First Comes The One Who Wanders (50 page)

He pushed his horse hard, making as good a time as possible. His need to find the amulet drove him. Only when he could push himself no further did he stop to rest in one of the rest areas that dotted the road between Madras and Glorian. There was a good deal of traffic on the road to Glorian, too much to suit him. The fewer people who saw him on the road and could guess his destination, the better, as far as he was concerned. On more than one occasion, he pulled his hood more tightly around his face, hoping to hide his scars. Although they inspired fear in most of the people, they also made him easy to spot and easy to identify. Most of the people were wise enough to give him a wide berth.

The first two days passed uneventfully. He traveled well into the night, passing by the campfires of travelers who’d stopped for the evening. On the third day, a group of men made the mistake of trying to rob him. Mandrak drew his dagger and had slipped it between the ribs of the closest man before he knew what was happening. The second two men put up more of a fight, but Mandrak hadn't risen to his position of power without his share of treachery. The two inexperienced thieves were no match for him. As he dragged their bodies into the forest for the animals to dispose of, he let the ecstasy of the kill wash over him. It really was the only act that allowed him to feel that exquisite sexual pleasure anymore.

Looking around as he mounted his horse, he urged the mount into motion. He caught sight of a slender dark-haired, fair-skinned messenger behind him. His senses went on high alert. This wasn’t the first time that he’d spotted this messenger. He'd seen him at one of the rest areas where he'd stopped for a few hours rest. He'd have thought that the messenger would be well ahead of him by now. Glancing back again, he looked for the messenger, but he was no longer anywhere to be seen. Frowning, Mandrak urged his mount into a lope, wondering who'd sent this messenger and why.

This messenger wore the colors of Duke Cheran, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the one who’d sent him. He’d often used the uniforms of dead messengers to hide his scouts and messengers as they went about his business. But if he were a messenger of Duke Cheran, he would have to be dealt with and soon. Duke Cheran was the last person –save the Champion himself– that he wanted to know where he was heading or what he was doing. He glanced back again, but the messenger had vanished. Turning back to the task at hand, Mandrak let the messenger slip from his mind as he focused on his plan for acquiring the Amulet of Ley.

He made a point of searching the face of every person in the rest area where he stopped for the night, but the messenger was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that perhaps he'd been too hasty in believing this messenger had been following him, Mandrak wrapped his cloak tightly around him, in his spot just inside the forest where he was less likely to be seen and gave in to his need to rest. In the morning, he repeated his search of the people in the area. There was still no sign of the messenger.

Relieved that he'd in all likelihood been wrong in his belief that he was being followed, he continued on his way, a bit disappointed he wasn’t going to have the pleasure of killing the messenger, but more certain that he'd escaped Madras without detection.

That was good, very good, he thought. He needed to accomplish his task before news of where the amulet might be leaked out. He was certain that news of the amulet and his mission would get out. Somehow, Ylon would inadvertently tell someone. It happened too often to assume otherwise. Once anyone heard, everyone would know. They were in the midst of war. There were eyes and ears everywhere. It wouldn’t take long before it got back to the Champion. Surely once the Champion heard about the amulet, he would come looking.

Of course, what kind of champion would he be then? thought Mandrak cynically. Leaving his men to fight alone so he could claim the united throne?

Mandrak smiled to himself. They could use that against him in their bid for power. On the other hand, if he came looking, perhaps he wouldn’t be deemed the kind of man who could claim the amulet. Then they wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. Mandrak took some pleasure in imagining the Champion trying to claim the amulet and it burning him as it had King Leyson. It must have been quite a sight to see Leyson catch on fire when the prized amulet was slipped over his neck.

He wondered idly if the crafters had anticipated that particular turn of events. They had all their books of prophecy and their visions, how could they not have known the amulet would reject Leyson? Yet they allowed the people to attempt to give it to the king’s son. Why?

He pondered that question as his horse covered the miles toward Glorian. Could it be the crafters had no control over the amulet? Could it be that though they'd given the amulet to Ley it had come from another source?

