Caritha shook her head, and Oganna laughed quietly. In the swamp water she distinguished a pair of lidless yellow eyes. The black pupils seemed to rove over her with disturbing persistence, like a predator eyeing its prey. She stood and turned to point it out to Ombre, but in that instant four skinny arms breached the water’s surface and pulled her feet out from under her. She grabbed on to the tree’s roots and refused to let go as the arms threatened to tear her limb from limb.
The eyes now rose out of the water, and she saw a hairy, slime-covered face atop a reptilian body. Gators now gathered around to watch, though she noted that they kept their distance from her captor. Two more arms extended from the creature’s body. It had now risen almost twenty feet out of the water, and she saw that multicolored scales shielded its chest.
There was a commotion to her right as Ombre and Caritha stabbed at the arms with their swords. The creature slipped its humanlike hands around their ankles and dangled them in the air. Its grip around Oganna tightened, and she felt another arm wrap around her stomach. She gasped for breath and struggled to maintain her hold on the tree’s roots, but they were wet and slippery.
She lost her grip with one hand, and her legs submerged in the water. The creature gurgled, and the water foamed around its arms, emitting a stench that made her gag. The thing seemed to be laughing at her, almost like a master puppeteer pulling the puppet’s strings. Using her free hand, she slid the boomerang from under her belt and stabbed one of the arms. This, she assumed, would cause the creature to release her. Instead, it dropped Ombre and Caritha and then wrapped the arms it had used to hold them around her chest!
The wound she had inflicted healed at a rapid rate, and the added strength of the creature’s other arms wore her down. Her arm ached and her lungs burned. The creature jerked her and then pulled again. Despite everything she’d tried, she lost her grip on a tree root, and the creature lifted her into the air. It pulled her out into the swamp as she struggled to free herself. The creature drew her toward its head, and its toothless mouth gaped open to receive her.
“Psst! Try it, you monssster! I’ll sssink my fangs into your ssstomach.” The viper coiled and uncoiled around her neck, slipping to each of the creature’s arms and sinking its fangs into them. But the creature was unaffected.
With cold slime sliding down her face, Oganna found it impossible to see what happened next. She heard something hiss in the trees and heard wings slap the air. The arms holding her thrashed. They held her sideways, upside down, or whichever other way they preferred. Then, quite suddenly, they released her. She felt herself falling and heard the creature’s arms slapping the water around her body in an attempt to snare her again.
As she hit the water and sank, she flailed her arms in an effort to free her nostrils from the slime that now suffocated her. A heavy object struck her on the back of her head, and she lost her strength. She could feel herself sinking deeper into the water, and she imagined with terror what the swamp’s inhabitants would do to her. They’d probably rip her apart and divvy her into portions, leaving nothing recognizable for her relations to recover.
Then, strong human arms slid under hers. They tensed and pulled her up, dragging her from the water. Someone slapped her cheeks and pulled the slime out of her nose and mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed her weary body to collapse. The arms lifted her, and she felt wind blow across her face. A branch slapped her skin, and her rescuer set her in a bed of dry leaves. The horrible face of the swamp creature crossed her mind, and she shuddered.
She was safe now—at least she thought so. Unable to open her eyes and not certain she wanted to, she curled into the leaves and drifted into dreamland.
A sweet smell of candied apples drew Oganna’s mind out of her dreams. But she held on for a moment longer. In the field stood a man, a young one by the look of it. His eyes shone with passion, and his face was as bold as a lion, yet gentle. She walked toward him, and he came toward her. He looked about as if confused, and then his eyes rested on her.
She tried to read his expression, to gauge what he was thinking. Did he like what he was seeing? She could see him and he could see her. It was only a dream, and yet she had heard her father speak of the strange way in which he had met her mother, and she’d always had a secret desire to meet the man of her dreams in a similar way. The warm wind gusted through the field, scattering the fluffy white seeds of the dandelions ahead of it.
