by Sean Russell
“I’ll make the map, Lady Elise,” Theason said, withsomething near to enthusiasm. He took from his jacket a small notebook wrappedmany times in heavy, oiled cotton. “Hardly wet at all,” he assured everyone. Hefound a writing implement and began drawing immediately, reminding Toren ofKai-the man they called the mapmaker.
“There was a branch not far back-let’s see where it willtake us,” Elise said.
The company retreated in their bubble of pale green light, A’brgailand Toren Renne bringing up the rear, listening for any sounds behind them.
“Have you ever seen such a place?” Toren whispered to A’brgail.
“No. Even the great ancient fortresses of the Knights weresmall and crude compared to this.”
Toren nodded. “They must have had mighty enemies to makesuch a stronghold.”
“Or mighty fears.”
The tunnel was wide enough for three to walk abreast, thoughthey went in groups of two, dripping water behind from their plunge through thepool. Elise stopped suddenly, crouching down. Toren pushed through the groupuntil he could see. The floor was wet there, a thin stream of water seeming toemerge from the wall.
“Is it our track or Hafydd’s? “Toren asked.
“Hafydd’s,” Elise said, rising. “I can’t find Orlem’s bootprint here.” She dashed on, her light footstep echoing in the ancient hall.
Hafydd stared at the floor of the tunnel as though it hadsomehow offended him. He crouched, and Beldor Renne half expected him to smashthe floor with his fist, but instead he reached out and rubbed his hand overthe water that lay there in droplets and small pools.
“We are wandering in circles,” A’denne pronounced. Unlikeeveryone else he ignored Hafydd’s dark moods and spoke whenever the urgestruck.
Hafydd appeared not to hear but rose to his feet andmotioned for his captain. “Pick two good men for rear guards. Sianon is hereand not alone.” He spun on his heel and set off down the hallway.
In fifty yards they came to a splitting of the way-three passagesgoing off at different angles. Hafydd held a torch aloft, examining thewriting. “I shall kill Kai when I find him next,” he said evenly. He waved historch. “This way.”
The passage went less than a hundred feet before it branchedin two. Sianon had apparently gone left. Hafydd hesitated only a moment, thentook the right-hand passage, which appeared to lead down. Fifty feet along,three side passages opened up, two to the right, one to the left. Hafydd tookthe second opening to the right.
The tunnel split again not far off. Hafydd stopped here forsome moments, examining the marks on the walls. He even took out his sword andbanged it once against stone, so that it rang an unholy note, echoing anddistorting off the walls. But divining did not seem to offer an answer, and aftera moment he sheathed his sword again. Beldor could see that Hafydd’s mood hadbecome more than dark. Even A’denne had the good sense to stay quiet.
The left passage was chosen this time, and it soon curvedsharply around and angled slightly down. A’denne caught Beld’s eye and raisedhis eyebrows, then shrugged. Beld thought it was as articulate as one could getabout this place, which appeared to defy reason.
An odd, distant sound reached them, echoing strangelyagainst the stone, but no one knew what it was. The passage ended in a narrowopening, and beyond was a circular stairwell that wound steeply down. Hafyddstuck his head through the opening, and with no further hesitation, starteddown, his footsteps echoing and distorting back up the well. Beldor thoughtthey sounded almost like words.
After thirty steps Beld began to feel as though he hadentered an icehouse, and his breath appeared. “Autumn outside, winter inside,”he muttered to himself. Stairs, endless and ancient, kept appearing before him,curving vertiginously round and round, and the strange sound, almost a ringing,grew louder and louder.
At the bottom of the stair they emerged into a massive domedhall, eight-sided and lavishly decorated, though the light from their smalltorches illuminated it only dimly. Beldor stopped and turned a slow circle,while Hafydd continued out into the center of the hall.
“It is a lovely bedchamber, Father,” Hafydd whispered. “ButI have come to wake you, at last.”
Alaan stood staring at the pool, which they had finallyreached after an endless hike up and down stairs and slopes drenched by rain.Dease was so tired he fell down on the mud and wet grass and hid his head inhis arms.
“Where are we now?” Crowheart wondered.
