Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  But Zephyr’s initial spell, which allowed him to learn Driadorn’s languages at an accelerated rate, had never worn off, Kevin thought. He was beginning to understand Alliathiune when she sang in Dryadic. He knew a good smattering of Lurkish words.

  “Go on.”

  “It is actually a wizardly term, a code-word for a particular type of magic symbolised by the fusion of four different, equally ancient and arcane branches of magical lore,” continued the Unicorn. “According to legend, the lore of magic was first brought to Feynard by a star-faring race called the Ilaxin Kihn, in the form of four great tomes of knowledge, each owned by an immothal guardian as the script suggests–Tenebrous, Freathalous, Anomalous, and Syallous. They arrived in a great hovering cylinder of light, and that they traded their greatest secrets for the Unicorn knowledge of thia-na-liamos, or the ability to manipulate pure energy. They tricked my kin. For when they had left, the immothal guardians denied access to the tomes until we were ‘ready’. By dint of experimentation, my ancestors determined this meant ‘never’, or at least until the Ilaxin Kihn returned to collect them again–and meantime, if interfered with, were to make life miserable for those who dared to interfere with them.”

  “However, Unicorns are nothing if not tenacious.”

  Alliathiune put in, “Others would say, ‘stubborn as donkeys’.”

  “Tenacious,” Zephyr insisted, regarding her interruption with the same distaste he showed for raw meat. “It took a hundred seasons before the first immothal guardian was defeated and the knowledge of Tenebrous–which describes the incredibly intricate art of the construction of great magic from simple elements–was garnered by those dedicated Unicorn scholars. Using these arts, they were able to defeat the other three guardians and thus learned the way of Anomalous, or the magic of conflicting elements, Syallous, the way of spoken or sung magic, and Freathalous, the art of natural or elemental magic at which the Druids excel.”

  “So it doesn’t mean that these guardians are literally here?”

  The Unicorn frowned thoughtfully. “The secrets of these four arts have largely been lost over the intervening seasons, good Kevin, or handed down in forms hardly recognisable from what must once have been. Much has been lost in the wars that plague Driadorn like the birth pangs of a mare. Perhaps the terrible Dark Wizard sought to deter casual inspection of the vault beyond, or perhaps this is his source of power.”

  “So he once occupied this fortress?”

  “He invaded and sacked Black-Rock Keep,” Zephyr agreed. “He must have breached these seals and determined what lay within–after all, is it not he who set the warning inscription and the guardians in place?”

  “Or he who identified them,” Kevin mused, “and, unable to defeat them, set such wards as would ensure no other magician would steal these secrets and thus become more powerful than he.”

  “We could speculate all lighttime in such a fashion and merely waste good air in this close chamber.”

  Yes indeed, Kevin very nearly agreed aloud. The Unicorn was nothing if not wont to use up good oxygen with his prattling!

  Hunter stepped forward. “Is this fourfold lore indeed lost, good Unicorn?”

  “Largely. I would hardly know where to begin.”

  “Then I suggest that Kevin has two things which Amberthurn does not–his Key-Ring of special keys, one of which may fit the lock, and the magic of his making, the puissance of which defeated the Dark Apprentice at Elliadora’s Well and indeed, incited a mighty work of restoration of my own health.” The Mancat regarded them narrowly. “One of our number should remain behind to shield noble Kevin with every artifice that may be commanded. Only Kevin may open the door, according to Amberthurn’s challenge, but the Dragon-Magus said nothing of protecting the good outlander’s person. The others retreat to the level above and wait for the good Human to work his arts. If ought should go ill, the others may mount a rescue attempt.”

  There was some argument back and forth, but in the end Hunter’s suggestion proved the best option. Zephyr remained with Kevin. The Lurk, Hunter, and Alliathiune beat a reluctant retreat.

  Once the Unicorn was ready, Kevin pulled out his Key-Ring and began to search for one that fit. “The blue one,” he whispered at last. “Elementary, my dear Jenkins.”

  His eyes widened, for as his hand moved to place the key in the lock, it began to change shape before his eyes. Never mind. He knew he had to learn courage.

