Wanderlust

by Mary Kirchoff

  “This is perfect,” Tas declared. “We’ve got Balcombe, the bracelet, and Selana all together in one place. Even Rostrevor, the squire, is there, I’m sure of it. We can rescue everyone at once.”

  For the first time, Hoto addressed the group. He did not move, but continued sitting on his stool and staring into the fire. “Anyone you plan to save must be rescued today.”

  Tanis turned to Nanda with raised eyebrows. The half-elf was completely unfamiliar with phaethon social patterns, but their hierarchy was obviously rigid. The last thing he wanted was to offend the people who could be their best allies. Nanda understood Tanis’s silent plea and addressed him. “You may speak, Tanis Half-Elven, but be truthful in everything you say.”

  “Considering Hoto’s statement,” Tanis began, “I propose that we attack Balcombe’s hideout tonight. We have had little success fighting this man before, but if we surprise him, we may be able to beat him.”

  “Tonight will be too late. This evening may be too late. Now is the only time.” The elder phaethon’s voice held no rancor, no sarcasm or criticism. With the exception of the Speaker of the Sun, Tanis had never heard anyone state a fact with such simple conviction.

  Tanis did not want to offend the elder phaethon by questioning this information, but his memory of the battle against Balcombe beneath Tantallon Castle was still vivid. The thought of rushing into another fight without time to plan or prepare frightened him.

  Again, Nanda sensed Tanis’s uneasiness. “You may question Hoto if you wish. Remember, however, that this freedom is almost never allowed to strangers. Remember, too, that his truthfulness is unassailable. If Hoto says it is so, then it is so. You may ask him to clarify.”

  Those restrictions seemed to make questions superfluous, Tanis thought, but at least some further information could be gleaned. “Why is speed so important?” he asked.

  “Last night, the moon Nuitari entered high sanction. This man always performs his rituals during Nuitari’s high sanction. Tonight, Nuitari and Lunitari are aligned, making this a time of powerful magic. Such a combination will not recur for another thirty-three days. I have watched this man for years and know his patterns. He will perform his ritual tonight.

  “After the ritual, there will be no one left to rescue.”

  Tasslehoff could hold his tongue no longer. “He’s absolutely right. I don’t know why anyone is balking. I heard Balcombe talk about how delighted he was to be able to offer up Rostrevor’s soul, and he’s just the son of a knight. Think what he must be planning now that he’s caught a real princess! I vote that we get going right now.”

  Tanis shook his head. “No one brought it to a vote, Tas. I think our hosts will make this decision for us.”

  Nanda looked each squarely in the eyes in turn. “The woman, Selana, has no special value to us. We would protect her if we could, as Hoto tried to do, but she is not our real concern.

  “The wizard, Balcombe, on the other hand, is a potential problem. We know he uses the mountains to hide his evil activity from people in Tantallon. By itself this does not concern us, either, because his actions, whatever they are, have brought no harm to our territory. We know from experience that eventually this will change. Even if he abandons this region and never returns, his empty lair will attract monsters that will try to prey on us. It is best that we remove him before he brings additional trouble.

  “If this seems harsh to you, simply know that it is our way. By such means we have protected ourselves against the outside world for thousands of years, and we will continue doing so as long as we must. For the moment, your interests and ours coincide and we can work together. Your weapons have been brought up. Make yourselves ready and we will leave at once.”

  Tanis, Tas, and Flint turned around and saw that phaethons who had entered the room during Nanda’s speech carried the trio’s weapons. Flint picked up his long-handled, double-headed axe and heavy fighting knife and thrust both through his belt. Tanis tossed his quiver of arrows over one shoulder, slung the long strap supporting his short sword scabbard over the other shoulder, and picked up his bow, rubbing the oiled leather grip and the smooth wooden curves. Tas snatched up his hoopak and dagger and stuffed several slices and chunks of Cele’s delicious bread into his pouches. In moments, all were ready.

