Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  Alaric frowned. “Exactly who is this White One?”

  “I am certain you will find out when the time comes,” King Culann said. “When she decides.”

  “I hear that she is a dragon,” Alaric said.

  Culann smiled. “So it has been said,” he replied. “Come, we will go this way now. I think it will soon enough be time to return to the palace.”

  Not soon enough as far as Alaric was concerned. “Will I get to see Talena?”

  Culann shifted without looking at Alaric. “That is for the White One to decide,” he said warily. “Come. The morning is almost gone, and I still want to show you the Lake of Uisgedeen wherein the selkies live.”

  “Selkies?” Alaric sighed and looked at Vagner. The demon had been keeping up by flying around overhead, and to Alaric’s surprise the horses behaved as though undisturbed by this fact.

  “I have heard of Selkies,” Vagner said. “Keltorans call them Sea Folk, and say that they wear the skins of seals when they are living in the water... But I have never heard of them living in a lake.”

  “The Lake of Uisgedeen is quite large,” King Culann said. “And on a bright day like this, you might be able to see the Palace of the Water Lord.”

  “Really,” Alaric said, and hoped he sounded enthusiastic enough.

  But he wanted to go back to the palace of the king, and he had no idea if it was because Talena might be in danger, or if it was Ronan getting restless inside him. He only knew that the urgency was growing.

  Talena dressed in the loose garments they gave her. She was not fond of fripperies, but had to admit that the loose flowing divided skirt was comfortable, and that the linen tunic felt better than her old shirt which she had been wearing for days now.

  Selana never gave Talena a moment of peace. Once she was dressed, the matronly woman—yes, Talena was convinced now that the woman was older than she looked, as no young woman could be such a crone—herded like a sheep dog, never allowing Talena more than a moment of stillness. Or peace or privacy, for that matter.

  But no matter what insult came into Talena’s head, Selana never flinched or looked embarrassed. So Talena gave up thinking rude thoughts and concentrated on studying her surroundings.

  The guards finally opened the outer door. Talena briefly remembered the creature who had visited in the night saying that the way out would open when Talena remembered herself. I remember nothing other than the humiliation I have suffered because of these people. So why were they letting her out now? Surely not on the Queen of Taneslaw’s whim.

  Briefly, Talena wondered where Alaric was.

  “He is with His Majesty,” Selana said.

  “Will you stop listening to my thoughts,” Talena groused.

  Selana merely rolled her eyes. “Come, Her Majesty is up and ready to receive you now.”

  “How do you know?” Talena challenged.

  Selana raised an eyebrow.

  Okay, foolish question, Talena thought.

  “To be expected,” Selana said. “When you learn more, you will stop asking foolish questions.”

  Talena glowered at the woman. Selana merely indicated that Talena could take the lead. Frowning, she did, and as she stepped through the door, a rank of guards fell in around her. Clearly they were not going to trust her not to bolt for freedom. She set her jaw and marched in time with them. They took her half way down the stairs from the tower and out through a door that led to a bridge connecting to another tower. She gaped at the view, one of those stomach lurching vistas. And very beautiful. Briefly, she felt as though she had come home. No, no, this is not my home! She shook herself to break the spell of the scenery and continued across the bridge with the guards surrounding her and Selana and the ladies flanking her.

  They entered an archway on the far side, and she heard a harp playing softly as she stepped between gossamer curtains drawn back. The scents of cloves and nutmeg and sweet spices filled the air. The guards here were all women, all well armored, and Talena got the impression that every one of them watched her as she passed. She also noticed that the men left her at that point. So no man is allowed in the queen’s quarters save her king?

  She would not be surprised.

  Selana was suddenly behind Talena, herding her as though she were a small child, in spite of the fact that she was taller than the woman. Talena kept her tongue. Her curiosity was now aroused in a fashion.

  They entered the last range of curtains into what looked like a receiving room. A low table centered the floor, surrounded by cushions. Seated on the cushions was the Queen, and beside her was her son.

