“These are the remaining ones she seeks,” said Lysanne, holding up her fingers and ticking them off one by one: “One-Eye in dark water; mad monarch’s rutting peacock; the ferret in the High King’s cage; a cursed keeper of faith in the maze.”
A dark-haired Mage raised her hand. “Yes, Ryelle,” acknowledged Arilla.
Ryelle looked back and forth between Arin and Lysanne and asked, “Do you think that all these are people, or could some truly be the thing described: a peacock, a ferret, even a cat?”
Arin slowly shook her head and shrugged, and Lysanne said, “All we know, Ryelle, is what the recovery of her vision revealed.”
“Well then,” said Ryelle, “all I can think of concerning one of the lines of the rede is that the High King’s cage could be anywhere…though Caer Pendwyr is most likely to be the place, but I do not know if Bleys keeps ferrets. As to the other lines…” She turned up her palms in surrender.
“Ha! If you ask me,” said white-haired Halorn, “there are mad monarchs aplenty about the world. Peacocks, too.”
“I say,” called Perm from his chair against the wall, “cannot one of ye Wizards use thy powers to help narrow the field?”
“Point the way, so to speak?” added Biren.
A tall, gaunt Mage shook his head. “When it comes to the Dragonstone, we are helpless. It blocks all attempts.”
“It did not block Lysanne,” said Arin.
“No, child,” replied the Mage, ignoring the fact that Arin was perhaps many times his elder, “you are mistaken. Your own wild magic had already succeeded in doing what we cannot, and Lysanne did but help you unlock memories hidden away.”
Arin glanced at Lysanne, and she smiled and nodded, confirming what had been said.
Arin sighed, then asked, “Do ye think I must find these others—be they peacocks, ferrets, or aught else—in the given order of the rede?” She gestured at Aiko kneeling on the stone floor behind. “First the cat, next the one-eye, then the rutting peacock and so on?”
Mages looked at one another, unable to answer out of knowledge. Then old Halorn said, “I would guess that since you found the cat first, you should go after the one-eye next, and so on down through the slate.”
“Then I say,” declared Arin, “let us debate as to what each of the phrases of my vision mean, for I would value whatever advice ye can yield.”
* * *
The debate lasted for tens of candlemarks, and in the end they were no closer to knowing the truth than they were at the beginning, though many options had been proffered as to the meanings of the prophetic words.
It was Vanidar Silverleaf who finally said, “Enough! We are now chasing our own tails.”
Arilla agreed, and after minor additional discussion, adjourned the meeting.
As they headed back toward their quarters, Aiko, who had remained silent throughout, said, “Perhaps dark water is a village rather than—”
“Vada!” exclaimed Vanidar, slapping a palm to his forehead. “Aiko could be right! Mayhap it isn’t a lake, a pond, a stream, a place in the sea.” He turned to Rissa. “Mayhap it is a village.”
Rissa frowned in concentration. “Let me think, I seem to recall…” They strode down the hall, Rissa staring at the passing floor and mumbling to herself. At last she looked up and said, “There is a place in Fjordland, a town named Darkwater, only in their tongue they call it Mørkfjord.”
“But there could be hundreds of towns named Darkwater, Møkfjord, or the like,” protested Biren.
“Throughout Mithgar,” added Perin.
“Nevertheless,” said Silverleaf, grinning and casting an arm about Rissa, “it is a place to start.”
“Too,” added Ruar, “the towns and villages named after dark water must certainly be fewer than the places throughout the world where water lies dark—every shadow o’er a stream, every dark hole in a pool, every overhanging rock, every deep in the ocean…all have dark water and are, I think, without number. Nay, I deem Lady Aiko has the right of it: the dark water of the rede is most likely to be a town…or other place so named.”
“Where dwells a one-eyed person,” added Melor, raising a finger, “or so I would believe.”
“A person who will aid in this mission,” appended Silverleaf, nodding.
Arin looked across at Rissa. “Where lies this Møkfjord?”
“In Fjordland along the Boreal Sea.”
“I know neither the sea nor the land nor the town, Rissa, for I have not traveled widely as hast thou.”
