“Has this been done ere now?” asked the captain.
Aravan nodded. “Aye, Bekki did learn from Phais and Loric the rite during the Great War.”
The captain held up a hand. “Yet crossing the Planes requires more than just knowing the steps. One must also be at an in-between at the right time, as well as become lost in the rite.”
Aravan frowned and then said, “As for reaching the proper state of mind, I am certain the Drimma might do so whenever they celebrate Elwydd at the changing of the seasons. If so, ’tis a small matter to have them repeat that rite to go in-between.”
“I agree with my chier,” said Aylis. “The paean to Elwydd will put the Dwarves in the proper state to make the crossing.”
Alamar nodded. “My daughter is right, I think. And besides, Dwarves are the proper ones to teach.”
“I concur,” said Aravan.
“Thy meaning?” asked Arandor.
“Just this, Captain,” said Aravan. “I think we do not want Humankind learning the way to pass from Plane to Plane. As I once told Lady Faeril, look at how Humans despoil the land. Although Humankind can do little more to ruin Neddra than the Rûcks and such haven’t already done, to let them loose in the High Plane, well . . .”
“I understand,” said Arandor, nodding.
“This, then, I propose,” said Aravan. “If the Drimma do agree, we teach them the necessary steps, and can they get into the needed frame of mind to make the crossing, they will be the ones to ferry supplies from Mithgar to here. Besides, if this works, some might even agree to help staff the fortress, and as I have oft said and seen as well, they are mighty warriors.”
Arandor nodded. “Ah, then, Humans staff the garrison on the Mithgarian side, there in the vale north of Inge, but Drimma bear supplies across.”
“Just so,” said Aravan.
Arandor thought a moment and then said, “Kachar is the deeve of the Drimma nearest to that crossing; who is DelfLord there?”
“Borak,” said Aravan.
“Good, then,” said the captain. “I will send an emissary to DelfLord Borak.”
Aravan turned to Alamar. “Wouldst thou ask one of the Seers to go with the envoy? Together they should be able to convince Borak to agree. I mean, after all, it is a great boon we offer.”
Arandor frowned. “Great boon?”
“Why, the manner of the crossing of the Planes,” said Alamar.
“Ah, yes,” replied Arandor.
Alamar glanced at Aylis. “Now, as to a Seer to send on that mission—”
“I will go, Father,” said Aylis.
“No, daughter. I can see that you and that young sprout of a ship’s captain are eager to rejoin the Eroean and set off to who knows where. Instead, I will ask Delen to go. He’s eager to visit Mithgar.”
“As you wish, Father,” said Aylis, her gaze downcast, though she squeezed Aravan’s hand in delight.
Arandor said, “Then we are in accord: if High King Ryon and DelfLord Borak also agree, it seems we have a framework for the upkeep of the black fortress, as well as the plans to assure the ways into Mithgar and Adonar and Vadaria are warded against Spawn escaping from Neddra.”
Alamar looked at the empty bottle before him and said, “We’d drink a toast to that had we a bottle of good brandy.” Then he laughed and added, “Or even a bottle of swill.”
11
Warding
NEXUS
MID WINTER, 6E1
Asevenday later, as the dull red sun stood at the zenith—neither morning nor afternoon, but the in-between time necessary for beings to cross out from Neddra and unto Vadaria—Aravan and Aylis began the chant that would take them over to the Mageworld. They were going to collect some of Aylis’s belongings—auguring cards, a viewing bowl and dark dye, a finding needle, a small crystal globe, and other such Seer’s gear—for she and Aravan were on the first leg of their journey to Mithgar, to Merchants Crossing in Jugo, where the Elvenship Eroean was moored and her crew patiently waited for their captain to return.
As the pair emerged on the plateau in Vadaria, the clanking sounds of a hammer against a chisel against stone split the air, along with some venting of oaths. Aravan frowned and looked up and about, and on the heights cupping the flat he saw several Mages standing ward. Aylis waved up at them, and one sketched a salute while the others nodded or raised hands in greeting. Then she and Aravan moved onward. As they rounded the shoulder of the bluff hemming in the table, they saw the reason for the cursing: by pulley and rope, Mages were hoisting a large block of stone up to a scaffold above. Down below, others worked with hammers and chisels, dressing the next block. Still others led horses drawing wains up the slopes below, and bringing more stone to the site. Magekind was at work building a tower, a bastion to ward the in-between.
Aravan glanced up at the barely begun fortification and laughed. “I thought I would see stones floating free through the air to be precisely maneuvered into place. But instead I see high-rising platforms and ropes and pulleys and mortar-filled hods and trowels and hammers and chisels and sweating and straining people.”
