Greyhawk - [Quag Keep 02] - Return to Quag Keep

by Andre Norton, Jean Rabe (v1. 0) (epub)

  He didn’t utter a word of protest when Yevele caught his arm. "Open?”

  “Should be,” he said, but he made no move to prove it.

  She gave the door a solid kick. Moments later, Naile, Milo, Jalafar-rula and Alfreeta were standing in the corridor. The old wizard beamed, his fatigued expression vanishing and his eyes brightening.

  “I chose well,” he said. “My magic reached out to your world and brought you here. Yevele, you are a fine lady.” He bowed to her and held her hand, the chain that still hung from his wrist clanking against the floor. "Susan, right?”

  She nodded. “Of Canberra. I . . . I . . . live in a small house near the Uni.”

  “Yevele suits you better,” he said. “And Bertrum of Bowling Green. ...”

  "I prefer Berthold of the Green here.”

  “And of course Milo and Naile. Much easier to see you here in this light. Good people all. I chose you well.” Alfreeta flicked her tongue and beat her wings, taking her above Naile’s shoulder. "Yes, yes, and Alfreeta, too.” The hint of a smile played at the thin corners of his pale lips. “Somehow I knew you would reach me, free me. And now together we must — ”

  “Go find Ingrge,” Naile said. He was talking to the wizard, but was studying Yevele, who was apparently returning the intensity of his look. “Can't let the elf get caught by some troll or something.” “Not yet.” Milo was scrutinizing the thief, eyes dropping to the necklaces. “Can you get those off him?” He pointed to the chains on Jalafar-rula’s ankles and wrists. “Naile got him loose from the wall. Can you finish it?”

  The thief let out an exaggerated sigh and produced his picks again, setting to work on the shackles.

  "What do you mean not yet?” Naile still watched Yevele. “Not go after Ingrge yet?”

  “We’re too close to stop, and you know it. We’re too far below the ground, from what Berthold says. Too close to whatever Pobe is using to siphon magic from our world.” Milo tried to explain more about the Glothorio priests’ spell that brought Jalafar-rula’s image to them, and about the wizard’s story. “We have a larger concern than just our friend, the elf.”

  When the shackles were off his wrist, the wizard finished the story. “Ancient Earth had so much magic,” he began. “More than this world, more than many of the worlds I’ve had the honor to visit. Magic flowed like the rivers and streams and was accessible to everyone who had the imagination to play with it. Just not everyone on Earth believed in the magic, and that made it easy for someone to slip in and to siphon the arcane energies away”

  “So the magic on Earth is gone?” Yevele finally glanced away from Naile.

  The wizard shook his head. “Not entirely. Come here, Alfreeta, let me borrow a bit of more of your arcane energy.” The little dragon obliged, and a heartbeat later an ephemeral globe hovered at the wizard’s eye level in the prison hallway. The continents glowed green, the water blue, and there were motes of gold twinkling like stars. The globe grew larger, as wide as the hallway now and slowly spinning.

  “That’s Wisconsin,” Milo said. He touched his finger to one of the gold spots.

  “Your home, Milo, where you live as the young man named Martin Jefferson. The magic that remains is strongest there, near the lake. The pieces of gold represent reserves where the magic remains.” Jalafar-rula pointed to other states. “Illinois, this particular spot is near ... I believe they call it Chicago. And here.”

  “Kentucky," Berthold supplied. He released the shackle from the wizard’s right ankle and started on the left. “But then I always thought Kentucky was a magical place. All the caves and pastures.” “And here,” Jalafar-rula continued.

  “That would be New York, where I’m from.” Naile was standing next to Yevele now, their shoulders brushing. “And it looks like there’s a little spot in Connecticut, Nebraska, Oklahoma. And down there in Florida, too.”

  “Where Ingrge’s from,” Yevele said. She drew a line up to North Carolina. “Wymarc came from some place around there. And there’s Australia.” The globe had turned and she stretched a finger out, caressing the gold spot close to where Canberra was. “Uncle Wes.” As she watched, the gold light flickered, then winked out. “Oh!”

  At the same time a gold spot in Canada dimmed. The wizard’s face looked longer and his expression doleful.

