Kelfor- the Orthomancers

by Gillian Andrews

  Nobody answers me. After a quick inspection I discover what the problem is. She is frozen. So cold that for a horrible moment I think she must be dead. I begin to rub one of her hands between mine. “Is she going to live?”

  Furian is putting his arms around her shoulders, trying to give what little body heat he has left to her. “I don’t know. She began to go blue about a half hour ago. I took the deal Koban offered. It seemed our best opportunity.” He looks apologetically at us. “I am sorry. I only got the chance to act at the beginning. Then we had nowhere to go. We were lucky you arrived when you did. Otherwise we would all be dead.”

  Zivan is trying to keep tabs on the Scoriats without exposing her head to their fire. “Our options are pretty limited. We are trapped here, and both Doven and Karith are incapacitated back at the other site.” She bites her lip. “I can’t see a way forward.”

  Jethran holds up his massive hand. “We wait. We recover and we wait. We must be ready if there is an opportunity.”

  He is right.

  But it is very hard just to wait. Time passes slowly in our oddly shaped prison.

  Zivan tilts her head, listening intently to something only she can hear. Her expression tenses and then her shoulders relax. She shifts casually until she is facing the back part of the hollow tree trunk. She smiles at me. A slow, happy smile.

  I narrow my eyes. It is hard to interpret that. I can hear nothing, so I do not know what it is that has her so excited. I look beyond her, at the Scoriat blocking the exit to the stone pipe we are now trapped in. As far as I can tell nothing has changed.

  However, she is getting ready to move, so I exercise my own muscles, gently making sure I will be able to run should it be necessary.

  The others notice me stretching and preparing. They peer around without spotting anything but start to do the same, just in case. We have no idea what is going on, but we are determined to be ready. Any hope is better than simply sitting here as we are.

  There are no developments for some minutes. Then Zivan ducks down and shuffles a little further along the smooth floor of the petrified tree trunk, moving backward. The Scoriat at the top end of the makeshift prison can’t see her; the rest of us hide Zivan from his line of sight.

  There is a click as the Scoriat at the lower end cocks the blaster. He has detected the change and will risk nothing. He has been given a job and intends to carry it out. He was told not to let us out alive. He aims his gun at Zivan.

  A small figure crashes into him, knocking him down. The figure stumbles but is able to grab at the blaster in midair. The newcomer flings the blaster at Zivan. She catches it and in one fluid movement shoots the guard on the upper end of the trunk.

  Furian is the first to leave our prison, the newly liberated blaster of the dead guard in his hand and spitting out fire. We tumble out behind him, racing from the trunk to the nearest ice cascade as he stands in the center, attacking anything that moves.

  Zivan brings her blaster to bear on the Scoriats, running with a surefooted gait up to Furian’s side. Behind her, the small figure who started all this reaches our end of the hollow trunk. He straightens to his full height and gives a piercing whistle.

  The tunnel is inundated with skulks. My heart gives a leap. I recognize Torch. I don’t know how, but he is here, and so are his skulks. I give a whoop and wave my fist at him.

  He looks over. His mouth twists in a lop-sided grimace. It is meant to be a smile. He is pleased to see me. And the others. And Zivan.

  Torch falls in behind his mother. He is making guttural noises and his hands are signing to the skulks. He wants them to come through the petrified trunk. They obey, if unwillingly. There are growls. Torch makes them wait until they are all through and in position. When he sees them lined up, bellies to the rock floor, eyes set on the Scoriats ahead, he gives a cry. His hands project the skulks forward toward the enemy, who are beginning to get over the shock release of their prisoners and organize themselves into some sort of a defense.

  The skulks throw themselves at the Scoriats, parting to leave Zivan and Furian standing where they are. There are cries as the Scoriats find themselves overwhelmed by nearly forty skulks. There are two or three to each Scoriat. It is too much. Several of the tough little animals are killed, but others take their place. The wave of grey overcomes the Scoriats within a minute. Soon they have all disappeared beneath this strange new type of avalanche.

