by GJ Kelly
“Dannis, when he brought me here, told me that at noon, when the sun is bright and carried by some means to the glowstones in the roof, you cannot see the remains of a vast artwork on the wall beyond the pool, faded now with time beyond the sight of Kindred eyes. But that late at night, its vestiges might be glimpsed.”
“Certainly I can’t see anything,” Gawain sighed, moving to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. “Can you, Allazar?”
“No, I cannot.”
“I remember thinking of Arramin, and wishing too that he had come here. He would know all about Dun Meven, and about Aemon. And then in the dark hours before sleep I thought of you, at Calhaneth, and that made me remember how the Kiromok assailed us there at the baths, and how with a spindly sapling of Silvertree, Arramin first shone the Light of Aemon before him, and then summoned Aemon’s Fire to strike at the creature.”
“The old boy has more courage than sense,” Allazar agreed. “He almost burned his hands off.”
Elayeen smiled, and leaned back against Gawain’s chest. “Yes, he did, and perhaps he still does have such courage. But if this is Aemon’s Hill, a refuge for the Master of Light and Fire, I could not but wonder at the painting on the wall, and how it would seem by the light of an elderly wizard’s Silvertree sapling, were he standing here where we are now.”
“Ah!” Allazar cried, the familiar exclamation echoing. “Finally my addled wits understand! Behold then, and allow this somewhat younger wizard’s staff to shine where Arramin’s might were he here in my stead.”
Allazar planted the Dymendin, and a cone of brilliant white light shone out across the deep black waters of the pool. Gawain and Elayeen gasped.
There, shining brilliantly on the wall thirty yards from them, an immense and intricate map, and on it, sparkling like bright stars, points of light. Elayeen pulled out the leather map Dannis had bequeathed to her, and opened it out, holding it out before her so Gawain and Allazar could see.
“Some points are missing on the wall,” Gawain announced.
“Destroyed, perhaps,” Allazar mumbled, eyes flicking up and down, first at the map in Elayeen’s hands, then at the wall. “The hills are as old as the… well, they’re very old. If hollow, some may have collapsed over time, or otherwise been destroyed.”
“The ToorsenViell knew nothing of this refuge,” Elayeen announced. “And over the centuries they have worked hand in glove with Morloch’s spawn, to preserve the insanity they claim is ‘balance’. They worked too with Pelliman Goth of late, and so likely should have known of this place, if Morloch does.”
“By the Teeth,” Allazar breathed. “If this is true, if as Dannis says those marks are hidden places of refuge such as this, then, finally, history has bequeathed us much more than hope and a book to aid us against Morloch!”
“Now, G’wain, I relinquish my care to your hands. Take us there,” Elayeen pointed towards the map glowing brightly on the wall, “There where the Sudenstem forks and the Riders of Raheen have made their home. That is where I wish for our son to be born, far from the north, surrounded by the Riders of Raheen, and our friends Kahla and Jaxon of the west, Meeya and Valin of the forest, and his Uncle Allazar for teachers and guardians.”
“And I daresay a dwarf or two?” Gawain smiled.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“There is a hill there, shining bright!” Allazar declared. “There, in the middle of the place they have named Last Ridings.”
But the wizard received no reply. Elayeen had turned in Gawain’s arms, and had tilted her bruised and battered face up to his, slipped her hand around his neck, and pulled him to her.
“Ah,” Allazar mumbled. “I’ll go and take a look at this book then.”
oOo
End of Book 6
The Chronicles will continue…
