The Ban of Irsisri_An Epic Fantasy

by Mark E Lacy

  Broken, yes, that's it. A discontinuity, not unlike the time Raethir Del had turned into a fish and the Saerani were freed from his holding spell ...

  Enkinor could smell salt and seaweed. He could almost see the Sea marching to the shore down below him.

  The Waryndi and the Saerani and the Arch stood on the summit of a hill, wind-scoured, with bare rock showing through the snow. To their right was the Sea. Before them lay the glacier the northern tribes called the Cana Glalith.

  And on the stiff frigid breeze, the piercing cry of a wild beast to its kin.

  “Gar-wolf!” said Harroc.

  “Go!” shouted Cryst. “We must get to the Hold.”

  Down the hill they ran toward the glacier, following a rocky trail, sliding down steep embankments instead of following the long switchbacks, trying to save time wherever possible. They leapt over stones and threw their arms out to brake their slide, enduring bruises and scrapes for the sake of speed.

  For as the Waryndi descended, the cry of the gar-wolf was answered by others, and then taken up by still others.

  The Waryndi were being hunted.

  The wolves ran with long, loping strides, zigzagging through the ice field, tongues flapping, their breath expelled in short, foggy puffs. Out of the east they came, led by a giant of a beast with a fierce gleam in his red eyes. The wolves followed the glacier on a course that would intercept the Waryndi when they reached the ice.

  When Enkinor found himself standing on the Cana Glalith, the gar-wolves were still several minutes away. The beasts had come to a crevasse they could not jump, and they were forced to take another route.

  The Waryndi continued their descent, bounding from one mound of ice to the next, following every crack and gap down into the glacier, losing precious time in blind alleys, no maps or signs to guide them. Behind and above them, the gar-wolves continued to howl, gaining on them with every passing minute.

  “We'll never find the Hold!” said Raminas.

  Plith stopped for a moment and examined the packed snow and ice that they were trampling. “If our luck holds out, maybe we will after all.”

  “What do you mean?” said Cryst.

  “Look at these tracks. They're faint, but this looks like it was made by a boot, while this right next to it appears like claw marks made by large paws like those of a gar-wolf.”

  “So this may be the way. Lead on, Waryndi.”

  In time, the Waryndi descended into the ice and followed a maze of passages leading them to the ice caves concealed by the Cana Glalith. The caves were dimly lit by filtered and reflected light from above. While the low, rounded ceilings glowed blue, the black volcanic rock on the floor absorbed all light that struck it.

  Harroc lit a torch from his pack and passed it to Enkinor. “Here, Saerani. Lead us to the Hold.”

  Enkinor looked back to the entrance to the caves and barely had time to thrust the torch in the face of the first of the gar-wolves. The beast leapt at his throat, knocking the torch from his grasp as the wolf bore him to the ground. Enkinor struggled to hold off the snapping jaws that filled his vision. The Saerani drew his dagger and plunged it again and again into the wolf's side, his other arm braced against the animal's throat. Still, the beast fought to sink its yellowed fangs in his neck. He stabbed the wolf in the chest and worked the blade in deep. Finally, the creature breathed a sigh of death and stilled, rolling off him.

  The Saerani stood and gazed on mayhem. Two more of the gar-wolves had leapt into the tunnel and were fiercely attacking the Waryndi. Enkinor grabbed the torch in one hand, Cryst's wrist in the other, and plunged deeper into the ice caves. They had to find safety and find it quickly.

  The growls of the gar-wolves echoed through the caves, mingling with the curses and the cries of the fighting Waryndi. Dimly aware of Cryst's protests, Enkinor pushed onward, following the largest corridor. Their boots crunched on the rocky floor. They gasped for breath, the blood pounding in their ears, but they ran on. Until abruptly, the corridor ended.

  At the doors to Icefast Hold.

  Enkinor threw his weight at them, but they would not budge. He examined them from floor to ceiling, wondering why the Gauntlets hadn't helped him breach the seal.

  “What are we going to do?” said Cryst. The strain of their flight and the attack of the gar-wolves threatened to crack her calm.

