“Go on then,” said Jaspa. “Just keep your back to the light, we’re right behind you.”
As they walked deeper into the cave, Jaspa directed them past smaller openings branching off either side and above their heads. Hurn stopped, sniffing the air.
Jaspa held the torch aloft, peering down the winding tunnel. “What do you see?”
“See nothing. Smell something.”
Elrin sniffed the air too, but smelt nothing. “What is it?” He felt a deep unease standing still in the darkness.
“Don’t know.”
Jaspa opened his map, examining it in the torchlight. “We just have to stay with the biggest tunnel. Let’s take this slow. Ready your weapons; who knows what dark creatures lurk in these caverns. If you pick up the smell again, signal a stop.”
Hurn sniffed the air, planting each step with a caution Elrin had never seen in the ogre. They crept in the darkness for a long time with only the sound of their footfalls on the smooth stone floor and the crackling of the torch flame. The tunnel grew higher and wider, weaving and bending like a restless river. Elrin had lost all sense of direction and depth. They could be under the sea for all he knew or somewhere in the great shield wall of the caldera.
The tunnel swelled in size, their movements echoing from distant walls, the torchlight could not reach. A breeze shuddered over Elrin’s skin, chilling the sweat from the tunnel hike and tightening his nerves. It carried an acrid metallic scent, like blood and bile.
The ill wind knocked Hurn to his knees, where he cowered on the floor. The odour itself was not alone. Fear hung over them, petrifying the air. Delik and Jaspa tucked into Hurn, all three trembling with an incapacitating panic.
Elrin clutched at his dagger. The fear thickened, but it didn’t break him. It flirted with his mind then redirected into worry for his friends. “Don’t panic, there’s nothing here.”
No one would respond. Hurn was the worst affected, burying his head under his hands, face to the cold stone ground. Delik and Jaspa were wide-eyed like spooked horses. Jaspa had dropped the torch when he ran to Hurn. It made their shadows leap about, crazed elongated demons clutching at Hurn, an immovable trembling boulder.
Elrin sat with them, stroked them and tried to ease their terror with reassuring words. In a final effort, Elrin grabbed Delik and shook him, then slapped him across the face.
Delik snapped back, his eyes settling on Elrin, the haze lifted. “What happened?”
“You’re all cursed.”
Elrin shook and slapped Jaspa next.
Delik pushed Elrin away. “Go easy!”
“I did the same to you, now help me with these two. There was a spell, some magic in the wind.”
Once roused from the inexplicable fear, Jaspa decided they should rest. None of them comprehended their actions, their memory marred.
“Can’t any of you remember?” asked Elrin. “Hurn, you tucked yourself up like a giant tortoise and you two were scampering about like kobolds on fire.”
“There’s no wizard come to finish us off,” chuckled Delik. “We must have triggered a ward. Does the map have any detail about what might be protecting the choir?”
The fallen torch sputtered and failed, leaving them encased in pitch black.
“Pass me another, Delik,” called Jaspa.
There was a ruffling from Delik’s direction. “I don’t have another.”
Jaspa huffed. “Anyone?”
Elrin had none in his pack. “You’ve already used the one I had.”
“Hurn?”
“Mine here.”
There was a bump and the clang of a tin falling on the stone floor.
“Ona’s arse!”
“Don’t tell us that was the tinderbox,” said Delik.
“Hang on,” said Jaspa. “I’ve got the steel.”
“Let me help,” said Delik. “Feel about for the flint. That’s what we need.”
“Argh! That’s my finger!”
“Well then, don’t put it under my foot!”
“Shut up you two,” said Elrin, his eyes adjusting to the dark. “Can you see those faint lights up ahead?”
“Many, many stars,” said Hurn. “Still night.”
“The flint could be anywhere,” said Elrin. “Let’s follow Hurn. He can see better than us even if we got the torch lit.”
“Right then, you lead Hurn. Unwind a loop of your rope and we’ll hold on. Keep an eye out for a big hole up ahead, we must be close.”
