The light of his sword sparkled off a trickle of water along the tunnel wall ahead. He hesitated and tasted it with a finger before spitting the bitter stuff out. The water trickled ahead of him, following the small cracks in the stone floor, and he walked on.
Eventually the tunnel widened and opened to the right. He stood at the juncture, dug into the pack on his back for some dried fruit, and divided a few pieces between his mouth and Seivar’s beak. Munching on the fruit, the Nuvitor half-closed its eyes and cooed.
With sweet dried cranberries in his mouth, Ilfedo stepped forward. He would stay on the path directly south, for that was where the Warrioresses had first found the Megatraths, and to the Megatraths he must go.
10
A HAND OF ICE
It must have been a new day when Specter awoke, still sliding through the tunnels in the ice mountains, for his stomach gurgled and his neck and head did not throb or even ache, as one would expect from an impact strong enough to knock him unconscious. He dug into his cloak, and his fingers touched a large apple. “Creator of all, I thank you for food”—he smiled—“in a barren place such as this.”
He sank his teeth into the apple, and its juices sweetened his mouth and ran down his parched throat. He smiled as he thought of the little girl who had given him the apple. Her name was Brianna. She had foggy gray eyes and hair as red as the apple’s skin. He took another bite. “And thank you, little Brianna, for insisting I put this food in my cloak.”
Somewhere ahead a crackling sound drew his attention. He raised his head but saw only the endless corridor of ice. It stretched straight ahead, and something green speared up through the white floor. As he slid toward it, fast as ever, the ice crackled. Cracks slivered along the ice, and shoots of green penetrated it. A meadow grew, and the ice walls ahead of him became transparent, revealing a familiar mountain valley. He slid onto the grass and rotated onto his side, stabbing the scythe blade into the grass and ice. At last he came to a halt, and for a long moment he closed his eyes. At last the terrible descent was over. Yet returning here would not have been his choice.
When he opened his eyes, the ice melted away and the tunnel walls vanished. Once again the Mountains of Ulion stood around him, and the distant faint laughter of the beloved children drifted into the valley. Long morning shadows spread from the mountain tree line, and the ground trembled. Something enormous, something powerful, marched toward him. The grass brightened to yellow and shivered. An indiscernible form shimmered before him, and a cool breath washed over him.
“This time you will not escape, Specter,” a voice boomed out.
“Ulion?” Specter stood, and frustration welled up in his soul. He spun the scythe in his hand and widened his stance. “I’ve had enough of your grudge against me, mighty prophet. God’s favor is on my side in this matter, and I tire of your mood. It shifts like an errant breeze.”
“Against me, oh Warrior, you cannot hope to stand. For how can you fight the unseen?”
“Fight a ghost? A spirit? I have done that in the bowels of Al’un Dai and will now do so again if you stand against me.”
“Then prepare thyself, for you have determined to enter the lair of the water skeels, and you possess knowledge of my children and this sanctuary. I cannot allow such knowledge to pass into the ice mountains, for, should Cromlin capture thee, he would surely draw such memories and knowledge from your mind and turn it against me.”
“I would never betray you! Nor would my mind be broken. You presume to know me, when you know me not at all—”
“Such fire in your words, I almost am made to believe you. Maybe I do believe you. But you don’t know the enemy as do I. Cromlin is king of the water skeels. They are a vicious, most powerful race, ancient—and Cromlin is cunning. Thou art reckless to plunge after your fallen pupil without consideration for the unknown. Some places have been hidden in this world, hidden deep that none may find them or be harmed by them. Thy heart leads you like a lamb into the tiger’s mouth. You can kick with your little hooves and bleat until you run out of wind, but the tiger still has you.”
Specter flexed his stub of an arm. “You are that tiger, lusting for the power you have over me. Yet my spirit remains untouched. And one day the lamb may kick out the tiger’s eyes and laugh at its arrogance.” He swiveled the scythe behind his back so that the blade pointed over his shoulder. “Come now, let us duel. Or else be gone and return me to the journey I have set myself to.”