  Nothing Enkinor could say would matter. He turned around in time to see several gar-wolves closing on them with remarkable speed, a giant wolf in the lead. A feeling of impending danger, having nothing to do with the attacking wolves, sent shivers of apprehension down his spine. He stepped out, dagger poised to spit the first, and yelled “Saerani!”

  The pack's leader seemed to falter in his stride.

  The beast sprang.

  Enkinor threw up one arm to block the wolf's fangs. The jaws of the beast clamped down on his arm. The weight of the giant wolf threw him off balance, and he fell. The wolf growled and tried to attack Enkinor's face, when suddenly it stopped.

  In that instant, Raethir Del recognized Enkinor and realized how the Waryndi had evaded his spell. In that same instant, before the Gatekeeper could sink his fangs into the Saerani's throat, the cave filled with sparkling light.

  Enkinor was caught up by the Dreamtunnel.

  Chapter 33

  Behind the sorcerer lay corpses, human and wolf alike. The wolves had killed the humans, and then, Raethir Del had killed the wolves. He realized with some chagrin that he couldn't bear listening to the beasts gorge themselves.

  Before him stood the doors to Icefast Hold, impotent, their seals breached. Raethir Del reached out and pushed them with one finger. Without a sound, they swung open on hidden hinges.

  Only one thing kept him from entering the vast armory.

  The man he had cursed with the Dreamtunnel, the Gauntletbearer, had appeared at the Cana Glalith and then vanished as the spell swallowed him once more.

  Could fate have actually brought about such a coincidence that their paths should cross again? Now that they’d encountered each other once, what were the odds of a second encounter?

  The sorcerer's stomach knotted. The purpose of the curse of the Dreamtunnel was to keep the Saerani out of the way and prevent him from fulfilling the prophecies until Raethir Del could work out a way to deal with the spell keeping him from taking the Gauntlets. Yet even now, another Saerani, the Swordbearer, was moving toward his own destiny despite the sorcerer's best efforts.

  Raethir Del could only follow through with his original plans. He needed a tool, and that tool, the Staff of Khymera, was here in Icefast Hold.

  He probed with trained arcane senses but there was no need. The Hold was now open and harmless. The abrasentari who had sealed it had only sealed the entrance, for they lacked the power to lay traps within.

  With a small sigh, Raethir Del entered Icefast Hold.

  The entrance to the Hold was a long corridor several yards wide. Niches, every twenty feet or so down the hall, were once occupied by elite guards. Now, each held only a grinning skull and a pile of yellow bones. The guards of Icefast Hold had never deserted their posts.

  Excited, restraining himself with difficulty, Raethir Del walked quickly, conjured light glowing softly in his cupped hands.

  The sorcerer came to the end of the corridor, sensing a large expanse opening before him, a void the bouncing light in his hands could not penetrate. He stepped down a few broad steps into the darkness and sat.

  In moments, the Gatekeeper had changed himself into a bat. He fluttered about the room, diving and banking for a few minutes. Shrieking high-pitched squeaks, Raethir Del grabbed a stray moth for a meal and returned to the steps. Quickly resuming human form, he spat the moth out and grimaced, wiping wing-dust from his lips.

  Raethir Del moved along the long wall of the octagonal room and lit oil-soaked wood in cressets located at regular intervals. Opposite the entrance to the hold was the entrance to another room, but he continued along the wall, lig
hting torches till he had returned to where he started.

  Before him lay the weapons of Icefast Hold. Spears and javelins stood lashed together like prickly haystacks. Bows lay unstrung in wooden racks on every wall, quivers full of arrows close at hand. Other racks held wicked-looking battle axes and halberds, lances and maces.

  There was armor also, grouped and stacked by type around the room, leather and light metal armor for man and horse alike. Mail of varying mesh, breastplates and greaves, masks and helmets. Shields of every size, from leather-covered bucklers to colorful full-length shields.

  But the most curious part of this room was the longboat in the center.

