"We should start looking for them." He pointed at the nearest and tallest hill. "We'll head over there. We should be able to see quite a ways from there."
Trashcan Harry turned his head to look at the hill, but stayed leaning on his crutch. He swung his head back and looked at John from under his dark brows. "Do you think that's a good idea, Jack? I mean, if they're looking for us too, we could wander around missing each other. Maybe we should stay here and wait for them to find us."
"That might work if there were just Kun and Dr. Spae to consider, but Bear will push on. You know he will, Harry."
"Yeah," Harry admitted reluctantly.
"Well, come on, then."
The hill gave them the view John wanted; they spotted the others marching in a line directly away from their position. Bear was in the lead, striding determinedly, and Spae was moving briskly as well. Kun was bringing up the rear; he was the only one looking around, but somehow John didn't think it was for him, or Faye, or Trashcan Harry.
John ran on ahead, leaving Faye to help Harry make his best speed. He shouted when he thought he'd gotten within earshot, but Kun didn't look in his direction. It seemed that the air of the otherworld dampened noise, shortening the distance sound carried, much as it scattered light to cut the range of clear vision. John kept going, closing a third of the distance before trying again. This time Kun did hear, spinning and pointing his weapon. He put it up when he recognized John and shouted for Bear to hold up.
The reunion involved a lot of earnest questions about people's conditions, but all involved seemed curiously reluctant to provide details of what had happened to them while they were separated. John knew he didn't want to talk about his visit with the elven knight; the whole episode seemed somehow best kept private.
While they waited for Faye and Trashcan Harry to join them, John saw that he had caught the others just in time. Beyond the hill on which they stood lay a forest of dark, towering trees that went on in an unbroken ocean of leaves as far as he could see in the twilight. It was awe-inspiring in its primeval beauty. This, he thought, was what the land might have looked like before the European colonists came.
Faye and Harry had barely reached the crest of the hill when Bear headed off, saying, "Come on." He walked straight toward the forest.
And into it.
The open country and its occasional woods had been strange to a city boy like John, but this shadowed stand of massive trees was as different from any woods he had been in as a rezcom was from a trash-district shanty. The most noticeable difference was that it was much darker in the shade of the forest giants, darker than anywhere he'd yet seen in the otherworld. There wasn't much in the way of underbrush between the huge boles, which seemed strange until he considered how little light penetrated the canopy of leaves high above their heads. Their feet scuffed through a deep carpet of brown leaves, and though their passage sounded loud to John's ears, the silent trees seemed not to mind. There was a deep peacefulness here within the forest that soothed him, and urged him to forget that he had ever dwelt among the concrete barrens of the earthly realm. Had it not been for the brisk pace that Bear set, John might have lingered to listen to the silent songs of the trees; they were so old, and they must have seen so much.
But even the forest doesn't last forever, and soon John noticed a curious lightening in the direction Bear led them. Not long after, they encountered brush and saplings, and finally emerged from the embrace of the great trees onto a shoreline.
Mist hung over the water, obscuring everything beyond about ten yards. The farther shore was invisible. It might have been a river or a lake, or even an ocean. It didn't smell of salt and there didn't seem to be a current, so John decided it had to be a lake. No lake had been visible from the hill. A small body of water might be hidden under the cover of the leaves, but judging from how the shoreline stretched out of sight in either direction, this was no small body of water.
With sudden certainty, John knew it was no ordinary body of water, either.
Kun looked out across the water, his index finger twitching slightly where it lay along the trigger guard of his machine pistol.
"I don't like the fog," he complained.
"There's magic here," John said.
"He's right," Spae agreed.
"This is not news," Kun pointed out sourly.
Bear ignored the byplay, staring fixedly out over the water. Finally he turned to them with a strange glint in his eye and said quietly, "She is here."
"She? Who's she?" Bear ignored Kun's question, setting out along the shoreline at a brisk pace. Kun hollered after him. "Who is she?"
