Like the three vastly different lands and the three vastly different peoples the land held, there had once been three cities that symbolized the three peoples, sisters in spirit, separated by the land forever.
Ywentir, Tsitadel’, Aurentid, repeated Noman in his mind. During the Blood Wars, the secrecy of the northerners proved to be the bane of the dark forces, yet even such a powerful pact of silence had not saved the northern lands or those that fled to it in fruitless attempts to escape the ravages of a war that spread across the continent like a monstrous plague.
Aurentid had been the first to fall and nothing of it remained except shattered walls and piles of rubble; Ywentir with its protective maze had succumbed by a different means than its ill-fated sister though it too had eventually fallen; yet as Noman well knew, for he had been there, Tsitadel’ had never fallen, though its survival had been by the barest of margins and through means perhaps darker than even the dark forces would have levied against it.
Ayrian stopped cold, his keen senses perceiving something that the others did not. He stared up at the mountain and the sky, cocking his head in his odd way so that it faced the direct opposite of its normal position. His vision, the vision of the great eagle, was far greater than the others, so what he saw eluded them. He pointed to a tiny speck of light far up the mountain, which gained intensity as it drew nearer.
Amir took a step forward while the others held still. They waited and watched. The litter was set gently to the ground and the noble warrior lifted his weapon from its sheath with deft hands. The glowing ball of heavenly light was almost upon them; and, as Noman sensed no malicious intent, he gestured to Amir to return his blade to its sheath. Amir did.
Ayrian could almost make out a shape inside the shimmering yellow light, two shapes actually, and then when the others began to see the shapes, he saw the outlines of a man of early years and of a woman whose hand he held. A few yards from where the company stood, the ball of light stopped and after settling to the mountain’s side, those within stepped out.
The two, the man of early years and the woman whose hand he still held, turned to wave goodbye to the strange glowing ball of light as it lifted into the sky. The woman appeared to be an angel, for no one else could have been so beautiful, so perfect. She had long, golden brown hair and a darkly tanned body. She wore a cloth dress, sheer and white, clearly accentuating her sublime body, which, although it left little to the imagination, did not taint the pureness she emitted—an impure thought would have been impossible.
Amir stared at her in open admiration of her beauty. The young man they all knew. He released the woman’s hand and walked over to them. He knelt beside Xith, his head bent in prayer. The others had known the youngster in a different form. The one that stood before them was no longer riddled with latent power, nor was it that of a boy; it had changed. Vilmos was clear of the wild magic, or so it seemed. He was his own person once again, yet it was as though he had raced through time in years instead of hours since the Wanderer’s fall.
The woman approached Xith. She spoke in hushed tones with a melodic, captivating voice. She touched his wound and began to chant loudly, her words flowing like music. When she stopped, she put a hand to his eyes and said, “He will rest now and will surely recover soon.”
Momentary disbelief passed over Ayrian. He touched a hand to the shaman’s brow; the fever had, indeed, broken and color was returning to his ashen features. He stared up at Noman, who had also gathered near, his great round eyes spread wide. The power of true healing was granted primarily to the priestesses, so Noman was sure that she must be one of the priestesses of the Mother, truly a magnificent gift.
She looked to Ayrian and smiled, a delicate smile that matched her delicate touch. She chanted a different song than she had sung for the shaman, a sweet, short song, which, when she finished, left Ayrian completely healed. Ayrian thanked her for her kindness and then she looked to the others, each in turn. Amir radiated as their eyes caught. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment.
Emotions were kindled in Amir that it seemed he had not felt the whole of his life. She smiled and then simply turned to Noman, who was the last. When she was sure they were all healthy, she took Vilmos by the hand and wordlessly led him away, along the trail.
All eyes were on Vilmos as the two walked away. They wanted to know what had happened and why he was here. They had thought him lost in the battle and now here he stood with them. Noman was quick to perceive the hand of the Father; Amir was not. Amir picked up one end of the litter and Noman the other, and they set off after Vilmos.
Noman wasn’t surprised as the woman led them through places only he and Xith should know. He had seen shadings of this path, though he had not seen where it would lead them. He accepted the circle of life. Simply knowing Vilmos’ time was not yet spent was good enough for him. The other troubled him. In the visions he had never seen the face or form of their new companion, only the outlines of where someone would be in the path.
He cleared his mind, following Amir as he took a step, focusing his thoughts inward, searching for the facts that eluded him. He saw only the others along the path he chose and when he searched further the vision ended. A peculiar image remained, a mark over the young man’s visage that he had never seen before; and although he scoured his thoughts, he could not find its origin. Perplexed, he trudged on.
The city was not far; however, the journey was over rough terrain and along some dark paths. Weary, Noman took a reprieve from carrying Xith and now Amir and Vilmos performed the task. Xith was still soundly sleeping when at last they emerged from the darkness; and steep walls of stone rose on either side of them as they entered a narrow, sequestered canyon.
