aside the invisible strands as if they were clinging ivy. Jazlyn felt the pressure on her throat lessen, and gratefully sucked in a deep breath, holding on to Lenora for support.
"Thank you" she said simply. What happened next, happened fast.
From the total darkness, an image appeared before them. It glowed with an eerie, greyish whiteness that silvered and reflected as if it were a fish caught in rays of moonlight. It loomed above them, swaying and casting negative shadows on the gloom. As their eyes adjusted to the light, the figure became clear. It was insectivorous and its movements were deliberate and angular. The raiment Ataxios had fashioned for himself out of the stuff of darkness was more than simply terrifying, it was fear itself rendered into a second skin, and it emanated evil.
'Welcome to Athrak,' hissed a sinister voice.
Westroth, in the meantime, headed back up the tunnel towards the cells. He wanted to check up on Nya – he didn't trust him an inch – and also to see whether Jazlyn was awake and co-operative. He once again recalled his past hopes for her, but pushed the memories out of his mind with a grim callousness, recently acquired, but now totally familiar. He felt no remorse for his part in her capture or for the precarious position he had put her in. "Her Fault," he said once again. On nearing the prison cells, he heard a faint, nasal voice, ranting and getting louder as his footsteps took him closer to Jazlyn's cell. He halted outside the heavily bolted door and drew his sword – something was not right. His first thought was that Nya was trying to subdue Jazlyn and force some more drug down her throat, but how was the door bolted from the outside? Was someone else involved? Had someone else locked them both inside?
With caution, he slid open the bolt, Nya's voice quietening as the door slowly opened. Wes entered, sword raised and at the ready, warily searching the gloom, only to see a disgruntled Nya seething with fury and all alone in the cell.
"What happened? Where's Jazlyn?"
Westroth's disbelieving laughter, when he learned how Jazlyn had escaped her cell and locked Nya in behind her was hearty. In fact, he dropped his sword arm and guffawed helplessly, in grudging and secret admiration despite himself. The smile only left his lips when Nya's own sword cut into him and the light of life slowly faded from his eyes.
"Still funny?" asked Nya as he twisted the sword in Westroth's broken body. Then he loped off away from the cell and down the tunnels he knew so well. There was something he wanted to do, and there wasn't much time.
Chapter 30
Moving On
John had set the whirlwind in motion, but had released it from his consciousness, in the same way as a bubble set free into the air floated for a while and then popped, this too would run its course and eventually peter out. It would give the creatures down on the floor of the plain something to keep them occupied and give Menoneth and his men a much-needed advantage. But it was a help not a solution.
His mind now churned with urgency as he bent his intentions on the next part of his task. Jazlyn was bright in his mind, sometimes desperate, sometimes sick, and he was in a real hurry to get to where she was. The crystal trove should have been uppermost in his mind, but it remained secondary.
He had told Vilma that he wanted her with Menoneth's party for reasons of communication, but he also hadn't selected Vilma for other reasons. Firstly she was, after all, Jazlyn's mother and that made her far too
close to the situation to be totally objective. Also, she was not young any more and he wanted to move as quickly as he could. All the others in the party were guardian trained to cover long distances on foot swiftly over difficult terrain, and Vilma's long skirts, added to her years were bound to hold her up. At least, that was his concern. However, she kept up remarkably well and he had to admire her fitness as he looked back along the line of swiftly moving figures. She moved sleekly, her skirts not hindering her unduly and he had to admit he might have misjudged her. As she lifted her head and met his eyes, there was a slight twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth, and John realized his thoughts might be straying a bit. "Thoughts are never your own in this place," he considered ruefully, and Vilma's voice escaped her in a little chuckle.
They reached the brow of a hill, where the land rolled before them down into a craggy valley, and there were three clearly marked pathways down from the point at which they stood. John eyed them, trying to get some feel of the ‘right' one to take – in other words, the one which would lead him to Athrak and his eventual fate, whatever that would be. As his thoughts settled on one pathway, the next one beckoned him, and as he turned his thoughts to the second, the third seemed to push itself forward. He sensed Vilma at his shoulder, and felt her also trying to assess the possibilities.
"Which path to choose, Vilma?"
"Hmm, good question."
"Problem is, they all go in the direction of Athrak, but I don't trust them all to lead us there safely. There seems to be some trickery at work and my instincts are confused. It's time for logic, I think." Gilladen was standing at Vilma's side – in fact all the members of the small group were now assembled on the ridge looking down.
"My father always says that if you have a choice to make, first examine all the pros and cons," said Gill.
John continued to stare ahead of him and said, "Good advice, Gill, but how does it apply here?"
"Well, look at the path on the left. It starts off well, but it seems to disappear around the side of that rock face. How can we be sure that the path that reappears yonder is the same one, and that the one we started on hasn't just disappeared into a crevice somewhere."
"What about the middle one?"
"Taking the middle road is not a choice. It's what you do when you don't know what to do. It should only be a last resort," said Gill, and gave a wry smile.
"Ok. That's one way of seeing things," chuckled Maylene. "Does that mean we take the right pathway according to your logic?"
"Ah! Now, are we talking about the right pathway or the pathway on the right?" mused Vilma, raising one eyebrow.
"Shrewd question, Vilma. What do you think the answer is?"
"Well, the ‘right' path is a bit of a mind trick, I think. Right as in opposite to wrong or as in opposite to left?"
"So we're back where we started," said Maylene. "We could split up and explore each path, I suppose."
"Waste of time, and dangerous. We're few as we are," said Gill, "and we don't want to run unnecessary risks."
"Then how do we decide?"
"What about the wand itself, Wandmaster? Your instincts may be blurred, but the wand shouldn't be as easy to fool as you, with respect of course!" It was Maylene again. She looked at John askance.
