Samual

by Greg Curtis

  Heri knew the golden eye was speaking about him – as if he was merely a set of clothes. But he chose not to feel offended when he was staring at an eye the size of a blood bear hanging in mid-air by itself.

  “Because it was available. And he offended me. Besides which, many prayed for his punishment. I was thinking about turning him into a flea. He was already something of a blood sucker. But then I thought that would be too quick. And he could serve me. For a while.”

  “You don't have to answer them you know.”

  “No – you don't have to answer them.” Heri's master emphasised the 'you' somewhat forcefully. “But have you forgotten what happened the last time you stopped paying attention? Your workshops were seized by the grey vermin. The world was almost overrun by the steel armies they built in them. And now they stand poised to try again. Just as I told you they would.”

  Grey vermin? Did he or she mean the trolls Heri wondered? They were grey skinned after all. And he couldn't think of a race more deserving of the title of vermin. But overrunning the world? Then again, it had been five thousand years since the Dragon Wars had raged. And the current Dragon was a troll blood.

  “They are a nuisance. Always trying to eat my children's eggs.” Golden eye agreed with Heri's master. But he didn't sound particularly concerned.

  “As is the fact that you didn't close down your ancient workshops.”

  “I was busy!” Golden Eye defended himself. “And he swore he wouldn't have his creatures do it again.”

  “And now you're going to be busy again.” Heri's master ignored Golden Eye's protests.

  “It's almost the same as last time. Another champion has been called and he's coming here with a sun burst. He will place it in the caves and that will hopefully stop any more of these grey vermin from arising and making a nuisance of themselves.”

  “If things go as I hope, he may also return one of the lost to the world. My servants tell me that the knowledge surges within him. Our sister's doing no doubt. But it will be nice to see them return to the world. He must be protected.”

  “And of course at the same time the grey vermin comes with a steel army. They must be destroyed. The champion must be protected.”

  So the vermin were the trolls! And the particular vermin his master was speaking about was the Dragon. Heri was glad of that. Glad that the horrible little creature was going to be destroyed. At least one enemy of his would be gone. Heri would have cheered, save that he had no control over his mouth just then.

  “My children will be there.”

  With that the golden eye vanished and Heri was left standing there, wondering what happened next. Mostly he wondered about what would happen to him. Was his work done? Had he finished his duty? Was it time for the snap wolf to enjoy a meal? And if there was to be a battle here, could he run away?

  Apparently not was his answer as he unexpectedly found himself walking toward the mountains. It seemed his suffering was to continue.

  He hated the gods!

  Chapter Forty Four

  Sam was overjoyed when he saw Mount Andrea in front of him. Partly because he could see no army of steel in front of him. But in truth mostly because he had had enough of flying. More than enough.

  It was hard and uncomfortable. The ground was a horribly long way down and he had tried to ignore it by keeping his face buried in the roc's feathers. And the roc didn't care for him. It didn't dislike him. But it was no friend of his either, and it had no concern that he might fall off every time it banked and turned. And so after two days of lying flat on its back his hands were white from having gripped on to the rope so tightly for so long. He was exhausted from not having slept at all. And he was frozen through. The air up high was colder than he would have believed and unlike his steed, he didn't have a thick coat of feathers to keep him warm. He had dressed warmly but apparently not warmly enough.

  Still, he had crossed a hundred and fifty or more leagues in two days. That was beyond what he would have ever believed possible before the knowledge had come to him. And much of that had been spent crossing the Dead Belly wastes.

  Now the central mountain surrounded by its smaller sisters was lying in front of him, the peaks lost in the grey clouds that forever shrouded them while the caverns of the ancient Dragon lay somewhere beneath it. Somewhere in the endless honeycomb of warrens, tunnels and chambers that criss-crossed the entire region. Finding the cavern was of course his next challenge, but he figured that it would be nowhere near as difficult as it should be. Sir Haggard had spent a lifetime exploring those tunnels. He would not need to do the same. Not when it was clear that he was being guided.

  Sam guided the roc towards the nearest plateau in the mountain with a tap on its neck, knowing somehow that it was where he needed to begin work. He was also aware that just as he was guiding the roc, he in turn was being guided. He didn't know by whom. He just hoped it was by someone who wanted the same things he did. And thus far that had proven true.

  The plateau was a striking part of the mountain. It was actually a rocky terrace in the mountain's side. An enormous terrace. But what was truly amazing was the sheerness of the terrace and the cliffs both above and below it. The straightness of the cuts and the sharpness of the angles. It looked for all the world as if some giant had simply grabbed an enormous shovel and cut a huge wedge out of the side of the mountain. But what sort of giant could tower so high that it could simply cut a wedge out of a mountain that's top half was lost in the clouds?