  Kevin inserted the key and turned it firmly.

  And the world exploded.

  * * * *

  “I feel awful,” said Kevin, sitting on a stone while Alliathiune mopped blood off his arm with a cloth. “My ears are ringing. I can barely hear you.”

  “You look awful.”

  “What?”

  “You look terrible!”

  “Thanks. Rub it in then, why don’t you?” Kevin dug grit out of his eyes with his fingernail. “Is Zephyr alright? He took the worst of the blast.”

  “Alive!” the Unicorn called, weakly.

  Kevin glanced at the Dryad, grey with dust, streaked with sweat, clearly exhausted. His companions must have dug through the rubble of the ensuing cave-in to rescue them. All his grateful thanks had not improved the feisty Dryad’s mood.

  “Snatcher’s just making plans to shift that big boulder without, in his words, turning Zephyr into a flatworm,” Alliathiune informed him caustically, hands on hips–which, if Kevin had learned a single thing since his arrival on Feynard, he knew spelled danger. “I’ve already checked and he insists with his usual obstinacy that he will be just fine. So, what happened?”

  Kevin smiled, smugly. “The key fit.”

  “One of your keys?”

  “With a little persuasion.”

  Her look was a storm in the making. “What do you mean, ‘a little persuasion’? Might you, perchance, mean to say, ‘I touched it with my magic’?”

  “Something like that. It was an accident, I assure–”

  “An accident?” Her voice rose several decibels, to a level at which he could feel the blast let alone hear her. “You tried your magic on the door?”

  “Well … sort of,” he whispered, nonplussed by the strength of her reaction. Anyone would think she actually cared about his fate, the way she was carrying on. “Alliathiune, I tried to be careful, I swear. As I bought the blue key near the lock it began to change shape before my eyes. I wasn’t doing anything. And when I inserted it into the lock, the roof came down. I don’t remember much after that.”

  The Dryad’s jaw hung open. “You saw it change shape and you still–you’re unbelievable! By the Hills, how many more accidents will it take for you to realise that magic isn’t a toy? It has the very real power to leave you very dead! I despair, good Kevin, truly I do. For a clearly intelligent being you do the stupidest and most thoughtless things, things which you should have learned to avoid when you were only a few seasons old! You still inserted the key into the lock?”

  “Yes.”

  Her petite foot tapped the floor at a dangerous tempo. “Tell me, was there some irresistible force guiding your hand?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Zephyr forced you to comply?”

  “Not that either.”

  “Then your mind shut down of its own accord?”

  “I just didn’t think–”

  “Now where have I heard that before?” She struck a mocking parody of his voice and posture. “Oh, I just put my hand in my pocket and hundreds of Black Wolves fell over and died. Oops, I touched the Faun and snatched him from death’s door in the twinkling of an eye. Oh dear, it looks like he’s decided to adopt me for his lord and master. Well, look, I just happened to lean against the wall of Shilliabär Tower and create a hole in a prismatic shield, which is logically impossible–yes, don’t look at me like that, Zephyr told me all about that little episode!”

  Kevin hoped his face revealed nothing of his memory of Alliathiune rising nude from the pool of Shiär-Lazûr!


  “And, I was as drunk as a Stoat, but still stood up and defeated the Dark Apprentice, who had brought down Driadorn’s finest magicians, without so much as breaking a sweat!”

  Alliathiune glared at him as though he should fall contritely at her feet in an outpouring of humble apologies.

  “Well, I opened the door, didn’t I?”

  “And what do you think I was going through in the meantime, thinking you had buried your asinine outlander carcass beneath two hundred feet of solid rock? How do you think I felt? Honestly, good Kevin, sometimes the only person you think about is yourself!”

  Kevin blinked.

  “You stupid, stupid … stupid man!”

  Rare as it was for Alliathiune to run out of creative ways to express his multiplicity of shortcomings, this time it indeed appeared as though the transgression had rendered her incapable of speech. Stupid man? What did that have to do with the price of tea in China? Not for the first time, Kevin wished he understood women. Or Dryads, for that matter. But he was saved from further embarrassment by the Dragon-Magus appearing in their midst in the guise of a tall, dark man.