Hurn led them toward the stars. The tunnel opened into a great arching cavern roof with stalactites hanging like immense chandeliers. The points of light were not stars; there was no moon, no constellations.
Hurn brought them to a halt, sweeping his arms wide to stop them falling. The cavern dropped away into a deep darkness below them, swallowing the soft light from the multitude of glowing things on the cavern roof.
Elrin gaped. “This place is amazing!”
In the centre of the cavern an enormous stalagmite rose out of the darkness and met a stalactite from above. The column shimmered with blinking points of light, shedding form in the darkness.
“See where the big dripper from the top meets the rising mound from below,” said Jaspa. “That’s where the choir must be kept.”
“How in the hells do we get over there?” asked Delik.
“That’s why I got the rope.”
“What’s Hurn got there? Sixty yards? Where’s the rest?”
“There’s no scale on the map. How could I know it was so bloody big?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a scout around first might have nailed it.”
“Kobb never availed me of much free time to roam about.”
“Would you two quit bickering!” Elrin peered over the edge into the darkness. “Why don’t we test the depth of the pit first?”
“That’s the spirit, lad,” said Jaspa. “No point whinging about what we don’t have, let’s use what we do.”
“Oh, very nice,” said Delik. “Takes me back, that does. Any other gems you want to polish on my pocket?”
Elrin had heard enough of their pointless arguments. “Do either of you really know what the choir is? You talk about it like it’s something you can stuff in you backpack and toddle off with, but a choir is more than one thing. What if the column is the choir? What if the column is actually a magical resonance device of some sort, like a pipe organ or something?”
Jaspa tied a rope end around one of the used up torches. “The descriptions I have read speak of the choir calling dragons to order and to union, lest they forget, lost in their own importance. The beasts are vein creatures in love with their own company, lusting after knowledge, seeking only power and wealth. Yoni placed the choir here after he defeated Drensel Tath, the evil king of all dragons. I thought it to be an instrument of sorts, a magical harp or a lute. Yoni’s always depicted with an instrument, serenading one maiden or another. I thought finding it would tell us for sure.”
Elrin knew the legends of Yoni and the Dragon King; every child knew the story. Every bard sung of their epic battles. None of that had anything to do with a choir. “Why call it a choir if somebody plays it? Choirs aren’t played, they sing.”
“So the wind might sing through the column and call the dragons,” said Delik. “Maybe when the season changes. When the trade winds shift, they might funnel through these tunnels and sound the choir. No one needs to play anything. The choir works naturally.”
“That must be it,” said Elrin. “But how do I get winds to blow through the column early?”
They were quiet, kind in their silence, not saying what Elrin had known all along.
“I’m not the Key am I? Minni was wrong about me. We need to get back and break out Amber.”
Elrin hung his head, feeling useless again. Hurn stood with him in the strange phosphorescent glow of the false stars. His massive hand patted Elrin’s shoulder, the solid assurance a welcome comfort.
Delik and Jaspa bickered a
bout how best to break Amber out. Elrin drowned in bleak thoughts, his eyes moist with silent bittersweet tears. He didn’t need the burden of prophecy to help his father, so why did he feel so low? No one depended on him now. He had his own quest, yet he wanted to be the Key to Minni’s. If he wasn’t the Key, would Minni still have him in her heart?
A breeze rose up from the dark pit, cooling Elrin’s wet cheeks. Next a gust of wind whipped up, buffeting them away from the edge of the precipice. Jaspa and Delik ceased their argument.
From the bottom of the wide shaft something huge was moving. It sounded like boulders dragging across a riverbed. There was a scratching rattle, a great thump of something very large shifting its weight. Then came a deep taught clap of sound like a mainsail catching a solid wind after a dull spell. Blind to what befell them, great gusts battered the companions to the ground as though a fleet of ships coursed overhead with a score of dwarves carving and scraping at the stone walls. The gale howled down through the labyrinth of passageways.
