The Forgotten Tribe

by Stephen J Wolf

  “You’re too kind, sir,” she demurred.

  “It’s Randler, if you please. These truly are marvelous. Your talents would thrive in a bustling city.”

  “Oh, such a place isn’t for someone like me, sir—Randler,” she corrected. “I like the quieter life, myself. I’m quite content here, actually, and I’m not wanting for anything.”

  “I understand. I’m not trying to suggest anything to the contrary.”

  She smiled softly and added some spices to the soup. “Is there anything else you would like, sir? Something I could help you with?”

  He considered asking about Dariak’s mother but then he decided against it. “I’m just giving Dariak some time, is all. Perhaps I could lend you a hand while I wait?”

  Keela delighted in the company as Randler chopped vegetables with great finesse, banging down the knife in time with various songs he sang as he worked. He even helped to wash the used cookware, though she protested at first, saying he need not lower himself to such tasks.

  “You can make it up to me with a particularly delicious dessert.” He winked, feeling more cheerful than he had in weeks—maybe even months, he conceded.

  Eventually, all the cooking was finished and they chatted about nonsensical gossip. Randler didn’t learn anything of value, though he didn’t mind. It was comforting to talk without anything of importance weighing down the conversation.

  Dariak appeared at the doorway after a while. “Randler, let’s go.”

  With a bow, Randler kissed Keela’s hand. “Thank you, my lady, for the company.” She practically wilted with the attention, after which she fanned herself with her apron.

  They left the house and walked over to a small shack that Randler hadn’t noticed, tucked beside the barn. The wood was very old and the door creaked loudly as Dariak opened it. “The laboratory is through here.”

  “It seems an easy way to access such a place,” Randler noted, trying to sound conversational.

  Dariak said nothing, instead pulling the door shut once Randler was inside. An unlit torch hung on the wall and light seeped in through the slats of the roof. The only other detail Randler saw was a trapdoor in the floor. “Stand on that,” Dariak said.

  Randler opened his mouth to comment about Dariak’s terse commands, then he shrugged and obeyed. Dariak stepped beside him, nearly shoving him out of the way accidentally. Then the mage bent down and knocked his fist on various pieces of wood around their feet. “Fethrikkar b’joulicht.” He stood back up and put his arm around Randler to steady him. “Don’t move,” he warned.

  The wooden floor all around the room swung upward to stand vertically. Slat by slat, each piece of wood rose up and surrounded the panel that Randler had mistaken for a trapdoor. Soon they were tightly boxed in, as if locked together in a standing coffin. Then Randler noted movement. Dirt rained in through some gaps where the wood hadn’t fused securely, but Dariak didn’t react to it.

  After a time, the motion stopped and the wood fell back down until it again appeared to be a regular floor surrounding a trapdoor. Light filtered in through the channel they had traveled from above, though it was barely enough to see by. Dariak stepped forward and Randler did his best to keep up.

  “This part will be difficult in your condition,” Dariak stated.

  “Should I wait here then?” He tried keeping the edge out of his voice, but failed.

  “No. Unless you’d rather not come.” He then pointed to a series of rounded stones on the floor. They spanned the length of a large hallway. “You can only step on the stones and only in a certain pattern. If you miss, you will be stuck in a tar-like muck until I can get you out. For the most part, you should be fine. But you’ll have to jump here and there.”

  The prospect of jumping didn’t sound like a good idea with the pain in his legs, but he was determined to continue on for this part of the journey so he nodded and Dariak went ahead first, cautioning Randler not to follow until he signaled that it was safe. The mage stepped on each of the first four stones, then he skipped one. He took the two next steps, then he made two larger leaps, landing on the third stone ahead each time. He took one final step and then reached a platform on the other side.