Mandrak smiled evilly. That would put a whole new perspective on having control over the amulet. Not only would it give him power over the Champion, it might give him some leverage over the crafters, too. This was quickly becoming a quest he was doubly glad Teran had unwittingly given him. Teran would never know how big a mistake he’d made until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

Stopping at the last rest area before Glorian, Mandrak removed the saddle from his mount, hobbled him in a spot where he could munch on the undergrowth of the forest and then using the saddle as a pillow, he closed his eyes to get a few hours rest before dawn.

The sun breaking over the horizon woke him and he was on his way as soon as he could saddle his horse. There was still no sign of any messenger, or anyone who seemed to be following him. Mandrak smiled at his apparent luck and urged his horse into a run that would cover the last few miles to Glorian quickly.

The sun was almost directly overhead when he arrived in Glorian. Stopping at the fountain in the square, he let his horse drink while he splashed away the grime of the last few days. There was no guild house in Glorian. The scribe who lived here lived in a room at the inn. Although Glorian was a fair-sized town, the people didn’t like scribes for the most part and discouraged them from settling there. Sevren was the exception. He’d stayed, despite the initial rejection, and made a place for himself in town. Now that the people had accepted him and his presence in the town, he'd become the guild’s eyes and ears in the far south reaches of Sylphia.

It was good there was no guild house here as far as Mandrak was concerned. The fewer scribes who knew about his business, the better. He was confident he could count on Sevren’s silence. He didn’t discuss any scribe’s business with other scribes. Perhaps it was because he lived so far away from the politics of the Guild. But whatever the reason, it would come in handy on this mission.

Tethering his horse to the railing in front of the inn, he stepped inside the rustic establishment. It was timber construction with wooden shakes covering the roof. It was only a single story, long and narrow. The door opened into the dining room, the living quarters were down halls that led from either side of the large room.

The innkeeper eyed Mandrak suspiciously when he entered and walked up to the bar. A stout, middle-aged man, dressed in a tan-colored shirt and breeches, his hair was dark, in contrast to his light skin. His eyes were almond shaped. "Can I help you?" he asked Mandrak finally in a strong tenor.

Mandrak knew the scar on his face made most people ill at ease. Most of the time, he enjoyed the reaction. Today, it just irritated him. "I need to see Sevren," said Mandrak, using the oily tone he usually saved for right before the worst torture.

The innkeeper gave him the once over at his request. "Sevren isn’t here," he said after a moment.

"I can see that. Do you know where he is?" persisted Mandrak.

"He doesn’t tell me his business," replied the innkeeper, "and I don’t ask."

"Do you expect him back anytime soon?" Mandrak tried again.

"He’s usually back in time for lunch," replied the man.

"Then I’ll wait." Mandrak chose a chair. "Bring me some of your lunch and your best ale."

The innkeeper perked up at the business and the prospect of money. Mandrak settled in the chair to wait for his fellow scribe. Sevren arrived halfway through his lunch.

"Mandrak, I hadn’t heard you were coming this way or I would have been looking for you," Sevren greeted him, looking ill at ease. He sat in a chair opposite his fellow guild member and gestured to the innkeeper to bring his lunch. "What brings you to this part of the world?"

"Business," replied Mandrak cryptically. "I needed some information I thought you might be able to supply."

"You didn’t have to come all this way. I could have sent you whatever you needed," answered Sevren, taking a long drink from the mug of ale the innkeeper set in front of him. "Ben, another mug for my friend."

Ben’s expression doubted that Mandrak was a friend, but he refrained from saying anything. He drew another mug of ale and set it in front of the older scribe, then went to get Sevren his food. Mandrak took the opportunity, while they were alone, to broach the subject that brought him to Glorian. "I need to find Stillmont. I was hoping you could give me directions."

"Stillmont?" asked Sevren incredulously. "Why would a scribe need to go to Stillmont? The dwarves will likely kill you, as not. They don’t have much use for our kind in general."

