“Which might be the reason,” Thal added in a soft voice, “why your master called the fountain dangerous.”
The wary look returned to Fatawssy’s face at the mention of her former master, as Blakstar put the stopper back and hung the empty flask back on his belt.
Chapter 24
We study the workings of these ancient, obsolete devices to further our service to the One and those who serve Him; we can never know when such knowledge may be useful, even vital, to the survival of those we aid. . . .
from Instructional Lectures of the Klitodwerem, Vol. 1, compiled by Headmaster Telvor
Lecture by Headmaster Meekor, atno 3517
Klaybear watched his twin out of the corner of his eye while listening to Fatawssy’s story; Rokwolf did not remain in one place but continued to move about the room, restlessly pacing, eyes constantly looking around. Klaybear noticed, however, that his twin was always drawn back to the same place, and the kailu suddenly realized it was to the same place Rokwolf’s eyes had been drawn before: a blank spot of wall just west of the door through which they had entered this room, but even as this thought struck him, he heard Thal asking another question, prompting Fatawssy to continue and drawing Klaybear’s attention back to Thal.
“You mentioned two more ponkolum,” the white maghi stated.
Fatawssy nodded. “Later, I ascended from the lower levels,” she went on, “and I saw my master fighting two of them, one facing, one behind, and I could see that he was losing. This door was only open a crack, and I was on the verge of opening it and going to his aid, when a third figure, larger and more terrible than the others seemed to step out of the wall behind my master. The ponkolum dropped their elemental flames; my master was in a sorry state, for the new figure had grabbed him around the neck, lifted him off the ground, and shouted about the price of betrayal. The voice shook the room; things fell from the shelves and desk. The figure went on to say he might have forgiven his failure, but he could not forgive his betrayal, and reached forward with his free hand to take the rod.” She paused for a moment at this point. “Something strange happened then: white light burst from the rod. Both my master and the figure let go of it; both screamed in pain, and I was blinded for a moment by the brilliance of the light. When my vision returned, my master lay silent on the floor, a perfect statue of greenish-black stone. The figure was still shouting, his voice still shaking the room, and the fingers of his left hand had changed into reddish-black stone; even as my sight returned, I could see the flesh of his hand changing to the same colored stone. He continued to shout what must have been words of power, trying desperately to stop what was occurring, and when all of these failed even to slow the progress of the change, a sheet of flame erupted from his right hand and he used it like a blade to cut off his left hand, which dropped to the floor and shattered. I expected him to scream in pain, but he did not; instead, flames now erupted from the stump of his wrist, formed into the shape of his missing hand, then turned into flesh. I was so shocked by this, that I must have made a sound, for all three of them looked toward the door; one of the ponkolum came toward me, flung the door open, and grabbed me by the neck and dragged me into the room. He threw me to the floor in front of the other figure.”
“Gar,” Thal put in, “it was Gar.”
Fatawssy nodded. “I realized that later,” she continued, “after they locked me in the room where you found me.”
“What did Gar do?” Klaybear asked
Fatawssy shuddered once before speaking. “He looked down at me, and his eyes seemed to burn through me,” she went on, “and after a while he said that he needed me, and that if I wanted to continue living, I would do exactly what he told me to. He sent one of the ponkolum to fetch Xythrax with instructions to bring his most loyal and faithful servant; he sent the other to fetch purem and wethem sworn to his service to inhabit the fortress. When Xythrax came with his servant, they altered this servant’s appearance, making him look like my master; then they made a copy of the rod, but Gar would not touch it, nor would he allow Xythrax to touch it, although after what it did to my master, I do not think Xythrax wanted anything to do with it. Instead, they brought up one of the slaves, did something to this wetha slave so that her eyes and face went blank; Xythrax then appeared to take control of her and forced her to pick up the true rod. He told Gar he would take it and place it with his pet, but what that was, he never said. This action appeared to satisfy Gar; Xythrax left with the wetha through a black archway. Gar turned back to me and again told me that if I wished to live, that I must tell Xythrax’s servant, who now looked like my master, everything he needed to know in order to impersonate my master; all this, he said, in order to prepare for the day in the near future when the chosen of the One would enter Morokolu seeking the rod. Even though the plan to capture Elanor and the others in Rykelle succeeded, with the help of the Thieves’ Guild, it only succeeded in catching that silent, but restless wethi,” she said, pointing at Rokwolf, “and Elanor’s Tevvy. Everything went wrong after that, but my pseudo-master would never say why, or what happened,” she concluded, falling silent.
