First Comes The One Who Wanders

by Lynette S. Jones

  He made a point of searching the face of every person in the rest area where he stopped for the night, but the messenger was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that perhaps he’d been too hasty in believing this messenger had been following him, Mandrak wrapped his cloak tightly around him, in his spot just inside the forest where he was less likely to be seen and gave in to his need to rest. In the morning, he repeated his search of the people in the area. There was still no sign of the messenger.

  Relieved that he’d in all likelihood been wrong in his belief that he was being followed, he continued on his way, a bit disappointed he wasn’t going to have the pleasure of killing the messenger, but more certain that he’d escaped Madras without detection.

  That was good, very good, he thought. He needed to accomplish his task before news of where the amulet might be leaked out. He was certain that news of the amulet and his mission would get out. Somehow, Ylon would inadvertently tell someone. It happened too often to assume otherwise. Once anyone heard, everyone would know. They were in the midst of war. There were eyes and ears everywhere. It wouldn’t take long before it got back to the Champion. Surely once the Champion heard about the amulet, he would come looking.

  Of course, what kind of champion would he be then? thought Mandrak cynically. Leaving his men to fight alone so he could claim the united throne?

  Mandrak smiled to himself. They could use that against him in their bid for power. On the other hand, if he came looking, perhaps he wouldn’t be deemed the kind of man who could claim the amulet. Then they wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. Mandrak took some pleasure in imagining the Champion trying to claim the amulet and it burning him as it had King Leyson. It must have been quite a sight to see Leyson catch on fire when the prized amulet was slipped over his neck.

  He wondered idly if the crafters had anticipated that particular turn of events. They had all their books of prophecy and their visions, how could they not have known the amulet would reject Leyson? Yet they allowed the people to attempt to give it to the king’s son. Why?

  He pondered that question as his horse covered the miles toward Glorian. Could it be the crafters had no control over the amulet? Could it be that though they’d given the amulet to Ley it had come from another source?

  Mandrak smiled evilly. That would put a whole new perspective on having control over the amulet. Not only would it give him power over the Champion, it might give him some leverage over the crafters, too. This was quickly becoming a quest he was doubly glad Teran had unwittingly given him. Teran would never know how big a mistake he’d made until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

  Stopping at the last rest area before Glorian, Mandrak removed the saddle from his mount, hobbled him in a spot where he could munch on the undergrowth of the forest and then using the saddle as a pillow, he closed his eyes to get a few hours rest before dawn.

  The sun breaking over the horizon woke him and he was on his way as soon as he could saddle his horse. There was still no sign of any messenger, or anyone who seemed to be following him. Mandrak smiled at his apparent luck and urged his horse into a run that would cover the last few miles to Glorian quickly.

  The sun was almost directly overhead when he arrived in Glorian. Stopping at the fountain in the square, he let his horse drink while he splashed away the grime of the last few days. There was no guild house in Glorian. The scribe who lived here lived in a room at the inn. Although Glorian was a fair-sized town, the people didn’t like scribes for the most part and discouraged them from settling there. Sevren was the exception. He’d stayed, despite the initial rejection, and made a place for himself in town. Now that the people had accepted him and his presence in the town, he’d become the guild’s eyes and ears in the far south reaches of Sylphia.

  It was good there was no guild house here as far as Mandrak was concerned. The fewer scribes who knew about his business, the better. He was confident he could count on Sevren’s silence. He didn’t discuss any scribe’s business with other scribes. Perhaps it was because he lived so far away from the politics of the Guild. But whatever the reason, it would come in handy on this mission.

  Tethering his horse to the railing in front of the inn, he stepped inside the rustic establishment. It was timber construction with wooden shakes covering the roof. It was only a single story, long and narrow. The door opened into the dining room, the living quarters were down halls that led from either side of the large room.