  Nanda instructed Tanis, Tas, and Flint to step to the door. One phaethon stepped up behind each and wrapped his arms around his passenger. Then, before anyone had time to protest or panic, all three phaethons leaned forward and pushed themselves and their living cargo off the platform. Air whistled past Tas’s ears and locks of his own hair flapped in his face as he plummeted toward the ground, then heard the distinctive whoosh of the phaethon’s wings igniting and felt his weight pressing against the flyer’s arms as they leveled off. As much as Tasslehoff wanted to rescue Selana, he hoped Balcombe’s lair was a long way off.

  Chapter 17

  Blu

  Selana awoke to the smell of burning dung, flames fanning her face. Still, she shivered from a cool dampness. Her blue-green eyes, dulled from exhaustion, fluttered open, then widened in astonishment.

  The sea elf was alone, propped up on the dirt floor of a large, rectangular cavern lit by only the low-burning stick-and-dung fire smoldering in its center. The ceiling was low for a cavern so large, perhaps only twelve feet high. In the dim light she could barely discern the outlines of narrow openings to the far left and far right of her field of vision.

  Where am I? she wondered. The last thing I remember is swimming … in some ice-cold water … I cut myself … and returned to elven form.

  Selana winced as she remembered the hideous gash in her left arm—she had fainted from pain and exposure to the elements. She was surprised to realize the wound no longer ached. Had she been unconscious long enough to heal? She tried to touch the wound, to explore its extent, but discovered she could not move her hands.

  Only then did Selana become aware of the feel of cool, weighty metal on her wrists. She saw that her arms were gripped by manacles on two-foot lengths of linked chain, attached to the rough pink granite walls. She had a hazy recollection of hallucinating about a stone minotaur, vibrant red veins defining its humanoid body and brutish bull’s head. Had the creature been real? Something had brought her here. Where was it now?

  Selana twisted futilely, relieved, at least, that the chains allowed her to stand. She wished to the gods she could make sense of her circumstances, but she could recall nothing after huddling among the rocks near the stream. Her injured arm was cured through some means, but every muscle in her body ached.

  Suddenly the sea elf heard a heavy scraping, dragging sound from the narrow opening to the left, accompanied by low, gutteral muttering. Her heart jumped in fear. With her hands restricted, she felt horribly vulnerable and cast about for a way to defend herself. All she could do was kick her feet, and not very far at that. The first syllables of a protection spell echoed through her mind, but she was too drained to remember the entire incantation.

  The scraping-shuffling sound stopped and a huge head poked out of the opening and looked about, squinting in the dim light. A black-eyed gaze locked on Selana. The creature crept forward.

  The sea elf could see that the thing was an enormous humanoid—a giant. Crawling on its knees in the tunnel, it was so large it could barely squeeze through the opening. Even in the larger cavern it was unable to stand to its full height and was forced to squat. Selana guessed it must have stood at least sixteen feet high and weighed several thousand pounds. It waddled toward the sea elf slowly in an awkward, swiveling gait, its long arms dragging on the ground. The sea elf cringed instinctively, but the giant stopped some five feet in front of her, as the cave pitched down sharply and the giant could not move in closer.

  She could see enough now to realize it was a male giant. On his haunches, he regarded the pale-skinned sea elf, an enormous gap-toothed smile illuminating his light brown face and coal-black eyes. His frontal lobe sloped down to a thick, p
ointy brow bone. The muscles in his stooped shoulders and neck looked like corded rope and were thicker than she was wide. Selana became aware of the stench of rotted food and filth, though whether from his unwashed person, his blackened teeth, or the matted hides he wore as clothing, she could not be sure. She breathed shallowly through her mouth to keep from being sick.

  The sea elf princess knew little about giants, other than that there were many different kinds, just as there were many races of elves.

  “Eat,” he rumbled suddenly, pushing forward a chipped plate that looked like a child’s toy in his massive, calloused hand. His nails were cracked and bleeding in spots, limned with dirt.

  Selana regarded the pieces of unidentified roasted meat, charred bones protruding, unsure of what to do. She had no free hands with which to feed herself, even if she was inclined to eat something unknown and unidentifiable. Although she was starving, the princess of the Dargonesti elves was not about to press her face to the plate like an animal.

