“Look,” he said in desperation, “we’re here in Ysterialpoerin, there must be something to do—because I am not taking the horses and heading for Windalorianan today—so why don’t we look around and maybe visit some . . . caves?”
Abruptly he remembered his dream of the night before.
Tiercel was looking at him oddly.
“Harrier,” Tiercel said slowly, “did you dream about a cave last night?”
“No,” Harrier said promptly. “Yes,” he admitted, because Tiercel was still looking at him.
“I did too.”
TO Harrier’s great reluctance, they compared notes as they walked back toward their lodgings. Tiercel told him every detail of his dream and badgered Harrier for every detail of his that he could remember, undistracted by Harrier’s constant interruptions to buy food from various street vendors. To Harrier’s surprise and secret dismay, now that Tiercel had reminded him of it, he could remember what he’d dreamed as clearly as if it were something that had actually happened. He didn’t remember the part of his dream about coming to the cave or leaving it, but he remembered being inside it as clearly and as vividly as he could remember standing on the docks at Armethalieh on a warm spring day.
Both dreams were eerily similar.
“What do you think?” Tiercel said.
“I don’t like it,” Harrier said, around a mouthful of meat-roll. Their errands at the horse-market had eaten up so much of the day that he’d missed his midday meal, and he was determined to repair that lack.
“You always say that.”
“Then why did you ask me? It’s weird, and if it’s weird, it has to be something to do with that thing that was chasing us around the alleys last night and keeps trying to kill you.”
“I’m not sure it’s trying to kill me,” Tiercel responded instantly and predictably.
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“And I don’t think this has something to do with . . . that.”
“So, what? Now there are three weird things following us around?” Harrier demanded.
“I guess so. Because the thing that’s chasing me can’t really see you. When it was the bear and the Red Rider, it only saw me. And I don’t think it was after you in the alley at all, only me. But you had the same dream I did.” Except for the fact—as Harrier now knew—that Tiercel remembered walking up to the mouth of the cave, and walking down inside, and going beyond the cavern that Harrier remembered, to another cavern beside the underground river that Harrier had heard.
Harrier simply grunted, unimpressed at Tiercel’s attempts at logic.
“I think we ought to see if there are any caves around here and see what’s there. I think I remember reading about some. Wasn’t there a big battle in a cave near Ysterialpoerin during the War? We should go there,” Tiercel said earnestly.
“Right.”
“I’m going with you or without you, Har.”
“Well, you’re going without me, because I’m not going,” Harrier said firmly, trying to forget that going to explore caves had been his idea in the first place.
IN the end, of course, Harrier went with him, since the only alternative was staying behind and composing a letter to his family, and while he knew that was a task he’d have to perform before he left Ysterialpoerin—and really, he ought to write to Tiercel’s family as well—he’d really like to put it off for as long as he could manage. There wasn’t really anything he could think of to say. He could tell them he was fine—which was mostly true—and he could not tell them a lot of things that he’d seen with his own eyes and barely believed himself.
At least if he wrote to them tomorrow, he could tell them about this.
The Caves of Imrathalion lay a few miles outside the city limits of Ysterialpoerin. According to the history book Tiercel had promptly purchased in the street of the booksellers once they decided to go, several important battles against the Endarkened had been fought there by Kellen Knight-Mage himself, and the caves and much of the forest around them were now a Protected Park.
To spare their own animals, they rented a pair of job-horses for the ride out to the caves from the same stables where their own horses were being kept. Though he felt just a little silly doing so, Harrier wore his sword. He’d been wearing it in the horse-market this morning, too, and he was sure people had been looking at him, but after last night, he’d promised himself that he was never going out without it again, and that was a promise he intended to keep. He wasn’t really surprised to see that Tiercel brought his wand and his workbook with him either, although Tiercel hadn’t brought them this morning. He supposed it was pretty much the same idea.
“This is a stupid idea,” Harrier grumbled, once they were on their way.
“It’s a Protected Park. There are tours of the caves. There’s a Light-shrine there. What can possibly happen?” Tiercel answered equitably.
“If you didn’t think something could possibly happen, you wouldn’t be going,” Harrier said inarguably. And you wouldn’t have brought your Mage-stuff.
“I just want to know why I had that dream.”
“It was probably the fish-rolls you had for dinner last night,” Harrier answered, just to be difficult.
“Well, you had mutton pie, and you had the same dream.”
THE Imrathalion Protected Park was faintly disappointing to Tiercel, though even he wasn’t certain what he was expecting. Certainly not to see Elven armies massed for battle, with Star-Crowned Ancaladar soaring overhead.
A thousand years ago, according to the histories, the whole area around Ysterialpoerin had been untouched mountain wilderness, for the Elves had built much smaller cities than humans now did. But modern Ysterialpoerin was a sprawling modern city and the largest city east of the Mystrals, so fields and orchards ran right up to the edge of the trees that marked the boundary of the park. They weren’t the same trees that had been here a thousand years ago, of course: greenneedle trees had short life-spans, and lived only a few decades—a century at most—before succumbing to age or storm. But the forest that bounded the park was impressive, none the less.
