The Rock of Ivanore (17 page)

The ground felt marshy beneath his feet. The willows growing along the lakeshore swayed in the breeze. He caught a whiff of baking bread and followed it around the lake to a cluster of Willenberry trees. A thin tendril of smoke curled up from the treetops, and Jerrid went toward it, hoping to find a hospitable host and a warm meal.

After several minutes, he came upon a grassy clearing. In the center stood a massive structure made of stone. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was an oven, an oven taller than his home in Quendel. The oven's door alone was more than twice as tall as he was. What or who would need an oven of such proportions did not cross his mind; the sweet fragrance of bread wafting out of it was all he cared about.

It wasn't until the Cyclops had him in his grip that he began to scream. Jerrid screamed so long and so loudly that he only stopped to suck in enough air to continue screaming. The Cyclops held him at eye level and cocked his head to one side. Certain the monster was about to take a bite out of him, Jerrid's screams turned to tearful wails. The cacophony brought other Cyclopes in from the trees, and soon more than a dozen of them encircled Jerrid, still in the clutches of his one-eyed captor.

Jerrid's wails turned to sobs and then to intermittent sniffs and whimpers. When he realized that he was not going to be eaten, his crying stopped altogether. “W-why haven't you k-killed me?” he asked, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Aren't you hungry?”

The Cyclops that held him looked bewildered. “
Urtur ah Breah
,” he said.

Jerrid tried again. “I thought you would have eaten me by now. You know . . . eat.” He lifted his fingers to his mouth as though he were putting food into it.

The Cyclops repeated the same phrase as before, copying Jerrid's gesture. “
Urtur ah Breah
.”

“No,” said Jerrid. He was beginning to feel frustrated. If the monsters were going to eat him, he would prefer to get it over with quickly. “If you're not going to have me for supper, let me go!” he shouted.

The crowd of Cyclopes shifted, and an elderly one came forward. He was bent with years, and a wide jagged scar marred his forehead.

“Who is there?” the blind Cyclops said.

He speaks my language! Jerrid realized, relieved to know that someone would be able to understand him.

“My name is Jerrid,” he said. “I was hungry and smelled the bread cooking in your oven. I didn't know what . . . that
you
lived here, or I wouldn't have come.”

The Cyclops that held him spoke again. “
Urtur ah Breah
.”

“He says his name is Breah,” explained the old Cyclops. “I am Vos. By your voice I sense you are but a child. What is a boy doing alone at Lake Olsnar?”

“I'm fourteen, actually,” said Jerrid. “I'm on a quest.”

Vos spoke to Breah in the Cyclopes' language, and Breah set Jerrid gently on the ground.

“You smell familiar,” said Vos. “I've smelled you before, but it was many years ago, before your time.”

Jerrid remembered the stories of his father, how he had carried home a Cyclops's eye for his prize. He decided he should change the subject—and fast.

“That bread smells delicious,” he said. “May I trouble you for some?”

Vos requested that Jerrid be fed. He was not only
given bread, but also roasted yams, cabbage salad, and nectar, as well. By the time he had finished eating, Jerrid was glad he had stumbled upon the Cyclopes.

“I should be going,” he said after thanking them for his meal. “I have to get to Dokur.”

When Vos heard the word
Dokur
, he dropped his massive hand on the ground in front of Jerrid.

“Why do you go to Dokur?” he asked.

“I told you before,” replied Jerrid. “I'm on a quest.”

“What is the nature of your quest?”

Jerrid hesitated. But then he thought, what would Cyclops care about Jayson?

“I seek the Rock of Ivanore,” he said.

Vos and the other Cyclopes gasped. They began speaking with one another in frenzied voices. Vos held up his hand to silence them. He leaned over and sniffed the air above Jerrid. Then he opened his mouth and roared. The sound was deafening.

“I know that stench now!” Vos bellowed angrily. “It is the smell of the creature that blinded me and left me for dead more than twenty-five years ago!”

“No!” shouted Jerrid, suddenly terrified. “It wasn't me!”

“It could not have been you, but your smell is the same as his. How can that be?”

“It w-was m-my father!” Jerrid's legs turned to jelly. He struggled to remain standing.

“And now you, O spawn of my enemy,” continued Vos, “you want to go to Dokur to destroy the only friend the Cyclopes have on all of Imaness! He who taught me
to speak his language! He who defended us against the invasion of humans! You will not harm him!”

Jerrid found himself once again in Breah's grasp, but this time there was loathing in the Cyclops's face. With his free hand, Breah opened the great door to the stone oven and tossed Jerrid inside. Then he slammed the door shut with a bang.

Jerrid looked around him. A narrow shaft of light filtered in through the chimney above. The chimney was wide enough for him to escape, but its opening was too high for him to reach. The walls of the oven were still warm, and Jerrid feared that they would light a fire underneath it and cook him for supper after all. With nothing else for him to do, he dropped to his knees in the center of the cavernlike space and wept.

he sun was high overhead by the time Bryn returned from surveying the road ahead. In the Groc's absence, Jayson had deftly skinned and cleaned the warboar. A large piece of it was now roasting over a generous fire.