  Selana stepped forward. “Your Majesties, may I present Talena of Garrowye...”

  The queen nodded slightly and gestured to the cushions across the way from her. “Come, sit and be welcome at my table, Talena of two lands.”

  Talena walked over and stood there, hands clasped behind her back. “Why do you call me that?” she asked.

  The queen’s eyes softened. “I knew your mother,” she said. “I knew her very well...”

  “What?” Talena slowly lowered herself to the cushions. “How could you have known my mother?”

  The queen smiled, her eyes going luminous. “She was my most trusted attendant, and because she was my age, she was more like my sister than any attendant I have had. But then she met your father, and lost her heart to him, and I lost her...”

  Talena’s face warmed. “You knew my mother and my father? How is that possible? My father would never have come so deep into this heretical land...”

  The queen shook her head in dismay. “Do not judge us so harshly, Talena of Two Lands,” she said. She gestured, and some of the servants began to bring fruit and bread and cheese to the table. One of them set a goblet next to Talena and filled it with a liquid that smelled sweet. Others laid out serviettes and trenchers. Talena noted dryly that there was no silverware. Food was pushed into her reach. “Your father came here an injured man.”

  “Will you tell me what you know about them?” Talena asked.

  “Gladly,” the queen said.

  Talena sipped the liquid and settled down to listen.

  FIFTY-NINE

  “Here we are,” Hobbler said, glancing back at Gareth. “Baldoran’s Piles...”

  Gareth eyed the two tall pillars of stone flanking a narrow crack in the cavern walls. Mage sight revealed very little past their lantern light, but then that was not so unusual. Mage sight working in the dark often depended on a certain lack of light. Rather like cats seeing in the dark.

  Stalagmites, he would have assumed, formed from some overhead drip. They reminded him of tall piles of something he did not want to mention.

  “Baldoran’s Piles?” Fenelon said. “Why are they called that? Because they look like...”

  “We know what they look like, Fenelon,” Gareth interrupted. “There is no reason to exaggerate that fact.”

  “What they look like,” Hobbler said, “is what they are.”

  Fenelon had been about to reach out and touch one. He froze before his fingers could brush the surface. “What they are?” he repeated. “You mean this is a pile of...”

  He drew his hand back and sneered.

  “Of course,” Hobbler said in a very matter of fact way that assured Gareth the Dvergar was not having them on. “Baldoran didn’t want to get lost when he was exploring these caverns, so he left these piles to mark the entrance. He had a keen nose, they say. He used his sense of smell to find his way back here when he needed to go through this passage.”

  “But I thought that this passage was discovered from the other side,” Fenelon said. “When the Dvergar led the Haxons out of Garrowye...”

  “Shows how little you know, long legs,” Hobbler said, sounding quite pleased. “The Dvergar were traveling in and out of these mountains before man was a mere inkling in the eyes of the gods. Remember, we are one of the oldest races, having been born out of the blood and bones of old Ymir himself.”

  “That�
�s not the part of Ymir I heard that Dvergar came from,” Fenelon said.

  Gareth reached over and punched Fenelon in the shoulder. “Your sense of smell is not as keen as Baldoran’s, I imagine...” he said with a frown. “So mind your tongue.”

  “You know, father, these paternal moments of yours are starting to get a little tiresome,” Fenelon said, rubbing his shoulder.

  “And you’re wasting time again,” Gareth said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Hobbler looked unhappy with that proposition, but he stepped into the crack between the piles and hefted his lantern. “Looks clear enough,” he said. “But a bit narrow. Sure you’re going to be able to fit in here?”

  “I’ll worry about whether or not I fit in there,” Gareth said. “You just lead on.”

