by Angus Wells
The eiders began to descend the dike, scrambling unceremoniously down the steep side until they stood among the reeds, the hems of their robes darkened by the water there. The three joined them. The wall of earth curved here, turning to run more north than west, and consequently in deep shadow.
“Something stands there.” Katya pointed, eyes narrowed as she peered toward the rampart. “I cannot make it out.”
“Whatever, they’ve not brought us to any road,” grunted Bracht, a hint of suspicion in his voice now, hand touching instinctively to the falchion’s hilt. “Do they intend to send us back into the swamps, guideless?”
“I think not,” Calandryll said. “Look.”
The elders waded resolutely toward the pool of darkness Katya had indicated, thrusting through the reeds, their bare feet making soft sucking sounds in the spongy ground. They halted, waving the others onward: Calandryll moved to join them, Bracht and Katya close behind.
The elders were formed in a semicircle before the darkest patch of shadow, staring with an odd reverence into the gloom there. Calandryll looked past them and saw a shallow cave, the shape of ancient stones dim within the recess. There were three, he saw, thick basalt pillars standing upright, a lintel stone across them, all mounded round with soil, the wall of the dike a greyness beyond: a blank-faced barrier leading nowhere.
“Do they show us some monument?” asked Bracht.
“Or the way?” Katya wondered.
“I see no road,” the Kern returned.
“Perhaps this is it,” she said, “a magical road.”
“How so?” Bracht demanded. “Even be it a portal, it faces the wrong way.”
“How better to conceal it?” asked Calandryll, turning to the elders, brows raised in silent question.
The Syfalheen parted then, two to one side, two to the other, the fifth beckoning them forward, pointing with his staff to the monument, indicating that they should approach. Calandryll glanced at his companions, shrugged, and stepped forward.
The elder raised a hand, halting him, gesturing for Bracht and Katya to stand level. Bracht stepped to his right, Katya to his left; the elders moved closer, clasping them each upon the shoulder, as they had done when they emerged from the crypt. Then the five syfaba each turned toward the stones, lifting their staffs high as they commenced a singsong chanting, low at first out rising in pitch and volume as the setting sun painted the sky red and the upper level of the dike was briefly illumined, fiery. Calandryll heard an answering hum and cocked his head, at first not sure from where it came, realizing that the stones themselves sung. He saw light flicker inside the portal; for an instant thought he saw a wide, gold-flagged road stretching away between stately trees, the hint of proud city walls all gold and silver and crimson. Then the staffs pressed upon their backs, urging them forward. The light died, leaving a darkness solid as the earth. The staffs pressed harder: he took another step, heard Bracht grunt as soil touched his outflung hands, damp and swamp-scented, the air vibrating.
Then the pressure was gone, both that of the staffs against his back and that of the earth upon his face. There was a moment of—he was not sure what: cold, certainly, intense, striking bone deep so that it seemed the very marrow cringed; of floating, or falling, as if he dropped through unimaginable distance in a darkness that was simultaneously impenetrable and lit with the swirling lights of a million stars; of unbeing. He thought his lungs must burst for want of air, and then he breathed again, and stood on solid ground, gasping. For all his experience of magic he was still hard put to relieve the evidence of his eyes.
THEY stood upon a road of smooth stone slabs, lit golden by a sun that no longer westered to its setting but hung only a little way above the eastern horizon, a hew day replacing the old. Wide as to permit two broad wagons to pass abreast, with space between for walkers, was that road, though no ruts gave evidence of such traffic, the slabs pristine, set so close and dressed so skillfully their juncture was such that a hair might not have passed between them. It ran level and straight to the north, if such direction had meaning here, that horizon mist-shrouded, the air there sparkling as if sun shone on droplets of moisture, to either side the swamp, an expanse of reeds and pools of brown water, stirred by a gentle breeze so that the rustling was a soft song of welcome. He turned, seeing Bracht and Katya staring about with awestruck eyes, and found he faced a dike—or that he had just gone through, he was no longer sure—grey walled, the stones within it, dark entrance to the earth. Of the elders there was no sign; nor of the Syfalheen fields.