Thal’s brow furrowed. “And you don’t have any guesses what that might have been?” he asked, trying to get more information from her. “He never mentioned anything? Even the slightest word dropped might be helpful to us,” Thal added hopefully.
But Fatawssy shook her head, making her face tentacles dance. “Nothing,” she said, and Klaybear saw her eyes were again wary. “Now, you said you would grant me safe passage out of here,” she went on, “how do you propose to do that?”
“We can send you anywhere you want to go,” Thal said, “using the same power that your master used when he held Melbarth’s rod.”
“Send me to the southern part of the Mariskal, in the deep channels near the sea,” Fatawssy said, “I can return to my home from there, but don’t you need to have been to the place before you can open an archway there?”
Thal smiled wryly. “You know much about how it works,” he said.
Tevvy looked at Rokwolf. “What about that channel we had to cross,” he noted, “the one where the wedaterem guarded the bridge? That is several miles south, as I recall.”
Rokwolf nodded once and looked at Fatawssy. “Would that work?” he croaked, his voice still not accustomed to speaking.
Fatawssy looked at him shrewdly. “Yes, I think I know the place you mean,” she said.
Rokwolf turned and reached out his hand toward Blakstar, who had already drawn will-giver with a steely hiss. “Would you like the bank next to the bridge, the center of the bridge, or straight into the channel?” he asked.
“Somewhere out of sight of the bridge,” she replied, after looking at him for a long moment, “in case the guards are still present.”
Rokwolf thought for a moment, then nodded; he drew the circle on the floor, then drew the arch in the air, and it shimmered from gray to dull green. They could hear the sounds of birds and insects, and a bee buzzed into the room, but scenting no flowers, flew immediately back through the arch.
“I will not forget this,” Fatawssy said, pausing just before she left, then she stepped through the archway, and Rokwolf lifted the sword, closing it. Without a word, he handed the sword back to the kortexi who slid it immediately back into its sheath.
“Isn’t it time for us to leave?” Tevvy asked, looking away from Elanor who had burrowed under his arm.
Blakstar took the special flask from his belt. “I should refill this,” he noted, “while I have the opportunity.” He looked at his companions. “And it wouldn’t hurt if the rest of us drank from the fountain before leaving.”
Thal nodded. “A wise suggestion,” he noted, following the kortexi back into the other room.
Rokwolf held his twin back when he started to follow Tevvy and Elanor out of the room. “I don’t want to go back to Delgart and . . . ,” he said in twin, but did not finish his thought.
Klaybear knew what he was thinking; he nodd
ed. “I understand why you feel as you do,” he replied in their secret language, “but how else will you get clothes that fit and shoes?”
Rokwolf’s eyes were again drawn toward the blank wall. “Send me to our secret place,” he replied, “and I’ll wait for you to bring them to me there.”
Klaybear watched his twin’s eyes move again to the same spot, and could not help but look himself. He turned toward the spot and raised Klare’s staff; it flared brilliantly green as he moved toward the blank stone wall; Rokwolf followed. Moving slowly from the door through which they entered west along the wall to the door leading into the hallway, Klaybear examined the entire wall; he sighed when he reached the other door and let the staff go out. “I can see nothing special about this wall,” he said to Rokwolf.
Now that they had moved to the other end of the room and wall, the direction Rokwolf’s eyes were drawn in was altered, as if fixed on some point behind the wall. “Maybe Thal, or Tevvy, can find something,” he shrugged.