  “Pobe grows ever more powerful by draining your world. When he’s taken every last sip of magic, imagination will stagnate. Even the “gamers,” as you call them, the science-fiction fans with their plastic pointed ears, the Tolkien scholars with their reams of manuscripts and maps of a non-existent Middle Earth ... all of them . . . will lose their spark when the magic dies.”

  “We’ll all become Mundanes,” Milo translated.

  “What is left of my beautiful Stonehenge will crumble to dust.

  Easter Island, no trace. The memory of Atlantis will fade. And yon legends of King Arthur and more will all be forgotten. Eventually, Earth will dry up and cease to exist.”

  Silence reigned in the hallway, until Berthold removed the final shackle.

  "So the elf will have to wait,” Berthold agreed. "Earth comes first. It’s just like I told all of you when I caught up to that caravan. We help the wizard, then we can save our planet and go home. While we can still remember we’ve homes to go to.”

  "So how do we find this Pobe?” Yevele asked.

  Jalafar-rula watched another mote of gold light disappear, then he dismissed his globe. "Hopefully we won’t find him. Pobe is powerful and could well be beyond all of us. All we need find is the device he uses to drain the magic. A safer plan, and just as effective.”

  "So how do we find that?” she pressed.

  "Yon warrior Milo will show us the way.”

  They all looked to Milo, who stood where the globe had been. "I haven’t a clue. I don't know what the wizard is talking about.”

  Jalafar-rula shuffled toward him, placed a pale hand on his shoulder. "You’re the only one who can find the device, Milo Jagon. It is up to you.” The wizard dropped his hand to Milo’s and touched the ring on his thumb. "This will show us. You must have a little faith.” Milo stared at the ring. It was dull green and had thin red lines and small red dots on it. Similar to the ring on his other thumb, but that one lacked any of the lines. He’d tried to take them off when he first arrived, tried more times than he could count. And like the bracelets still affixed to his and Naile’s wrists, they wouldn’t budge.

  "Alfreeta?” The little dragon landed on the wizard’s arm, and he drew more of her magic. In response, the red lines writhed like snakes, then turned white, the dots disappeared, and the dull green stone grew black and glossy.

  Milo felt himself being tugged toward the far end of the corridor. “What’s happening?”

  “Milo, your ring will lead us to the most powerful source of magic in Quag Keep. And that undoubtedly will be the device Pobe uses to drain your world. Let it pull you, Milo, before the device chances to siphon your ring, too. If we cannot find that device, I’m afraid there’ll soon be nothing worthwhile left of Earth. And after Earth, can this place and other worlds be far behind?”

  Jalafar-rula shuffled after Milo, an old man’s gait, but a determined one. Yevele moved to the wizard’s side and draped his arm around her shoulder. And Naile, Alfreeta happily perched by his neck, walked directly behind, holding a torch Yevele passed him.

  “I thank you,’’ Jalafar-rula said to the battlemaid. “I’ve been in that dungeon for quite some time and I’m afraid I’m a bit stiff. You are a strong, strong woman.”

  Berthold watched them all before slowly following a few yards behind, torch in one hand. He picked up the hem of his tunic, just high enough so he could see the bite mark on his side. It was red with a fever, but it looked to be healing. And at each place where a tooth had pierced him, small tufts of soft black hair sprouted.

  “This isn’t a game,” he said. “And this isn’t like the game.” His throat was dry and tight, and his stomach felt
like a rock had settled in the bottom of it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dark Reflections

  They traveled deeper still, Jalafar-rula explaining that Quag Keep extended much deeper below the ground than it rose above it, and that the lowest, darkest levels were the most recent construction, having been excavated in the past thirty or forty years. The air was almost sweet here, compared to the air that hung heavy in the prison corridors and where they’d encountered the were-rats. It stirred, as if it was blowing in fresh from somewhere, but they saw no cracks in the walls, and had no clue where it was coming from.

  In the first chamber they discovered an oval pool ringed by smooth green stones, the water looking dark blue under the light of the torches. Milo started to walk past it, but Yevele called for a stop.

  “Wizard, you know of this?” She nodded to the pool and extricated herself from his arm. She knelt at the edge of the pool and looked at her haggard reflection.

