The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Thirty-seven

  he sun was high overhead by the time Bryn returned from surveying the road ahead. In the Groc’s absence, Jayson had deftly skinned and cleaned the warboar. A large piece of it was now roasting over a generous fire.

  “Did you scout the area?” asked Jayson.

  Bryn eyed the warboar hungrily. “I want some,” he said.

  “Not until you give your report.”

  Bryn scowled. “I never agreed to be your slave,” he snapped.

  “What did you find out there?”

  “Nothing,” said Bryn, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest.

  Jayson reached out and sliced a chunk from the warboar and dangled it in front of Bryn. Bryn snatched it and tore off a piece with his pointy teeth.

  “Now,” said Jayson, “tell me what you found.”

  Bryn finished his meat and licked his fingertips. “There is a hill not a mile up the road, and not far from that a canyon. But I won’t go back there,” he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground and pointing his chin toward the sky. “You can’t make me.”

  Jayson turned to Marcus and Kelvin. “Shall we have a look? In the meantime, Bryn, you can gather berries for lunch,” he said, taking Marcus’s satchel and handing it to Bryn. “Put them in this.”

  Bryn held up the bag indignantly and pinched his nose with his fingers. “Grocs have a keen sense of smell, and this smells bad!”

  * * *

  Jayson, Marcus, and Kelvin walked the mile to the hill in silence. They ascended it cautiously. As they neared the top, they crawled the rest of the way and peered over the crest. Below them in a deep canyon, hundreds of creatures unlike Marcus had ever before seen were laboring in what appeared to be some sort of mine. The creatures were shaped like men, with agile arms, legs, a head and torso, but a fine fur covered their bodies, and thick manes of it grew on their heads. Their faces were almost catlike, though more human than cat, and their fingers were short and tipped in sharp claws. Most of the cat-men dug against the canyon walls with heavy picks. Others loaded large chunks of earth into wagons, while still others pulled the wagons to a central pile and unloaded them. Scattered among them were large, muscular human guards bearing leather whips.

  “What are they?” asked Marcus.

  “Agorans,” said Jayson. “It seems his Lordship has recruited my people to mine Celestine.”

  “Slavery is outlawed in Quendel—and in all the villages east of the Jeweled Mountains,” said Kelvin.

  “And in Dokur as well, but I see things have changed since I’ve been away. Come. We should go before we are seen.”

  Jayson started down the hill, but Marcus called out to him. “We can’t leave them like this!”

  “Your heroism is honorable, but we can do nothing for them.”

  “We could fight those guards.”

  “Yes, and we would die,” said Jayson. “What good would that do anyone? You obviously did not see the other guards stationed at the base of the canyon, the ones with broadswords strapped about their waists. If you want to help the Agorans, then we must get to Dokur. If we do not arrive in time, everyone—slave and free—will die.”

  Kelvin and Jayson crawled back down the hill, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. Marcus lingered behind. Directly below him a guard whipped a young Agoran boy. The youth cowered on the ground and cried out in pain with each stroke of the whip. Marcus could hardly bear to watch. Then an idea struck him. So far he had manipulated heat and water. What if he could control solid elements? He took Zyll’s key from his pocket and held it against a large boulder at the edge of the canyon.

  As he began to think of what word he should utter, Xerxes interrupted him. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked.

  Fall? Break free? Tumble down? The words raced through Marcus’s mind. “I’m trying to loosen this boulder,” he replied.

  “Do you mean to drop it on one of those men’s heads?” Xerxes’ voice was reproachful, like a nagging mother. “Surely you remember Zyll’s caution. To use magic in such a way is just inviting trouble.”

  “It’s only a rock,” said Marcus. “I managed the fog just fine. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you?” replied Xerxes.

  Marcus closed his eyes and concentrated. One word, he told himself. I only need one word. But before he could form one in his mind, the boulder began to tremble beneath his hand. He had expected the key to grow hot like before, but this time he noticed that it wasn’t so much the key as his own palm that radiated heat. He didn’t have time to think about it, however. Within moments the boulder shook loose and plummeted into the canyon below.

