Shadows on the Stars (25 page)

Lleu peered at Elli. “Are you sure you want to do this, my dear? That route—starting with the Misty Bridge—could be dangerous.”

“It’s still better than going south into the gnome lands.” She ran a hand through her curly hair. “I’ll never go anywhere near those beasts again if I can help it.”

“Well then,” growled Nuic. “Are we just going to stand here jabbering all day? Or what?”

Glancing up at the few stars that she could see through open spaces in the canopy, Elli pointed to the east. “The Misty Bridge is that way. When we get closer, we can climb one of these trees, or a high hill, to locate it exactly.”

“Off we go, then,” said the jester in a cheery voice. He danced a little jig, then added, “To the Misty Bridge, then on to find your crystal.”

And also something else
, he said to himself.
Something you don’t expect.
His eyes glinted with satisfaction.
Your death.

The glint brightened. For this disguise as a jester was really one of his best—at least as long as he kept his temper under control. But even with the change of plans caused by that infernal portal, things were now falling into place quite nicely. Better than he’d expected. And he was always someone who expected good results.

For the results depended on him, and him alone. And he didn’t get to be Deth Macoll, the most successful assassin in Avalon’s history, just by accident. No, he’d gotten there by his consummate skill, his supremely calculating mind, and one thing more: his love of the chase.

And how he loved the chase! The strategy, the patient waiting for just the right moment, and then the kill—and that final instant when he could feel his victim’s life bleed away. In that instant of death, he held all the power. Immortal power.

He sighed contentedly. This particular job would be among his most rewarding. How long since he’d had the pleasure of killing not just one person, but several at once? Too long. And to pick up a pair of precious crystals in the bargain—not to mention the one he’d steal from Kulwych, after killing him, too—well, that made this practically a holiday.

For now, though, he would wait. He’d bide his time, looking for the perfect opening to satisfy his sense of drama. He would allow this ragtag bunch of fools to feel hopeful, even successful—and then he’d end his disguise, as well as their lives.

The jester smiled more broadly than he had all day.

22
•
Ruins

Into the jungle they plunged, with Elli and Brionna in the lead. Nuic rode in the crook of Elli’s arm, grumbling with every jostle. The jester followed, with Lleu always nearby. Last of all came Shim, trying his best to keep up.

Even when Brionna steered them to an animal trail that ran generally eastward, the trekking was not easy. With every step, they had to push through a thick webbing of fern fronds, draping vines, and branches heavy with leaves, nuts, and ripening fruit. Birds with brilliantly painted tailfeathers, copper and turquoise and emerald green, whistled overhead, causing Catha sometimes to whistle back. Lime green snakes slithered down the trunks of gargantuan palm trees, while heavier snakes speckled with scarlet looped themselves around cedar boughs.

Much as the aromas of ripe papayas, moist breadfruit, sunwarmed almonds, cacao leaves, and vanilla floated through the air, so did butterflies. They glided everywhere, their blue and gold wings flashing as they met the beams of starlight that sliced through the canopy of leaves. Moths also fluttered overhead, or gathered on colorful flowers dripping with nectar. Purple-backed beetles crawled over twisted roots or laid eggs on fern fronds; blue ants marched through the ground leaves, tugging chunks of fleshy fruit or dead crickets twenty times their size; glowing light fliers hummed in the air.

And these were only the creatures that could be seen. High in the branches, monkeys chattered and howled in long, descending scales. Other beings, hidden by the flowering boughs, twittered, barked, piped, and rattled. Even underfoot, Elli sensed the movements of small creatures scurrying or slithering beneath the leaves.

Suddenly she stopped short. Grabbing Brionna by the elbow, she nodded to the left, her face grim. There, adorned with a crown of rust-colored vines, stood a gray, pyramidal stone no bigger than Shim. But one glimpse was all it took to see this was no ordinary stone.

It had eyes. Carved roughly into the top of the pyramid were a pair of deep sockets. An unpolished ruby as big as a fist had been set into each. This gave the statue an eerie look, its huge, bloodshot eyes glaring at anyone who passed.

“Who made it?” asked Elli.

“Someone who didn’t want any visitors,” Brionna replied.

“Someone in the same mood I’m in right now,” muttered Nuic from his seat on Elli’s arm.