  Hobbler nodded and stepped on into the opening. Gareth came next, taking a moment to study the ground. Slick obsidian, he thought. Treacherous if they came to a place where the slope was serious, but for the moment, it looked all right. Besides, the walls inside this crack were close enough here to force him to turn sideways in order to get his shoulders through, and it didn’t help that the ceiling was not even. He had to duck more than once, making him wonder how the Haxons, who were such large people in height and body thickness, had been able to get through here without losing skin.

  How long they traveled that way, Gareth could not say. He was far too busy trying not to bash his head and shifting his pack around so that he could get through to even care. Behind him, he noted that Fenelon was not having as much trouble, but then Fenelon was tall and long limbed by comparison. All he had to worry about was cracking his skull.

  Hobbler, of course, was having no trouble, and but for his uneasy expression, Gareth would have suspected the Dvergar was enjoying their discomfort and the lack of his own.

  He was ready to call a rest when Hobbler stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Gareth asked.

  “We’re here,” Hobbler said.

  “Here?” Fenelon called from the back. “Here where?”

  “The Stone Forest,” Hobbler said in a wary voice.

  “Seems like an awfully short trip,” Fenelon said.

  Gareth was about to share that opinion...until he reached the edge of the lip of stone where the crack through which they had been moving now opened out, and on which Hobbler stood. His jaw nearly dropped at the sight before him. So often had he heard the rumors of what this place was like, yet none of those tales or the bits of old lore he had gleaned, had prepared him for what he saw.

  The cavern was monstrous and stretched for a couple of leagues in any direction. One had to keep looking up to realize one was underground, for there was naught over their heads but shadows. Some sort of phosphorescence adhered itself to stones and lit the way, giving them a clear view of the Stone Forest.

  “I mean, hardly a few steps and...oh...” Fenelon stopped beside his father. “Horns...”

  “That does not even begin to describe what I am thinking right now,” Gareth said. “It’s really here. We’re really here. Fenelon, we are the first men to see this place since the Great Cataclysm. Come on, let’s go on down and explore.”

  “I just knew you were going to say that,” Hobbler said. “Doesn’t matter that this may be the last place you see alive...”

  “You have no faith in us,” Gareth said. “My son will be able to go back and tell the Council of Mageborn about this wonder. He will be able to write and fill tomes of description about our travels here. Of course we plan to leave this place alive.”

  He looked at Fenelon who had cocked one eyebrow at the mentioning of the Council.

  “Well?” Gareth said.

  “You know, what I tell the Council is going to depend largely on whether or not we find Alaric and he’s gotten rid of the demon’s mark...”

  Hobbler glanced up at both of them. “This bloke you’re both looking for...he’s demon-bound?”

  “Yes,” Gareth said. “Not by choice...”

  “You have some strange friends, Gareth Greenfyn,” Hobbler said and shook his head.

  “And you should be proud to be numbered among them, Hobbler,” Gareth said with a teasing smile. “Now let’s find a way down. I can’t wait to see what those Stone Trees look like up close.”

  Hobbler leaned over the lip and peered down the steep slope. “Not much in the way of hand and footholds,” he said. “Makes you wonder how the Haxons and my kind even got up this slope.”

  “Well, there has to be some way down,” Gareth said. “We know the Haxons came through after the Great Cataclysm, so it’s unlikely that path was destroyed then.”

  “No, but Ymir rolls over in his long sleep sometimes, according to the skaldi,” Hobbler said. “And when he does, the world quakes, rivers change their courses and whole villages fall into ruin. Quite likely, old Ymir got restless and the path the Haxons and Baldoran and the Dvergar used is long gone.”

  “We could try levitating down,” Fenelon suggested.

  “Have you felt anything that you could draw power from in the last few days?” Gareth asked.

  “Well, now that you mention it,” Fenelon said and frowned. “It’s not like a void because I feel power, but it won’t let me tap it. Sort of like the way it was when we were traveling through the Shadow Vale...”

  “You’ve been to the Shadow Vale?” Hobbler said, sounding amazed. “I’ve always wanted to go there...”

  “Trust me, unless you like demonic deer, you don’t.”

