Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  "How directly?"

  Mathew responded by poking his forefinger up a few times.

  Collin sighed. "I need a vacation."

  The climb for Mathew was exhausting physically and mentally. At any moment he expected to see the creatures staring back at him from the darkness. Added to that was the anticipation of finally recovering his ring and the fear of losing it forever to the Orlocks. He peered into the shadows and saw nothing. Thoughts of Lara and Bran filled his head. What would become of them if he failed? What would become of everybody?

  The weight of that responsibility grew heavier with each passing yard. He still couldn't see the door, yet he knew it was there. He thought about what his ancestors had done to the creatures: the lies, the deceptions, and the final betrayal. Men had tried to exterminate them, and they were now returning the favor.

  Did he bear responsibility for something that had hap­pened three thousand years ago? The Orlocks seemed to think so. He didn't. The bones of the people who had led the Orlocks into a trap had long since turned to dust. The creatures' hatred lived on.

  Hatred. Until a few years ago it was only a word, loosely applied to such things as food he didn't like or the music lessons his mother and old Father Halloran had tried to force on him. The word had little meaning then. It didn't any longer. It was a vile thing to hate, he decided, unavoidable perhaps, because people like Karas Duren, Berke Ramsey, and Teanna d'Elso populated the world. He didn't want to hate, but if that's what he needed to steel him, so be it.

  The Guardian had implied that Teanna had changed.

  We'll see, he thought, shaking his head. One thing at a time.

  That was his father's philosophy. At the moment the physical effort was stopping him from thinking clearly, so he concentrated only on the climb. He remembered about not looking down and did anyway. Collin was moving steadily and, annoyingly, with less effort than himself.

  The Orlocks, if they were there, would not catch them by surprise. All they had to do now was to find a way to get past Teanna's door and the wards she'd put in place.

  Collin reached the ledge first, put his light stick on the ground and reached down to help Mathew up the last few feet. The sticks had been a gift from the Guardian. They weighed only a few ounces and provided a cold light that threw back the darkness.

  "Anything?" Mathew asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

  "We're the only ones up here, if that's what you're ask­ing. The door's on the other side of that chasm," Collin said, motioning with his head. "It's at least eighteen feet across."

  Mathew looked around the ledge and saw nothing. "Strange," he said. "Everything else in the dream is accu­rate. I wonder why the Orlocks aren't here."

  "Be thankful for small favors," Collins said. "How do we get to that door?"

  "I don't know. Teanna's put something around it to keep people out."

  Collin picked up the light stick, held it aloft, and peered across the chasm. "I don't see anything." "Watch," said Mathew.

  He grabbed a few pebbles and tossed them at the door. A series of bright orange flashes and loud pops lit up the cave as the pebbles made contact with the ward. "Damn," said Collin, stepping backward. "There must be a way to get in." For the next few minutes they threw pebbles at the door from every possible angle. Each one produced the same result. Finally, Collin lobbed the last one underhanded, which arched up over the top of the door, hit the wall, and dropped straight down untouched. They both looked at each other.

  Collin tried it again with the same result. A little more experimentation revealed a small opening over the door's center that extended approximately three feet out from the wall. They began to search for some way to bridge the gap.

  "Look there," Collin said, pointing upward.. "Do you see how the chimney narrows the farther up it goes?"

  "I see it."

  "There's an overhang. If we can secure a rope, one of us could climb down and drop behind whatever Teanna's put there."

  "It might work," said Mathew.

  "Let's try," Collin said, slinging the rope.

  Collin got it across his shoulder. "We can leave the wa­ter bottles and our cloaks here to cut down on the weight. I think the light sticks will throw off enough light to see by if we prop them up on the edge. In fact... What's the matter?" he asked, noticing that Mathew hadn't moved.

  "Something's wrong," Mathew said.

  "What is?"

  "Everything's been happening just the way I dreamt about it, with the exception of the Orlocks. That's the only difference." ''

  "So? The last time I checked, that was a good thing."

