Gaelin licked his chapped lips. “We need to think of a way to destroy both the dead wizard’s spirit and the Blazenstone. If we could, we’d blind Erebos. He’d be helpless.”
“Helpless?” The specter sneered. “Erebos is a warder, boy. You have no idea the kind of power you’re—” Argus bit down on his words, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl. “Still, you might be able to diminish him, if you can keep him within his mountain. But if you drive him out, he’ll connect to the Circle, and that’ll be the end of the giants and everything else.”
Argus stared out the window. “It takes the dead to fight the dead. Holram knows this. If I did fight Giants’ Bane, I’d— That’s his other name,” he added at Gaelin’s stare. “He’s bound by the same curse I am. If I managed to destroy Arawn, Erebos couldn’t make his dachs anymore.”
“But you told us you won’t,” Gaelin said.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” The grimace vanished from Argus’s face. A rack of rusted blades in the corner sparkled greenly in patches through his frame, as if even now his foe sought to impale him. “He’s connected to Erebos now, and even stronger than before. While I . . .” With a gesture of frustration, the ghost bobbed out of their sight through a wall, coughing as he reemerged in a puff of gray dust. “You see? There it is. The extent of the influence I have on this world. Or, if I focus really hard, I might move a book.”
“Or a sword,” Terrek put in, and above him, Argus nodded.
The objects in the room were the color of grass in the ghost’s green light. On the floor below the shelves, Roth, his pupils dilated, was goggling at Terrek from under his odd-shaped hat. Gaelin frowned, realizing how much blacker the room would appear to Roth. “But if Holram wants you for something . . .” Gaelin began. He squinted as Mornius flickered to life, the glow of its Skystone brightening the tiny chamber. “He must think you can help.”
Terrek sighed, his gaze fixed on the window with its ominous glimpse of night sky. “It’s late,” he noted. “We’ll discuss this later.” He nodded to Argus, then brusquely sheathed the ancient blade.
“Is it gone?” Roth asked with a shudder. Holding the tall hat on his head, he scrambled to his feet, his right boot grazing the curiosities next to him and knocking several across the floor. Looking down, he swiped with his free hand at his dusty leggings. “Leave that thing in its scabbard, Terrek. Don’t ever draw it again!”
“Yes, he’s gone,” Terrek said. “Don’t worry, Roth. The spirit is a good guy, a warrior who fought the slaver cult at Warder’s Fall long ago. We have a Thalian Knight at Vale Horse, too, a ghost named Ralen Galadus. I’ve never met him, but my father has. It was Ralen who led us to your location the day your horse, Jack, threw you down the cliff. If not for my father’s friendship with him, you’d be dead right now.”
“How many ghost knights are there?” Roth asked, looking about at the room’s dark shapes under Mornius’s light. His face hardened as he bent, still holding the satiny hat’s brim, to pick up his sword. With a glance at Gaelin, he slapped it into its scabbard.
Mutely Gaelin followed Terrek as the commander, eyeing the prop atop the lieutenant’s curls, clasped the younger man’s arm. “That’s a chimney hat,” Terrek remarked as he propelled Roth from the room. “Your ears will freeze in that thing.”
“I know, but it’s black,” Roth replied. “I like it.”
Gaelin parted the cobwebs with his staff, flipping them aside as he returned to the lighted hallway. Hurrying to catch up, he listened while Roth grilled Terrek about his rescue from the cliff. Gaelin sensed that Terrek retold the story to comfort the boy. He’s not mentioning the ghost knight this time, Gaelin thought, watching as Terrek held Argus’s rotted scabbard so Roth would not see.
Chapter 23
GAELIN, FOLLOWING ROTH and Terrek down the stairway, glanced at Mornius’s crystal glowing in the darkness above him. Smiling, he tipped the staff, bringing the Skystone closer, the quartz not quite touching his nose. I found your friend for you, he thought to the warder as he peered into the gem. He hesitated, hoping to spy a flicker of acknowledgment from Holram within the egg-shaped rock. “But I don’t understand.”
His voice carried over the sound of his companions’ boots on the shattered marble. At Caven Roth’s inquisitive stare, he inclined his head. “Lord Argus denied he was trapped,” Gaelin said. “If that’s true, why would he be here?”