  As they flew closer its size became ever more apparent. The plateau stood atop a massive cliff that he would have guessed towered a thousand or more paces above the more gently sloping foothills that were the base of the mountain. And it was at least five hundred paces deep and a thousand wide. Where the inner part of the terrace reached the side of the mountain there was another vertical cliff towering up above it which he would have guessed was much the same height as the one it sat on. It was almost as though the plateau was a flat floor in a home, and the cliff a vertical wall. It was that straight.

  There were other such terraces in the mountain and in its smaller sister peaks. Sam took note of them as they flew. And though none of them were as large as their destination, he could not imagine that any of them had occurred naturally. Not when the sides of the cliffs were so straight and the terraces so flat. But short of his theory about giants and shovels he couldn't begin to guess how they had been built.

  As they flew closer Sam realised that some of his thoughts had been a little off. The terrace was flat and the cliff faces above and below it sheer, but they weren't as smooth as he'd thought. Closer up he could see that there were huge cracks criss-crossing the terrace, while the cliffs had pieces missing from them. Time had weathered the dark stone and he guessed large parts of the cliffs had crumbled away and were now part of the foothills. Still, he thought they were too straight to be natural.

  Landing on the terrace proved to be trickier than he'd expected. The roc simply alighted gently as it should, but then when it straightened up he found himself once more hanging on to the rope collar he'd tied around it, not wanting to slide off. Eventually though he realised that that was exactly what he needed to do. He could have tried raising a column of stone in the same way that he had done when he had mounted the bird, but it was dense rock. It would take time. So in the end he chose to slide, and eventually ended up sitting on the cold stone and nursing a sore ankle after he hit the ground awkwardly.

  Still, he was down and that, he decided as he sent the roc away, was what mattered. He was here. The Dragon hadn't arrived. All he had to do now was find the cavern. That part however, wasn't up to him.

  When he'd awoken two days before with the shape of the call for the roc and the beginnings of a plan in his head, he'd also known that he would be shown the cavern as he wouldn't be able to find it by himself. So, nursing his ankle, he clambered awkwardly to his feet and waited for the information to come to him. It had to because he could spend weeks just lookin
g for the entrance to the underground caverns, and then months or years searching them for the one he needed. And presumably the Dragon already knew the location.

  There were other things he could be doing. Eating, drinking, shaking the stiffness out of his body, even undertaking the normal ablutions of life – something that he'd had to use his nature magic to help him put off for all that time. After all, he'd done nothing for two days except hang on to the back of a giant bird and he was mere flesh and blood. But time was critical. He could do everything he needed to do later.

  “I'm here.” Sam announced his arrival to the mountain, as if it was the mountain that had brought him here. Naturally it didn't answer him. But as he put down his pack and started gingerly putting some weight on his injured ankle, he did get an answer.

  It wasn't in words. It wasn't writing or anything so civilised. It was only a thought. A suggestion. A direction. But as he stood there he suddenly knew where the cavern was. He could feel it. He suddenly knew the angle he would have to cut through to reach it. He even knew the depth. And that was the plan. It wasn't a complex one. In fact it was so simple a child could have come up with it. He would drill down to the cavern and then blow it up.

  In theory it was no different to digging a well for water. Except that it was a lot deeper, through solid rock and it couldn't be hit and miss. He had to actually aim at what he was drilling for. But thanks to whoever was guiding him he had a target and he also had magic.

  Sam was tired. He was cold and hungry. He was sore too. But he didn't have time for any of those things. So he used his nature magic to provide him with a little more strength and vitality, then put everything else out of his mind as he began sending his magic streaming into the rock beneath his feet. And thanks to all the hard work he'd been doing with Master Forellin the stone gave way to his will much more easily than it once would have. It was almost like digging through loose soil.

  Still he couldn't help but think that this wasn't right. Master Forellin or any of the other masters of earth magic could have done this far more quickly than him. He was a fire mage. Why bring him all this way if not to use his fire? Naturally that knowledge wasn't given to him. And he realised, as weak as he might be compared to a true master of earth magic, he was still the only wizard with that magic here. So it had to be him.

  As he worked the roc kept watch over him, taking up a post not far away, occasionally taking a flight around him as it spotted enemies from the air. He wasn't quite sure why – it was no doing of his – but it was good to know that it was there looking out for him. Unless of course it was simply there waiting for the right time to eat him. But he had to assume that whatever it was doing was the will of whoever was guiding him – and he didn't want him dead.

  Soon he had a channel half a pace across and a good three or four paces deep, aimed straight at the heart of the cavern. But he knew that there was a long way to go and that it was not soft earth. It had been easier at the start. But as he dug deeper, the rock became tougher. The stuff on the top had been weathered by millennia of wind and rain. What lay ahead of him was going to be tougher still. The cavern was deep in the bedrock underneath the mountain and he would have to push all the way down to it. He had probably days of concentration ahead of him.