  "The Guardian said that after Teanna tried to kill me, the machine made some kind of adjustment. That's part of what the echo is—a 'safeguard,' he called it."

  Collin folded his arms across his chest and waited for Mathew to finish. But it was a while before the voice trailed off. After several seconds, Mathew shook his head in annoyance.

  "It's right there and I can't get a hold of it," he said.

  "Just relax," said Collin, squeezing his shoulder. "It'll come to you when you least expect it. Right now we need to get moving before your friends really do show up. You or me?"

  "Me," said Mathew. "I'm thinking that maybe the echo will have some effect on the ward."

  "All right. I'll stay down here and anchor the rope. Are you sure about this?"

  Mathew nodded and took the coil of rope from Collin and put it over his shoulder. He unbuckled his sword, placed it on the ground, and started to climb. The knob of rock jutting out above him looked a long, long way off.

  "You're doing fine," Collin called up. "Just keep con­centrating."

  After five minutes Mathew's shoulders were aching badly and sweat was running down his back. The chimney narrowed quickly, which made it difficult to maneuver freely. The overhang was still fifty feet away.

  Don't let go of a foothold until you have a solid hand­hold, he told himself.

  As time passed he began to measure his progress in inches. He looked up. Thirty feet to go. The walls were barely four feet apart now, so close he could almost put his foot on one side and brace himself against the other.

  What do I do once I get there? he asked himself.

  If he couldn't get over the knob and find a place to an­chor the rope, there was no way he could lower himself down to the door. His hands were raw from the surface of the rock. It was cool to the touch. He put his cheek against it and took a second to rest.

  "C'mon, Mat, you can do it," Collin called up.

  Mathew wanted to answer him but didn't have the strength. Faces of friends and family came and went in his mind: his father, Giles Naismith, Captain Donal, Rodney Blake, Daniel, and so many others. They urged him for­ward. He was now directly under the knob. In years to come he could never quite remember how he had gotten there. The rock stuck out above his head and effectively blocked him from going any farther.

  "Is there anyplace you can tie the rope?" Collin yelled up to him.

  Mathew was so exhausted he could only shake his head.

  "All right, find a handhold and pull yourself up to the

  top. There's bound to be something up there, but take a moment and get your strength before you try it."

  Mathew braced his back against the wall, wedged both feet against the opposite wall waiting for his heart rate to come down. He glanced up at the rock and found encour­agement for the first time. There were enough cracks in the surface for him get his hands in, though once he did, there was no going back. He would be hanging in midair with only the strength of his fingers to support him. He waved to Collin, letting him know that he was ready.

  Here we go.

  Mathew pushed himself off the wall and twisted around so he was looking directly up at the overhang. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. One deep breath . . . two deep breaths, and . .. with a sudden heave of his legs he thrust himself outward. A brief moment of panic seized him before his fingers found a tiny openi
ng. Biceps, arm, and back muscles tensed, and with all the strength he had left he began to pull himself upward. Some part of his mind was aware that he probably looked ridiculous hanging there with his long legs. One more thrust upward and he found the next handhold. Inch by inch his upper body moved higher until at last he lay on the lip of the overhang.

  "I'm up," he croaked.

  Seventy-five feet below, Collin sagged to the ground in relief and took a deep breath. "Ar.e you all right?" '

  Mathew gave an exhausted wave, though Collin couldn't see it.

  "Mat?"

  "I'm fine. Give me a moment. I'm going to tie the rope off and start lowering myself down as soon as I can breathe again."

  Above his head the chimney continued on, growing progressively more narrow until it ended at the ceiling. Surprisingly, the base of the knob was covered in coarse sand. Mathew secured the rope around a small boulder, tested it a few times, then picked up a handful of sand and stuck it in his pocket.

  "I'm coming down now," he called out.

  He shuffled to the side of the knob and tossed the rope over, then flexed his fingers a few times. They felt stiff and his shoulders hurt. Mathew took a deep breath, placed the rope behind his back, and began to lower himself.

