by Serena Chase
I nodded as if I understood him. Julien shot an amused glance my direction.
I placed a hand on Taef’s shoulder, hoping that nothing that might reside within the fibers of his clothing would decide to change address when given the opportunity. “Your service to us will be well rewarded if we survive our quest.”
“I, too, appreciate oats,” he said with a shy smile.
“Oats?” It took quite a bit of effort to keep the serious expression on my face. “Then oats you shall have, Taef de Emwyk,” I replied. “Oats in abundance.”
“You are a generous and worthy future Queen, Ryn Naia,” Taef said, wiping away a tear. “Oh, yes,” he repeated. “Such a wise and generous Queen you will be.” And then, with a little skip in his step, he said, “Follow me,” and led us onward.
PART II: THE RYN NAIA
CHAPTER THIRTY
North and east of Mount Shireya, the clansman from Dwons seemed grotesquely large as he stood among the gathered Cobelds. But for his face, not a bit of flesh shone through the leathers he wore—a wardrobe that had become a necessary fashion among Dwonsil warriors since they had formed an allegiance with the Cobelds.
The five Seers circled the Dwonsil warrior, waiting.
“The one traveling with the King is a fraud,” he finally said. “It is confirmed.”
Tension lit the air with a hiss. One of the Seers took a step forward. “If the one traveling with E’veria’s King is false, where is the Ryn Naia?”
“We don’t know.”
The Cobeld Seer gestured to his fellow. “Kill him.”
“There is more,” the Dwonsil warrior added as his hand reached for a sword that wasn’t there. It had been removed from his possession when he arrived among them.
The Seer held up his hand to pause the curse-wrapped dagger a Cobeld guard had aimed to throw. “Go on.”
Winter had taken much of the color from the warrior’s desert-darkened skin, but in the last few moments he had paled even more.
“A contingent of knights was discovered near Canyn Village some weeks past,” he said. “I only recently received the report. They managed to elude our men, but they were headed for Shireya.”
“Knights? Bah. We seek the Ryn Naia. A woman. Was there a woman among them?”
“Not that we could tell, but one of the knights was identified as Julien de Gladiel, the Regent of Mynissbyr’s heir. He ranks high and should have been with the King.”
The Seer spun around. “You. And you.” He pointed at random Cobelds from among those gathered until they numbered an even dozen. “Go to the mountain. If they are within, kill them. Bring me the flame, and the head attached to it, to prove it is done.”
The Seer turned back to the Dwonsil warrior. “You will live another day. Tell your men we retreat to our base camp near Shireya’s northern steps. Your job,” he said, “is to keep the E’verian King’s Army far enough back that we can protect our interests near the mountain.”
The Seers formed a line and shouted a command that set an army of shriveled old men to their feet with a speed that blurred the air.
“Cobelds!” the Seers cried as one, “To the Shrine! Guard the well and protect the source of our power!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Flattening our backs against the southern face of the Sacred Mountain, we followed Taef de Emwyk, inching up a nearly invisible trail to an even less visible cave.
Relatively low on the side of the mountain, it was camouflaged by the natural progression of brush and climbing vines so common to the region. Even had its precise location been mapped on one of the scrolls, we would have had a difficult time finding it. Until Taef grabbed hold of a vine and yanked, it was entirely invisible. It took a good dulling of the swords before the cave’s opening was passable.
While Erielle and the men took turns cutting away at the vines that concealed the cave’s entrance, I busied myself removing our tirandite torches from our packs. A gift from the Andoven people, these torches required no fire and could be extinguished by nothing but time. I set them on a flat rock where the sun seemed brightest, knowing it would only take a brief time for the torches to absorb enough light to allow us several days’ illumination. And if the darkness peeking through the thick vines was any indication, using the torches would be necessary almost immediately upon entry.
