by Sean Russell
Cynddl bent his bow and dropped the bowstring into itsnotch. Tam took a long breath and did the same. He hadn’t much stomach forwhat they were about to do.
They nodded to Alaan, and he started down the stair, silentas a breeze. The others followed, careful where they placed their feet, Cynddlwatching their backs as they went. After a brief descent Alaan stopped. Theriver could just be made out through the leaves of trees. Tam thought two darkshapes must be Hafydd’s guards, but could not be sure.
Alaan leaned close to his ear, and whispered. “Come down alittle farther where you can see them better. Wait until I reach the bottomof the stair, then shoot the guards. If somehow one escapes, I’ll see to him.”Alaan paused. “They’ll be wearing mail shirts.”
Tam nodded, and Alaan whispered the same thing to the Fael.All three climbed down a few more stairs, where Tam could not mistake a blacktree trunk for one of Hafydd’s guards. He nocked an arrow and placed threeothers within easy reach. A glance up told him the stair above was still empty.Cynddl caught his eye and turned down his mouth. Neither liked what they wereabout to do, but these were the same men who had shot Baore and tried to killthem more than once. It was a war, after all.
The call of a sorcerer thrush wafted through the wood-almostenough to make Tam smile. He pulled back the arrow, sighting carefully, notforgetting that they shot downhill and need not allow so much for the arrow’sarc.
“Ready?” Cynddl whispered.
Tam nodded, and they let their arrows fly. Tam heard themflash through the leaves but hardly looked to see whether they found theirmark. Instead he snatched up another arrow, and set it in place. Beyond thecurtain of leaves, a dark form staggered, bent double, but before Tam couldshoot again he saw another moving, quick and direct. Alaan dispatched the manin a stroke and went after another. Cynddl put an arrow in the sleeper, who hadnot wakened, or moved at all.
When Tam and the story finder reached the bottom of thestair, they found Alaan crouched over one of Hafydd’s guards, who had an arrowin his chest, the Fael bow proving stronger than links of iron once again.
“We don’t know,” the man whispered, trembling with the pain.He choked and spat up blood, then gasped horribly. “We were separated …lost.”
Alaan took the point of his blade away from the guard’sthroat and stood up.
“The third man was already dead,” Alaan said, a dark lookcrossing his face. “Kai was here, but escaped in the boat after the guard waskilled.” He gazed down the river.
“What of this one?” Cynddl asked, afraid to hear the answer.
The man lay, eyes closed, jaw clenched against the pain,sweat bathing his face. He choked again.
“I promised him a clean death,” Alaan said. “He’s seen mendrown in their own blood before.”
Cynddl and Tam turned away but had not taken a step whenthey heard the unmistakable sound of a blade cutting into flesh. Tam closed hiseyes.
“Come,” Alaan said, his voice subdued. “We’ll give them tothe river.”
The three bodies were dragged to the western shore, crowscalling from the trees, scolding the men. Alaan took the guards’ swords anddaggers and peeled off their mail shirts so that the bodies might driftdownstream. One at a time they were slipped into the river, the current takingthem in its soft fist. For a moment they lay, half-submerged, then they slidbeneath the surface, into the cool, dark depths of the River Wynnd.
“Their war is over,” Alaan said gently, as though they werenot his enemies. “But ours is not.”
They reached the bottom of the stair, and Alaan stopped,looking up at the sun, appearing to listen carefully. “Quick now, before thestair leads somewhere else.”
They went bounding up the uneven treads.
“But how do you know where it leads when?” Cynddl asked asthey ran.
“It is the gift given to Sainth by his father. Though evenso, it took Sainth some study to get the lay of the land here. It is an islandin flux, the destination of this stairway changing even as we climb it. Hurry,if we don’t reach our companions soon it will be a long wait.”
They found their friends at the top of a short, overgrowncliff. While Alaan and the others were away, they had thrown ropes over stoutbranches that overhung the river, and using them like ships’ davits, had hauledthe boat up where it swung gently, well hidden from anyone on water or land.