“I will guide thee there,” replied Rissa.
“Nay,” said Silverleaf. “Thou cannot.”
“Oh?”
“Recall the words of the vision, chier: ‘Take these with thee, no more, no less, else thou wilt fail to find the Jaded Soul.’ Neither thou nor I nor anyone here save Lady Aiko may go with Dara Arin.”
“Khal” gritted Rissa. “The rede.”
“Regardless, Aiko and I still need to know the way to this town of Darkwater,” said Arin.
Rissa turned to Mage Lysanne, who strode alongside. “Hast thou a map broad enough to show the way?”
Lysanne smiled and said, “Follow,” and led them through corridors and upward, climbing stair after stair within Black Mountain. At last they came to a great spherical chamber in the middle of which was a huge globe rotating slowly on a tilted axis. A catwalk led to a sturdy, latticed framework enclosing the globe, and on one wall of the chamber was a lensed lantern in a housing affixed to a track marked with days and seasons running full ’round the room.
“There is your map of Mithgar,” said Lysanne, pointing to the globe. “And the lantern is the sun. We have not yet added the moon, but will someday.”
Aiko, who had never been in this particular chamber in all of the months she had served as a warrior of the Mages, cocked an eyebrow. “That is Mithgar?”
Lysanne nodded.
“But it is a ball!” protested the Ryodoan.
Again Lysanne nodded, adding a smile.
Rissa stepped onto the catwalk and to the sphere. She clambered up the framework and across the globe, using the lattice as it was intended. She studied the painted surface and moved about, and finally called to Arin, “Here, Dara, here is the place where Møkfjord lies, and over here are the Grey Mountains and Black Mountain within.”
Arin joined her as did the others, and they pondered long on what route Arin would take. Traveling north through the Grey Mountains and then west to Fjordland was the shortest, but nearly all of it would be through the Untended Lands, where few if any lived. Too, for the next month or so the winter on the polar side of the mountains was entirely too brutal to bear. Following an old trade route west along the southern flank of the Grimwall seemed a better choice—at least there were villages along this way—though there were no passes through that grim range until Kaagor north of the Silverwood, leading from Aven in the south to the Steppes of Jord in the north. In the end, this was the way they decided to go and Rissa called for pen and parchment to sketch a map.
As Rissa charted their route, the others clambered about upon the framework, looking at the map of the entire world. It was Aiko who asked, “These glints within—what are they?”
“They mark where Mages dwell,” replied Lysanne.
“And the dark sparkles? —My tiger murmurs of danger.”
“Yes,” replied Lysanne. “They, too, are of Magekind, though I would they were not. And your tiger is right: vile they are, renegades, and they walk in darkness. A few were among the Mages who wanted to use the stone to control the Dragons and did not swear the oath. Others are just plain evil. Black Mages we name them—Durlok, Modru, Vegar, Belchar, others.” Lysanne fell silent and would say no more.
* * *
As they walked back to their quarters, Arin turned to Lysanne and said, “I have a question to ask concerning seers’ visions, Wizard Lysanne.”
“I will tell you what I can, though one trained in that art could tell you more. In fact
, rather than muddle the waters, why don’t I ask, um, Seer Zelanj to join us for tea? He can certainly answer your questions better than I.”
* * *
They sat at afternoon tea, eating sweet breads daubed with honey and sipping the dark brew. Zelanj looked to be ancient, supported by his staff as he hobbled into the chamber. White-haired and wrinkled, he was, and his eyes a faded blue, his skin nearly transparent with age where it was not liver spotted. “Heh,” he grumbled as he sat down. “It was a long walk and took much from me. I may have to
He accepted a cup of tea and called for a honeycake, and when it was delivered to his palsied hand, he fixed Arin with a gimlet eye and said, “Now what’s all this about visions and such?”
“Just this, Wizard Zelanj: I want to know whether visions foretell things which must be, or instead speak of those things which merely might be. Are we locked into a future which we cannot change…or do we have some choice in the matter?”
