by Marc Secchia
“How terrible!”
“It gets worse than that. Ozark used them to kill the Dragon that used to live here, the Acid Dragon. He was hoping to claim the Magisoul for himself, you see. But with its expiring breath the Dragon melted the only key they had–the key that opens the way to the treasure itself. When Ozark learned what had happened he swore that they would die here, in this cavern, and inflicted them with a terrible curse. They would remain trapped within these mists for ten thousand seasons, unable to find a way out. And they would die slowly of a disease that causes them agonising pain. The air here is poisoned.”
“So we cannot lead them hence?”
Alliathiune sighed heavily. “I tried that argument. Simply put, they do not trust us–they believe Snatcher will betray them, and we are little people, not Lurks.”
“So they will not show us the way to the Magisoul?”
“They do not know the way, good Kevin. They cannot know because of Ozark’s curse.”
Kevin ran his hands though his hair in frustration. “There must be something we can do!”
“Why don’t you speak to them? I have had enough of speaking as though to the most stubborn of boulders!”
“I can do no worse than you.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean–oh, fiddlesticks and toad oil! I’ll just sew my lips shut and I won’t have to annoy you any more, Alliathiune.”
She chuckled briefly at this. “Good Kevin, now more than ever we need you to concoct a brilliant plan. I can’t see a way out of this mess that doesn’t lead to Snatcher’s head being served with pickled eels.”
“I don’t know, dear girl–I just don’t … oh. Yes! I have a thought …”
He paced in a tight circle, hands clasped behind his back, watched by several hundred pairs of hostile eyes and two hopeful ones. A cold sweat trickled down his chest.
“It’s up to Snatcher, really.”
“Me?” rumbled the Lurk. “What can I do but land you in trouble for accompanying a hated Greater Lurk like myself, noble outlander? Speak, and I will do as you command.”
Kevin grabbed Snatcher’s paw. “You are the key to all this. What say you to this: you remain here as a hostage while Alliathiune and I collect the Magisoul. We return and heal these Greymorral Lurks from this curse that Ozark the Dark placed on them. We lead them out of Shadowmoon Keep and back to the Utharian Wet. Everyone lives happily ever after.”
“Assuming we can win through the thousands of Trolls who are thirsting for our blood up there.”
“Anything is possible, Alliathiune.”
“I’ll grant it is possible–but so is flying to Indomalion and back.”
“But we Greymorral Lurks would still be childless.”
Kevin, Alliathiune and Snatcher turned as one to face the leader of the Greymorral Lurks, who had approached unnoticed during their conversation.
“We would still be dying,” she reiterated, shaking her head slowly. “Little one, your speech is nothing but the buzzing of mosquitoes and the croaking of toads to my ears. We will flay this traitorous Lurk alive for the sins of his kin. That is the Lurkish way.”
Kevin, far from being dismayed, clapped his hand to his forehand and yelled, “Of course!” And he whirled Alliathiune around in an impromptu jig, chortling like a mad scientist in the throes of a blinding breakthrough.
“Slow down, good outlander!”
“I am a genius.”
“Kevin!”
“Just tell me I’m a genius, good Dryad.”
“Before or after I slap you?”
He turned to the Greymorral Lurk, and greeted her in his best Lurkish. Blinking her nictitating membranes in surprise, the Lurk returned his greeting.
Kevin said, “I understand you are the last of your kind; that there are no other Greymorral Lurks in all of Feynard?”
“Nay, good outlander,” she grated between teeth that audibly ground together at his question, “Ozark the Dark did ensure our demise with all the thoroughness typical of his foul reign. This pain lingers through the seasons, because of the perfidy and treachery of the Greater Lurks!”
“But you can have children, can’t you? You’re able to?”
“We call them pups, outlander,” the Lurk corrected him. “Yes–I cannot, but some can. We are ill and wearied with pain, but twenty-three remain who may possibly be fruitful.”
“So, how many males would you need?”
“Excuse me?”
“Males. How many?”
The Lurk blinked. “Even one would do, I suppose?”
