The Rock of Ivanore (28 page)

At the sight of the giants, both the Agorans and Hestorians were equally petrified with fear. But seeing one of the Cyclopes lift Jayson to its shoulder gave the Agorans a surge of courage. The Cyclopes moved through the armies, picking out the Hestorians as though they were mere insects and flinging them into the sea. The dragons were swatted down like flies. Those that managed to escape the Cyclopes' hands ran for the harbor. Soon the remaining enemy soldiers had all fled toward the shore. They could not board their boats fast enough. Those skiffs that got away in time managed to reach the safety of their ships. The others were capsized like toys in a child's bath, their occupants thrown well out of the harbor and left to swim for it.

The battle of Dokur was over.

y the time Marcus regained consciousness, the Hestorians had deserted Dokur. Jayson held a cup of water to Marcus's parched lips, and he drank it gratefully. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder was immense.

“That's Arik's handiwork you feel,” said Jayson, cradling Marcus's head in his hands. “It's not as bad as it seems. A minor wound, but painful. I'll take you to an inn where you can rest.”

“No,” protested Marcus weakly. “I must—” His voice broke off, and he winced from the pain. “I must get to Kelvin. He needs a doctor.”

The look on Jayson's face did nothing to alleviate Marcus's concern.

“I'm sorry, Marcus, but there's only one physician in Dokur, and he is overwhelmed with seeing to the soldiers. I cannot ask him . . .”

Jayson averted his eyes from Marcus and hung his head. Marcus struggled to sit up and fought even harder to stand. He looked around him. The devastation that lay before him was far more than he could have imagined. Though the Cyclopes had managed to rid Dokur of its enemy, many of the buildings were nothing but blackened rubble. The glow from a few scattered fires cast shifting shadows among the dead. The stench of blood and ash filled the air.

Only one image stood out among the rest as a beacon of hope: Fredric's banner hoisted high on a makeshift pole. The words written there reassured Marcus that all would be well.

“I must go to Kelvin,” Marcus said. He took a step forward, but his legs gave way beneath him. Jayson caught him by the arm to steady him. Then, finding Marcus's sword on the ground nearby, he placed it in the boy's hand. Marcus wrapped his grip around Xerxes and felt the comfort of his old companion. Leaning his weight against the sword, he took another step. He would have taken one more, but Jayson stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Wait,” he said, “I'll go with you.”

*   *   *

Darkness had settled on Dokur like a shroud. As the large fires were put out by trains of people with buckets, torches dotted the village, casting dancing phantoms against the buildings. The pile of bodies in the center of the marketplace grew to the height of the rooftops—and yet there were still more. On the morrow, they would be burned in a ceremonial pyre.

Marcus leaned heavily on Xerxes as he led Jayson around the outer gate of the Fortress. With only a single torch to light their way, their path was more treacherous than it had been in daylight, making the journey much longer than Marcus would have preferred. Once the full moon rose overhead, however, the trail, illuminated by its silver glow, became easier to follow.

Just when Marcus could stand the waiting no longer, the column of trees appeared before him in the distance. Nothing could hold him back now, and though he had not yet regained his full strength, he ran across the field, stumbling only once along the way.

The children of Dokur were nestled quietly in their mothers' laps beneath the canopy of green. The wind rustling through the leaves played a comforting lullaby. Jayson stopped to speak to the wives of those men who had fought so valiantly. Marcus continued on and finally found the old midwife hunched over Kelvin and applying a layer of ointment over his wounds.

“Your friend is not well,” she told him. “I have done all I can, but I fear it is not enough.”

Marcus knelt on the ground beside Kelvin and placed a hand on his cheek. Kelvin's skin was moist and hot to the touch. His breath was shallow and irregular. At Marcus's touch, Kelvin's eyelids opened. His gaze wandered at first, but finally settled on Marcus's face. “I'm glad you're here,” whispered Kelvin. Forming the words was a struggle. “Take this.” With great effort he removed the Celestine pendant from around his neck and placed it in Marcus's hand.

“I can't take it,” said Marcus, fighting back tears. Kelvin looked as though he wanted to say more, but his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

“Will he . . .?” Marcus began, though he could not finish the sentence.

The midwife looked at him with a mother's concern. “He will not live through the night,” she said.

“But there must be something more we can do!”

The midwife shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

For a fleeting moment, Marcus thought of Zyll's key. With its power there must surely be some way to help, but it was gone—and with it all hope of saving Kelvin. Then a thought struck him.

He found the staff where he had left it and sheathed his sword. When he rapped on Xerxes' beak, the bird fluttered to life. “What do you mean, striking me that way?” he squawked irritably. “I've a good mind to mention this in my report to Zyll.”

“Don't be angry, Xerxes,” said Marcus. “I need you to
tell me something about the key. Is it possible to do magic without it? Zyll doesn't use any charm.”

