There was a large cracking sound, the earth beneath her feet shook violently, and the earth opened up beneath her. She found herself falling. It was a long drop. She felt her leg give way as she hit the floor. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there stunned and in pain. Looking up, she could see Erion searching frantically for her, but he couldn’t see the opening or speak the words of opening. She tried to send her thoughts to his, but he seemed to have a natural defense against telepathic communication and she couldn’t reach him. She attempted to stand and fell back to the ground in pain. After the throbbing in her leg eased, she called up some light and looked around for something she could use as a walking stick. A great deal of debris had fallen with her into this hole, and as luck would have it, a large branch was among the rubble. She divided her time between whittling on her stick and trying to figure out a way to reach Erion. He was still near the opening. She could try the spell again. She didn’t know how well it would work if she wasn’t near the stone. Still, she decided to give it her best shot.
Crawling to a spot where she believed she would be protected from any falling objects, she raised her hands and spoke the spell of opening again. There was a large crack followed by a surprised oath from Erion. Unlike her gangly descent, Erion landed lightly on his feet.
“About time you showed up,” said Leilas, jokingly. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“That magic is the damndest thing,” said Erion, helping her to her feet and handing her the walking stick. “To be able to affect me the way it does. I worry for my people, if they use it in our forest.”
“Hopefully we’ll have accomplished our task before that happens.” Leilas tested her crutch and her leg. Both seemed to be functioning adequately.
“There are some torches here,” said Erion, looking around. “Here is the doorway. Shall we go see Crog’s temple?”
“That’s why we came,” replied Leilas. Erion led the way and Leilas limped on behind him.
The arched doorway led into a manmade cavern carved into the obsidian left by the volcano. The room appeared to be black ice. The torch gleamed darkly in reflection. Where Anhj’s temple had been light crystal, Crog’s was dark crystal. It was beautiful in its symmetry, thought Leilas. This temple was an exact replica of the crystal caves only in dark obsidian. On the platform was a dark block of stone. Leilas felt a shiver of trepidation run up her back at the thought of what this stone might tell her. In the Crystal Caves she’d been forced to look at all the darkness and evil inside herself. She’d been subjected to a recounting of all the evil she’d ever done. What would Crog require of her?
“This is magnificent,” said Erion. “It’s the work of the Ignian dwarves. Look at all this detail.” Erion moved across the room, looking at the pictures carved there. Leilas followed by his side. The story of Crog creating the volcano was told there, etched into the stone, a story that wasn’t told in the School of Sky, anymore. The mighty crafter had taken stone, crushed it, heated it, placed it deep in the earth then watched it until it found its way to the surface. It opened forth in magnificent fountains of fire. The people were awed and humbled by the power and beauty. They honored Crog for his creation.
“Now the temple is buried and the people honor no one,” said Leilas sadly. They’d walked around the temple and were back at the door. Leilas turned and faced the stairs and the block of stone on the platform. “This I have to do alone,” she told Erion, “no matter what happens.”
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” said Erion, resting easily against a wall.
“No arguing that you should do this or at least come with me?” asked Leilas.
“I’m not Joshuas. I do understand this is for you to do,” replied Erion. His grim expression belied his calm demeanor.
Squaring her shoulders, Leilas limped to the stairs and struggled up them. Reaching the platform, she moved to the block of stone and touched it. Nothing happened. Leilas stepped back in surprise. She’d been certain that was what she needed to do to activate the stone.
Stepping back to the stone, she tried again. Again, nothing happened. She turned to look at Erion, who was intently watching from the floor. He shrugged his lack of ideas.
Leilas walked from one end of the block to the other, then back. There was no sign of any kind on the stone. Then a thought occurred to her and she walked around the stone. Standing facing this side of the block, she touched the middle.
“Few have survived, who dared to touch this stone. Only one may learn the secrets hidden here. Only the magic within you has saved you thus far. Turn back now while you are still able.”
Leilas stood her ground, though everything inside her told her to run. There was no flash of light this time. Instead, a thick, dark mist rose from the platform and enveloped her.
Erion was leaning over her, tapping her face gently when she opened her eyes. She was no longer on the platform. “Thank the Creator you’re alive,” said Erion when her eyes fluttered open. “When I saw you fall, I was convinced that rock had killed you. I waited until the mist cleared, then went to recover your body so I could send you to the Creator properly. You can’t imagine my joy when you were still alive.”
Leilas shuddered slightly at the memory of what she’d seen in the mists, so many regrets, so many lost opportunities. They threatened to overwhelm her. Blocking those thoughts from her mind, she tried to sit. Erion helped her, moving her closer to the wall so she could lean against it.
“I don’t think these stones will kill me, unless I choose to follow the darkness somewhere along the way,” remarked Leilas in a tired voice. This test had drained her energy. “I need something to eat.”
“The food is all with the horses. I’m afraid if I leave this place, I won’t be able to find it again.”