Finally, a hole was roughed out just wide enough for one person to pass through at a time. But even then we could not enter. The swords and daggers used to cut away the brambles and vines had to be painstakingly cleaned and sharpened. Since no one was inclined to allow me to help, I vacillated through the occupations of sitting and pacing. No one talked, but Taef shadowed my movements, and as strange as it was, his company was a bit of a comfort.
Thoughts of wolfcats, bears, and other carnivorous beasts flitted through my mind. For some reason I had given no thought at all to what dangers we might face beyond those promised by the scrolls. But now our encounters with the wolfcats seemed an ominous promise. What else might lurk within the unknown passages of this mountain? Now that I was about to cross its dark and eerie threshold, nightmarish visions of predatory creatures large and small crept into my thoughts.
“Small creepers there will be,” Taef said with a nod, almost as if he had seen my thoughts. “But the bears have already awakened and left their winter homes. The cats don’t like these caves. Too wet.”
As I had already tried several times throughout the day, I focused my attention on our “scoundrel ally,” but his mind moved in such randomness that I could not discern a single coherent thought amidst the chaos.
Taef’s eyes were blue, if cloudily so. I supposed he could be a bit Andoven. But what most struck me about his thought patterns was their similarity to Salvador’s. In some ways they seemed more animal than human, yet in others . . . even less organized.
“Have you been inside the cave, Taef?”
“Not far,” he replied. “I’m no fish, just a bridge builder.”
Kinley looked up from his sword. His lip twitched. “But I thought you were a horse diplomat, Taef,” he said, “not an architect or engineer!”
Taef inclined his head. “I have witnessed the building of bridges between diplomats and architects in the course of my duty, but I wagered not that they would collapse under strain.”
“Who are you, really?” Kinley pressed, but his smile was friendly.
“I am ever your humble better,” Taef bowed lowly, “and as such I give you my fealty.”
My brain began to feel the strain of trying to discern what his conflicting words meant. I gave up trying to see his thoughts and excused myself to spend a few last minutes with Stanza and Salvador.
Soon everyone’s weapons were back in shining order and Julien secured Taef’s promise to conceal the cave as best he could after we had entered the mountain. Shortly thereafter, we—all but Gerrias, of course—bid a solemn good-bye to our horses, now in the care of the strange fellow The First had sent to accomplish that part of his purpose. Right before we parted ways, we clasped hands in a circle and raised our faces to the sky as Dyfnel spoke a benediction over our quest.
“Light of Truth, Sustainer of Life, and Author of Hope,” he began.
His words gave me a moment’s pause. The last was a title I had never heard concerning the First King. Yet upon a moment of reflection, it seemed just.
“Our Mighty First King,” Dyfnel continued, “we seek your guidance to help us achieve the wisdom by which we will be enabled to see with the eyes of our hearts and our minds as we enter this place and time of darkness. Light our way with the truth that has brought us here and carry us on your strength when our own fails us. We ask that you protect our King and Queen as they fight your battle on different fronts and guide this company and our Ryn in the humble care of all you have entrusted to us. Thank you for allowing us to see this time come to pass, and thank you,” he paused and I heard a smile in his voice, “for the ways you continue to surprise us by your wise
provision for our needs.”
“May it be so,” we whispered. And then, torches aloft, we entered Mount Shireya.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Inside the cave, the light of our torches was much better than I had expected. Stronger than lanterns and with nearly the same coloring as daylight, our vision was hardly impaired by the cave.
“Look!” Erielle gasped. “The cells!”
Less than twenty paces inside, we came to the remains of the ancient cells which had once imprisoned the knights of the First King. The bars were off-kilter and bent wide enough to fit through. None of us could resist the temptation to go into the cell and back out at least once, reenacting, as it were, our own history. I’d heard the story as a child, told in the dramatic style of the Veetrish Storytellers with whom I was raised, but only recently had I learned the tale was true.
In the ancient time of Loeftryn de Rynloeft, his knights—including my ancestor, Stoen, who was eventually renamed Stoenryn and crowned as E’veria’s second king—were captured and imprisoned here by the traitor, Cobeld. But a miraculous explosion of light, brought about by the power of The First, released them from their cells and shrank Cobeld’s traitorous warriors into shriveled old men.
