Voyage of the Fox Rider
Page 46
Alamar crumpled the parchment and flung it down. “No, say I. I will not allow such a fiend loose upon the world. If I must remain here alone to face him, then let it be so.”
“But, Father,” protested Aylis, “you cannot hope to defeat both a Mage and an army of Trolls. Instead, let us return to Rwn, gather the aid we need. Durlok’s trail will be warm, and we will have the master seers to track him. They will have the power to break his wards, to find his essence.”
“Is it so, chieran?” asked Aravan. “We will not lose the opportunity to rid the world of such a monster?”
Aylis nodded. “Yes, my love. He cannot escape, now that we have something of his and know where to start.”
“But wait!” exclaimed Jinnarin. “If that’s all it takes, couldn’t you have tracked him down long past, when he crossed over from Vadaria? That was a known place to start.”
Aylis shook her head. “Although we knew where to start, we had nothing of his, nothing embedded with his essence. What he did not take with him, he destroyed before he escaped.” Aylis gestured toward the sanctum. “But now we have much to choose from, all imbued with his very
Aravan turned to Alamar. “Is it so, Mage Alamar?”
Alamar looked about as if seeking allies, but all faces were grim, waiting. At last he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I had forgotten about the seers. —Yes, it is true.”
Aravan’s gaze swept over each one there. “We will leave, and swiftly, for I will not jeopardize the lives of all just so that one elder can wreak his revenge. Yet we shall return, fit for the fight, on that ye have my word.”
Alamar ground his teeth. “You realize, Elf, that by running away with your tail between your legs, you are condemning more innocents to die.”
Aravan’s gaze was steely. “Mayhap, Mage Alamar. Yet by garnering the help we need, we make certain that the monster is slain. To do otherwise is to virtually ensure our failure and give Durlok a free hand.”
Farrix pounded tiny fist into tiny palm. “Yes! And Durlok must be stopped, and to that end I’d rather be certain than sorry.”
Alamar’s jaw jutted out stubbornly, but Aylis stepped to him and embraced him, whispering, “Father, Farrix is right: Aravan’s way is best. I know it and so do you. But even if you think otherwise, still there is your pledge to me—to return to Rwn now that Farrix is found—and I now ask you to honor it.”
For long moments he stood rigid in her clasp, his arms at his sides, not returning her press. But at last he nodded jerkily and patted her on the back, saying, “All right, Daughter. You’ve made your point. Aravan, too.” Tentatively Aylis drew back and looked at his face, and he smiled at her…but his smile did not reach his eyes. And once again his jaw shot out, and he looked at Aravan and waved in the direction of the laboratory and declared, “But we won’t go till I’ve burned those unholy incantations to ashes—epistles of torture, primers of agony, scriptures of pain and suffering.” Alamar turned on his heel and marched back toward the sanctum.
Aylis stepped to Aravan. “I will go with him and make certain that we salvage something of Durlok’s essence.”
Aravan canted his head. “I will go with thee, chieran.”
“We’re coming, too,” said Jinnarin, as she and Farrix leapt down from the crystal block, Rux jumping down after. Jatu glanced at Bokar and shrugged, and scooping up the scatter of papers as they went, together they all followed Alamar into Durlok’s lair.
As they came into the laboratory, Jatu waved a hand toward the hall leading farther inward. “What about the treasure, Captain?”
“Leave it behind, Jatu,” replied Aravan. “We have no need of such, and I would not weigh down our small craft on the return journey.”
“Leave it behind for Durlok?” asked Farrix. “He will use it for evil ends.”
Jinnarin looked at Aravan. “We could hurl it into the sea.”
Bokar shook his head. “There is a great amount, Lady Jinnarin, a veritable Dragon’s hoard. To cast away all will take much time. Yet if we do not, it will be as Master Farrix has said, Durlok will use it for his own ends.”
Alamar, throwing scrolls and tomes into a pile, called out, “Pah! If Durlok has Foul Folk at his beck, treasure is of no matter. He can always have them ravage and pillage for more, or even dig for it.”
“Finding gems or precious metals in the ground is not such an easy task,” growled Bokar.
