“It’s a taboo place.” She shouted against the force of the storm and the indoctrinated fear she felt at the thought of entering a place forbidden to all except the highest of the N’Omb priests.
Fletcher turned to her and smiled gently. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to fear inside.”
“How do you know?” she asked, astonished that he could think calmly of entering a place that the N’Omb Church had declared off limits. Even the nonbelieving Sylvan left N’Omb forbidden areas strictly alone.
“Do you sense anything dangerous?” he said, avoiding her question with one of his own.
She pressed her fingers against the powerstone and probed the cave psychically. There seemed to be no magic, no animals, no danger—only a cave.
Still warily eyeing the man-sized crevice, she shook her head.
Fletcher took her hand. “Come on. We need shelter from this storm—or would you prefer to stay out on this ledge?”
Leah shifted uncomfortably inside her drenched garments. The storm showed no signs of abating. The rain was cold and hard, and the lightning continued to hit distressingly near.
She nervously clutched her spellstone as Tim led her into the cave. She tried not to be afraid, but she’d been taught enough of the N’Omb religion to tear the unknown consequences of breaking its taboos.
The narrow crevice angled downward for a few meters and then widened into what seemed to be a large cave.
As Leah sagged wearily into a corner, Fletcher produced some matches from his belt-pouch and lit one. The flame’s weak light didn’t push away much of the gloom, but it was enough to reveal unnaturally smooth, moss-covered walls and scattered debris of leaves and rocks on the level floor.
“I’m sorry,” said Leah, striving to bring herself back into control. She stood, lifted her spellstone over her head, murmured a spell, and said “I wasn’t thinking,” as the gem started to glow with the light of many candles.
Except for the smoothness of the walls, the place seemed like a natural cave.
Despite the grim N’Omb warnings against trespass Leah’s fear began to ease. She began to take stock of their situation. She realized that they would have to do something about their wet clothes or risk catching cold in the coolness of the cave. There was no spell to dry the clothes directly, but perhaps she could improvise.
She focused on her stone and chanted. Suddenly a warm breeze began to blow in the center of the room, bringing up a whirl of leaves as it flowed. The debris spun faster; the breeze became a hot, dry wind.
“What?” Fletcher gasped.
“To dry our clothes,” Leah replied. She glanced at him. For the first time she noticed the flask still hanging across his chest.
“We should drink some of that tomaad,” she said. “It will heal these cat scratches and keep them from becoming infected.”
“Of course.” Fletcher looked at the canteen with mild surprise, as though he’d forgotten he carried it. He took a long swallow and passed it to Leah.
The tomaad was cool and refreshing. It had the sweetness of honey without its thick, cloying texture, and had a nutlike flavor.
The pain from the bites and scratches faded. A feeling of energy and well-being replaced Leah’s fatigue.
For a few minutes they stood silently in the center of the cave, letting the tomaad take full effect while the hot wind blew them dry. When it had, Leah ended the spell.
She probed the area again for any signs of Barbara and the Sylvan. She found nothing. They were probably heading for Bluefield. It seemed unlikely that she, Fletcher, or the others would be able to catch them now.
She glanced at the too-smooth walls and floor of the chamber once more. Her curiosity about the place overrode her fear of the N’Omb warnings. Cautiously circling the room, she noted that the crevice was apparently a natural opening caused by a long-ago rock-fall, but the room itself was man-made. An archway at the far end of the room opened onto a passageway leading deeper into the cliff.
“What is this place anyway?” she asked Fletcher. He’d been certain that it was safe to enter. Evidently he knew something about it.
“A worship place for the N’Omb priests now,” he replied, his voice a bit too casual.
“And what was it before? You said you were interested in the past. Is that how you knew this place was not dangerous?”
He looked uncomfortably away. “It’s ancient, carved before the time of N’Omb. I think men hid here when the fires of N’Omb fell. That’s why the Church has made it a taboo-place. They fear the knowledge of the past. But it’s safe here. Any secrets this place contained were found and destroyed long ago.”
