The Obsidian Oracle

by Denning, Troy

  The ruddy light was suddenly replaced by a shadow. Agis looked up and saw one of Mag’r’s brown, puffy eyes peering down into the rift.

  “What’s wrong, Beort?” he demanded. “Where’s the Oracle?”

  “Ask the man,” came the reply.

  The youth pointed toward the corner of the rift, where Agis had halted his climb, his legs trembling as much from fear as from the strain of keeping his back pressed against the wall of the crevice. His broken arm, no longer needed for the climb up the narrow fissure, hung limply at his side.

  The sachem’s eye shifted to the noble, then his fleshy lips curled into a fiendish smile. The giant thrust his pudgy hand into the crack. He pinched Agis between his thumb and forefinger, plucking the noble from the crevice. Mag’r was a mess, with dried blood caked around the wound where Nal had gored him. The gash across his huge stomach had been sewn shut with what looked like sail rope.

  When he looked past the giant, Agis saw that they were in the southern end of the compound, where the mica walls formed a cul-de-sac around the rift from which he had just been plucked. Although the rift ran east-west, directly beneath the sun’s path, the silvery sheets of mica surrounding it were all angled so that they would reflect any stray rays down into the cleft.

  “Where’s the Oracle?” Mag’r demanded, drawing Agis’s attention back to his bloated face.

  “It’s not down there,” the noble replied, keeping his voice, and himself, calm through an act of will. To escape the giant, he would have to keep a clear head.

  “I know where the Oracle is not!” the giant bellowed, his breath a hot, rancid wind. He closed his fist around the noble’s body and squeezed. “I want to know where it is!”

  Gritting his teeth against the pain in his broken arm, Agis said, “I didn’t get here much before you, and all I found was an empty satchel.” He gestured toward the cleft below. “Beort has it now.”

  Mag’r scowled, then knelt on the ground. “Give me the sack, Beort.” The sachem thrust his long arm into the rift, then returned to his feet with the satchel in his hand. He opened it up and peered inside, then started to toss the satchel away. “It’s empty.”

  “Empty?” Agis echoed, hoping the young giant had not let Sacha escape. The disembodied head inside the sack remained Agis’s best hope of tracking down Tithian and the lens. “Let me keep it anyway.”

  The giant shrugged, then handed it to Agis. “What good is an empty sack?”

  “Not much,” the noble admitted, “but I found it down in the tunnel where the Oracle should have been. There might be a connection.”

  Scowling, Mag’r reached to take the satchel back. “What connection?”

  Agis pulled the sack away from the giant’s fingers, tucking it under his arm. “I’ll tell you after you take me to the quartz enclosure,” he said.

  “Speak now, if you want to live.”

  Agis shook his head. “You’re going to kill me anyway,” he said. “But Nal has thrown a giant into the crystal pit who doesn’t deserve to die. I’ll tell you what I know after you rescue him. You might even want to make him a member of your tribe—he’s clearly an enemy of the Saram.”

  Mag’r scowled and shook his head. “After what you did at the gate, I can’t trust you.”

  “What happened at the gate was Nal’s doing, not mine,” Agis replied. “Besides, an empty sack and a dead body will do you no good. If you want my help in finding the Oracle, you’ll have to do as I ask.”

  The sachem pondered this for a few moments, then reluctantly nodded. “I’ll help the giant out of the pit,” he said, “but I won’t take him into my tribe. I see no reason to trust him just because my enemies did not.”

  Limping badly from the lance wound that the noble had inflicted on him earlier, the giant exited the mica compound, leaving Beort in the Oracle chamber. As they crossed the barren granite grounds of Castle Feral, Agis was astonished. He had expected to see lakes of Saram blood and mountains of beasthead bodies, with Joorsh warriors chasing down and slaughtering their captives.

  But Mag’r’s victorious army had gathered the defeated giants at the far end of the citadel, where Nal’s body rested atop a huge funeral pyre. While the Saram knelt in a circle around their dead bawan, the gray-haired Chief Nuta walked back and forth in front of the burning body, sternly lecturing them on the folly of trying to keep the Oracle for themselves.

