The Rock of Ivanore (18 page)

“Our journey is going well, don't you think?” asked Jayson, swatting a gnat away from his face. “Or do you wish I hadn't joined you on this expedition?”

Kelvin shifted his crossbow from his right shoulder to his left and took a drink of water from his water skin. “I am going to Dokur to fulfill my quest,” he said, replacing the stopper. “That you have decided to come along is of no consequence to me.”

“I
did
save your life, you know.”

“For which I am grateful.”

“Then why do you dislike me so much?”

Kelvin cast Jayson a sideways glance. The ground beneath his feet was hard and rutted. He tripped once, kicking up a cloud of dust. “I don't dislike you,” he said.

“But . . .” coaxed Jayson with a mischievous smile.

“But I do resent the way you've manipulated Marcus into trusting you. I know there's some secret he's keeping from the rest of us. I think it has to do with Ivanore.”

Jayson's smile faded. They continued for several minutes without speaking.

When Kelvin spoke again, it was with calm restraint. “Did you kidnap Ivanore?”

“Is that what you believe?” asked Jayson. They were nearing the area where they had left Bryn earlier. The road bent slightly, and as they walked along it, Jayson kept his eyes to the ground.

“It's what most people believe, isn't it,” said Kelvin, “that an Agoran half-breed took her hostage against her will?”

Jayson turned and grabbed Kelvin by the front of his shirt.

“
That
is a lie!” he shouted. “I love Ivanore! I always will!” His eyes burned with rage, but Kelvin was not deterred.

“You broke the law. Can you deny it?”

When Jayson's eyes met Kelvin's, the anger within him quickly subsided. Jayson released Kelvin and turned away. “No,” he said. “I cannot deny it.”

“Then how can you continue using Marcus for your own selfish purposes? How can you, in good conscience, allow him to believe you are his friend and ally?”

Kelvin waited for an answer, but there was none. Instead Jayson's eyes scanned the field beyond the bend, and then his gaze dropped once more to the road. “Something is wrong here,” he said. “I can feel it.”

arcus eased his way down the hill and walked back the way he had come. By the time he reached the bend in the road he felt exhausted—drained of all energy.

“Are you all right?” Kelvin asked as Marcus approached. “You look pale.”

“I'm fine,” replied Marcus, sprawling out on the grass beside the road. “Where's Bryn?”

“He's gone. We only found this when we returned.” Kelvin handed Marcus his satchel half full with berries.

Marcus forced himself back to his feet. His strength was returning. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called for the Groc. “Bryn! Bryn!” No answer came.
“Maybe he went back into the woods for more berries,” he suggested.

Through narrowed eyes, Jayson searched the road and the trees that lined it. “Perhaps,” he agreed, though the tone of his voice suggested he did not fully accept that explanation—yet he offered no other.

Marcus picked up a handful of berries and weighed them in his palm. “Should we wait for him to come back?”

Kelvin drew an arrow from his quiver and prepared his bow.

“What are you doing?” asked Marcus, his voice dropping to a whisper. An uneasiness crept over him, and he felt like a gazelle preparing to bolt at the scent of an unseen predator. Standing in the open road with a wide, flat field on one side and a small grove of trees on the other, he longed for the protection of the Jeweled Mountains. He noticed Jayson's hand twitch nervously as it rested against his sword. He drew his own blade from Xerxes' sheath and held it ready in front of him.

The air was nearly still. Only the slightest breeze brushing through the dry grass of the plain broke the silence. Like a sudden explosion, four galloping horses burst through the trees. With not a moment to think, Marcus dove into the high grass behind him as a blur of hooves flew past, missing him by mere inches. He rolled to the right and jumped to his feet. At the same moment, Jayson managed to snag the leg of a passing rider with his claws. The rider hit the ground hard but wasted no time
in drawing his sword. He wore thick leather armor on his chest. In his left hand he held a round shield painted red with a yellow cross. Jayson's sword came down on it with a sharp clang. The guard struggled to his feet, and they continued their conflict.

The other three riders were dressed like the first and carried the same patterned shields. One sat in his saddle moaning in pain, an arrow jutting out of his left shoulder. Another had dismounted and now grappled with Kelvin on the ground. Marcus did not wait to see where the fourth rider had gone. He ran toward Kelvin, roaring like a wild animal, and buried the point of his sword between the shoulder blades of the guard. The injured guard screamed and stumbled forward, reaching his hands behind his back in an effort to remove the object embedded there. The second guard snapped off the arrow from his shoulder and also dismounted. Fear swelled inside Marcus. He was now without a weapon, and even if he did have one, he was no match for the muscular brute that stood before him.