As we gazed upon the evidence of that ancient story, silence descended. And with it, hope seemed to whisper, You are not alone.
This quest was set for us the day these bars were broken, perhaps even before then.
No matter what happens, history joined hope to speak, you will not be abandoned.
We took a moment to pause and then, reverently, moved on.
We walked a fairly straight path for some time and then, like a fork in a road, the cave split.
“Gerrias, Risson, you stay with the princess,” Julien said. “Kinley and I will scout ahead and come back to report.”
“Don’t say ‘princess’!” Erielle hissed.
Julien quirked an eyebrow. “We’re inside Mount Shireya, Erielle. I think we can use her real name.”
It wasn’t long before the knights returned. Julien’s path led to a gradual incline; Kinley’s to a series of downward platforms.
“They look like steps,” my brother said, “except they’re enormous, as if made for the feet of Gaganti the Green!”
I was the only one who laughed.
I looked around at my companions. “You don’t know that story?”
“Not all of us grew up in the house of a Storyteller, Your Highness,” Erielle said. “Perhaps you’ll get a chance to tell it to us someday. But for now,” she said with a grin, “I believe your Veetrish brother has found our way.”
I nodded. The scrolls said our path would lead downward into the deep center of the mountain.
The giant stairs curved in a nearly perfect helix, graduated by the largeness of each individual step. As we descended, small rodents and insects, unaccustomed to such brightness as our sunlit torches conveyed, scuttled away from the intrusive lights we carried. After a time I looked up, but the shadows the torches threw, though wavering only from our movement, were too eerie. When I trained my gaze forward again, it was just in time to let out a squeal. I shrank back to avoid a spider web directly in front of my face.
“Whoa,” Kinley chuckled behind me when I stepped onto his feet. “Perhaps you will keep your eyes more focused on the future than the past now, eh Princess?”
“Very funny.” The spider itself was only as big as the cork of my flask, but when it came to spiders, fact and logic couldn’t combine well enough to allow the matter of size to remove their threat from my mind. Forcing myself not to look at the web’s small but heavily furred resident, I ducked and held my breath until I was clear of the sticky trap.
The only sounds were our own footsteps and an occasional sigh. Eventually the spiral ceased and the platform formation leveled off until the delineation of steps disappeared entirely.
We paused to take stock of our surroundings. Everyone spread out and walked around the chamber in which we had ended our descent. Again, I was glad for the torches that made our way bright, but the shadows they cast from the jutting rock formations did make me jump every now and then.
Several openings revealed passageways, possible exits, in every direction. But nothing stood out as a clue from the scrolls. I spied a large rock that seemed to have several sturdy footholds and decided to climb up on it to take a better look around.
I tucked my torch through a belt loop and began to climb. The stone was surprisingly cold under my hands and slightly slippery, making the ascent a bit of an effort. Finally, I made it to a level place where I could sit. Dangling my legs over the side, I pulled my torch free and shined the light all around. Nothing caught my eye or sent even a vague surge of poetry to my memory.
I was about to climb back down when I noticed Risson. He stood just a few paces in front of my perch, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He took a few steps back and struck the same, pensive pose. Suddenly, he moved around the rock formation.
“A-ha!” he exclaimed. A moment later he was back where I could see him, grinning. “It’s not Castle Rynwyk, Princess,” he said, “but it appears you’ve found a throne!”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and came our way. I stood up and lifted my light higher to better examine the rock. It didn’t take very much imagination to see that the formation of this particular rock had the shape of a chair. I stood on the giant seat. The ledge I’d climbed over to get here was an arm, which had its lumpy match on the opposite side. The back of the rock, like a throne, reached higher than the arms until it came to a rounded point.
“Mark one,” I whispered.
“Not necessarily,” Edru mused. “We’ve found the broken cell doors and the stairway. The throne could be the third mark already.”