  When he sees that there are no Scoriats left standing to retaliate, Torch gives another piercing whistle. The skulks flatten themselves to the ground, tongues hanging out of their mouths. Most of them have blood on their muzzles.

  Furian and Zivan cross the cavern, liberating all the blasters that they can. Zivan tosses them across the cavern to our position. As each of us is able to arm, we come forward.

  “Do not shoot.” The voice is that of Koban. “There has been enough killing.”

  Zivan swings round. Her blaster is quite unwavering. And it is threatening his life. “Why not, Scoriat?” she demands, her tone flat.

  “No!” There is a screech from behind me. I turn to find Ammeline aiming at Zivan. “Leave him be! He saved our lives!”

  Zivan turns her head to Furian. “Can you keep—”

  A flash whizzes past her left ear. She ducks and drops to the ground. “What the plume do you think you are doing?” she demands, her voice rising.

  “I won’t let you hurt Koban!” Ammeline is almost crying. “You hate him, but he has saved all of us. Stop pointing blasters at him.”

  Torch has been assessing the situation. He signs to Lupo, his lead skulk, waving his right hand. Lupo doesn’t hesitate. Within ten seconds, Ammeline is on the ground, clutching her forearm and writhing in pain.

  Koban crosses the few yards between them. He drops down onto one knee and pulls Ammeline into his arms. His face is grey, anguished. “There has been enough killing,” he repeats, his voice toneless.

  “We can’t trust you.” Zivan is still unsure.

  Furian has moved toward his daughter. He holds up his hand, telling Zivan to desist. “Koban will not hurt Ammeline,” he tells her, his own gaze fixed on the Scoriat. “He really does care for her.”

  Zivan gives something resembling a snort. “And love conquers all, I suppose?”

  Furian grins. “Maybe. Let them be together. It is true that we wouldn’t even be here without him. I still have no idea whose side he is on, but he has certainly proved useful so far.”

  She acknowledges that grudgingly. “Perhaps.” She hesitates and then lowers her blaster. “Very well.”

  Furian gives her a nod, then calls Vannis and Jethran over. The three of them set about moving the captured Scoriats over to the far wall. Three more lie dead, the rest ... seven of them, have been cowed by the attack of the skulks. Many are dripping blood onto the stone. The skulks are a very effective weapon.

  I look around. There are another five skulk bodies on the floor. Torch is now carefully examining each of them. One is still with us, whining. He gently examines the animal, speaking to it in his usual language of grunts and groans. The skulk appears calmed by the sounds.

  Torch’s eyes meet mine. His are anguished. He stares at me for a moment, one hand caught up in the skulk’s fur. His fingers are curled into the hairs, massaging the injured animal. Then he lifts his right hand and fires his blaster into the back of the head of the skulk. It stops moving.

  He is still looking into my eyes. I see that his own have filled with tears.

  So have mine.

  He walks up to his mother and a strange sound comes out of his throat. He bends his head. She does exactly the same. They touch brows. They are silent, like that, for a few seconds. Zivan puts her hands on the boy’s thin shoulders and squeezes.

  Jethran gives a wide grin. He strides over to them. “Well done, Torch! I thought you were on the other side of the Great Chasm. How on Hethor did you get here?”

  Torch looks at the Scoriats. He points at them and the
n at himself, making walking signs with his fingers.

  Koban is watching. “He will have followed the cohort. They have their own ways of getting across the chasm.” He walks across the chamber to the lead Scoriat. There is muffled conversation for a few moments.

  Koban returns. “They brought two paravynes. It was relatively easy to build a bridge, once they had brought them from Astakarth. The chasm narrows about ten miles to the west.”

  Paravynes? I have never heard the word before. From their faces, neither has anyone else in the group.

  Koban sighs. “They are small flying robots, too small to take a person, flown from the ground. They can be used to reconnoiter land ahead, or to take supplies to inaccessible places. In this case they were used to feed guide ropes around two solid boulders on the other side of the Great Chasm. Then cable was passed, then slats inserted into the cables. Then hard-drying resin is used to coat the bottom and sides of the bridge. It is not a difficult procedure. We have practiced it in our training exercises. I assume Torch waited until the Scoriat cohort had departed, then crossed with his pack of skulks.”

