"In bed. Remember, no one is to know where we went." Pedustil slunk off down the hall.
Once inside his room, Ilien stripped off his clothes and groped his way into bed. Relief at escaping notice and the softness of his blankets pulled him into a sudden and deep sleep.
"Ilien. Wake up."
Ilien eased his eyes open. Windy stood beside his bed, a lit candle held before her. Ilien moaned and rolled over to put his back to the light. "Go away. Let me sleep."
Windy shook his shoulder. "Wake up. Something's wrong. The Swan—she's gone. She's not in her room."
Ilien pulled the covers over his head. "And neither are you. Be gone as well."
Windy yanked the covers off the bed, and Ilien sat up angrily. His head hurt from lack of sleep and he squinted in the candle light.
"Hey!" he cried, lunging for the covers and pulling them back up.
"Listen," said Windy, ignoring his embarrassment. "I went to the Swan's room after I left you last night. She wasn't there."
"Maybe she was taking a stroll."
"Ilien, Bulcrist said she was under the weather. She should have been in her room. When I went back to check on her later, there was—" Windy brought her hand to her mouth.
Ilien startled. "What is it?"
"There was a pile of feathers on the floor. Some of them were covered with blood."
Ilien jumped up and the room filled with the bright yellow light. Windy dropped her candle to the floor and spun around, expecting to see Bulcrist standing in the doorway. They were alone.
"Ilien. How did you do that?" she asked, her face clouding with fear.
Ilien fetched his pants and shirt. In a flash he was dressed. "Never mind that," he said. "We're going to see Bulcrist."
Windy raced past him and blocked the doorway. "No. We have to get out of here!"
"I have to find out what happened to the Swan."
"You know what happened. It was Bulcrist. He's done something awful. He'll do something awful to us, too. We have to leave now."
Ilien saw the terror in her eyes, and a cold wave of fear ran through him. This can't be happening, he thought.
"Oh, Ilien! The feathers! There were so many."
Ilien fought back his emotions. If Bulcrist had done something to the Swan, there was no running from it, and no running from the NiDemon.
Ilien took Windy by the shoulders. "Show me," he said.
Windy shook her head.
"Listen. Even if we could leave, where would we go without the Swan?" he said. "Now show me the feathers. Take me to her room."
It took some coercing, but Windy agreed to take him. Ilien felt there had to be an explanation for the pile of feathers the princess had found. But try as he might he could find none, and his mind kept returning to the blood she had seen. Yet despite his grim expectations he felt calm. He didn't fear Bulcrist in the same way he had feared him yesterday. He was simply too angry to care, betrayed too often to expect any less than betrayal from the NiDemon. Ilien strode beside Windy, his Nihilic magic lighting their way through the cavernous halls, and the princess hurried to keep up with his quick pace.
"They're in here," said Windy, as they stopped before a set of double doors. "The feathers—they're everywhere." Windy held back, waiting for Ilien to take the lead.
"Don't be afraid," said Ilien, his own heart skipping a beat. He flung open the doors to the Swan's room.
The room was much smaller than Ilien's, with no bed, rugs or wardrobe. A large pallet of straw, like an enormous bird's nest, rested in the center of the stone floor. Scattered around it lay piles of downy white feathers, far more feathers than Ilien had seen the Swan shed on her own. Some of them were stained with blood. Ilien moved into the room.
"Something terrible happened to her," said Windy, crowding close behind.
Ilien studied the area carefully. Though there were feathers everywhere, the Swan's nest lay undisturbed. There was no sign of a struggle. "It doesn't make sense," he said. "Something happened alright, but I don't think Bulcrist murdered the Swan, if that's what you're thinking. There has to be another explanation for all the feathers."
"Look at the blood! What other explanation is there?"
"I don't think we should jump to conclusions. The Swan would never have brought us here if Bulcrist was dangerous."
"You said yourself not to forget that he was a NiDemon, Ilien. NiDemon, as in not the good guy."
Ilien shook his head, but a dread grew in his heart. He remembered what Pedustil had told him the night before. Bulcrist wants someone to try to kill me, he thought. Perhaps he considered the Swan an obstacle to that end.