Despite the fact that they were visiting the park late in the afternoon on a work day, they were far from the only guests. The Caves of Imrathalion were famous throughout the Nine Cities, and any visitor to Ysterialpoerin was almost certain to visit the caves as well. They shared the road to the park not only with humans but with Centaurs, Brownies (to Tiercel’s surprise), and even Fauns. Both he and Harrier regarded the Fauns warily, but the little creatures made no trouble for anyone on the road—aside from getting constantly underfoot.
THE gates to the park stood open, though even closed they could not have barred entrance, for they were purely ornamental. They were anchored by two stone pillars carved in the shape of gigantic Elven Knights, and the tall wooden gates themselves were carved with a fanciful scene of battle, in which unicorn-mounted knights slew hordes of winged Endarkened. Tiercel regarded the panorama and swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Scenes like this were just decoration to everyone else—even, he suspected, to Harrier—but to him they represented something that was out there right now.
Inside the gates they left their horses at the stables, paying two copper demi-suns to have them rubbed down and given fodder. At Harrier’s insistence, they also stopped at a vendor selling meat-pies and cider, while Tiercel, naturally, bought a guidebook.
“It’s the same one you bought in Ysterialpoerin,” Harrier said, around a mouthful of pastry.
“No,” Tiercel said patiently. “This one’s different. It’s about the park. Come on. I want to see the Light Temple here.”
A few minutes’ walk brought them to the Imrathalion Temple of the Light.
“Just don’t make anything glow,” Harrier muttered, wiping his hands on his trousers and tossing his empty cup into a nearby barrel.
Tiercel snorted. He had no intention of doing anything that stupid. But Light Temples were often dedicated to specific s
aints or great events, and according to the park guidebook, the Imrathalion Temple was the oldest Temple of the Light in what had once been Elven Lands. It had been built soon after the Flowering, to honor not only the humans who had died here—so legend said—but to memorialize those who had not merely died, but surrendered near-immortality in the battle. Tiercel wanted to see if it was any different from every other Temple of the Light he’d ever seen.
Besides, he had a plan.
The guidebook he’d purchased said that there were guided tours given of the Caves of Imrathalion. It also said when the last one started. The tally-board they’d passed on the way to the Temple said they’d just have time to take a quick look at the Temple before joining the last tour of the caves.
And then what?
He didn’t know.
THE Eternal Light was without form, its only symbol the flame on the High Altar, and for that reason, Light Temples did not contain depictions of objects from the natural world. But the Imrathalion Temple was unique, dedicated to the victory of the Light over the Darkness.
There was an hour yet before Evening Litany, so the Temple was quiet and nearly-deserted. A few of the long plain wooden benches were occupied by those who had come to offer private prayers to the Light. There were a handful of others who, like Tier-cel and Harrier, had simply come to see the place.
“It looks different,” Harrier said simply, standing in the doorway.
The entire back wall of the temple, framing the High Altar and the Eternal Flame, was made of thousands of tiny pieces of colored glass, all making up a picture of a flower-filled forest. The sunlight coming through from outside flickered over the intricately-set pieces, making the leaves of the vitreous forest seem to shift and move.
On the paneled walls of the temple, carved unicorns danced and played among graceful robed figures that Harrier realized, after a moment, must be Elves. Harrier wondered if the unicorns had been depicted life-sized; he’d always assumed that unicorns were as large as horses, but the ones carved on the wall seemed to be no larger than deer when contrasted with the Elven figures.
“Look up,” Tiercel said, and Harrier did.
The domed ceiling had been painted in the likeness of a summer sky. At its apex, the likeness of a glittering black dragon wheeled in joyous flight, wreathed in a cloud of glittering butterflies. Involuntarily, Harrier took a step back. The painted image almost seemed to move. . . .
“Wow,” he said. “It must be really hard to pay attention to the Litany here.”
“I suppose the priests get used to it,” Tiercel said.
“That wasn’t exactly . . .” Harrier began, and shrugged. He walked over to the nearest wall to get a better look at it. There was a sign asking visitors not to touch the carvings, but it was obvious that hundreds of generations of visitors had been unable to resist, for the wood was worn so smooth in places that it glowed like amber. Even so, it was still possible to make out details of the once-intricate carving. The petals of a flower. A bird in its nest, tucked carefully into the branches of a flowering tree.
“Hey . . . Elves wore earrings!” Harrier exclaimed.
Several people turned and glared at him.
“They probably still do,” Tiercel said. “They aren’t all dead, you know. Come on. We’ll be late for the tour of the caves.”
THERE were about a dozen people, including Tiercel and Harrier, gathered for the tour, which was led by two of the park’s caretakers. There was a cheerful family of Centaurs—the younger of the two Centaur colts still stilt-legged and awkward—a docent from Ysterialpoerin University with a cluster of his students—all of whom looked very solemn and earnest—and three stout white-haired sisters who spoke with the broad flat accents of the High Reaches. They’d sold the family farm last year and were traveling now on pleasure, they said, finally seeing all the sights of the wide world.