Alamar turned and glared at the Dwarf. “Hah! For a Mage it is a trivial matter.”
Bokar’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, and instead began throwing papers and scrolls and such onto the growing pile.
Farrix turned to Aylis. “I say, if Mages can easily find things, well, could you find my bow? Durlok took it and put it somewhere, and, burn me, I’d like to get it back.”
Aylis smiled. “Perhaps I can at that, Farrix. Jinnarin, will you let me have yours?”
Jinnarin handed over the tiny bow to Aylis. “Iveni simile,” the seeress murmured. Deliberately Aylis turned and cast about as if seeking and finally began slowly pacing down the hallway toward Durlok’s sleeping chambers, with Aravan at her side and the Pysks at her heels. Bearing a Dwarven lantern, Jatu followed. Through the bedchamber Aylis trod, each step more sure than the last. Into the treasure room she strode and swiftly to the pile where she took up the mate to Jinnarin’s bow. She turned and stooped down to Farrix. “Thy bow, tiny one,” she said, grinning, casting Aravan a sideways glance.
A great smile split Farrix’s face, but then he craned his neck, looking into the gleaming mound. “Uh, d’you see my arrows anywhere?”
Without a word, Aylis held out a hand to Jinnarin. “Be careful,” said the Pysk as she took back her bow but handed the seeress one of her tiny arrows.
“Iveni simile,” muttered Aylis. At first the seeress turned to Jinnarin, for the tiny Pysk had additional arrows in the quiver at her hip. But Aylis murmured, “Aliter,” and turned again. Soon she paced into Durlok’s laboratory, where Bokar and Alamar yet cast papers onto the heap. In a drawer she discovered Farrix’s arrows. As she handed the tiny quiver to him, Aylis frowned and shook her head. “I suspect that Durlok was saving these to analyze. It would be a sad day were a Black Mage ever to discover the secret of your poison.”
“Indeed,” replied Farrix. “That’s why we tell no one ever.”
At these words, Jinnarin glanced at Alamar, but the elder was muttering to himself and did not hear.
Aylis looked at the mound of tomes and scrolls, of journals and books and papers. “Oh my, do we need burn this all, Father?” asked Aylis. “I mean, I have always revered all scribings for the knowledge they contain, be it precious or mundane. Are you certain we are not about to destroy something that will prove useful in the future?”
Alamar paused and looked at the pile. “I am not certain, Daughter. But this I do know: Many of these things are written in Common. Others are scribed in the Black Mage tongue. Some are in Slûk. Those languages I recognize even though I do not speak or read or write some of them. There are other tongues, too, ones I do not recognize. Many of the papers are illustrated; others are not. But of those that are, all show monstrous rituals—eviscerations, castrations, flensing, torture, ritual rapes, and the like, all to leech power, of that I am certain. But there are also writings here without any illustrations, and so, indeed we may be throwing away irreplaceable knowledge…but I think it is knowledge of devastation and ruin, and I would keep it out of Durlok’s grasp. With the castings you have at your beck, you or other seers could easily read what is written, but we don’t have the time needed for you to examine all. Could we bundle it up and bear it back to Rwn to be used to combat the Black Mages, then I would do so, and gladly. Yet, just as is the case with the treasure, there is too much here as well; it would merely weigh us down. And so, I would destroy it all to prevent its use by Durlok…destroy it all but this”—Alamar held up a black journal—“a Black Mage lexicon, I think. Durlok’s very own; see, it
has his
“Then, Father, if that is what we are keeping, I suggest that we each take a page from it so that if one is lost, we still have the means to trace his whereabouts.”
“Ah,” said Alamar, “a splendid plan,” and he ripped six pages from the journal and stuffed one of them into his robes. Then he handed a page to everyone but Aylis, giving her the remainder of the book instead. “Here, Daughter. When you get a chance, use your seer ability to decipher what is within.” Satisfied, he glared at everyone but Bokar and gestured at the mound of paper and said, “Now, if you’ve all finished your traipsing about, shirking the task at hand, then I suggest you pitch in so that we can finish this off.”
