Voyage of the Fox Rider (83 page)

Amid the confusion, Aravan, Aylis, Alamar, Bokar, and Jatu made their way along the chaotic streets toward the ferry leading to the Academy of Mages, aged Alamar setting the pace. From her hiding place in Jatu’s cast-back cloak hood, Jinnarin peered at the tumult and gathered shadow unto herself. In Aravan’s hood, Farrix did the same.

At last they came to the ferry, but no ferrymen manned the craft. As another tremor rattled Kairn, Jatu and Bokar took up the pull ropes, and across the waters of the River Kairn they haled the barge, landing at the north pier of the Island of Mages.

“Daughter, it’s Drienne we need to find. Know you her ?”

Aylis nodded, and murmured,
“Ubi est Drienna?”

Following the seeress, up toward the academy they went, and all about them Mages strode purposefully this way and that, as if on specific missions. Entering the central tower, Aylis found Drienne at a table in the middle of the library, paging through a tome. She looked up and brushed back a stray lock of raven-black hair as the comrades approached. Her hazel eyes widened at the sight of aged Alamar. But without preamble, she said, “Something is happening. The entire island of Rwn is endangered.”

“It’s Durlok’s doing,” quavered Alamar.

“Durlok?”

“The Black Mage,” called Jinnarin, the shadow-wrapped Pysk peering over Jatu’s shoulder.

Again Drienne’s eyes widened, emerald flecks stirring, but she looked back to Alamar. “Durlok? I thought him dead.”

“Not bloody likely, Dree,” wheezed Alamar. “We found him in the Great Swirl.”

“Great Swirl?”

“It’s a long story, and one that will wait.”

Drienne nodded sharply, then asked, “Regardless as to where you found him, what does Durlok have to do with these tremors?”

Alamar sat down opposite her. “He promised a grand wedding gift for me and all of my ilk.”

“Grand wedding?” muttered Drienne, then she cocked a dark eyebrow. “August twelfth? Six days away? That grand wedding?”

Alamar nodded. “That, or the one in September.”

“We’ve got to stop him, then. Where is he?”

Alamar clutched a frail fist and feebly struck the table, and he quavered, “Damn! That’s just it! We don’t know! He got away.”

“And without something of his, imbued with his , he is warded against seers,” added Aylis. “Just how, I don’t know. There is this, too: while in the Swirl we saw his ; his is nearly beyond comprehension.”

Drienne looked to Alamar, and the elder sighed and nodded in confirmation.

Drienne leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. After a moment she said, “I will call all Mages
together and propose that we form a Great Conjoinment and try to locate him, try to determine what is happening, try to stop it.”

“Conjoinment?” blurted Aylis, glancing at her father then back to Drienne. “But that will drain—”

“I know, child,” responded Drienne. And she fixed a steely gaze on Alamar. “All Mages must join…but not you, Alamar, your fire is nearly gone. You must go back to Vadaria. If we do not survive, avenge us.”

Alamar puffed up to make a reply, but Drienne cut him off. “As Regent of the Academy it shall be as I say, and I will brook no disobedience.”

Alamar muttered, “See what happens when you give a sorceress a little authority?”

“Sorceress!” gasped Jinnarin. “Oh my!”

With an eyebrow raised, Drienne looked up at the shadow lurking behind Jatu’s shoulder. “She heard the tale of the
Grey Lady
,” rumbled the black Man. Drienne grimaced, then nodded.

By mid afternoon, all Mages as well as the comrades had made their way to a walled garden on the western end of the river island. As they had come down toward the white stone wall, Jinnarin could see the River Kairn flowing on to the west, where it passed under a pontoon bridge and coursed onward to plunge beyond sight over the linn and down the sheer drop of the Kairn Falls to thunder into the Weston Ocean. The garden itself was guarded by two Mages standing at the one gate, for here was the only known crossing to Vadaria, and they warded it well.

Jinnarin’s heart thudded in her breast as she looked to the northwest, where a crescent Moon was just then setting, a Moon that would wane day by day as it edged toward the Sun, preparing to kiss the golden orb in but five days and some. Jinnarin tore her gaze from the pale arc as Jatu stepped through the garden gate, the warders nodding to Drienne as she passed the comrades through.

Within the white stone walls stood a grove of silver birch, the trees but arm’s lengths apart from one another and filling the whole of a natural amphitheater whose nadir stood in grove center. A green sward covered the ground, except for moss-banked rivulets which sprang
from the earth and ran down to the heart of the tiny vale, where lay a crystalline mere, white hyacinths floating within. There seemed to be no outlet, yet the waters did not rise, and Jinnarin assumed that they seeped away underground.

And into this garden, into this grove, into this amphitheater streamed the Mages, while now and again the land did quake, the leaves on the birches shivering and rustling in the tremors. They all took seats where they could see among the boles of the trees and down to the mere where now stood Drienne. Seated among the trees as well were the comrades, Jinnarin and Farrix yet shadow-wrapped. At last the gates were closed and a hush fell upon the throng. When all was silent, Drienne called upon Alamar to speak.