  Randler braced himself, counting aloud as he took his first steps across the stones. “One. One. One. One,” he started. “Now two.” He hopped over the next stone, landing precariously on the second slab. Pain lanced up his legs and he winced as he looked at the next stone ahead of him. He reached his foot forward and took the next two steps. “One. One,” he huffed. Now came the tricky part. Dariak had taken two leaps at this point, and Randler’s legs were already aching badly. He glanced over his shoulder seeing that he had as many steps ahead of him as behind.

  He took his time judging the first jump. He had to clear two stones and land on the third. He thought he could manage it, though the landing might be hard. It didn’t matter. He had to push himself onward. He took a deep breath and argued with himself not to close his eyes. “Three.” He leaped.

  The stone crashed up into his legs as he landed and he thought his crutches would snap with the impact, it hurt so badly. He wobbled forward and almost fell onto the next stone, which would have pinned him in the murky trap, if Dariak’s warning was true. The ground looked perfectly solid, so it was easy to think there was no actual trap, but Delminor had been a powerful and crafty mage. Of course he wouldn’t have made a trap obvious.

  It took a few minutes before Randler could push himself onto his feet again. Dariak watched from ahead with concern, but he made no effort to help. Randler wondered in part if offering assistance would set off the trap or if Dariak was being difficult, then he scolded himself for his thoughts.

  Randler stared at the next stones, turning his emotions toward attacking them instead of Dariak. “Three, then one. And then that’s it,” he murmured. His legs shuddered and he almost lost his balance without even trying to move. He took a steadying breath and then decided he needed to just be rash. He bent his knees and pounced. He knew he wouldn’t recover well after the landing, so he didn’t really try to. Instead, as his feet impacted the third stone, he leaned forward and hopped again, forcing his body onto the following step and then bounding off that to the platform with Dariak. He crumpled into a heap and clutched his legs, wailing in pain.

  Dariak knelt beside him and tried to offer comfort, but words were useless. Randler’s writhing made his heart ache and he wished he could do something. Magic was dead, though, and—

  As he considered magic, Dariak realized that they were far away from the castle and the energies might actually respond. He closed his eyes and reached into his robe for some herbs, which he crushed in his hand. “Menicodi reppretharricon kaie.” His hands hovered over Randler’s legs and he felt the energies coalesce in the air and penetrate downward into the bard. The spell worked.

  Dariak repeated the incantation several times until Randler was able to sit up on his own. “Thanks.”

  “I had forgotten magic might work again here. It’s a bit weak, though.”

  “Still helpful.”

  They waited a few minutes more and then continued. Dariak assured him there weren’t many more obstacles to pass and that he could disarm them himself. Randler followed quietly behind the mage, paying little attention to the rock walls that passed by and not caring much about the luminescent moss that kept the place lit.

  At a dead end, Dariak pressed on a series of bricks in what looked like a random order. As he clicked the fifteenth one, a snapping sound echoed and the rock to their left slid open. Inside was a small square chamber with four lit torches and a small pool in the center. Randler also noted four pedestals at the opposite side of the room. Dariak wasted no time. He took one of the torches from the wall and set it upon a pedestal. Next he scooped up a handful of dirt from the floor and set it upon a second pedestal. Randler guessed that water and air were next, and when Dariak confirmed his suspicions by dripping water on one pedestal and blowing on the l
ast one, a crack appeared in the back wall, revealing the final door to the laboratory.

  Dariak entered first and Randler could hear him chanting his fire dart spell, after which the chamber erupted with light. As he passed through the doorway, Randler noted a hearty musty smell and some other scent he couldn’t quite place. He grabbed the wall for support as he glanced around the chamber.

  It wasn’t what he expected for a laboratory, not really. In fact, with all the bookcases and chairs, it looked a lot like the sitting room in Dariak’s house. “It’s going to take a lot to work through all these books,” he said.

