First Comes The One Who Wanders

by Lynette S. Jones

  The snapping of a twig brought her out of a restless slumber. Her hand dropped to her axe and she freed it from her belt. She’d seen no one on the road. If this wasn’t an animal, then whoever it was had come specifically for her. Slipping over to the side of the ravine, she waited to see if she would hear the noise again. She’d almost decided she was hearing things when she heard a rustling to her right. The horses nickered nervously and pounded the ground with their hooves.

  A Land crafter slipped off the road and into the ravine. Staying near the edge, his dark cloak and green breeches blended in with the background and made his progress hard to track. Leilas could feel the power in him now, as he must be able to feel her. It was difficult to hide from one of your own kind when they were so close and unprotected. Axe in hand, she stepped into the moonlight. The dark crafter stepped out as well, sword in hand. Whoever he was and why he was following her weren’t answers she was going to receive from him. He began to speak a spell as he charged her with his sword. Leilas spoke a counter-spell and deflected his sword with her axe. Twirling around to face each other again, the crafter began a spell of unbinding. Leilas threw up a wall of protection then began speaking a spell of confusion. The magik quickly changed his chant to a spell of clarity then began to conjure a fireball. Leilas waited until he threw it in her direction then concentrated her will on turning the burning orb on him. Power against power, Leilas struggled to maintain control as did the dark crafter. Inch by inch, the fireball began to move toward the dark crafter.

  When he realized he was losing the struggle, the Land crafter caused the fireball to disappear and attacked her with his sword. He caught Leilas in the fleshy part of her arm. Swinging her axe in an arc as he pulled back for another thrust, Leilas brought it down on his collarbone. The bone shattered and the axe came to rest six inches below the bone. Falling to his knees, the crafter began a spell to conjure help. Leilas took her long knife and pierced his throat. The crafter’s breath gurgled in his throat and blood foamed from his mouth as he slumped motionless to the ground.

  Leilas looked around for others. Seeing that the crafter was alone, she dropped to her knees, trying to catch her breath and push away the darkness that swirled around the edges of her consciousness. When she’d recovered, she pushed herself to her feet, holding her hand to the wound on her arm. It needed attending and soon. As she went to find her bag of healing herbs, she thought about what had just happened. Someone had sent this crafter after her, but who? It didn’t take much thought for her to think of Rengailai. Who else among the Dredracians even knew who she was, much less cared?

  For someone who’d said she wasn’t even worth his notice, she thought, putting her axe away, he certainly was keeping a close eye on her. He could have killed her with a wave of his hand. Why let her go and then send his servants to deal with her? What was he really doing?

  She checked to make sure her horses were still in camp and unharmed. Assuring herself the animals were fine, she found her bag of healing herbs and bound her arm. The body of the crafter was still in the ravine. Preparing a pyre, she moved the body and taking a burning branch from the fire, she set the pyre on fire. Despite the fact that he was a dark crafter, she sank to her knees and sang the song of the dead for him. Garabaldi’s lesson had taken hold. Every person, dark or light, was a part of Jovan’s creation.

  The sun was rising as Leilas rose wearily to her feet. Covering the remains of the fires, she packed the horses and started on her way. If Rengailai was intent on sending his servants to harass her or kill her, the sooner she reached the caves and found the book, the better. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to keep what she learned from Rengailai. She was no match for his power.

  An eagle, circling overhead caught her attention and she watched it as she rode. By noon, she realized it was following her along the road. The eagle could rip her skin to shreds in seconds if she wasn’t prepared. But why would Rengailai heal her from crafter’s poison just to subject her to it again? She rode in the company of the eagle all day then stopped to rest for the night. This evening, she took the precaution of setting up a protection spell around her camp. It would keep all but the most determined out. Settling into her blanket when she was done protecting the camp, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  The small footprints around her ring of protection bore evidence to the fact that she’d indeed had visitors in the night, no one powerful enough to break the spell. It had been goblins in all likelihood. They would have caused just enough trouble to keep her from resting. Luckily, it hadn’t worked. She felt better this morning, stronger due to her rest. She would need her strength today if her calculations were right. Today, she would find the glen she was seeking. Although she kept a watchful eye out for her eagle spy, she didn’t spot the feathered crafter as she rode. She had no doubt he’d traveled through the night to inform his master of her location and destination.

