A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  As the room came alight, Reznik scowled. Have we come this far only to be tricked? he wondered. Worse yet, how are we going to go back? He glanced over at Einar. Oddly, the lead consul seemed unperturbed.

  The room they had risked their lives to enter was small and unimpressive. About five meters square, it held no books, scrolls, or furnishings of any kind. The walls were constructed of rough fieldstones, held in place with common builder’s mortar. Each stone had writing on it. There was no apparent exit except the door they had just used.

  Reznik turned to Einar. “Whatever you are searching for isn’t here,” he said. “We’ve been tricked! Worse, how are we supposed to return to the Recluse?”

  Einar smiled. “Do not worry about that,” he answered. “If I’m right, there is at least one way back. The First Mistress’s traps were clever, weren’t they? As I suspected, the slide bolt was what activated them. The bats’ purpose was to force intruders to fall to their deaths. If the bats failed, the collapsing bridge would finish the job.

  “Anyway,” Einar added, “not only is there a way back, but what we seek is indeed here. We search for a craft formula, written by the First Mistress. The formula was never recorded in the Vagaries scroll because it remains unproven. The burden falls to us to refine it. Because of its importance, Failee chose to record the spell on a far more permanent medium than fragile parchment.”

  Reznik looked around. “Do you mean to say that-”

  “Yes,” Einar interjected. “The formula we seek is hiding in plain sight, recorded on these wall stones.”

  “But there are so many!” Reznik protested.

  Einar smiled. “Not really,” he answered cryptically.

  Einar recited the needed incantation. As he finished, some wall stones started moving. Grinding against one another, randomly selected stones started sliding forward from the walls. When the process was finished, more than two hundred had come forward. Calling the craft again, Einar concentrated harder. As he did, each selected stone’s engravings glowed with azure. Fascinated, Reznik walked closer to examine one.

  There was a number written in Old Eutracian at the stone’s top edge. It showed the stone’s particular order in the formula, he guessed. Below that was a glowing symbol that would be one part of the overall calculation. Backing away, he saw that each stone had been marked with a different number at its top, and either another number or craft symbol below it.

  Einar walked to join him. “It is well conceived, is it not?” the consul asked. “Even if an intruder should survive the traps, all he would find is this empty room. Even then, should he read one stone it would be useless without the others. And for that, one needs the incantation. The incantation brings forth only those needed for the spell. All of the other engraved stones are meaningless. It truly is the essence of the phrase ‘hiding in plain sight.’”

  Einar turned to look at his consuls. It was clear that they were as intrigued as Reznik.

  “Start recording the formula,” he ordered. “Produce nine copies. When we leave, I want each of us to carry one. Should we lose more people on the way back, the formula will survive. The symbols’ placements in the formula can be found at each stone’s top. When you have finished, check your work, then check it again. I have no wish to return.”

  Producing parchment and quills, the consuls started working. As one pointed at the stones’ proper order, others dutifully recorded the numbers and symbols. While the consuls worked, Einar and Reznik walked to the door.

  “I’m still at a loss to see how we’re supposed to get back,” Reznik said.

  “Did you not see the circular staircase carved into the wall on this side?” Einar asked. “It leads all the way to the cavern floor.”

  “And then?” Reznik asked.

  “We walk to the river,” the consul answered. “A boat lies there. We will let it take us downstream. If Failee was as clever as I believe, the first thing she did after hiding the spell was to produce that staircase and boat. I have no doubt that the river will take us to a safe place.”

  Looking at the cavern sidewalls, Einar saw something interesting. Smiling, he shook his head. “Wigg’s wife was indeed a clever woman,” he said.

  “What have you found?” Reznik asked.

  Without answering, Einar turned back to the consuls. “Someone please give me some water,” he ordered. Coming quickly, an eager consul offered up his canteen. Einar opened it. “Watch,” he said.

  Calling the craft, Einar caused the water to leave the canteen and float in the air. Waving one hand, he poured the water across the expanse left by the destroyed stone bridge. The results were unexpected.