Raising his broadsword, the guard bared his teeth in a sinister grimace. Marcus thought to run, but in an instant the guard bolted forward, his sword readied to sever Marcus's head from his body. Just as he took his first step, however, his face contorted. He stopped where he stood, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell face first to the ground, an arrow stuck in his back. Kelvin was on his knees in the center of the road, his bow still ready and his chest heaving.

Marcus noticed, too, that the guard that had been fighting with Jayson now lay motionless in the grass. A stream of blood stained Jayson's sleeve.

“Where did those riders come from? Who were they?” asked Marcus.

“Fredric's scouts,” replied Jayson.

Marcus jerked his sword from the now-dead guard's back and cleaned it on the grass. “There were four of them.”

“The last one escaped,” said Jayson. He examined the shallow gash above his right elbow. “He had Bryn with him.”

Kelvin rose to his feet, still gasping for breath. “What will happen to him?” he asked.

“All Grocs are felons in Dokur,” answered Jayson. “He'll be executed.”

Kelvin turned to Marcus, outrage in his face. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Why didn't you use your magic? We were nearly killed! And Bryn's been taken captive!”

“I-I couldn't think. It happened too fast,” stammered Marcus. During the conflict the thought of using magic as a defense had never entered his mind. “I'm sorry” were the only words he could think of to say.

“Sorry can't heal wounds,” said Kelvin bitterly. “And it won't bring Bryn back!”

His words ended abruptly as his gaze traveled downward to Marcus's chest.

“What is
this
?” he said. Marcus realized too late what Kelvin now saw. Kelvin snatched the pendant in his hand and jerked it free. As the leather cord snapped, a sharp pain shot through Marcus's neck. No more words were said. The betrayed expression on Kelvin's face said it all.

TRUTH REVEALED

ight again, and Marcus's sleep was shallow and restless. The darkness pressed in on him as before, suffocating him. He struggled against it, tried to push back the memories into the depths where he had kept them for so long. But they returned now against his will.

There was no moon the night Zyll had taken sick. The old man's body had been racked with fever. Marcus was just a boy of eight years, and he feared for his master's life.

Feeling helpless, he asked, “What should I do?”

“Lemonweed,” whispered Zyll to Marcus through parched lips. “Go to the herbalist and bring me some.”

Marcus took a candle with him and started across the field separating his cottage from the village, but the night was
blustery and the candle blew out. It wasn't until he reached the trees that he realized he had gone the wrong way.

Suddenly he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. Only a few yards from where he stood, a warboar grunted and pawed the ground. Marcus turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, screaming as loudly as he could for help. When his foot caught on a broken branch, he fell to the ground. In an instant, the warboar was upon him, slashing at him with its sharp tusks. Marcus could still hear the animal's breath against his ears even now.

Just when he was about to give up hope, a light appeared above him. It grew so bright that Marcus had to shield his eyes with his hand. The warboar fled, and Marcus felt the pain within him melt away. I have died, he thought, and this angel has come to take me to heaven.

All of a sudden, he heard shouts of men coming from the village. They had heard Marcus's screams and were coming to his aid. As the light of their torches drew near, the angel's light vanished.

The villagers carried Marcus to the healer, who patched up his injuries and accompanied him back to his master's house. But ever since then, Marcus's sleep had been tormented with nightmares, and he was left with a crippling fear of darkness.

Marcus awoke trembling, his clothes damp with perspiration. He guessed it was well past midnight by the stars' positions. He glanced at Kelvin and Jayson sleeping nearby and was relieved to know all was well. He was just closing his eyes again when Xerxes startled him.

“You're awake!” said Xerxes, yawning. “Good! We've got work to do!”

“It's too early,” Marcus protested.

“Nonsense! Today we learn levitation and transfer—the art of moving solid objects. After the calamity at the mines, you need a little extra training. Now, get up!” he said. “Up! Up! Up!”

Marcus groaned, but instead of obeying, he tossed his cape over Xerxes' head, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

*   *   *

The city of Dokur stood atop the crest of a rocky cliff, its watchtower and the spires of the Fortress jutting skyward like a royal crown. The city's position afforded it absolute protection from those who might wish to attack by land, and the watchtower situated on the shore afforded the guards of Dokur the ability to see so far toward the horizon that no ship could get within ten miles of the island without being detected.

The road to Dokur was steep and narrow, bordered on the left by towering walls of solid granite and on the right by a sheer drop to the valley floor. Marcus crept along while keeping one palm pressed against the rock wall and the other firmly around Xerxes's head. He tested each step as he went, as though he feared the ground beneath him might, at any moment, give way.

“You're slower than a snail!” said Jayson, giving him a gentle shove from behind.

“Don't push me!” Marcus shouted. “Do you want me to fall?”

“You won't fall. If the road is wide enough for wagons, it is certainly wide enough for you.”

“Wagons? This trail isn't wide enough for anything other than lizards and rats! One wrong step and that's the end of me.”