  The grass of the plains had given way to trees and then to forests as she rode around the foot of the mountain. She’d begun to travel in a northerly direction by midday.

  The glen wasn’t hard to identify when she stumbled across it. Tree trunks, stripped of leaves and branches, stood like stakes planted in the ground, ground that was devoid of any vegetation. Only fine ash provided a covering. The foot of the mountain was visible through the forest graveyard. She traveled back to where the forest was still alive and began to move toward the foot of the mountain, circumventing the glen, but each time she appeared to be nearing the mountain, she found herself facing the dead trees again. She’d known it wouldn’t be as easy to get to the base of the mountain as it had appeared.

  Leilas could feel the magic emanating from the grove. Unlike the magic she’d felt when she’d been separated from Erion and Joshuas, this magic felt pure, a strange dichotomy from the appearance of the glen. Loosing her axe, Leilas urged her mount into the dead forest. The horse took a half dozen steps into the trees and refused to go any further. When taking his rein and trying to lead him proved as unsuccessful as riding, she hobbled the horses in a clearing across the road with lots of grass for them to eat. Slinging her pack over her shoulders and axe in hand, she started for the foot of the mountain. There was no air in the grove and she’d only gone about a quarter of a mile before she was panting and covered in sweat. The only living things seemed to be the insects, which attacked her mercilessly. It hadn’t seemed far to the foot of the mountain when she’d started. She’d been less than a mile away from it the whole journey from Kyris. But no matter how far she walked, the mountain never got any closer.

  It was a good trick, she admitted to herself, stopping for a drink. She could be wandering in circles for all she knew. In this spot, there were several skeletons scattered under the dead trees. This seemed to be where they’d given up trying to find their way through. ‘Only the most determined’, Leilas had to wonder what that really meant. Was it some kind of clue? Or just an ominous warning? She could feel the magic like a current flowing around her, pushing her one way, then another.

  One of the men lying underneath the trees had a bow and a quiver of arrows. Leilas examined the bow and found it to be good. Removing the quiver and the tunics from the bones, she cut the tunic into narrow strips and tied them together, until she had about a hundred feet of cloth strip. Attaching one end of her makeshift rope to an arrow, she took aim at a tree that appeared to be a hundred feet away and loosed the arrow. It buried itself in the tree with a satisfying thud, the end of the cloth coming to rest about ten feet in front of her. Taking the cloth in her hand, she followed it to the tree. Retrieving the arrow, she repeated the process. Her senses screamed that she was traveling in the wrong direction. The magic currents pushed harder and harder as she walked against them, letting the cloth and arrow be her guide.

  She ran across fewer and fewer remains of unsuccessful adventurers as she moved through the glen. It didn’t appear she was traveling in circles anymore. She’d not passed by the same group of remains
for some time. The day was deepening into night and she still couldn’t see the end of the grove and the foot of the mountain. Panic coursed through her at the thought of spending the night in this cursed place. Still, she continued to fire her arrow and coil up the cloth as she followed it.

  The voices of the souls trapped here began to beseech the master who had set this trap to release them as darkness settled over her. It was a terrifying sound. But as she listened in horrified fascination, Leilas slowly began to hear the words of the dead. They cried out to Anhj to free them. They begged to be reunited with their families. She knew she could go no farther this day. Sitting down by the tree with her arrow in it, she clutched the cloth in her hand as a lifeline and tried to rest as all the spirits of the place appealed to Anhj.