Aylis grinned and said, “It would take much
Aravan frowned and said, “Methinks ye Mages should have asked the Drimma to build the tower.”
Aylis turned up a hand, a rueful grin on her face. “You are right, Chier. I ween none thought of it.”
“ ’Tis all the more reason for Durek’s line to learn to go in-between.”
Aylis looked at Aravan and said, “I suppose across the nexus from Neddra to Adonar whatever fortification is being raised there also is not being built by Dwarves.”
Aravan chuckled and shook his head. “I suspect that none thought of asking the Drimma to erect that bastion, either.”
Aylis then said, “Let us suggest to whoever is in charge here that he ask the Dwarves to come.”
As they started across the slope, Aravan smiled and said, “Knowing the Drimma, they will tear down whatever they find as being shoddy and start from the bedrock below and make the structure Drim-solid to the very top.”
Aylis and Aravan spent the next two fortnights in her cottage, talking, making love, laughing, making love, cooking, making love, sleeping, making love, making plans, and making love. It was as if they were, in part, trying to make up for the many millennia they were separated—from the destruction of Rwn to the time when Aravan and Bair crossed into Vadaria right after recovering the Silver Sword, a total of seventy-two hundred and twenty-nine years.
On the day before departing Vadaria, Aravan and Aylis sat at the table out in the open air. Aravan gazed at the scintillant glitter of the stream tumbling past and said, “ ’Tis an altogether impossible task.”
Aylis looked at her black-haired lover and asked, “Impossible task?”
“Trying to catch up to what we missed.”
Aylis smiled. “As the old adage goes: you can never catch up and get even, and certainly not ever get ahead. Still, I enjoy every moment we strive to do so.” Even as she said it, Aylis blushed furiously.
Aravan laughed and looked at her, a gleam in his eye, and then he stood and offered her his hand and asked, “Shall we, my demure maiden, put that eld saying to another test?”
At the end of those two fortnights, Aylis took up her small bundle and Aravan took up his spear, and as the bright moon of Vadaria stood at the zenith—an in-between time, neither yesterday nor tomorrow, yet the easiest time to make the crossing—the pair canted the chant and paced the steps, and within moments they stood beneath the black moon of Neddra, sailing above through the dark broken clouds.
And the air rang with distant cries and blasts; for a league and a mile to the south, fire bloomed and lightning flashed from dark fortress walls, while a stark illumination lit up the killing ground and the land beyond, revealing a vast Rûptish army surrounding the bastion.
A nighttime battle was under way.
Arrows fle
w from the walls, to be met by arrows flown in return. Hundreds of Spawn lay dead on the killing grounds, and more shrieked and died in the volleys, while on the darkened walls above, archers loosed shafts and Mages threw bolts, and Healers rushed hither and yon and treated wounded allies.
Spawn raised long scaling ladders against the walls and began clambering up, but Elves above waited until the Rûpt were nearly to the top ere using long forked poles to push the ladders out and away, Rûcks and Hlôks to tumble down screaming.
From within the shelter of a roofed-over battering ram, Trolls hammered at the fortress gates. But fire rained down upon them, and they flinched and cowered, yet the wetted, hide-covered roof protected them, and they and their garb had been thoroughly soaked and did not burn, and so they rose up and hammered on. Flaming oil flowed out from under the gate, but grounded iron plates formed a wedge and fended the fire away.
In the dimly lit courtyard beyond the gate, an Elven army stood assembled, ready to do battle were the entry to be breached.
“My kindred,” said Aravan, shifting from foot to foot, his knuckles white against the haft of his spear. “I need do something. I cannot just stand here. Valké must fly to the western crossing and bring reinforcements from Adonar. We can attack the foe from the rear. Yet I cannot leave thee unprotected.”
But Aylis shook her head. “I will be well enough, Chier. Yet ’tis not the in-between time for crossing into Adonar from Neddra.”
“Rach!” cursed Aravan, frustrated in even this.
And still the battle raged.
But then out from the ragged clouds above, four bellowing Dragons came sweeping, their battle cries drowning out all others. Across the skies they hurtled and swooped down toward howling ranks of the Rûptish army encircling the black fortress
Aravan gasped, “How did Drakes come into this—?”
Aylis spoke an arcane word—“Evulgare! ”—and peered at the Dragons, and then said, “ ’Tis illusion, Chier.—The Dragons, I mean. The conjured fire and lightning are real, but the Drakes are not. ’Tis a deception Magekind brings to bear.”