A whole new world opened up to them as they walked among the new shadows formed by the dull light filtering down from a sun that seemed so tiny and so high above them. The coveted entrance they sought was midway up the cliff wall on the far side of the canyon and with luck they would reach it safely before the arrival of the first whispers of dusk. The path, though it had apparently once been worn smooth, was uneven and largely overgrown. Carrying the litter forced frequent stops, and progress through the deep canyon was slow.
Vilmos was quite intrigued by the gorge. Carved out of solid rock, its origin seemed a mystery to him. As he thought of this and reflected upon the recent happenings, his life seemed quite similar to the heartless rock that surrounded them, going from stable to unstable, swimming in and out of some unseen revelation in directions unknown and seemingly coerced by nature itself.
Early afternoon brought heavier shadows to the canyon and with it came an unsettling chill. The air, which had scarcely stirred before, calmed as they approached the stark face of a blunt stone wall, which, though still several hours away, was clearly visible now. The shadows gradually blackened until true darkness settled upon them; elsewhere night was some hours away, but within the ravine, night had already begun. A sense of urgency quickened their pace, and the stops became less frequent and then ceased completely as the companions dashed for the safety that seemed just within their grasp.
Ayrian took flight despite his need to heal, ridding the skies of imagined specters. The race for safety was on. A dull twinge of pain swept through Vilmos’ mind. Warily, he cast his eyes to the heavens, seeking to look beyond the blank, dark walls. A voice within him shouted out. It whispered, “Only seven remain,” though Vilmos did not listen. That part of him was lost.
The canyon wall was only a few hundred yards away now. Sensing the encroaching darkness, the six ran at a full pace. Amir and Noman temporarily shouldered the burden of the litter, jostling the injured passenger. A dark shape passed overhead and all cringed, although it was only Ayrian settling to the ground.
The entrance to the city lay some three hundred feet off the canyon floor, barricaded by a great stone. Only a carefully trained eye could discern the outline of the door from the dark stone of the wall, yet two did see it. Without rope and grappl
e, there was no visible way to make the climb—that is, if any sort of grapple would have held in the sheer rock face. The only way up would be to fly, or to levitate. Noman knew this. Yet he didn’t know if the newcomer could perform the feat, for although a strange aura surrounded her, he perceived no flow of magic.
As he contemplated this, she began to rise into the air. Ayrian gently buffeted the same cold air with his wings, slowly, steadily moving up the cliff wall with Amir behind him; together they ferried Xith. Noman directed the magic within with a quietly intoned word of focusing and floated up after the others. The only one that remained on the canyon floor was Vilmos.
“What’s the matter?” yelled Noman down to him.
“I don’t know how to fly!”
Noman chuckled.
“Wait there; we’ll return for you.”
Glumly, Vilmos waited in the darkness. Elsewhere night had finally arrived. He felt things coming to life in the arrival of night and it sent a trickle of unease down his back. He watched as Amir pressed his weight and might against the great stone and then the voices and partially perceived figures disappeared. He was alone again. He began turning around and around in tiny circles brought on by nervousness and agitation and the very real images of his imagined specters sneaking up on him.
Icy cold hands reached out of the darkness and grasped his arm. Vilmos started and screamed out, pulling away from the deft fingers.
Skilled in the use of the voice, Noman reached out with it to the young man’s ears. “Calm yourself!”
The commanding voice held no influence over Vilmos, and he trembled as he was yanked upwards. The gray shadow of the wall passed before his eyes and the dim presence of distant stars seemed to grow suddenly closer. And then all movement stopped. Vilmos felt the coarseness of stone against his skin as he brushed up against it. Noman led the way into the recess, a small, low cave.
Vilmos’ eyes seemed only then to adjust to the darkness. He saw Amir, his large proportions barely accommodated. He was forced to crouch almost to a crawling position; hunched over like that, he looked suddenly larger than life. Xith, still on the litter, lay next to the opposite wall. Ayrian was at his side. And the other stood just in front of him and to the left, the dull outline of a tunnel behind her.
The tunnel ran from the cave deep into the unknown mountain, dead-ending in a circular cavern of immense size and height. Here, Amir breathed in heartily as he stretched to his full height. Only one pathway led into or out of the cave, the one they entered through, and they were stuck or so it appeared. Hesitating only momentarily, Noman gestured that they should proceed to the far side of the large cavern, and they did. It was a short trek compared to the long one through the previous tunnel. Vilmos was just about to grab Noman about the shoulders and warn him that he was about to walk into the shadowed wall, when the other reached his hand out and moved it through the dark stone of the wall. Vilmos flushed and started. A crafty smile lit the old one’s face as he turned back to Vilmos. The illusion of the blank wall, which his special skills allowed him to see through easily, had a portal in it that led into an adjacent shaft. This new shaft, cut almost smooth and round, not jagged and rough, was one that was clearly made by hand, not formed by nature.