  The innkeeper eyed Mandrak suspiciously when he entered and walked up to the bar. A stout, middle-aged man, dressed in a tan-colored shirt and breeches, his hair was dark, in contrast to his light skin. His eyes were almond shaped. “Can I help you?” he asked Mandrak finally in a strong tenor.

  Mandrak knew the scar on his face made most people ill at ease. Most of the time, he enjoyed the reaction. Today, it just irritated him. “I need to see Sevren,” said Mandrak, using the oily tone he usually saved for right before the worst torture.

  The innkeeper gave him the once over at his request. “Sevren isn’t here,” he said after a moment.

  “I can see that. Do you know where he is?” persisted Mandrak.

  “He doesn’t tell me his business,” replied the innkeeper, “and I don’t ask.”

  “Do you expect him back anytime soon?” Mandrak tried again.

  “He’s usually back in time for lunch,” replied the man.

  “Then I’ll wait.” Mandrak chose a chair. “Bring me some of your lunch and your best ale.”

  The innkeeper perked up at the business and the prospect of money. Mandrak settled in the chair to wait for his fellow scribe. Sevren arrived halfway through his lunch.

  “Mandrak, I hadn’t heard you were coming this way or I would have been looking for you,” Sevren greeted him, looking ill at ease. He sat in a chair opposite his fellow guild member and gestured to the innkeeper to bring his lunch. “What brings you to this part of the world?”

  “Business,” replied Mandrak cryptically. “I needed some information I thought you might be able to supply.”

  “You didn’t have to come all this way. I could have sent you whatever you needed,” answered Sevren, taking a long drink from the mug of ale the innkeeper set in front of him. “Ben, another mug for my friend.”

  Ben’s expression doubted that Mandrak was a friend, but he refrained from saying anything. He drew another mug of ale and set it in front of the older scribe, then went to get Sevren his food. Mandrak took the opportunity, while they were alone, to broach the subject that brought him to Glorian. “I need to find Stillmont. I was hoping you could give me directions.”

  “Stillmont?” asked Sevren incredulously. “Why would a scribe need to go to Stillmont? The dwarves will likely kill you, as not. They don’t have much use for our kind in general.”

  “Why I need to go is my business,” replied Mandrak dismissively. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

  “I believe I have a map in my room that shows Stillmont. But it won’t show you how to get into the city once you get there.” Sevren became more businesslike at the rebuff by his superior.

  “I didn’t expect the map to tell me how to get into the city. I expected you to give me that information.”

  “I do have some information regarding that,” remarked Sevren. “But it isn’t information the scribes here give out. I’d need some authorization.”

  “My position isn’t authorization enough?” asked Mandrak softly.

  Sevren hesitated at the question. “Usually, it requires a note from Waldron. But I think we can waive that formality this time.” He swallowed nervously. “We’ll go to my room once we’ve finished lunch.”

  “What’s so special about Stillmont that it requires a formal note from the Chairman of the Guild?” asked Mandrak, intrigued by Sevren’s information. Perhaps there was more to learn here than he thought.

  Sevren cleared his throat. “Even I’m not privy to that information. All I know is that the Chairman feels it
would be wise to keep the location of the city entrance guarded. I’m sure he has his reasons. Of course, all the scribes who’ve worked in Glorian know the location. It’s one of our duties to keep up with what happens in Stillmont.”

  “What does happen there?” asked Mandrak casually.

  Sevren raised an eyebrow at the question, but answered. “The usual. The dwarves do a great deal of mining and they make a great deal of art that’s sent all over the world. They make beautiful jewelry, magnificent blades and astonishing statuary. There’s something being sent from Stillmont weekly.”

  “Yet, almost no one knows where it is?”

  “Everyone who has a need to know is shown the entrance. We followed some of those people and discovered the entrance. It’s valuable information to some.”

  “I imagine it would be,” replied Mandrak. He took another drink of his ale and fell silent while Sevren ate. So, the dwarves made jewelry at Stillmont. Were they the creators of the amulet? He was certain he was on the right track and with Sevren helping him he would soon be in Stillmont and that much closer to his goal.