Elanor came through the door slowly, carrying the dipper from the fountain. “We wondered why you two did not follow,” she said, “so while they were drinking and refilling, I thought I would bring you a drink and see what was keeping you.” She offered the dipper to Rokwolf, who was closer.
“I’ve already had some, thanks,” Rokwolf said.
Klaybear took it and drank; he smiled widely. “It does make one feel quite good,” he noted, “and energized. To think that the morgle believed it was poison,” he shook his head.
“So what is keeping the two of you?” Elanor asked again, taking the dipper back.
Klaybear exchanged a swift glance with his twin. “For some reason,” Klaybear replied, “Rokwolf is still drawn to this wall, or something beyond it. I just examined it using kailu power and found nothing. We were about to call for Thal and Tevvy . . . ,” Klaybear paused when he noticed Elanor’s face looking the way Klare’s did right before he said something he would later regret, so he changed what he was going to say, “but since you are here, perhaps you can inspect it for us.” He smiled at her, hoping that might cover his mistake.
Although Elanor was less than half Klare’s height, the look and stance were identical. She shook her head. “Wethem or awemem: you males are all the same!” Without saying whether she would, or would not, she turned and moved carefully back down the wall, examining it in the same way that Tevvy would have. She stopped in the section next the door through which they had entered the room. “Oh!” Elanor exclaimed after carefully going over the area for nearly a minute. Tevvy, followed by Thal and Blakstar, came back into the room.
“What are you looking for, dearest?” Tevvy asked, moving up beside her.
“Not looking for,” she replied, “found, and look at it, Telvor,” Elanor added, pointing to the area of the wall.
Klaybear noticed the corners of Tevvy’s eyes tighten at the use of his formal name; Rokwolf nudged Klaybear, then winked at Thal and Blakstar, who grinned back at him.
Tevvy’s eyes widened. “I see it!” he exclaimed in turn.
“See what?” Rokwolf asked, moving up behind the two awemem.
“Go ahead,” Tevvy said, “since you found it, and I don’t see anything dangerous, just ancient.”
Elanor smiled at Tevvy, then reached out with both hands to touch separate spots on the wall that appeared to the others exactly like the rest of the wall; she waited until Tevvy nodded and reached forward with one of his hands to a third spot. At the same moment, they pressed all three spots; the three bricks, one above the other and next to the open door through which they entered, with a slow, grating sound, sank an inch into the wall. Klaybear heard a dull clunk of stone inside the wall, and a door-sized section to the left of the three bricks just pressed was revealed, slightly ajar. Rokwolf moved immediately forward and pushed the door inward; a rush of stale, metallic air came out of the space behind the door.
“Be careful!” Elanor exclaimed. “This door has not opened in more than three thousand years!”
They all looked at her; Tevvy was grinning. “How do you know that?” Rokwolf asked.
“Because that was the last time,” Elanor replied, “anyone mentions in any record the existence of a door with such a mechanism.”
Thal raised an eyebrow. “Impressive,” he noted, “I did not realize that Thieves’ Guild records were so extensive, since so few Guild members can write.”
“That is why,” Tevvy added, “those records still exist.” He grinned at them again, and the grin vanished as he noticed that Rokwolf had entered the room. “No, wait!” he shouted to Rokwolf’s back, “let us make sure it’s safe!”
Rokwolf, however, did not hear him; he entered the room. Klaybear and Tevvy followed him. Klaybear saw at the center of this square room, sitting on a crystal pedestal, glowing with an inner light, an unsheathed sword, its blade gleaming brightly. The handle was red-gold in the shape of the head of an aperu, eyes of ruby glittering in the light of the pedestal, with the horns of the aperu functioning as the hilt guard. A sheath of tooled and dyed leather lay next to it on the pedestal, along with a bow and quiver of the same style. The bow, when observed from the side, looked like an aperu flying, the limbs of the bow were the aperu’s wings, and the arrow was released out of the aperu’s mouth. Both bow and quiver were red and black, gilded with gold, and behind the pedestal stood a full suit of armor after the same fashion as the sword, with its helm and face guard in the shape of an aperu’s head, the upper jaw lifting to reveal the face of the person wearing it. The fashioning of it was similar to Blakstar’s gear, except that this armor was enameled red with gold highlights, as were the breastplate, shield, leg and arm greaves, and the suit of chain mail. There was also a similar suit, gold-colored, of a similar fine mesh, along with a surcoat of red trimmed with gold and matching boots and gauntlets of fine leather.