  The chief’s efforts were hampered by a cloud of Castoffs swirling overhead. They occupied the attention of the nervous Saram far more raptly than either Nal’s body or Nuta’s lecture, despite the two Joorsh shamans dancing in the prisoners’ midst to keep the spirits at bay.

  “It looks as though you intend to let the Saram live,” Agis said.

  “That’s right,” Mag’r replied. “Jo’orsh would be angry if we killed all our brothers—especially after winning the war.”

  “Still, it’s very generous of you to forgive them.”

  Mag’r fixed a brown eye on the noble. “Don’t expect the same mercy,” he warned. “You’re no giant. Jo’orsh doesn’t care what happens to you.”

  With that, the sachem stepped into the enclosure. The giant-hair rope that Kester had tied to the footings of Sa’ram’s Bridge still ran over to the edge of the pit, but the line now lay slack and loose. After Agis had been taken from the pit, the crack in the crystal cover had sealed itself, cutting the cord in the process.

  As Mag’r lumbered forward, the noble’s heart sank, and he was overcome by a sick feeling of disappointment. The crystal pit’s cover had grown milky and opaque, suggesting that Tithian had already taken the Dark Lens far from Lybdos.

  “I never should have listened to him!” Agis hissed, his anger with himself growing by the moment. “This is what comes of breaking promises!”

  “What promises?” asked Mag’r, frowning.

  Agis started to tell the giant of his suspicions, swearing that though he might not survive to hunt Tithian down himself, Mag’r and his giants would do it for him. Then, remembering another promise that he had made, he thought better of it and stopped.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” the noble said. “First, you rescue Fylo.”

  Mag’r knelt at the edge of the pit and studied the lid for several moments. Finally, he shrugged and said, “No handle.”

  Before Agis could object, the king reached out and smashed his fist through the center of the cover. It shattered into dozens of fragments that fell into the pit, leaving only a few jagged bits sticking out from the sides. The noble cringed, trying not to think of what the falling pieces might do to Fylo.

  Mag’r peered down into the hole, then said, “I see him.”

  Agis looked over the edge. For a moment all he could see were beads of sweat dripping off his brow and plummeting into the darkness, then his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light and he saw Fylo, still lying impaled on the crystal. The half-breed’s free arm and his legs were dangling down into the pit, while his eyes were closed and his chin lay slumped onto his chest. Although he had suffered several gashes from falling shards of crystal, none of the cuts were bleeding very badly.

  “You’ll have to go down and pull him out,” said Agis.

  Mag’r frowned at this idea, then shouted, “Hey, you!”

  Several yellowed skulls fell from their perches and bounced off Fylo’s torso, and the half-breed opened his eyes. He looked toward the top of the pit, his gaze cloudy and unfocused. “Agis?” he called.

  “The Sachem of the Joorsh is coming down to get you,” the noble replied. When Mag’r frowned at him, Agis added, “Go on—can’t you see that he needs help?”

  Grumbling angrily, the Joorsh king dropped his captive. When Agis hit the ground his knees buckled, and he tumbled end over end, landing next to one of the jagged shards of crystal still protruding from the edge of the pit. Tithian’s satchel fell at his side.

  In front of the satchel’s mouth, a tiny area of the broken lid began to clear, shimmering with a st
range, mystic power. For a moment, the noble simply watched the limpid area expand and grow more translucent. Then he realized what was happening. The magic of the Dark Lens was flowing into the crystal shard, and it could only be coming from one place: the satchel.

  As Mag’r started to climb down into the pit, Agis grabbed the sack and pulled it back. He folded the top over and crawled away from the edge of the hole. The motion attracted the sachem’s attention, and the giant promptly climbed back out.

  “What’s wrong?” Agis asked, rising and moving away from the shard into which the magic of the lens had spilled.