“This is the place I was seeking.” Alaan crouched, lookingat the ground. Lightning flashed off in the distance, offering its faint light.“But someone is here before us.”
“Who?” Fynnol asked.
“Orlem, certainly,” Alaan said, pointing out a massive bootprint. “And with luck that means Elise Wills as well.” He gazed at the ground amoment, awaiting the little flashes of light that came from far away. “Butthere are many footprints here. I fear Hafydd found this place before us.”
“And where have they all gone?” Fynnol asked, lookingaround.
But Alaan did not answer; he stared at the pool a moment, asthough the sight of it robbed him of speech and reason.
“Into the pool,” he whispered. “They’ve gone intothe pool.” He walked quickly around the water’s edge, examining the groundby lightning flash. “And not come out again …”
They began to find storage rooms as they reached the lowerlevel: an armory; a spirits room where casks still stood against the wall; abakery with a great hearth.
Toren lingered there a moment, as though he could almost hearthe former inhabitants. He closed his eyes and listened.
“Do you hear it?” a voice asked.
Toren opened his eyes to find Eber and Llya, halfway out thedoor, gazing at him.
“Hear what?” Toren responded.
“The whispers,” Eber said. “As though he were trying tospeak to us in the smallest breezes, the silences.”
Toren shook his head. “I hear nothing.”
“Lord Toren? Eber?” It was A’brgail calling. “We mustn’t becomeseparated from the others.”
Toren nodded and pushed quickly past Eber and his son, feelingthe child’s large, knowing eyes on his back.
The vastness of the maze began to make itself clear as theywalked, miles passing beneath their feet, though they arrived nowhere.
“Do you think we’re still on the island?” Toren wonderedaloud, as they stopped to consider another side passage.
“I think we are, Lord Toren,” Elise answered. “Though it isonly a feeling-an intuition.” None of the urgency had gone out of Elise’s step.Though Toren knew that facing Hafydd frightened her, the fear didn’t seem todim her determination.
They made their way down this new passage, descending at ashallow angle. After a short while a soft metallic tinkling reached them. Itechoed and distorted up the tunnel, never growing louder though occasionallyfading almost completely, only to return as they progressed.
Passages opened up sporadically, and at each Elise wouldlisten carefully, then choose the tunnel from which the sound seemed toemanate.
“What could that be?” Orlem asked, as they stopped to listenat another opening.
“Water running, I hope,” said Elise.
“But it sounds like small bells ringing,” the giant said.
“I pray you’re wrong, Orlem,” Elise said. “We can’t drinkbells, and our waterskins are rapidly emptying.”
The giant glanced down at the waterskin that hung from a strapover his shoulder, it sloshed when he walked, less than a quarter full.
“Do you know what I find odd?” Eber said softly. Llya hadfallen asleep riding on Baore’s back, his head bouncing on the Vale-man’sshoulder. Eber himself looked ready to fall asleep.
“What, Eber?”
“Though we have traveled all about, we have never found ourway back to the pool where we entered the tunnels.”
Elise nodded, her look thoughtful. “The maze has not donewith us yet.”
“Or people who f
ind their way in here never leave …” A’brgailsaid prophetically. He met no one’s eye after offering this bit of speculation.
“I doubt anyone has been here before us, Sir Gilbert,” Elisesaid. “The place is too well hidden.”
“Unless someone who had not the skill to stay afloat fellinto the pool …” Eber suggested.
“Hurry on,” Elise said. “No amount of speculation willchange the task we have come here to perform. Hafydd has to be stopped whetherwe are to find our way out or not.” Her eye fixed on Llya, asleep on Baore’sshoulder, his face the epitome of innocence. She reached out as though shewould touch his cheek, but then stopped, sadness and regret overwhelming herlook of resolution. Quickly, she turned away and set off down the passage, themetallic tinkling echoing softly around them.
At length the passage ended at a narrow opening, ornatelydecorated with signs and symbols they had not seen before. Elise held her bladealoft for a moment, examining them, but then shook her head and thrust theblade into the opening, leaning in to see what lay beyond.
“It’s a stair,” she announced, “circling down. A cold stair.”
