Then, with a flourish of his robes, and a hissing pop, his apparition was gone.
Later, as the sun was setting, Targon showed Hyden the door to Pratchert’s Tower, and gave him a dire warning.
“You either pass Dahg Mahn’s trials, or you never return from beyond that door.”
“How many have passed?” Hyden asked, hoping to be able to speak to one who had done so.
“None,” Targon replied simply.
Hyden nodded his understanding. He wasn’t ready to enter yet, and he knew it. Ready or not, he would have to enter soon though. The demon-wizard wasn’t about to wait for him to prepare.
His problem wasn’t fear of the trial. He had faith that the White Goddess wouldn’t send him off to die in some ancient wizard’s trap. What troubled him, was what he would do with the crystal, if and when, he recovered it from the tower. It could take weeks to get it across the land to the marshes, where the Dragon Spire was located. By then, it would be too late. If it was small enough, then maybe Talon could carry it there. But even if it was small enough, how would Talon dissolve it into the carving of the Seal’s symbol?
He sighed, and tried to sort out all the questions forming in his mind. Then, he changed his train of thought altogether.
“Is there anything you can do for Mikahl?” Hyden asked, as he followed Targon away from Pratchert’s door.
Somehow, knowing Gerard’s fate had caused him to see that this was as much his war as it was Mikahl’s. His personal responsibility for his brother’s actions, and the burning feeling, a longing for vengeance that was growing inside him, seemed to give him strength and resolve. With or without Mikahl and Ironspike he would face the darkness ahead; but he would much rather face it with his friend by his side.
“There are possibilities, but none that would prepare him for the upcoming battle,” Targon answered honestly. “Queen Willa said he was –is a brave soul.”
“Aye,” Hyden agreed. “And he is vicious with a blade. Not just Ironspike, but any length of steel.”
After a moment, Hyden asked, “What was it that Pael called me? Fawlkra Mahn?”
“It means hawk man, like Dahg Mahn means dog man.”
Hyden thought of Vaegon then. If he was to be remembered, which he doubted he would be, he would rather be remembered as Hyden Hawk. Fawlkra Mahn sounded more like a food dish, or maybe a wagon part. Thinking of the elf, and the fact that Vaegon was out doing something, instead of wandering around, blowing hot air, caused him to strengthen his resolve even further. He forced himself to focus his attention.
“Do you know of a magical crystal that Dahg Mahn possessed?” Hyden asked hopefully.
“I assume you mean the Night Shard.”
Targon stopped their procession through the bustling corridor they had entered.
“There’s a text that mentions it in the Royal Library. It came from deep within the earth, and was given to Pratchert by the dwarves for some great act of wizardry that he supposedly performed for them.”
He paused and put his finger to his chin.
“There is a tapestry depicting the ceremony in which it was presented. The Shard was one of his most prized possessions, they say.”
“Can you show me this tapestry?”
Hope was beginning to rise in Hyden’s heart. Once he knew how big the crystal was, he could start forming an actual plan. Surely, the depiction showed the artifact’s size in relation to a man.
As they traversed the mile or so of stairways and passages that led to the hall where the old tapestries were stored, Hyden explained what his goddess had told him to do with the crystal. At one point, Hyden looked around and realized that they were outside under the stars, crossing an open-air courtyard that was big enough to contain his whole village.
Targon’s pace had quickened as they spoke of the crystal’s size and weight. If it was too large for Talon to carry, there were other ways that it might be transported to where it needed to be. If Talon could carry a small marker to the exact location, then Targon would easily be able to send the crystal there. Dissolving it, Targon said, was another matter altogether.
He lectured Hyden on crystalline structure, which Hyden barely grasped. Learning that salt was a crystal that dissolved in water, and that ice was actually crystallized water that thawed with heat only served to confuse Hyden. Some crystals dissolve with corrosives, some it just took time. There was no way to know what would dissolve the Night Shard, without testing samples of it. To sample it, Hyden would have to beat the tests set by Pratchert hundreds of years ago; tests that had caused every one of the hundreds of aspiring mages and fools that had entered the tower, never to be seen again.