  As the water fell it seemed to land in midair, forming a link between the iron door and the tunnel entrance in the far wall. Soon they could see that the bridge had somehow returned. But this time it was largely invisible, its outline revealed only here and there by the water pooled on its surface. At first Reznik didn’t understand. Then the partial adept smiled.

  “The bridge never collapsed, did it?” he asked. “What we saw and heard was an enchantment designed to fool us into thinking that it had been destroyed.”

  “Not exactly,” Einar answered. “The first bridge did collapse. Then it reconstituted itself in an invisible form. That was the next part of the enchantment that started when I slid aside the iron bolt.”

  “But why not make the bridge invisible in the first place?” Reznik asked. “That way, only Failee would dare cross the cavern.”

  “Because if that were the case, a would-be intruder would come no farther than the tunnel exit and then go back,” Einar answered. “The First Mistress wanted trespassers killed, not saved.”

  “How did you know?” Reznik asked.

  Einar pointed to the cavern sidewalls. “When the bridge collapsed, both sidewalls cracked. Look again.”

  Reznik examined the cavern sidewalls. To his surprise, the cracks were gone. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “No?” Einar asked. “What other reason could there be for the cracks to mysteriously heal, except for the bridge returning and securing itself to the walls, eh?”

  Rubbing his chin, Einar thought for a moment. He smiled. “Failee’s traps were even cleverer than I believed,” he mused.

  “How so?” Reznik asked.

  “That staircase is a lure, and that boat down below is another trap,” Einar answered. “Seeing that the bridge has supposedly been destroyed, an intruder’s only remaining option would be to climb down the staircase, put the boat into the river, and happily be on his way-all the time thinking that he or she had cleverly escaped. We nearly did the same thing! But I doubt that the boat ride would be a pleasant one. I now believe that the boat is enchanted to deliver would-be thieves to their deaths. They might successfully steal the formula hidden in this room, but they would never live to use it. There is no telling how they would die, but I doubt that it would be pleasant.”

  “So we will return by way of the invisible bridge, rather than by the boat,” Reznik offered. Einar nodded.

  “How can we be sure that the bridge is truly the safe way out, and that the boat is not?” Reznik asked.

  As he placed one hand atop Reznik’s shoulder, Einar gave the partial adept a wink. “The answer is simple,” he said. “Failee wanted us to see the staircase. She never suspected anyone would discover the invisible bridge. The bridge is what she would have used.”

  Just then a consul walked up. “Forgive the intrusion, master,” he said. “The formula has been successfully recorded.”

  “Give me a copy,” Einar said. The consul handed him a scroll. As Einar unrolled it, he and Reznik read the formula. Reznik’s eyes went wide.

  “But this looks like…Can it be true?” he breathed.

  “It is,” Einar answered. “Now you better understand why we were ordered to take the Ghetto from the Minions.” Eagerly rubbing his hands together, Reznik could hardly contain his glee. At long last this great venture would truly need
his services.

  Einar handed the scroll to the consul. “How many copies do we have?” he asked.

  “Nine, master,” the consul answered.

  “Good,” Einar said. “We’re leaving. Pack everything up. Each consul is to carry a parchment.”

  “As you wish,” the consul said.

  A quarter hour later, they were ready to go. Einar decided he should be first to test the invisible bridge.

  As everyone watched, he took a deep breath, then boldly stepped out into thin air. The bridge held. Waving the others forward, Einar started leading them across. On reaching the other side, everyone let go a sigh of relief. Wasting no time, Einar led them back through the dark tunnel.

  The return journey to the Recluse would be long and dangerous. But in just two days’ time, Serena’s servants would eagerly start their experiments.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  THE FIRST MINION WARRIOR TO SEE THE PRINCE EXITthe pass immediately came running to hisJin’Sai. He took Shadow’s reins into one hand.

  “My lord!” he exclaimed. “You have returned!” Suddenly wondering whether Xanthus was also about to follow, the warrior warily drew his dreggan.