“If so,” Kinley said, “may Rynloeft grant we pass the remaining six marks as swiftly.” But his tone betrayed his doubt that we would be that fortunate.
By the time I finished my inspection, everyone else had gathered with Risson and was examining the back side of the rock. I climbed down, but took Julien’s offered hand to jump the last few measures.
Dyfnel rubbed his hand over the rock. “There is a stronger sense of humidity to the rear than the front.”
Erielle moved to the front of the group and Gerrias lifted her up to a thin precipice that she was able to balance on and look directly into the pit behind the chair. “Listen! Can you hear the water?”
We fell silent, barely daring to breathe.
It was there, a faint rushing sound, almost river-like, though it sounded far away, masked and insulated by layers of mountain stone. It was impossible to gauge the distance from here to there.
“Hold my ankles, Gerrias,” Erielle said. “I want to see what’s down there.”
The space was narrow, only wide enough for Erielle and her brother to fit. We all waited, watching the curious sight of her legs twisting as she shined her light in different directions, held only at the ankles by her much larger brother.
“Lower me a bit, Ger,” she called up, her voice slightly strained. “It’s water!” she exclaimed a moment later. Gerrias pulled her back up and she turned around.
“The water starts right there! It’s very still, though. We’ll have to jump in from here and wade through. Maybe swim, if it’s deep. It was so dark and dull I didn’t realize it was water until I touched it. It didn’t reflect the light as it should have.”
She took a breath and lifted a hand. A slimy material clung to her fingers. When she spoke again her words came just as quickly and were infused with every bit as much excitement. “There’s a mossy substance on top that camouflages the water, but it is very, very cold. ‘Should the fish skill not be known,’” she grinned and quoted the scrolls, “‘do not continue past the throne.’ Well, we’re in back of the throne, and there’s water, so I guess it’s time to swim!”
“Where does it go?” Julien asked.
“There’s a stone arch that seem
s to lead on from here. I think there’s just enough room between the stone and the surface for us to be able to keep our heads above water. This stuff might be a challenge to disengage ourselves from, though.” Erielle shook her hand, and then again more violently, but the slime wouldn’t come off her fingers. “This could be a problem.”
“I’ll go first,” Risson said, bending to unbuckle his boots. “I’ll go ahead and make sure it’s safe to venture beyond the arch.” Risson tucked his torch and boots inside his small pack and secured it to his back before dropping over the side. Even inside his pack, the torch still gave off enough light that we knew exactly where he was.
There was a muted splash and then a moment of silence.
“It’s deep,” Risson said, his voice strangely muffled. “And this moss is thick. It clings to the skin.” He sputtered and spit a bit. “I’ll swim under the arch, look around, and report back.”
Erielle kept her torch aloft as we waited for Risson to return. The rest of us removed our packs and carefully stowed our boots, stockings, and torches. I was glad my pack was light. I didn’t need dead weight dragging me down into deep, slimy water.
As soon as I finished with my pack, Julien reached again for my hand and gave it a soft squeeze. I stepped toward him and turned so I could lean my back against his chest. His arms came around me and a slight pressure to the top of my head left a kiss behind.
I had found another of Julien’s notes when, after revealing myself to Taef, I’d packed the squire’s cap and hairpiece away. As if he knew how my vanity still pained me, it had simply said:
No disguise can hide the beauty of your heart. Likewise, no cruelty of nature or time will ever dampen the fire of my love for you. Steadfastly, yours.
Cruel nature, indeed. The bruises around my eyes had gone green, according to the admission I’d coaxed from Erielle. And my hair, on which Julien’s chin now rested, probably smelled like the hayloft above a pigsty. But it was nice of him to ignore it. To be able to feel his tenderness right now was exquisite comfort. And this particular posture, a backward sort of hug, was how he had held me the night I met the enikkas, those beautiful creatures of light, in the bay on Tirandov Isle . . . a lovely, cherished memory.