  The cries stopped. Marcus looked down and saw the boy gaping wide-eyed at the stone and at the injured guard reeling in pain beside it. The stone had landed nearly on top of him.

  Marcus brushed off his hands, pleased with himself. But then he noticed the earth beneath him had begun to shift. Small chunks of dirt broke away, falling into the canyon. There was a loud crack, and the section of the cliff where he stood broke away. He barely had time to jump to safety before it hurtled down into the canyon.

  “Well, maybe now you’ll listen to my advice,” scolded Xerxes. “I intend to tell Zyll about this fiasco!”

  Marcus glanced over the still-unsteady ledge, fearful that he may have inadvertently injured a slave. Luckily, after the first boulder landed, the Agorans had cleared the area, but even so, Marcus cursed himself for being so careless.

  Thirty-eight

  he afternoon air had grown thick and humid, and the slight breeze gave no relief. Jayson and Kelvin walked along the roadside aware that Marcus had chosen to remain behind a while longer. After several minutes, the silence between them felt as unpleasant as the air.

  “Our journey is going well, don’t you think?” asked Jayson, swatting a gnat away from his face. “Or do you wish I hadn’t joined you on this expedition?”

  Kelvin shifted his crossbow from his right shoulder to his left and took a drink of water from his water skin. “I am going to Dokur to fulfill my quest,” he said, replacing the stopper. “That you have decided to come along is of no consequence to me.”

  “I did save your life, you know.”

  “For which I am grateful.”

  “Then why do you dislike me so much?”

  Kelvin cast Jayson a sideways glance. The ground beneath his feet was hard and rutted. He tripped once, kicking up a cloud of dust. “I don’t dislike you,” he said.

  “But . . .” coaxed Jayson with a mischievous smile.

  “But I do resent the way you’ve manipulated Marcus into trusting you. I know there’s some secret he’s keeping from the rest of us. I think it has to do with Ivanore.”

  Jayson’s smile faded. They continued for several minutes without speaking.

  When Kelvin spoke again, it was with calm restraint. “Did you kidnap Ivanore?”

  “Is that what you believe?” asked Jayson. They were nearing the area where they had left Bryn earlier. The road bent slightly, and as they walked along it, Jayson kept his eyes to the ground.

  “It’s what most people believe, isn’t it,” said Kelvin, “that an Agoran half-breed took her hostage against her will?”

  Jayson turned and grabbed Kelvin by the front of his shirt.

  “That is a lie!” he shouted. “I love Ivanore! I always will!” His eyes burned with rage, but Kelvin was not deterred.

  “You broke the law. Can you deny it?”

  When Jayson’s eyes met Kelvin’s, the anger within him quickly subsided. Jayson released Kelvin and turned away. “No,” he said. “I cannot deny it.”

  “Then how can you continue using Marcus for your own selfish purposes? How can you, in good conscience, allow him to believe you are his friend and ally?”

  Kelvin waited for an answer, but there was none. Instead Jayson’s eyes scanned the field beyond the bend, and then his gaze dropped once more to the road. “Something is wrong here,” he said.
“I can feel it.”

  Thirty-nine

  arcus eased his way down the hill and walked back the way he had come. By the time he reached the bend in the road he felt exhausted—drained of all energy.

  “Are you all right?” Kelvin asked as Marcus approached. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine,” replied Marcus, sprawling out on the grass beside the road. “Where’s Bryn?”

  “He’s gone. We only found this when we returned.” Kelvin handed Marcus his satchel half full with berries.

  Marcus forced himself back to his feet. His strength was returning. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called for the Groc. “Bryn! Bryn!” No answer came. “Maybe he went back into the woods for more berries,” he suggested.

  Through narrowed eyes, Jayson searched the road and the trees that lined it. “Perhaps,” he agreed, though the tone of his voice suggested he did not fully accept that explanation—yet he offered no other.

  Marcus picked up a handful of berries and weighed them in his palm. “Should we wait for him to come back?”