Crowheart, as always, appeared quietly fascinated with anyplacethey traveled. Dease, still gray-faced with smoke, climbed up onto the island’slow shoulder and smiled weakly at Tam. The Renne had not yet recovered from hisordeal in the river, and their hours of paddling had left him utterlyexhausted. Tam thought Dease went forward only on pride.
Gear was quickly gathered up and portioned out, and as theypacked their gear, Fynnol came over and began fussing with his pack beside Tam.
“So, what happened?” he said quietly. “You look as grim as Ican remember, Cousin.”
“We found three of Hafydd’s guards, though one was alreadydead. We shot them and Alaan finished the last of them after he’d answered somequestions.”
“One of Hafydd’s guards divulged information about his master!”
“Nothing particularly useful.”
“Ah.” Fynnol hefted his pack up and swung it into place. “Andwhere are we going now?”
“We are following Alaan. And I would stay close if I wereyou. This island is like the River Wynnd; its paths don’t always lead where you’reexpecting, or even to the same place twice.”
“Should we be on the lookout for this soul eater?” Cynddlasked Alaan.
Alaan stopped packing his gear. “Not yet. It can’t exist byday. Hafydd will create it after sunset, and by the last hours of darkness itwill have begun to die, passing the peak of its strength in the middle hoursbetween sunset and sunrise.”
Tam shivered. “How do we fight this monster?” he asked.
“You don’t. It can’t be harmed by any weapon devised by men.
Its skin is more impenetrable than the finest mail, and it’sstronger than the nichmear, though not as large, or so the stories say.” Alaanlooked suddenly troubled. “Listen, all of you. This thing that Hafydd will makeis of the ancient world and more powerful than we can understand. You cannothope to stand against it. It killed Tusival, the most powerful sorcerer whoever lived. If we can’t stop Hafydd from creating it …” He did not finish;nor did he need to.
“I suppose the question, then,” Fynnol said, “is, how do wekill Hafydd?”
“A more reasonable proposition,” Alaan answered, “but stillnot easily done. If Elise is here, we might prevail against Hafydd, the two ofus, but if he finds us one at a time, we shall be lucky to survive.”
“He has never caught you yet,” Crowheart offered, breakinghis silence.
“No, not in this life,” Alaan said softly. “There is onepossibility. The spell to create a soul eater would be very complicated-toocomplicated to perform from memory. It will be written down, in a book, mostlikely. Even the book would not be easy to destroy, but if we meet Hafydd, thatbook would be more important than any of our lives-mine included.”
Thirty-seven
Menwyn Wills stood at his field desk studying a map of theRiver Wynnd. His finger traced the gently winding river, seeking a small creek.
“Vast has earned his reward,” he said.
A counselor of the Duke of Vast stood looking on. “He haskept his part of the bargain, your grace.”
Menwyn straightened, gazing down at the map, seeing the landthe way an eagle might from high above. “Unfortunately, the Duke hasn’t givenme much warning.”
“It couldn’t be helped, your grace. The Renne debated toolong.”
“I’m sure they did.” Menwyn tapped a finger on the map. “Vastis certain this is the place?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll prepare the welcome.” Menwyn moved slowly aroundthe table, his eyes still fixed on the map. He crossed to the western shore,Renne lands, and began noting the name
s of towns, the borders of estates, whichhad been drawn on the paper so that he could begin dividing up the lands.
“If the Renne were smart, they would stay on the westernshore and wait for us to cross. They might defend the river against us … fora time.”
“They are wagering everything on a quick strike, your grace.”
“It is more than that. After the debacle on the Isle ofBattle they think me a bungler. But it was Innes who planned that … and yourDuke was with the Renne then. If the Prince had listened to me, Vast would havebeen on our side, and he would have turned the tide of that battle in ourfavor. That mistake has been corrected.” Menwyn Wills put his finger on theWestbrook, tracing it from its source to Castle Renne, near its mouth. “Can youcarry a warning to Vast? Is it possible?”
“It would be difficult. Time is short, and the riverbank iswatched.”
