“Enough!” the ponkola shouted, and the students stopped; the purem came to stand next to the opening, all of them beginning to laugh harshly as they watched. Moments later, the ponkola and her puri comrades turned smoldering eyes upon the bucket carrying students, who whimpered, dropped their buckets and tried to run. Tevvy closed the door quickly, eyes filling with tears, knowing exactly what would follow. He moved down the hallway, checking more doors; three doors past his own cell, he found the third of these strange cells with open floors that looked down into other rooms. The lighting in this room was poorer than it had been in the others, so he could not see clearly what was below; however, with his awemi vision he could make out shapes: the figure of a wetha reclining. A second shape moved toward her, this figure brighter and redder than the first, and the shape was that of another ponkolu.
“I thought you were dead,” the wetha said in a voice that was familiar to Tevvy, but it was the voice of someone he thought dead, “but then, I thought I was dead,” the voice added, almost in response to his thought.
The ponkolu reclined next to the wetha, and Tevvy could only distinguish the two figures in the dark by the difference in their brightness and color as the shapes had begun to blur together. They were silent for a time before the familiar female voice spoke again.
“But, Rokwolf,” she said, and Tevvy spoke a denial to himself, since he knew she could not hear him, “I thought we had decided . . . ,” she was interrupted again for a few moments, “. . . that we would not . . . ,” she fell silent again, and her breathing became heavier; Tevvy noticed she was brightening to his eyes, “. . . until . . . ,” she tried to continue, but then started to repeat her denial, “no,” increasing in volume, tinged with greater pain, until it became a single, continuous scream of pained denial, punctuated by harsh, puri laughter. Her scream trailed into silence, and Tevvy squatted over the opening in the floor, riveted to what he could not see. Light in the room below flashed molten red, and he saw the ponkolu’s great, leathery wings beating as one of Gar’s most faithful and trusted servants lifted off the wetha he had accosted using what must have been Rokwolf’s face and form. The ponkolu touched down on the floor nearby, sending a shockwave vibrating through the stone that Tevvy could feel where he knelt overhead. In the flashing red light, the awemi saw Sutugno, manacled by her wrists and ankles to a bed-like structure, with still smoldering spots all over her naked chest and belly; the green kailu twisted and writhed in agony, her verghrenum the only thing she still wore, apart from the manacles. A growl escaped from Tevvy’s lips; he grabbed and wrenched at the bars in the floor, and when they did not move or give way in the slightest, he began to jump up and down on them. “Leave her alone!” he shouted at the ponkolu.
The ponkolu looked up and grinned widely, revealing his fangs; he raised a rod and waved it once, and the bars vanished; Tevvy fell through the floor and into the room, stopping suddenly in the air, held there by the ponkolu.
Harsh laughter grated across the wetha’s whimpers of pain. “Do you wish to be tormented and die before your time?” he asked Tevvy. The awemi found he could not speak: only a strangled gurgle came out of his mouth. “The Great Lord has plans for you, fool,” he went on, “so I regret to inform you that I can only torment you until it is time. As for this one,” he said, pointing to the wetha manacled to the table, “she also has a purpose to serve, which is to help us break one of your fellow chosen. However, I ramble,” he added, waving his rod again; the room blurred, and, as it blurred and faded, Tevvy heard him say, “Enjoy your torment.”
Tevvy found himself in a different hallway, dimly-lit, but how he had gotten here, he could not see; there were no doors, as far as he could see, and the hallway traveled straight and level, shrinking to a single point. He turned and faced the other direction and saw a similar sight: the hallway going on straight and level without doors or turns as far as he could see. He touched the walls on both sides of the hall, just to make sure that what he saw was not an illusion; the stone felt gritty, cold, and damp. He carefully checked the walls, floor, and ceiling for any markings that would indicate the direction he should go; when he found none, he took out a dagger and prepared to scratch a mark in the stone. He paused and squatted on his heels, tossing and catching his dagger with his right hand.