As the Dragons plummeted toward the Spawn, claws extended, fire licking out from the corners of their mouths, Aravan slammed the butt of his spear against the stone and said, “Aylis, I have to do something. I cannot leave thee, yet I also cannot just stand here and—”
“Nay, love, look,” she replied. “Even now the foe is routed.”
In the face of the Drakes, the ranks of Rûcks and Hlôks and Trolls and Ghûls broke, and Spawn fled, the Dragons roaring in pursuit, spewing illusory fire, augmented by real Firemage castings. Rûpt burned and died screaming, yet some aflame ran on. Then the Drakes veered away from the chase and returned to settle atop the four towers at the corners of the fortress, where they bellowed challenges into the air, their thunderous echoes to slap among the crags and peaks.
“It takes much life essence to conjure a Dragon,” said Aylis, “one with movement and dimension and fire and sound. Those Illusionists who have done so will need to be replaced by other Mages, and soon.” Even as she spoke, the Drakes took to wing and flew up above the clouds to vanish.
Aylis smiled. “Good. The Dragons went as true Drakes would, and didn’t simply fade away. That will give the enemy pause ere they try to assail the fortress again.”
She turned to Aravan. Clearly he was agitated that he had had no part in this battle. Aylis took him by the hand and said, “Come, love, let us to the fortress, where we will celebrate with the others.”
Aravan inhaled deeply and slowly let his breath out. Then he shook his head. “The Rûpt scattered in all directions. We need wait till the coming of the dismal day on this ill-begotten world ere we start for the bastion. I would not have us encounter remnants of that army.”
In less than a candlemark, Aravan and Aylis heard heavy treadfall thudding across the slopes below.
“Trolls,” murmured Aravan.
Moments later, many feet pattered by down in the narrow vale running past.
“Rûcks?” whispered Aylis.
“Rucha or Loka or both,” breathed Aravan.
Though Aylis and Aravan stayed alert the rest of the night, no other Spawn passed in the darkness.
At last drear dawn seeped into the sky, and Valké took to wing. Up and across the brown-tinged air he soared, and after but moments he spiraled down and landed at the rear of the plateau, where a flash of silvery light brought Aravan in Valké’s stead.
“ ’Tis clear. Let us hie to the fortress.”
And together Aravan and Aylis hastened down the slope and toward the dark stronghold below, where new fires burned outside the walls, pyres for hundreds upon hundreds of slain Spawn.
“How many battles have ye fought while we were away?” asked Aravan.
“This was the first,” said Alamar, “though I doubt it’ll be the last.”
“It took them some while to assemble again and to collect even more Spaunen to come and assault the bastion,” said Arandor.
“ ’Twas nigh a full Horde,” said Aravan.
“Next time it might well be that,” said the captain.
Aravan sipped from his wine and looked at Alamar and then Arandor. “The crossing points here on Neddra need be warded as well as the fortress, else the Foul Folk could set ambuscades for those entering or leaving. Yet to have guards at the crossings has two drawbacks: they advertise to the Rûpt exactly where the in-betweens are, and it puts the warders at risk. And so, I suggest that at the critical times of crossing—mid of night when arriving on Neddra, and mid of day when leaving—that patrols ‘just happen’ to be in the vicinities of the nexus points.”
Alamar shook his head. “Not necessary, my boy.”
Aravan frowned. “Not necessary?”
“That’s what I said,” snapped the Mage.
“Father,” cautioned Aylis, glaring at her sire, then adding, “You’d better explain.”
Alamar gritted his teeth, then took a deep breath and let it out. “A Seer looking one day ahead or even a half is altogether enough.”
Aylis frowned, then nodded in agreement. “If all that is being examined are the times of the crossings and whether or no the enemy is nigh, it should be simple enough.”
“I told you it wasn’t necessary,” said Alamar, somehow preening while seated, a self-satisfied cast to his face. “We have things well in hand.”
Aylis looked at her sire and shook her head and sighed. “Well in hand or not, Father, I think a good leader would lay his cards on the table ere jumping down someone’s throat.”
Alamar rolled his eyes as if asking, Where’s the fun in that?
Arandor laughed and said, “Lady Aylis, it was through a Seer that we knew the assault was coming. And so, we had the plan in place. My battalion stood assembled, and archers and repellers were on the walls as well as Magekind.”
“The Dragons were my idea,” said Alamar, again preening though he sat in a chair. “Scared the spit out of them, too.”
“But we didn’t foresee the fact that the Trolls would be protected such that fire did them no harm,” said Arandor.
Alamar made a negating gesture. “Pah! Next time we’ll ask the Sorcerers to simply destroy their shelter, and then use lightning.”
They sat for moments, none speaking, but then Aravan asked, “Thinkest thou they will attack again?”
City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar Page 7