  Kelvin drew an arrow from his quiver and prepared his bow.

  “What are you doing?” asked Marcus, his voice dropping to a whisper. An uneasiness crept over him, and he felt like a gazelle preparing to bolt at the scent of an unseen predator. Standing in the open road with a wide, flat field on one side and a small grove of trees on the other, he longed for the protection of the Jeweled Mountains. He noticed Jayson’s hand twitch nervously as it rested against his sword. He drew his own blade from Xerxes’ sheath and held it ready in front of him.

  The air was nearly still. Only the slightest breeze brushing through the dry grass of the plain broke the silence. Like a sudden explosion, four galloping horses burst through the trees. With not a moment to think, Marcus dove into the high grass behind him as a blur of hooves flew past, missing him by mere inches. He rolled to the right and jumped to his feet. At the same moment, Jayson managed to snag the leg of a passing rider with his claws. The rider hit the ground hard but wasted no time in drawing his sword. He wore thick leather armor on his chest. In his left hand he held a round shield painted red with a yellow cross. Jayson’s sword came down on it with a sharp clang. The guard struggled to his feet, and they continued their conflict.

  The other three riders were dressed like the first and carried the same patterned shields. One sat in his saddle moaning in pain, an arrow jutting out of his left shoulder. Another had dismounted and now grappled with Kelvin on the ground. Marcus did not wait to see where the fourth rider had gone. He ran toward Kelvin, roaring like a wild animal, and buried the point of his sword between the shoulder blades of the guard. The injured guard screamed and stumbled forward, reaching his hands behind his back in an effort to remove the object embedded there. The second guard snapped off the arrow from his shoulder and also dismounted. Fear swelled inside Marcus. He was now without a weapon, and even if he did have one, he was no match for the muscular brute that stood before him.

  Raising his broadsword, the guard bared his teeth in a sinister grimace. Marcus thought to run, but in an instant the guard bolted forward, his sword readied to sever Marcus’s head from his body. Just as he took his first step, however, his face contorted. He stopped where he stood, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell face first to the ground, an arrow stuck in his back. Kelvin was on his knees in the center of the road, his bow still ready and his chest heaving.

  Marcus noticed, too, that the guard that had been fighting with Jayson now lay motionless in the grass. A stream of blood stained Jayson’s sleeve.

  “Where did those riders come from? Who were they?” asked Marcus.

  “Fredric’s scouts,” replied Jayson.

  Marcus jerked his sword from the now-dead guard’s back and cleaned it on the grass. “There were four of them.”

  “The last one escaped,” said Jayson. He examined the shallow gash above his right elbow. “He had Bryn with him.”

  Kelvin rose to his feet, still gasping for breath. “What will happen to him?” he asked.

  “All Grocs are felons in Dokur,” answered Jayson. “He’ll be executed.”

  Kelvin turned to Marcus, outrage in his face. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Why didn’t you use your magic? We were nearly killed! And Bryn’s been taken captive!”

  “I-I couldn’t think. It happened too fast,” stammered Marcus. During the conflict the thought of using magic as a defense had never entered his mind. “I’m sorry” were the only words he could think of to say.

  “Sorry can’t heal wounds,” said Kelvin bitterly. “And it won’t bring Bryn back!”

  His words ended abruptly as his gaze traveled downward to Marcus’s chest.

  “What is this?” he said. Marcus realized too late what Kelvin now saw. Kelvin snatched the pendant in his hand and jerked it free. As the leather cord snapped, a sharp pain shot through Marcus’s neck. No more words were said. The betrayed expression on Kelvin’s face said it all.

  TRUTH REVEALED

  Forty

  ight again, and Marcus’s sleep was shallow and restless. The darkness pressed in on him as before, suffocating him. He struggled against it, tried to push back the memories into the depths where he had kept them for so long. But they returned now against his will.

  There was no moon the night Zyll had taken sick. The old man’s body had been racked with fever. Marcus was just a boy of eight years, and he feared for his master’s life.

  Feeling helpless, he asked, “What should I do?”