Does it matter which way? Since this was meant to torment him, he could go in either direction and end up in the same place, so it really made no difference which direction. He stood and jammed his dagger back into its sheath, moving in the direction he had been facing when he arrived. He moved forward slowly, carefully examining floor, walls, and ceiling for any signs of hidden triggers or potential traps, and he found signs but no triggers, potential for traps but no mechanisms for traps. His pace increased until he was jogging along the endless passageway as the signs became fewer and farther between. He jogged on for what seemed hours, but he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it could not have been more than minutes, because he did not feel tired. Passages opened to his right and left; he halted, hearing the sound of stone sliding behind him, and turned to see the source of the sound, although he had a shrewd idea: the passage behind him was no longer visible: a wall had slid across it, blocking it twenty feet behind him. He stood at the crossing of the four passageways: the one he had come from ending after twenty feet; the one directly in front still going straight ahead, but now there were openings on both sides; the passage to his right looked exactly like the one ahead, as did the passage to his left. A maze, he realized, and he dug back into his memories for his lessons on mazes; he squatted and drew one of his daggers, tossing and catching it idly as he thought.
Mazes were usually constructed by people who wanted to hide and protect something, and as such, generally would contain some way for the person who wanted to protect and conceal the object to approach whatever was hidden, without getting lost or trapped. What this meant was that the builder would usually build a code into the stones, or a pattern in the design, that would provide clues to the careful person. Thus, all Tevvy needed to do was crack the code in order to find his way safely through this maze. He looked at the stones beneath his feet and saw the usual set of patterns, shapes, and colors. Smiling to himself, he pulled a small notebook out of one of his many pockets and copied the patterns of the right hallway, then he began to move slowly in that direction, mapping the passage as he went. He thought of his father’s practice maze beneath the school, and the number of times he had entered it, the number of different codes he had cracked, all of them recorded in this notebook; he reckoned it should not take him too long before he had this one figured out. He turned right again at the first opening, carefully recording the floor patterns. This short passage went forward ten feet then turned right and left; Tevvy stopped, not liking the parallel grooves he saw in the floor. He noted the patterns in the floor, saw grooves running up the walls on either side of the opening into this short hallway, holes in the floor, and a dark groove in the ceiling overhead. The dark stains on the floor in front of him suddenly made sense; he looked carefully around either corner and saw that the grooves in the floor ran right up to the wall, and he also saw that the walls at either end had dark gaps around them on all four sides. He marked the hallway as a deadly crushing wall trap and moved back to the first hallway. The next opening to the right in this hallway came after another thirty feet where the hallway turned back on itself and came to a dead end. This one had a wall panel that slid down to cover the opening, and he could see holes in the ceiling that probably allowed some poisonous gas to enter once the panel had sealed the unfortunate person inside. Tevvy guessed the trigger must be near the dead-end of the short hall, so he marked the hallway after copying the pattern and moved to the next side passage and followed as it turned right and left into another major hallway. Across this new hallway he saw many openings to his right but only one to his left; he crossed the hall to examine the first opening. He immediately saw a trigger and heard sounds coming through the open
ing, sounding like some large creature was prowling inside. He marked his map and copied the symbols and smiled, suddenly recognizing the pattern of symbols; he flipped back through his notebook until he found another set of symbols, compared them to those he had found, and backtracked to his starting point. He then followed the hallway that was straight ahead of his entry point, made several turns, and found himself in front of a ladder leading up and out of the maze. Checking the area carefully for any triggers or traps before entering and finding none, he set his foot on the first rung and grabbed hold of the next rung, preparing to climb out, but the ladder and floor vanished in a flash of red light, and the awemi fell into a shaft filled with red smoke, thinking that the ponkolu had fooled him again.