They kept walking, veering to one side to avoid a mass of thorny grasses as tall as Lleu. Just then Brionna spotted a flat patch of moss at the base of a rock-strewn hill. Curious, she led them over to look more closely. With elvish grace, she bent down to touch the reddish moss, as thick as a sheep’s woolen coat, and then turned to the others.

“Just as I thought,” she explained. “This moss grows in El Urien, as well.
Stonebeard
, we call it, because it only grows on rock. By the flatness of this patch, and its rectangular shape, I’d wager it’s part of an old . . .” She pushed aside a thick cluster of ferns, revealing several more flat stones that climbed up the hillside. “Stairway.”

“No doubt about it,” said Elli, gazing at the mossy steps. Vines had wrapped around some, and bushes had rooted in others and split the stones, but most of the ancient steps looked intact. “Where do they lead, do you think?”

“I think we don’t want to find out,” suggested Seth. He glanced furtively over his shoulder. “Unless you’re in no hurry to find your crystal.”

“I
am
in a hurry,” Elli replied crisply. “And the best way to save time is to find the Misty Bridge as fast as possible. Whatever was the purpose of these old stairs, they make it easy to climb this hill—and from the top, we should be able to see the bridge.”

Without waiting any longer, she sprang up the steps. The others bounded after her—all except Shim, whose body wasn’t exactly built for bounding. As they climbed higher, more stones revealed themselves in the jungle growth. A trio of tall pillars, wrapped in vines, stood to one side; a raised platform sat on the other. Next came a fallen tower, and some sort of mound with a slab of white quartz on its side. A pair of scarlet birds with wondrously long, flowing tails took off from the mound as the group approached. Then, as they neared the top of the hill, they saw a ring of columns rising out of the trees. Great stone tablets, scrawled with petroglyphs, sat atop the columns. And within the ring sat a foundation of immense blocks whose edges had been carved to fit together perfectly. They supported a large pyramidal structure made of translucent quartz. Though part of it had collapsed, leaving a hole in the lower part of the roof, the overall structure was still intact—and its original purpose seemed clear.

“A temple,” said Lleu, gazing in awe. “What sort of people built this, here in the middle of Africqua? And how long ago?”

“Who knows?” answered Elli. “But if I go inside the temple and then out that hole in the roof, I shouldn’t have much trouble climbing up to the top. It’s probably the best view around.”

“Are you sure?” asked Nuic, his colors shifting to shadowy gray.

“No . . . but sighting the bridge would help. And besides, when was the last time we were completely sure before we acted?”

Before the sprite could answer, she had started climbing the final steps. Directly ahead, a pair of stone pillars with a crossbeam marked the entryway into the temple. With the others close behind, she stepped inside. Milky white light bathed everything within, turning her hands pale.

Just as the others entered, a guttural grunt sounded above their heads. Suddenly a horde of burly, squat bodies dropped on top of them, knocking them all to the floor. Three-fingered hands grabbed them roughly, while deadly spears aimed at them from every side. Even Brionna’s lightning-fast reflexes weren’t quick enough to allow her to grab her bow.

“Gnomes,” wailed Elli in disbelief. “Why gnomes?”

A grunted command was her only answer. The band of gnomes shoved the companions to their feet, confiscated Brionna’s bow and arrows, and marched them across the floor. There must have been at least thirty of them, all scarred, grimy, and hairless but for the ragged tufts on their heads. They herded the companions around a quartz partition, then led them into the structure’s central chamber.

The chamber sat directly underneath the point of the pyramid. White light poured down, revealing a stone basin and ax—the equipment of sacrifice—as well as some broken statues, carved bowls, and a long granite table. Next to the table sat an immense throne, carved of gleaming quartz with inlaid amethyst. And on the throne sat the person who was undeniably the gnomes’ leader.

The sight of that person made Elli’s heart freeze in her chest. Lleu, for his part, stumbled backward in surprise. And then the leader spoke.

“Welcome,” said Llynia, still wearing the robe of a Drumadian priestess—and the dark green stain on her chin that Elli had given her at the Baths. “I have been expecting you. Oh yes, ever since my latest vision.”