“You must try, all the same. Prince Michael of Innesappeared at the home of his cousin not a day ago. He was seeking supportersamong his father’s officers and allies-hoping to wrest control of the army fromme.” Lord Menwyn glanced up from the map to see the reaction of this man. “Fortunately,this cousin had decided to join the victorious side sometime before. He sentword, and a company of men-at-arms was sent to his house.”
“Luck sides with the virtuous.”
“I hope you’re wrong. The Prince was rescued while beingbrought to me. We haven’t managed to find him yet, despite all our efforts.”
The man had no platitude for that but shifted uncomfortably.
“The odd thing about this was that the young prince was accompaniedby a Renne-Lord Archer Renne, apparently.” He looked up at the man. “Do youknow him?”
“Only by reputation. He is … reclusive. It’s said hesuffers from an injury he received in the tourney some years back.”
“Exactly. The Prince’s cousin thought this man looked remarkablylike Samul Renne. In fact, he thought it was Samul Renne, though he had seenhim only once before and some years ago.”
“Samul Renne was executed, your grace. I witnessed it myself.”
“Then you’re certain? You saw Lord Samul die?”
The man hesitated a moment. “I saw the head fall into abasket. I was some small distance off, in a window.” He thought. “The gallowswas obscured by black hangings-a custom of the Renne, I was told.”
“So you didn’t see the axe fall?”
“No. I saw Lord Samul and Carl A’denne led up onto the gallowsplatform, along with a thief who had assisted in Lord Carl’s escape. They weremen going to their deaths-I could see the fear, even though they borethemselves well. A moment later the executioner went to work and the headsfell rather gruesomely into a basket. It could have been no other.”
“Would you wager your life on it?”
The man stood looking foolish, blinking rapidly. “I did notexamine the heads up close. It was early morning, just before sunrise. Thelight was poor.”
“Then you should pass this along to Vast: if Lord Samul’sdeath was feigned, then Carl A’denne’s might have been as well. And if that isthe case, the Renne believed Lord Carl … and are playing Vast for a fool.Warn the Duke of that, and find out if Archer Renne sits safely at home. I needto know if this information Vast has given me is true-or if it is a Rennedeception.” He put his finger on the small creek where it met the River Wynnd. “WhenI meet the Renne I don’t want any surprises.”
Thirty-eight
The white eye of a nagar gazed at her, then blinked closed.
The moon, Elise realized, slipping behind a lid ofclouds.
She was sinking through liquid so black, it was like thespace between the stars. And then she was falling, hard, like a stone throughthe air. She struck and lay for a moment, dazed.
“Orlem? Orlem …?” Her whisper echoed in the dark. Shepushed herself up into a sitting position, the world spinning. “But I was withSlighthand ….” A flash came from above, and she looked up.
“Impossible,” she heard herself say. Another flash a momentlater showed the same thing-what appeared to be water, but above her, as thoughshe looked down into a pool. It took a bit of an effort to gain her feet, forher leg had been hurt in the fall. Elise tried to reach up, but what appearedto be water was too high-just out of reach. Another flash revealed hersurroundings. She was in a round chamber with walls of natural stone-but thefloor … the floor was an ancient mosaic, partly buried in sand and pebblesand old leaves. A dark arch led into a tunnel and opposite it a narrow stairhad been carved from the natural stone. It followed the curve of the wall upinto the pool overhead. Darkness returned.
Elise shook her head, trying to clear it, and hobbledstiffly in the direction she hoped the stair lay. Her hands found the stonewall in the darkness, then another flare of lightning illuminated the chamber.She had missed the stair by a good distance.
“I’m half in a daze,” she muttered to no one, and felt alongthe wall until she encountered the stair. It was almost impossibly narrow,forcing Elise to climb with her back against the wall and her toes off thetreads. She moved up, one step, then another, her stiff leg threatening tocollapse each time she put weight on it. In a moment she reached the water,which, when illuminated by a glare of lightning, appeared to wash back andforth above her like water in a glass. She took a step up and felt cold liquidtouch the top of her scalp. Another step, and she was in water-Sianon’s naturalelement for the last age of the world. A few more steps, and she kicked free,swimming up, up toward the world above.