“Find out from Argus when you can,” Terrek urged over his shoulder. “Assuming I draw his sword.”
Gaelin nodded, hearing the steps groan beneath Terrek’s weight. “When do you think you will?” he asked.
As Terrek jerked to a halt, Gaelin, catching sight of his black scowl, tottered backward and raised his staff. Trembling, he sank to his knees as he recalled chairs being flung in the tiny cabin and Seth Lavahl shouting, the big man’s fists striking his flesh.
“Is he sick?” Roth queried.
Gaelin tensed as gloved fingers engulfed his wrist. “Enough of this,” said Terrek. “It’s night. We must hurry for Avalar’s sake. I’m quite sure the cult would love to kill a giant.”
“Or make her a dach,” Roth added.
“I’m sorry,” Gaelin said. “Just dizzy.”
“Not ‘just,’ ” Terrek responded. “Look.” He reached down, and Gaelin shivered when the commander’s fingers ran through his hair, drawing with them a cluster of loose strands. “The warder’s damaging you.” Terrek held up a withered tangle and then let it fall. “I don’t want you using your staff anymore. Not unless we are desperate.”
“I’ll decide what I do,” said Gaelin. He thrust his hand out to Roth and let the lieutenant pull him to his feet. “The staff’s how I earn my keep. I need to do something!”
“You won’t if you injure yourself,” Terrek said. “While Holram’s still listening and aware, I need you to talk to him. Make sure he knows how much he’s hurting you. And, while you’re at it”—Terrek brandished Argus’s sheathed weapon between them, lifting it into Mornius’s light—“tell him I already have a sword. I don’t need anoth—”
“Ugh!” Gagging, Roth motioned to a bulge in the discolored leather. “I think something dead was there. Terrek!”
“What if I’m supposed to carry the sword?” Gaelin asked, his voice louder than he had intended. “Argus mentioned he had a leader who looked like me. If this ‘Jaegar Othelion’ is the grandfather my mother told me about, he would have wielded both the staff and a blade. So maybe that’s what Holram wants from me. Except I’d rather not. I—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“I don’t understand why the ghost was so loud.” Gaelin tilted his staff’s crown, extending the Skystone’s glowing sphere to reveal the greenish planks of flooring at the bottom of the ruined staircase.
“Imagine shouting at the top of your lungs and never being heard,” said Terrek. “My brother is not the only one who has visited here. It could be Lord Argus is insane now, from all those years of not being able to communicate. But he did tone it down, didn’t he?”
Roth curled his lip at the rotted scabbard. “Why are you bringing that old thing? If you keep it, we’ll be haunted for sure!” He stepped back as Terrek dropped to the floor beside him.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Terrek said. “There are one and a half leagues standing between us and camp, and now there’s the giant to protect, with just two of us carrying—”
“Leader Terrek?” Avalar called.
There was a dull thud, and the giant appeared from out of the darkness, wincing and rubbing her forehead.
“A strange voice was shouting up the stairs,” she said. “I was trying to reach you when the steps fell from under me.” She shifted her feet. “I meant to stay close to help you down, but . . . there were noises outside the castle. I have been listening, standing guard there.” She pointed toward the library’s outer door.
Gaelin bent, straining to see through the dusty gloom past the glowing red that remained of the fire. He caugh
t a soft rustle, then spied the fluttering pages of the open book Roth had left on the little table.
“Corruption draws near,” Avalar said. “It is stinging my skin. I felt this in Tierdon before the attack. It brought the creatures who killed my trainers!”
“The cleric you battled on the steps?” Terrek asked, pulling out his sword. “He’s here?” Terrek strode past them and into the library, his heels clicking on the mosaic’s marble tiles.
“I do not know if it is he!” Avalar moaned and swiped at her cheek. “I never fought the second mage. He struck me down and I . . . I mislike this feeling. I see the slavers in my memories . . . the things they do to giants.”
“There’s nobody here,” Gaelin reassured her. “But the candles are out. Holram wants us to go!”
“No, what did I tell you, Gaelin?” Terrek called from the outer passage. “At least for now, you guide the staff. You are the one who wishes to go.”
Gaelin heard more footsteps as Terrek strode away over the stone, and then the grainy soft sound of boots crunching snow. “Deravin Silva!” Terrek greeted.