  When he was five feet above of the door, he took half the sand out of his pocket and sprinkled it down. The mo­ment it made contact with the ward it produced a series of sparkles that lit up the surrounding rock. The part closest to the door, however, fell straight through.

  'The gap looks wide enough," he said to Collin.

  "Did you remember to bring a key or a good pry bar?"

  Mathew lowered himself a little farther.

  He had no idea if the echo would open the door. If it didn't, he wasn't sure what he would do now. The closer he got, the more the sensation grew, building throughout his body. He could feel the ring now.

  Hanging suspended from the rope, he scanned the door from top to bottom for a lock. There were only heavy oak planks with iron bands reinforcing them. There wasn't even a handle.

  "There's no lock," he said.

  "There has to be. Look closer."

  "I'm telling there's nothing here."

  "Well, wave your arms at it," Collin said. "Do some­thing magic."

  "Do something magic," Mathew muttered. He turned back to the door and concentrated, drawing on the echo.

  "Open."

  Nothing.

  Mathew expelled a breath. "Please, open."

  Still nothing.

  For the next few minutes he tried saying the word in the old tongue, in Cincar, and even backward. Nothing worked.

  "All right, Teanna," he said, to himself, "what did you do to the door?"

  To his surprise, the moment he spoke her name there was a faint click and the door moved several inches. Mathew blinked, looked at Collin, and got a thumbs-up sign in response.

  Slowly, carefully, Mathew slid down the rope until he could reach the top of the door. Despite its weight, it swung open with only the slightest pressure on his part. Careful to avoid contact with Teanna's ward, he eased himself down, dropped onto the threshold, and looked in.

  49

  Tyraine

  Just before dawn, forty Sennian ships of war made landfall under the rocky cliffs ringing the Tyraine harbor. Gawl d'Atherny stood on the quarterdeck of the flagship Reliant and pulled his cloak tighter to keep the chill out. Fog covered the water like a shroud and light rain was falling. It promised to be a dismal, overcast day.

  Edmund Bain, the ship's captain, stood next to the king. He was a slender man whose sharp blue eyes missed noth­ing, at least where his ship was concerned. Now fifty-two, he had been in the Sennian navy for forty years. After re­ceiving his orders, he had drilled his crew day and night to master their use of the cannons. Though far from satisfied with their progress, Bain was ready to concede that the men were proficient enough for what his king intended.

  The night before, the entire fleet had dropped anchor in a northern cove. And there Gawl met with the ships' cap­tains while Bain dispatched a sloop to gather what infor­mation it could on the whereabouts of Coribar's fleet. An hour earlier the sloop had returned. It appeared the enemy had spent the day disembarking its Vargothan and Orlock allies, the same group that had attacked the abbey and murdered the priests. They were gone, the sloop's captain reported, but the ships were still there, reprovisioning.

  "Does everyone have their orders?" Gawl asked.

  "They do, your highness," said Bain.

  Gawl nodded and looked down at the black cannon next to them. "Filthy thing," he remarked.

  "The world is changing, your highness," Bain replied. "I don't like these things any better than you do, but it will be a lopsided battle without them."

  Gawl nodded. "I'm no sailor, Edmund. You'll need to get me close. I'd like to have a few words with Terrence Marek."

  "I'll try. The latest report said he's in their temple near the heart of the city. It won't be easy."

  Gawl looked across the water and squinted. "What happened at the abbey was not an act of religious or politi­cal difference," he said quietly. "It was murder and perver­sion, nothing more. I respect the beliefs of all men. They can worship rocks and trees if they want to, but no one has the right to kill.

  "Have your ship land me farther up the coast. Once the fighting starts, my guess is that Marek won't risk return­ing to his ship. He'll make a run for it inland, toward Var-goth. If he does, there's only one road he can take."

  "Your majesty—"

  "Those are my orders, Edmund. I'll take fifty men with me. You can select them. We'll meet at Victoria Point to­morrow. None of those ships are to reach the open sea. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, your majesty," the captain replied.