Chapter 16
. . . into the dismal Mariskal
the three key holders trekked
led by the future Fereghen and
fellow chosen leading newly
remade gwenakso command squad
chasing missing Rod of Melbarth
morgle thief hiding deep inside
Morokolu, oppressive darkness
fell preternatural silence choked
swamp-altered wedaterem absent. . . .
from ‘The Great Year,’ a song cycle by Sir Kovar, written 3553
Delgart sent Reena and Kreega, his command squad’s two scouts, ranging ahead to follow the trail, but with orders to stay close. “Do not go too far ahead of us,” he said as they entered the Mariskal one hour past midday. They had left Klare in the care of Rellik, captain of the first company and in charge of the four companies clearing the road of all travelers. “You have all read the reports of what happened to anyone who strayed across the path of these altered wedaterem,” he paused and waited for them both to nod before going on, “so stay together and report back to me every fifteen minutes, since we don’t want to blunder into anything.”
Both nodded and saluted.
Delgart groaned. “It’s just us,” he said, “you don’t need to do that,” but he returned their salute anyway, which made them smile before they turned and melted into the shadows under the trees. Delgart watched them for a moment and turned back to the others. “We’ll need to alter our diamond slightly to accommodate our guests: Hrothlo, take Sir Blakstar to the front between you and Mitha; Grelsor and Hrelga can put Klaybear between them; Lidelle and Luthina, put Thal between you. Each of you can explain things as the occasion demands. Remember that we are here to gather intelligence, so we will avoid contact as much as possible,” he went on, looking at the kortexi who nodded grudgingly. “If and when we find a way to get the three of you inside Morokolu, you should be able to indulge yourself, sir kortexi,” he added, and this made Blakstar raise his visor and smile.
“Any ideas of how we will manage that?” Blakstar asked.
Delgart nodded. “In the documents given to us by the Feragwen, there was a very old map of the area, from before it became a swamp, and the entire dome that was the fortress of Morokolu partially sank into the ground. Water from the Inner Sea rushed in and covered the whole area,” he noted, waving his arm toward the south. “The fortress had four main entrances with two guard towers watching each: three of these are covered by water and the fourth by earth. A new entrance has been opened on the west side, and we think it opens into the old west barracks levels. If we can find the old west guard towers, they were linked to the barracks levels by descending stairways and underground tunnels.”
“Aaah,” Thal said, “you’re thinking that if one of the west towers survived being buried, we might gain entrance in that manner: that’s only if the tunnels survived, and, of course, who is to say that the current resident does not know about this other entrance and has it guarded.”
Delgart nodded again. “I’m certain the morgle knows and has a guard,” he said, “but the guardian is one that he thinks none would dare approach: the queen of the sponsum.” He took note of the fact that some of the color had drained from the faces of the younger members of his command squad, so he added, “She cannot be worse than two aperum at once, or a trio of krugle or megatrem,” he said and smiled reassuringly. “Let’s go, before Chief Reena thinks we have gotten lost.”
Delgart led his command squad south at a jog, following the trail of the wedaterem deeper into the swamp, winding among the fir and pine trees that gradually changed to cedar and cypress trees, and the scrub brush that became torch grass with its spent heads trailing bits of white fluff. Delgart saw evidence that many of the captives taken from the road had left pieces of clothing, leather, and flesh clinging to the thin, sharp-edged leaves, some of them with dark stains. The further into the Mariskal they penetrated, the quieter and darker it became, along with an increasing scent of decay as they traveled south. The temperature cooled, almost as if they were moving north and higher into the mountains rather than into a lower elevation and closer to the sea. About three miles in, the trail divided, one fork continuing south and the other turning west. Reena and Kreega waited for them to catch up.
“Which way?” Delgart asked after they had halted.
Reena shrugged. “We went forward a ways on both,” she replied, “and there doesn’t appear to be any difference between them: both are equally traveled, both have been used recently to lead captives to Morokolu.”
“West, then,” Delgart said, “since that moves us more quickly to our goal.” He paused for a moment in thought. “It may simply be different tribes among the wedaterem following their tribal trails, or it might be to confuse pursuit.”