  Still, he would do it. He had to. And then he would activate the sun burst and drop it down the well he'd dug, and jump on the roc's back and fly as if all the demons of the underworld were chasing him.

  Hours later, he wasn't quite sure how many as he'd lost track of time, he was interrupted by Ryshal. By her calling to him.

  At the sound of her voice he lost concentration, as for a moment he thought she was somehow there with him. But of course she wasn't. Instead he could see her face and those of some of the elders hanging in a window in the air to his side, and he realised she was still in the city. The elders had known where he was going and once he had stopped and started digging it had simply been a matter of them searching for him with the window.

  “Beloved.” He greeted her with a smile in his heart as he always did, happy to see her, but equally aware that he had to continue with his work. He didn't know how long he had before the Dragon and his army showed up. He had to be done before they arrived.

  “Don't you dare “beloved” me! You ran off! You oaf!”

  Ryshal was upset. She was also worried. Sam could see that in her face. She'd probably been living in terror ever since she'd been told he'd gone flying off on the back of a giant bird, heading into battle. He knew a lot of shame for that.

  “I know, and I'm sorry. But I woke up with this plan in my thoughts, and I knew there was no time. I did not have time to find you.”

  “Or you knew I'd stop you. This is madness! You can't fight an army on your own. Fire Angel or not, it's just too much!” Her fear showed in the tremor in her voice and the way she had paled. She wasn't that far from tears.

  “And I don't intend to. Believe me Ry, I have every intention of returning to you. I just need to destroy the ancient Dragon's cavern below, and then run. And if it does come to a fight, I won't be alone.”

  “You are alone!”

  This time she finally let her fear loose and Sam could see tears starting to run down her cheeks. But he actually had an answer for her. One that he hoped might bring her some comfort.

  “No. I'm not. I don't know who's with me, but I'm not alone. This is not my plan. It was given to me in my sleep. And the magic to call the roc was given to me as well. The location of the cavern below was given to me when I arrived here. And in the same way that I have so far known all of these details, I also know that I will have allies if and when I need them.”

  “I have no idea who's guiding me. The All Father I hope. But I have faith. And you've got to have faith too. There is a plan here. A purpose greater than you and me.” He wished he could tell her more. He wished he could promise her that he would come home. And most of all he wished he didn't have to see the fear in her eyes. But he could only tell her what he knew.

  Fortunately he was saved from having to plead with her by one of the elders who gathered Ry up in her arms and escorted her away from the window. They understood that he had to concentrate on his work. And they didn't want to see her burst into tears either.

  Unfortunately that just gave others the chance to speak.

  “Guided?” Elder Bela was the first to ask the question. But others in the window looked like they were about to ask the same one.

  “I don't know. But I have this certainty that this is what has to be done. That it's not just about Fair Fields. I also know that this is my task and that it has been since the moment I was born. Even the damned bird knows it. It's keeping watch over me – and I didn't command it to do that.”

  The Elder pursed his lips in concentration as he considered Sam's claim, but said nothing for a while, allowing Sam to return to his work. But eventually he could no longer endure the silence.

  “What can we do to help?”

  “I have to concentrate on this. I can't keep watch. But if you can use the Window of Parsus to check the surrounding lands and tell me when the Dragon arrives, that would help.”

  With that Sam returned fully to his work, knowing that time was precious. Knowing also that more was at stake than he was aware of. And that his wife was hurting and it was his fault. That more than anything else, wounded him.

  But he had to dig.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Ryshal sat on the ground in the Fiore Elle, staring at the window hanging in the air and her husband in it, worrying. But also wondering. It was late, night had fallen and she was exhausted just from watching and worrying. But her husband still stood where he had been. He was a silent figure. In fact he looked almost a living statue with his head bowed, but Ryshal knew he was working furiously. He was sending his magic streaming into the rock beneath him. He had been doing it for hour after hour and in all that time he had never moved. He never said anything. He never did anything but concentra
te. And she was sure that wasn't possible. No one could maintain that sort of concentration and stillness for so long? At the very least he should be cramping up. Shifting his weight about on his feet to relieve some of the strain. And yet he just wasn't.

  The elders were no help. In fact she guessed that as they maintained their own vigil around the window with her that they were just as confused as she was. And not just by Samual's unending concentration.

  Even though they were huddled about in their own small groups, she had heard Elder Bela tell the others several times that Sam could not possibly have called the roc. That it was a calling far beyond his ability. It was beyond that of most masters. And yet he was only an apprentice.

  She had heard several others say that what he was doing was of the Goddess. The priests had even been called to consider the matter. She hadn't unfortunately heard what they'd decided. But she had heard one of the elders say in passing that this was the calling of the Fire Angel. That he was finally doing what he had been called for. That scared her perhaps more than anything else. After all, the last Fire Angel had died according to the legends. He had given his everything to the battle and it had destroyed him. This seemed very much the same to her.