Bear kept moving, disappearing around a finger of the forest that thrust out the shoreline.
"He will go on without us if we don't follow," Spae said.
Kun shot her a dark look and strode after Bear.
John understood Kun's frustration; he wanted to know too. But Bear was being Bear, talking only when he wanted to. John followed too.
They caught up with Bear at a narrow spit of sand, where he was inspecting a small rowboat.
"This is the way we must go," he said when they had gathered around his find.
"I don't like the fog," Kun said again.
Laying a hand on his arm, Spae said, "I think it will be all right this time."
He didn't look reassured.
"Boat doesn't look like it'll hold all of us," Trashcan Harry said.
"Nonsense," Bear said. "She could carry ten men in full war harness."
"Looks leaky," Harry said.
"Goblin courage." Bear shook his head. "Stay here, then. You can stay if you want too, Kun. Jack and I can handle her. Jack, help the others on, then we'll shove her out."
While John was still nodding yes, Kun stepped aboard, saying, "Hard to get separated in a boat."
John helped Dr. Spae first, steadying her as she climbed aboard. Turning to help Faye, he found her whispering to Trashcan Harry. Their conversation stopped as John faced them. Whatever they were talking about, they didn't want to share it with him. She might just have been trying to convince Harry to come along; her expression was unreadable, but the distinctly unhappy look the goblin was giving the boat said he hadn't changed his opinion.
Faye took John's outstretched hand and climbed aboard the boat with superb grace. Trashcan Harry stood fidgeting on the shore. Bear gave him only a brief look before bending to put his shoulder to the bow of the boat. After his own brief glance, John bent to help Bear.
The boat seemed reluctant to leave its berth on the sand. They leaned into it and slowly got the boat moving. The pushing got easier as the water took more and more of the weight.
"Hop in, Jack," Bear ordered.
John scrambled aboard, feeling the keel grate as his weight was added to the craft's load. Bear gave another shove and the boat wallowed free. In an instant he was aboard as well.
"Wait!" Harry shouted as he waded into the water. "Wait for me!"
Bear scowled at the goblin splashing toward them, but he stopped his preparation of the oars and waited for Harry to awkwardly haul himself aboard. Setting the oars into the locks, Bear explained to John how to hold an oar and how to use his legs and back for the power, demonstrating the stroke in the air so John could see. The water's resistance to John's first stroke surprised him, but he bent to with a will. It still took a while before John got the hang of it, but Bear was good enough at it to compensate for John's poor efforts. He probably could have done the job alone.
The rowing put John and Bear with their backs to the boat's bow and the direction of travel. John kept trying to turn around to see where they were going, until Bear told him not to worry about their heading, he was taking care of that. John didn't know how Bear was managing it, but he put his trust in Bear's competence. To his surprise, the job of rowing got easier when he stopped trying to see. Facing the back of the boat, he could see only Trashcan Harry. The goblin looked miserable as he sat in the stern, intermittently dipping his tr
ee limb into the water. When Bear noticed, he snapped at Harry.
"Drop it, or pull it in and keep it in! Otherwise you'll be using it as a raft."
Harry winced and pulled his crutch back aboard. No one said much of anything; the creak of the oarlocks, the splash of the oars in the water, and the rowers' grunts of effort were the only sounds. All around them the mist grew ever heavier, until they could see nothing beyond an oar's length from the boat.
The sense of something that John had felt earlier returned, redoubled. He could feel magic all around him. He hadn't felt anything in the fog that had separated all the companions. So why was he feeling it now? Was the magic stronger here? Or had his experience with the knight sensitized him?
The air grew clammier as the fog enwrapped them more closely.
John looked up, searching for the moon. He found it, a faint, pale disk in the misty sky. Something moved across that silver orb, something shadowy. John strained to see what sort of bird flew the night skies of the otherworld. He lost his stroke when he saw that it was not a bird, but a fish.