Windy grabbed his arm. "Ilien, we need to get out of here. Don't you get it? Something terrible happened to the Swan, here in this room. Bulcrist is to blame."
The lights went out. Windy and Ilien froze, fear choking back their shouts of surprise. Out of habit, Ilien clutched at his pocket for his wand. He signed the Nihilic Light rune but the darkness remained. The doors to the room slammed shut. The lights came back on. Bulcrist stood between them.
Windy screamed and ran for the doors. They were locked. Ilien stood like a stone before the NiDemon, his heart beating fast.
"What a mess!" exclaimed the NiDemon. "Feathers everywhere! You would think she'd pick up after herself, as compulsive as she is."
Ilien retreated until he stood ankle deep in blood-tinged feathers. Windy fought to open the doors, then gave up and slumped against them.
Bulcrist regarded her strangely. He turned back to Ilien, his eyes flashing with annoyance. His gaze dropped to the feathers at Ilien's feet and he began to laugh.
Windy shrank further against the doors.
"You think—" Bulcrist doubled over, clutching his stomach. "You think I killed her!"
"What did you do to her?" shouted Ilien.
Bulcrist's laughter subsided. He wiped at his eyes. "Come now, children. Don't be foolish. I didn't do anything to your precious Swan. She left last night to find your Giant. She trimmed her feathers before her flight. They needed it from the looks of things."
"You said last night that she was under the weather!" said Windy, her hand still on the door knob.
Bulcrist answered without turning. "She didn't want you to know she was leaving. She told me to keep it a secret. She was hoping to be back by now."
"The blood?" asked Ilien. "There's blood on these feathers."
"The price for rushing. She cut herself trimming her feathers. Now stop this nonsense. Your Swan is alive and well. If she doesn't return by the time we leave, we're to go on without her. She'll catch up later."
"Leave?" asked Ilien. "Where are we going?"
"Didn't you hear a word I said last night? The Witch Queen has your father, and the map. You still do want to save him, don't you?"
"Of course I do," stammered Ilien.
"Good. We leave after breakfast." Bulcrist shook his head as he surveyed the room. "I was coming up here to clean this mess, but now you two can clean it." He turned and strode toward the doors. Windy gave way before him and ran to join Ilien. "There's a broom and barrel out in the hall. Meet me in the Great Hall when you're finished. We have a few things to discuss before we leave."
They swept up the feathers in silence, then returned to their rooms to tidy up before making their way to meet the NiDemon. Ledge Hall was ablaze with Bulcrist's unearthly yellow light, and Ilien was relieved that he didn't have to invoke his Nihilic spell. Windy looked frazzled, and he remembered her reaction the last time he had done so.
They walked to the Great Hall together, each lost in their own thoughts. Ilien felt foolish for believing the worse about Bulcrist, then reminded himself of what Pedustil had told him. As he entered the Great Hall, he made up his mind to be wary. He grabbed Windy's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Windy squeezed back, but her face remained grave.
The splendor of the massive, gem encrusted room lifted the gloom from their minds. A long table had been brought in, and
upon it were serving plates piled with aromatic food. Two entire hams smoked and sizzled on a large cutting board. Several wide bowls overflowed with boiled eggs, peeled and steaming. There were racks of bacon and sausage, a tower of pancakes and a veritable garden of fresh fruits. Bulcrist sat at the far end of the table.
"I hope you're hungry," he said.
"Not that hungry," replied Ilien, sizing up the feast.
Bulcrist motioned toward two adjacent chairs. Windy and Ilien sat down.
"Pedustil will be joining us," commented Bulcrist. "Fill your plates while you can."
Pedustil did join them. Within minutes the hams were gone, the eggs depleted, the bacon a memory (he evidently didn't care for sausage) and the pancakes were in a tumbled ruin. There was still plenty to go around, and soon everyone sat back contentedly in their chairs.
Windy looked toward the entrance to the Hall. "The Swan hasn't returned yet?"
"No," said Bulcrist. "I'm afraid we'll be leaving without her. But don't worry. She knows where we're going. She'll catch up with us once she's found the Giant."
"Do you think Anselm's alright?" Windy asked Ilien.
"It's Herman," said Bulcrist, poking at his sausage. "To tell the truth, I'm not very fond of Giants. Nasty brutes. Dumb as stones. But I should think he's safe enough. Probably lost."