“Did you scout the area?” asked Jayson.

Bryn eyed the warboar hungrily. “I want some,” he said.

“Not until you give your report.”

Bryn scowled. “I never agreed to be your slave,” he snapped.

“What did you find out there?”

“Nothing,” said Bryn, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest.

Jayson reached out and sliced a chunk from the warboar and dangled it in front of Bryn. Bryn snatched it and tore off a piece with his pointy teeth.

“Now,” said Jayson, “tell me what you found.”

Bryn finished his meat and licked his fingertips. “There is a hill not a mile up the road, and not far from that a canyon. But I won't go back there,” he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground and pointing his chin toward the sky. “You can't make me.”

Jayson turned to Marcus and Kelvin. “Shall we have a look? In the meantime, Bryn, you can gather berries for lunch,” he said, taking Marcus's satchel and handing it to Bryn. “Put them in this.”

Bryn held up the bag indignantly and pinched his nose with his fingers. “Grocs have a keen sense of smell, and
this
smells bad!”

*   *   *

Jayson, Marcus, and Kelvin walked the mile to the hill in silence. They ascended it cautiously. As they neared the top, they crawled the rest of the way and peered over the crest. Below them in a deep canyon, hundreds of creatures unlike Marcus had ever before seen were laboring in what appeared to be some sort of mine. The creatures were shaped like men, with agile arms, legs, a head and torso, but a fine fur covered their bodies, and thick manes of it grew on their heads. Their faces were almost catlike, though more human than cat, and their fingers were short and tipped in sharp
claws. Most of the cat-men dug against the canyon walls with heavy picks. Others loaded large chunks of earth into wagons, while still others pulled the wagons to a central pile and unloaded them. Scattered among them were large, muscular human guards bearing leather whips.

“What are they?” asked Marcus.

“Agorans,” said Jayson. “It seems his Lordship has recruited my people to mine Celestine.”

“Slavery is outlawed in Quendel—and in all the villages east of the Jeweled Mountains,” said Kelvin.

“And in Dokur as well, but I see things have changed since I've been away. Come. We should go before we are seen.”

Jayson started down the hill, but Marcus called out to him. “We can't leave them like this!”

“Your heroism is honorable, but we can do nothing for them.”

“We could fight those guards.”

“Yes, and we would die,” said Jayson. “What good would that do anyone? You obviously did not see the other guards stationed at the base of the canyon, the ones with broadswords strapped about their waists. If you want to help the Agorans, then we must get to Dokur. If we do not arrive in time, everyone—slave and free—will die.”

Kelvin and Jayson crawled back down the hill, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. Marcus lingered behind. Directly below him a guard whipped a young Agoran boy. The youth cowered on the ground and cried out in pain with each stroke of the whip. Marcus could
hardly bear to watch. Then an idea struck him. So far he had manipulated heat and water. What if he could control solid elements? He took Zyll's key from his pocket and held it against a large boulder at the edge of the canyon.

As he began to think of what word he should utter, Xerxes interrupted him. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked.

Fall? Break free? Tumble down? The words raced through Marcus's mind. “I'm trying to loosen this boulder,” he replied.

“Do you mean to drop it on one of those men's heads?” Xerxes' voice was reproachful, like a nagging mother. “Surely you remember Zyll's caution. To use magic in such a way is just inviting trouble.”

“It's only a rock,” said Marcus. “I managed the fog just fine. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?” replied Xerxes.

Marcus closed his eyes and concentrated. One word, he told himself. I only need one word. But before he could form one in his mind, the boulder began to tremble beneath his hand. He had expected the key to grow hot like before, but this time he noticed that it wasn't so much the key as his own palm that radiated heat. He didn't have time to think about it, however. Within moments the boulder shook loose and plummeted into the canyon below.

The cries stopped. Marcus looked down and saw the boy gaping wide-eyed at the stone and at the injured guard reeling in pain beside it. The stone had landed nearly on top of him.

Marcus brushed off his hands, pleased with himself. But then he noticed the earth beneath him had begun to shift. Small chunks of dirt broke away, falling into the canyon. There was a loud crack, and the section of the cliff where he stood broke away. He barely had time to jump to safety before it hurtled down into the canyon.

“Well, maybe now you'll listen to my advice,” scolded Xerxes. “I intend to tell Zyll about this fiasco!”

Marcus glanced over the still-unsteady ledge, fearful that he may have inadvertently injured a slave. Luckily, after the first boulder landed, the Agorans had cleared the area, but even so, Marcus cursed himself for being so careless.

he afternoon air had grown thick and humid, and the slight breeze gave no relief. Jayson and Kelvin walked along the roadside aware that Marcus had chosen to remain behind a while longer. After several minutes, the silence between them felt as unpleasant as the air.