  The boat was thirty or forty feet long with a wide middle and a long, curved prow that swept upward. The end of the prow had the face of a woman on one side, the face of a demon on the other. A single bank of oars sprouted from each side, and wooden planks propped against the hull kept the ship upright on its keel.

  Raethir Del walked over to the boat, more because something tugged very lightly at his sorcerous senses than out of curiosity.

  The boat was filled with scabbarded swords and sheathed daggers, long and short, curved and straight, plain and ornate.

  Raethir Del spread his arms outward and upward and closed his eyes.

  “Khymera,” he whispered.

  He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “Ah, Khymera. Sleeping well?”

  The longboat now held more than blades. In the middle of the boat stood a bier, and on the bier lay mummified remains, wrappings crumbling and flesh long since desiccated, much of it lying in dust among the bones.

  The Gatekeeper climbed into the boat and approached the mummy.

  “I considered assuming the form of one of your pets,” said Raethir Del to the remains of Khymera, “just to give you a little start. After all, were they happy with you for bringing them into this world? Were they grateful?” He paused. “Alas, as much as I’d love to stand here and taunt you, I have neither the time nor the energy to spare. I have come for your staff.”

  The Staff of Khymera was clutched close to the mummy's breast. It was long and unadorned save for the spread talons on the head of the staff. Raethir Del grasped it and tore it from brittle fingers.

  “Go,” said Raethir Del, and the mummy seemed to shudder slightly. “Go, return to the hell that spawned you, the hell that spawned us all. I have released you. The Staff is mine.”

  Chapter 34

  They were two days from the island in the Myan River before Ki'rana finally spoke.

  “I'm hungry.”

  While Longhorn had fought with Benshaer in the cabin, Ardemis and Ki'rana had found their horses and those belonging to Torkar's men. Once he had bandaged his hand, Longhorn had shoved the raft into the middle of the river and let it go. The irrilai had supervised swimming the horses to shore and turning Torkar's mounts loose.

  Their main objective was to put distance between themselves and the Valley of Mya. There was no time for Ardemis and Ki'rana to read the Weave to search for the Swordbearer or try to pinpoint the Gauntletbearer within the Dreamtunnel. Neither father nor daughter was mentally ready for the rigors of Reading. The danger they had been through had robbed them of much of their strength.

  Longhorn passed the young resara some scraps of bread and salted pork before lying down with his head on his pack, looking up at the night beyond the black treetops.

  The resari and their companion had wasted no time in crossing the countryside, using the spare horses and switching mounts often to keep from tiring them excessively. They avoided the Braemyan roads, which tended to follow the valleys. Instead, they cut across the valleys, ascending and descending each of the parallel ridges.

  Now, they camped on the lee side of the crest of a minor ridge.

  Ardemis stood at the edge of the clearing, his back to the others. The resara turned and watched his daughter eat for the first time since their rescue by Longhorn. It was a good sign, and it gave him encouragement. When she finished, she lay down. Ardemis sat beside her and stroked her hair.

  No one stood watch during the night. Ki'rana was not able, and neither Longhorn nor Ardemis had the strength to stay awake. When Longhorn rose, as the sky just began to glow with a vanguard of sunlight, Ki'rana's head was cradled in her father's lap, a look of peace on her features.

  The three did not ride far that day. As Ki'rana rapidly improved, so did her father. Watching both return to normal, Longhorn gained strength and determination. By the end of the day, they were talking and sharing stories. They washed with stream water warmed by a small, smokeless fire. Only Longhorn's attention to cleaning his sword threatened to tarnish the brightness of the day.

  Yet, Ardemis spoke with shame of not realizing Benshaer could be of value to Raethir Del, even blind, and stripped of his ruta. “Would I had killed him when I had the chance,” said Ardemis.

  The following day, they woke refreshed. As they ate and talked, Longhorn grew more frustrated. While he didn't want to raise the topic directly, he knew they had to begin making plans once again. Finally, Ardemis recognized how and why Longhorn had been directing their small talk. The resara decided to once again don the cloak of leadership.