“Destroyed?”
Fletcher’s voice turned hard. His face grew grave, as though he disapproved. “For thousands of years the Church destroyed all relics of the past. This place was probably found and cleaned out then. But in more recent times the philosophy of the Church has changed somewhat, and some artifacts from N’Omb’s time are preserved as holy relics. Now a few places such as this are kept as the holiest of holy shrines. Of course, anything that the Church thinks is potentially dangerous is still destroyed.”
He sighed. “What a waste. The learning of the ancients has been systematically erased from the face of the earth. The few things that remain are shrouded in silly superstition and myth.”
“How do you know all this?” Leah asked. “Is it because you are a scholar?” She remembered The Book of Revelations she’s seen, and she made a quick guess. “Or because you are a priest?”
Fletcher scowled. “What makes you think that?” “I saw the copy of The Book of Revelations that you carry.”
“Oh.” Fletcher shrugged. “You might as well know. I was a priest once. I was a Church historian.” Now that she’d guessed his secret he seemed suddenly eager to talk about it.
“The beginnings of Church history fascinated me. I was such a fine scholar that I was even sent to the White Tower of N’Omb to study. I spent several years there researching the most ancient documents in its vast library. I found some things that contradicted the very heart of Church doctrine. When I began to question my superiors and the recognized dogma, I was demoted and divested of my spellstone. I continued to question things and eventually was dismissed.”
His voice echoed the frustration and anger he must have felt. Then his tone changed and became almost boastful. “So I had to continue my studies outside the Church. I’ve learned some incredible things about the ancients. They once had vast cities of cement, steel, and glass. And a science that made sorcery look like child’s play. If only I could find more clues to its working, I could recreate it. However, the Church has destroyed everything.” He smiled a shy, secretive smile. “Well, almost everything.”
Leah felt a wave of shock as she realized what he was urging. She did not even know the meaning of the word science, but whatever it was, it was the most dangerous of all things in the world, and the most forbidden. The mention of the word itself in public was still a death sentence in some human lands. She only knew of it from something that Trask had said once, but even the Sylvan forbade any attempts to study it. According to the legends, N’Omb had almost destroyed the world to punish men for its use… .
“You mustn’t speak of such things,” she cried out.
In a way she was suddenly more afraid of Fletcher than she had ever been of Shaltus.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I got carried away. Much of the old knowledge is dangerous. Perhaps there is wisdom in letting the world forget it. But I’m a seeker of knowledge, and I must keep searching for it for my own sake, even if others would forbid it.” Realizing her fear, he sighed and said, “I won’t speak of it again.”
Leah nodded. She edged away from him to look out the cave opening. “The rain is still coming down hard, and the valley has become a river. We’d better get some rest while we can.”
“Right.” By unspoken agreement Fletcher moved toward the back of the chamber while
Leah sat down near the entrance.
“I’ll set up wards against intrusion,” said Leah.
She recited an incantation and used her stone to trace a pattern of runes in the dirt floor. When she finished its light dimmed into a warming glow.
She curled up on the floor and tried to sleep, but she couldn’t relax. Fletcher’s strange ideas were bewildering and disturbing.
She wondered if Michael Rowen knew of them and then decided he must. If Fletcher did know something of the forbidden science, as he’d hinted, had he used it in the past to supplement the sorcerer’s power? Was that how he fit into the team of sorcerer and precog?
She shuddered at the thought. The tales of N’Omb’s fiery destruction of most of the earth, even if only half-true, were enough to convince anyone of the necessity of forbidding the old ways.
Quinen was willing to use any means to gain his ends. Was Rowen?
Quinen. Strange, she hadn’t really thought about him since she’d joined Lord Rowen’s group. It seemed as if what had happened between them had been only a dream that would fade away with time.
She wondered what Quinen had thought when he’d discovered her escape. Was it possible that a part of him had been glad? She wanted to think so.
Where was Quinen now? She hoped that they would not meet again. Yet it was conceivable that he would ride to Bluefield to try to stop Rowen. She might have to fight him.