“Then I know just the Lurk to amend this ancient wrong–a fine, strapping fellow, who is the bravest, kindest, and truest companion one could wish for.” Kevin ignored Alliathiune’s gasp of horror as she realised where this was leading. “One would make a wonderful father to all the Greymorral Lurk pups which will be produced. I give you your future–Snatcher!”
Pandemonium!
* * * *
“I hope Snatcher is up to it,” Alliathiune giggled, taking Kevin’s arm as they marched up from the swamp’s shallows towards the next door–finally. “I didn’t think four tons of Lurk could squirm like that.”
“It’s hard for him to act in a way that he judges will dishonour his faithfulness to Fragrant.”
“That’s very insightful of you, good Kevin.” Alliathiune seemed impressed. But then she giggled again, clearly in a buoyant mood. “How long do you think it will take him to mate with all twenty-three? Father of Lurkish race and all that?”
Kevin’s complexion resembled red roses. “Gosh, Alliathiune. Do you have to be so brazen?”
“Poor Snatcher, with all those females clamouring for his attention!”
Kevin did not want to think about it too much. He said, “He wanted to come with us to the Magisoul. He felt guilty about leaving us to face the last Dragon alone.”
“Don’t be such an old stick, Kevin.”
“I am not an old stick.”
“Are too.”
“You are just obsessed with procreation.”
“Lizard droppings and earwigs to you!”
“On that note, did the Dryads ever come back to you with an answer about planting a new Elliarana tree?”
An unreadable shadow crossed Alliathiune’s face. “No. I should ask again, I suppose.”
“You should,” said Kevin, repulsed by the lie. Well, hadn’t he lied to her about reading the letter? A pretty pair, the two of them! “It will be important when we reach the Well to know what must be done to heal the Forest.”
“Yes. Indeed it will.”
They approached the next door in silence. It was green and overgrown with a tough kind of creeper, which they had to push aside in order to find the keyhole. This was small and perfectly circular, again composed of the blue korialite stone that was so similar to his Key-Ring–and to his hand. Kevin steadily worked his way through every key he owned. At length, he pressed his head to the door and groaned.
The Dryad said, “This cannot mean the end of our journey–can it?”
He looked despairingly at Alliathiune. “I don’t know. I am at a loss. None of the keys I have fit this door.”
“Oh Kevin, don’t despair! You’ll think of something.”
“I’m just so tired. I cannot help but think of what we have endured to reach this point, and now the sheer futility I feel is too painful to bear. I cannot help but think of the companions we have left behind and may never see again–Amadorn, Akê-Akê, Hunter, the Witch–will the sacrifice of their lives have been all for nothing? And poor Zephyr. We have nothing left of him but his horn. His horn, for goodness’ sake!”
Tears rolled down Alliathiune’s face. And Kevin found that his cheeks were wet too.
“I feel sick,” he moaned. “How can the Dark Apprentice win because of the lack of one stupid key? What kind of cruel injustice is this?”
He offered Alliathiune his handkerchief–one paltry square of cloth that had been in his pyjamas p
ocket when he had dared to wander around Pitterdown Manor in the dead of darktime.
There had to be some way through this mess. All that was required was a little creative thinking. Like trying Zephyr’s horn in the lock! No, that gave no result. He handed the horn back to Alliathiune. Good God, had the blue crept a little further up his arm since last he checked? Kevin touched the transition between pink, healthy skin and royal blue disfigurement with queasy fascination. To think something as simple as a Key-Ring had caused this monstrosity! He pulled it out and compared the two. He worked the Key-Ring over his blue hand, in case something amazing might happen. But nothing did. Snatcher was right–the stone of the ring itself was very similar in composition to that of his hand and wrist. An Earth scientist would have a field day investigating it!
“Look how similar they are!” Alliathiune exclaimed, bending over his arm. “Your hand could almost be a key itself, wouldn’t you say?”
Kevin jumped. “What did you say?”
“I said your hand was like your Key-Ring, good Kevin.”
“Yes …” His eyes narrowed to catlike slits. “Oh–yes, Alliathiune, yes indeed!”
And he danced his second jig of the lighttime.