With a flick of his wrist, Targon lit the torches that were ensconced along the walls of the old musty room they were entering. The big, open storage chamber was full of statues, armaments, paintings, and other relics from the history of Xwarda. There was so much stuff, that they had to squeeze between dusty piles and teetering stacks to get through the room.
“One of my students is supposed to have inventoried all of this recently, but by the dust and clutter, I think I might have been shammed.”
Targon eased away from Hyden, and cast a spell, while calling out the name of the student. A moment later, a sheepish looking boy, caught in the awkward stage in between youth and manhood, appeared in a blurry apparition before the master wizard.
“But I did!” Hyden heard the youth blurt out defensively.
“How did you inventory all of this, without so much as stirring up the dust in here, Phenilous?” Targon asked the boy, dubiously.
“Your instructions were for me to catalog the contents of the room without disturbing anything….Sir.” The last was added as an afterthought.
“But how, Phen? How did you –? No, never mind how, it’s not important. Do you remember a tapestry showing the presentation of the Night Shard to Dahg Mahn?”
The boy thought for a moment, and then a smile crept across his face.
“Who’s going into Pratchert’s Tower?” His eyes found Hyden, and flared hopefully.
“Phen, tell me where the tapestry is, or you’ll be scrubbing pots in the kitchen for a month,” Targon ordered.
The boy’s smile vanished.
“It’s in the third rack, along the display wall, but won’t you at least tell me…”
Targon, with a dismissive wave of his hand, made the apparition of the boy vanish.
While Targon went over to the rack that was holding the tapestries, Hyden studied the one nearest the door. There were dwarves and elves fighting desperately against a cloud of dragons, that were ridden, by what Hyden could only assume, were humans. Hyden noticed that the dragons, as well as the riders, all wore collars.
“My daughter used him to collar the dragon and then left him for me to sacrifice!” Pael’s cold words echoed in Hyden’s brain.
The vile demon-wizard had said it proudly, like a taunt or a brazen boast. Hyden, now angry again, and disgusted, walked away from the scene, trying to calm himself and keep his mind focused.
“Here,” Targon exclaimed after few moments.
As Hyden approached, he saw that Targon’s expression had grown doubtful, but when Hyden reached his side, the wizard’s lips curled into a grin. He crossed his arms across his chest, and gave Hyden a smug look, that showed he had confidence in whatever scheme he had come up with in his head.
When Hyden looked at the tapestry, he gasped in a breath so quickly, that he nearly swallowed his tongue. It showed a man, who looked remarkably like himself, holding a glittering, smoke colored crystal, which was roughly the size of a newborn child. Before him, the Dwarven King, or at least a dwarf of high nobility, bowed before the legendary wizard. Beyond them, a horde of dwarven soldiers bowed as well.
“This can be accomplished,” said Targon. “Now all you have to do is pass the trials of Dahg Mahn, so that I can dissolve a sample of the Night Shard.”
Still feeling the rage of Pael’s ins
ulting words echoing in his head, Hyden said flatly, “Then it’s as good as done!”
Chapter 52
“How many, and how long will it take?” Queen Willa asked General Spyra and his two advisers.
They were back in the council chamber. They had taken a break after Pael’s interruption, but had now resumed the war council in earnest.
A pair of Targon’s High Magi, one that specialized in defense and fortification, the other, whose area of expertise was magic as a weapon, had come and taken the Master Wizard’s place. The Queen had excused Targon and Hyden Hawk to “pursue other avenues,” as she had put it. The pixie, Starkle, and Andra, the dwarfess, had been excused as well, but King Jarrek was still present, as were Parooka, the Mayor of Xwarda City, and his man, Commander Strate, head of the City Guard.