Gaelin pressed against Roth. Eyes shut, he discerned snatches of murmurs, Terrek and Silva talking back and forth.
“Of course I’d follow you,” the guard returned. “I’ve been with you . . . ten years old, Terrek. But do not fear for me. I didn’t exhaust myself. I took the longer trail and . . .” The guard’s voice faded, overwhelmed by the skitter of ice across the yard and, closer at hand, the creaking of armor as Roth swung his sword. “. . . keeping you in my sights, of course,” Silva said.
Gaelin touched Avalar’s sleeve. “We’re safe,” he whispered. “It’s just Silva, Terrek’s—”
“I’m glad Oburne wasn’t along to witness the giant’s close call on the cliff,” Silva remarked. “She almost fell, didn’t she? I can’t even imagine how he would have reacted to—”
“I told you to rest,” Terrek interjected. “Like it or not, that mountain tired you, my friend.”
“Which one?” Silva laughed.
“You’re not so young anymore,” said Terrek.
“I’m spry enough to keep up with you!”
Gaelin hunched against Roth’s back, the chilled air fanning his neck through the open door. Once more there was a snippet of dialogue, a gentle reprimand from Terrek. “Deravin, there was no reason for you—”
Roth snorted abruptly. “He should have stayed put,” the lieutenant said to Gaelin. “Terrek gave him an order. Silva’s old. I’m better with a blade than he is. How many times do I have to prove my—”
“There was a reason!” Silva exclaimed, his urgency silencing Roth. “At the time, there was. After you left, we saw a shadow crossing the trees. I had to follow you. What kind of guard would I be if something happened to y—”
Gaelin started as a large hand clasped him behind his neck. “Shh,” Avalar hissed into his ear when he glanced up. She steered him away from Caven Roth, urging him through the blue-lit darkness alongside the stairs and under a rotted archway, the hints of its remaining wood obscured by scales of tattered paint.
“Where are you going? I need your light,” Roth called to Gaelin. “Lavahl, where’d you go?”
“Fear not for him,” the giant whispered. “He has his sword, and skill to keep him safe.”
Avalar guided Gaelin across a faded rug, passing a long table set with utensils, dishes, and mugs, and an ancient carcass on a tray with a myriad of dusty webs between its bones.
“I sense the power in your staff,” she said, halting before an undulating curtain of beaded glass strands. “It is much akin to what I feel now on my skin. My hope is that it may defend me from harm, for I cannot perish. The world will not survive if I do, and, Staff-Wielder, you must also endure. So I ask you. As comrades, should we not strive together against this ill?”
Avalar stopped, waiting for her words to register while she drew her sword. “This wrong threatens us both; do you not feel it? If this foe slays me, the world is ended. If it should kill you—”
“The same thing happens,” Gaelin answered after a moment. “But it would take them longer. They’d have to carry my staff to Erebos first and break its Skystone. Holram would be exposed. He would die, and . . .”
“Rest easy,” Avalar said. “You have a giant to fight for you.” Raising her sword, she parted the multicolored curtain. Then, tugging at his wrist, she guided him through.
The alabaster ceiling of the forehall rose into an ornate arch. With a grunt Avalar strode between two white pedestals, coming to a stop before a massive ironclad barrier. She tilted her sword back and cracked the door open.
Gaelin heard the tinkling and swish of the threaded beads behind him, the footsteps of Terrek and the others approaching. “We stay together,” Terrek said. “And look. Silva is here.”
Gaelin stared into the shadows beyond Mornius’s light, finding the guard in his usual place at Terrek’s shoulder.
“Avalar,” Terrek called. “We checked outside. You were right. There was a shadow earlier. But from what Silva can tell, right now the forest is clear.”
With her hand clasping the knob, Avalar grimaced. “It is not,” she murmured. The flash of her teeth reminded Gaelin of the gravid wolf he had met on the mountain when he was a child, the intrepid guardian with the scarred face who had kept him from freezing after he had run away.
“You feel warped magic?” Terrek asked, and at her nod, he gestured her behind him. There was a tense pause, after which Avalar complied. She’s sizing him up, Gaelin realized as Terrek tucked Argus’s lumpy scabbard under his belt.
