The Scroll of Isidor

by Holden Sheppard

  #

  The two horses galloped up the winding track that meandered along the side of the Dervine Range. Desma led the way, the hood of her drab cloak blown down by the icy wind, flaming hair streaming out behind her; whether she'd stowed the floral crown or it had blown off, Lev didn't know. Desma's mare was a sinewy Kostish, probably from Kaltfross. Its coat was nearly as white as the patches of snow that streaked the ledges of the mountains to their right.

  'Come on, Huck, keep up!' Lev called, digging his knees into his stallion's black-and-brown flank.

  The horse grunted with effort and redoubled his speed, but only for a few paces, eventually falling into a comfortable canter behind the Kostish. Huck still had some life in him, but his war days really were a distant memory now.

  As they rounded the boulder known as Rock of Rekkor, Lev narrowed his eyes against the biting wind and turned his gaze to the left. The village of Dervine was spread out in the valley below, most of the huts and houses in shadow, the spire in the centre of town a silhouette against the sky. The moonlight threw Desma's orchard into sharp relief.

  What do these men want with Dervine? Lev wondered, setting his jaw in anxiety. Were they foreign merchants who got badly lost en route to Bordunn? Criminals who roamed the mountain passes to scam passers-by? Local men doing something untoward that Lev had been excluded from?

  The only other option was the one that didn't add up. Beyond the mountains was the border with Peterin. The nearest civilisation on the opposite side of the mountain was Paik Ford, an allied alpine village several miles away that, despite being within Peterin's borders, had never taken up arms against Dervine, even during the war. That said, the mountainous terrain made contact between the villages infrequent. Could they be trying to make contact now?

  'In here!' Desma shouted from ahead.

  Lev returned his attention to the path. Rounding the Rock of Rekkor had led them to a rocky clearing that pressed into the side of the mountain. Evergreen ivy leaves crept over every surface, choking the rocky outcrops and snaking through the patches of slushy snow.

  Desma had paused at the far side of the clearing, where a dark opening led to the caves.

  'We need a light,' she called. Her face was rosy, partly from the cold and partly from a dignified obstinacy. Lev knew she didn't like drawing attention to her weakness as a mage.

  'I'll do the honours,' he called back. 'Huck, wait - no, wait, I say.'

  Once Huck was settled, Lev drew his sword, the steel glinting in the pallid moonlight. He twisted his index finger in a few quick circles around the sword's tip. Soft emerald light erupted in a thin jet from his finger, twirling around the sword's tip until it formed a small orb of light, clinging to the tip of the blade.

  'You make it look so easy,' Desma said stiffly, hugging her cloak closer. 'Mine always comes out a horrible yellow. Barely lights up anything.'

  'Not every mage steals the stage,' Lev said fairly. It was an old maxim, meant to reassure late bloomers and weaker mages that their powers, while not as ostentatious as those of warrior mages, were still of value. He wasn't sure anyone except children really believed it.

  Desma grunted, like she'd heard the folk saying one too many times in her life. Wordlessly, she steered her Kostish closer to the dark opening in the side of the mountain, ready to enter.

  Lev raised his blade as a makeshift torch and jerked his head to the cave opening. 'Lead the way.'

  The horses slowed to a trot as they entered the caves, the emerald green light casting an ethereal glow over the stalagmites. Lev kept silent, listening for sounds of tunnelling or men's voices as Desma led him through a series of tunnels and caves - but there was no noise at all, other than the echoes of the horses' hooves.

  Desma pulled the reigns on her Kostish; the mare whinnied and drew to a halt beside a rock wall so thickly covered in green ivy that the ivy itself had formed a solid barrier, the rock behind it not even visible.

  Desma peered into the darkness.

  'I don't hear anything,' Lev said. But he knew better than to question Desma's honesty.

  'It was here,' she said slowly, pressing a hand to the ivy-covered wall. 'You could hear them ? feel the vibrations ?'

  'Were you heard before?'

  'Perhaps.'

  'We didn't make a quiet approach just now, either.'

  'No. Maybe we spooked them.'

  'And you're completely sure it wasn't an Arkod?'

  'Don't ask me that again. I know what an Arkod sounds like and I know what I heard: two different things.'