“Bring the child to me,” she said, gesturing to Baore.
Toren Renne and his companions stared at Elise dumbly for amoment. A flash of lightning revealed her, up to the waist in water, skinunnaturally pale, eyes waxen and strange. The appearance of this half nagaramong them disturbed the men-at-arms, who all stepped back. Some made wardingsigns.
“We have no time for superstition,” she snapped, climbingout of the water and approaching Eber and Llya. “The pool is an entrance to atunnel. Below the water, perhaps eight feet, there is air, the water suspendedoverhead by a spell the likes of which I have never seen. I will take thechild, then Eber, but the rest of you must jump in. Carry your weapons orsomething heavy. Let yourself sink down, and be prepared to suddenly dropanother eight feet onto a smooth stone floor.” She swept up Llya. “He will besafe with me, don’t worry,” she assured his anxious father.
Elise took two steps and plunged, feetfirst, into the pool.No one moved to follow.
“We must do as Lady Elise says,” Orlem announced. Hesheathed his sword and leapt into the waters behind her, disappearing in asplash.
Thirty-nine
The water glowed pale green, like the wake of a ship in thesummer sea. Elise began to knead the liquid with her hands, humming orchanting all the while, and the water took on substance; a pale opalescentjellyfish. The passageway, the faces of their companions, all turned a softgreen in this light. Toren felt as though he were below the water-which in asense he was; below the water in a bubble of air.
Elise plunged the blade of her sword through the glowingmass, and withdrew it, glistening green. She passed the mass to Orlem, who didthe same. The giant offered the mass to A’brgail, who, Toren noted, hesitatedonly a second before doing as Elise and Orlem had done. It seemed even A’brgailcould become accustomed to the arcane.
“It will stick to iron or steel, less well to brass. Yourhands might glow faintly for a few moments after you’ve touched it, but thatwill quickly fade. Run the blade of your sword or dagger through it quickly.”
A’brgail handed the mass to Toren, who was surprised at thecoolness of the “witch water,” as Elise called it. Very quickly they had anumber of blades aglow, casting an eerie green light over the smooth stone.
Elise pointed to the floor of the tunnel, which was wet. “Hafyddis before us,” she said. “Here is his track.”
She led them at a jog, her glowing blade held ready.
The tunnel quickly proved to be a hallway, for a distancecarved out of th
e island’s bedrock, then the right-hand wall became enormousblocks of tightly fitted granite. Here and there a kind of writing could beseen carved into the wall, and though Elise stopped to regard this, if shecould read it, she did not say.
The passageway descended and curved slightly to the left. Afterperhaps two hundred feet, side passages began to open up, first to the left,then to either side. Elise stopped at each and lifted her sword high,illuminating the writing over the openings.
“Do these signs mean anything?” A’brgail asked.
Elise shook her head, her tangle of wet hair spraying dropsof water into the air. “It appears to be an early form of an ancient languagethat Sianon knew. Some words I recognize, a few others I can guess at. Thispassage we are in seems to have been called the ‘east nool.’ Nool, I wouldguess, means passage or hallway. Have you ever seen such signs before, Orlem?”
“I have not, my lady.”
She glanced down at the wet floor. “It does not matter. Wefollow Hafydd’s track. Let’s hope we are not so slow that their clothingdries.” She set off again at a jog.
But in a hundred yards Hafydd’s trail disappeared at a blankstone wall.
Orlem tapped his pommel on the stone and examined the edgesby the glow of his blade. “It appears to be seamless … solid rock. Not a slabthat has been rolled into place.”
Elise nodded, her look pensive but not surprised.
“What devilry does Hafydd practice?” A’brgail asked.
“It was not Hafydd,” Elise stated evenly. “It is this place.Even the passageways change.” She touched a hand to the wall. “Orlem?
You have some of Sainth’s ability to travel the hiddenpaths, can you find your way here?”
“I cannot, my lady. Even Sainth might be confused in such aplace.”
“I fear you’re right. Let’s hope that Hafydd fares nobetter. We must make a map as we go. We might have to explore many passagesbefore we find what we seek.”
