The Rock of Ivanore (7 page)

“Turn around!” Xerxes' voice seemed alarmed. “Turn around, you stupid boy!”

Marcus held back and waited until Kelvin and Bryn had walked a good distance ahead of him. The eagle's eyes had a wild look in them, and Marcus wondered what could cause such fear in the magic walking stick.

“Don't cry out like that,” scolded Marcus in a whisper. “The others will hear you.”

“No one can hear me but you. That is the curse of my existence,” bemoaned Xerxes. “Only he who bears me can hear my words. It was Zyll's wish when he made me.”

“But Kelvin heard your scream last night.”

“And that is all he will ever hear. Mr. Archer is nothing but a brainless, arrogant fool. And whether you are brighter than he remains to be seen.”

Marcus was becoming impatient. “Well, what did you want to tell me?”

“I saw something above,” answered Xerxes. “'Twas only a shadow, but something is there, I tell you!”

“What do you mean? What shadow?”

“I do not know if it is the shadow of man or beast, but I have seen it several times now. It is stalking us from above.”

Marcus turned his gaze upward to the top of the canyon, which was nearer now than it had been at its mouth. The cliff's edge was perhaps no more than twenty feet high, and the gap at the surface was so narrow Marcus guessed that a man could easily straddle it. The hairs on the back of his neck grew stiff, and a feeling of dread overcame him. Was it possible that someone—or something—was watching them from above?

Marcus let his question form words on his tongue. “Why would anyone follow us?” he asked. “We don't have anything worth stealing.”

“Perhaps you are not the object of a
thief's
design,” answered Xerxes. “Perhaps he is the hunter, and you . . .”

Here Xerxes' voice dropped to a whisper. “You are the prey!”

s Xerxes returned to his inanimate form, Marcus became aware of the silence around him. Bryn and Kelvin had walked ahead and were no longer in his sight. Marcus sensed that something was wrong.

Marcus ran and within moments stumbled upon a gruesome sight. Kelvin lay unmoving on the ground. Bryn sat on his haunches beside him, his mouth stretched unnaturally wide like a python about to swallow its prey. His eyes glowed yellow. Upon seeing Marcus, the creature let out a deafening, animal-like howl.

“Leave him alone!” shouted Marcus. He rushed forward, swinging Xerxes like a club. The creature named Bryn leapt out of the way and slashed at Marcus's back with needle-like claws that had grown along its fingertips.
Marcus fell to his knees beside Kelvin. He could feel the blood trickling down his back. Despite his pain, though, Marcus acted quickly. Drawing the blade from the walking stick, he again lunged forward. Bryn snatched the blade between its teeth and yanked it out of Marcus's hands.

His heart pounding, Marcus tried desperately to plan his next course of action. He reached for Kelvin's dagger and brandished it in front of him.

“Stay back!” he threatened with a shaky voice. Bryn's boylike body had become distorted, its back humped and its limbs twisted. It laughed a deep, guttural laugh.

“I've no time for games,” it said. “I'm hungry.”

Marcus knew that he was no match for the creature. His only hope of escape lay with magic. As he wrapped his fingers around Zyll's key, he felt a warmth sweep through his hand and up his arm to his shoulder. He tried to recall the instructions his master had given him about concentrating heat into fire, but panic numbed his mind. When he felt certain that he could indeed cast the proper spell, he realized with dismay that they were in a rock canyon with no wood of any kind in sight, and the moss Bryn had carried was now scattered about everywhere.

The creature advanced toward Marcus, whose heart pounded against his rib cage like an animal clawing to free itself from a trap. Then it came to him. The walking stick! He still clutched the empty sheath in his fist.

“Ignite!” he shouted. The tip of the wooden staff burst into flame, and the flame quickly swelled into a roaring ball of fire. “No, no! Too much fire!” Marcus cried.

Bryn shrank back, shielding itself from the flame with its arm. The heat was so intense Marcus threw the staff away from him to prevent getting burned. Once separated from Marcus's hand, the flame withered and died.

Bryn immediately sprung forward, and Marcus braced himself for the attack. But just as Bryn advanced, it was thrown back, sprawling on the ground and whimpering like a frightened child.

Marcus spun round to see what force had repelled the attack and found himself gazing up into a face hidden by a dark, hooded robe covering its wearer from head to toe.

Bryn did not wait for a second blow. The creature fled on all fours, disappearing into the ever-darkening night of the canyon.

Marcus shook so hard with fright, his knees rapped together. The cloaked stranger stooped forward and picked up the blade with the eagle's head. He held it out to Marcus. “Yours?” he asked. Marcus accepted it meekly and replaced the sword in the now blackened sheath. “You are brave,” the stranger continued, “but you would have been eaten alive.”

Xerxes trembled in Marcus's hand. “What nerve, lighting
me
on fire!” he scolded angrily. Marcus tried to ignore the bird's complaint. His attention was focused on the man who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

The stranger knelt beside Kelvin and laid his ear against the boy's chest. “He is breathing. The Groc must have given him some sort of sedative. He will wake soon. Perhaps an hour or two.”