Quinen’s face came suddenly and unbidden into her mind’s eye. He was as she had seen him in sleep. His face was unlined, untroubled. His features were boyish and innocent, a handsome mask that gave no clue to the inner man.
She remembered him kissing her; even then there had been a hardness in his mismatched eyes of silver and brown.
Suddenly the face she imagined altered, and the eyes became warm and gray. Strong, gentle hands touched hers and then pulled her close.
She blinked and pulled away from the daydream of herself in Michael Rowen’s arms.
What was the matter with her? First she’d gotten involved with Quinen, and now she felt attracted to Rowen. Where was the control she’d always had over her emotions?
How could she be attracted to such dissimilar men anyway? One was human and one was Sylvan, and their personalities were entirely different.
Perhaps they were alike in some ways, however. Both were large, powerful men. Both were men of power. And power hungry, she reminded herself. Even Rowen—she thought of the deal he’d made with her half-brother to win a kingdom for himself. He would marry Barbara—if she lived.
Leah tried to shut off the flow of, thoughts. She needed to sleep while she had the opportunity. She forced herself to concentrate on her spellstone. Its glow seemed to beat against her eyelids with a hypnotic rhythm as her mind linked with it.
But as she fell asleep, her last thought was of the feeling of Rowen’s large hands pressed against hers.
Eleven
It wasn’t until morning that the flood waters below the cave receded enough for Leah and Fletcher to leave. They had no choice except to backtrack to the Bluestone River, where they might find their horses and meet up with Rowen’s group. Having failed to intercept the Sylvan, they’d have to return to their original plan to reach Bluefield and destroy the Shaltuswraith, if they could.
They found Leah’s packhorse about three kilometers downstream. Its bloated carcass lay among the mud-soaked debris scattered along the path of the flood. The packs were gone, evidently washed away when the animal had been caught in the flood.
By the time they reached the Bluestone, Leah had about given up hope of finding their mounts alive. But as they stood surveying the river, Michael Rowen’s party arrived, leading both the gelding and the mare.
“Thanks be to N’Omb,” Rowen exclaimed. The sorcerer grinned at Leah, dismounted, and clasped Fletcher’s arm warmly. “We were worried when we found these horses of yours grazing back at the fork. What happened?”
While Fletcher told the others of their adventures, Leah studied the group. Klaus’s leg was bandaged, Rusty looked haggard and almost sober, and Rowen had several new, half-healed scratches and cuts on his arms.
Michael Rowen nodded. “Something similar happened to us. First the Sylvan cut off the road and headed into a maze of narrow canyons. Suddenly we were attacked by a pack of wolves. It started to rain, and we lost the Sylvan’s trail. We wandered around until dark trying to pick it up, then decided to head back to you this morning.”
“The Sylvan must have reached Bluefield by now,” said Fletcher.
Klaus frowned. “Then Lady Barbara is lost.”
“It would seem so,” replied Rowen.
“There’s no reason for you to come any farther, Lieutenant Klaus. We’re almost at Bluefield now. As a nonsorcerer you’d be more of a liability than a help within the wraith’s province. You’d better ride back to Carlton and inform Lord S’Carlton.”
The lieutenant looked relieved. He didn’t want to get any closer to Bluefield than necessary. “All right. If you are sure you don’t need me?”
“Lord Richard only sent you along as a guide. Leah knows the wraith’s territory as well as anyone, so she can lead us.”
Klaus eyed Leah suspiciously. “If that’s what you want.”
“I think it would be best.”
“May N’Omb bless you and protect you,” said the lieutenant. “I don’t mind telling you I’m just as happy to be out of this.”
As he rode out, the rest of the group headed south along the Bluestone trail.
Soon the forest thickened around them, choking the river into a trickle of water, hiding the bright blue sky with a dark canopy of leaves, and plunging the pathway into shadowed gloom.