“Heh, you’ve asked one of the oldest questions of all: is destiny immutable, where nothing can be changed, or do we have the freedom to choose? As to the truth of the matter, the debate still goes on. Certainly I don’t know what it might be.”
“Oh.” The small disappointment escaped Arin’s lips.
“There, there, my dear, it’s not all that bad.”
“But I was hoping—”
“Hoping that I could answer the unanswerable?”
Arin nodded. “Some such.”
The aged Wizard shrugged and took a bite of his honeycake and chewed slowly and thoughtfully.
Arin set her cup aside, then turned to the seer. “Tell me of visions, Mage Zelanj. Can they be altered? Changed? Their dooms averted? Can the events of my vision of the Dragonstone be changed?”
The ancient seer took a sip of his tea. “Perhaps, child. Perhaps.”
Rissa looked at the old Mage. “Hast thou ever known of a vision whose outcome was altered?”
“Certainly,” said the oldster. “In my manipulation of the aethyr I have seen many things which could be or were changed.”
“A moment, Wizard,” protested Perin. “If things can be altered, then hast thou not answered the oldest question of all?”
“Hai, brother,” exclaimed Biren, clapping his twin on the shoulder, “I think thou hast hit upon it.” Biren turned to Zelanj. “If things can in truth be changed, doesn’t that say there is indeed free choice?”
“Aye,” appended Perin. “Doesn’t that say we are not marching along in lockstep at the behest of fixed Destiny into an unchangeable future?”
“Aye. Doesn’t it?” echoed Biren.
“Oh, no, not at all,” replied Zelanj, waving his half-eaten honeycake at them. “You see, let us say instead some visions are true and some are false, and that the false ones can be changed, proving they were false in the first place. Even so, we may have no choice in the matter and be predestined to prove them false, and therefore we take steps to change them, and in fact do. On the other hand, if we are truly free to choose, and if our choice is to try to alter the vision, if we succeed in changing the outcome then once again we will have proved the vision false. Conversely, if we took no steps, or took steps but failed, then would it not be the case that this vision was true? One destined to be fulfilled? In either instance, true vision or false, changed or not, neither outcome answers the question as to whether we have free choice in the paths ahead or are stuck to following a predestined course.” He looked at the twins. “Do you follow what I am saying?”
The twins looked at one another, and then both shook their heads, No, and Perin said, “Uh, thou didst take one turn too many for me to step through thy logical maze.” To which Biren added, “Aye, I deem I stepped to the left when thou turned right somewhere along the way.”
“Huah!” grunted Ruar. “I followed thee, Wizard, and if such is the case, then I would ask thee this: what good are visions at all if they may or may not be true?”
“Why, boy, they are to get us to do something, or so I suspect. If we have free choice, then they ennoble us to action; if we have no free choice, then they make us think we are ennobled to action. In either case we feel a sense of purpose, a reason for being.”
“But, Wizard Zelanj,” said Arin, “is it not also possible that a vision shows us what merely might be, and if we strive to change the outcome we can at times alter the course?”
“Certainly, my dear, that is one view: the notion that free choice can overcome predestination. On the other hand, th’e reverse could be argued as well…that no matter what we believe, the outcome is already fixed.”
Arin sighed. “And in the case of my vision, hast thou any advice?”
“Why, go out there, girl, and do something,” replied the ancient Mage. “Perhaps you’ll prove it false, changeable; then again, perhaps not. Heh, the test is in the striving…or not.”
* * *
On the ninth day after arriving at Black Mountain, the Elven band prepared to depart, Aiko now in their ranks. The Mages had reprovisioned them and had provided Arin with a horse to replace the one storm-slain. The sturdy mountain ponies were laden with the supplies for the long journey ahead. Silverleaf and Rissa and the others planned to ride with Arin and Aiko along the old trade route as far as the Silverwood and Kaagor Pass but no farther, for to continue with them might jeopardize the mission. And so, when Arin and Aiko would turn north to fare through the Grimwall and head for Fjordland beyond, the remainder would set out southerly, to report on the mission unto Corons Remar and Aldor, and to perhaps bear the word onward to High King Bleys and others.
