Dryad-Born (Whispers From Mirrowen)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “The doors leading back the way we came are locked from the outside,” Annon said. “They were barred. The only way forward is to enter the Scourgelands.”

  Annon’s upper lip was salty with sweat. He glanced around the dimly-lit chamber. This entire place was a deception. It was also a gateway. He understood why the Arch-Rike had guarded it so carefully. There were secrets here that he could not figure out. The Rike had mentioned that he thought they were seeking Poisonwell. Annon did not know what that meant, but logic told him it probably had something to do with the Plague. Each sarcophagus was chiseled with the herald and name of one of the kingdoms surrounding Kenatos. Erasmus had figured out what they all meant. But he had died before he could explain himself.

  “Annon?” Khiara asked.

  “Sorry, I was thinking,” he replied. “We need to get that torc somehow. It is important. It may be crucial. Nizeera, can you jump to another bier? Maybe you can distract them and have them follow you away from us. If you can clear the ground here a moment, I might be able to get the torc.”

  “The biers are not very close together,” Khiara said. “If she missed, she would land in the middle of them. Let me do this. If I shove away from you, I can drift to the other side of the chamber.”

  “Be careful, Khiara.”

  Nizeera growled. I can make the jump.

  Let her try, Annon thought in response. Please, Nizeera. Trust me.

  I have failed you.

  He grit his teeth, feeling the blackness of her feelings. You are helpless against these forces. It is not your fault. Courage, Nizeera. You will aid me in the Scourgelands. We must survive this first.

  The growl in reply was sullen, but did not argue.

  Khiara pushed off from Annon’s shoulder and floated away from him. Using her staff like a ferry pole, she maneuvered away from a nearby column and then came to land on a carved sarcophagus lid. She straightened, setting her balance. Then she swished the staff around in a broad circle, again and again. The serpents hissed and converged on her, slithering in haste to reach her. A broad smile passed on Annon’s mouth. Many of the serpents went over his boots and around him to reach her. There were still too many nearby to risk moving.

  “They followed me,” Khiara said. “I will go farther.”

  “Be careful,” Annon pleaded. His knees and ankles were restless.

  With another gulp of air, he watched her lift off and soar across the chamber to another bier, even farther away. When she landed there, she began circling the staff again, in long broad sweeps. The serpents attacked again, slithering straight toward her with ferocity. The floor by Annon was nearly bereft of the creatures. He waited, watching them writhe toward her, as if hypnotized by her gleaming pale staff. She stopped suddenly, bewildering the serpents and then leapt again, moving to the next stone lid.

  There were only three serpents nearby, all three of them investigating Erasmus’s body. Annon stared at them, willing them to follow their brethren away. Khiara began sweeping her staff in circles again, drawing the snakes to the farthest portion of the chamber. He could make her out in the dim light, but only barely. The three serpents were not following the others. In his mind, he summoned the words to tame fire and then brought a small orb of blue flames into his hand. He stared at the pulsing colors and then noticed all three serpents had stopped and were staring at him. He released it, tossing it over them and watching as it rolled across the stone like a magical ball. The three serpents hovering around Erasmus rushed at it, hissing and striking at the flames, though each was unhurt by it.

  As they streaked away, Annon watched for signs of others. Finding none, he moved, walking swiftly to the fallen body of the Rike who had been crushed by the sarcophagus lid. Dried blood had formed a rivulet on his cheek. Annon glanced up at Khiara and saw snakes had spied his movement and were coming at him, slithering across the stone swiftly.

  He grasped the cold metal of the torc and then twisted it around so that the open ends were in the back of the man’s neck, facing the floor, instead of being open at his collar. Being so near the corpse made bile rise in Annon’s throat.

  A prick of danger in his mind warned him too late. Nizeera growled and screamed and launched herself from the bier. He heard her land behind him, whipped his head around in time to see her snatch a serpent in her teeth and then hurl it away. He saw the bristling fur, the rage in her eyes as she faced the advancing serpents, planting her claws forward defensively.