"Steady, Jack," Bear said. "Keep your mind on the rowing."
He tried, but he couldn't help stealing glances at the sky— if that was what was above them. There weren't a lot of fish in the sky, but schools of them swam—flew?—above the boat. He wondered what would happen if they had to abandon ship. Would they splash down into water, or could they swim away toward the moon?
After a time, Bear threw a glance over his shoulder and grunted with satisfaction. John couldn't resist; he looked for himself. The fog had cleared enough that he could see they were headed for a rocky shored island. A low wall seemed to rise directly from the rocks, and beyond it was greenery. Two concentric walls lay beyond that, ringing a tall, slender tower at what John presumed was the center. John could see the roofs of lesser buildings scattered within the rings. A gate of wrought metal was set in the outer wall, just above a broad set of steps that led to a dressed stone jetty.
Bear pulled hard on his oar, turning them toward the landing place.
"Pull, Jack. We're almost there."
John pulled. He didn't turn his head to look again until the boat's bow bumped against the stone. When he did look, he saw that someone awaited them, an elven lady in a long gown of shimmering silver fabric. Unlike all the elves John had seen, she had golden hair, but there was no doubt that she was an elf; her fme-boned features were of surpassing delicacy and configured in a beauty beyond any he had seen. A belt of intricately wrought gold links girdled her hips and vied for attention with the tall, pointed circlet of gold on her head. The crown said that she was royalty, but John suspected that even without it she would have had the air of a queen.
"I have been expecting you, Artos," she said in a voice as melodious as bells.
Bear sprang to the jetty, leaving the boat rocking behind him. "I don't intend to stay this time, Lady."
"I understand."
As he helped John to maneuver the boat alongside the stone landing, Kun whispered to John, "I thought he hated all elves."
"So did I."
Bear waited until they had all come ashore before making introductions.
"This lady is Viviane, Domina Lacorum, Until recently she was my hostess."
"The Lady of the Lakes," Spae whispered.
The elven queen turned her blue-green eyes to Dr. Spae and smiled, inclining her head slightly.
"Come inside," she said. "If you will."
Holger had read about the Lady of the Lake in the briefing folder about Arthur; or, more correctly, the Ladies of the Lake. The legends as they had come down suggested that it was more an order of priestesses than a single noble entitlement. "Viviane" had been one of the names in the folder, but Holger couldn't remember whether that name had gone with the bad witch or the good witch. This Viviane might not be the same person in any case. Still, she bore watching.
He didn't want to be here at this odd palace, but Spae was here and so he was here, like it or not. Protecting Spae was more than business now. The thought of forever reliving the day Mannheim had died chilled him beyond all reason, and she was responsible for their escape from the beast. He owed her.
The gates that opened as they approached didn't make him feel any better about the place. He couldn't spot any proximity sensors. So what had been used to open them? He supposed there might be a servant concealed somewhere watching the gate, opening it, then scurrying away. Somehow he didn't think that such an explanation, however rational, was the right one. He didn't want to admit magic was involved, but he was sure he was getting deeper and deeper into places where magic replaced logic.
The grip of the Viper was hard and reassuring under his hand.
The Lady led them to a building within the second wall that looked to John like some sort of Greek revival temple on the outside. The inside was totally different; the best description he could think of was a cross between an airport lounge and a museum gallery. The interior was subdivided into areas of varying levels separated by no more than a half-dozen shallow steps. Railings and room dividers of stone separated some of the areas, while plants and glass cases demarcated others. Exquisite paintings hung on the walls, and sculptures in many sizes and materials were scattered about. Antiquities of various sorts occupied some of the cabinet shelves or stood in the open, on pedestals or, in the case of what looked like a Roman chariot, directly on the floor. The decorator's fee for the place would have beggared a major corporation; the cost of acquiring the contents would have done in a megacorp.
"Feel free to look about. There are refreshments by the reflecting pool. Please indulge yourselves."