  Torch is nodding violently.

  Koban raises one eyebrow. “You were lucky to have the chance, Torch. If protocol had been followed, that pontoon would have been immediately dismantled.” He looks displeased and then confused that he should still be concerned about the cohort’s performance.

  I frown. “What about Rannyl? Did he cross too?”

  More nods. Torch is pointing upward.

  “He is waiting for us at the top of the tunnel?”

  Torch smiles broadly, pleased that we understand.

  Even that doesn’t seem enough to me. “But Torch, how did you manage to follow the Scoriats? Without being detected?”

  He points at Lupo.

  “The skulks? The skulks can follow their scent?”

  He is pleased with me. He takes out a small cloth out from under his tunic. It is a piece of a Scoriat tunic.

  “You gave this to Lupo, and he followed them? I didn’t know skulks could do that!” Thinking about it, I realize that it doesn’t really surprise me. Skulks must have wonderful olfactory senses; they can detect roots buried underground from a huge distance. It’s just that I have never heard them being used to track things before. But then, I have never heard of them being used to attack before, either.

  I walk right up to Torch and envelop him in a hug. He gives a bit of a twitch away from me at first before deciding to tolerate the contact. I am so glad to see him. Finally, he stills, letting me feel his warmth.

  When I pull back, he turns, looking relieved, to his mother. She doesn’t need words to understand her son. She and Furian go into a huddle.

  Furian is not in agreement with whatever she is proposing. He looks away, irritated. She indicates Koban and Ammeline, then the seven surviving Scoriats. Finally, Furian gives a brisk nod. He gets to his feet and motions to us all to gather around.

  “The Scoriats must be escorted out of the Rift of the Timeworn. Karith will have to stay behind with them, too. Only those of us who can, will go on.”

  We consider. Linnith, clearly, will have to be one of those. We still need to find Kelfor. I am another. I am the whole reason for finding Kelfor.

  Zivan steps forward. She challenges us with her stance. Who amongst us will stop her going?

  Furian steps forward. He is now the head of our expedition. Four.

  Zivan turns to stare at Ammeline. “He cannot go.” She is referring to Koban.

  Ammeline registers disbelief. “You can’t mean that! After all he has done for us! Maybe it is you who can’t be trusted, thief!”

  Zivan starts toward Ammeline, her face rigid. She finds her path blocked by Koban. The Scoriat simply stands in her way. He makes no attempt to hurt her. Their chins almost meet. Both are tilted upward.

  Furian lowers his head. “I agree.”

  His daughter stares sharply at him. She is ignored. Her father seems quite sure. “Koban should not be taken to Kelfor.”

  Jethran unravels his solid body. “I will go back. I want to stay with my wife, and I can make sure these Scoriats do as they are told.” His eyes rake over them. “They will, if they want to live.”

  Koban seems about to protest, then looks away. We cannot trust him, not yet. He spreads his hands, but nods. Ammeline tosses her hair. He bends down and slides one arm across her shoulders. He whispers to her. I wonder why he wants her to go. Maybe he is sure she would tell him whatever he wants to know. We all realize this at the same time. Our faces change.

  Ammeline’s face glows. She stands up. “I am timeworn. I have the right to continue to Kelfor.”

  Zivan speaks for her son. “Torch and the skulks will go back. The skulks need to forage; there is no food for them down here. They will help to ensure the obedience of the Scoriats, too.”

  Furian is satisfied. “That leaves eight of us, if Doven is sufficiently recovered to come with us. Eight of us to finish the quest for Kelfor.”

  We begin to move out of the cavern with the wonderful ice-sculpted walls. I wonder how long the cold will preserve the bodies we leave behind. Skulks and Scoriats, immortalized in death. I am glad I don’t know how long my own life will last and where my final resting place will be. I shiver. It must be the ice.

  We trek back to the bifurcation in the tunnels. Torch and Jethran wait there with the Scoriats. The rest of us make our way to the chamber where we left Kalyka with Karith and Doven.