  Annon grasped the ornamental torc with both hands and yanked with all his strength. It was a tight fit around the Rike’s neck and resisted. Planting his foot down on the dead man’s back, he pulled a second time, wresting it free. It came loose suddenly and he flew backward, colliding with the sharp edge of the broken sarcophagus. Pain caused spots to dance in his eyes.

  “Nizeera, go!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

  The great cat hissed and struck at another serpent, catching it with her claws and flinging it aside.

  “Nizeera!” he shouted again, springing up and inside the sarcophagus, clutching the torc to his body. She raced away and vaulted up onto another carved lid, her tail lashing triumphantly once before falling perfectly still. He felt the surge of pride come because she had risked herself for him as well a flood of relief. Their emotions were always mixed together.

  “Do you have it?” Khiara called from afar.

  “Yes,” Annon said, smiling. He stared down at the twisting design, made of bronze it appeared. The symbols were more decorative than arcane, but the look was ancient and had many nicks and scratches. There were two blue gems, shaped as polished spheres, set into each end. Staring closely at them, he could see swirling mist inside each, and little fireflies of magic within. He wished he could hear the spirits trapped inside.

  I will free you, he promised. When our journey is through, I will free you. I will free all of you.

  He stared at the torc, wondering if he should put it on himself. He remembered how Paedrin had been overcome when putting on a ring the Arch-Rike had given him. He wondered if he would even be able to control its magic.

  There was a grinding noise nearby. Annon’s head jerked suddenly at the sound as one of the doors they had entered through was dragged open.

  “Annon!” shouted a familiar voice, thick with fear and dread. It was Lukias.

  He saw the Rike emerge into the chamber, his face wet with sweat, his expression tortured with worry. The serpents began to converge on him.

  “Lukias!” Annon shouted. “The serpents! Shut the door!”

  “You survived? By Seithrall you are blessed! Do you have the torc? It repels the snakes.”

  “Yes, but they are coming at you! Their venom is—”

  “—Fatal, I know! Use the torc. The activation word is Iddawc. Put it on, now!”

  Annon stared at the Rike, cringing by the door. He then stared at the torc in his hand. Would it harm him to wear it? Would it subvert him? He did not know. Erasmus had given his life for their quest. He was willing to do the same. The snakes slithered with a frenzy to reach Lukias. The door was ajar. Had Lukias truly come to save them? Or was he there as a spy to reclaim the Arch-Rike’s treasures? He did not have time to reason things through. He needed to trust his own judgment and take a risk.

  “Nizeera,” Annon shouted, loud enough so that Khiara could hear him as well. “If the torc harms me or my mind, keen three times.” Inside his mind, he thought to Nizeera, Then help Khiara escape this place of death.

  Annon felt the great cat panic as he fastened the torc around his own neck.

  “There are reports that the Arch-Rike has made an embassy outside the city. This is a rare occurrence and a sign of the gravity of the situation. His personal ship left the port before dawn and was seen to be sailing westward. He is a great pragmatist and I am certain he would not have left the city himself unless his own persuasive voice was necessary to interrupt the war’s violence. I have not found a more moral being than the Arch-Rike
of Kenatos. A moral being, by my definition, is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives—of approving of some and disapproving of others. He is always learning.”

  —Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

  The torc was cold around Annon’s neck. Breathing heavily and fighting off a wave of sudden nausea, he waited in the echoes of his own mind for some sign of power or acknowledgement of the beings trapped inside the device. Finding none, and feeling himself quite alone in his thoughts, he invoked the command word.

  Iddawc.

  The taste of the word in his mind invoked feelings and memories: the cold dark well of Drosta’s Lair. The ravening hunger to kill that came from the blade he had taken. Cold sweat gathered across his brow. The word Iddawc contained fear, like a man cupping poisoned water in his hands and about to drink of it. Invoking the word in his mind made Annon shudder.

  The blue gems in the torc began to glow dimly.