Swiftly the chamber was stripped of writings, Durlok’s bedchamber, too, all of it thrown onto the pile. At last Alamar said, “All right, let’s set it afire and then get out of here.”
As Jatu bent down and made ready to set the whole of it ablaze, a hubbub sounded from the crystal chamber, and a Dwarven warrior came bursting into the sanctum. It was Dett, one of the sentries from the lookout post.
“Armsmaster! Captain!” he urgently said. “A ship! There is a black ship on the southern horizon and it is heading this way.”
“Durlok!” spat Alamar. But then a gleam came into his eyes, and he rubbed his palms together. “Well, well. So it’s come to a fight after all.”
Jinnarin stood on the sill of the slot at the lookout post and watched the black galley coming onward in the eventide; its oars beating, its dark sails canted at an angle to catch the westerly wind, hull and canvas casting long shadows in the setting Sun. And as it raced across the pale green sea, her heart hammered in her breast and fear coursed through her, and she half expected at any moment to see the ship disappear and a great spider come charging across the weed and waves. She gripped Farrix’s hand and glanced at him—his face was white and grim—then she looked back out on the undulant waters, pale green turning to malachite as the Sun sank in the west. Is it only late afternoon? It seems we’ve been here forever.
“Five miles,” gauged Jatu.
As the black Man stepped aside, again Bokar looked through the slot and growled, “How is it getting through the weed? It seems not slowed at all. —Shallow draft? Special hull? Magic? What?”
“Here, let me see,” snapped Alamar.
The eld Mage stepped around Rux and toward the window slit, crowding past Aravan, Jatu, and Bokar. “Visus,” he muttered, then peered out. And as he looked upon the distant galley, his face drained of blood. “Adon!” he breathed, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, Adon.”
Now Aylis moved to Alamar’s side and invoked magesight as well, and she, too, peered at the far ship. And she blenched and sucked air in through clenched teeth. “So much
Below, Jinnarin gripped Farrix’s hand tightly in her fright, his return grip just as firm, and she asked, “I don’t see— What are you talking about, Aylis?”
Aylis did not look away from the galley as she answered the Pysk’s question. “The ship, it is bright with astral fire. If it is Durlok that we see burning so, then we cannot hope to defeat him. Perhaps all the Mages in Mithgar combined could not do so.” She turned to Aravan. “We cannot take on such
But it was Alamar who replied, and his voice was filled with weariness. “No, Daughter, we cannot hope to flee without his detecting us.”
“Captain,” said Jatu, “we can return to our boats and row to the far dark end of the understone lagoon and hide. Then slip out after the galley is docked and unladed.”
Again Alamar spoke: “There is no place we can hide from Durlok. He will know that his sanctuary has been invaded the moment he enters, for he will cast a revelation to see that all is as he left it. And we have broken his grasp upon Farrix, and this he will detect.”
Bokar grunted, “Mayhap we can find an escape through the vent fissures overhead.”
Aravan shook his head. “A temporary evasion at most.”
“Whatever we do, we must hurry,” rumbled Jatu, “for the galley draws nearer with every stroke.”
“Can we not use cunning and guile?” asked Farrix. “Trick them somehow?”
“Trick twenty-eight Trolls? Perhaps,” muttered Bokar. “But how do you trick a Mage?”
Silence fell upon them all and they peered at one another as waves broke against the rock below, while in the distance the galley came on.
Alamar took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out through puffed cheeks. “How do you trick a Mage? That Mage? That Black Mage? Perhaps there is a way. Though I am not certain that I have the
Fright leapt to Aylis’s eyes. “What, Father? What do you—?”
“I defeated him once, Daughter; he cannot have forgotten that…he cannot have forgotten it was me who”—Alamar glanced at Jinnarin and smiled at her—“who did him in the eye.”
The Mage turned to Bokar. “If I fail, Dwarf, ignore the Trolls. Instead have all your warriors concentrate on killing Durlok. Perhaps a crossbow bolt or axe will get through.”
“Father, you can’t—”
“Daughter, I must…and to trick him I need your aid. Stand close behind me—close as you can get. The rest of you back away and let be. I need all my attention on what I do.”