"Where would I be without you, May?" grinned John, and as his small group stood attentively, he withdrew his wand from its sheath, allowing its welcoming contact and raised it so it was at eye level. "Which way?" he asked.
It emitted a beam of green light, like a laser, which danced off across the craggy rocks before them. It bounced down the central path, to disappear behind the rock face and then to suddenly appear on the left hand path after the rock face, to disappear and then reappear again directly before them in a tangle of undergrowth, obviously on the central path once more before leaping right and following the right hand path down a slope silvered by running springs, and then vanishing again. It was last seen shooting like an arrow directly into the dark face of the stern Mount Ather, which was the most Easterly peak marking the start of the Athrak range. Then there was no more. The wand slept.
"Does that answer the question?" asked Joceley.
"Well, at least we know we have to start down the middle path – but it looks like we will be walking all three pathways at some point in our journey and I have a feeling we're in for a few surprises, and not good ones," said Todd. "I think Zak and I should scout ahead first, but we shouldn't let too much distance get between us."
"Ok," said John, "Let's get moving. I feel time is short."
"The middle way," said Gilladen. "When there is no other choice."
The path wound gently downwards, the breeze was fresh and the light, though still pale and moon-like, was warm so that they might have been out on a pleasant country walk. The urgency of their mission was hard to keep in mind, and they found themselves in higher spirits than their quest warranted. The rock face soon loomed before them and they knew, from the beam of wand-light that they should be on the left hand path immediately after passing it. Zak and Todd were ahead of the group and Zak was the first to disappear behind the obstacle. Todd, waiting at the outer edge of the rock face called, "Zak, what do you see? Is the footing good?" Reappearing, Zak's face was troubled.
"There's no way past. I can't see how we can get any further on any of the paths. The road is blocked with a pile of huge boulders."
"That can't be," said John, "There must be a way." He pushed forward to the front of the group and rounded the face of the rock to see for himself what the extent of the problem was. As he stood before the tumbled pile of huge stones, one of them detached itself and seemed to be launched in his direction. His quick reflexes saved him and he leaped sideways just in time so that it crashed to the ledge beside him, sending up a pile of dust and grit. "Hey! What the ……!" his voice escaped in a breathless gasp, and as he recovered himself, a second rock came flying at him. Once again, he just avoided it, and made a hasty retreat. The others had been peering anxiously after him, and now hands reached out and pulled him unceremoniously to safety. There was silence.
"Hmm," said Vilma, "There seems to be a booby trap designed to discourage a Wandmaster. There's magic at work here."
The wand sang in its pouch across John's chest, and he responded to its call by drawing it and letting his need transfer into it.
"Let's see how tough those boulders really are," he said, and leaped forward till he was once more standing before them. At once, there was a grating sound as the top one loosened and prepared to launch itself at him, but his wand was glowing red and angry, and he thrust it before him sending all his determination with it. The rock coming his way shattered into a thousand pieces, and at the same time the remaining rocks in the fall blocking the path exploded into the air and tumbled over the cliff edge, crashing down into the depths below, leaving their way clear but the air thick with dust.
"The wand is growing more powerful as we get closer to Athrak," remarked Vilma. "That is very good for us."
"Unless Ataxios gets hold of it," mused John.
"He must not," answered Vilma "he simply must not."
"Come on!" came Zak's voice from around the rock face, "There's a way down from here to the left path." They set off once more, and John was very aware that his arrival was no secret in Athrak.
As the left path meandered its way through shrubs and undergrowth, their progress was slowed considerably. The plants seemed to be putting out tendrils and wrapping them around ankles, snagging on any fabric they could get hold of, and Vilma's long skirts were now a definite problem.
"Cursed plants!" she yelled, ripping at the folds of material, which were knotted and matted by now. May and Joceley were trying to help untangle the mess, and blocking the path wonderfully.
"Oh great! That's all we need at the moment, a hen party in the middle of the path!" spat out Gilladen in exasperation.
"Well what do you suggest?" retorted Maylene, "If you think you can do better,
get over here and do it."
"I couldn't do worse!" he answered, and hacking a way through the weeds, he arrived at their side.
"Hitch up your skirts, Vilma," he ordered, "and I'll tie them up with this."
He cut a length of rope, from the reel he carried on his shoulder and proceeded to grab armfuls of skirt, unceremoniously yanking it upward so that it bundled around her waist and under her arms. Then he wrapped his arms around her middle and passed the rope round the bulk, and pulled it tight. Vilma's mouth was wide in consternation, and her eyes glared at him but she didn't protest.
"There!" he said, hacking back the remaining vines tying her to the spot, and he stood back and appraised his work. Vilma, trussed up like a turkey with long white bloomer-legs poking out and so much skirt round her waist that her arms stuck out on either side, was now free. She made such a ridiculous picture standing there, that all the group burst into riotous laughter, despite their predicament, and even she was unable to keep a straight face. Tears sprang to eyes too long lined with worry, and they laughed more than their plight justified, or maybe because of it – anyway, it broke the tension and they felt relieved and uplifted, at least for a short time.
Slowly they regained their composure, and organized themselves around Vilma so that they could keep the encroaching plant-life at bay before it reached her. They soon had a rhythm going, hack and step, hack and step, and before they knew it, they were clear and at the edge of a grassy patch, into which they tumbled gratefully, elated at their escape. It was a clearing, around which were tall trees with sleek trunks reaching skyward, and they formed an almost perfect circle, with no obvious openings in between.
"Which way now?" asked Ethan.
"That's a very good question," replied Zak. "We should be joining the central path about now, I think, before we move on to the right hand one."
"But which way is it?" asked Joceley
Wandmaster Page 39