"Why I need to go is my business," replied Mandrak dismissively. "Can you tell me how to get there?"

"I believe I have a map in my room that shows Stillmont. But it won’t show you how to get into the city once you get there." Sevren became more businesslike at the rebuff by his superior.

"I didn’t expect the map to tell me how to get into the city. I expected you to give me that information."

"I do have some information regarding that," remarked Sevren. "But it isn’t information the scribes here give out. I'd need some authorization."

"My position isn’t authorization enough?" asked Mandrak softly.

Sevren hesitated at the question. "Usually, it requires a note from Waldron. But I think we can waive that formality this time." He swallowed nervously. "We’ll go to my room once we’ve finished lunch."

"What’s so special about Stillmont that it requires a formal note from the Chairman of the Guild?" asked Mandrak, intrigued by Sevren’s information. Perhaps there was more to learn here than he thought.

Sevren cleared his throat. "Even I'm not privy to that information. All I know is that the Chairman feels it would be wise to keep the location of the city entrance guarded. I’m sure he has his reasons. Of course, all the scribes who've worked in Glorian know the location. It's one of our duties to keep up with what happens in Stillmont."

"What does happen there?" asked Mandrak casually.

Sevren raised an eyebrow at the question, but answered. "The usual. The dwarves do a great deal of mining and they make a great deal of art that's sent all over the world. They make beautiful jewelry, magnificent blades and astonishing statuary. There's something being sent from Stillmont weekly."

"Yet, almost no one knows where it is?"

"Everyone who has a need to know is shown the entrance. We followed some of those people and discovered the entrance. It's valuable information to some."

"I imagine it would be," replied Mandrak. He took another drink of his ale and fell silent while Sevren ate. So, the dwarves made jewelry at Stillmont. Were they the creators of the amulet? He was certain he was on the right track and with Sevren helping him he would soon be in Stillmont and that much closer to his goal.

Tucking the information he’d received from Sevren into his cloak, Mandrak turned his horse toward the base of the mountain. Stillmont was in the bowels of the Sisters of the Sea, a range of mountains with five peaks that rose majestically into the sky. The caps of the peaks were covered in snow. The base of the mountain was ringed with lush forests where moss hung from the branches giving it a surreal appearance. In his hurry, Mandrak barely noticed the beauty. He was intent on finding the entrance to the underground city. According to Sevren, it was unguarded, since no one could see it, unless they knew exactly where to look. That fact suited him just fine. He wasn’t a fighter. He was a scribe, with a propensity toward theft. He supposed that was why Teran had chosen him for this mission.

When he’d heard Sevren describe the dwarven city, he knew that his original time line would have to be revised. It was far bigger than he’d imagined. Searching such a large place would take a bit of doing. But he was a patient man. He’d had to revise time lines before. This prize was worth the effort and time. Taking his supplies from his horse, he hid the saddle and let the horse go free. Chances were it would stay nearby and he could find it again. He didn’t want anyone noticing an abandoned horse tethered near the entrance to Stillmont. That fact would send up warning signals to everyone within seeing distance.

He made his way to the forked tree that was the first landmark. From there he turned to the east and moved forward looking for the large rock that was shaped like the head of an eagle. He'd gone much further than he’d expected he’d have to go before he found the rock. He was panting slightly and sweating. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he turned south and began counting his steps. According to Sevren, he needed to take 1000 steps and then turn to the east again. When he reached one thousand, he turned east and found himself facing an enormous cliff face at the base of one of the Sisters of the Sea. Mandrak made his way to the cliff face. The entrance to the city of Stillmont was supposed to be here. But from where he was standing, it wasn’t visible. Sevren had told him it would be difficult to find. But he’d given him signs to look for. Mandrak walked along the length of the cliff face until he found the markings described by Sevren. Touching the markings on one side, he moved along the cliff face until he found the next set of markings and ran his hand over them, too. Once he'd touched both set of markings, the opening appeared. The entrance was large enough for the largest cargo wagon to go through once you found it.