Clouds rolled over the mountains and lightning flashed. Wind howled through the forest, and a chill of foreboding crept up Specter’s leg. The invisible creature circled him at a distance, its footfalls shaking the earth, and in its wake the air churned. Faster it moved, and he waited for it to strike. The wind followed Ulion. It increased its strength and howled down from every mountain to join a funnel of air that rose from the meadow. Skyward the funnel grew until a veritable tornado lashed at Specter’s every limb, holding his arms and legs at its center, then raising him five feet off the ground.
Specter closed his eyes and prayed from his heart for salvation from the prophet’s wrath.
“I am sorry, Specter. Your magnificent life should not have ended like this,” Ulion rumbled. “Yet I will give thee a last chance to save yourself. You can leave my lands, live any life you choose, if you but give me your promise to stay out of Cromlin’s domain. Take you, I pray, my offer—”
Swinging his scythe around his waist, Specter bit back the fiery words he could have uttered. He would let the Creator judge between him and Ulion. Yet he would let the world know that he would seek the death of Auron at all costs. Whoever or whatever stood in his path, be they a warrior or a prophet, they would not stop him. He would continue on, destroying evil, so that other wizards and all men of wickedness would forever fear the consequence of their choices.
“And so it will be,” Ulion said, and the tornado lifted Specter higher off the ground as a narrow razor-sharp claw materialized out of thin air and angled toward Specter’s neck. His feet dangled helplessly above the grass. Specter slashed at the claw with his scythe, and the blade passed through it as if through water.
The darkened sky split, and blinding light streamed upon the scene as a familiar roar filled the mountains and valleys. The great white dragon dove from the clouds, spraying fire first one direction then another. The clouds recoiled from the flames, and the tornado faltered. Ulion’s claw pricked Specter’s neck just as the wind released him.
Specter dropped to the ground and rolled as the mighty dragon thundered to the ground and covered him with its wings. Its pink eyes blazed as never before, and white flames burned along its scales. The creature’s entire body smoked as it roared again. The ground quaked and split beneath Specter so that he fell into darkness.
The dragon’s claws gently caught him, and it beat its wings, sending gusts of air across the meadow. Its body rose from the ground, but Ulion roared and the tornado renewed its power, buffeting the dragon and crashing it to the ground. The great white dragon rose to his feet. A stream of fire issued from its mouth, impacting something behind Specter. Ulion roared.
Albino stepped toward Specter, spreading his wings, then scooped him in his claws and shot into the sky. A sonic boom echoed in his wake, and Specter covered his ears. The dragon’s wings clapped the air, and another sonic boom reverberated against the mountains . . . and they rose above the clouds into sunlight.
The dragon glided over the eye of the storm, then banked to the left and rumbled in a voice of irrepressible power, “Thunder and lightning cease! Clouds, disperse. The battle is over, Ulion.”
But the storm raged on until, with a blast of white fire shot from his nostrils, the dragon interrupted the winds. The clouds rolled into the distant horizon, and beneath him Specter once again looked upon the green Mountains of Ulion. From this vantage point he saw a vast desert bordering the mountains on their eastern slopes and grassy plains of green rolling into blue in the west. To the north a broad sea fi
lled the horizon. “The Sea of Serpents—”
With a growl, the dragon dove headlong, tearing the air from Specter’s lungs. The wind ripped at his face and chest. The mountains rose to greet him, and the dragon tossed him into the meadow beside the crack in the earth. As he stumbled to his feet, Specter watched the dragon prophet shake out its wings over the meadow.
“Enough of this, Ulion! Do not tempt my patience any further.” The dragon’s claws raked the ground. Fire played out of its nostrils, and smoke rolled between its bared teeth. Bolts of white-and-blue energy sizzled along its horns.
From the edge of the forest Ulion replied, and for the first time respect measured the tone and pace of his words. “Forgive my mood. I did not mean to offend thee.”
“Forgive?” The dragon roared and swung its tail into the trees. Ulion yelped and then growled. Treetops splintered and snapped, falling to the ground. “First seek forgiveness from another, Ulion. Not I. You have brought shame upon yourself in thy behavior toward one of my own. Come, therefore, prove your change of heart . . . Undo thy folly.”
