by Jack Massa
Up on the beam, Amlina bowed in reply—carefully so as not to fall.
A short time later Amlina, with bandaged cheek, lined up with the rest of the contestants to receive their honors. Backed by an entourage, the Tuan presented gold medals to all seven witches, denoting their participation in the Tournament. The Archimage then named the three finalists, Amlina included, and placed over their heads medals of silver wrought with jade.
Thirty-Three
Phingarr Pheng flew down the tunnel of spaceless passage, one hand wrapped around the topaz amulet, the other clutching a staff imbued with the freezing power. This time he was ready for the Iruks’ defenses.
Ahead and below floated the jagged doorway. As he approached, he gazed into the chamber beyond. Just as last time, the young Iruk woman Glyssa lay in bed, her lover asleep beside her—the one they called Lonn, the one who had pierced Pheng’s belly.
Pausing a moment to gather his force, the phingarr sprang through portal. Materializing, he landed heavily on the bed. Even as Glyssa let out a cry of shock and Lonn dove for his sword, Pheng froze them both with jabs of the staff. Shouts and footsteps sounded from outside the room. The phingarr snatched up Glyssa’s inert body and flitted back into the wavering portal.
Another moment and he was streaming up the passageway of shining rings. The Iruk woman moaned and strained. Grinning, Pheng clutched her tightly against his massive chest.
Then a disturbance caught his attention. A glance over his shoulder showed a pursuer in the distance, a slim body with bee wings beating furiously. Another drell, it seemed, had the talent of spaceless passage. The phingarr hissed, wondering if he should stop and attack the drell. But he knew nothing of fighting in the spaceless realm, even touching her with the freezing staff might be futile. Instead, he cast all his strength into flight, surging toward the far end of the curving tunnel.
As he neared the portal into his lair, he could see that the drell was slowing. Suddenly her figure faded and disappeared. The concealments woven by Clorodice had succeeded once again.
Roused from sleep by the alarmed shouts of his mates, Eben sprang out of bed and grabbed sword and spear. Rushing to the common room, he met Karrol and Kizier. Draven and Brinda had been on watch, and he found them in the bedroom where Lonn and Glyssa slept. They had charged into the room on hearing a scream, only to spot a burst of light disappearing over the bed. Glyssa was gone. Lonn lay on his back, rigid, eyes staring at the ceiling. From time to time a faint growl of rage escaped his throat.
“He is frozen, as I was by the creature’s staff,” Eben declared. “Where is Lady Allenawey?”
“She flew in just after we got here,” Draven said. “She shifted into second flight and gave chase.”
“Go and put on your armor,” Brinda told Eben and Karrol. “We’ll try to rouse Lonn.”
Eben returned to his room and quickly dressed in quilted shirt and trousers. He pulled on boots and strapped on his leather harness, adding sword and dagger to the scabbards. By the time he and Karrol returned to the other room, Lonn was sitting up, Draven and Brinda briskly rubbing his arms.
“Glyssa was taken,” he grunted. “Did the drell follow?”
“She did,” Draven assured him.
They were hoisting Lonn to his feet when a ball of light burst near the ceiling. Lady Allenawey swooped to the floor.
The Iruks shouted all at once: “Were you able to follow?” “Did you find Glyssa?”
“I could only follow part way,” the drell answered. “Then a barrier appeared—unlike anything I have ever met in the spaceless realm. Strong sorcery, no question.”
“Does that mean you lost the trail?” Eben cried.
“Not entirely. When I could not pierce the barrier, I dropped out of the spaceless place. I found myself near the lake, at the entrance to the City of Tombs. I believe the creature’s hiding place must be near there.”
“Go after her,” Lonn croaked. “I will follow when I’m able. Go now!”
The Iruks agreed and left Lonn in the care of Kizier. While Allenawey flew off to alert Prince Spegis and bring more drell warriors, Eben, Karrol, Draven, and Brinda set off at a run across the gardens and lawns of the palace. Above them, full-faced Grizna hung near the summit of the sky. In the northwest, waning Rog shone like a red sword, beckoning them to the ancient tombs.
Phingarr Pheng stood smiling through the bars of the light-cage, gazing down at the helpless Iruk woman. Still wearing her nightclothes, she lay on the floor of the cell, straining to move her arms and legs.