Gaelin shuffled back when Silva cut in front to protect Terrek’s flank. The older man glanced up, his features amused as he tipped his balding head to eye Avalar. “There’s one thing I’ve known for many years,” he said. “Bigger is not always better.”
Avalar frowned. “I would not presume to think that.”
“Focus!” said Terrek. He reached for the weapon that was an extension of his arm, the sword that had so often saved his life. Gaelin lifted his staff in response, the Skystone’s brilliance spilling into the darkness beyond the doorway.
No stars, he noted as he exited the castle. Shivering within the folds of his blue-gray cloak, Gaelin pressed close to Roth beside him, his spine tingling at the foreboding in his heart.
As he squinted at the surrounding walls, Mornius sputtered, the staff’s agitated light pulsing by his head. Bewildered, Gaelin stared at the Skystone’s corona with its upper half hidden from his view—the staff’s light overwhelmed by the blackness above him.
Terrek stood with his sword at the ready, confronting the jagged line of trees beyond the citadel. Turning, Gaelin found Avalar between the ancient structure and its ruined rampart. The giant had her back to him, yet he heard her harsh muttering as she lunged with her sword at the shadow oozing down over the castle.
“It is not gone!” Avalar shouted over her shoulder. “It is here! I can feel it!”
Terrek approached the towers where the nothingness had devoured the stone. There’s no Companion, Gaelin reasoned. No moonlight. Please, he begged Holram. If it’s your enemy, we’ll need you.
Gaelin caught his breath, remembering Argus’s words. “It takes the dead to fight the dead!” Gaelin froze. “This isn’t Erebos,” he said. “The warder can’t leave his mountain!”
He plunged forward to block Terrek, straining to grasp the ghost’s scabbard below the commander’s belt. “Arawn’s doing this! Quick, draw the sword! Let Argus defeat him!”
“Back off, now,” said Silva by his ear. The guard seized his elbow, driving him to his knees.
“It’s not Arawn!” Terrek said, stepping in front of him.
Gaelin surged to his feet. “But according to Argus—”
“Forget the ghost,” Terrek interrupted. “We’ve never seen Erebos or Arawn. We battle his priests, that’s it. They use their warder’s reflection to shield the dachs from the sunlight. That’s what the shado
w is. It isn’t Erebos himself, it’s—”
“Slaver!” Avalar thundered. She leapt to climb a nearby pine, her weight snapping its branches as she stabbed at the sky. “I am a giant! You shall not—”
She screamed as scarlet light blasted at her from the woods. Then she fell, crashing through the little tree’s bones and hitting the drifts with an explosion of powder. Terrek and his men sprinted to join her, their weapons cutting through the thickening shadows.
Gaelin tried to follow, his vertigo making the castle’s parapets spin as the ebony sky descended, the air burning against his skin.
A weight struck him down. Again he was on his knees, a rhythmic cracking in his ears muting everything he needed to hear. He howled as something sharp bit him through the leather and fabric that protected his back, a penetrating pain like multiple daggers digging into his flesh. Gaelin glimpsed elongated arms, still human in shape but stretched to form wings. Dimly, he felt his hands and knees furrowing the snow. A dach was dragging him. He struggled to lift his staff, to cry a command to the slumbering Holram, but now the dach was hitching him to its belly, its wings pounding faster until the land beneath him fell away.
Avalar appeared below his flopping limbs, leaping to grab at his boots. You’re alive! Gaelin wanted to yell, but pain stole his breath. Below him Roth scaled the giant’s back, sword-tip raised as Avalar thrust the lieutenant over her head, yet Gaelin watched them both shrink as the dach carried him higher, far and away from their efforts to save him.
“Gaelin!” Terrek cried, and for a moment, Gaelin saw across the distance his helpless rage, Terrek’s weapon dangling powerless in his hand. Then Gaelin spied movement past the dead weight of his limbs, the giant rushing into the forest, slashing her great sword as she plowed among the branches.
He followed her progress for as long as he could until the dach’s wings carried him into the clouds. He fought to hold Mornius, feeling his captor’s sharp talons shifting to tip his face up. A spiked tail wound around his neck. He gagged as the creature’s enlarged head ducked to sniff at him, its jaws straining to reach his throat.
Song Of Mornius Page 18