  “One must disagree,” Amberthurn said smoothly. “Wizard, you have proven your mettle and the vault lies open before us. One smells the magic already. One is pleased–you did well to survive.” He turned to Alliathiune. “I foresaw his survival, good Dryad. You need not have feared. Now that I have what I want, it is time to keep my end of the bargain.”

  Kevin pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his shirt. “Speak, noble Amberthurn.”

  “Ah, you learn the ways of Driadorn so well, good outlander,” the Dragon-Magus sneered. “Very well, know then that the Magisoul is hidden within in a fortress twin to this one, beneath the dread battlements of Shadowmoon Keep.” By Alliathiune’s gasp Kevin knew that this was not good news. “Should you reach it, which is spectacularly unlikely given the Utharian Men, Trolls, and within the Keep itself the dreadful remnants of Ozark’s experiments on living flesh and the leavings of his evil sorceries, you will find the crystal embedded in many layers of protection. Beyond the first door lies the Labyrinth and the Dragon of Shadow. Beyond the second, an Elemental Dragon of Earth. Beyond this again, Fire, and then Acid. Finally, there is the Dragon of Shadow, the most terrible of all. Should these four elemental Dragons be defeated or circumvented, which I can assure you is utterly inconceivable, then the Magisoul will be yours for the taking.”

  “Right.”

  His reaction visibly raised Amberthurn’s ire. Towering over Kevin like a black wraith, he snarled, “Even Ozark the Dark was unable to breach the first door!”

  “Er … right.”

  Alliathiune stood straight and firm alongside Kevin, undismayed. “We gratefully receive your word kept and honour upheld, noble Dragon-Magus.”

  Amberthurn held out his clawed hand. “You will need these–magical keys, two of the four one needs to open the way to the Magisoul. There is a ruby key and an emerald key. How you make use of them is your affair.”

  “Thank you,” Kevin blurted out, plucking the keys carefully off of that black, armoured palm.

  “One will not lament the loss of an outlander in this impossible quest for the Magisoul. But one knows you Humans shake hands in this manner.”

  So saying, Amberthurn, the Dragon-Magus of Black-Rock Keep, shook hands with Kevin Albert Jenkins, allegedly and by complete coincidence some sort of Wizard of Driadorn.

  “One formally welcomes you to the roll of the Korahlia-tak-Tarna. You are a wizard indeed.”

  And he disappeared into thin air.

  Alliathiune looked at Kevin with dark and stormy eyes. Well had she warned him of the perils of wizardry!

  His voice echoed in the close space. “Do Dragons often shake hands, noble Zephyr?”

  Chapter 19: Tales of Accusation

  Kevin Jenkins walked taller leaving Black-Rock Keep than when he had arrived. At long last, he had been able to contribute positively to their quest rather than merely tagging along–or being dragged along–as before.

  “Insufferable,” Zephyr said, loudly enough for him to overhear.

  Alliathiune returned, also at an unnecessary volume, “Let the good outlander strut for a space. He’ll get over it.”

  And so he did, when they presented his suggestions to the Council of War back at Elliadora’s Well.

  Zephyr made a still mirror just before dawn on the fifth morning after departing Amberthurn’s lair, as they marched down the road called Dragonlair Way towards the coast, visible at a great distance but still six or seven lighttimes distant. They had adopted the Witch’s suggestion to take the coastal ferry to Utharia, the Uthar capital city, from where they hoped to travel across the Broadleaf Valley and up Anurmar Gorge towards the Shadowmoon Mountains. This route had the advantage of avoiding the main Troll hunting grounds. It was somewhat roundabout, according to the maps, but the wilderness and mountains between were generally regarded as impassable save by extraordinary effort. With Amberthurn’s safe conduct clearing their path through his realm with miraculous efficiency, no doubt due to his inimitable leadership style and personal charms, Akê-Akê quipped, they were making very good time.

  So Zephyr made his still mirror to speak to the Council and update them.