“I remember you, Glyssa,” he whispered. “I recall very well how you scattered my troops using the magic Cloak. But you are not so powerful now, are you, little barbarian?”
For answer, the girl grunted and rolled over, turning her face away.
“I will keep you here for a while, I think. I would like to capture a few more of your friends and imprison them. That way, they can watch from the cages as I eat you alive.”
“My lord,” the witch Arkasha spoke insistently at his shoulder. “Lady Clorodice urgently requires to speak with you.”
“Bah!” The phingarr waved impatiently. “What does she want with me? It is still night.”
“She has tried to reach you since you invoked the spaceless travel. She says it is most important.”
With a grunt, Pheng turned from the cage. He held out his arm, and Arkasha dropped a ruby amulet into his giant paw. Clutching the ruby, he skulked across the stone chamber to a chair like a heavy throne, specially built to support his huge body.
Seating himself, he shut his eyes and called up the amulet’s power. Immediately, his mind sank into a mild trance. He perceived a sky of gray mist and then, floating in the mist, the witch Clorodice seated cross-legged on a cushion. Her expression was vexed.
“I thought we agreed you would wait until after the Tournament.”
“I agreed to nothing. You surmised.” Actually, he did recall promising something of the kind. “I grew impatient. Anyway, it is done with no harm. I have the Iruk woman.”
“By abducting her you have invited more scrutiny—and at this most critical juncture. The final event will be contested in just a few hours. Elani must emerge victorious. Yesterday, her performance in the combat was less than I hoped. Worse, I lacked the power to prevent Amlina from winning through to the finals. There can be no more failures.”
“Very well,” the phingarr grumbled. “What do you want of me?”
“We must draw more power from the Deepmind. We must begin weaving the ensorcellment at once.”
Even as she spoke, Pheng felt the tendrils of her will reaching out, drawing him in to her design. He choose not to resist.
“I am at your service, Lady Clorodice. But remember: after the Tournament, Amlina and the rest of her band will be mine.”
In the twilight before dawn, Eben and his mates stalked through the City of Tombs. Iruks disliked trespassing in the domains of ghosts, but any qualms they might have felt were banished by the urgency of the hunt for Glyssa.
They had searched half the night, by the pink light of Grizna and the faint, bluish glow of the nearby lake. They had traveled as far as the swampy woods on the western edge of the necropolis, then doubled back. Spread wide but within hailing distance of each other, they examined tracks on the grass and sandy trails, sniffed the air, and tried to sense Glyssa’s presence through the klarn-soul. Lonn had found them an hour ago and joined the hunt, walking awkwardly, his body still stiff and sore. From time to time a hum of wings overhead disclosed one of the drell warriors searching from the air.
As the sun rose, the Iruks and drells gathered to rest in a circle of stone arches, the ruins of a mortuary temple. Prince Spegis and two of his servants had arrived, bringing water, dried fruit, and rice cakes. Sharing the meal revived the Iruks’ flagging spirits.
“All of us here except Glyssa,” Karrol muttered. “This reminds me of the
other time we lost her. It took us months to find her then, but we did in the end, and she was all right.”
“True,” Eben muttered. “Amlina helped us find her in Kadavel.”
“Amlina should be with us now,” Lonn said. “She is klarn, after all.”
The Iruks considered. “Today is the final event of the Tournament,” Eben pointed out. “She is competing and can still win.”
“No. Lonn is right,” Draven answered. “She is klarn. She will want to know.”
“How can we get word to her?” Brinda asked.
Eben looked up. “Perhaps one of the drells?”
As it happened, Prince Spegis was already planning to fly to the House of the Deepmind to inform the Archimage of the ogre’s latest attack. He agreed to also convey the klarn’s message to Amlina. As the others resumed the search, the prince and his servants flew off toward the city.
The sun climbed higher as the Iruks hunted through the northern districts of the tombs. Five of the drell warriors scouted from the air while the sixth, Lady Allenawey, tried again to pick up the trail through the spaceless realm.
By late morning, the mates were searching along the north wall—a far-reaching barrier built at various times of brick or stone blocks, crumbling in places, still solid in others. At one spot a stony road led through a gate and then over a bridge that spanned a dry gully. Eben knelt in the road, scrutinizing tracks left by cart or chariot wheels. Some of the tracks looked fresh.