Elise pushed through, and Toren could hear her steps echoingagainst the unforgiving stone. Slighthand followed, forcing his large framethrough the narrow opening. The rest went in turn, one man at a time. WhenToren’s turn came he found himself in what looked like a well, perfectly roundand vertical, but with a winding stone stair circling down. Unlike the othertunnels, this well was as cold as an icehouse, and he quickly learned not totouch the frigid walls for balance. His own blade lit the way for him, and hefollowed the retreating back of Gilbert A’brgail, round and round. It wasimpossible to guess how far they descended-a very great distance, Torenthought, and he was sure it grew colder with each step.
Baore stopped momentarily to drape his massive cloak overLlya, who stood blinking and rubbing his eyes, the cloak flowing onto the flooraround.
“Winter appears to await below.” Toren helped Baore arrangethe cloak over the child. “Damn, it is cold!”
Baore scooped the child up again. “I’m from the north,” theValeman said. “Cold is afraid of me.”
They went more quickly then, round and round, trying to staywarm with movement. Toren caught sight of Elise’s retreating back, tangledyellow hair bobbing. She went swiftly, as though their long march and time onthe river had not tired her at all. The others straggled behind, Eber supportedby Theason.
“There is light below,” someone called up the well, and thecolumn slowed its descent, suddenly wary. Toren saw the glowing swords belowrise up, ready to do battle, faces appeared in the cool light, drawn and pale.
A few more steps, and they stopped entirely. Someone waved ahand at them. “Lord Toren. Sir Gilbert. Please, come down.”
The others pressed against the ice-cold walls to let thempass.
Elise waited below. Above the murmur of what was clearlyrunning water, a voice droned though Toren could not make out the words. Eliselooked up at them, her face a ruin of anguish.
“Hafydd makes the soul eater,” she said, her voice colderthan the air. “We must sacrifice everything to stop him … if we’re notalready too late.”
Forty
The army camped in a broad coomb through which ran a clearstream. The ridges to the north and south were steeply wooded and alive withswift streams that burbled and whispered to each other day and night. Samulgazed down at the army below and felt a shiver course through him. It waslarger than he imagined. Three or four times greater than any force the Rennecould muster.
“Now I understand why my cousins were so desperate,” hewhispered. “Look at Menwyn’s army!”
“It is Hafydd’s army,” Pwyll answered softly, “as Lord Menwynwill learn to his dismay.”
“It was the army of the Prince of Innes,” Prince Michaelsaid, “and will be again.”
“Whoever it is loyal to, this is an army preparing to gointo battle,” Lord Samul offered. “They’re forming ranks and getting ready tomove. Either they are about to cross the Wynnd or they think the Renne areapproaching. They’ll slaughter Fondor’s army if he is foolish enough to crossthe river.”
“He’s not so foolish,” Carl said, glancing at Samul, but hesaid no more.
Prince Michael turned to the others where they crouched,staring out from behind a fallen oak. “What I must do next I must do alone.Against these tens of thousands, even Pwyll’s blade will be of no avail.” Heturned to Carl. “You have fulfilled your part of the bargain-you and Jamm. Youbrought me here. Though we could not have done it without you, Pwyll. You haveall done your parts. Now I must do mine.”
He went back through the wood and found their horses. Fromthe saddlebag of one he took a banner of the House of Innes and fixed it to apole cut from the forest. Nodding once to each of them, he mounted his horse,and, swinging the banner high, set off down the hill.
His feet pushing hard against the stirrups, Prince Michaelfelt the shoulders of his horse working as it went slowly down the path.Emerging from the trees, he angled across the meadow directly for an opening inthe ring of stakes. A dozen men-at-arms stood guard there. They saw him comingfrom a distance, but thought nothing of it, for riders came and went regularlythere.
The Prince wasn’t sure how he would handle this moment. Hedoubted that Menwyn Wills had left orders for how to deal with a suddenappearance of the Prince of Innes, but one could never be sure. If the guardsrecognized him, he would simply ride through, hoping surprise would grant himthat moment’s reprieve. If they didn’t recognize him, he would have toimprovise. He couldn’t let himself be taken quietly to Menwyn Wills-that wouldbe the end of him.