The hairs on the back of Leah’s neck prickled. The air had become suffocatingly hot and heavy. There was a feeling of foreboding about the forest, as though it were trying to tell them to turn back. Their horses slowed, involuntarily responding to the insidious warning.
Leah and Rowen were both at full alert. They used their spellstones to probe the area ahead.
The trees around them began to change. They were no longer straight-limbed plants arched toward the sky. Now the trunks were twisted, the limbs gnarled, the bark mottled with unhealthy looking patches of fungus. Streamers of moss hung from some of the branches, hiding the sun even more.
The trunks leaned away from the vertical. They were slanted toward Bluefield, as though pulled by an unseen force.
Leah listened in vain for the call of a bird or the chitter of a squirrel. An unnatural silence pervaded the area.
Suddenly Michael Rowen signaled the group to halt.
“There’s something up ahead …” he warned.
Leah studied the woods, but she sensed only a quiet emptiness. Fletcher and Rusty unsheathed their swords.
They waited expectantly.
Prodding his horse into position next to Leah’s, Rowen thrust his huge right hand toward her. “Link,” he commanded.
She touched his hand timidly and then gripped it as the energy flow between them built into a protective pattern around the four of them.
The physical touch enabled them to link on an empathic level, not a telepathic one, but it was enough to allow Leah to focus on what Rowen had sensed.
Somewhere along the trail ahead a shielded area was moving toward them. The barrier had been cleverly erected so that it reflected the world around it, concealing whatever or whoever was inside and making psychic detection of its presence difficult. As it moved there was only a slight rippling effect that distinguished it from the rest of the forest.
Rowen cautiously probed the shield. Gradually both he and Leah began to sense what lay beneath.
There were eight Sylvan on horseback returning from having delivered Barbara to the Shaltuswraith. One of them carried another programmed wraithstone; it was producing the protective distort around them.
“No,” cried Leah, as she sensed Rowen tensing to attack.
He looked at
her sharply.
“We mustn’t attack. It would take us too long to break the shield. In the meantime the Sylvan could be using their powers against us.” She gestured at the thick trees surrounding them. “They could turn every branch or twig in the area into arms capable of tearing us from limb to limb in seconds.”
His keen gray eyes surveyed her critically. Then he nodded.
He called softly to the others, “Get into the woods. We don’t want to be seen.”
As they reached cover, Rowen altered the shield around them into a distort of the type the wraithstone used. Leah clamped a tight mental hold on the horses so that they would make no sound.
“What’s going on?” whispered Tim Fletcher. “Sssshhh, Sylvan are coming this way,” Rowen explained.
They held their breaths and watched the trail.
Suddenly Rusty stood up. His forehead beaded with sweat, his eyes began to roll up in their sockets, and his hands shook.
Simultaneously Leah and Rowen grabbed the precog and forced him to the ground. He moaned in his trance. Rowen covered Rusty’s mouth with his hand to stifle the sound.
Muffled hoofbeats broke the forest’s deathlike silence.
As Leah and Raven cradled Rusty’s squirming body, their fingers intertwined in readiness. Wordlessly they each understood that if the wraithstone sensed their presence they’d only have time for one united strike against it.
Then the Sylvan appeared. A protective field surrounded them with a cloud of golden light.
They galloped by and disappeared from view. The precog shuddered and twisted violently. Rowen smiled reassuringly at Leah as Rusty’s eyes blinked and glared at them. When the hoofbeats had faded, Rowen removed his hand.
“What were you doing that for?” said Rusty indignantly. “Can’t a man daydream in peace?”
“Not if he’s going to groan about it,” Michael Rowen replied. Standing, he helped the older man to his feet. “See anything of interest?”
“Not much.” Rusty shrugged.
“Come on, that’s the longest you’ve been out in quite a while. You must have seen something.”
“The Shaltuswraith wields a lot of power. Now that we’re in its territory it fogs what I can see. I can tell you one thing though. Our expedition is a node in the timelines. Its outcome casts an almost infinite series of ripple-effects on the future.”
The Spellstone of Shaltus Page 12