The Dryad put her hands on her hips and regarded him in fond vexation. “Good Kevin, are you feeling quite sane?”
“You are marvellous!” he crowed, grabbing her hands and kissing her palms in an excess of delight. “Amazing–that’s what you are, Alliathiune! Have I ever told you that?”
“No, but–”
“But–fiddlesticks! Watch this!”
He stepped up to the door and inserted his little finger into the keyhole. There was an audible click and the door slid slowly open, tearing itself loose from the creeper in the process. Her mouth described a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.
They peered in together, heads almost touching in the doorway. They saw a small, circular cave with a sandy floor, which was lit by an unseen light-source. Right in the middle stood a pedestal about three feet in height, and upon this rested a magnificent, radiant blue gemstone about the size of Kevin’s two fists put together.
Alliathiune caught her breath in wonder. “By the Sacred Grove, we have found the Magisoul!”
Kevin did not trust himself to speak. Nor did he trust himself to consider by what chance his hand had been ruined at the Sacred Well by the Dark Apprentice, only for that selfsame hand to become the vital key. Life didn’t work like that–did it? It would be illogical. It would smack of divine meddling, and he was not about to truck with such a lame explanation.
But it was odd.
Together, they stepped into the cave.
All of a sudden, they were plunged into a complete and profound darkness. And something moved within the cave. Something large.
Chapter 26: Betrayal
“Kevin?”
He clutched Alliathiune’s hand. “I’ve a bad feeling about this.”
“Now who’s the doomsayer?”
“Do you see a pair of eyes over there?”
Alliathiune’s first rejoinder had been frivolous, but that vanished as swiftly as a shooting star. “I hate it when you say things like that. Do you think it’s the Dragon of Shadow?”
“More like the Dragon of midnight,” he joked, but in reality he was trying to stop his knees knocking together loudly enough to advertise his fear. “So, do we just go ahead and ask for the Magisoul?”
The Dryad muttered, “Unless you’ve a better plan, Mighty High Wizard.”
“Wizard?” a voice hissed out of the darkness. “I hate wizards!”
Kevin bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Could she not have kept her mouth shut? Now look at what trouble they were in! He whispered, “I am no wizard, noble creature. Who are you?”
“Who am I? The very Dragon of Shadow you insulted but a moment ago!” There was a scraping noise to their right. “And do not attempt to deny your title, wizard, for I can smell the magic on you! The seal of wizardry lies thick upon your life.”
“I carry a few magical artefacts.”
“Liar!” the voice snarled, right behind him this time. Kevin nearly jumped out of his skin. “You are a wizard. Is your name not written on the Roll of Initiation in the Korahlia-tak-Tarna?”
“Allegedly.”
“Ah, finding our spine, are we?” A breath of air trickled along Kevin’s neck. “You are angry about this, yes?”
“I was tricked.”
“But tricked by whom? Answer if you can.”
Kevin frowned in the darkness, casting his mind back to that strange encounter with Amberthurn–who had been as surprised as him at the result of their challenge. No, it was not the Dragon-Magus. Could it have been Zephyr? But that would have been so out of character!
He became aware of a low, malicious snigger that built steadily into a full-throated crow of laughter. Insane laughter, he realised with a shiver that encased his lungs in ice. He struggled to breathe through a rush of numbing fear.
“Ah, you miserable ignoramus!” the invisible creature taunted him. “It was I who entered your name on the Roll! I thought I’d have a little fun with you! Poor sappy little Human, did you think it was that preposterous Unicorn who kept atoning for a life-debt that never was? Ah, Mylliandawn was so easily manipulated. A little suggestion here, a little persuasion there, and the secrets of the Unicorns were mine for the taking! How kind of her to provide useful experiments for my laboratories!”
“Zephyr’s parents?” Kevin gasped.
“No, no, I perfected my methods long before your time, you short-lived buffoon! Death is for lesser creatures. I am immortal!” the creature snarled, somewhere before them now. Alliathiune’s fingers gripped his arm like a vice. “No, no, they were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fancy daring to investigate my tower! Interfering Tomalia. Their horns lie beneath the Magisoul, holding it clear of the naked stone.”
