Katalas urged the mage into the tunnel then stood aside as his rangers passed through. The yrch surged forward, making him throw himself into the tunnel He rolled to a stop by kicking against a metal plate embedded in the wall. The granite door jerked out of its alcove and barreled back up the tunnel, sending yrch flying back out into the gully as it slammed shut.
The ranger captain breathed in relief before picking himself up and joining the others further down the tunnel. They waited in a small chamber whose ceiling and walls were covering in luminous fungi that bathed the room with a green and purple glow.
He stuck his arm into a gap in the rock wall as he entered, wrapping his hand around an iron bar hidden inside. He pulled with a grunt and a stone door slid shut behind him, sealing the room off from the tunnel. The floor shifted violently beneath their feet.
“What was that?” Tenna asked in alarm.
“I just brought the face of the mountain down on the portal and collapsed the tunnel,” Katalas said. “The mage was right to say this entrance is lost. Now, follow me.”
Katalas turned and led the company deeper into the Celadine warrens.
36
The Shrine
Closeted away from the influences of the outside world, the Shrine’s existence was neither secret nor exclusive. Anyone, such as the crew of the Sunset’s Trace, was welcomed by the Keepers, as long as their intentions were peaceful. Though a preserve dedicated to Onúl, faith in him was unnecessary for acceptance as a guest.
While it was true drifters and pilgrims were welcomed within her walls, few were allowed into the innermost sanctum, and even fewer caught a glimpse of the High Keeper while performing the duties of the day. It was a rare honor for a guest to find themselves in her presence.
As a former member of the Shrine’s society, it was no surprise when her summons came. It was the swiftness of the summons that seemed strange. The ship had hardly been tied off before a robed acolyte was standing on the quay, waiting to lead her away. But what left Stile reeling was something else entirely, for he’d been summoned as well.
Intrigued and more than a little anxious, the captain did his best to clean himself up. The acolyte informed him his men were welcome to come to the guest barrack and take a hot meal if they desire. Stile suspected his men would heartily accept the meal but prefer to sleep aboard ship. Veteran seamen had trouble sleeping on land, and were partial to their own hammocks.
Stile left Cyril in charge of the ship and joined Y’neth as they followed the acolyte and her guardian escort toward the inner reaches of the Shrine. The sanctuary was so ancient the jungle had grown up over it, hiding much of the original shape of the structure in an unrecognizable mass of trees, vines and wild grasses. They walked down a long colonnade made of high pillars that held a massive gray ceiling of stones over a polished marble floor. The path branched in three directions at the colonnade’s end.
The acolyte paused to direct Stile to wait in the gardens, then ushered Y’neth through a pair of large doors made of dark mahogany. Stile spent much of his time studying the intricate carvings that covered the surface of the red doors. The many names of Onúl were written in every language around their perimeter, while inside that border were beautiful depictions of all the races in acts of worship at the foot of the Worldtree. Most intriguing to the captain was the oak leaf motif present throughout the design.
Noting the guardians watching his every move, Stile strolled toward the gardens. He avoided the chapel he found there, mostly out of embarrassment. He was a believer, though he thought himself not a very good one. He promised to do better once this affair was done.
Several variations of the oak leaf motif graced the gardens. Oak leaves decorated the capitals of every column, were stamped into the foundations and trim of the pools, and found their likeness in wood, metal, and stone sculptures throughout the gardens.
A deep pool dominated the center of the gardens. Colorful fish he recognized from his childhood swam placid circles beneath the water’s surface. He’d traveled on his father’s ship in his youth, and one of their voyages had taken them to the isle of Menot where his father had conducted business with Yaar elves. They had caught him swimming in an atrium pool, trying to catch the fish in his little hands.
To his crew, Stile fit the mold of crotchety sea captain, but there was more to him than what he showed to the world. He owned a well-appointed home in Hocsaros, diligently maintained by a staff of well-paid stewards. A home he rarely enjoyed. He maintained a rather large private library there, its numbers of volumes always expanding as he made acquisitions in his travels. Always on the lookout for rare tomes, he spent long hours devouring their contents during the empty hours aboard ship. Indeed, Stile was better educated than many noble children, all through his voracious reading habits.
Lost in his thoughts, Stile jumped when a soft hand slipped over his shoulder. He turned to find Y’neth standing there in the company of the acolyte.
“The High Keeper wishes to see you,” Y’neth said softly, a strange look Stile couldn’t decipher on her face. Stile nodded and followed the acolyte.
“Captain,” Y’neth’s voice brought him up short, “whatever happens, please know I’ve enjoyed our time together and will miss it in the future. You’ve become…significant to me.”
“Aye,” Stile whispered low, “and you to me, lady.” He bowed low then turned to follow the acolyte with his heart caught in his throat. He heard a splash and turned back to see Y’neth swimming in the pool, cavorting with the colorful fish—just as he’d done as a child.
He smiled to himself and walked on.
37
The Isle of Nesos
Tander’s grief seemed to wash away in a single night. Cern and his daughter led him down from the aerie, leaving Winder behind to perform his ministrations on Chrysafi’s hide. From the base of the mountain they took a carriage into a nameless hamlet bustling with activity. Tander got a sense the place was always awash with mirth and laughter both day and night.