Again she smelled the sweet odor, like candied apples. Someone was trying to wake her. But she did not wish to wake. She wanted to find out more about this dream and know if there was more to it than simple imagination. The young man stood close to her and raised his hand as if to brush her hair, and she smiled up at him, hopeful that he would. There was a curiosity in his eyes that she wanted to understand—a curiosity about her.
In a whirlwind of colors, the vision around her vanished, and she found herself lying on a bed of dry oak leaves. A canopy of interlacing branches above her formed a solid roof, and her bed was on what appeared to be a nest built in the trees. She could not see through the nest’s floor; however, she guessed that the swamp lay far below.
Caritha’s smiling face cut into her field of view. “Good morning, Oganna. Did you sleep well?” Oganna noticed a jar in the woman’s hand and guessed at the contents.
“Smelling salts?”
“No, more like—” Caritha ran her fingers through her red-brown hair until she came up with a satisfactory answer. “More like spices. Our host picked them off one of these trees. He said it would wake you up, and it looks as though he was right.”
Rising to a sitting position, Oganna stretched her sore arms. “Our host? Is that who pulled me out of the swamp?”
Caritha nodded solemnly. “He pulled us all out. I still can’t figure out how he did it. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. We are alive and safe.” She stood and spread her arms to keep her balance as the branches shifted under her weight. “Be careful; this house may be sturdy, but it is still not as solid a footing as we are used to. Walk slowly, and step on the larger branches.”
The woven walls of the nest were unbroken except for in one place: a round door made of wood rested in the far wall. Oganna stood and followed her aunt through the door into a larger room. Furs covered the floor here, and two log benches offered cozy seating. Ombre lay on one of the benches, a bearskin draped over his body. His steady breathing told her that he was asleep.
“Our host is through that door, Oganna. Before you meet him I suggest you prepare yourself for a shock.”
“A shock?” Oganna shook her head. “After being almost drowned by a creepy twenty-foot-high swamp creature, there is little left to shock me.”
Caritha gave her a warm hug and kissed her on the forehead. “At the very least it will come as a surprise.” She held Oganna at arm’s length and stared into her eyes. “Our host is an Art’en.”
“An Art’en!” Oganna almost spat the word.
The woman shushed her. “Not so loud. We don’t need to insult him. Yes, he is an Art’en, and he has not only saved our lives but he has offered to show us a safer way through the swamp.”
In her mind, Oganna went back to the day she and Vectra fought at the Citadel of Ar’lenon. While the giants encompassed the city of Netroth, the flying men that had called themselves Art’en had attacked her and the Megatraths. She remembered, too, that it was an Art’en that had cast a spell over her father and controlled him through a wizard’s powers. After all that, could she possibly trust one of them?
Nonsense! She chided herself. Just because some members of his race are evil doesn’t give me the right to shun him. He had saved her life, as well as the lives of Ombre and Caritha. Then he had brought them to his home. Art’en or not, she would treat him with the dignity and honor he deserved.
The partially open door offered little to no resistance as she pushed it aside and entered the adjoining room. Wicker baskets lined the far wall, and four vines hung from the ceiling,
suspending a legless wood table. A single lantern set in a corner of the room provided light.
Whistling a merry tune, with his back turned to her, was the Art’en. She leaned sideways to see the side of him. He was about six feet tall with broad shoulders, a rather pointed nose, and a high forehead. Gray hair, parted down the center of his head, fell almost to his shoulders, and he had the keenest brown eyes. His skin had paled with age and was a bit wrinkled.
The Art’en dug into one of the wicker baskets with a pan and filled it with brown rice, then set it on a small potbellied stove against the left wall that she had not noticed. His dark-brown feathers rustled as he spun to face her.
He folded his hands behind his back and then flourished a courtly bow. “Welcome to my humble home, Princess. My name is Whimly Janvel. However, I will permit you to call me Whimly.”
She curtsied. “Then, please, Whimly, call me Oganna.” Then, remembering the viper, she inquired about it.