  “I’m no fool,” the giant replied, grabbing the noble. He went over to the footing of Sa’ram’s Bridge and pointed to the rope which Kester had left tied there. “Tie your feet together,” he ordered, glancing at the highest point of the bridge. “And make the knot strong, or you’ll be sorry.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Agis objected. As he spoke, he carefully tucked the satchel into his sling, knowing that even Mag’r was not a big enough fool to let a prisoner roam free. “I promise—”

  “Tie!” Mag’r growled.

  Agis did as he was ordered, once again using the Way to animate his broken arm, testing the knot several times to make sure it was secure. When he was finished, a fair length of rope remained.

  Mag’r used some of the extra line to bind the noble’s arms to his sides. Once the king was satisfied that his prisoner could not easily slip his bonds, he carried Agis over to the bridge and tied the other end of the rope to the railing, leaving the noble suspended over the pit.

  “Now I can watch you while I rescue your friend,” the sachem said, chuckling at his cleverness.

  With that, Mag’r returned to the edge of the pit and began his descent, knocking more than one skull off the sharp crystals lining the pit. As Agis waited, his broken arm began to throb, and the ache caused him to sweat more profusely. Every few seconds a few beads of perspiration would roll off his brow and vanish into the abyss below. The noble did not mind, considering a little pain and a few ounces of body water a small price to pay for having discovered the location of the Dark Lens—and probably of Tithian, as well.

  When the sachem reached his destination, he grabbed the half-breed’s arm and pulled him roughly off the crystal. Fylo cried out in pain and glanced up at Agis. A thankful smile creased his lips, then he closed his eyes and slumped into Mag’r’s arms. “Stupid giant!” the sachem cursed.

  With that, the sachem laboriously ascended the pit again, dragging Fylo’s unconscious body up behind him. The sharp crystals scraped over the half-breed’s gravelly hide, opening tiny scratches that did nothing to rouse him. Once Mag’r reached the top, he pulled the half-breed out of the hole and laid him aside.

  “Where’s the Oracle?” he asked, looking up at Agis.

  Agis briefly considered trying to talk the giant into letting him borrow the lens for the purpose of killing Borys, but he quickly rejected the idea. Even if Mag’r were disposed to make such an agreement, which seemed doubtful in the first place, the sachem had shown no inclination that he would be willing to trust the noble.

  Mag’r rose. “If you break your word, I’ll—”

  “I have no intention of breaking my word,” Agis interrupted. “But I didn’t say I knew the Oracle’s location. I promised to tell you what I knew about its connection to the satchel that Beort found,” Agis finished, being careful to remind Mag’r of exactly what he had said. “You’ll have to figure the rest out for yourself.”

  Mag’r scowled, then nudged Fylo toward the pit. “Tell me what you know—now!”

  “The satchel belongs to my companion, Tithian,” said the noble. “Because of where we found it, we can assume he found the Oracle.”

  “Where’d he go?” the giant demanded.

  “As I said, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself,” Agis replied. He did not feel honor-bound to give a more direct answer, since he had not known the information when Mag’r had plucked him from the fissure—and certainly would not have agreed to reveal it if he had.

  The sachem started to nudge Fylo toward the pit again. “Tell me!”

  “Don’t hurt him!” Agis said. “I’m not certain, but I suspect you’ve been closer to the Oracle than you think.”

  “Down there?” Mag’r asked, pointing at the pit.

  When the noble did not answer, Mag’r knelt at the edge of the pit. “Perhaps Nal had nothing to do with your friend’s injury,” the giant suggested. “Perhaps your friend was trying to hide something when he fell?”

  The sachem peered into the darkness for several moments, and at first Agis could not think of what he expected to see in the murk. Then he remembered how, as Beort had come crawling down the mica tunnel, the youthful giant had called out that he could see a red glow coming from the chamber.

  Agis waited until a few drops of perspiration had gathered on his brow, then closed his eyes and visualized the beads slowly beginning to glow with a red light. He felt the tingle of spiritual energy rising from deep within himself—and remembered something else about the exchange between Beort and Mag’r. The moment the youthful giant had described the glow as bright, the sachem had realized that something was wrong.

  After softening the red glow in his mind, Agis shook his head to release the beads of sweat on his brow. They plunged into the pit, and as they passed into its black depths, they began to flicker with a scarlet light so faint it was almost imperceptible.