  He felt the stirring of energy, the portent of power. The metal of the torc was uncomfortably hot. He felt the gathering power; the sudden surge brought tingling gooseflesh down his arms. The serpents recoiled. Nizeera’s mind went black with fear and she crouched, head low, tail limp, ears flat. The serpents fled the circular chamber, disappearing into small crevices made from the designs on the lower edge of the wall near the floor that had been invisible before. In moments, not a single serpent remained.

  “Well done,” Lukias said triumphantly, breathing a sigh of relief and staring at Annon. “I knew you would tame it easily. What a gift you have, that strength of will. Not many could have done that, Annon.”

  Khiara floated down and came forward, her expression wary. She approached Annon and touched his cheek with the back of her hand, as if testing for a fever. “Tell me your name.”

  “Annon of Wayland,” he said. “What is it, Khiara? My mind is my own.”

  “Can you prove that?” she asked, her expression darkening. She rounded on Lukias. “How did you get here?”

  He held up a hand calmingly. “You feel aggressive. It is the magic from the torc. It affects us differently than the beasts. I feel it myself. My heart is racing. I have the urge to smash something. It is a physical reaction to the torc’s power. When the serpents are beyond its radius of influence, the power will lessen.”

  She scowled and took a step toward the Rike. “Answer my question. How did you get here?”

  “I freed myself from the bonds. It took a while, as you can imagine. Erasmus was thorough. I had a choice to make. Face the Arch-Rike and perish or help you escape. The Arch-Rike is here in Basilides. There are at least fifty soldiers immune to fire marching this way. If you wish to live, as I do, we must go. This instant.”

  A shiver of dread went through Annon. “The Arch-Rike is here?”

  “I assure you that he is here in person. Basilides is a carefully guarded secret, Annon. When you overcame it, he summoned his personal legion to fight you. I will take my chances with Tyrus and the rest of you. We must go. Now!” He gestured at them with his open palms.

  Annon swung his legs over the rim of the sarcophagus. “I do not wish to do this, but I think the only way to escape will be through those doors.” He pointed to the ones across the room with the markings that said BASILIDES. “It leads into the Scourgelands.”

  “It does,” Lukias answered gruffly, shaking his head and holding up his hands warningly. “It is death to cross that gate. There is another way out.”

  “Where?” Khiara asked.

  “The same way the Arch-Rike arrived. There is magic here—a portal controlled by Tay al-Ard spirits. The soldiers are arriving through it as we speak. I noticed you survived the Calcatrix lair by extinguishing the light spheres. Clever move. Darkness is the way to cross that way unharmed. The chamber is vast. If we can get there quickly, we can hide and wait for the soldiers to pass. There will be a few left to guard the way back, of course, but between us I think it won’t be a problem. We reach the Tay al-Ard and then go.”

  “Where?” Annon asked.

  “Wherever you desire,” Lukias replied with a grin. “It can only take you somewhere you have been before. You will choose the destination, Annon.” He pursed his lips. “I see by your expressions you still doubt me. How else can I prove my loyalty? If I wanted you captured, I would have only done nothing. The torc was the only way to escape the serpents. I gave you the activation word.” He tossed his hands. “What else can I do? The soldiers are coming. If we argue much longer, we are all dead.”

  Annon glanced at Khiara. Her expression was still fierce but it was slowly calmed as her thoughts conceded his points. She nodded curtly.

  “Lead on,” Annon said. He shoved the outer doors open all the way and released his mental control of the torc, allowing the stones to cool and subside. “The chamber will be swarming with snakes in a moment. We best hurry.”

  Lukias gave him a cunning smile and shook his head. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Well done. Come.”

  With the release of the torc’s magic, Nizeera padded off the stone lid and came after them as they exited. Feeling the urgency of the moment, they proceeded to run back to the Calcatrix chamber. Annon sent Nizeera ahead to scout and she willingly did, darting ahead of the others with her longer stride. It was still shut and she waited while they caught up.

  They reached the doors and stopped to catch their breath. Annon wiped sweat from his brow and listened at the door. A pang of sadness stabbed him, realizing that Erasmus was no longer with them. A prediction would have been handy at the moment. He shoved aside the mounting grief and pulled at the doors, leading into darkness.

