The Dragonstone (50 page)

“But apparently the Mage discovered that he had left the chest open, and through castings, or charms, or other such arcane art—who knows the ways of Mages?—he determined that my sire had delved within. Enraged, the Mage sent some of the crew to capture my sire.

“Somehow my father learned they were after him and he sought out the aid of those opposed to the Fists of Rakka. Yet the hounds were upon him and, guided by my mother, he fled across the land to ultimately come to here, for she was an adherent of Ilsitt and she knew the way.

“But when the crew returned to the Mage and told of their failure, for they had lost his track in the Demon’s Maze, the Mage summoned a true demon and set it in pursuit, or so we believe.

“And that demon came to the gate and challenged my sire, bellowing that he would die for knowing of the green stone.

“By this time, my mother was pregnant with me, and my sire took up his sword and armor and helm and went forth to slay the demon.”

Burel turned to Mayam. “Here I believe that you should continue, for ‘twas here you became a witness.”

Mayam cleared her throat. “Three days the monster bellowed, three days of incessant haranguing, the creature calling out that he would not leave until the blood of Ulry stained the crimson walls. Eruth begged
Yâ sîdi
Ulry not to go forth, for they were safe here upon holy ground where demons fear to tread. Yet
Yâ sîdi
Ulry was adamant, saying that he would have no demon after his blood or after the blood of his child, for so he deemed was the command the Wizard had given the demon. And on the fourth day
Yâ sîdi
Ulry donned his breastplate and
helm and took up his great sword and went out when the sun stood on high.

“At that time I was but an acolyte, and it was my duty to stand watch atop the entry bluff that fateful day some thirty-five years past. Although I was nearly two hundred fathoms above, I could see the events quite plainly:

“
Yâ sîdi
Ulry emerged with his great sword, to face that black monster waiting there in the canyon below. The creature had a sword of its own, a black thing to match its own blackness. And they came together with a great shouting rush.
Yâ sîdi
Ulry fought mightily, yet it seems no matter what he did the demon was immune from harm. And it laughed and toyed with him for what seemed an eternity, but at last it slew him, beheaded him with a single, wide-sweeping stroke.

“And then it strutted back and forth before the entry tunnel and raised up
Yâ sîdi
Ulry’s head by the hair and bellowed of its victory and called for Eruth to come forth and be slain as well. But she did not answer his challenge, and two days later it vanished sometime in the night. Just exactly when it had gone, or where or how or why, we did not know. It simply no longer stood outside and called for Eruth to come forth.

“It was then and only then that we ventured out through the gateway to claim
Yâ sîdi
Ulry’s remains, and we wept for him and laid him in his cairn. I think Eruth wished to die right then and there, but she knew she had to live for
Yâ sîdi
Ulry’s child. And so, in the event that it would be a male child, she stored away
Yâ sîdi
Ulry’s sword and helm and armor, and then covered her beloved with a mound of stones.

“Seven months later, Burel was born. Shortly after, the next supply train arrived bearing word that the plans of the Fists of Rakka had been thwarted by the High King, and so the information we had seemed useless.”

“Useless?” said Egil. “But what about the green stone? Not only was it the cause of Sir Ulry’s death, it is central to our quest.”

Mayam shook her head. “For all we knew it was merely a Wizard’s talisman, and all Mages have talismans which they jealously guard. And even though the Wizard sent a
demon after
Yâ sîdi
Ulry simply for knowing of the stone’s existence, we knew not its import until we heard Dara Arin’s tale.”

Aiko raised an eyebrow. “The odds grow steeper the farther we go, for now to find the green stone we must read a Wizard’s jealously guarded scroll, and Wizards wield deadly power.”

“Now wait just a moment,” objected Alos. “Before anyone goes haring off after some Wizard’s scroll”—he glanced at Burel—“I’d like to know how this man’s story makes him the cursed keeper of faith in the maze.”

“There is peril linked to him,” said Aiko, touching her chest where a tiger lay. “It has beaten at me constantly, ever since we reached the maze.”

“The peril—the curse—is tied to the blood of my sire,” said Burel, “or so my mother held. Blood, I might add, which runs through my veins.