Delik, Jaspa and Hurn were lost in the same terror that caught them before. They crushed their heads down against the rock and tucked their arms over their heads. Elrin was scared, but didn’t panic, transfixed by the gargantuan shadows writhing across the walls. They crawled and slithered, twisting around the column in the centre of the cavern, blotting out the shallow glow from above.
A burst of light flashed out from the centre of the column. Elrin shut his eyes, but the light was just as intense. A warm tingle passed over his body and the light faded to a golden haze, emanating from the centre of the column. Delik, Hurn and Jaspa got to their feet as the fear stripped away, mesmerised by six shining figures standing around the column’s light.
A voice boomed across the chasm like a wave crashing ashore. It was liquid in his mind, slipping around in his skull. First it rolled around like a pearl in a porcelain dish then it fused in place, solidified in cognizance.
Be silent.
The voice knew no language, it had only meaning and context. There was no room for misunderstanding. There could be no error in the communion. It was like the voice of a god.
Stone bloomed from the central column. A great arm of rock reached across the darkness, bridging the divide.
Approach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dragon Choir
They were compelled across the stone bridge, the voice so intense in their minds that the word rooted in an unavoidable reality.
Six figures stood before six thrones; an undanae, an orc, an elf, an akiri, a human and a muden. Such an unlikely council of disparate beings astounded Elrin. Surely they must control the Dragon Choir, but how did they reconcile their enmity. The young Calimskan’s readings of history proved the only things shared by all these nations were wars and transgressions, the blood spilt in ancient feuds and territorial disputes. Humans traded while orcs raided. The bird-like akiri guarded wind scoured mountaintop fortresses. The muden patrolled inland rivers and marshes, defending crannogs deep in the wilderness. While elves venerated the sun and knew the secrets of life, undanae claimed the night and manipulated death. Across the many lands of Oranica these nations had breached the borders and beliefs of the other, yet here in the belly of a rock, in the middle of the ocean, they held sway together.
Explain your intent.
The six figures sat down on their thrones. Elrin could not decide which of the figures was the speaker. There was no obvious leader among them, nor did any move their lips. Together they exuded an aura, filling Elrin with both terror and elation. His body felt heavy and his will stretched thin, drawn to them.
Jaspa stepped forward to explain. “We have come to use the Dragon Choir.” Jaspa’s voice was muted, a distant obscurity against the presence of the voice.
From a throne of smoky pink quartz, inlaid with iron, ivory and shell, the orc spoke. “Who are you to use the choir?” Her charcoal tones echoed through the cavern. Though the orc’s voice was not at all pleasant, it was real. Much better than the compelling power of the anonymous voice.
“I am Jaspa Scrambletoe. This is my son Del—”
The undanae tittered, disturbing the air with dark derision, his pale moon blue skin and saucer eyes a shock against the black of his onyx throne. “I do believe my dear sister was attempting sarcasm. We know your name. We know many things. Yet we know not how you propose to use the Dragon Choir? This you must tell us.”
Jaspa turned to the others for help.
Delik stepped forward. “We would send a mighty wind and have the choir sing.”
The guardians laughed and the chamber shook with their mirth.
“Glorious!” The undanae scarcely contained his glee. “Where might such a wind arise?”
The human stood from a golden throne, his purple robes flew about like a storm and lightning arced around him. He thrust an accusing finger at the undanae. “Enough Zarkas! You waste our time with your petty amusements.”
The elf woman peered down her nose at them from her silver throne, green silk and steel scalemail hugging her lithe body. She swept her arms wide in introduction. “We are the Dragon Choir.”
They were so naive; no wonder the derision. The rebellion hoped for an object of great magic to wield against the Jandans, but now Delik and Jaspa could only wield sullen faces. Their mistake would cost them the whole campaign. Elrin wouldn’t let fate laugh his own quest into oblivion. There must be a way, if he could just persuade the choir to aid them, all would be well.
Hurn had a different notion, booming his doubt into the faces of the powers before them. “You not choir, choir sings. What you sing?”
