Eventually the smooth road vanished and their trek took them along rough low passages with steep ascents and descents. The trail narrowed. Tienna found herself walking along a terrifying drop into a chasm whose bottom she could not see in the shadows.
Then the tunnel ceiling dropped so low that even she had to stoop to continue. If it kept getting lower the tiger would have difficulty following. Fortunately, the tunnel soon opened up again, and began a steep ascent that left many of the companions breathless.
This was followed by a set of stairs that dropped down out of sight. One good thing was that they began to come upon plentiful springs trickling down the rocks. Some were salty or smelled of sulfur, but most were clean, cold, and fresh. They filled their skins in moments and were all able to drink freely.
The first three torches burned low and were discarded. They traveled then with two torches, saving the final one for dire circumstances.
Still they went on. The time was endless. March then rest. March then rest. Oblivious to the rising and setting of the sun in the world outside. Even Namha seemed wearied by it. If somebody had told Tienna it had been ten or even fifteen days, she might have believed it. Then came a long ascent, the longest they had yet done. Thrice they rested, and thrice they went on with still more climb ahead of them. As they climbed, the passage grew gradually colder. When they stopped for the third rest, several of them donned their cloaks again. One of the two torches went out. The other burned low. They lit the final torch and continued climbing.
Then they came to an abrupt end. A rock wall blocked their way.
“We’re trapped,” moaned Nahoon.
“No,” Braga answered. “This is the door out. We have made it.”
4
DHAN
The Daegmon lay dead.
Prince Dhan, once heir to the throne of Gondisle, now a refugee, could only stand and stare at the corpse. Even in death its great bulk projected fear and power. One marred and grotesque eye still glared at the prince, while the creature’s massive jaws lay half open just a few yards away, exposing rows of teeth the size of a man’s forearm. How close had he come to being snatched whole in those jaws? He shuddered, and his muscular shoulders sagged with sudden fatigue. For a moment he let his head drop, felt a few loose strands of his curly dark hair fall damp with sweat across his face.
Then he lifted his head again and looked around him. The sun had long ago disappeared over the ledges to the west. Twilight faded fast in the enclosed high mountain meadow above the Ceadani village of Gale Enebe. Most of the torches had been cast aside when the battle began. Only four remained burning, adding to what little light filtered down from above. But even in the near darkness, signs of the recent battle were evident. Daegmon-fire had blackened and scarred the turf around the dell. The once smooth ground was torn and gouged where their enemy’s talons had struck, or where it had slammed its powerful tail down at some frail human target. And all around the massive winged body of their dead enemy, members of Dhan’s small company were slowly picking themselves off the ground, or helping others, examining wounds and shattered weapons, or simply hugging one another in relief.
Looking at their shocked and fatigued faces, the prince wondered again at all the events that had led them here, and had brought such a strange company together.
What had it been? Ten days now? Ten days since he had sat locked in a dungeon in Citadel, awaiting his execution, not expecting to see another green moon. And certainly not expecting to see Thimeon’s face peering into the door of his dungeon, come to rescue him. Now here he was, drawn into some strange fantastic journey he barely understood and an impending war against an enemy he would not have believed in when the moon had last turned from pale to blue.
From the moment of his rescuers’ sudden appearance in the dungeons, the journey that had brought the prince here was a blur, like a nighttime gallop in a driving rain along the edge of a precipice. Scenes flashed across his memory. The underground escape from beneath the walls of his own father’s castle where he had been held prisoner. Emerging out of a well into an unfamiliar courtyard. Once again receiving unexpected aid, this time from Corandra and Jhonna, the bold and beautiful daughters of Jhon Symon’s son. The flight east to Kreana with all the narrow escapes from pursuing soldiers. And then the climb up through the pass into Ceadani land. The glowing sword that had suddenly gone cold, and the strange vision that had come with it. Learning from Thimeon about the so-called “gifted” ones in whom Thimeon placed his hope. Learning also about the Daegmon. Learning and fleeing and following the strange quest all the way to the battle here, in this hidden grassy vale.