  Lev dismounted, giving Huck a firm slap on the flank. He strode over to the ivy-covered wall, blade aloft, the orb of light still illuminating his path. He held out his other hand and ran his calloused fingers over the ivy. He closed his eyes, feeling the ivy's leaves rustle against his fingers, breathing in the crisp scent. His body stiffened.

  'What is it?' Desma asked.

  'This ivy is distressed,' Lev said. 'You were right.'

  His heart immediately began to pump faster. He would have preferred it to have been an Arkod - slaying those slimy-skinned beasts was not Lev's idea of sport, but he'd had more practice at it. Foreign men arriving unannounced in the mountains was not something he'd dealt with since the war.

  Lev traced his fingers along the ivy, first to the right a few metres, then back to where he began, then a few metres to the left. Desma's Kostish sniffed his shoulder and he let it, the mare slobbering on the cuff of his cloak while he focused completely on feeling the ivy between his fingers.

  Then he raised his left hand and made a controlled, sweeping action with his hand in front of the ivy wall.

  At once, the ivy rustled of its own accord, untwisting itself from the rock wall and creeping to the left and the right like a sea parting down its middle.

  As the greenery moved away, Lev and Desma were left staring at a wide expanse of grey rock, a large crack running from the ground to the high, icicle-covered ceiling of the cavern.

  'Aha,' Lev said triumphantly. 'Desma - are you carrying a weapon?'

  'Only my dagger.'

  'Ready it, in case. And stay back.'

  Desma pulled her mare back, withdrawing a short dagger from beneath her cloak. She held it tightly by her waist. Her face was drawn, but determined, in the emerald light from the sword.

  Lev raised his blade and pressed the glowing tip to the centre of the crack in the rock. He breathed slowly, deliberately, absorbing energy from the ivy around him, then bellowed, 'Show yourself!'

  The green light from the tip of Lev's sword exploded across the surface of the rock wall, forming a wide arch of green light; then, with a loud pop, the rock disintegrated, collapsing like rain and hissing to the ground of the cave as a deluge of sand.

  At once, a chorus of coughs echoed from the other side of the wall.

  Lev raised his sword, the glowing tip illuminating a cramped tunnel on the other side. At least three bodies became visible as the dust cleared; some of them held shovels, all illuminated by a couple of dim oil lamps.

  'I am Levin Ruck, Deputy Chief of Dervine. Identify yourselves at once.'

  One of the men cleared his throat, but didn't step forward from the gloom, remaining as a shadow; he was bearded and heavy-set.

  'God's bones, comrade, we're on your side. No need for these shenanigans.'

  The voice was gravelly and laconic - like they ought to be sharing a stein of mead.

  'I said identify yourselves.'

  'Fine, fine.'

  The heavy-set man brushed the debris off his black tunic and stepped into the cavern. He had a ruddy face - a drinker - and the thickest eyebrows Lev had ever seen. There were two red stripes on the shoulder of his tunic - they indicated military rank, but it wasn't the same system Dervine used.

  'Captain Pavel Pollock of the Paik Ford Regiment of the Peterin Land Army, and these are my men,' he said, extending a hand and peering into the cavern. He glanced at
Desma, and Lev's eyes followed - but she had already concealed her dagger beneath her cloak, though her hand didn't leave her side. 'Where's Chief Magnus, then, and why the change of plans? I thought he wanted to meet us tomorrow night.'

  Ice hardened in Lev's veins. This was what Magnus knew. But it didn't make any sense. Paik Ford was the closest village to Dervine as the crow flew, but the mountains usually made links between the two shires impossible: they may as well have been separated by an ocean.

  The ivy rustled, though there was no breeze here. Lev's brain darted for the right answer, and he decided to play along.

  'The Chief sent me in his stead and asked me to receive you first,' Lev said quickly, trying to think up something intelligent to say. He found nothing. Armed men from Peterin, here in Dervine? Something was amiss. He glanced at the darkened tunnel behind the Captain. 'I see you made it through the mountain, then,' he stumbled, trying not to sound amazed at this breakthrough.

  Captain Pollock folded his arms across his chest, inspecting Lev and Desma. 'We did,' he said very slowly. 'Thanks to you blasting out that last bit of rock. Lower that dawn sword, son.'

  Lev obeyed at once; he still couldn't process the