The Prince felt an odd sense of floating as he rode towardthe unsuspecting guards. As though he watched the entire proceedings fromsomewhere else-from up on the ridge with his fugitive companions. The sound ofhis horse seemed to come to him from afar-the creak of his saddle, the bannerfluttering in the wind. The pale, silent faces of the guards seemed to loom upbefore him, staring, as though they had seen a ghost.
“I am Prince Michael of Innes,” he said to them from afar, “remainas you are.”
“Your grace …” one of the men whispered, his face whitewith surprise.
“You cannot pass,” another guard said, stepping forward andreaching for his sword. “We have orders-”
But a third guard restrained him with a firm hand on hisarm. “It is the Prince, you idiot. He does not need papers.”
The guards bowed their heads quickly as he passed, but onewent running ahead. “The Prince!” he called. “Prince Michael has returned.”
The men had been formed into ranks, but then allowed to sitand talk quietly among themselves while they awaited orders to march. Down thelong lane that divided the camp, the Prince rode, lines of infantry to eitherside. He wore the stolen livery of the soldiers of Innes, and over his headfluttered the banner of his House. The calling of the guard who ran before drewthe men’s gaze, and many who knew him rose to their feet. A murmur swept downthe ranks, like a wave, and the men began to rise to have a better view. Toeither side a sea of disbelieving faces. And then he saw a man he knew who hadonce been a house guard.
“Rica,” he said, and nodded.
“Your grace …” the man said, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Wewere told you were dead.”
“Too many lies have been told in my absence. Find twenty menyou trust and fall in behind me.”
“But, your grace,” the man said, “we have been ordered intoranks-”
“And now you have been ordered out. Do you take orders fromthe Prince of Innes or Menwyn Wills?”
The man drew himself up. “I take orders from the Prince of Innes,”he said, and began calling out names.
Another two hundred feet the Prince rode, his newly formed guardfalling in behind him. There, almost in the encampment’s center, he stopped.The army of Innes was in such a state that the men almost broke ranks to see ifthe rumor were true. Michael stopped a moment, turning his mo
unt in a slowcircle, letting the men get a good look at him. Down the lane he could see officersand men of high rank striding quickly out to see what this fuss could be.Michael knew he had only a moment. He stood up in his stirrups.
“I am Prince Michael of Innes,” he declared loudly, “and Ihave returned to you by a difficult road. I know it was said that I had died,but you were also told that my father was assassinated by his own guard-whichwe all know was a lie. He was murdered by men who claimed to be his allies. Thesame men who thought I had been killed … but I escaped and came back to you.”
A hush had fallen over the army, though far off the rumorstill traveled, like distant surf. The officers and noblemen were all butrunning by then. One of them was shouting, but the sudden roar of the armydrowned him out. The men broke ranks, pouring over the field toward the Prince.Rica and his twenty guards formed a circle around him, trying to hold the menback a few feet at least. Michael could see all the faces gazing up at him inwonder, returned from the dead, as it must have seemed-and was in ways thesemen would never know.
Men he knew began to shout their names to him, and he wavedthese closer, saying, “Let them through.”
The noblemen, once allies of his fathers, and officers, werehopelessly cut off. Michael could see the group of them hemmed in and beingtossed about like a boat on a storm. The Prince knew that if he pointed at themand denounced them now, they would be in great danger, but he hoped there weresome among them who were still loyal to his House, and he didn’t want to risktheir lives. He would need them yet.
Now was the moment to confront Menwyn Wills and his cabal …if he could move this mass of men, for he had earlier picked out the banners ofMenwyn Wills flying at the far end of the encampment. He began pointing withhis banner and moving his horse that way. The men around him quickly understoodand started calling out. “To Lord Menwyn! We go to address Lord Menwyn Wills!”
Progress was almost imperceptible, but inch by inch Michaelmade his way down the length of the camp, the center of a roiling mass of men,all of whom wanted to get a look at him, and who called out his name over andover. Many reached out and he touched their hands as though to prove that hewas not a ghost.