  Dariak gave a short laugh and stepped up to one of the bookcases. He yanked on a shelf and the entire bookcase slid forward on casters and pivoted, revealing another bookcase behind it. Reveling in the look on Randler’s face, he shifted aside a few other bookcases in the same manner. “My father owned a copy of every book he could ever find, and sometimes had copies made of books he liked. You could almost say this is the library of both our kingdoms. He even developed the magic that purifies the air so the books don’t wither much over time. That’s that funky smell you might have noticed.” He pointed to one of the alcoves he opened with the second row of bookcases. “There are more bookcases behind those too. This room goes on a while.”

  Randler’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe it. It’s… overwhelming.”

  Nonchalantly, Dariak shrugged, “Wait until we get to the spell books.”

  “Okay, I need to sit.”

  “Not yet, if you can wait. It’s more comfortable inside.” Dariak led the bard through the stacks of books, sliding specific bookcases aside, stepping through, and then pulling them back into place. Randler noticed that some of the walkways between the rows of books were closed off, making this room more like a maze than a library. Eventually, they came through to a wide open chamber with a grassy hill and a small pond.

  “You’re kidding me,” Randler gasped.

  “If you can’t spend your time outdoors, bring the outdoors to you.”

  Randler staggered forward and bent over to feel the grass and to drag his hands through the water. “It’s real.”

  “So are they,” he said, pointing to a small row of bushes on the other side of the hill. In the bushes was a nest with a few small birds sleeping soundly. “My father employed magic of all kinds down here.”

  “But how is it still… running?”

  Dariak laughed. “He created a delicate balance in this particular room. It sustains itself like it’s its own ecosystem. It’s missing insects and some other things, but there’s enough here to sustain the life you see.”

  “Astounding.” He turned slowly around and it didn’t feel at all as if they were underground. “Dariak, if I sang of this place, no one would ever believe me.”

  After the initial shock wore off, Dariak pointed around the chamber. “This room we’re in is the garden area. Over there is the fortified magic room, where it’s possible to cast spells without any of the energy escaping. Those are bedrooms. That’s a kitchen. That side is a recreational area where I used to play games with Mother.” His voice went quiet for a moment. “That’s the exercise room, though my father rarely used it. That’s his study. And that is our destination; the real library.”

  “The real library?” Randler echoed. “What were all those other books we saw?”

  “They were real, too, but nothing of consequence to us. This is where the important things are. Come along and then we’ll sit for a while.” They made their way across the small hill and went through the room toward the northeast section. Inside, as Randler expected, were more bookcases, fully loaded with massive tomes. He shook his head in pure amazement.

  “This is absurd. How are we ever going to get through it all?”

  Dariak pointed to the three bookcases on the left wall. “Those are directories.”

  Randler rubbed his eyes and Dariak walked him further into the room until they reached an open section with chairs and tables. Randler settled into a lounge chair and stretched his legs out so he could massage them. “It’s going to take us forever down here, Dariak.”

  He shrugged. “It won’t be as bad as you think once we get started. But Keela should be ready with dinner if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m famished,” he grinned. “Wait, are you going to head all the way back upstairs, then?”

  Dariak shook his head. “Of course not. There is a mechanism in the kitchen here that matches with the kitchen upstairs. It’s sort of like the lift we used to get down here in the first place. It’s too small for a person to fit, but it’s perfect for getting food—and messages—up and down.”

  Dariak left to tend to dinner and Randler turned his head, marveling at the endless amount of information stored down here. His mind hurt just thinking about it. At the same point, the bard hungered for all the stories in those books, and he wondered how many he could read and turn into worthy ballads for others to enjoy. It seemed like an interesting challenge, but even more so would be the task of crafting songs for the most important tales. They would each need to be unique, unless their content overlapped and he could intermingle the melodies properly. He would also have to consider various instruments and tempos to evoke the proper moods.

  Randler nodded. Dariak may have his quest here, but now the bard had one of his own. Grinning, he started tapping his fingers randomly on the lounge chair, building himself a library of beats.

  Chapter 18

  Lica of the Mages

  Lica’s journey to Magehaven was tricky, for the soldiers who attended her were not particularly skilled. Two died to sand rodia, which made her angry for their incompetence. She was not an old woman, but she was certainly old enough to be protected by younger men, and when she had to break out her daggers and leap into the vermin, sympathy left her.