  “Oh,” Hobbler said.

  “But weren’t you and Etienne casting spells to stop Turlough?”

  “Lunari stones,” Fenelon said. “Wish I had a fist full of them right now.”

  Gareth nodded. It would have been nice. “Well we have to find a mortal way down.” He pulled his pack around and started digging into its contents and came up with a small pickaxe. “I suspect we will have to chop our own handholds.”

  “Not unless you want to watch the whole side turn into stone slag,” Hobbler said. “That’s obsidian. It’s chips and flakes when you try to drive into it with metal.”

  “I know,” Gareth said. “But I don’t know of another way to get us down there unless we throw you down for a cushion.”

  Fenelon was leaning off to one side. “Actually, I think I do see a way,” he said and gestured.

  Gareth turned. Just at eye level was a ledge about a meter in width running across the face of the cliff. “But that goes up,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Fenelon said and leaned a little more. “And just up there is another cave opening. And if you look almost directly below it, there is another cave opening...with stairs.”

  Gareth leaned. “Horns, you’re right.” He looked at Hobbler. “Are you sure this was the right entrance because it looks to me as though there are several.”

  “Yes, it’s the right entrance,” Hobbler said with a sigh. “It was never said that Baldoran’s Pass was an easy path. Most men would not have thought to look any way but down. Up there is a passage through the rock that leads to the lower opening, and once we go through it, we can reach the stairs.”

  “You were hoping we would not see that.”

  “I was hoping we would never get this far,” Hobbler said.

  “Why?”

  “Because there are things in the Stone Forest that neither of us wants to face.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Gareth snarled. “Come on, you first.”

  Hobbler sighed, but he consented to letting Fenelon and Gareth lift him to the ledge. Fenelon made a stirrup of his hands and helped Gareth to get up there. Then Fenelon agilely clambered up onto the ledge himself. With Hobbler leading, they followed it up to the higher entrance. There were indeed stairs inside the opening that spiraled down and spat them out at the lower opening and the stairs in the cave wall.

  From there, they climbed to the floor of the huge cavern. The path ambled among monoliths of stone and broken boulders. Here and there, the phosphoresce
nt glow of stones cast eerie green and yellow lights. Gareth watched Fenelon lean down to examine one patch of glow. He poked it with a finger then looked at the tip. A bit of the glow had rubbed off. Fenelon rolled the glow between his fingers until it faded.

  At length, they reached the edge of the Stone Forest. Fenelon stopped and looked at the trees.

  “They’re made of stone,” he said.

  “Stands to reason they would be,” Hobbler said. “Why else call it the Stone Forest?”

  “But I thought they might be real trees...” Fenelon said.

  “They were once,” Hobbler said. “But the story my people tell is that just before the age of the Shadow Lords, there was a great battle fought in the mountains above us between the Lord of Stone and one of the Dark Kin, and that during that battle, one of the Lord of Stone turned all these trees into stone and dropped them down in here as a reminder of what happens when you make the gods angry.”

  “And what happened to the Dark Kin?” Fenelon asked.

  “Some say he is buried under this forest. Others say his spirit roams here now and that when the Dvergar brought the Haxons through these caves, he ate a few of them for sport...”

  “Never knew spirits to have appetites,” Fenelon said.

  Gareth was about to agree when he saw a blue glow moving among the yellow and green. He blinked, thinking at first that his eyes had betrayed him. No, it flitted again, and then disappeared in among the branches of one of the stone trees.

  “Tell me, Hobbler...this Dark Kin...what did he look like?”

  “Can’t say as I have seen one,” the Dvergar said. “Why?”

  They had stepped into the first of the trees. Gareth gestured for them to stop. He pointed towards the point at which he had seen the movement.

  Blue flashed again, this time twirling around and flitting back and forth before it disappeared behind yet another tree.

  “What do you suppose that was?” Fenelon asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Gareth said. “But I don’t think we should follow it to find out. We’ll stay on the main path.”