"They'll catch up with us later," Ilien assured Windy, not liking the NiDemon's tone.
Bulcrist pushed back his plate. "I have something for you, Ilien. You'll need more help than the Nihilic I can teach you on the way if you're to rescue Gallund and the map. I can teach you much, and you're a fast learner, I'm sure. But you'll also need a weapon. A sword."
Bulcrist reached beneath the table and lifted forth a bundle wrapped in red cloth. "A very special sword," he added, excitement shining red in his eyes. He placed it on the table and motioned for Ilien to take it.
Ilien hesitated. Bulcrist was eager for him to have it. A finger of fear tickled his spine.
"Take it," bade Bulcrist. "It's yours, after all."
"What do you mean, it's mine?"
"It's yours. I'm giving it to you. It was forged long ago and still holds its razor edge. Take it. You'll need it before all is through."
Ilien eyed the red bundle suspiciously. It wasn't a large sword. By the size of the bundle, it looked made for a child. He reached out to take it.
"Wait," said Windy. She turned to Bulcrist. "Your tale about the Nihilic Wars and the weapons with Nihilic runes upon them, this is one of them, isn't it?"
"Now you have spoiled my surprise," laughed the NiDemon. "Yes, it's true. This sword escaped destruction. It has been closely guarded for five hundred years. It is the last of its kind."
Ilien withdrew his hand. "A Nihilic blade?"
"A weapon you will need if you are to rescue your father. There were many Nihilic blades, but few like this. Most drew their power from the runes upon them, making them keener of edge and harder than any blade that opposed them. Some were enchanted with words of power that gave their wielders dominion over their enemies. This is both and more. It will aid you in your studies, bring understanding when understanding is needed. You will learn far more with it than without it."
Ilien thought of his pencil then. "It's a wand."
"Yes," Bulcrist said, nodding. "If that helps you, so be it. It will focus your power, but unlike the wands of the Nomadin, it also holds a power of its own."
Ilien reached for it again. Windy grabbed his hand.
"You will need it if you are to succeed in your quest," said Bulcrist.
Ilien pulled his hand from Windy's. He picked up the bundle, testing its weight. "Why is it so small? Surely it wasn't meant for an adult."
Bulcrist nodded. "A keen observation. It was made for a child, a very special child."
"The Prophesied Child," answered Ilien, aware of Windy's eyes upon him.
"Yes, the Prophesied Child, a Nomadin born child like yourself—or even you, Princess Windy."
Windy drew back in her chair.
"It is nothing to be afraid of."
Ilien unfolded the red cloth until the sword shone beneath. His hands lingered over its surface. Gallund mentioned such weapons only once. Ilien had imagined them foul and black, made of rough hewn metal, ugly to behold. The sword beneath the cloth surprised him. The bright silver blade sparkled like crystal. The runes etched along its length were Nihilic, their design intricate and beautiful, as carefully wrought and wondrous as the carved mahogany doors of Evernden Castle. The sword's black pommel reflected his image in a distorted miniature.
Ilien looked askew at Bulcrist. "If I'm not the Prophesied Child, what then?"
The NiDemon leaned across the table, his face hard, his eyes expressionless. "The sword was made for the One. Anyone else who dares to touch it will die."
Ilien sat purposefully still, weighing the NiDemon's words. "Are you confident in me, or just curious to see what happens?"
Bulcrist sat back and laughed. "The last Nomadin child ran crying from Ledge Hall when I told him that one."
Ilien gripped the sword by its onyx handle and lifted it from its wrapping. The blade felt incredibly light. He waved it from side to side, then tested its edge on the table. The sword stuck fast into the wood all the way up to its hilt. Ilien grimaced and pulled the blade out. It left a long clean gash in the table's polished surface.
"Sorry," he said. Bulcrist looked none too pleased.
"What about a scabbard?" he asked, easing the sword to the table. He'd need a scabbard or he'd cut a leg off for sure.
"It has no scabbard, and doesn't need one," replied Bulcrist. "Scabbards are meant to protect both blade and wielder. This blade is magical. Nothing can damage or dull its edge, and it will never cut its master."