  Two hundred fifty miles away, the other half of the Senn-ian army, under the command of Arteus Ballenger, was emerging from the mountain passes northwest of Tyraine. Advance scouts reported that the enemy had camped for the night at a place called Catera Valley. There was noth­ing but heavy forest between them.

  As much as he wanted to press on, Ballenger knew that his men needed rest. He had pushed them hard and they were exhausted. Reluctantly, he gave the order to make camp. Four hours would have to suffice. In a war, he knew, that battles tended to have a cumulative effect. Some were more critical than others, which was only to be expected.

  If the Vargothans and Orlocks were expecting reinforce­ments at Stewart Vale, they were going to be sorely disap­pointed. He would see to that.

  An hour later Ballenger walked with his junior offi­cers, and spoke with the men, giving a word of encour­agement here and there. Judging from their faces, they seemed relaxed. Most knew what was at stake and were grimly determined.

  Earlier, the scouts had reported seeing a number of cannons in the Vargothan camp. That was something else they would have to deal with. In the interest of speed, he had been forced to abandon their own cannons. The breeches had been spiked and barrels mortared so that if the enemy ever found them they would be useless.

  Despite the fact that they were at the base of the foothills, it was an unusually mild night. Tomorrow would be an interesting day, he thought.

  Farther north, Darius Val, Kalifar of the Five Tribes of Ba-jan, waited for Delain and his delegation to arrive. The Durens and Teanna d'Elso were there already. She looked as beautiful as her mother always had, and they looked sullen and unhappy.

  Val was a man just above middle height, whoses head was shaven. As a matter of personal choice, he had never embraced the traditional head-covering the rest of his countrymen wore. Eric and Armand Duren were directly across the table from him. He knew them by reputation, but he had never met either one until earlier that morning. Delain was yet to arrive.

  For the first time in six hundred years Bajan and El-garia were about to become allies. Since the war had ended four years ago, his primary goal had been to main­tain his country's neutrality and avoid being pull
ed into the problems of the West or the plots of the East. That also was about to come to an end.

  He sighed inwardly.

  For Vargoth and Coribar to have sided with the crea­tures against their own kind was madness. Could the fools not see that once you had a lion by the tail you could never let go? Avarice and greed were the most deadly of combinations.

  The Nyngary princess was at the end of the table, and their eyes met briefly before she turned away. Having known her mother and uncle, Val wanted as little to do with their family as possible. Still, it was the girl who had proposed the meeting. Such foresight was unusual in the young. After studying the matter from all angles, he agreed that if Alor Satar were to fall, it would only be a first step. The Orlocks would not stop there, nor would the fanatics of Coribar's church. The danger they presented was insidious. It was not land or riches that their church wanted. Their goal was simplicity itself—abandon your beliefs and think as we do.

  Like Ra'id al Mouli before him, Darius Val was a reli­gious man. Though a soldier by training, he was also a scholar and not inclined to give up his right of free thought. They would deal with Coribar soon enough, pro­viding any of them survived the coming battle.

  An announcement by the majordomo turned every­one's head toward the door. Val got up and went to greet the newest arrival.

  Delain was dressed as a plain soldier. Perhaps this was appropriate, Val thought, because the ultimate ownership of his country was still up in the air. The Durens might well be willing to renounce their claim, but it was unlikely that Vargoth and the Orlocks were as charitably disposed.

  "Forgive my keeping you waiting, Kalifar," Delain said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing in the tra­ditional manner of Bajan.

  Val bowed in return and then embraced Delain, kissing him on both cheeks. "Welcome to my home. I am pleased that you arrived safely, my lord."

  "Thank you."

  "I trust that you already know Teanna d'Elso, Crown Princess of Nyngary, who is here as her father's represen­tative."

  Delain started to bow, but Teanna surprised him and everyone else in the room by putting out her hand. They shook, and like Val, she kissed him on both cheeks. Eric and Armand were the last to get up. Each offered their hand, and to Delain's credit he took them, after the small­est of pauses.