23
•
The Moth

Deep in the underground caverns of Shadowroot, Kulwych paced along a dimly lit corridor, his pale white hands clasped behind his back. Torches flickered on the dank stone walls, illuminating the scars and burned flesh of his mutilated face. The jagged scar that ran from his missing ear down to his chin, the chunk of his nose that was no longer there, and the hollow hole that was once his right eye, all glowed eerily in the torches’ flames.

His boots thumped on the stone floor, slowing only to stomp on a tattered gray moth who had landed in front of him. Kulwych chortled to himself as he heard the crunch of its body. It was satisfying to know that, to some creatures at least, he was still the undisputed master.

The permanent scowl on his lipless mouth deepened. Things hadn’t been going as he’d planned. No, not at all.

He rounded a bend in the corridor, his one remaining eye trained on the door ahead. Behind that door, Rhita Gawr waited for him. And behind that door, he himself was merely a moth, waiting to be crushed.

In the years since that wretch Merlin had mutilated his face, Kulwych had craved more than anything else the chance to rule the world of Avalon. To rid it of the stench of Merlin, and to remake it as he chose. He had prayed for help to his lord on high, the great Rhita Gawr, and done everything the spirit warrior had demanded. Why, he had even managed to create a crystal of pure élano in the lake of the White Geyser—despite the meddling of that runt wizard who thought himself the heir of Merlin.

But what, Kulwych wondered, had all this gained him? All those years of suffering alone, of waiting, of planning, and of gathering an army of slaves to build his secret dam?

The brow above his lone eye rose hopefully. For there was, even now, a chance. If he could somehow stay clear of Rhita Gawr’s wrath—and help him conquer this world—the spirit lord would eventually turn his attention elsewhere. To other worlds: Earth, for example, where that miserable Merlin had gone.

In that event, someone loyal to Rhita Gawr would need to remain in Avalon. To rule it in his name. To destroy any foes who dared resist. And to—

He reached the door. The burly gobsken guard, the replacement for the one Deth Macoll had killed, instantly drew back to let him pass. Behind the gobsken’s slitlike eyes, Kulwych sensed a touch of fear. This always pleased him.

“Mmmyess, you gobsken trash. You know who is really your master.”

He pushed open the door. From the darkness within, brightened only by a pulsing bloodred light, came a harsh voice: “And you, my little sorcerer, know who is really yours.”

Kulwych gulped. “Y-yes, my lord.” He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and gazed at Rhita Gawr.

“Why do you stare at me like that, Kulwych? Are you sorry now you called for my help?”

“No, my lord. Never! I was just . . .”

“Just what?” hissed the voice.

“Amazed, Master, at how you have grown. You have changed so much since you first arrived in Avalon! No longer are you just a rope of smoke, or a snake that floats upon the air—but a great serpent. Even in the time since I left you this morning, to go check on Harlech’s weapons makers, you have grown in size.”

“And also, my pet, in power. More than you know.”

Rhita Gawr, whose serpentine body had been wrapped tightly around the bloodred crystal of vengélano, uncoiled himself. Streaks of rusty light shimmered over his lengthy form, flashing on the black scales that had only just started to grow. Behind the triangular, snakelike head, a pair of bony nubs had appeared—the first sign of emerging wings. Already he looked less like a serpent . . . and more like a dragon.

As much as Rhita Gawr’s shape had changed, however, there was still a trace of himself from weeks before—a hint of the smokelike being who had resembled a shadow more than anything alive. His eyes. For this serpent’s eyes were not merely black. They were absolutely empty. Bottomless beyond any pit or crevasse. Empty of all but nothingness.

Those eyes were the
void.

As Rhita Gawr pulled himself away from the corrupted crystal, he began to spin slowly. Around and around in the cavern, his barbed tail nearly touching his head, he twirled in a grim but stately dance, to a music that only he could hear. This was the music of power, swelling inside him. Of conquest, growing closer. And of triumph, nearing fulfillment.

As he spun within the dark cavern, black sparks exploded whenever he brushed against the walls. Often his laughter erupted as well, echoing all around. And then Rhita Gawr started to speak. As often as Kulwych had heard that voice, the sound still made his knees wobble and his mouth go dry.

“Now, my little plaything, let me tell you what I have done. I have used the power of this crystal to call an army to my aid.”