Spae was the first to oblige, taking the two steps down into a carpeted area. The doctor stopped at the first case with an exclamation of surprise. She bent over to study whatever had caught her attention, blocking John from seeing it. Trashcan Harry went past her, heading for the reflecting pool. John was torn between seeing what treasures were here and heading for the food; it seemed that rowing had worked up an appetite. He'd just about made up his mind to follow Harry when he noticed that Bear was standing still, arms folded, and staring at Lady Viviane. Bear cleared his throat to attract her attention.
"Lady?"
She favored him with a smile. "Still no patience, Artos."
"When necessary, Lady."
"And you do not find it necessary to indulge me?"
"I came with a purpose. I know that you have it near."
"And so I do."
A shaft of light appeared in one of the darker areas halfway across the chamber. Impaled within the beam stood a block of what looked like ice. A sword hilt protruded from the block.
Calibum.
John moved toward the sword almost unconsciously, noting the details of its appearance as he drew nearer. The long, tapering blade was visible through its crystalline sheath; it was pitted and corroded, stained dark with rust. It looked like one of the older blades in the Woodman Museum's collection, one that had been in the ground for a dozen centuries. The hilt was in better shape, its grip wrapped with dark leather above the simple crossguard. The best-preserved part was the disk-shaped pommel decorated with an engraving of a dragon coiled about itself.
It didn't look like a legendary blade, but...
"That's Calibum?"
"It is," Bear said solemnly.
The sword was a puzzle, leaving John both awed and distressed. He could feel the power residing in it, lying dormant like the sleeping dragon on the pommel, but the sword looked so .. . battered. How could this tarnished relic be the fabled sword?
He looked to Bear for an answer, but couldn't ask when he saw the anguish on the man's face.
"Caliburn is a mirror of the land," the Lady said.
Artos nodded sadly. "This, then, is the peril for which I was awakened?"
"The land must be healed," replied the Lady.
Bear bowed his head, and it seemed to John that his shoulders bent under an invisible burden. But only for
a moment. Bear raised his head and stepped forward, hand reaching for the hilt.
His fingers never touched it.
A thunderous sound shattered the peace of the chamber. Bear's hand jerked away from Caliburn as some force spun him around. Arms flailing, he slammed into the glassy column. Man and block crashed to the floor.
CHAPTER
24
John stood stunned as Kun launched himself into the air, firing his machine pistol. He slammed into Dr. Spae and the two of them tumbled to the floor behind one of the couches. Automatic-weapon fire ripped into their shelter, sending puffs of upholstery and splinters of wood flying.
John couldn't see who was shooting, and realized that they must not be able to see him either. That was all that had saved him while he stood there like an idiot, looking down at Bear's sprawled form and the red stain spreading across his shoulder and onto his upper chest. Belatedly he moved, grabbing Faye and pulling her down behind one of the cabinets. She squawked when they landed and he was afraid he'd hurt her, but as soon as he rolled off she was up and peering through the glass. He joined her, trying to see what was going on.
From his new angle he could see a hole hanging in the space between two of the columns of the north colonnade. A hole? What else could you call a circle, bounded by an eye-searing rainbow of colors, whose center seemed to be somewhere else? Though where that someplace else might be, the swirling, pearly white of the hole gave no clue.
Men leapt over the lower bound of the rainbow. Most carried automatic weapons. Most were short and broad figures. All wore black clothes, combat vests, and helmets with dark, featureless visors. One of the short figures stood to one side of the hole, shouting orders and pointing his shotgun toward the fallen Bear. To the crack of his voice, the invaders landed on the floor of the Lady's house, rolling to take the shock. One after another they bounced up and scrambled away in random directions to seek cover among the Lady's furnishings.
John had seen outfits such as they wore before, on the night Mitsutomo had raided MaxMix Manor. He'd heard that voice as well, ordering the other murderers to concentrate on "the sleeper."
Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men Page 27