And what gave meaning to it all? What drove their current quest? It was no longer just a matter of escape. It wasn’t about his own life. Much of their present purpose came down to that accidental encounter with Borodruin, his old advisor and teacher, whom they had met in the tunnels beneath the foundation of Citadels. Borodruin had given the sword and the book into their keeping. Dhan understood now how these two treasures were both a gift and a burden. The book, with its hints and revelations of the ancient battle against the Daegmon, maybe held the very knowledge Thimeon sought: the knowledge he had returned to Citadel for in the first place. But they had to understand it first.
As for the sword—the one that had glowed so fiercely in his hand that he cast it aside—it held the promise of power. Or so Borodruin believed. Dhan believed it too, now. Yet it would give them power only if they could get it into the hands of one who could wield it: one of the gifted ones whom Thimeon knew and had spoken of. One thing both the old counselor and the Andani guide had made clear was that their battle was against the Daegmons set on destroying or enslaving all of Gondisle, and not against the soldiers of Citadel. And so that was their task: to find Thimeon’s former companions somewhere in these mountains and to get the sword to them. And maybe in the meantime Thimeon would learn enough from that ancient book to make it all worthwhile.
With this hope, Dhan kept following Thimeon in the face of what seemed like overwhelming danger. Was that why the others were there also? Did they all share that hope? Or were they following out of loyalty? Or for some other unknown reason?
Dhan again looked around him at the field of battle, at the dark forms of those who had just fought beside him against the Daegmon. A few were officers and friends he had known for months or years. The lieutenants Kachtin and Banthros, both Northlanders—cousins, if he remembered correctly—stood near Rhaan, the quiet and light-haired scout-major from the Plains. Armas, the loud duke with the dark moustache and arms the size of the prince’s thighs, currently held in a friendly embrace Jhaban, the swordsman whose family had helped with their flight from Kreana.
But he barely knew the others who were now part of their band. The two young women, Corandra and Gyldan-Jhonna, had risked so much to help him, and now were risking even more. Under orders from Thimeon, they had stayed out of the battle, approaching only after the Daegmon had been defeated. But even so, their presence on the quest put them in constant danger. It seemed likely that many of his present company would not survive this war. And they had suffered so much already from the kidnapping of their parents and the harsh journey.
Then there was the merchant and his servant. The prince didn’t even remember their names. And the old guard and the young woman who had been with Thimeon. Kayam was the guard’s name. And what was her name? Siyen? Where did their courage come from?
And what of Thimeon himself? Dhan turned to study his rescuer and guide, whose face flickered in the yellow light of a torch stuck in the ground near his feet. He came from one of the Highlander tribes. An Andani, about the same age as the prince, and with a similar height and build. He had a strong face, and the gaze that came from his dark brown eyes was both kind and penetrating. It also held a certain sadness, or at least a heavy burden, that he had not wholly revealed. But despite this mystery, Dhan had already dete
rmined to trust him with everything. To follow wherever he led. And not only because of the debt he owed for his rescue. If Gondisle really was at stake, who else was more worthy of trust?
Thimeon now stood speaking to a young Ceadani woman from the village. She had appeared shortly after the battle ended. She wore a long straight woven dress of green, with a silver brooch. She looked to be no more than fifteen years of age. She had thick dark hair, bound in braids down her back, and a small straight nose. She and Thimeon now stood looking at a stone shape that stood between them. It was a little taller than the woman, but with a thicker girth—almost like a man standing with his arms at his sides, though the body features were indistinct. Indeed it had no facial features at all, except a small bump where a nose might have been.
Another mystery, Dhan thought, with a sudden start. Until the battle the stone statue had been a living person. Such things did not happen.