  The giant sensed her hesitation. “Not eat, Blu get in trouble,” he grunted, struggling with the words. “Blacome not let Blu go.”

  Balcombe! The sea elf was both frightened and excited at the thought that she had unwittingly stumbled upon the mage’s refuge in the mountains.

  “Is that your name? Blu?” she asked the giant.

  He nodded, revealing his decaying teeth.

  “And you work for Balcombe?” she pressed.

  The creature seemed to search his immense skull for the answer. “Blacome say if Blu find many shiny rocks in hole—” he pointed to the opening from which he’d come—“Blacome will make Blu teeny-tiny to get out of cave and back to hill giant home.” As if to demonstrate, he pulled a large, jagged rock from the depths of his filthy skins; amidst the chunk of ordinary mineral was a dull, rosy streak of glasslike stone—a ruby in the rough.

  “How long have you been mining gems for Balcombe?”

  The giant shrugged his sloping shoulders. “Blacome bring baby Blu here very big time ago to work. Blu get stones, meanotars bring food. Blu work hard, but he bad and get many big.” The giant’s face drooped, and he slapped himself on the head angrily. “Now stuck.” Blu looked at her forlornly. “Blu missing home, other hill giant friends.”

  “Where is Balcombe now?” she asked abruptly.

  Blu shrugged again and looked toward the opening to the right. “He come from there. Sometime Blu hear things,” he said, pointing to the stretch of cave wall opposite them, between the left and right openings.

  Of course, she said to herself. The giant is too large to leave this cavern and knows nothing about what exists beyond it, except for vague memories of his home. She chose her next words carefully for maximum impact on the dull-witted giant.

  “It wasn’t your fault that you got trapped in here, Blu. Balcombe lied to you, to keep you working. He uses the gems you mine to trap souls—” Too complicated, she thought—“to do very bad things. Right now he’s using one of the gems you found to do something very bad to a human squire. The squire is trapped inside the gem, and Balcombe is going to give him to an evil god in exchange for, well—” She would never be able to sufficiently explain what Balcombe was doing, she decided.

  Selana changed her approach. “He’s an evil magician,” she said staunchly, trying to hold the giant’s gaze. “He puts people inside the gems and never lets them go.”

  “They can’t get out? Blu can’t get out, too. But Blacome let me out many soon, when Blu work good and find many stones.”

  “No, he won’t,” Selana said, shaking her head. “He never intends to let you go, Blu. In the end, he’ll kill you, too.”

  Blu’s eyes darkened with anger and he shook his head mutely. “Blacome good.”

  “He’s an evil wizard!” she pressed, struggling against the manacles. “Why else would I be here, with my hands chained?”

  “Blacome say mean woman.”

  The frail sea-elf held her arms as wide as the chains would allow. “Do I look like I could hurt someone as big as Balcombe?”

  Confused, the giant waddled backward, pounding his own head and sobbing.

  “Blu,” she said gently but firmly, “I can help you. If you’ll just let me loose, I’ll set you free. You won’t have to work anymore in the dark, and you can see your family again.” She held her wrists out toward him. “Just do it, Blu.” Heart thumping, she looked toward the entrance to the right. “Quickly!”

  Blu was highly agitated. He pounded his head against the cavern ceiling and whined to himself. He reached for Selana’s neck, as if he meant to snap it like a chicken’s. Her breath caught in her throat, and she told herself that dying in the giant’s immense hands would be a far better fate than whatever the mage had planned for her. At the last second, though, the indecisive Blu stepped back, sobbing in confusion, and planted his huge, thick toes smack into the fire. His stunned yelp reverberated through the cavern.

  Abruptly his long face froze, and he cocked his head to the side, listening for something. His eyes filled with fear. “They come!” he cried. Wheeling on his knees, he fled, feet smoking, down the tunnel from which he had come.

  Not knowing what to expect, Selana looked to the entrance to the right. Seconds after Blu had fled, she heard a thumping noise, then two minotaurs stepped into the room. They were white from horns to toes and covered with networks of pulsing red veins.