“Tell all to aid Dara Arin and Lady Aiko, should they come their way,” said Sage Arilla.
“We shall do so,” replied Rissa, smiling briefly at Arin, then frowning, “for I deem aid will be needed to stave off the doom ahead.”
“Assuming it can be staved,” grumbled Ruar.
Following Arilla and the Dwarf, Boluk, they led the horses and ponies out through the postern gate to come to the snow-dusted courtyard before the great iron gates. As Arin mounted up she glanced at the mighty portals where Dragons had come long past. “There is a thing thou never told us, Arilla,” said the Dylvana to the Sage.
Arilla looked up at her. “And that is…?”
“Thou didst never speak the name of the Mage who stood before these very gates and parleyed with the Drakes.”
“Oh, he is no longer with us, and where he is I cannot say. Perhaps on Rwn. Perhaps in Vadaria. He could be anywhere among the worlds of the Planes.”
“And his name…?”
“Ordrune.”
CHAPTER 27
Ordrune!” exploded Egil, lunging up and forward in his bed, his face distorted in fury and flaming with wrath.
“Waugh!” shrieked Alos, pitching over backwards and crashing to the floor, scrambling across the boards on hands and knees to be away from Egil’s mad rage. Arin gasped in shock, frozen for the moment, but Aiko, her swords in hand, stepped between the wroth man and the startled Dylvana. Then Egil cried out in agony and clutched his head and face, the violent outburst hammering his savaged forehead and eye and cheek with intense pain, and he fell back prostrate on the bed, air seething in and out between clenched teeth as he gritted, “He is the one. He is the one.”
Arin rose and moved past Aiko and her glittering swords and stepped to the wounded man’s side. Against a far wall, Alos whimpered, his one-eyed gaze wide, and switching back and forth between the bed and his ale mug still rolling in small circles on the floorboards, the untasted brew seeping down into the cracks between.
Now Arin poured water into a cup and stirred a white powder in. “Here, Egil. Drink.”
Mutely, Egil took the cup and drank the contents down.
Seeing that Egil seemed rational again, Alos crawled back across the floor and retrieved his mug and tipped it up for the remaining few drops to f
all on his waiting tongue. Then shakily he stood and uprighted his chair at the table once more, and from the pitcher he poured another mugful and gulped a great swallow down.
Arin took the empty cup from Egil, and asked, “What dost thou know about Mage Ordrune, Egil? What is it that lies between the Wizard and thee? Does it bear on our mission?”
His one good eye filled with anguish, Egil looked up at her and shook his head, then covered his face with his hands.
With a sigh, Arin set the cup amid the powders and herbs and simples on the small bedside table. She turned once again to the wounded man. “There is a tale here for the telling, Egil, yet I will not press thee for it anow. Even so, it may have a bearing upon what it is we are to do. There will come a time in the morrows ahead when I will ask thee to speak of whatever it is that lies between thee and that Mage.”
“Mages,” growled Alos. “They’re all bad.” He gulped down another great swallow of ale and turned his blind white eye toward Arin. “’Tis a good thing you left them all behind, my Lady. A good thing.”
As Arin resumed her seat, Aiko sheathed her blades and knelt once again upon her tatami.
The Dylvana turned to Alos. “Though there are some who will agree with thee, Alos, not all Mages are sinister. Certainly those we left behind at Black Mountain are no better or worse than thee or me.”
“Hah!” barked Alos.
Aiko growled at the old man.
He shot a swift glance at the warrior and blurted, “No offense, my Lady. No offense at all. Ah, what I meant was, it’s a good thing you left them behind to come here…to Mørkfjord…a good thing, yes, a good thing.” He snatched up the pitcher and poured himself the last of the ale, then looked with dismay into the empty vessel. Sighing, he sucked a slurp from his mug, then turned to Arin and smiled his ocherous, missing-toothed smile, foam coating the scraggly hair on his upper lip. “Did anything interesting happen after you left them? Egil and I really want to know…indeed.” He fingered the froth from his stringy mustache and licked the digit clean. “What say we get us another pitcher of ale and then you can tell us, aye?”
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