“My mother believed that somewhere in this world a demon waits for me, the very same demon which slew my father. She told me I should never leave these holy grounds. Yet I have always known there would come a time when I would need to go, not only to face the demon but also to face the Wizard who bound it to this task.” Burel now turned to Arin. “I am the cursed keeper of faith in the maze.”

Arin glanced at Aiko, who nodded. The Dylvana took a deep breath and said, “I do so accept thee, Burel.” Arin then looked at Mayam. “Tell me, Abbess, dost thou know the name of this Mage who holds the scrolls of the stone?”

Mayam glanced at Burel then said, “Indeed, we do. His name is Ordrune.”

O
rdrune!” Egil slammed the flat of his hand down to the stone table.

Startled, Mayam said, “Yes,
Yâ sîdi
Ulry so named him.”

Egil turned to Ann. “
This
is why I am the one-eye in dark water, love, for I know the layout of Ordrune’s lair.” Unbidden, Egil’s mind flashed back to that terrible time:

Egil was shackled to a ring in the floor and he and the Mage faced one another—one silent, the other sneering.

“I am Ordrune, Captain. And your name…?”

Egil said nought.

“Your silence is of no moment,” said Ordrune. “I will have your name shortly. You will be eager to speak.” The Mage turned aside and made his way across the room.

The chamber itself was completely circular, perhaps thirty feet in diameter. Here and there stood tables laden with arcane devices: astrolabes and geared bronze wheels and alembics and clay vessels, mortars and pestles, clear glass jars filled with yellow and red and blue and green granules, braziers glowing red…with tools inserted among the ruddy coals. Small ingots of metal lay scattered here and there: red copper, yellow brass, white tin, gleaming gold, argent silver, and more. And ’round the walls there were casks and trunks and cabinets of drawers and a great, ironbound, triple-locked chest, and desks with pigeon holes above, jammed with scrolls and parchments and papers. And four tall windows equipped with drapes were set in the stone at the cardinal points. Elsewhere, tomes rested on stands; books resided on shelves. Here and there were chairs, equipped with writing flats, with pens and inks and vellum sheets alongside.

This was Ordrune’s laboratory, his alchemistry, his arcane athenaeum. This was his lair. This was his den. This was the heart of the Wizardholt.

Egil clenched his fist and shook his head to clear it of these memories, all but one. “I think I have even seen the chest wherein the scroll is kept.” Egil turned to Burel. “It is large—” Egil held his hands wide apart—“and bound with iron, and three heavy locks hold shut its hasps.”

Burel turned up a hand. “Perhaps. But my mother never described it other than as a chest my sire discovered unlatched one fateful day.”

Egil made a negating gesture. “Regardless, Burel, it is to Ordrune’s strongholt we need go to find the way to the green stone as well as take our vengeance upon the Mage.”

Burel clenched a fist and nodded, but Arin said, “Nay, Egil, vengeance must wait, for the finding of the stone takes precedence o’er all.”

“But he is responsible for the death of my father,” objected Burel.

“And the torturous slaughter of forty good men,” added Egil.

Arin shook her head. “Nevertheless, ye two, stopping the slaughter of a world is of more import than exacting retribution against a single evildoer. Our need is to gain the scroll, and then the green stone. And to that end thy vengeance must wait.”

Alos shuddered and said, “This is insane. We cannot hope to steal from a Mage. He will send a demon after each of us, just as he did against Burel’s father. Count me out. I’ll not take part in such madness.”

Aiko stared impassively at the oldster. “As I said before, Alos, whatever lives can be slain.”

Alos shook his head. “Maybe so. But we don’t even know where the Mage’s tower is. And Kistan is an enormous isle—eight, nine hundred miles across in any direction you’d care to go, and all of it jungle. And it’s filled with pirates. We’ll be forever—
you’ll
be forever finding the Wizard’s stronghold if the Rovers don’t kill you first. Besides, his chest is locked, probably warded with magic, too.”

Ferret said, “As to the locks, I have yet to see one I could not open.”

Delon looked at her in surprise.

“My father was a locksmith,” she said by way of explanation. “And an escape artist in the
cirque,
as was I.”

“Ah, then perhaps that’s why you are needed on this venture, luv,” said Delon. “To open the Mage’s locked chest when Egil One-Eye leads us to it.”