Leilas nodded wearily. He was right. She would have to open the door and she wasn’t sure she had enough strength left to open it. “Then I’ll have to do without,” she said with more bravado then she felt. “We need to collect the piece of the crafter’s staff. It’s in the right hand pillar of the back of the platform.”
“I’ll get it,” offered Erion.
“You can’t,” said Leilas. “The magic would kill you if you tried.”
“Then I’ll help you.” Erion lifted her easily into his arms and carried her to the platform. Leilas did her best to ignore the feelings that went through her at his closeness. Relieved when Erion placed her gently on the floor near the platform, she investigated the post with her fingers until she found the catch. The door swung silently open and there stood a two foot piece of obsidian rock covered entirely with intricate carvings. Leilas gathered it gingerly into her hands.
“I think I can walk,” said Leilas, when Erion made it clear he was going to pick her up again. “Perhaps I can just lean on you.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to repeat the feelings that had coursed through her the first time. She’d heard that elvish men were difficult for human women to resist, something about the magic and beauty. She just hadn’t expected that after all this time it would suddenly affect her.
“As you wish, my lady,” said Erion, with a puzzled look on his face.
Leilas leaned against Erion and her stick. Slowly, they made their way back to the opening.
She wasn’t exactly sure how they were going to get out of this place. She was in no shape to climb the walls of the opening. If Erion left to get a rope to help her, he wouldn’t be able to get back into the temple. But Crog had taken care of the problem for her. The opening, instead of appearing to be directly above them, was at the end of a gentle rise. Erion helped her out to the meadow and insisted that she sit on the ground while he went for food. Leilas didn’t argue with him and rested while he rummaged through the packs for his emergency stash. Her leg was aching and she knew that she wasn’t going anywhere until she’d eaten and rested. But, she had the first half of the staff. Cephom’s song came to her mind. He’d told her all she needed to know about the temples of the cr
afters. One was ice; one was created from fire, in the middle of a field. She should have paid more attention to what she’d heard and written down. She would have to study the song more closely. Between the song and the map, she was sure she had all the information she needed to find the other two pieces of the staff. What she was supposed to do with it once she had it, was another matter altogether.
CHAPTER 21
Mandrak walked into the chamber of Teran, trying not to let his discontent with how Teran was handling the guild affairs, show. He was aware how much Teran had counted on Jayram to be their champion in the war. But now that Jayram had chosen to throw off the guild and strike out on his own, Teran needed to come up with an alternative plan. They’d worked too long and too hard to let it all fall apart now.
“Your Eminence,” said Mandrak, bowing before the head of the United Scribes. “You asked for me?”
“How is the war going?” asked Teran, without preamble.
Mandrak wondered briefly how his superior wished the war to be going. There was a time when he would have made it his business to know what his superior thought before he entered his chamber. Lately though, he had other matters on his mind.
“Master Narion took his division east. He overran Menas and destroyed whoever remained there. Most of the men had already marched for Kyris. You know Menas, they knew Narion was coming and faded into hiding. He is nearing Montshade. They’re prepared to meet him. Master Neeson, Redron, Traven and Uron are almost to their destinations in the west. Of course, Masters Waldron and Weeve stayed in Andresia and Dirth, at least for now. The other three gaunts masters are at the service of their Lord and I have no knowledge of them. We have groups of one hundred scribes with each master, plus one advisor for each king with the Land masters.
Teran shuddered. “I dislike those gaunts. But I suppose dealing with them is a necessary evil for now.”
“They are a useful diversion,” agreed Mandrak. “As are all crafters,” he added pointedly. He was beginning to believe his superior was softening on their position of removing all crafters from positions of power. If it were left to him, thought Mandrak, he would eradicate every crafter in Preterlandis. But only crafters could kill crafters, so he would have to tolerate a few to accomplish his goal. He would find a way to depose Teran if he ever voiced the idea of leaving some crafters with power. He wouldn’t even tolerate his superior’s protégé, Jayram. In fact, the sooner they were rid of that renegade, the better, as far as he was concerned.
“So they are,” agreed Teran. His eyes narrowed as he studied Mandrak, his fingers tapped nervously on his desk. “How well do you think our advisors are doing in accomplishing our goal with the kings?”
“That I don’t know, your Eminence. I haven’t received word from any of them as of yet.” Mandrak put the tips of his fingers together and rocked back and forth. “But we must be patient. Now isn’t the time to rush and make a mistake. The human rulers won’t be excited to turn power over to us, any more than the crafters will be interested in our rule.”
“Yes, yes,” said Teran impatiently. “We’ve gone over this until I’m sick of talking about it.” He rose and walked to the window behind his desk. This view was the only ornamentation in the room other than the desk and chair. Mandrak often wondered at his superior’s spartan lifestyle. It was in stark contrast to his lavish excesses. From the window, you could see the center of Madras, the capital city of Sylphia. Tall buildings made of pressed stone and colorful tents that housed the sellers of goods and foods. A slight breeze rippled the canvas of the tents and the banners that hung from them advertising their wares.
“Was there something else you wanted to see me about?” he asked. He was anxious to get back to what he’d been doing, interrogating a messenger working for Adrian Cheran.