His hosts took him on a brisk tour of the village, complete with introductions to innumerable residents, elves and dwarves both. A late meal followed, a meal attended by a haphazard gathering of villagers and clerics. None of them had ever seen a human before, but any apprehension they might have been feeling seemed overshadowed by the novelty of his presence.
Of greatest interest was the naked Blade held by his belt.
Before long the tables were cleared and pushed away, and instruments of every sort were pulled from box-like benches along the walls. Cern fetched Tander’s lute from a nearby corner and handed it to the boy. “Would you honor us by joining your music with our own?”
Tander gave the old elf an uncertain nod and took his lute. He hadn’t played in several days, and it was badly out of tune. He pulled his pitch from a pocket inside his vest, tuned the low string, then used the harmonies to tune up the other three. When he was done he sat waiting for the other musicians to begin, but they all seemed to be waiting on something else.
He heard a sound from the corner behind him and turned to find Derae rolling a beautiful harp gilded with silver into position next to him. She took a seat on the other end of his bend and played a quick arpeggio up and down her strings to set the key, then stamped her foot four times to set a tempo.
The entire room burst into music, a rollicking dance of strings, reeds, and drums. Tander sat in slack-jawed wonder. He’d played in groups before, but had never heard anything like this. He sat with his mouth agape through almost the entire song before coming to his senses enough to attempt playing along.
The night passed in joy. Though stiff at first from lack of use, Tander’s fingers flew faster than ever. Voices both elven and dwarven joined to fill the hall to the rafters. Some of the villagers took to the floor and performed intricate dances. The disparity in height between the elves and dwarves moved in complimentary motion with the music’s point and counterpoint, their bare feet adding a complex rhythm as t
hey danced.
The assembly swelled as dawn crept over the mountains and more villagers arrived to add their voices to hymns and songs both ancient and novel. Tander recognized some of the tunes, many of them handed down relatively unchanged from generation to generation. He silently thanked Vonedil for passing them down to him in bardic tradition. Still other songs were fresh and new, yet their essence was timeless.
The congregation fell into sudden silence as the sun crested the eastern mountain, their faces turned to bask in the glow of the sun’s newborn rays. Cern voiced a gentle benediction over the crowd, and then they began to disperse in two and threes, smiling and talking gaily as they went. It wasn’t long before Tander found himself standing alone with Cern and his daughter.
Then he suddenly realized the morning had come. “I’ve not gone to bed,” he blurted, “and we’re leaving soon.”
“Be at ease,” Cern’s voice was merry. “Chrysafi wishes to travel by night. Derae will see you settled. Fear not, we’ll awake you in due time. Go and sleep in peace.”
38
The Celadine Mountains
Three days of rest had done much to rejuvenate the escapees of the Bastion disaster. Doulos was back to his irascible self, and the elven healers had fully restored both Onahim’s wounded arm and Zalas’s shoulder.
Everyone wondered if anything could heal the poor dwarf’s soul.
Onahim’s vitality was gone, and the others saw him rarely—only at meals, and that was by the healers’ insistence. Once ravenous, Onahim sat and picked at his food, eating the barest morsels before retreating back into his self-imposed exile. Even when Cedsul’s family came to meet their loved one’s greatest friend, Onahim said he couldn’t bear to face them. He blamed himself for Cedsul’s death, and no one was able to change his feelings on the matter.
Katalas promised he would find a way to pull the dwarf from his morass, but the pressing needs of the Celadine council soon took him away. The company didn’t see him again for several days.
Tenna took advantage of the freedom they’d been given to explore the warrens. She made quick friends with a group of young elves, cajoling them into guiding her through the cavern where she discovered wonder after wonder.
The brightness of the subterranean city amazed her. Instead of dim, smoky light from torches and lamps, the citadel was illuminated by bluish star crystals, glowing fungi, and a myriad of dwarven compounds that produced radiant displays of color on the walls and ceilings. No doubt her father would have been intrigued had he not sequestered himself with Doulos every day since their arrival.
She thought those two would drive her mad. The easy relationship she’d developed with Doulos had vanished, and it seemed both he and her father were going out of their way to keep secrets. They spent every spare minute locked up with the Joint Council, leaving no time to answer the mounting tide of questions in her head.
After a week spent underground, Tenna found herself shaken awake by an elven girl who urged her to dress quickly. She found the entire company assembled in the common room they shared, all awaiting her arrival. Katalas stood there in formal garb, and Tenna noted the serious look on his face and the somber atmosphere of the gathering.
“You’re awake,” Katalas said, “now we can go.”
“Go where?” Tenna asked, but Katalas ignored her question and walked out of the room. The company followed, leaving Tenna behind. When she finally caught up with Doulos she repeated her question.
“Where are we going,” she insisted, “and what’s so important we couldn’t have breakfast?”
“We’ve been summoned by the council,” Doulos replied, “but don’t fret for you stomach. We’ll break our fast together as we strive to answer their concerns.”
Doulos paused then, coming to an abrupt stop. He grabbed Tenna by the arm and leaned in close.