  CHAPTER 22

  Tucking the information he’d received from Sevren into his cloak, Mandrak turned his horse toward the base of the mountain. Stillmont was in the bowels of the Sisters of the Sea, a range of mountains with five peaks that rose majestically into the sky. The caps of the peaks were covered in snow. The base of the mountain was ringed with lush forests where moss hung from the branches giving it a surreal appearance. In his hurry, Mandrak barely noticed the beauty. He was intent on finding the entrance to the underground city. According to Sevren, it was unguarded, since no one could see it, unless they knew exactly where to look. That fact suited him just fine. He wasn’t a fighter. He was a scribe, with a propensity toward theft. He supposed that was why Teran had chosen him for this mission.

  When he’d heard Sevren describe the dwarven city, he knew that his original time line would have to be revised. It was far bigger than he’d imagined. Searching such a large place would take a bit of doing. But he was a patient man. He’d had to revise time lines before. This prize was worth the effort and time. Taking his supplies from his horse, he hid the saddle and let the horse go free. Chances were it would stay nearby and he could find it again. He didn’t want anyone noticing an abandoned horse tethered near the entrance to Stillmont. That fact would send up warning signals to everyone within seeing distance.

  He made his way to the forked tree that was the first landmark. From there he turned to the east and moved forward looking for the large rock that was shaped like the head of an eagle. He’d gone much further than he’d expected he’d have to go before he found the rock. He was panting slightly and sweating. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he turned south and began counting his steps. According to Sevren, he needed to take 1000 steps and then turn to the east again. When he reached one thousand, he turned east and found himself facing an enormous cliff face at the base of one of the Sisters of the Sea. Mandrak made his way to the cliff face. The entrance to the city of Stillmont was supposed to be here. But from where he was standing, it wasn’t visible. Sevren had told him it would be difficult to find. But he’d given him signs to look for. Mandrak walked along the length of the cliff face until he found the markings described by Sevren. Touching the markings on one side, he moved along the cliff face until he found the next set of markings and ran his hand over them, too. Once he’d touched both set of markings, the opening appeared. The entrance was large enough for the largest cargo wagon to go through once you found it.

  He walked through the unguarded opening cautiously. The city was magnificent and closer to the surface than he’d imagined. He supposed that was in deference to the trade they conducted with businessmen from throughout Preterlandis. Great columns held the vaulted ceiling. Houses and business establishments dotted the ground beneath them. Some of the buildings rose four or five stories into the air. Light sifted into the city through strategically placed shafts that led directly to the surface. The light was diffuse but adequate to navigate through the city. Mandrak moved deeper into the cavern then waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light before he joined the diverse group of people who milled in the streets of Stillmont.

  Mandrak watched as an elderly looking dwarf, protected by a metal helm, chain mail and a large battleaxe entered the temple. It had taken him weeks to get to this point. But here he was, watching the guardian of the Amulet of Ley show him where it was hidden. All he had to do was not be seen following him. Mandrak didn’t think that would be a problem. He’d had lots of practice avoiding detection. Looking around suspiciously, he checked the street for any sign of the messenger. He’d have sworn he’d seen the messenger here in Stillmont, but he’d never caught a good look at him. Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of the feeling that he was being followed. Maybe he was getting too old for this type of work. In the past, he’d have known by now if he had a shadow. He wouldn’t still be looking over his shoulder like a woman.

  Making his way across the street, he quietly picked the lock on the door the dwarf had used, and slipped inside the darkened room. The elderly dwarf had lit one of the torches and was moving to the front of the room. He located a certain spot in the front wall and pushed it. A portion of the wall moved and the dwarf slipped through. The door closed quickly behind him, too quickly for Mandrak to follow the dwarf through. All for the good, he thought, from his spot behind the column. He didn’t really want to confront that warrior. He’d wait for him to leave. He had what he wanted, the location of the hidden chamber.