“I believe,” he said slowly, his voice soft with wonder, “that we are on the road to Tezin-dar.”
Katya said, “Little wonder that city is a legend.”
Bracht shouldered his pack and nodded: “So, let us go on.”
They began to march.
Time and distance were different here, subject to different laws it seemed, for the sun remained stationary above them even when the muscles of their legs told them they had walked long enough that evening should have fallen, while the mist-shrouded horizon was no closer, and when Calandryll looked back, the dike and the stones were no longer visible, lost behind a curtain of the same sparkling fog as lay before them. It was an eerie sensation, as if they traversed some limbo, doomed to march forever beneath the unrelenting sun, trapped between that place they had left and that they hoped to gain, the road a mandala looping eternally back on itself among the unchanging reed beds.
It was quiet, the only sounds the rustling of the wind and the steady drumming of their boots. There were no insects, nor any birds, nor sign of dragons or other predators. No odor rose from the reed beds, nor clouds disturbed the impassive sky: in time such absences grew oppressive, weighing down on them so that, despite they were three and sworn to their purpose, they felt lonely, forsaken. And yet, Calandryll told himself, Tezin-dar lay ahead. Must, for they had passed the judgment of the Old One and the syfaba had brought them to the gate. Perhaps, then, this was a further testing, a design intended to deter the fainthearted and send them back, scuttling for the safety of that passage through the stones to a more familiar world.
And as he thought it—as if in confirmation—a building showed ahead.
It had not, he was certain, been there moments before, unless distance was distorted beyond comprehension in this odd landscape. He looked to his companions, frowning.
“Nor did I see it,” Bracht said, “but there it is.”
“And hopefully offering rest,” said Katya. “I grow weary of this interminable march.”
“Perhaps,” the Kern chuckled, “it has a stable, and three horses waiting for us. Ahrd, but what I’d give for a good horse now.”
“Perhaps it marks the boundaries of Tezin-dar,” said Calandryll.
Bracht grinned and said, “We shall know soon enough—we’ve no other place to go save back.”
They strode toward the building, its outlines growing more distinct as they approached.
It appeared a single massive slab of rose-tinted stone, spanning the road like some overlarge gatehouse, its roof flat, a door facing them with windows to either side, those faced with some glasslike substance that glittered in the sun, tricking sight to deny examination of the interior. The door was metal, a single sheet, silvery and black at the same time, its hinges hidden. There was no indication of latch or handle or any other means by which it might be opened: Calandryll set a hand to the thing and pushed.
The door swung silently inward, revealing a hall whose interior dimensions contradicted the external. The floor was a geometric patterning of blue and white, the walls unadorned save by the veining of the marble that faced them, the ceiling vaulted, smooth and blue. A second door and two windows stood in the farther wall, and to either side were two more doors. Calandryll entered, followed by Bract and Katya. The door swung shut behind them, and when Bracht tried it, it refused to open again.
“It would appear,” he murmured, “that there is no turning back.”
“No,” he said, “though I’d lief know I might.”
“Too late,” Calandryll said, and crossed the empty chamber to peer out the farther windows.
He saw swampland beyond, no longer the reed beds but a gloomy vista or mangroves, all hung with insect-crawling moss and trailing vines, the livid tentacles of the flesh-consuming growths wavering among them. Night had fallen there, though a backward glance told him that day still ruled where they had come from, and he saw the road continuing on through the trees, lapped by moonlit water in which the shapes of dragons moved. The door between these windows had a great ring of silver metal set to one side, and when he tested it, the door came readily open, admitting a sour gust of swamp-stinking air. He pushed it shut and turned to his companions.
“Night rules out there and I think we had best spend it here.”
“Amen to that,” Bracht agreed. “Perhaps this place has beds to offer.”
“Safety, at least,” said Katya, joining Calandryll by the windows, “I’ve seen no dragons so large as those.”
“Yssym said the road was safe,” Calandryll offered. “We must hope he spoke the truth.”
“Tomorrow’s worries,” said Bracht. “Come—I’d see what other wonders we may find.”
Unwilling to separate, they set to investigating their strange refuge.