  The warmth of the morning sun woke her. Once again the grove of dead trees was silent. The foot of the mountain appeared as close as it had the day before, as close as it had when she entered the glen. She ate a piece of hard tack for her breakfast and continued shooting and coiling. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to break the spell on these trees. All she could do was continue trying to find a way through. Her arm ached and each time she pulled the bow, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull the bow again. When she reached the tree where the head of the arrow was buried, she stepped past the tree, ready to try one more time, As soon as she passed the tree, she stepped into a grassy meadow butting up against the foot of the mountain. Falling to the ground she laughed in relief. She’d made it through.

  However, her elation was short-lived. As her eye scanned the foothills, there was no sign of a cave entrance. Had she endured all this only to be in the wrong place? Wrapping up the coil of cloth, she fought against the disappointment as she stowed it in her pack. Then, slinging the bow over one shoulder, she straightened her shoulders in determination and started for the mountain.

  The meadow grass quickly turned into rocky sand, varying in color from dark red to black. The small rocks turned into boulders and then into the base of the mountain. There was still no sign of a cave entrance. Backtracking, she turned to the right and walked along the edge of the mountain. She walked for a mile before she turned back. When she reached the spot where she’d begun, she continued on the same distance to the left. Returning to where she’d started again, she sat on a boulder and tried to think. There was no cave here that could be seen by her eyes. She could use Thrummond the Great’s eyesight right now, besides his axe. She made a mental list of the spells she knew, to see if any would help her with her dilemma, but none seemed quite appropriate. She fingered the axe. Even though it was a dwarven axe, she didn’t think it would help her find the crystal caves. But she would swear the blade was glowing slightly. Taking a chance that a dwarven blade would be able to find a hidden opening, she let the glow from the axe guide her. She stopped before what appeared to be a seamless rock face when the blade of the axe was glowing bright blue. Running the blade along the wall, she stopped when she felt the edge of the blade find a seam.

  Starting at the bottom of the seam, she ran the blade up until she could reach no farther. Then finding footholds in the rocks she began to climb. Fifteen feet up, she felt the blade trip a spring and the face of the rock moved out a few inches. Climbing down and putting her weapon in her belt, she grasped the stone with her fingers and tried to move it. The door swung open easily. Leilas stepped inside and found a torch and flint in a sconce by the door, ready to be used. Lighting the torch, she stepped forward into the opening. As she did, the rock door silently swung closed.

  Ignoring her panic at being trapped inside, she moved down the hallway of the cave. The walls were formed by a myriad of faceted crystals. The light reflected off them and lighted the room at the end of the hallway. Crysalis paled in comparison to these caves. The ceiling rose higher than she could see. The walls threw rainbows of colors around the room. A crystal platform, set on pillars carved of crystal, rose from the floor in the center of this cathedral. She’d seen this place before in a dream. In her dream, this had been a place of pain and sorrow.

  Swallowing her fear, Leilas climbed the stairs that were carved from crystal, as well. A large block of crystal hung suspended in the center of the platform. It looked almost like ice. There was nothing else in the cavern that she could see and nothing else on the platform. The block of crystal didn’t contain a book. In fact, it contained nothing.

  Moving closer, Leilas reached out and touched the clear, smooth stone. As soon as her hand came in contact with it, the center of the stone became cloudy and appeared to be changing. Leilas stepped back and watched in awe as a face appeared where nothing had been a moment before.

  “Few have entered here and touched this stone,” a hollow voice boomed and echoed in the chamber. “Those who didn’t turn back at this warning didn’t survive. Only one may live to see what is hidden here.”

  So, Garabaldi had been wise enough to turn back at this point, she thought, swallowing hard. But she didn’t come this far, to turn back now that she was so close. Staying where she was, Leilas waited for whatever was coming.

  The face in the crystal changed, turning from a face to a rune. Then a loud, rushing sound filled the cavern and a light shot out from the rune through Leilas. She fell to her knees, her head exploding into a thousand points of dancing light. All the things that she’d done in her life flooded through her and she began to sob uncontrollably. The purity of the light illuminated so clearly the darkness that was part of her.