“Maybe three thousand men between High Port, Old Port, and Jenkanta,” one of General Spyra’s subordinates answered timidly. “They are gathering in Jenkanta as we speak. There, they will await new orders. It will take two days at the most, if we send a bird,” he paused and glanced awkwardly at the High Magi. He knew a messenger bird wasn’t necessary, but didn’t even try to understand how else a message could be delivered. “…Immediately,” He finished.
“What of the people, Highness?” Mayor Parooka asked quickly, before anyone else might get the floor. “If we use the tunnel to bring in more troops from Jenkanta, then how will we evacuate the city?”
“And who will protect the citizens once they are in the hills?” Commander Strate added.
“Who said we would evacuate? I need those men!” General Spyra’s voice was sharp. His narrowed eyes darted from the Queen, to the Mayor, and back. He had risen from his seat as he had spoken, and was now leaning down with both fists on the tabletop. He was an intimidating sight, just as he intended to be.
“Sit,” Queen Willa commanded softly, but firmly, to the General.
Grudgingly, he complied.
“If what Pael says is true, that these soldiers of his won’t fall from normal battle wounds, then I don’t see how the extra men will help you, General.”
Willa took a long, sorrowful breath before continuing.
“I have a duty to the people. I have to protect them no matter what the cost. But I have a duty to stay and guard the Wardstone as well.”
She paused long enough that the General felt he could speak. He ran his hand back over his sweat slicked head, as if there were still hair there. His hand ended up squeezing at his fleshy chin.
“How do we fight such an enemy?” He looked at the two magi as if they were his corporals. “Tell me!” he ordered.
Master Amill, the Mage who studied defenses, looked at the Queen askance. He was showing the proper respect for his not so elevated station. She smiled at his manners, and nodded for him to respond. The look she gave the Mayor, and the General, showed that they might try to remember their etiquette as the Mage had.
“General Spyra,” Amill stood. “Can a man with one leg walk? Even a dead man would have a time of it. Can a man wield a weapon when his muscles and sinews are burnt and stiff? If his arm is no longer attached, can he strike at you? There’s only one way to completely incapacitate the necromatized, besides burning them to ash. That is to separate the head from its body. However, there are many ways to defend against them, or render them ineffective. The most obvious way, is to burn them, but that is an offensive stratagem. I’ll let my colleague tell you more.”
Master Amill indicated with his hand the other Mage. Master Sholt seemed surprised to be called upon so soon, but he stood, and cleared his voice. He took a sip of wine from the goblet on the table before him, and took a few seconds to gather his wits.
“Fire is the most potent form of attack that comes to mind.”
His confidence grew as he spoke to the most powerful people in his bookish little world.
“But the fire must be sustained long enough for the heat to deteriorate, or cook if you will, the meat, of the corpses. The eyes of the undead are not how it sees, so blinding, or burning the face is pointless. Also, there is a theory about. . .”
And so it went well into the night. Ultimately, Queen Willa ordered that the people would be evacuated into a tunnel, which led from a mock cathedral behind the palace, out under all of the city walls, into the foothills near Jenkanta. The tunnel was nearly two miles long, and wide enough for two wagons to pass each other. The dwarves had dug the passage ages ago. No one was certain why, but it was there, and they were going to use it.
The Blacksword soldiers from Jenkanta and the port cities were massing at the far end, to guard it from Pael’s soldiers. There were several collapsible sections, so if Pael’s undead came after them, from the palace end, the way could be blocked off. Willa’s intent though, was to pack the people into the passage, and use it as a shelter. Only in the event that Xwarda was about to fall, would she give the order for the Jenkanta guards to open the other end of the gate and let the people chance a run through the hills to Jenkanta. If it came to that, Willa knew that her people would be alone in their struggle to survive. The best she could do, if Xwarda fell, was guarantee that they weren’t being pursued when they started out of the passage.
While General Spyra and the Magi made their defensive and offensive battle plans, the Mayor, the Queen, and the Commander of the City Guard made the plans to evacuate the city.