“No,” Thimeon said, in a quiet but sure voice. He had lowered his sword to his side, but in his other hand he still clasped the book that had emanated the bright light during the battle. “We have not defeated our enemy. But do not despair, Cathwain. Chal-char’s sacrifice was not in vain. That I know. The power at work here and in his sacrifice has given me a new hope, though the battle is far from finished.”
“I know one of the creatures escaped,” Dhan interjected. Relief that the battle was over—that none of the band had been killed—finally settled in. “But we have defeated at least one Daegmon.”
“Defeated?” Thimeon replied, turning from the young woman to the prince. “Yes. But not killed.”
“Not killed?” Dhan looked at the body of the Daegmon laying only a dozen yards in front of him. He took an uneasy step backward. “It isn’t dead?”
“Only the body,” Thimeon replied.
Thimeon’s words made so little sense to the prince that he repeated them silently several times. “What does that even mean?” he asked, turning from the body of their enemy back to Thimeon. “What else is there?”
“Existence,” Thimeon replied. “Spirit. Soul. Essence. Chi. Different cultures have different words for it.”
“But they are no more than words,” Dhan said. “Language. A way of speaking to describe mysteries.”
“The concepts came from somewhere,” Thimeon replied softly.
Dhan was about to argue—to repeat the teachings of his tutors and his father’s philosophers. Then he realized he no longer believed those teachings. They had been wrong about many other things.
“You are right to call it a mystery,” Thimeon went on after a moment, “yet that makes it no less true. For us, perhaps, our spirit and our body are a unity. They cannot rightly be separated. The spirit needs the body, and the body needs the spirit. But not so for our enemy. The Daegmons can put on their shape like a man or woman puts on clothing. Or maybe more like a soldier puts on armor.”
The prince felt more of us world unraveling. “How do you know?”
The young Ceadani woman spoke. “It is what my grandfather said also.” Her voice was soft, but confident. She stared at the stone figure, tears on her cheeks.
Thimeon put a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. He stood silent for a moment before he turned back toward the prince. “I began to guess something like this was true of our enemy after the battle that took place many days earlier below this same village. Cathwain’s grandfather Chal-char, the Elder of this village, guessed it also. He spoke to me some of what he thought when we were last here. He was wise in the lore of his people and I had good reason to trust him. But it is no longer just a guess. Or at least not if Borodruin is to be trusted. Have you forgotten his words?”
The prince closed his eyes and tried to recall all that his old counselor told them at their surprise meeting. Borodruin had spoken about the power of the sword he had given them, and about some other mysterious stone that Thimeon seemed to know about. He and Thimeon had also seemed to agree that Koranth, the new advisor of the king, was not a human but some sort of creature akin to the Daegmons. That news had frightened and distracted the prince. But he remembered now. Borodruin also spoke of the strength of their enemy.
Dhan looked at Thimeon, realizing as he did that others of their small company were now gathering around them. Had they heard Thimeon’s news, that the Daegmons could not be killed? What would that do to their courage? The sisters stood behind Thimeon. Jhonna had brought another of the torches, but Corandra still clutched her sword as though she might have to use it any moment. Armas and Jhaban stood a step or two off to the other side, listening intently. Dhan took a deep breath. “Borodruin told us that they can’t be killed by sword or spear wielded by men. Or something along those lines. But didn’t he say that other powers existed—like those wielded by the gifted—that could destroy a Daegmon?”
“Almost,” Thimeon replied. “he said ‘It is only in the presence of the gifted that their flesh might yield.’ But killing their flesh does not destroy them. Remember what he told us after that. ‘If their body is killed, they are weakened for a time. Their fleshless spirit is made impotent and must return to its master in Entain. But in time their master will form for them a new body.’”
Dhan thought for a moment, seeking some hope to grasp a hold of. “Well he was wrong about one thing, then, wasn’t he? Your gifted friends were not here at the battle, but we still destroyed the creature’s body.”