Rokwolf only had eyes, at the moment, for the sword, and before Klaybear could reach him, he reached out and took the sword with his right hand. As soon as his hand touched the handle, a grin split his face, and as he lifted the sword, a rush of wind whirled around him, the light in the pedestal flared, illuminating only his person. Rokwolf looked around the room; his companions stopped just inside the door and stared at him.
“It says that its name is Gwoneru,” Rokwolf replied to their unspoken questions, “and that it has waited long to greet the Chosen of the One.”
“It says?” Tevvy noted. “Are you saying that thing is speaking to you?” Klaybear saw the shock he felt mirrored on Tevvy’s face.
“Sort of,” Rokwolf replied, “at least I think that’s what it means,” he added, looking down at the sword gripped in his right hand. “I think the words and speech are actually mine,” he said and looked back at his companions.
Klaybear felt confused; he looked toward Thal and saw the white maghi shrug.
“It is possible,” Thal admitted, “to infuse an object, like a sword, with a rudimentary form of intelligence,” Thal stopped, as the light in the room had suddenly turned red. “My apologies to your sword,” he bowed to Rokwolf, “I should have said a form or part of intelligence, like much of what we saw in Shigmar’s tomb, although none of it was what we would call sentient.”
The light returned to its former color, and Rokwolf finally looked up from the sword and noticed the bow and suit of armor that went with the sword; he laid the sword carefully back on the pedestal. “I think I’ll need your help, Blakstar,” Rokwolf called to the others, “since this armor looks like yours.”
Blakstar grinned and moved among the chests and piles of ancient coins, jewelry, and gemstones littering the floor of the room; Tevvy’s jaw dropped, for in all of their attention to Rokwolf and the sword, no one had noticed the rest of the room’s contents.
“There’s enough wealth here to last us several lifetimes,” Tevvy whispered in an awed voice.
“Yes,” Blakstar noted over his shoulder, “and don’t even think about putting any of it in your p
ockets, thief!”
Tevvy choked. “Are you suggesting that we leave all of it here?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“It does not belong to us,” the kortexi noted, beginning to take pieces of armor off the rack on which it was held, so that he could give Rokwolf the gold mesh suit first.
“And who, pray tell,” Tevvy went on in total disbelief, “does it belong to?”
“Not us,” Blakstar replied, laying aside the shield and breastplate, then handing the leg and arm greaves to Klaybear, who joined them.
Tevvy spluttered. “Surely we deserve something for our efforts, for our suffering?”
“You rescued Elanor alive,” Blakstar noted, “isn’t that enough?” He took Rokwolf’s hand and touched the neck of the mesh suit, opening it.
“But what about the damage to my father’s school?” Tevvy asked. “Shouldn’t that be paid for out of this?” he pointed to the treasure surrounding them.
“The way of thieves,” Blakstar noted, “take what they want and rationalize afterward.” He helped Rokwolf into the suit after the latter removed his outer clothes.
Tevvy threw up his hands in exasperation; Elanor put her hand on his arm and silenced him with a single look. She turned to Klaybear.
“What will Klare say when she learns about all of this,” Elanor noted, “particularly that you did not think to bring any of it back with you?”
Klaybear stopped in the act of buckling on the right arm greave, having previously helped his twin into the mesh suit, black boots, and the red chain mail shirt. “Well, I suppose . . . ,” he started to say, an image of Klare’s fury flashing across his mind, but Elanor did not let him finish.
“I imagine she will have all sorts of choice names for you,” she went on, “reminding you that clothes and animals do not grow on trees, nor does she have time to cut, fit, and sew clothing for this herd of oafs as dunderheaded as you.”
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 111