Queen Willa insisted that the poor folk, the ones packed into the space between the outer wall and the secondary wall, would go into the tunnel first. Mayor Parooka argued that the merchants and the nobles of the city should go first, but Willa would not budge. Even as they worked out the details of food and water distribution, and relief stations for the evacuees, she had Commander Strate start the common folk in from the outer bailey.
Her reasoning was sound. She was sure that Pael’s undead army would be visible at dawn, exactly as he had promised. It would be better for the simple-minded people to be long into the tunnel, before the rumors of undying men, and dark-hearted wizards started coming down from the walls. The terror and chaos that would ensue, might turn riotous, and ruin any chance of moving troops through the city.
She told Mayor Parooka that it’s the duty of the noble born and the wealthy to take care of those that give them station, and coin, not the other way around. The Mayor could only nod in agreement, and hope to find a way to sneak the families of the men, that had already paid him bribes for protection, to the front of the procession.
Confident that her orders would be carried out, Queen Willa took her leave of the council, and made her way through the castle, down into its bowels, to the ancient temple of Doon.
It was only a small room in the depths of the palace’s main structure; hard to find if you didn’t know what you were looking for. The god of the underground was only worshiped these days by the few dwarves that lived on the surface, and a handful of others. Queen Willa wasn’t one of them, but she hoped to find Andra there, and she did.
The dwarfess was in the almost completely darkened chamber, sobbing, and huddled on one of the stone-worked pews. She was up near the altar, which was made entirely of carved jade, chased in gold and silver, and studded, here and there, with precious stones. It sparkled wildly under the scant flickering light of a three-pronged candelabra that rested atop it. It was the only illumination in the high-ceilinged room, and its light faded before reaching any of the walls, save for the one directly behind the altar. Andra’s sniffles and snorts reverberated up into the darkened heights, but stopped when the sound of Queen Willa’s footfalls came upon her.
“It’ll be all right, dear Andra,” Queen Willa said, stepping over Andra’s stumpy legs, so that she could sit beside her friend.
“Oh Willa, he’s out there! He’s outside the walls, with that elf, and all those dead men!”
She turned to the Queen and clung to her, burying her bearded face in the Queen’s bosom. Then she let out a sobbing wail of despair.
Queen Willa loving
ly patted the dwarfess, and hugged her tightly.
“Come now. Dugak knows the tunnels as well as any alive. He will come back soon.”
Willa’s eyes were looking over Andra, and had settled on the shadowy shape of the horn that rested on top of the altar.
“But he doesn’t know to use the tunnels.” Andra looked up miserably at the Queen. “He and Vaegon don’t know about that horrible wizard yet.”
She sniffed, and with a child-like swipe of her forearm, wiped the mucus from her mouth and mustache, and tried to gather herself.
“If I blew the horn, would they come?” Willa asked absently.
Her eyes looked forward, but they were focused on another time and place, somewhere far beyond the walls of the darkened temple.
Andra followed the Queen’s eyes to the glittering altar.
“That is the promise that King Malachite made.” Her tone was hopeful, but her eyes betrayed her doubt.
“Would you really summon my people back to the light of day?”
“I may have no choice, but King Malachi is long dead by now.”
Queen Willa pulled herself back into the moment, and looked at Andra seriously.
“Would they keep a promise made a thousand or more years ago?”
“A promise made by a King should be kept by his successors. A dwarf’s word is his bond. A King’s promise, I think, should hold even more weight.”
“And the Hammer of Doon is as mighty a weapon as King Mikahl’s sword!” Willa added, with growing confidence.
She stood, eased back past Andra, and approached the altar.
The horn was lighter than she had expected it be. It was a plain curl of ram’s horn, save for the mouthpiece, which was crafted of silver. All around the curling body, there were runes etched into the rough surface. There was a leather thong fastened to it, so that it might be carried in the field. Willa pulled that over her head, letting the horn hang just below her breasts.
“If the need be great, and the times be dark, then sound the horn, and the might of Doon will come forth from the depths of the earth, and lend its strength to protect the Wardstone.”
The Sword and the Dragon (The Wardstone Trilogy Book One) Page 59