“I’m surprised that we have not seen or heard any of them,” Kreega noted, “since the reports indicated this part of the swamp was crawling with them.”
“No signs at all?” Delgart asked.
Reena shook her head. “None, and that makes me uneasy,” she replied, looking warily around. “This whole area is strangely quiet.”
“And cold,” Kreega added, shivering and pulling her cloak tighter around her.
Grelsor had moved up next to Delgart, followed by Velnar. “Is the cold getting to you, Kreega?” Grelsor asked.
“Not getting to me,” Kreega replied, “it is just odd that it is suddenly so much colder.”
“I’ve been here several times,” Velnar noted, showing his missing front teeth, “and it has never been this quiet, or this cold.”
Grelsor frowned and looked at Delgart. “Can I suggest cold protection, commander?” he asked.
Delgart nodded. “That seems sensible.”
“Klaybear,” Grelsor called, “now’s your chance to show us what you discovered about singing ortheks: the commander has ordered cold protection.”
Delgart grinned. “I think you are just looking for an excuse to try it out,” he said.
Grelsor grinned back and shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
Klaybear walked up next to where they stood. “I think it should work for all of you at once,” he noted. Lidelle had followed him to watch.
Grelsor looked shocked. “All five of us at once?” he asked in surprise. “How will you touch all of us?”
Klaybear held out his hand. “All of you touch my hand,” he noted, and when they had, he sang the word in the same ascending notes they had been using: “nem-fa-gwhe-ri,” he sang, and a softly glowing red light surrounded his hand first, then shot out along all five of their hands and surrounded all of them; the light faded almost completely but could still be seen just at the edge of their vision.
“I feel better already,” Kreega noted, looking around at the others.
Grelsor turned to Hrelga, Luthina, and Janelle, who had also come closer to watch, so the three of them, along with Klaybear and Lidelle, touched Grelsor’s hand, and he repeated what Klaybear had done with similar results. Lidelle then repeated the process with the remaining members of the squad, and the commander along with Blakstar and Thal.
Delgart sent Reena and Kreega off again, then started the rest of the squad moving.
Once the command squad got m
oving again, Delgart turned to speak to his younger brother. “Have you tried to contact either of them since they left?”
Klaybear nodded. “Have you?” Klaybear asked in turn.
“Yes,” Delgart replied, “and received no response?”
“None,” Klaybear replied.
“Perhaps we should simply contact them anyway,” Delgart suggested.
Klaybear sighed. “Thal and Klare both feel it would be unwise,” he replied, “and dangerous if they are in trouble, or have already managed to enter Morokolu: we fear the morgle would be aware of such an action, perhaps even be expecting it, in the same way we were aware of his actions when he attacked Shigmar.”
Delgart frowned. “Will it be safe for us to contact Marilee or Klare, especially as we get closer to the dome and lair of the morgle?”
Klaybear smiled wryly at his older brother. “That is one of the things we were working out with the rest of your maghem and kailum while you were dealing with other matters,” he replied, “the need to shield mentally whoever opens a window of communication, to mask and protect both the parties involved.”
Delgart returned his smile. “You have just reminded me that we are related, so we do, sometimes, think similarly.”
“I cannot take credit for that one,” Klaybear admitted, “Thal thought of it and suggested we apprise the others.”
“I must remember to thank him for it,” Delgart noted to himself.
He fell silent, looking carefully at the members of his squad as they jogged forward around him, eyes moving and heads constantly turning this way and that. The maghem moving behind him fell silent, and he began to notice that the movements of his squad had altered from the smooth, fluid motion forward to one that seemed to him more furtive and jumpy, from the gait of the wolf pack hunting to the flight of a herd of deer, heads jerking at every odd sound. He shot a quizzical glance to his brother, then tapped Grelsor; his chief kailu jerked around to look at him, startled by his touch. He called for them to halt, although they had not traveled more than a mile since they had last stopped; the scouts should be coming back any moment. He signaled that they should all gather around him.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 95