  The beasts approached her mechanically, looking neither to the right nor the left. She realized they were not animals at all, but magical constructions of stone called golems. They walked directly toward her with outstretched arms, stone eyes unblinking. As the first closed in, Selana mustered her courage and strength and planted her right foot on its stomach and pushed with all her might. The golem did not budge, but seized Selana and pinned her arms firmly. The other construct grasped the chains in its fists and pulled them apart as easily as Selana might have broken a thread.

  The automaton holding Selana slung her over its shoulder, face down, with one arm wrapped firmly around her legs.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “Where are you taking me? Let me go!” She kicked and pounded its back, but her blows had no effect other than bruising herself. The minotaur carried her down the tunnel to a roughly circular chamber. Selana watched in disbelief as the beings turned and strode straight toward a blank section of wall. Just when she thought they would collide with the rock, they passed right through it and she found herself in another tunnel.

  As they marched down the passage, Selana noticed a faint illumination that grew slowly until she and her escorts reached the entrance to another chamber. This one was a far cry from Blu’s squalid, unfinished cavern. The walls of the egg-shaped chamber were polished rosy granite. Spiraling pillars, apparently natural features of the cavern, reached from floor to ceiling around the perimeter; a torch flickered in a sconce on each. The ceiling was highest in the center and sloped down at all ends of the “egg.” At the farthest point of the room an elaborate pedestal table had been chiseled from the mountain granite.

  The golem carried her to the center of the chamber and set her on her feet.

  “Hello, my magical little mouse.”

  The dreaded deep baritone was oily with conceit. Selana closed her eyes in defeat for a moment before she followed the voice to the right.

  The mage stepped out from behind a pillar. He wore black robes now instead of red, and the ram’s-skull cap was missing from his head. A black silk patch covered his hideously scarred eye socket.

  “Welcome to my—hmm,” he paused, searching for the right word.

  “Lair?” she spat, struggling to control the quiver in her voice. “I see you’ve decided to stop mocking the red robes. At last you’re wearing a color more suited to your vile nature.”

  His laughter was throaty and staccato as he walked up to her slowly. The heels of his boots clicked against the cold, smooth stone floor and echoed in the rigid chamber. “I would think a woman in your tenuou
s position might speak a little more deferentially,” he said smoothly. His thumbless hand reached out to touch her tattered clothing; his fingers lingered on the pulse that throbbed in the hollow of her pale neck. Aghast, the sea elf princess pulled away. Balcombe only smiled.

  “You might almost be presentable, with some soap and water and a decent gown,” he said, eyeing her slight form in the torn clothing. “Actually, the rags are almost alluring, in a primitive sort of way.”

  Selana shrank back but could not evade his sight or his probing hands.

  “You have not thanked me for healing your wound,” the mage said, his fingertips trying to trace the outline of the new pink scar on the inside of her left upper arm. She wrenched away, but the motion was clumsy and painful because of the weight of the short lengths of chain still dangling from her wrists. Balcombe only laughed again, which made Selana shake with silent fury.

  He paced before her, his shaved head bent in thought, his hands tucked into the bell-shaped sleeves of his black robe. “Of great curiosity to me is the fact that I still do not know the identity or the fate of your friend and fellow mouse, the little kender.” He watched her closely. “Or your name … Princess.” He was greatly satisfied to see her jump.

  His thick red lips pulled back into a smile. “An educated guess on my part, one I’m gratified to see is true. The spell I cast to analyze your bracelet told me much about it and, by inference, about you. Most interesting was its elven origin, though at that time I could not identify the kingdom. That, of course, became more clear as soon as I saw you without your scarf and cloak.”

  Balcombe stood just out of her reach and pushed back the sleeve of his right hand, revealing the copper bracelet. He tilted it toward the low flames. “Lovely, the way the amber gems catch the firelight, isn’t it? It is only a bauble to me, really, but I shall enjoy owning such a beautiful piece of work—the gray-haired dwarf’s, I presume? It’s unfortunate that such a skilled artisan won’t be crafting any more.” Balcombe’s sleek pate shook slowly in mock mourning.