  “A source of water,” he said. "Safe to drink. Nothing more, nothing magical, if that’s what you mean.” He awkwardly got to his knees next to her. "But in being nothing more, it be everything at the moment. Sometimes the most simplest of things be the most precious and valuable.” He dipped his cupped hands in and drank.

  Satisfied it was safe, she took off her helmet and used it as a cup, hungrily drinking the water and splashing it on her face and neck, upending the helmet over her and closing her eyes. The water was clear and sparkling as summer rain, removed from the pool, and it made the chainmail links of her shirt gleam. She continued to upend her helmet, her auburn hair plastered now against the sides of her head and her leggings dark with the water. She reached to her waterskin, intending to fill it up, then remembering it already was full —of gems. So she drank deeply again, and Naile joined her, carefully laying the torch behind him in the event water could put it out.

  “So thirsty,” Naile admitted. “To take something like water for granted.” He drank and drank, saying how sweet and cool the water was, even though it had a metallic taste from the minerals in the rocks. Softly: “I missed you, Yevele, worried about you. "

  Milo drank his fill, too, but Berthold held back, sipping only a little, rubbing water on his face and hands, and again prodding the wound on his side. “1 know caves,” he said. “This water shouldn’t be polluted or anything, but I’d go easy on it. Not that any of you will listen to me. In the game nobody pays attention to the thief.”

  They ignored him, drinking more, Naile splashing himself with the water, finally sticking his head under it, then flinging his shoulders back and shaking, spraying everyone and causing the torch behind him to sputter. He took off his tunic and borrowed Yevele’s helmet, letting the cool water run down his broad chest. Alfreeta glided away from him, hovering over the center of the pool and using her tail to splash herself.

  “My parents tried to get me to go into environmental law,” he told the battlemaid. He was struggling with the memory, though he tried to sound confident. He thought perhaps talking about his New York self might keep his mind clear. “But I wasn’t interested in the environment. Told them there wasn't enough money in it. Should’ve listened to them. Keeping water clean and drinkable, now that’s something important. Protecting copyrights? Who am I helping there? Composers and mystery writers. John Williams and Mary Higgins Clark.” He upended the helmet over his head again.

  Milo drank a little more and closely watched Naile and the battle-maid. Was there really something between the two of them? Or was it just interested, curious looks that they passed back and forth? Did he have a chance with her? He got up and walked toward her, extended his hand. She accepted it, and he helped her up.

  “Ring’s still pulling me, Yevele,” he said. “We’re exhausted, all of us, but the water’s helped. So we should probably get going, while this magic’s still working. While we’re still awake. You still feeling strong enough to help Jalafar-rula?’’

  She nodded and smiled at him.

  Milo had one torch, Naile the other.

  “I want you playing rear guard,” Milo told the berserker. “Just in case something creeps up behind us. You’ve the best chance of noticing.” And I want you farther away from Yevele, he added to himself. Then Milo took the lead, the battlemaid right behind him, still helping Jalafar-rula. She left her helmet at the edge of the pool, and let her hair hang loose around her shoulders. Milo glanced back at her every once in a while, not seeing Naile scowling at him.

  The thief walked in front of Naile, wanting nothing more than to slip around behind him, lag behind and inspect the bite mark. He’d poured water on it when he was certain the others weren’t looking, and that helped quench the fever. But it was feeling warm again, even through the material.

  “Not like the game,” Berthold said. “Don’t let it be like the game. Not like it at all.”

  "What did you say?” Naile thought the thief had been talking to him.

  “I said we don’t smell gamey anymore. The water worked a proverbial wonder.”

  They advanced in relative silence for several minutes, then abruptly the precise stone blocks of the corridor stopped and natural unworked stone began, as if they’d entered a cave.

  “Quag caverns," Jalafar-rula announced. “As old as the beginning of this world." He stepped away from Yevele to run his age-spotted hands along a length ol dark granite. The wizard had regained more of his strength and was walking at a steady pace. “We built the Keep directly above these caverns, building up and up first, as that seemed to be what wizards should do, live in a great, high place from the top of which we could watch over everything. Then we built the black wall around it all.”