One door—this with latches—granted ingress to a corridor off which were revealed sleeping quarters: three chambers with open, arched entrances, a bed in each, laid with fresh linen, and windows that, when Calandryll peered out, afforded view over a landscape of undulating meadows and copses, a stream winding moonlit between. It reminded him of the countryside about Secca for all he knew it must be the product of magic, and he said as much.
“I see the plains of Cuan na’For,” Bracht said, and whooped excitement. “Look! Do you see those horses?”
“I see the hills of Vanu,” said Katya, wistfully. “I see the peaks all capped with snow and the rivers tumbling down.”
“We see what the Old Ones wish to show us, I think,” Calandryll suggested. “We stand in a magical place and I think they seek to welcome us.”
“With food, I hope,” Bracht said, turning almost reluctantly from the window.
“And baths, perhaps,” Katya added. “Shall we find out?”
They left the sleeping chambers and crossed the hall to the second door. This led them to a bathhouse, where a pool steamed, another filled with cool water, and marble benches bore soap and towels; beyond was a dining chamber, windowless, but softly lit by candles, containing a circular table and three chairs, the table set with a meal, and wine, three crystal goblets.
“Three and three and three,” Bracht murmured, “And yet no sign of servants, nor any other folk.”
“We are expected,” said Katya.
“Long expected,” said Calandryll.
“And hungry,” said Bracht. “Let us eat.”
They dropped their packs and loosed their swordbelts, though those they put close to hand, settling themselves about the table. Bracht poured out a little wine and sniffed it, suspiciously; sipped a little, no less cautiously. “It appears untainted,” he declared.
“Do you think to find it poisoned?” Calandryll grinned. “I doubt whoever built such a place as this heed stoop to such subterfuge.”
“Likely not,” the freesword admitted, and helped himself to meat and bread, the both somehow warm, as if fresh from the oven.
“I think this must be some manner of way station,” Katya suggested, “and marks a boundary of some kind.”
“It surely marks the boundary of night and day,” Calandryll agreed, “and whoever travels the road must enter here or turn back. And once entered, it would appear impossible to turn back.”
“At least the builders send us onward with full stomachs,” Bracht said. “For which I thank them.”
He raised his goblet in a toast, and the others, laughing, joined him.
“To the Old Ones.”
“To a safe return.”
“To the destruction of the Arcanum.”
Calandryll was not sure, but it seemed the candles burned a little brighter then and he thought he heard a murmur of soft, approving laughter, as if the place itself voiced support of their quest. Certainly he experienced a sense of well-being, a satisfaction at having come thus far, and excitement at the hearing culmination of their journey. Or rather, he told himself, its first part, for they must still bring the Arcanum back to the waiting Tekkan and sail for Vanu. But that now seemed the lesser burden, the hardest part hear done with the legendary city within reach along that strange road. He sighed contentedly, and the sigh became a yawn: he pushed his plate away, replete, and announced his intention of retiring.
“Aye,” said Bracht. “For all I’ve no inkling how far we walked today, I’d find my bed.”
Katya nodded agreement and they went back across the hall to the sleeping chambers. Calandryll had thought some small friction might arise then, if Bracht pursued his suit with the woman, but the Kern merely bade her a polite good night and entered his own quarters. Calandryll wondered if Katya’s face registered disappointment. He went to his own bed, leaning for a moment on the sill to stare out through the window, once again seeing the familiar landscape, though now, beyond the woodland he thought he discerned the ramparts of a city, like white-walled Secca seen from afar. He was pleased that he felt no melancholy, no nostalgia for his lost home, and stripped off his clothing, climbing gratefully between the cool sheets.
Sunlight woke him and he rose to find the vista unchanged, save that it was now day and the city walls clear. He hid his nakedness beneath a sheet and went to the bathhouse, where Bracht already splashed, busily scrubbing.
“I saw horses again,” the Kern remarked, “a herd of the finest beasts,”
“And I Secca,” he returned. “At least, it seemed it was Secca.”
“Do you miss your home?”
“No,” he said. “Do you?”
“A little—aye,” Bracht nodded; then grinned, “But then I think of our quest—and Katya—and I am compensated.”
“Where is she?”