Thimeon tilted his head a little and raised his eyelids as though the thought had not occurred to him. But then he shook his head. “I don’t think he said he was impossible. He only said there were no remembered tales of Daegmons defeated by mortal human strength. Not without the presence of the gifted. But this book in my hand, and the stone I found earlier—the one Borodruin spoke of—both give some mysterious power like the powers of the gifted. The gifted!” he suddenly added, turning toward the young Ceadani woman. “Yes. Even so, we were not without the presence of the gifted at this battle.”
Dhan looked around, surprised. “Here? Now?”
Thimeon nodded toward the Ceadani woman. “I will explain later,” he said. “For now it is enough to know that on this point, at least, I am convinced that Borodruin was correct: we can destroy the bodies of our enemies, but not their spirits. This Daegmon will return again with a new form. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. But it will return.”
The Ceadani woman spoke again. “Yes. It is as my grandfather said. And I don’t doubt him. But how did he know such things? How do you know?”
Thimeon held up the book—the one that Borodruin had given them in the tunnels beneath Citadel ten days earlier. “There are many mysteries in this book. Much that I don’t understand. It speaks all in poems and songs. They give wisdom of a kind, not unlike the tapestries of Gale Enebe that your father studied. Maybe if I had some of the other books—the ones Borodruin read, or the one I had found earlier and started to read.” His voice trailed off into uncertainty, but a moment later he began again. “This much seems clear from all I have seen and heard and learned. We have merely destroyed the Daegmon’s outer shell. Its spirit will return to Entain where its Master will re-embody it and send it out again. ‘When one shape fails they take new wings in seeming victory over mankind’s race.’ So this book tells us. So your grandfather told me also, many days ago. It may be many days, even weeks, before it returns. But it will return.”
“Then what hope have we?” Corandra asked in dismay. The torch close to the side of her head cast shadows around her eyes and nose that deepened the look of dismay. “If it cannot be killed, then all is vain. Is the Daegmons’ victory over mankind’s race assured?”
Dhan looked from Corandra to the faces of the others around him: Jhonna and Armas and Jhaban. Seconds earlier they had been jubilant. Now a despairing silence had fallen over them, as if their victory had already been snatched away. He didn’t know what to say. He was glad when Thimeon spoke. “Do not
lose hope. You have won this battle.”
“It is true,” Siyen said, stepping up behind the prince. Although she had been one of the prince’s rescuers, he had not gotten to know her well, in part because he hadn’t trusted her. He had gotten the impression that she and the old guard Kayam too had not come to the castle for any good purpose. They were there to steal treasures, and had only agreed to help Thimeon because it served their own selfish motives. In fact, this was the same woman who had abandoned Thimeon’s previous company during his earlier escape from Citadel. And yet after the rescue of the prince and the other officers from the dungeons, she and Kayam had chosen to remain with the company. That meant something. And now there was some new boldness in the young woman’s voice that Dhan hadn’t heard before. Could she have changed so much in ten days?
“Look around,” Siyen continued. “Not one of our companions perished. Never in any of our previous battles has that happened—that we have escaped without loss.”
“Not without loss,” Cathwain whispered. Her eyes were still upon the newly formed stone statue.
“The merchant Lluanthro is also hurt,” Armas added. “He will live, thanks to his young friend, but both bones of his leg snapped below the knee. He is in much pain. He won’t be walking—or even riding a horse—for many weeks, I think.”
Thimeon looked down at the book in his hand. The bright beams of light that had shown out during the battle were gone. “It will take time for the Daegmon to return,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Without a body, its spirit will have a slow journey back to its Master who will have to expend his own power in the re-embodiment. If nothing else we have won a respite for ourselves and for the people of Gale Enebe. We may have saved many lives.”
Dhan contemplated Thimeon’s words as his new companions fell silent. “What shall we do now?” he asked.
“Let us do what we can for Lluanthro,” Thimeon replied. “And bind all of the wounds from this battle. Then sleep. Our quest is still urgent, but let us rest while we can. In the morning we must continue our journey north.”
Illengond Page 4