Ilien returned the sword to the red cloth, unsure of what Bulcrist meant by "master".
"A powerful blade, indeed," continued Bulcrist, "in the right hands." He turned to Windy. "I have something for you, as well." He drew forth a small leather pouch tied with string. "A wutzit stone." He emptied the contents of the pouch onto his napkin. Out tumbled a single yellow stone, dull and rough around the edges.
"You're giving me a rock?" said Windy, unimpressed.
"Not just a rock—a magical rock."
Windy's eyes lit up, but she remained skeptical. Nothing could replace her lost lightstone, especially if it looked like that.
"I warn you," said Bulcrist. "Wutzit stones can be unpredictable and dangerous in the hands of the wrong keeper. It must remain hidden at all times. It is dormant at the moment, waiting for the touch of its keeper to awaken." Bulcrist scooped up the napkin and deposited the stone back into its pouch. "A wutzit stone once defeated a Gog, before turning its wielder into a pig. Use it sparingly."
Windy tucked the pouch into the pocket of her tunic. A pig, she thought. How unoriginal.
"Now it is time to leave," announced Bulcrist. "When you are finished tidying up, meet me by the riverbank. I have horses for you both, packed with the essentials."
Ilien looked at the cluttered table. "Tidying up?"
"We can't leave Ledge Hall like this," said Bulcrist. "All the anti-rat spells in the world won't mean a thing if we leave this food lying about. Pedustil will show you where everything goes." He rose and stalked out of the room.
It took some doing but the dishes were soon picked up. Thankfully, they didn't have to worry about cleaning up the leftovers. Pedustil took care of that with several large swallows. When all was done, they stood in the great gem-encrusted Hall, looking at each other, each waiting for the other to follow Bulcrist outside.
"Well?" said Pedustil, his eyes scanning the empty table for any overlooked morsels. "Are we ready?" He spotted a piece of bacon on the floor, but before he could reach it the lights went out, plunging them all into blackness. "I'll take that as a yes," he replied, his eyes like shining slits in the dark.
They found Bulcrist out by the river, three small horses tethered ne
arby. As they exited the golden doors and descended the wide stone stairs, they smelled the sharp odor of flint. The doors had vanished behind them. All trace of Ledge Hall's presence was gone. Bulcrist called, and they marched down to meet him.
"Come on, come on," urged the NiDemon. "We've a long way to go. We haven't got all day."
Ilien regarded the horses curiously. Each carried one small pack. "Long way to go?" he said, pointing to the packs. "Aren't we forgetting something?"
Even Windy, who had never had to pack for a lengthy horse ride across country, piped "We'll starve."
Bulcrist untethered two of the horses and threw their reins to the riders. "I packed the essentials."
Ilien moaned. "Tell me we're not eating Awefull the entire trip."
"Awefull?" Bulcrist grimaced. "I've eaten more than my fair share of that sorry excuse for bread." With a spring he mounted his horse. "There's a day's ride of food in each pack. That's all we'll need. There are foodshares along the way."
"Foodshares?" asked Windy.
"Yes, foodshares, from here to where we're going," replied Bulcrist. "They pepper the Eastland, laid down by the King for his soldiers, well-hidden rations for the weary traveler. Mostly hard-tack, but a far cry better than Awefull."
"How do you know where they are?" asked Ilien.
Bulcrist's horse danced in a circle as the NiDemon replied, "I'm not a hermit, Ilien. I laid the ones in the mountains myself. And I'm familiar with many others. I suggest you mount up if you want to reach the first one by supper time."
"What about you?" Ilien asked the Gorgul. "I take it the foodshares aren't meant for your kind."
Pedustil frowned. "No, they're not." He spat in disgust, and a cloud of steam enveloped Ilien. "I prefer fresh meat to hard tack. I'll hunt for myself."
Bulcrist led them away along the stony river, Windy and Ilien following on horseback, and Pedustil loping beside them.
Not long after they left, a hulking shadow moved across the cliff side where the gates of Ledge Hall lay hidden. The shadow stooped as its owner examined the ground. Fresh prints. The cluttered ground was rife with them. Three humans and a Gorgul, by the looks of it. Three horses, too. They weren't far ahead. A few hours, perhaps.
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