“Groc?” asked Marcus.

“That thing you just encountered, the changeling. Grocs are cunning creatures that take whatever form suits them—if it will get them a meal. I'm surprised he attacked in daylight, however. Grocs are usually nocturnal. They hunt at night.”

Marcus shuddered, thinking of what might have been his fate had this man not arrived when he had. “How did you . . . where did you come from all of a sudden like that?” he asked.

The man pointed to the top of the canyon. Marcus realized that as hard as it was to believe, he must have jumped from up there. This was the shadow that had been following them.

“You saved my life and the life of my friend,” Marcus continued. “How can I ever repay you?”

“No payment is required,” the stranger replied.

“At least tell me your name.”

The stranger turned toward Marcus. “My name is Jayson,” he said.

Grasping his hood with his hands, Jayson pulled it back, revealing a head of woolly black hair and catlike eyes as gray as the clouds over a stormy sea. Marcus gasped involuntarily. Their rescuer wasn't human—at least not completely human. Marcus had never seen a half-breed Agoran before.

arcus! Kelvin!”

The happy shouts of four boys reverberated against the canyon walls. It was a welcome sound, almost as welcome as the sight of them running through the narrow passage. Marcus, who had just helped Kelvin onto his feet after the Groc's paralyzing potion began to wear off, nearly fell on his backside when Tristan Tether tackled him.

“We nearly gave you up for dead!” teased Tristan, the yellow scarf from the ceremony still tied around his neck. “I ran into Clovis holding his nose at the entrance of the canyon. We would have caught up with you sooner, but look what we found.”

In the company of Tristan and Clovis were the other two boys from Quendel.

Jerrid Zwelger picked a speck of dust from his new leather satchel and flicked it away. “When we hadn't seen you two by this morning,” he said, “we imagined the worst.”

Zody Smythe's freckled face broke into a grin as he gave a timid laugh. “We thought you got eaten!”

“That is, until we saw that snake carcass,” added Jerrid, coolly. “I only know one person who can wield a death blow with a dagger.”

Quick as a flash, Jerrid snatched Kelvin's dagger from its sheath and brandished it in the air. Kelvin, who was still recovering from his paralysis, did not resist. “To Kelvin Archer!” shouted Jerrid. He raised the dagger above his head and let out a loud whoop. The other boys echoed it, filling the canyon with a strange music.

When the noise died down, Kelvin accepted his dagger back from Jerrid. He wobbled unsteadily. Marcus handed Kelvin the walking stick, and Kelvin leaned against it gratefully. Jerrid nudged Zody with his elbow as the two exchanged derisive glances.

“Looks like Marcus brought along a little friend for company,” Jerrid said, snickering.

Marcus held his anger in check, though he dreaded the mockery he would have to endure once Jerrid learned that Kelvin had nearly lost his life because of him.

“Marcus and I fought the snake together,” Kelvin said. “We had a run-in with a Groc, as well.”

“A Groc!” Suddenly the boys were all ears.

“Did you kill it?” asked Tristan.

“Where's the body?” prodded Zody.

“Did you escape?” asked Clovis.

“They're alive, aren't they, brain-boy?” replied Jerrid, his voice thick with cynicism. Clovis cast his eyes downward, ashamed.

Tristan stepped forward. “Kelvin must have fought him off,” he said, patting Clovis on the shoulder. “How did you manage?”

To Marcus's relief, Kelvin said nothing of Marcus's role in bringing the Groc into their company. In fact, it seemed he would say nothing at all.

Marcus spoke up. “Actually, we have Jayson to thank for saving us.”

“Who's Jayson?” Jerrid asked.

Having gone unnoticed by the excited boys, Jayson now stepped forward. His broad shoulders and grave countenance gave an air of nobility, though his cloak was torn and coated in moist earth. “It is my pleasure to meet you all,” he said.

There was an awkward silence as the boys gaped at the stranger. They seemed particularly riveted to his eyes. Marcus noted again how strange they looked, their pupils narrow slits like a cat's, and pale—the color of wet clay on a potter's wheel. The silence was broken, however, when Jerrid extended his hand. Jayson took it firmly.

“Come on, then!” said Jerrid. “We should reach Noam by nightfall. Once there we'll head to the nearest tavern and celebrate the success of the first leg of our journey.”

Kelvin and the others followed Jerrid around the next bend in the passage, but Marcus held back. He glanced apprehensively behind and above. A shiver crawled up his spine, and as he hurried to catch up to his companions, he could not shake the feeling that someone or something still lurked in the shadows.

aylight was fast receding as two wooden skiffs reached Illian Bay. One passenger from each boat stepped into the shallow waves to heave their crafts onto shore—an easy task for brutes such as these. If not for their faces, pockmarked and malformed as they were, they might have passed for rather sizable humans. The Mardoks were taller and vastly broader than their human leader, and yet they obeyed him unquestioningly.