  “Take my hands,” Lukias said, offering his to both of them. “I know the safe path in the dark. The cat can smell us easy enough. We need to hide quickly.”

  As the door shut behind them, they were immersed in utter blackness. Their boots crunched on the broken shards from the glass spheres. Lukias took them to the right, keeping along the edge of the wall. Each step echoed on the cold stone. Above, they heard the flutter of wings and a sickly clucking sound from the creatures lurking above. Hisses came as well. Annon remembered the pain from their talons and started to tremble.

  “Sshhh,” Lukias warned, slowing. “Do you hear it?”

  They come, Nizeera thought to Annon. The ground trembles with it.

  “They are almost here,” Annon whispered.

  “Against the wall and crouch low. We dare not move with all the glass.”

  They all hunkered down in the darkness. Moments later, light split the wall across the chamber, knifing into their eyes. Annon shielded his face, his breath quickening. A mass of leather-hard boots clomped into the room. A few held strange torches, not made of pitch or flame, but with a strange crystal at the top. The light did not radiate, strangely, but seemed to gather like honey to a stick. They heard a voice warn to follow the lead lights and not wander off. The sound of marching men filled the chamber, causing wave after wave of vibration to tremble the floor. The scraping and grating of the broken shards ground beneath dozens of boots caused an uncomfortable shiver up Annon’s spine. Mutters and oaths came from the mass of men. Links from hauberks jingled. The cooing from the Calcatrix above intensified, as if they were hungry for human flesh below, but could not see.

  The marching reached the far doors and again light spilled into the chamber. Annon caught a glimpse of a black cassock and silver hair. The marching continued and then the doors closed and darkness reigned again.

  “Good,” Lukias whispered at last. “It will not take long for them to reach the other chamber. We must go.”

  Lukias pulled on their hands and they rose and quickly walked along the outer edge. “I will let go of your hands now,” Lukias said. “I need to feel for the door. We can’t risk missing it. Follow my footsteps.” Once the grip was lost, Annon felt like a ship without a rudder. He grabbed Khiara’s arm so that the two of them wouldn’t stumble against each other in the dark. Nizeera prowled
behind Lukias until he found the gap in the stone he was looking for.

  “Over here,” he offered.

  They joined him just as the crack of light appeared again, blinding them. Annon saw Lukias’s shadow on the floor and followed as he exited the chamber. The hallway beyond was deserted.

  “How did you manage to survive it?” Lukias asked over his shoulder at them, his eyebrows raised curiously. “Most people would have looked at the creatures attacking them and been turned to stone first. Did someone warn you?”

  Annon shook his head. “It was Druidecht lore, actually,” he answered. They all walked at a fast-paced clip. “I remembered it in time.”

  Lukias snorted. “You have quite a memory. But then Druidecht are known for their good memories. You must memorize the lore, after all. This way—the tunnel branches off. It is a maze that few know the passages through.”

  They walked swiftly, feeling the tension and dread of knowing soldiers were behind them. Annon sighed, wishing he had done something else to delay the Arch-Rike. “We should have decoyed them,” he said, frowning. “If we had opened the bars leading to the Scourgelands, it may have tricked them into thinking we had gone in there. With the doors barred, they will know we did not.”

  Lukias glanced back at him again. “You use the Uddhava as well? Impressive. But then, you traveled with a Bhikhu. I’m sure he taught you.”

  “He did.” Annon glanced back the way they came. He asked Nizeera to keep them alerted of pursuit.

  “It is not much farther,” Lukias said.

  Annon glanced back one more time and when they turned the corner, they saw three Rikes standing in a small cluster in front of a massive wooden door. It startled all of them.

  “Ah!” Lukias said, raising his hand to hail them. “There you are! There was some trouble with the soldiers crossing the Calcatrix Lair. What a mess that was left. Do you have any more of the light sticks? All of the orbs have been broken.”

  “Who are you?” one of them asked, a grizzled fellow with a gray stripe in the front of his beard. “Are you from Kenatos? I didn’t see you—”