“I sought to protect my children—”
“Silence!” The dragon’s fist pounded the ground. It quaked, and Specter fell to his hands and knees, still grasping his scythe. In a low voice the dragon uttered, “Undo what thou hast done.”
Ulion’s claw materialized in front of Specter. It tapped the grass, and ice formed around him, curving upward and around to once again form the tunnel from which he’d been pulled. He started to slide again, so dropped onto his back. The tunnel walls remained transparent for several moments as ice covered every blade of grass. Then, crackling into place, the tunnel walls solidified and transformed into snow-white ice.
The ice tunnel seemed to go on forever. It snaked one way and another, rose and fell, unchanging and smoother than a pond’s surface. He closed his tired eyes and let them rest.
The white tunnel walls continued to shoot past as Specter opened his eyes. He slid around a corner, rose over another hump, and emerged into a cavern. The ground dropped from under him as he gazed with awed horror at the chamber. Overhead ice stalactites a hundred feet long and several yards broad speared downward. His body flew into open space and he flailed.
Teeth chattering, he stabbed his scythe into the nearest stalactite. It caught and held, hanging him there. With but one arm to grasp its handle, he glanced around for some means of escape. Or maybe he could return to the tunnel. Below him lay a deep-blue lake a mile in breadth surrounded by smooth walls of ice that arched to the cavern roof. A thin vapor rose off the water, and an intense cold pierced his cloak. Try as he might, he saw no place to rest. A long distance down the water sloshed in its icy nest. He gritted his teeth.
For a long time he held on. It was impossible to tell exactly how long. His arm muscles burned, and at last his fingers slipped on the scythe’s handle. No! He wouldn’t let go. He must wait for—for what? He could think of nothing.
He shook the scythe and swung on it. The blade grated in the ice, yet held. He swung his weight again. The blade bent and his hold slipped. He released it and plunged to the lake, closing his eyes. If the water was as cold as it looked, he wouldn’t feel a thing.
As soon as his feet struck the water’s surface, an icy shock stabbed up the back of his legs to his spine. His vision exploded in a burst of light, and his body snapped as tight as a harp string. It was so cold that he couldn’t feel anything else. Then in his mind’s eye Auron stood on an ice mountain and wrapped his arm around Oganna’s neck. Tears rained from the young woman’s eyes and fell to Auron’s feet. And Specter saw that the traitor stood upon the bodies of slain women and children.
“No! It will not be!” Specter gurgled in the water, and strength flowed into his body. Bands of ice pushed him out of the water’s depths and to the surface. His feet stood on the water as if on land as he knelt and smote the liquid with his arm stub. His arm stub froze to the water. Ice caked his useless arm as if it were armor. Then the ice spread over his missing hand. He drew it out of the water, raised it before his eyes, and smiled as he flexed a fist made from ice, every line of his palm and every finger in its place. Miraculous!
The water seemed to smile back at him, and he laughed, then lowered his normal hand into the water. He half-closed his eyes, envisioning his weapon of choice. Beneath the water’s surface a new scythe formed itself in his hand, and he raised it out of the water, chuckling. With both his ice hand and his other, he gripped the weapon and spun it around his neck. It had no more weight than a hatchet and felt warm to his fingers. He moved each ice digit on his new hand and laughed again. Whatever miracle this was, he would not question it for each finger—though apparently constructed of ice—felt warm. Now I am ready to face you, my traitorous apprentice! But where do you hide?
He looked around the cavern. No tunnels or openings to other caverns revealed themselves, so he gazed into the lake. His legs sank, and then he dropped wholly under the surface. No vegetation or fish, nothing for as far as he could see. And the lake was the clearest blue he’d ever seen. This water appeared as pure as the day of creation. At the far side, a dark hole appeared in the lake bottom.
Fixing the scythe to his back, he swam for the aperture. His hand of ice worked as well as the hand he’d lost, pulling him in sync with his other arm. He descended to the dark hole in the ice, noting the warmth of the lake that had before seemed so frigid.