As Alamar turned to the slot and gathered his energies, and as Aylis stepped close to her father to stand right behind, Bokar whispered to Aravan and at the Elf’s nod, the armsmaster went into the narrow passage, taking Arka and Dett with him. “He goes to set ambush,” murmured Aravan to Jatu.
The black Man grunted, then whispered in return, “I’ll go get the Men and join him.” Without awaiting permission, Jatu slipped into the crevice where Bokar had gone.
Jinnarin and Farrix started to climb down from the sill, but Alamar hissed, “No, stand there together, one behind the other. At this range, Durlok will see you as one.”
Farrix started to step in front of Jinnarin, as if to shield her. “No, Farrix,” she exclaimed. “You are taller, and I would see.” Sighing, he gave back, and Jinnarin stood before him instead.
Alamar raised a hand and pointed out the slit and down to the ocean some hundred yards away. “Imago mei igens in eo loco.”
Jinnarin gasped, for of a sudden, on the ocean where Alamar had pointed towered a giant figure facing south, facing away from the isle, facing the direction whence came the black galley. Even though she couldn’t see its features, Jinnarin knew that it was an image of a Mage, for it was dressed like Alamar. Upward it loomed, a hundred feet or so, and she guessed that it bore the features of a younger Alamar, for its hair was brown instead of white, and its form looked sturdy, strong, with no hint of the elder’s frailty.
“Cande,” hissed Alamar with effort, and in the twilight a spectral glow first limned the figure and then flared into brightness—a burning giant on the malachite sea.
Jinnarin glanced back and up at Alamar, and sweat beaded his brow. “Imita me,” he sissed, his voice shaking with effort. Behind him, Aylis grew pale, fear in her eyes.
“Vox valida,” he uttered, his words but a groan, his lips drawn thin with trial, sweat runnelling down his face, and he seemed to be ageing even as Jinnarin looked on. She wanted to reach out, to aid him in some fashion, but she didn’t know how, and she knew that anything she might attempt would perhaps do more harm than good.
Agonized, she watched as with great effort Alamar straightened and raised his hand and pointed into the distance. His mouth moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound came from him. Yet from behind, from the outside, a great voice boomed out across the darkling sea: “DURLOK!”
Jinnarin whirled and looked outward. The huge glowing figure stood with an outstretched arm, a finger pointing at the far black galley. For long moments nothing changed the oars yet beating through the twilight, the sails bearing the wind. Again the fiery image called out—“DURLOK!”—th
en motioned the black craft onward, as if inviting it to near. “COME, MY OLD ADVERSARY, IT IS TIME WE BATTLED AGAIN.”
Now the oars ceased beating and the black craft slowed, borne forward only by the wind.
Again, long moments passed. Yet of a sudden a gigantic figure loomed on the distant ocean, this one dressed in dark robes and illuminated by a black fire, and Farrix hissed, “He has slain a victim.”
Jinnarin glanced back at her mate. His face was filled with rage, and his hand strayed to his arrows, as if he would shoot someone. Behind him, Alamar stood trembling on the verge of collapse, his features even more aged. And Aylis wrapped her arms about him and held him up, tears running down her face.
“I SEE YOU ARE FILLED WITH THE
Jinnarin spun and faced outward again. At this distance she could not be certain, but the long angular features of the image of the Black Mage seemed twisted in a rictus grin, a skull-like grin.
Alamar’s image called out, “I HAVE DESTROYED YOUR GARGON, DURLOK, AND SET THE PYSK FREE. YOU ARE NEXT.”
Surprise flashed across the face of Durlok’s likeness, and it turned its head slightly, as if looking elsewhere within the caverns. Then once again it faced Alamar’s icon and anger filled its features, making it seem even more skull-like for the image had no hair—not even brows stood above its eyes.
Alamar’s semblance boomed out, “DID YOU TRULY EXPECT A GARGON TO BE A CHALLENGE TO ME? PAH!”
Now Durlok’s simulacrum raised a hand, and a great bolt of lightning flashed out, not at Alamar’s image, but at the lookout slot instead.