  The news clearly made the Council members feel bullish. “Excellent news!” crowed Two Hoots. “Our faith is indeed justified. When the Magisoul is brought back to Driadorn, this Blight will become a bad memory; a tale told to chicks and children.”

  “It must yet be found and recovered,” the Jasper Cat purred. “Good Zephyr, you should inform us if you require any other assistance, such as we are able. We have mobilised a team of Unicorn scholars, should you require research conducted. A veritable army of the magically adept gathers here at the Well. Our hopes go with you, naturally.”

  Or, Kevin thought cynically, we would like to keep an eye on you.

  “There are several matters which will require your input,” said the Unicorn. “Noble Dryad, would you explain?”

  “My Queen,” said Alliathiune.

  “Good Seer and Sister,” she replied, stepping forward so show her beautiful features in their small mirror. “May the Forest ever nourish your roots.”

  “And the Mother spread her branches to make your home safe and peaceful.” She drew a deep breath, about to launch into sacred waters. “My Queen, recent conversation with the noble outlander has served to clarify the nature of the Blight. Recall how one of the Elliarana was rotting within? What we believe is that the Elliarana serve as a kind of magical protection of the Forest, which is consistent with the early legends that we Dryads pass down about how and why Elliadora first planted the Sacred Grove, and why it is located at the Well in the very heart of the Hills. Our conjecture is that if the Blight has affected the Sacred Grove, then firstly it must have been invisible but present for some length of time, a number of tens of seasons perhaps, but Elliadora’s great magic safeguarded us from its ill effects. Perhaps if we Dryads had attended more closely …” She shrugged. “It is not my place to comment on our absence from the Grove for nigh on a thousand seasons.”

  “No, it is not. But do continue.”

  “Secondly, we conclude that the Blight is not merely a physical malady–it is a magical one. The Dark Apprentice has been most cunning in his invention of evil. The conclusions for the land of Seventy-Seven Hills are dire.”

  There was a hubbub on the other side of the mirror, quickly stilled by Two Hoots and the Dryad Queen. She asked, “What do you mean?”

  Alliathiune stared into the water. “My Queen, how are you feeling?”

  The Queen gaped, and then her head jerked back as though punched. For an instant a hunted-animal look crossed her perfect features before her composure returned. Only the pallor of her cheeks betrayed her deep shock. “Good Allämiuna, surely you jest?”

  A headshake flung a tear of Alliathiune’s into the mirror, sending tiny ripples to the edges.

&nbs
p; “That’s a monstrous suggestion!”

  “You tell her, Kevin.”

  He said softly, “I am sorry that this conjecture causes you pain, good Queen, but I am a barbarian outlander with a lamentable penchant for morbidity that the noble Alliathiune is trying to beat out of me.”

  Zephyr put in, “It was the outlander who first identified the source of the Blight as being at Elliadora’s Well, good Queen. We thought him mad. Mylliandawn wished him strung from the nearest tree for crows to feast on his flesh, but you have seen the truth with your own eyes. He is no barbarian, but a faithful and trustworthy friend of the Forest. I would urge you to consider the import of his words with all seriousness.”

  “Aye,” Akê-Akê grunted.

  Kevin studied the Queen’s pallid expression. “I should add that the Dragon-Magus Amberthurn concurs with my conclusions and is taking his own steps against the Dark Apprentice and his vile machinations. But I am concerned for the Forest itself. Even my poor knowledge of healing understands that treating the symptoms is not the same as finding the cure. To treat the symptoms, I suggest that you recruit teams of Unicorns or other healers to actively purify the water of the Well. Hopefully this activity will go some way to staying the Blight’s advance. I also suggest, bluntly, that you find a way of planting a new Elliarana. Creative magic requires wholeness to function correctly, which is why there were seven Elliarana rather than six. The Sacred Grove requires a seedling.”

  To his surprise, rather than expressing outrage at an outlander’s meddling in the secrets of the Dryads, the Queen nodded slowly and then even smiled at him. “Good outlander, I see now why you were the warrior determined in the Seeing at the Pool of Stää. That is the most meritorious suggestion I have heard so far.”