“Ah, you mean the loyal serpent I found unconscious around your neck.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the potbellied stove. “Poor thing,” Whimly whispered, pointing at the viper coiled next to the heated cast iron. “Exhausted it is, and rightly so. That was a brave fight it put up in your defense.” He looked down at her and cocked his head to the side. “It is most unusual for a human to win the affection of a desert viper. How did you come upon this one?”
After telling him of the evil Art’en that had led the vipers against the Hemmed Land and how she had broken the wizard’s spell over the viper, she told him of Razes. The creature shook his head in wonderment. “It is sad yet true that many of my species have turned to sorcery. Shame litters Art’en history, and darkness dwells in many hearts. The wizards began their work with us, so the legend goes, and the corruption of men—fortunately—was never complete. Thank goodness for that.”
“What do you mean the wizards began with you? Were the first wizards Art’en?”
He patted her shoulder and chuckled uncomfortably. “No, thank goodness we were not the first. But the legends of my people do reveal that the wizards were responsible for our ultimate demise.”
A smile lit his noble face, and she felt a wave of awe wash over her as he continued. “The day will come when a prophecy will be fulfilled, and the Art’en will no longer serve the wizards. The day will come when darkness will be drawn off the corrupted ones, and they will again see the light. They will shake the shackles imposed on them by their own blindness, and they will make war upon the wizards.”
“You speak as though the prophecy is your own,” she said as she looked into his eyes.
They returned her gaze in a playful manner. “Maybe the words are mine. Maybe I made the prophecy. It matters not. What matters is that it will one day be fulfilled.”
“Then, for your sake, I hope that day comes soon.” She knelt and stroked the viper’s head. It stirred, its eyes fluttering open as it yawned up at her. “My valiant defender.” She felt the tears come to her eyes as she realized that the serpent might have died defending her. Never again will I doubt the depth of your commitment, my little friend! You are my hero.
16
IN THE WATER SKEELS’ MIDST
Specter’s stomach growled and he frowned, stepping up to a stalk of the ice world’s grass. He sliced a piece off with his scythe, rolled it in his fist, and forced it into his mouth. Too long. Too long he’d lived off this bitter-tasting growth. He’d hidden from the water skeels and among them. He had seen hundreds of them racing through their ice tunnels, lords of this world hidden from the world.
As he chewed the grass, it stuck to the roof of his mouth, dangled strands down his throat, forced him to gag. But his stomach growled again, and his hunger overcame his dissatisfaction with the nourishment. He swallowed it.
Directing his steps out of the mist-filled chamber, he emerged into the cavern. He’d discovered this one only the other day. It rivaled the one he’d seen when witnessing the skeels’ mating chamber, if that was what that place should be called. Since leaving the peach-skinned water skeels behind, he had seen only the monstrous white males and pods of younger ones. Skeelets, he’d come to call them.
A procession of forty large males waddled into the cavern, split into pairs, and pulled themselves up to jutting ice platforms high on the walls. They settled their fat bodies on the jagged platforms and held their heads high, warbling deep and long. They posed there, as sentinels along each wall. From Specter’s position he looked down upon them and the hundreds more that emerged from tunnels and adjacent caverns. The smooth walls and floor of the cavern, and the mineral stalactites on the ceiling far above, pulsed with soft white light.
The water skeels flooded the cavern, yet despite their massive numbers they did so in utter silence. Only the sentinels uttered a sound. The masses stood along the edges of the cavern, leaving a straight, wide path through their midst to an icy pinnacle. Water fell from that end, forming a moat around the pinnacle. Then, abruptly, the sentinels ended their warbling and directed their green gazes toward the far end of the cavern.
The largest water skeel of them all lumbered out of a tunnel. He bared his needle teeth and flashed sparks from his eyes. As he placed each massive fin on the ice floor, rainbows of color bled through the ice, then faded. The gathering lowered their long necks until their heads touched the ground as he pulled his great bulk toward the pinnacle. Not glancing to either side, the water skeel levitated off the ground. He rose to the pinnacle’s peak and crashed atop it, shattering ice shards in all directions as he gazed over his subjects.