The eld Mage shuffled down through the grove and to her side, while all other Mages looked on and whispered among themselves, some shaking their heads at his age-worn state:
Can this be Alamar? Surely not. He is so—so
old!
What happened to him?
…

As a tremor ran through the island, Alamar gestured about at the shaking grove and in a thready voice said, “This is the doings of Durlok, the Black Mage.” A mutter of disbelief whispered throughout, but Alamar raised his voice above it. “He seeks to destroy us all, or so I deem.

“We came across him on an island in the middle of the Great Swirl, a place where none would think to look. And in a crystal cavern on that island he worships Gyphon, and there I discovered that Durlok has the means to bridge the In-Between and converse with Him.”

A collective gasp greeted this news, and one Mage, a healer named Rithia, called out, “But Adon forbids—”

Alamar quavered, “Do you think that would stop either Gyphon or a Black Mage?”

“What were you doing on this island in the Great Swirl?” called out a voice.

“None of your business,” snapped back the elder.

“Then how do we know this is true?” called someone else.

“Because I say so, you idiot!” shouted Alamar, his face turning red.

“Well, if you don’t tell us what you were doing, well then, why
should
we believe you?”

Alamar could do nought but wheeze.

“He was rescuing me!” piped up a voice, and a tiny cluster of shadow struggled out of Aravan’s hood and dropped to the ground and ran down to stand at Alamar’s side. Of a sudden the shadow vanished, and Farrix stood revealed.

A murmur of wonder rippled through the gathering:
Aha! A Fox Rider! One of the Hidden Ones!
…

“What Alamar says is true,” called Farrix. “I know, for I was Durlok’s captive until Alamar and other comrades came to save me.” Farrix held out his hand, and down among the silver birches came Jinnarin, her shadow-wrap gone. And stepping in her wake came Aylis and Aravan and Bokar and Jatu.

The debate in the Mage Grove lasted for most of the afternoon, but in the end the Mages decided to band together to stop Durlok, Regent Drienne to be the focus and the wielder of the Great Conjoinment.

“What is this—this conjoinment?” Jinnarin whispered to Aylis.

“It is when one or more Mages yield their to another Mage, thereby combining their , their . The one who wields the conjoinment, usually a sorcerer, for they have the training—in this case Drienne—her powers will be magnified beyond what she alone could brandish.”

Aravan looked into Aylis’s eyes. “It is…dangerous,
chieran?
”

“At times, for flows from all to the wielder.”

“Hold on, now,” muttered Farrix. “Isn’t that the same as Durlok stealing the astral fire from his victims? What did Alamar call it? Oh wait, I remember—he said it was like a bloodsucking lamia draining life.”

As if to stave off an accusation, Aylis held out a hand, palm facing the Pysk. “In some ways, Farrix, it
is
like a lamia. But heed: in a Great Conjoinment, all freely volunteer to yield their to the wielder, whereas a Black Mage simply takes it, permission or not.”

“But, Aylis, won’t you age?” asked Jinnarin. “I mean, spending your astral fire means losing your youth, and
whether it is in a casting of your own or lending it to another, well it seems to me that the effect on you will be the same.”

Aylis nodded. “Yes, I will age. But remember, I can regain my youth.”

Aravan took Aylis’s hand. “
Chieran
, thou hast not said how a conjoinment can be a danger to thee.”

Aylis sighed. “During my schooling there came a time when we practiced a conjoinment. It was then we were warned that a wielder can draw too much , in which case, those conjoined will die.”

Dusk descended across Rwn, and the Great Conjoinment began, Mages sitting on the sward running down to the crystal mere. Jinnarin, Farrix, Aravan, Jatu, and Bokar sat among the silver birches of the Mage Grove and watched as Mage after Mage in sequence murmured a word—
“Coniunge”
—and then sat in silence thereafter. Down in grove center by the flower-laden waters sat Drienne in a high-backed crimson chair, one which had been brought in for the occasion. Drienne’s eyes were closed, and Jinnarin beheld a pale jade nimbus glowing about the raven-haired sorceress. Farrix, too, noted the astral glow, though none of the other comrades could see it.

As the twilight disappeared, night fell and a panoply of brilliant stars wheeled into view above. And still the island of Rwn juddered and jolted as tremors racked the land.

It was just before mid of night when Aylis came to Aravan. Her light brown hair was now lightly threaded with silver, and a tracery of fine lines clustered ‘round her eyes. She was weary, drawn, dejected…she was older. She took Aravan’s hand in hers and gently stroked it then held it to her cheek, and her pale green eyes gazed into his of dark sapphire. “There is great flaring somewhere in the world, my love, though we cannot seem to isolate it. Drienne is drawing all the she dares, yet the conjoinment is unable to do more than somewhat stem the flood. Whatever his scheme, we cannot stop Durlok but can only delay him. And so I have come to you for a boon.”