“Oh? What’s the purpose of that?”
Alliathiune’s breathing quickened. Kevin put his hand on hers, and silently willed the Dryad not to speak.
In reply, the creature loosed a howl that made his head ring. It screamed, “To keep it from me! Mine, it was mine, that beautiful, precious stone and I cannot even touch it now! Mine, my treasure beyond compare! My Magisoul … all mine!”
The cries echoed away into silence. The air stirred again behind them. Alliathiune said, as delicately as a wisp of silk, “I feel so bad for your pain. I can tell you’ve suffered unimaginably over many seasons.”
“Yes!” sniffed the creature. “Yes, my little Dryad. You of all creatures know the power of compassion, for compassion is what quickens a Dryad’s soul–yes, this secret I know. You are pretty, like my Magisoul.”
“You’re too kind, noble creature,” she simpered. “How is it that you inhabit this chamber yet cannot hold the treasure which is rightfully yours? Can we help you regain it?”
“Ah!” the creature moaned. “I was the most powerful creature in all Driadorn, no, in all Feynard! For a lifetime and beyond I laboured lighttime and darktime to wrest the secret of the Magisoul’s last resting-place from the dusty tomes of history and the forgotten legends of Driadorn’s first wizards. Ah, what a mystery it was! But I found it, my beautiful love, resting in the Chambers of Creation beneath the Korahlia-tak-Tarna.” The shadow sounded more like a stuffy old lecturer now, meandering onto a favourite hobbyhorse. “The word ‘korahlia’ comes from an ancient form of the Unicorn tongue, from which we derive the term korialite, which describes the stone which is magic–or the magic which is stone. A receptacle of power beyond your wildest imaginings. How foolish of Elliadora to leave it where it might be found.”
It snuffled again. When the creature spoke once more, its voice was low with malice and lambent power. “Sweet words, my pretty petal, but I wonder at their motivation. I think you are here for one reason only. You want my Magisoul.”
Alliathiune shook her head. “No, that was not our intention. We–”
“Of course I have compassion!” she replied hotly.
“Ozark stole it from you, didn’t he?” Kevin asked softly, letting his gut jump to the conclusion. “That Dark Wizard stole–”
“Wizard? I hate wizards!”
The tone and inflection were a carbon copy of before, only this time they were accompanied by unseen fingers plucking Kevin’s cloak. “Ah, you are a clever one,” whispered the creature. “Clever boy. He came from nowhere, that Human styling himself Ozark, and for a hundred and fifty seasons laboured in my tower before I would accept him as my apprentice. He would not take ‘no’ for an answer. And such a grasp of magic he had. Oh, he mastered the basics as though chewing through a loaf of waycrust. And then he turned against me and stole it from me! Mine, my precious Magisoul, my beloved!”
It sobbed wildly, stirring the air in an agony of remembrance.
“You are a disembodied spirit,” Alliathiune blurted out. “Ozark left you down here to guard the Magisoul; to torture you with its proximity.”
“Inventive,” the creature managed between sobs. “He was always so inventive, that miserable, rotten beast of a man! It was he who played the thief! He had studied the dark arts in secret and transformed me into an ever-living spirit and bound me here for time and eternity! Ah, but I tricked him too, you see.” Its laughter transformed the cavern into a bedlam of indescribably evil echoes, and then stopped as though excised with a scalpel. “No self-respecting wizard would let another steal his craft without imbuing it with a few … surprises!”
Kevin and Alliathiune shuddered as one as the creature let his last word slither out like a poisonous snake coiling to strike.
It continued, patently delighting in their reactions to its tale, “He tried to neutralise the wards upon my staff, but my most cunning and subtle creations defeated his every artifice. Ozark was never the sharpest disciple, just the most determined. His lack of intelligence was always his downfall. And so he took my staff, and the Magisoul, never realising that possession of the former would deny him mastery of the latter. He was corrupted before he realised it–and by then it was far too late. He is now constitutionally incapable of wielding my treasure or availing itself of its powers. Ha! What do you think of that? A most befitting revenge!”