The large one had to be Cromlin, king of the water skeels. Specter had approached the creature several times, seeking insights into their culture, and always in passing the other skeels warbled something that sounded very much like “Crumlin.” Yet in all his searching of the maze of ice tunnels and caverns, not once had he glimpsed a human. Perhaps Auron was not even in this place.
For the next several hours he listened to the unintelligible warbling of Cromlin. It dragged on for an eternity. Specter hadn’t seen Yimshi’s light in so long. He wondered how many days it had been since first he’d arrived. After nearly collapsing into sleep, he lay down in the mists of a small chamber—too small for the male skeels to enter. His thoughts turned in every direction—reminiscing, regretting, hoping.
The king of the water skeels trumpeted, and Specter covered his ears. The skeels dispersed into the tunnels and caverns, all except for the sentinels. Then, speaking intelligible words that rang through the cavern, Cromlin laughed. “Oh, don’t be so fearful. An ally of mine ally is safe here so long as he behaves himself.” Speaking with great force the skeel said, “Come forward that we may speak!”
From a small tunnel the dark figure of a man emerged. He strode down the long cavern, head bowed. A growl spiked his words as he knelt before the water skeel. “I fear you not, mighty one. Only I seek to bring my consortion with the spirits to a new depth. I would be joined with them as the Reaper was.”
“Ah, a boon you ask of me?” Cromlin slid down the pinnacle and smote Auron with a massive flipper. The traitor flew across the ice, collapsed to the floor, and Cromlin sped after him. “A request and a favor. Would I grant such a thing when you hold me in such disdain? This thing you desire cannot be found through your master. He would instead seek it for himself.” The creature lowered its face within feet of the man’s and snapped its deadly jaws. “Knowing this, you came to me. For you know that I have no use for such trivialities. But instead of falling in fear on your face, you insult me with that sneering scarred face of yours.”
The creature raised its flipper as if to strike, but Auron stood and held forth the upper half of his wizard’s staff.
Cromlin pulled back his head in a laugh that echoed into the adjacent caverns. He held out a flipper, and ribbons of color snaked along the ice floor, merging beneath it. A geyser sprouted from the ice between the man and the water skeel. When the water fell away, Cromlin he
ld an ornate staff of ice at least twenty feet tall. A sphere atop it faded into every color imaginable. “If you would have a duel, little wizard, then let us fight.” Cromlin snaked his neck around the pole to gaze into Auron’s face. “Who do you think would win?”
Falling to his face before the creature, Auron sputtered apologies. Cromlin’s staff melted into the floor, and he turned his back on the man, sliding back to the ice pinnacle.
“I beg thee, mighty king of the water skeels! Please, without this quest I am nothing.”
“Beg?” The creature warbled, and the cavern faded into strips of yellow and pink. “That, my small friend, is what I like to hear.” It spun to face the man, gesturing with a flipper. “Now, come to me.”
Auron trembled as he walked the length of the cavern. He knelt before Cromlin.
With a smile on its monstrous face, the creature smacked the ground on either side of the traitor. The man bounced, fell to his face. “To shield you from all eyes, Auron, I give you garments of ice.”
The ice around Auron melted until he lay in a pool. When he tried to rise, it pulled him back down with fingers of water. Small waves danced in the pool, washing over the traitor. The man stood, and a sheet of transparent ice covered his body from his hair to his boots. Auron gasped. In agony he doubled over. His body trembled; he glared up the creature. “What hast thou done to me?”
Looming over him, the water skeel smiled. “In truth, I believe you will find this ancient master. I had considered ending your life—as I saw no use for you—but then I saw that look of desperation in your eyes. Ah! And that look gave me assurance that you will journey until you find this Realm you spoke of. But the journey is long and speed I desire.” It lumbered in a circle with him at the center. “At this moment you must feel as though your skin is on fire, and you are probably hoping it is a temporary condition.”
Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 22