“There was,” said Teran, turning to face him. “There are rumors coming to my attention that I need you to investigate.”
“Do you think that the middle of a war is an appropriate time to chase down rumors? I do have other duties that need my attention.”
“Yes and you have done an excellent job since you have returned from Dirth. It’s a pity we lost our influence in Dirth.”
Mandrak ground his teeth in frustration. How long would it be before Teran let his failure in Dirth become history? It wasn’t even failure. It was betrayal by Jayram.
“These rumors are worth pursuing,” replied Teran. “It’s said, the Chidra named the Champion. But not only this, she said that he would be king over all of Preterlandis, in the footsteps of King Ley.”
“Would you have me murder this champion?” asked Mandrak.
“There might be a better way to stop him, a way with less risk to the Guild.” Teran took his seat and shuffled through some papers on his desk. He stopped when he came to a picture of an amulet on a chain. “This is the amulet the crafters gave to King Ley when he was anointed king. It was lost when his son took the throne.” Teran handed the drawing to him. “The Champion must find and claim this amulet, before he can be named king.”
“So, if he couldn’t find it, he couldn’t be king.”
“And in the time he’s looking for it, we can insert ourselves into the positions of power we’ve been targeting and select our own man as king.”
“I take it you want me to find this amulet before he does,” said Mandrak.
“The sooner, the better. If the rumors are true, this champion knows about the amulet now and will be looking for it.”
“Do we have any idea where it might be?”
Teran rummaged through his papers again. “This is the last communication we ever received about the amulet. That was over three hundred and fifty years ago. So, I would begin your search there.” He handed the paper to Mandrak.
“Sea Silver. I guess that was about as far away from Dirth as one could get in those days,” said Mandrak. “But this says they only saw the amulet in passing and didn’t know where the couriers were taking it.”
“Except that they assumed the couriers wouldn’t leave the island,” added Teran.
Mandrak knew how often scribes assumptions were wrong. But since this was the only information they had, this would be where he started. “I’ll leave in the morning,” he said, bowing slightly in Teran’s direction.
“Make sure you keep me informed of your progress.”
Mandrak bowed again and left the room. Leaving the next morning left him enough time to finish his pleasurable interrogation. It was a relief to be leaving Madras. As much as he appreciated what this city had to offer by way of entertainment, he would be glad to be away from Teran’s watchful eye. He’d been in service as long as his superior had. He didn’t need to be watched over like a child.
Donning his interrogation apron, Mandrak approached the young messenger from Kyris. The young lad had flinched noticeably and was shaking, but he had yet to cry and beg for mercy. Mandrak was looking forward to that. Picking up a cruel-looking hook, honed razor sharp, he went back to work. He would have his information and then he would have the pleasure of watching this young man die. It was really the only act that gave him pleasure anymore.
Hours later, after tossing the young man’s lifeless body in the fire pit with a satisfied grunt, Mandrak wrote down the message he’d tortured out of the young man for Teran, then left to make preparations for his journey, a smile of pleasure still playing on his lips.
Sea Silver was no more than a few days journey from Madras by ship. The guild quarters were located in the main harbor of the Island. Ylon was in charge of the guild house on the island and like Mandrak, he was dissatisfied with Teran. Perhaps while he was on the island, they could discuss what might be done to take care of their mutual problem.
The weather was good, with a steady breeze blowing to the south when Mandrak arrived at the ship that was to transport him to Sea Silver. It was an added pleasure to see the fear in the sailors’ eyes when they realized who was traveling with them. He’d made it a point of making his presen
ce felt on the ship by walking around the deck as they left the port in Madras and was enjoying the reaction of the men. He might not be able to indulge his need to kill, but the fear would be enough to sustain him until he reached his destination. He passed the day pleasurably, inflicting fear and doubt in anyone who ventured too near to him, moving closer to the sailors when they left him alone too long. Darkness had already begun to fall when the captain approached him, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly and his knuckles white.
“I’ll have to ask you to spend the rest of your journey in your cabin,” the captain said, coming to a halt in front of the old scribe.
“I have no intention of spending two days locked in my cabin,” replied Mandrak. “I’m quite enjoying the sea air on deck.” His eyes glittered dangerously at the captain, daring him to continue.
“It’ll be your cabin or the brig. The choice is yours.”
“You do know who I am, don’t you?” asked Mandrak. “I could have you arrested and in my dungeon within minutes of our landing.”
The captain paled, but held his ground. “It’s your cabin or the brig. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee that you’ll arrive in Sea Silver.”
Mandrak’s already deathly pale face turned even whiter. Had he been on dry land, this man’s insolence wouldn’t have been tolerated for a minute. But, he was out in the middle of the ocean, with no chance of help from the guild, surrounded by men who clearly wanted him dead. Mandrak was nothing if not practical when it came to his survival, he saw that the odds were against him and shrugged as if indifferent to the threat. “Then my cabin it is. But don’t think that this insult will go unrequited.”
First Comes The One Who Wanders Page 36