  “Lemonweed,” whispered Zyll to Marcus through parched lips. “Go to the herbalist and bring me some.”

  Marcus took a candle with him and started across the field separating his cottage from the village, but the night was blustery and the candle blew out. It wasn’t until he reached the trees that he realized he had gone the wrong way.

  Suddenly he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. Only a few yards from where he stood, a warboar grunted and pawed the ground. Marcus turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, screaming as loudly as he could for help. When his foot caught on a broken branch, he fell to the ground. In an instant, the warboar was upon him, slashing at him with its sharp tusks. Marcus could still hear the animal’s breath against his ears even now.

  Just when he was about to give up hope, a light appeared above him. It grew so bright that Marcus had to shield his eyes with his hand. The warboar fled, and Marcus felt the pain within him melt away. I have died, he thought, and this angel has come to take me to heaven.

  All of a sudden, he heard shouts of men coming from the village. They had heard Marcus’s screams and were coming to his aid. As the light of their torches drew near, the angel’s light vanished.

  The villagers carried Marcus to the healer, who patched up his injuries and accompanied him back to his master’s house. But ever since then, Marcus’s sleep had been tormented with nightmares, and he was left with a crippling fear of darkness.

  Marcus awoke trembling, his clothes damp with perspiration. He guessed it was well past midnight by the stars’ positions. He glanced at Kelvin and Jayson sleeping nearby and was relieved to know all was well. He was just closing his eyes again when Xerxes startled him.

  “You’re awake!” said Xerxes, yawning. “Good! We’ve got work to do!”

  “It’s too early,” Marcus protested.

  “Nonsense! Today we learn levitation and transfer—the art of moving solid objects. After the calamity at the mines, you need a little extra training. Now, get up!” he said. “Up! Up! Up!”

  Marcus groaned, but instead of obeying, he tossed his cape over Xerxes’ head, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  The city of Dokur stood atop the crest of a rocky cliff, its watchtower and the spires of the Fortress jutting skyward like a royal crown. The city’s position afforded it absolute protection from those who might wish to attack by land, and the watchtower situated on the shore afforded t
he guards of Dokur the ability to see so far toward the horizon that no ship could get within ten miles of the island without being detected.

  The road to Dokur was steep and narrow, bordered on the left by towering walls of solid granite and on the right by a sheer drop to the valley floor. Marcus crept along while keeping one palm pressed against the rock wall and the other firmly around Xerxes’s head. He tested each step as he went, as though he feared the ground beneath him might, at any moment, give way.

  “You’re slower than a snail!” said Jayson, giving him a gentle shove from behind.

  “Don’t push me!” Marcus shouted. “Do you want me to fall?”

  “You won’t fall. If the road is wide enough for wagons, it is certainly wide enough for you.”

  “Wagons? This trail isn’t wide enough for anything other than lizards and rats! One wrong step and that’s the end of me.”

  “How do you suppose they get their supplies? Merchants travel up this road each morning and down again each evening. Wares from all over the island are brought here for trade. And as far as it being the end of you,” added Jayson with one more shove, “my stomach is in dire need of food, and should you fall, my hunger might very well take precedence over saving your life.”

  Marcus went red in the face as Jayson burst into laughter. Even Xerxes laughed at him, but Kelvin’s brooding silence quickly brought everyone’s laughter to an end.

  The sun was high overhead when the road finally leveled off and Dokur spread out before them like a patchwork quilt. Ahead of them lay the urban center of the city where people gathered for trading and other social events. To the east were farms divided into tidy sections by low rock walls. The residential district occupied the central part of Dokur, while the sea lay to the northwest.

  The streets of the city, paved with cobblestone, were alive with wagons, horses, and people by the hundreds. The town square was the largest Marcus had ever seen, with a grassy area and an immense marble fountain at its center. Stone buildings two and three stories high towered above them, nearly blocking out the sun. At the top of a nearby hill was the Fortress where Lord Fredric governed the affairs of Dokur Province. Marcus had never in his life seen a place so grand as Dokur, and as they walked through the square, he thought he might never want to leave.