  Without a word, Mag’r clambered into the pit and began to climb down. Agis waited until the sachem had descended past the narrow neck where Fylo had been impaled, then began twisting his good arm back and forth within its rope bonds. He managed to open up enough space to twist his hand around and grab Tithian’s satchel.

  Pausing just long enough to make sure he had a secure grip, Agis pointed the mouth of the sack at one of the crystal shards still protruding from the side of the pit. A faint stream of glimmering energy poured out of the sack. As soon as it touched its target, the milky color faded from the crystal. The shard slowly expanded along the rim of the pit, its limpid edges reaching out to connect with the adjacent pieces.

  As the shards connected with each other, the lid seemed to draw more energy from the satchel, and the crystal restored itself at an ever-increasing pace. Still, the process seemed to take forever, and Agis began to worry that Mag’r would discover his error before the pit sealed itself.

  At last, the final sections of the lid connected to each other and formed a complete ring around the edge of the pit. About the same time, a muffled roar of rage rumbled out of the hole, and Agis knew that the sachem had reached the bottom. A distant rattle began to echo up from the pit, presumably as Mag’r angrily searched through the ancient bones covering the floor. It was followed a moment later by the vicious shrieks and roars of wild animals, and the giant’s pained howls began to echo up from the depths of the abyss.

  Mag’r’s voice began to grow louder, and the noble knew that his captor was climbing up from the depths. Agis watched helplessly as the crystal ring expanded inward, closing the pit’s entrance at the pace of a stone-worm. Soon, the sachem’s curses became intelligible as he swore at the animal spirits pursuing him. The opening to the pit remained large enough for an angry Joorsh to push through, and there seemed no possibility that it would close in time to save Agis.

  “You’ll die slow, you little trickster!”

  Through the opening below, Agis could see the giant’s plump head weaving its way up through a tangle of crystals just a few yards below the lid. The sachem’s eyes were burning with hatred, and a pale swarm of bones was swirling around his ankles. Mag’r thrust one, then two hands through the opening and tried to pull himself out.

  His hands began to pass back through the crystal, much as Agis and his companions had sunk through it earlier. Mag’r cried out in alarm, trying to move his hands so he could renew his grip on a more solid surface. His efforts were in vain, f
or his fingers were already caught deep inside the crystal.

  “Brace your feet, or you’ll fall and end up like Fylo!” Agis called. “Then be patient. One of your warriors is bound to find you sooner or later.”

  Mag’r did not take the noble’s advice, choosing to glare up at him instead. “You’ll never leave the island!” he hissed. “My warriors—”

  The giant’s hands passed through the bottom side of the cover, bringing an abrupt end to the threat. Mag’r plummeted into the darkness, his screams ringing off the walls of the abyss. A moment later, his voice fell abruptly silent as the crystal lid sealed the opening through which he had tried to climb.

  The sound had barely died away when a familiar, antagonistic voice sounded from Fylo’s direction. “Well done. I didn’t think you were that smart,” said Wyan, rising into view from behind the unconscious half-breed. He began to drift toward Agis, his eyes fixed on the stream of shimmering energy pouring from the mouth of Tithian’s satchel. “Am I to take it that it was the Oracle’s power that sealed the pit?”

  SIXTEEN

  THE SHADOW VIPER

  SAILS

  TO AGIS, THE GNAWING SOUNDED LIKE A FARO-RAT clawing at the stones of a thorn silo—though he stood to lose something far more valuable than a few bushels of needles. Each time Wyan’s teeth closed on the rope, the resulting vibration grew increasingly sharp. It would not be long before the line snapped, plunging the noble headfirst onto the crystal pit’s pellucid cover.

  “Letting me drop will do you no good,” Agis warned.

  The noble struggled to hold back the black curtain of unconsciousness. Even without the burden of a broken arm, he had been hanging upside-down, sweating in the sun, for too long. His dehydrated body was near the limit of its endurance. No matter how accustomed he was to pain, the time would soon come when he simply fainted.