The group paused so Amir could return to the entrance to replace its blocking stone, allowing only a tiny slit to be seen from the outside again.
Once the stone was in place and Amir had returned, Noman conjured a mystical flame to guide them. The odd, magical flame was the darkest, deepest blue at its heart, which as it radiated outward lessened until it was a brilliant, fine white light that was solely directed outward and forward, shining like a blossoming beacon.
A series of tunnels that twisted and connected and circled crisscrossed the main corridor at different levels, forming a maze that could have swallowed them forever if they had not known where they were going. The maze had but one simple rule: a number of markers were spread out in the grottoes and galleries they would come across—chambers, caverns, rooms, and tunnels, those naturally formed and those hand-hewn. The advice of the markers was poor, as they all pointed in a particular direction, which would only get one deeper into the catacombs. The markers always occurred at crossings and the correct route was to follow only the corridor whose entrance began farthest from the marker, a distance that often had to be paced off.
From the first passage they turned left, then right, and then followed a series of descending passageways twisting this way and that. Noman did all the necessary pacing for measurements. Vilmos counted the crossways and chambers though no one else apparently did. He wondered what could have been so valuable that it needed to be so fiendishly guarded. They veered left and then straight for awhile, then right, through to a shaft ending at a large set of double doors. Noman uttered the simple command, “Dver Otkrys!” and the doors opened inwards on a puff of air. Once they had all entered, the doors gently closed. They stood within a smoothly carved hall that ran for several hundred yards before ending at another set of doors that opened inward easily without command as Noman gingerly pushed on them.
“Behold, the city of Ywentir,” cried Noman.
And Vilmos’ question was at last answered.
Chapter Eleven
Adrina grew stronger during the next several days although she still felt unwell. She knew what was wrong with her though no one had told her. Isador had been distant from her these past days, not like her usual self. Everyone within the palace was so diffident, and the palace itself was sealed tight. Everywhere she went, two guards followed her. When she tried to eat, they stopped her until the food and drink had been thoroughly tasted. She felt like a prisoner in her own home.
From her bed, she stared towards the open sunlit window, though few rays came into her chamber. She sighed, resigned to wait for the summons to come to her door. The summons came and the door swung open and Isador came in.
As the door came to rest against the wall, Isador brought a breakfast tray, a breakfast that grew cold as it was tasted repeatedly. Adrina cast several dark grimaces at the guards before they retreated, and she was allowed to eat in peace. She had little appetite after they had been digging through her food, tasting this, sipping at that; yet she was hungry, so she ate.
Isador could tell something was troubling Adrina. Still, she waited without uttering a word until she had finished her meal. She picked up the tray of food and walked away silently. Adrina called out to Isador and looked her in the eyes.
“I want to hear it from you. Tell me please—”
“It is nothing,” said Isador in a weak voice.
“Isador?” begged Adrina.
“I am not supposed to tell you, dear.”
“You always tell me everything, Izzy. You are my best friend, right?” said Adrina.
“It is the poison I am concerned about,” whispered Isador, slipping.
“Poison?”
“Poison,” repeated the nanny. She said nothing further, for she knew she had said too much already.
“But—”
Loud hysterical yelling issuing from the hall stopped Adrina. The message the man was screaming was clear, yet somehow strange. Adrina whispered the words in her mind, “The fallen have returned, the fallen have returned.” What did it mean?
Adrina rushed to the door to investigate, but the guards stopped her.
“Isador, please!”
Adrina continued to beg even though Isador was weeping. Finally Isador yielded to the pleas, agreeing only if the guards accompanied them. Adrina’s face lit up with a crafty grin. She wasn’t quite sure which direction the man had come from although she was confident that if there were trouble, she would find it.
She followed a group of guards as they rushed toward the western wing until she came to a place where she was halted. A group of guards blocked the end of the hall and would not let her or anyone else pass. The sergeant was quite polite in his refusal; Adrina was outraged nonetheless.
“I or
der you to let me pass!” repeated Adrina.
“I cannot,” said the guard again politely.
He dispatched two additional guards to escort the screaming princess back to her room, but they alone couldn’t perform the task. Adrina grabbed a door jamb and began kicking. It took four guards to drag her away. Isador watched in approval. It was for Adrina’s own good, and her escorts were very gentle despite her verbal and physical abuse.
She threatened to have them all hung; they insisted they only acted on orders. Isador attempted to calm Adrina down as she strode behind the guards, assuring her that they were only performing their duty. After Adrina was locked in her room, she apologized for berating them; still they wouldn’t allow her free passage though they were greatly relieved to hear her expression of regret. Even though they had acted on orders, they did fear her wrath. Two of the guards remained outside Adrina’s door and the other two hurried back to get further orders from their sergeant.
Father Francis and Chancellor Yi were rushing down the hall when the two guards found them. “It is urgent, Father, you must come quickly!” shouted one of them.
Complete In the Service of Dragons Page 10