  The light receded and the face reappeared in the stone. “Welcome Chosen One to the creation of Anhj.” The feeling of despair slowly dissipated and Leilas was able to stand. When she looked at the block of crystal, words were etched into it.

  “The Book of Sylph,” she said, to no one there.

  The words disappeared as she read them, to be replaced by more until what Sylph had written had been read in its entirety. Then the last words disappeared and only a block of clear stone remained. Leilas closed her eyes and sank to the ground, sadness welling up inside her.

  It was a simple plan, beautiful in its simplicity, a plan that required from her almost more than she could bear to give. “No one can know the way they will choose,” kept running through her head. Erion had guessed it. The fate of humanity rested on the choices of three. Leilas wrapped her arms around herself, wishing someone was here with her to offer her comfort. Closing her eyes, she began to remember Cephom’s words that had drifted into her dream. Letting them run through her mind again and again, she began to feel his comfort embrace her.

  A long while later, Leilas pushed herself wearily to her feet, having reconciled herself to what was to come and what must be done. Walking to the base of the first pillar, she retrieved the crystal orb hidden there. It was the first piece of four that were needed. Cephom had told her the story while she’d slept. Many people would die defending the light and the Creator while the other pieces were found and the solution to the puzzle concerning the words of power was discovered. She placed the orb in her pack. If any one of the chosen three crossed over to the darkness, then Dredrac would have his day in Preterlandis. The Creator would turn away from his creation and leave it to the Dark Lord until the people who lived in it tore it and themselves apart pursuing their own evil desires.

  Feeling as if she’d aged a thousand years, Leilas walked back to the rock door that protected these caves. Putting out the torch and returning it to its holder, she stepped out into the glen. There was no need for arrows and cloth on the return trip through the dead wood. It was now just a dead grove of trees, the spirits that had been trapped there had finally been freed. Leilas found her way through quickly. The horses were where she’d left them, contentedly munching on grass. Deciding tomorrow was soon enough to begin the journey back to Menas, Leilas made camp, gave the horses some oats and sat down to her meal of bread and jerked venison. Then laying her head on the saddle and wrapping herself in her blanket, she tried not to think about anything and did her be
st to sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  Joshuas wiped the sweat from his brow and readied his weapon. The young Menas who stood opposite him in the training circle wore an expression of fear and concentration. Menas weren’t inclined to war or to combat. It had been an uphill struggle to teach them the practicalities of war. The one exception to this was Brenth. He seemed to excel at swordplay and tactics, as if he’d been born a warrior rather than a seer. Joshuas had quickly seen his potential and put Brenth in command of the Menas. None of the Menas seemed to mind. They already knew Brenth was destined to be their new leader. He was the grandson of King Dane, and the rightful heir next to Daina. While she’d taken on the responsibilities for now, Daina was only waiting for Brenth to come of age.

  The gong sounded to begin the competition. The Menas charged in, hoping to impress his instructor with his prowess. Joshuas easily parried the clumsy attack. He wasn’t sure he could send these gentle people to war knowing that many of them would die in their first battle.

  “Be patient, wait for me to make a mistake before you charge in,” suggested Joshuas. The young man assumed his fighting stance and they began again. The boy did better this time, managing to block Joshuas’ counterattack.

  The only bright hope Joshuas had concerning the Menas’ fighting ability was that most of them would be used as strategists and seers, not warriors. It was early spring. They’d been training for almost five months. Most of these men could protect themselves now. Joshuas wouldn’t be ashamed to present them to Duke Cheran. They were planning on leaving to join him in the Southern Plains next week.

  Rumors were rife that the Dredracians from Crogmanland were on their way across the sea and would reach Solea within a few weeks. As soon as they joined with the Dredracians there, they’d be on their way to their first major battle. No one had a good idea where that battle would take place. Kyris was the logical conclusion, but the Dredracians might not want to take on that stronghold first. They might prefer to conquer several little cities, depleting the Jovanulum before they approached a major stronghold.