When he arrived at the aperture, he dove inside. He swam a hundred yards, his lungs near exploding, but the tunnel continued without end. He turned back and resurfaced in the cavern. He walked on the water, then knelt, placing his hand beneath the surface. This time he formed a hollow sphere of ice as broad as his chest with a finger-sized hole on one side. Bringing that out of the water, he drained it and stuck his finger in the hole, dove again, and swam back into the tunnel. After a minute or so he pressed his lips to the ice sphere, slid his finger out and pressed his mouth over the hole, and sucked in fresh oxygen while exhaling through his nose.
In this manner, he groped through the tunnel for a long distance until a soft light appeared above. He kicked toward it and rose in another cavern. He brushed his soaked hair out of his eyes. A broad ice beach lay ahead. Behind it yawned another enormous tunnel. Glowing stars, like spiders on a ceiling, dotted the cavern, throwing soft light into every corner. He swam to the beach, shattering the ice sphere on his thigh as he slogged out of the water. With sudden concern he stepped up to the cavern’s wall. It would be wise to first prove his newfound weapons. Firming his jaw and tensing his arm, he punched his ice fist into the wall. But his new hand did not break; instead, it cracked the cavern wall. He drew the scythe from his back and likewise smote it against the wall. It also held, but when he cast it through the air, it shattered against the wall, bursting into large splinters. He formed another scythe from the water and, keeping it in his hands, struck the wall a dozen times. The weapon held strong, not bending or cracking.
So, he had to maintain physical contact with it, otherwise it would break. He cradled it over his shoulder and strode into the enormous tunnel ahead. Almost immediately the floor sloped down, and he began to slide. He lay down and slid through a series of caverns, then the tunnel swerved, and around a bend it branched in three directions. He stabbed the scythe’s ice blade into the tunnel floor, and it held, jerking him to a halt as he grasped it with both fists.
Catching his breath, he rose to hands and knees, anchoring himself to the slippery surface by folding his leg around his ice weapon. From this vantage point he could gaze into each tunnel. The first stood substantially lower than the original tunnel. Fifteen feet, no more. The other two gaped a hundred or so feet wide and as many high. Shiny blue ribs adorned the tunnel walls, and the ice floors glowed with iridescent light, such that a rainbow seemed to adorn each of them.
He closed his eyes. Which one? Where would Auron have gone? But there was no way of telling. Apart from their size they were identical. Perhaps th
e larger tunnel led to the water skeels and the smaller one led elsewhere.
Then he heard it. A sound so faint that at first it drifted by him unnoticed until it reestablished itself. Something slapped the ice and warbled a birdlike high note from the smaller tunnel. Another warble answered and a third echoed. Something slapped the ice and padded closer. A long, thin shadow snaked up the tunnel wall as that something approached a bend in the tunnel.
He pulled the scythe from the floor and stuck his ice hand to the wall, pulling his hood up. The cloak shimmered and his body vanished.
The creature warbled, padded closer, and gurgled as if amused. Its arrow-shaped white head snaked into the tunnel, held high on its long neck. It padded on four fin feet toward his tunnel intersection. Its large nostrils, set above round green eyes, rattled another warble as it swiveled its long neck to glance over its bulbous body and short, fat tail. Other shadows snaked along the tunnel’s wall, and three others padded after the first creature. Each of them had to weigh more than a full-grown elephant.
The lead skeel hunkered close to the ice, warbled long and loud, then raised its head and padded to the intersection and sped up the tunnel from which Specter had come. The others followed, climbing the iced path with amazing agility and speed. One snapped at its companion with needle teeth six inches long, and together they warbled, sending their song ringing through the tunnels.
He let out a slow breath as the last one disappeared up the tunnel. He allowed his cloak to render him visible. He had found them. He’d found the water skeels. One thing occupied his mind as he entered the small tunnel one careful step at a time. Auron had picked interesting allies. Specter could handle a few of these creatures, but he wouldn’t want to try facing a group of them. Yet one thing nagged him: why did the great white dragon fear them? Planting his ice hand on the wall to keep from sliding, he rendered himself invisible.
Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 12