“Abed still,” Bracht said. “I advised her to sleep on, for modesty’s sake.”
“You become the gentleman.”
Bracht laughed hugely. “A woman’s influence,” he declared, and climbed from the pool to plunge headlong into the cold water. Calandryll joined him and they toweled themselves dry, going back to the sleeping chambers to inform Katya that she might bathe without embarrassment as they dressed.
All three refreshed and kitted ready to proceed, they went to the dining chamber: the debris of the last night’s meal was gone, replaced with hot bread, a bowl of fruit, and cuts of cold meat, three mugs of tisane.
“I also become less apprehensive of magic,” Bracht smiled, “when it provides fare such as this.”
“Also?” asked Katya, curious.
“Calandryll remarked that I become a gentleman,” Bracht explained. “I told him that is your good influence.” Katya’s tan cheeks darkened a little at that and she busied herself cutting bread.
“Were you ever else?”
“Oh, yes,” said the Kern solemnly, blue eyes fixed on her face. “I was much else.”
“And I would be elsewhere,” said Calandryll, “Such as the road to Tezin-dar.”
“Aye,” Bracht nodded, smiling again. “Do you but finish, Katya, and we’ll depart.”
BEFORE they quit that odd hostel Calandryll went to the windows, looking back down the way they had come. Night reigned there now, the reeds silver under a full moon, the road a golden ribbon running out into blackness. He turned to the second door and dragged it open on day’s light, the air instantly hot, steamy with swamp stink, a massive dragon rising to bellow a challenge that started him back, hand on sword. Bracht was at his side on the instant, falchion drawn, and Katya close behind, her saber raised defensiv
ely.
“I doubt,” Bracht shouted over the dragon’s roaring, “that swords will have much effect on that.”
Calandryll paused within the shelter of the door, staring at the beast. It dwarfed all he had seen, rising up on tree-trunk legs, towering over the road, its red hide glistening, hung with streamers of slime. The jaws were spread wide, lined with fangs more sword- than daggerlike, its fetid breath gusting noisome in his face as the great tail lashed furiously, stirring the surface of the water to reeking foam.
“We must pass it,” said Katya, anxiously. “Though how, I know not.”
“Yssym said the road was safe.” Calandryll returned his blade to the scabbard, pointing. “And see, it does not touch the road.”
“It need not,” said Bracht. “It heed only reach down to swallow us all, whole.”
“I think not,” Calandryll said. And stepped out, onto the road.
He heard Bracht shout, “No!” and evaded the Kern’s clutching hand, striding defiantly toward the monster. It stared at him from jade green eyes, implacable, still roaring its challenge. A second, no smaller, lifted from the swamp, and then a third, all lining the way he sought to pass with cavernous jaws, menacing fangs. He sensed, rather than heard, the steps behind him and glanced backward over his shoulder to find Bracht and Katya advancing fast with swords still drawn.
“Ahrd grant you right,” the Kern muttered.
Calandryll saw the door that was their only refuge close unbidden, like its mate devoid of means to open once passed through.
“Shall you use the stone?” asked Bracht.
Calandryll had all but forgotten the red stone still hung about his heck and shrugged, not knowing how to utilize that power; nor thinking that it would be heeded: Yssym had said the road was safe so long as they remained upon it. “Have faith,” he urged.
Bracht’s reply was lost beneath the dragons’ thunder. Calandryll walked on.
Foul breath rendered the already unfresh air noxious. His head dinned with the roaring; he saw the jaws spread wide, lunging toward him. And halt as if some barrier, invisible, interposed between swamp and road’s edge. The great fangs clattered together, snapping closed on nothing. Blunt noses probed. The tails lashed angrily, churning waves of swamp water that he saw did not—could not!—reach the road. That remained dry, the flags untouched, stretching onward between the trees that closed above, hiding the sky. Still he could not help but quicken his pace as he passed beneath the dragons. He sought to walk leisurely, but for all his belief, hear panic gripped his limbs and he began to trot, looking nervously about as the beasts bellowed and struggled uselessly to reach him. Then he was among the trees and the dragons too large to venture there, their own massive bulk denying them access: he halted, panting and laughing, together.