  “Move out,” she barked, pulling her hair back into a tight ribbon after the battle. “And leave them to the scavengers,” she ordered, pointing to the unfortunate youths who had died. “Such nonsense, all of you. You didn’t see the sandorpions or the swallomers or the rodia. What good are you?”

  She stomped through the sand, the eight other fighters trailing behind her, heads hung low. They didn’t even argue with her, and that concerned her, too. They truly had no fight in them whatsoever. As the afternoon hit high, she called a stop so they could eat. “Eksna, the waterskins. Ijul, the rations. Let’s not tarry for long, though. We should try to reach the tower by morning.”

  The two men she had named looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

  “What is it?” Lica asked.

  “We don’t have no rations,” Eksna said, scratching his head.

  “Or no waterskins,” Ijul added.

  “Where are—?” but she stopped herself, because she had a feeling she knew what they were going to say, and when Eskna spoke, her suspicions were confirmed.

  “Think Mettli and Awrish had ‘em. Prob’ly why the sand rodia went after ‘em first and got ‘em killed.”

  Lica squeezed her eyes shut and strained to remain calm. They were still relatively near the castle after a day and a half on the journey and she could tell the magical energies were still stunted. It was probably a good thing too, because she was in quite a rage and would likely have flared a fireball at them right then. In a tersely controlled tone, she asked the group, “Does anyone have rations or water?”

  “Not a bite or a drop, ma’am,” chimed Freruth.

  Lica pressed her hands to her temples. “Do you mean to tell me that none of you, who’ve lived in this desert region all your lives, carry small pouches of supplies upon your person for emergencies?”

  “I ain’t got no person, lady,” Ijul said, affronted. “We don’t own people here in Hathreneir.”

  The words to numerous spells came to mind, but she held back. “I would say that it is pretty clear that you don’t intend to help me on my way.”

  “We done what the king told us,” Eskna argued.
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  “And what, pray tell, was that? Sabotage my trip?”

  “Now here here!” Freruth shouted. “It were you that told us leave the others!”

  She spoke through her teeth, “That didn’t mean to leave the supplies with them!”

  “Well, how’s we to know? You didn’t say.”

  “Very well then.” She puffed in anger. “Listen to these words and obey them well. Go back to your fallen comrades. Drag them back to the castle. Then speak to your king and have him reassign you elsewhere.”

  “What o’ you?” Eskna asked. “You come back wit’ us?”

  “No, I’m off to Magehaven.” She forced a smile.

  “Bu’ the king, he says, we gotta get you there us’selves,” Ijul interjected.

  “And you will tell his royal—” she strained and struggled to force out the word, “highness, that I decided you needed to tend to your wounded. If you need to tell him that I snuck off while you were sleeping, then so be it! Just be gone!”

  “You sure?”

  “Never been more sure in my life,” she managed to say without screaming.

  Eskna nodded slowly and then called out to the others. “All right, men, you heard her. Gather your belongings and let’s high-tail it back to the castle.”

  “Aye, sir, we’ll make it back with haste,” Ijul responded.

  Lica noted the instant change in dialect and understood the farce at once. It didn’t matter anyway. She made a few rude gestures when they turned away and then she pushed herself into a fast shuffle across the sand, wondering if the two men who died earlier had even been hurt at all.

  She was too old for such a journey, but she kept telling herself that she would be safer with the mages than amongst the king’s men. It made her worry about Ruhk and Verna, who would be tending to the affairs of state in the early days of Dariak’s call for peace, but they were young and would handle themselves, she was sure.

  A pack of reptigons slithered across the sand and Lica wondered if the creatures would attack. Without magic, she was terrible in a fight, but perhaps her mood sent off some foul aroma, for the beasts not only didn’t attack, they scampered away in terror. Lica immediately scanned the horizon for a deeper threat, but there was none.