Xerxes ground his beak together while contemplating his answer. “That depends,” he replied finally.

“Depends on what?” asked Marcus.

“On you, of course,” answered Xerxes. “You
are
an enchanter-in-training, you know. Did you think you would need the key forever?”

“Then I can perform magic on my own!” Marcus turned to Kelvin, whose pale face had the look of impending death upon it. “But how can I heal Kelvin when the magic only works on inorganic materials?”

“Where did you hear that nonsense?” replied Xerxes.

“I heard it from you,” said Marcus. “You said it was impossible to manipulate organic objects, that not even Zyll could do it.”

“I said it was
nearly
impossible, which is entirely different.”

“Then it can be done!”

Marcus grasped Kelvin's shirt in his hands and tore open the fabric, revealing his bruised and broken body. As he laid his hands on Kelvin's chest, Xerxes squawked in protest.

“Wait! I know how much you care for Kelvin. I've grown to tolerate him, as well. But you mustn't use your powers this way! You've seen how magic drains you of energy. Transmuting an organic substance, especially someone on death's door, would virtually require your life force in exchange for his!”

“What are you saying, Xerxes?”

“I'm saying you're not strong enough. Few enchanters are! Even the mighty Zyll will not take such risks. And you are only an apprentice!”

Marcus knew that Xerxes was right—he had felt weakened each time he used magic—but he could not bear to watch Kelvin die. “I have no choice,” he said. “I must try to save him.”

With his palms against Kelvin's chest, Marcus imagined in his mind how he could manipulate bone and flesh to mend itself. He tried to think what command he should use, but then Kelvin's body shuddered. His breath went out of him and his heart ceased beating.

The midwife began to weep. By now Jayson had joined Marcus by Kelvin's side. He placed a comforting hand on Marcus's shoulder.

“He's gone,” he said.

Marcus leaned over Kelvin and enfolded the lifeless body of his friend in his arms. The tears began slowly at first, then came faster. Marcus's body shook, and he wept from more grief than he had ever known. As he wept, however, his grief turned to anger, the anger to rage.

“No! I won't let you die! You must live!” he shouted, his voice erupting in uncontrollable sobs. “Live! Do you hear me? I command it! Live! Live! LIVE!”

The night was silent except for the intermittent sounds of children whimpering in their mothers' arms as they slept. Jayson, the midwife, and a few women from Dokur stood by watching the anguished boy mourn the death of
his friend. So quiet were they that when Kelvin took that first deep breath, they all heard it and were astonished. After the second breath, the midwife quickly fell to her knees beside him and felt his pulse.

“His heart is beating!” she said. A quick examination of his chest found clean, new skin and solid bone where only wounds had been before. She clasped her hands together and praised the gods for the miracle. Only then did she notice the other boy on the ground, his body crumpled and unmoving.

arcus opened his eyes and blinked against the bright light. While his eyes adjusted he tried to make out his surroundings. He was lying prone on the ground underneath a tall tree, the same tree beneath which he had knelt beside Kelvin. But Kelvin was gone. Everyone was gone.

He stood up. His legs felt surprisingly strong. Everything looked the same: the trees, the meadow, the Fortress, even the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Yet it wasn't the same, not quite.

He called out. “Hello?” His voice sounded distant, as if it were someone else's voice. “Where is everyone?”

Even before he saw her, he knew he wasn't alone. He turned and there she was, standing right beside him, her
long, flaxen hair billowing in the breeze. She was a stranger to him, yet somehow familiar.

“Are you my angel?” he asked. The woman smiled at him, but her eyes betrayed a profound sadness. She lifted her arm and unfolded the fingers of her hand, bidding Marcus to take the object that lay there. As he did so, he immediately recognized its triangular shape and blue-green hue.

“Kelvin's pendant?” He was puzzled. “Why are you giving me this?” But the woman did not answer. Her form faded into a soft white mist that rose above the meadow and floated away over the treetops. As Marcus watched her go, he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

*   *   *

Morning broke with the sun peeking through the cluster of tree trunks, spilling golden beams on the faces of those who slept. Marcus stirred and listened to the chorus of birds calling to one another and to the rhythmic crash of high tide. Although he still felt physically weak from the night before, his energy of spirit had returned.

Nearby, Jayson stoked a fire around which several children had gathered to warm themselves. The flames' brilliant glow seemed harsh against the softer light of day-break.

“Well, well! He's not dead after all,” said Jayson, grinning.

“Good morning to you, too,” Marcus replied, yawning. The memory of the previous night's events came back to him like a tidal wave.

“Kelvin . . .” he began anxiously.

“He's sleeping soundly.” Jayson nodded toward the young man curled up on the earth beside the nearest tree. “You never told me you could perform miracles.”

“He's all right?”

“Not a scratch. Just worn out. Both of you. You didn't move an inch all night. For a while, I thought you were dead.”