  Jumping down from his stallion, Tristan smiled. “Sheathe your weapon,” he said. “I’m alone.”

  Before he knew it, twenty-five warriors were happily engulfing him. At first he thought he might never escape their joyous onslaught. Looking up at the sun, he reckoned that it was midmorning.

  “Who is in charge here?” Tristan shouted above the din.

  A warrior stepped forward. He promptly went to one knee.

  “I am Hector,” he said. “I live to serve.”

  “Stand, Hector,” Tristan ordered. “Tell me-how long was I away?”

  Coming to his feet, Hector looked into his lord’s eyes. Tall and tiger-muscled, he was younger than Tristan had expected the patrol’s leader might be. “You entered the pass two nights ago,” he answered.

  “I see,” Tristan answered. “Are there still another twenty-five warriors stationed at the base camp?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” the warrior answered.

  “Where is Traax?” Tristan asked.

  “He flew to Tammerland to inform the Conclave of your disappearance,” Hector answered.

  “Has there been word from Tammerland?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Follow me to the base camp,” Tristan said. “From the warriors waiting there I want you to select your ten swiftest fliers. I leave by litter for Tammerland immediately.” Another thought came to the prince. “Tell me,” he said, “have your warriors ever built a litter that can safely carry a horse?”

  Hector smiled broadly. Understanding what hisJin’Sai had in mind, he affectionately rubbed Shadow’s face.

  “To my knowledge that has never been done,” he answered. “But we Minions are excellent craftsmen. I’m sure something can be arranged.”

  Tristan smiled back. “Good,” he said. He looked around at the others. “The rest of you are to remain here,” he ordered. “Should anyone or anything come through that pass, send a messenger to Tammerland immediately.”

  Tristan jumped up into his saddle. Wheeling Shadow around, he started galloping down the charred mountainside. Taking to the air, Hector followed.

  THAT HAD BEEN THREE HOURS AGO. AS TRISTAN RODE THROUGHthe air in his hastily constructed litter, the sun was approaching its zenith. Taking another sip of akulee, he watched the emerald fields of Farplain slide by below him. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired, or so overwhelmed by his thoughts. For the first time since leaving Crysenium, he could take the time to contemplate his amazing journey.

  Although he had lived it, he could hardly believe what had happened. The revelations told to him by the Crysenium Envoys had been wondrous and at the same time terrifying. He could still see the Border-lands swallowing up an entire army, and the terrible battle scene Hoskiko had shown him. Each had been but a part of the ongoing War of Attrition-a war that he was somehow destined to stop, or die in the attempt.

  Despite having accepted this great burden, in a way he had also gained a new measure of peace. After a lifetime of asking questions, he had finally learned some answers. He had many more questions-questions he knew that even Wigg and Faegan couldn’t answer. Until he could return to Crysenium, those mysteries would have to wait.

  His mind soon turned to the threat at hand. Serena’s plan was monstrous. If the Conclave couldn’t stop her, he would have neither the will nor the ability to return to Crysenium. Worse, the Conclave would be sailing into terrible danger, and until he reached Tammerland there was no way to warn them. Wigg and Jessamay were powerful mystics, and there was no better sea captain than Tyranny. Thousands of Minion warriors would be sailing with them. Even so, Serena’s snare would be nearly impossible to avoid.

  Tristan looked at the warriors carrying his litter. They were flying as fast as they could, but a southerly headwind was making the going difficult. Close by but still frightened by his strange surroundings, Shadow danced nervously in his specially constructed litter. Ten more stout warriors bore it aloft. Seeing the stallion being carried through the air was a strange sight, but Tristan was glad he had thought to bring the horse along. If he couldn’t reach the coast in time to sail with the Conclave, something told him that he would need Shadow in the days ahead.

  Then he suddenly remembered his medallion. Looking down, he saw its gold surface twinkle in the midday sun as it lay beneath the Paragon. He had been so intent on getting home that he had forgotten about his new power. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, he closed his eyes.