  “We must talk about what we do now,” said Ardemis. For a moment, his stomach knotted with anxiety. A brief look of panic had crossed his daughter's face, and the resara feared he had spoken too soon.

  “Ki'rana,” he said, “are you ready to talk about our plans?”

  She nodded, a hesitant little motion that seemed to say No, but I know we must.

  “Very well,” he said. “What would you suggest?”

  Ki'rana was taken aback. Longhorn was surprised as well.

  “Father, surely you know what we must do. Why are you asking me?” The young resara was plainly puzzled.

  Ardemis waited several moments before replying. “Now, in the entire world, there are only two resari. You and me. I have been training you since you were a little girl. From now on, you will be trained through testing. You must develop your abilities as rapidly as possible.”

  “But—” she began.

  “You have no choice,” interrupted her father. Then, gently, he added, “None of us do. Our only choice is to use whatever abilities we have to their utmost. If they are to stop the Gatekeeper, we must bring the Swordbearer and the Gauntletbearer together.”

  After sitting for a couple of minutes with her face in her hands, Ki'rana finally looked up. “We must read the Weave and try to find them.”

  “Yes,” said Ardemis. “But how will we proceed?”

  “We can use the power in the blade the Swordbearer carries as a focal point for tracking.”

  “Yes, you're right,” commented her father, smiling. “What about the Gauntletbearer?”

  Longhorn watched the young resara intently. This question was surely the more difficult of the two. Ki'rana thought carefully before responding.

  “Could we backtrack to the point in the Weave at which the curse was placed on him and then follow it forward?”

  “And how successful might we be?” asked Ardemis.

  Ki'rana paused, but when she opened her mouth to answer, Ardemis spoke.

  “What influence do you think the Dreamtunnel will have on Enkinor's thread in the Weave? Say, at the point at which Enkinor entered the Dreamtunnel? No, let's back up a bit to the point at which Enkinor first met Raethir Del. What can we expect?”

  “Certainly a snag, a qar.”

  “Yes, but what do you predict happens to the qar? Will it form a qaraq, a snarl? And then an ajar, a tear?”

  Ki'rana looked confused and uncertain for several long moments before volunteering her guess.

  “No,” she said, “I don't think that's the right sequence. Won't it be the much less common sequence of qar to zeqar, an interruption in a thread that reappears in a different part of the Weave?”

  Ardemis beamed with pride. “Excellent. Now, I will be really impressed,” he said, teasin
g her, “if you can tell me how to follow a thread that goes from qar to zeqar, not once but several times.”

  Ki'rana thought for a minute before surrendering with a laugh and a shake of her head.

  Ardemis explained. “I have to admit it is very difficult. What is necessary is to look not at the thread or even the Weave, but the Fabric as a whole. Only then will we be able to See the dislocations and trace them to the present.”

  For some time, Longhorn had been working hard to understand the tiny fraction of resari knowledge they were revealing. Ardemis and Ki'rana had generally ignored him, intent as they were on the details of the task before them.

  “Should we begin now?” Ardemis asked his daughter. She nodded, and Longhorn excused himself.

  For the first time since before they had purged Benshaer from their midst, father and daughter sat, hand in hand, and once again entered the Weave.

  It was late in the day before the resari came out of their trance and looked about them, puzzled and surprised that they had used so much time to accomplish so little. During the day, Longhorn had checked the horses, the supplies, and his weapons, making sure that all was in order for a quick departure the next morning. When he saw them stand and stretch, he brought them some bowls of soup. After a minute or two, they began to talk.

  “We found the Swordbearer,” said Ki'rana, smiling.

  “He is somewhere near the village of Jest,” said Ardemis, “across the Yalventa Forest from Apracia.”

  “How far is that from here?” said the irrilai tribesman.

  “A few days, at least. It depends a lot on the horses and whether we encounter any trouble between here and there.”

  “And the Gauntletbearer?” said Longhorn. “Any success?”

  Ardemis shook his head, looked down, and sighed. “We Saw very little. At first, we thought we had found him on a volcanic island. Then he disappeared, and all we could See were snow and ice.”