“And you?” the eldest of the three sisters—her name was Mereel—asked. “Are you here on business—like Old Prune Face there—” she indicated the docent with a jerk of her chin “—or do you visit the park for pleasure?”
“Well—” Harrier began, but was saved from answering as their guide summoned them all to order.
She introduced herself as Mistress Amalgar, and began with a short lecture on the historic importance of the Imrathalion Caves. Her words were not exactly interrupted, but underlaid, with a constant steady muttering from the Ysterialpoerine docent, who seemed to disagree with almost everything she said. Harrier found himself moving away from the man and his little cluster of students—not because he was particularly interested in Mistress Amalgar’s lecture—because he wasn’t—but simply because he found the sound of the man’s voice so annoying. If the man’s lectures were anything like this, Harrier sincerely pitied his students.
After the history lecture, Mistress Amalgar’s partner, Guide Eredor, gave a shorter speech on safe conduct within the caves. Harrier paid more attention this time. They were told to stay close together and always keep either Mistress Amalgar or Guide Eredor in sight at all times.
Then they walked up the short path that led to the entrance.
TIERCEL was surprised at how much colder it was inside the cave than out, though the lanterns set at frequent intervals along their path kept it from being dark. Once they were all inside, their guides explained the cave system in detail, and how it had been infested by Creatures of the Dark for thousands of years before Kellen and Idalia had found and destroyed them.
Everything looked vaguely familiar. He’d thought it might. These were the caves he and Harrier had dreamed about last night. Obviously someone was sending them a message, and one Tiercel was determined to answer, no matter what Harrier might have to say about it. He was sure it hadn’t come from the same creature who’d chased them around the alleys, and from what he knew about the Creatures of the Dark, they wouldn’t waste their time laying elaborate traps. They’d just eat someone.
He was pretty sure of that.
HE’D hoped to be able to take Harrier and sneak away from the rest of the party in order to find the place he’d dreamed about the night before, but Amalgar and Eredor apparently had years of experience in keeping visitors from wandering off and getting lost, and there was no chance to slip away. Despite his disappointment and frustration, Tiercel found himself being drawn in by the tour. They walked along ancient trails and pathways cut into the living rock. Some were obviously man-made—or made by something, anyway—while others were obviously newer, simply marked out by the guides across the floor of larger caverns. Amalgar said that once there had been cities and villages of Darkspawn here, though they had all been destroyed in the ancient battles against the Dark, and Tiercel could certainly believe it. Though they were only shown a small portion of the caves, the cave system honeycombed the mountains in which Ysterialpoerin was nestled.
He gazed down a particularly interesting passageway, one he was pretty sure he remembered from his dream. It was roped off, and marked with a “Do Not Enter” sign.
“What’s down there?” he asked Eredor.
“More caverns,” Eredor said, smiling, “and some particularly nasty drop-offs, which is why that section is closed. Kellen Knight-Mage might have been able to dance on the blade of a sword, but we don’t expect our visitors to.” He put a hand on Tiercel’s arm, urging him to rejoin the others.
“SO that was a cave,” Harrier said, blinking and shivering as he followed Tiercel back out into the evening sunlight.
“Did it seem . . . familiar to you?” Tiercel asked, taking care to keep his voice low. A guilty silence from Harrier was his only reply.
“I’m going to go back in there,” Tiercel said. “I think I can find the part I dreamed about now.”
“And get killed? Eaten? Die the way Simera did?” Harrier demanded brutally.
“I don’t think so,” Tiercel said.
“You never think.”
They’d reached the bottom of the cave trail by now. They’d
been at the back of the group of visitors, and were hanging even further back now. Tiercel glanced back up at the cave entrance. There was no door, of course, but a wooden panel had been dragged into place in front of the cave opening, indicating that it was closed to visitors for the day.
“I’ve done nothing but think since Kindling, Harrier. I think this is the right thing to do now.”
Harrier sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Even if it were—and I’m not saying that it is—how could we do it? There are no more tours today. And you didn’t have much luck getting away from the one we were on. I saw you trying.”
Tiercel grinned. “The tours may be over, but the park isn’t closed. You should have read the guidebook. The park doesn’t close until Second Night Bells—the Second Hour of Night. We can sneak back up here when it’s dark.”
Harrier snorted. “I don’t think we’d be the first people to think of doing something like that.”
Tiercel poked him in the ribs. “But we’ve got years of experience. Like the time we snuck into that old foundry, remember? That was your idea.”
Harrier sighed. “It was your idea. I can’t even remember why we did it. I do remember the dogs, though. Why in the name of the Light would anybody guard an abandoned foundry? It isn’t like there’d be something there that anybody would want to steal. . . .”
“The point is, we did that and we can do this. I just want to look around and see if the inside of the cave really does look like what we dreamed. Then we can go back to the city,” he said reassuringly.
“Okay. Right. Fine. Let’s go get something to eat while we’re waiting.”
“Again?”
Harrier grinned at him. “It may be my last meal.”
The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained Page 26