  Just as Hoskiko had instructed him, he imagined his and Shailiha’s medallions hanging side by side in space. Concentrating harder, he watched them combine into one. He lifted the medallion from his chest and turned it over. Just as Hoskiko had promised, its other side showed a scene. Closing his eyes for a moment, he shook his head. The Black Ships had already sailed.

  He looked at the medallion again. It showed Wigg leaning against a Black Ship’s gunwale. He was talking to someone, but there no was telling to whom. In the distance Tristan could see the other five Black Ships, flying alongside Wigg’s over the Sea of Whispers. Closing his eyes again, he caused the scene to vanish and dropped the medallion to his chest.

  Shailiha had followed his orders after all, and Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay must have successfully trained the acolytes to empower the fleet. He wondered how many Conclave members had accompanied Shailiha. Perhaps all, he realized. The Black Ships were not using the crippled wizard’s portal to help them across the sea-Tristan had long known that they were far too large and cumbersome for that. Even so, the ships flew so fast that no Minion warriors could likely catch them, even if they were sent right now and directly from their watch stations along the coast. May the Afterlife bring the fleet home safely, he thought.

  Clearly, there was no longer a need to force the Minions to fly through the night, as he had first planned. Leaning out of the litter, he shouted new orders that they should land at twilight and make camp. After taking another draft from the akulee jug, he shoved the cork back into its spout. He stretched out on the litter floor. Despite his worry for the Conclave, he was asleep in moments.

  “JIN’SAI,”HECTOR SAID. REACHING OUT, HE GAVE TRISTANa gentle shove. “Jin’Sai-wake up! We have landed.”

  Stretching and blinking, Tristan sat up in the litter. He felt refreshed. Standing, he looked around.

  Hector had chosen to land in a grassy depression. A low ridge surrounded it on three sides. Night was falling, and the twenty warriors were starting to make camp. Shadow had been released from his litter and was tethered to a night line. Not far away, the Sippora River burbled noisily.

  “How far have we come?” Tristan asked.

  “We are a little more than halfway, lord,” Hector answered, “just south of where the Sippora branches into two smaller rivers. If we get an early start, we will be home by mid
day tomorrow. The warriors will soon have the camp set up. Are you hungry?”

  Tristan smiled. “Famished!” he answered. “What do we have to eat?”

  “We brought an elk quarter from the base camp. It’s packed in glacier ice. We also have some fresh vegetables. We’ll get started on roasting the elk right away. In the meantime, I’ll get some scouts into the air.”

  Tristan looked at the exhausted warriors who had carried the two litters for so far and so long. The litter holding Shadow would have been particularly heavy, and would be no less so tomorrow. As the warriors tiredly made camp, Tristan saw that their wings literally dragged along the ground.

  Tristan shook his head. “They have all flown hard,” he said. “Let them rest and eat first, then send them aloft.” Rubbing his face, he realized that he hadn’t bathed or shaven for two days. He looked longingly at the Sippora.

  “In the meantime, I’m going to clean up,” he said. “Can a warrior lend me some soap?”

  Hector immediately barked out some orders. A warrior soon came running to hand Tristan a bar of the harsh, black soap that the Minions made themselves.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Smiling, he started walking toward the river. It would be numbingly cold, but that was just what he wanted. Then he would laugh, drink, and eat elk with the warriors until he could do so no more. And tomorrow he would be home.

  Sitting on his knees by the river, he dipped the soap and lathered his face. He reached behind his right shoulder and produced a throwing knife. Having no mirror, he shaved his face by feel. When he was satisfied he removed his weapons and clothing. Leaving the Paragon and medallion around his neck, he dove headlong into the rushing Sippora.

  The river’s coldness took his breath away. After swimming underwater for several meters he surfaced. His eyes still closed, he stood in the waist-deep water and pushed his hair from his face. He could already smell the enticing aroma of roasting elk as it drifted toward the river.