  He waited silently behind the pillar for half an hour and then another quarter of an hour. Where is that old dwarf, he thought, chaffing at the delay as he continued to wait for the guardian of the amulet to return.

  Growing impatient, he moved closer to the spot where the dwarf had disappeared, dagger in hand. Pressing on the exact spot he’d seen the dwarf push, he felt the wall give way. He found himself in a manmade hallway carved out of stone. It led into the mountain farther than he could see. Fumbling in the dark along the walls, he followed the tunnel to where it led, his dagger still clutched in his free hand. It would have been better to wait until the dwarf had left, but he was tired of waiting. It seemed like he’d waited forever and every day he was here, Teran was free to strengthen his hold over the guild.

  The tunnel seemed to go on for miles, no wonder that his dwarf hadn’t returned. Echoing in the corridor sent him scurrying to hide behind a line of shields that had been set in a line along the wall of the corridor. There wasn’t much chance he’d go undetected if the person approaching had a torch, but it was worth a try. It would be better if he could slip by unnoticed, rather than killing the keeper and raising the alarm sooner.

  Luckily, the dwarf had left his torch behind and was making his way hurriedly in the dark. He passed by without looking right or left, muttering to himself. Mandrak let his breath out quietly and put his dagger away. He’d never thought he’d get away with that slipshod piece of stealth. His luck really had changed for the better.

  Holding onto the wall, he felt his way down the passageway. After a painfully slow shuffle along the hall, he found himself in another empty room. The torch the dwarf had brought with him was still burning. Mandrak growled deep in his throat, letting his frustration have voice. He’d been sure he was going to walk into the room containing the amulet. Instead, he had another hidden door to find and who knew how many other empty chambers to traverse.

  Perhaps he should have captured the old dwarf and forced the location of the amulet from him, he thought as he glanced around the room. It certainly would have made him feel better to torture the old man until he told him all his secrets. It had been weeks since he’d been able to indulge that particular pleasure.

  Moving to a spot at the wall, he thrust his knife into the stone, leaving a mark. Then he started running his hands along the wall, looking for a hidden spring similar to the one in the first room.

&
nbsp; He was three-quarters of the way around the room before he found the latch. Taking the torch and retrieving his dagger, he made good time down the second passageway. He wasn’t concerned about discovery at this point. The only person who’d come in this place in the last few days had just passed him in the hallway. It seemed the dwarves of Stillmont were relying on their secret city and secret rooms to protect the treasure of a king.

  Reaching the third chamber, Mandrak was greeted by a welcoming sight. An altar, with a case made of crystal containing a golden chain with an amulet hanging from it. He almost laughed out loud with glee. This had been far too easy. The only thing that had truly been protecting the amulet was the total ignorance of it by almost everyone who might have an interest in it. He stood before the case staring at the symbol of a united Preterlandis for several minutes. It was golden, in the shape of a cross, each end representing one of the forces that formed Preterlandis. In the center was a circle, crossing each of the four legs, joining them. There was a single rune etched on each leg of the amulet. The amulet was large, large enough to cover a man’s chest.

  Wrapping some cloth around his hand, Mandrak hit the case with all his might. His hand bounced off the case. He reared back and tried again. All he accomplished was to hurt his hand. Holding his hurt hand with his other, he spent a few minutes examining the display case. He decided he might have been hasty in deciding the dwarves hadn’t protected the amulet properly.

  The case appeared to be made of one continuous piece of crystal. Mandrak knew that couldn’t be possible. They had to get the amulet inside somehow. He tapped on the case. It did appear to be a block of crystal, not panes of the clear rock. Mandrak ground his teeth. How did two soldiers, not crafters, manage to place an amulet in a block of crystal? More importantly, how did he, a scribe, get the necklace out?