  They are delighted to see us. The darkness and the uncertainty have been poor companions, it seems. Doven is rested. He assures us that he will be able to travel onward. Kalyka starts to dance when she is told she can come. She has earned it in her own right, and her grandfather earned it for her.

  We make our meal ... Torch has brought us fresh water and food, while Furian carries a very tired Karith back to the fork in the tunnels, back to her husband’s arms. The few Scoriat survivors trail after him. In all, there are twelve. When Furian returns, we will eat. We will rest. Tomorrow we will push on. To find Kelfor.

  13.

  Linnith stands in front of us. She is thinner than those few weeks ago, when we set out on this journey. She looks honed by the harsh desert sands, older, much more mature. And, right now, she looks proud. It is time for her to finish her task.

  “There are three signs left. We are close to Kelfor.”

  We are standing in the center of the chamber where Kalyka swung down on the lead Scoriat yesterday. Those Scoriats still alive have been ushered out of the Rift of the Timeworn by Torch and Jethran; there are only dead bodies left in the cavern. They have been placed in a small recess behind us, hidden under some loose rocks.

  Linnith is nodding to herself. “Yes. This is one of the tells. There is a landmark here.” She runs her hand over a piece of rock which juts out into one of the tunnels leaving the chamber. “This way.”

  There are no glowworms in this tunnel. At first it is completely dark. Our progress is slow, halting. The path dips steeply downward and we find ourselves slipping as we try to navigate in the blackness.

  Furian has taken the lead. He is careful to help us over particularly difficult places, waiting to hand us down one by one.

  We struggle on all day, stopping only to eat something and rest for a few minutes. The muscles all along the back of my legs are aching, causing me to gasp when the incline is very steep. I am almost wishing myself back in the dome. At least that would be familiar.

  Vannis grabs at me just as I slide and pitch forward. “Watch where you are going!”

  I pull my elbow back. “I don’t need your help!”

  He starts to laugh. “If you say so, youngling. I rather think you do!”

  I put up my chin. “I am perfectly able to manage!”

  He simply stares. He looks so superior I want to kick him. Then I blow out air. He did stop me from falling, I suppose. I bend my head. “All right. Thank you.”

  He preens.

  Th
at makes me want to push his over-white teeth down his throat.

  I give a sigh and pass him. Suddenly I realize something. I was able to see his face. And he must have been able to see me – he caught hold of me before I fell.“Furian!”

  The whole party stops. “What?”

  “I can see.”

  Ammeline of course, has to give her opinion. “Well, of course you can see, Remeny. You have eyes. Not large ones like mine, but they are there.”

  Furian frowns. “You are right. It must have come on so gradually that we haven’t noticed. Look!” He points at the rocky ceiling, undulating above us. “I can make out the roof!”

  “How is that possible?” Zivan, who has been carrying Kalyka to give the little girl’s legs a bit of a rest, puts her down. “Where is the light coming from? There are no glowworms this far down. We are much further underground. Surely it should be getting darker, not lighter?”

  Linnith is staring up. “The roof is much further away too. The tunnel is opening out. That is good. I need to start looking for the next landmark.”

  “Do you know why there is more light, Linnith?” Doven asks.

  She hesitates, as if wondering whether to tell us or not, but nods. “We are getting to the trees. The Forest of Flame.”

  She sees we don’t know what she means. She looks at me. “Remember that petrified trunk you saw, Remeny?”

  “Yes. It was beautiful.”

  She smiles. “Red, orange, yellow, right?”

  I nod.

  “Those are the colors of all the lost trees. The ones that were buried deep inside the Rift of the Timeworn. They became stone, over the aeons, but they give out light, too. Many of them are still upright. Our ancestors called it the Forest of Flame. Kelfor is in the center of the Forest of Flame: the resting place of the greatest of the trees.”

  “How can stone give out light?”

  She shrugs. “Nobody knows. But it does. It glows like fire does. All the walls are lamps in Kelfor.”

  My heart gives a bound. “Then, we are near?”