Elrin cringed as Hurn stomped across his hope for a diplomatic plea for aid.
The muden, reclining on a throne encrusted in coloured pearls, spoke with a voice like a stream over smooth stones. “There is much here that is beyond you.” Amphibious eyes blinked atop her head, then her fleshy, half naked body quivered into motion. With lightning speed, the muden’s wet webbed hands levelled a trident at Hurn. “Do not call our words to question. Our songs weave life and death for mortals.”
A drip of doubt fell, stirring faint ripples in Elrin’s mind. He clutched his dagger’s hilt for reassurance. It gave him none, instead granting him eyes that shattered the illusion of the choir.
“Dragons!” Elrin’s thought spilled upon his tongue and his voice tolled like the tower bell at season’s first shadow.
With that word came a light; the truth. A flash of clarity exposed the company they kept. The heads of six great dragons lurked over them, teeth like racks of swords, eyes like the masters of the five hells. Their size was difficult to comprehend in the flash, most of their bodies were out of view in the darkness of the pit, though they must have been ancient wyrms; larger than any dragon Elrin had ever seen flying over Calimska. Bigger than any story he heard tell from braggart or bard.
In that momentary vision, the image of each monstrous head affirmed Elrin’s fragile mortality. Each one was a different death; different colours, spines and plates, feathers, fur and scale. All with claws, fangs and unsettling appetite in their eyes. The instant passed, yet the image was forever seen, seared in his memory.
“How interesting,” said the elf in the elegant armour, studying Elrin. Her voice was honey on ice, sweetness hardened by winter.
The orc slammed her fist down and rose from her throne. She was the most imposing of all of the guardians, black iron plate and bone armoured the warrior’s frame, the skin of a great brown bear cloaked her shoulders. Her rage flared and she stormed toward the man in the purple robes. “He shows clarity! Here! We should—”
The man in the purple robes cut her off, his voice quiet and cool, yet strong as the sun. “We should do the same.”
From the throne of opal the akiri trilled, calling the attention of the Choir. His shrewd eyes flicked between the robed man and the orc, his curved beak clicked together, chastising them like a tutting mother. “Come now, sit down. Let this be done.
”
They returned to their thrones and the undanae pierced each with a barbed smile.
The akiri sat forward on his throne, adjusting his wings in a splash of blue, orange and violet, flexing the banded leather armour over his barrel chest. His voice lanced out, as sharp as the spear resting across his beanpole legs. “You have come. You are before us as you wished. What would you have us do?”
Jaspa was silent, paralysed by fear, or failure. Delik stood beside him with a hand on his father’s shoulder. He would speak for the group. “We ask that you sing for the dragons return.”
“Why would we call them before they are due?” asked the undanae, his eyes even wider than usual.
“Why would we alter our vigil on your whim?” sneered the orc.
“We are to battle the Jandan armada. They sail here as we speak. They come with murderous intent. They want this place ... They come for the treasure.”
Each of the choir shifted on their thrones, discomforted by Delik’s implication.
The akiri twisted his head on an awkward angle, crossing his arms. “You know this? Or you think this?”
“I know they come to this place. I know their leader. He is hungry for power no matter the cost. The magical treasures here would make him very powerful.”
The choir was silent, though the silence was thick, heated by the friction of an unheard argument.
The orc jabbed her finger at Delik. “Your words are deceptive. We will not sing.”
Delik sank, desperation flooding his words. “Pelegrin must be stopped. He’ll sap your hoard and come for you next. You have to destroy the armada.”
The undanae fumed. “You do not make demands of us! Why do you care if they come here for our treasure? Do you want it? If any mortal takes from these hoards, they will face our wrath. We don’t need your pathetic, self-serving warnings. We shall not sing for you or any other mortal.”
The muden stamped the butt of her trident on the ground. “We sing for the weave.”
The man in purple robes agreed. “We shall not sing early and disturb the balance.”
“No, we shall not sing,” said the elf. “However, I would hear more of these Jandans ... more of the truth.”
Dragon Choir Page 25