  “I remember,” Naile said. “The first time we came to Quag Keep we passed through a black stone wall.”

  “But it wasn’t there when we came through the forest this time,” Yevele said.

  “That must have been some months ago you saw the wall. Pobe, during one of his visits to the dungeon, told me his minions had taken it down and the enchanted stone was being used elsewhere. The wall was hardly necessary to keep people out anyway.” The wizard stopped where a section of the wall warped outward, looking smooth and rounded like a natural column. “The reputation of Quag Keep did that. Only the bravest and most foolish of adventurers came here.”

  “Like us. ” This from Naile, who was rubbing some dried blood off Yevele’s face that the water hadn’t caught.

  “You were meant to come here, Naile Fangtooth.”

  “But are we meant to get back out?” Naile held the torch high, trying to get a better look at the place. Something glinted off the walls and caught his attention. “Now that’s interesting.” He stepped toward the closest wall, on the other side of the column from Jalafar-rula. “Yevele!”

  Milo had been heading across the cavern, lured by the magical pull of the ring. But he stopped and looked back. Yevele, Naile, Berthold, and Jalafar-rula were studying something, Alfreeta hovering above and flicking her tail like someone might crook a finger, beckoning.

  “I thought we were in a hurry,” Milo said, as he backtracked and stared along with the rest of them. It wasn’t like he could keep going on his own, he needed his companions. “All right. It is interesting. Now let’s keep going.”

  There were crystals sprouting from the granite, not the kind of crystals that were part of the granite itself, but crystalline shards and spires, chunks and protrusions, some of which were as long as antelope horns. Under the torch they acted like prisms, throwing rose, green, and delicate blue fragments of light along the rock wall and the floor and across their faces. When Naile held the torch farther away, the light shards shrank, but somehow became more intense.

  "I don’t recall these being here,” Jalafar-rula mused. "Well, not this big, in any event. They were small, warts on a witch’s nose. There were always crystals in this cavern, and in the one below. But the size of warts they were, I tell you.” He looked to Milo. “There’s only one more cavern beneath t
his. If the ring is still pulling you, that is where we are headed. It figures that Pobe would go to the depths of the cavern, probably thinking an old man like me couldn’t find his way there . . . even if he were free of that prison. But these crystals.” The wizard’s brow furrowed, not so much in puzzlement, but in concern.

  “Wonder if you can pull them out?” Berthold wrapped his fingers around a spire and tugged at it, like he’d tug a dagger from one of his sheaths. It didn’t budge, but he felt it move, quivering like the moss had in the levels above. He held onto it and brought his ear close. “Can you hear that?”

  The others shook their heads.

  “I’ve elven blood, you know,” the thief continued. “Makes my senses sharp.” He put his ear to the crystal. “It’s humming. If Ingrge were here, I bet he could hear it.” He took his hand off the crystal, and the noise stopped. So he touched his finger to the shard again. “Humming. And it feels warm.” He was certain he could pull it free if he were rested.

  “Natural stones do feel warm.” This came from Yevele, who was copying Berthold and trying to tug one free. “I think I hear it.” She ran her fingers along the edge of a small piece that gleamed like a diamond. “It’s how my mom taught me to tell a real stone from paste. Said if a guy gives you a real stone, he’s serious. If he gives you a piece of paste, he’s just. ... If you hold a piece, say jade, it warms up against your skin, more than a hunk of green plastic would.”

  Berthold moved on to another crystal. “I know all of that, and not just because I’m a thief. But these crystals are ... I don’t know . . . oddly warm. This one’s almost hot. It hums, too.” The thief was smiling now, the sound coming from the crystal pleasant and relaxing. ‘Here.” He motioned for Milo to bring his torch closer, and he touched a crystal with each hand. "Almost like music.”

  "Berthold . . . they do move a little. At least, I think they do.” “Quivering, Yevele, just like the moss on the walls.” The thief pulled back from the wall to acknowledge the battlemaid. “I think so, anyway. Vibrating just a teense like a tuning fork.” He looked closer, seeing his eyes reflected in one of the longer crystals. They looked darker than usual, sparkling, yet at the same time bloodshot with fatigue.