Egil shook his head. “Even though I can lead you to the chest, I cannot lead us to the tower, for I know not where it lies. And Alos is right: Kistan is a great isle, as the charts we bought in Aban show.” Egil glanced at Burel. “Did your father say where Ordrune’s strongholt lies?”

Burel grunted. “All I know is the name of the place where my sire signed on to Ordrune’s ship in Kistan, though whether or no it’s where lies the Wizard’s stronghold, I cannot say. But the ship sailed out from Yilan Koy, or so my mother said.”

“Yilan Koy?” asked Delon. “Is that a town?”

Burel shrugged. “My mother did not know.”

Egil sighed. “Well, at least it’s a place to start.”

“Fools,” hissed Alos. “You are all harebrained fools.”

*   *   *

After the sounding of the demon horn at dusk, both Arin and Delon sang at the evensong service, Arin’s hymn a paean to Elwydd, Delon’s an invocation to Elwydd’s father, Adon, asking that He protect this refuge from all harm.

Later that night from the open red stone of the basin there echoed the skirl and clang of steel upon steel as by lanternlight Aiko drilled Burel at blades.

*   *   *

Over the next two days, Arin and her companions prepared for the return to the port of Aban. In a storeroom, Mayam found the saddle from the camel that had borne
Yâ sîdi
Ulry to the Temple of the Labyrinth so long ago, and she gave it over to Arin, who fitted it to one of the camels for Burel to use. And when he wasn’t training with Aiko, Burel prepared as well, for so the rede required:
Take these with thee, no more, no less…

Too, Burel needed time to say his good-byes, for not all
the acolytes of Ilsitt had sworn vows of celibacy, and they spent the nights visiting him one last time.

During these same two days, Delon and Ferai took long walks together around the steep-walled basin, talking, laughing, singing, sharing: Ferai told him of her early life, up to the time of her rape, but no more; and Delon spoke of his own childhood, living in the fringes of the Alnawood at the wall of the Gûnarring. And these two often met Egil and Arin coming the other way, the Dylvana and Fjordlander laughing and sharing as well.

Alos discovered that the women of Ilsitt had a small store of medicinal brandy, and he wheedled and begged until they gave him a tot just to shut him up. But that was all, no matter his appeals, and he was left with but an empty glass and a terrible thirst.

*   *   *

On the morning of the twenty-seventh of November, seven of the grumbling camels were saddled for riders, while the remaining five were laden with supplies for the trip.

Arin and her companions bade farewell to the followers of Ilsitt, and the women wept to see Burel go, for he had been among them all his life and many now looked upon him as a brother or son, while to others he had been a lover ere they had taken their final priestess vows, while to a few he was their lover still. And these latter acolytes stopped him for one last kiss, and then fell into one another’s arms, sobbing, as in breastplate and helm and with his sword on his shoulder he led the procession to the dark way beyond the portcullis.

Into the corridor under the towering canyon wall they went, Burel pulling his mount, a second camel in tow, Aiko coming after, the Ryodoan leading two camels as well, then Alos with two, and then Ferret with one followed by Delon with two, and Egil drawing two behind him, Arin trailing with her animal last.

Into the narrow way they went, the camels
hronk
ing in dismay at the tight confines, being drawn through an eye of a needle, or so Ferret had said. In the lead, Burel came to the sharp turn leftward, and then the rightward turn,
Aiko coming slowly after, following his ill-tempered beasts, dragging her own surly animals behind.

And as Burel stepped out into the canyon beyond, Aiko shouted, “Ware!” for the unremitting peril her tiger had sensed since reaching the maze suddenly exploded.

And a stride or two past where stood Burel, the demon stepped out from the face of solid crimson stone and hissed at the man, “At last. By the blood of your father, I knew you would come forth some day.” And as if flexing long dormant muscles, with a ripping upward slash of its great, jagged, obsidian sword, the demon clove through the camel’s neck, the sundered head flying up and away as the corpse of the beast collapsed in the entry, blood gushing from the cloven stump.

In the tunnel, camels bellowed in fear, their cries of panic blaring as they wrenched and jerked back and away from the reek of blood and the stench of the demon, their feet drumming in terror as they lashed and thudded side to side and tried to turn and flee in the restricted confines of the narrow passage, heedless of the people trapped within.