“Be wary,” he whispered. “Things once hidden will be revealed, but others must, by necessity, remain secret. Be silent and listen well. Quench your curiosity for now, and don’t offer any answers of your own unless directly called upon to do so.”
“Why?” she asked. “Aren’t we among friends.”
“We are,” Doulos nodded. “Truer friends are unlikely to be found than those on the council, but they have their own agendas and concerns. They are wise, yes, but there are things happening beyond even their understanding. No one knows more about the threads being woven together more than I, and yet I don’t know them all. No one person could. Even the wisest sages have limits.”
He released her arm but kept his eyes locked on hers. Those blue eyes transfixed her in a way his voice could not, and she felt his sincerity to her core.
“We all have parts to play, Tenna,” he said, “but we must stay out of one another’s way and allow them to play their parts without interference. If any of us take it in mind to try and play another’s role, the entire world could come down around our heads. Remember that, Tenna. It’s the most important advice I can ever give you. Be who you were born to be.”
The mage turned and walked away, leaving Tenna standing alone in the midst of the corridor.
She had never been more alarmed.
39
The Spiral
Tenna and her friends sat feasting at the very heart of the Celadine Mountains. The Joint Council chamber had been transformed into a comfortable dining hall, complete with a long table, high-backed chairs, and thick carpets. Delicate fabrics in rainbow hues draped the star crystals, muting their light and adding splashes of color to the ceiling.
The fare was a mix of common favorites and exotic specialties. For elves, breakfast was generally a light meal. Where their dwarven counterparts tended to load their trenchers with eggs, rashers, and steak, an elf might have a bit of light fish alongside a small bowl of fruit and nuts. Dwarves preferred red meat, tending to evade fruits and vegetables and viewing the elven diet with friendly disdain. It was little wonder in their minds why elves were so thin and frail looking.
The council members interspersed themselves among the visitors, chatting amicably about one another’s lives and pointedly avoiding their current troubles for a time. All too soon they would broach the subject at hand, but for now they were content to speak of days gone by and dream better days yet to come.
Tenna stole a glance down the table where Onahim sat with Duras in muted conversation. It was clear Duras was making an effort to console the other, but whatever progress he might be making was uncertain.
She also kept an eye on Katalas, very much interested in him. He always seemed in control of himself and his emotions, but Tenna thought she saw a chink in his self-imposed armor. He sat across from High Counselor, a beautiful woman named Inoun, obviously moonstruck. Katalas took minimal part in the conversation, spending most of his time staring at Inoun who pretended not to notice.
Appetites and conversation began to wane and stewards came to clear the table. The diners stood in small groups while the furniture was rearranged. The great table was broken down and taken away, and some chairs were taken while others were left behind. The spare chairs were placed in between the stone council seats, and in this way the entire group was soon seated in a circle and able to better see one another.
The mood turned somber as Inoun stood and formally began the meeting, then recounted their knowledge of recent events. She gave the floor to Katalas who related what he’d witnessed at the Dreadcrest, and was joined by Duras to update them on the yrch infesting the Barrhas as well as the overall defense of the warrens. When their concern over the failure of the ward came up, Doulos interjected.
“Da’ath recently lost contact with Giyl,” he revealed. “It’s serious indeed if she cannot answer the call of a fellow Azur. The Huwm may have found a way to harm or displace her.”
“But we’ve not lost the benefit of her gifts,” the high mage Anag’e said. “Our power remains undiminished.”
“Giyl opened a flow of power,” Doulos said, “but it doesn’t mean she is
herself the source. The wards are a different matter, they’re an extension of her very being, so the wards are directly tied to her own circumstances.”
Anag’e nodded grimly. Inoun invited Zalas forward where he spoke of his life-long quest to find the Swords and of Onahim and Cedsul’s success in finding one of the fabled blades. Katalas’s story explained why the green dragon had ignored the pair as they traipsed across his territory, because he’d been on his way to join his kin gathering at the Dreadcrest.
“How was it you were successful in finding the sword, Nephali, when no one else has been able to for centuries?” a soft-spoken elf name Kisyho pressed.
“Tell them,” Doulos insisted when Zalas hesitated.
Something unspoken passed between them, then Zalas seemed to deflate a little, as if resigned to an unwanted task. He closed his eyes and took a settling breath before dipping his hand into his vest, drawing out a knife he had hidden there. He held it out in his palm, causing Katalas and Duras to stiffen in their seats with bright excitement in their eyes.
The hairs stood up on the back of Tenna’s neck. She recognized the blade, a treasured favorite from her father’s collection. She had no idea it held any kind of significance.
“I am Zalas,” he said formally, “Honor Blade bearer bound to the House of Xigara.”
Katalas edged forward on his chair. “What house do you represent?”
“I am the steward of House Xigara.”
The chamber erupted at the claim, but Tenna sat reeling. Her father was professing a lineage from Xigara. His intimate knowledge of the fabled smith finally made sense.
A kind of sacred hush descended over the room when Inoun called for order. Unbidden, Katalas and Duras stood and moved to stand on either side of Zalas. They revealed their own Honor Blades, holding them in like manner with Zalas.
The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara) Page 18