Eben shouted to his mates. Lonn, and then others ran over to join him.
“I remember some cart tracks when we searched this place a few days back,” Eben said. “Looks like more now.”
Lonn nodded. “Seems a lot of traffic for a road so far from the city. I wonder we didn’t notice it before.”
“We were looking for ogre footprints,” Eben noted. “Also …”
“Also what?” Karrol asked.
“Well, if there is sorcery at work to hide the ones who made these tracks, they might have escaped our notice.”
“Right,” Lonn agreed. “Let’s see where they lead.”
Bent low, spears in hand, the mates crept down the trail, back among the tombs and low hills. The track crossed other paths as it wound past age-old monuments and walls shelved with urns. But most of the wheel- and paw-marks followed a definite path, which seemed to grow plainer as they went.
The trail ended at the base of a hill under a broken obelisk. In a gap of the hill, a flight of steps descended to a blackened iron door.
“It might just be wishing,” Draven muttered, “but I have a sense Glyssa is under that hill.”
“I feel it too.” Karrol said.
She ran down the stairs, followed by Lonn and the others. The door was solid, framed by iron and stone. The mates examined the edges, but could find no lock or hinge or even a gap to pry.
Frustrated, Karrol banged on the door with the pommel of her sword. “Glyssa! Glyssa, can you hear me?”
Eben had another thought and ran back up the steps. Spotting one of the drells in the distance, he waved his arms and shouted. By the time the drell landed, the other Iruks had climbed out of the pit.
“Can you bring Lady Allenawey?” Eben asked the drell. “We may have found something.”
Presently, Allenawey arrived, accompanied by the rest of the drell warriors.
“We think our mate might be down there,” Eben told her. “Can you use second flight to get past the door?”
“I shall try,” the lady answered. She lifted her arms and her wings came to motion, quivering with a high-pitched whir. An aura of light swelled and she vanished.
In a few moments, the drell reappeared, looking breathless and strained. “No. I could not pass within,” she whispered.
Eben frowned. “There is nothing you can learn?”
Allenawey shook her head. “On the contrary. The thwarting of my second flight tells me this place is the center of the concealment.”
“Well then,” Karrol said. “We just have to find a way inside.”
While the mates were debating whether to try digging around the door or to first search over the hill for another entrance, they spied more drells approaching. Prince Spegis and his attendants landed on the ground before them. Lady Allenawey quickly apprised him of the situation.
“That is excellent news,” he said. “I will return to the city at once. The Keeper of the Keys, Lady Clorodice must be informed. She will likely have the means to open the tomb.”
He was about to take off again when Lonn gestured to stop him. “Did you give our message to Amlina?”
“Ah. Regrettably, no. I did speak with the Archimage. But by the time I arrived the procession was about to begin. Lady Drusdegarde would not allow any communication with Amlina or the other contestants—an added precaution, she said, against interference in the Tournament.”
Thirty-Four
All morning Amlina had been troubled. Suspicions hovered at the edges of her mind, but when she tried to examine them, the thoughts flitted away like phantoms.
She rode a chariot, rolling slowly along North Road. The way was lined with colorful crowds come to watch the final event of the Tournament. Dressed in a red and gold robe, wearing her moonstone fillet, Amlina stood beside the chariot driver and gripped the rail with one hand. With the other, she waved, acknowledging the cheers. Yesterday, she had considered herself out of the Tournament. Today, one of three finalists, she could hardly focus on being here.
Her mind kept turning to the Iruks and the suspicion that they were in danger. But no matter how hard she probed with witchsight, no matter how determinedly she tried to invoke the klarn-soul, she could perceive nothing definite—only a vague and hopeless despair. Was their plight concealed by sorcery? Or was her mind simply too scattered and confused by nervousness and exhaustion from all she had been through these past months?
After the recent rains, the air was crisp, the sky bright blue. Arriving at the Circle of Sublime Balance, the procession pushed slowly through a vast, milling throng. Once again, the staging for the event had been changed. Curtained boxes and galleries now formed a half-circle around the Pool of Perpetual Light. These seats were occupied by the Tuan and his royal court, exalted magistrates and officials, and the highest-ranking witches of the House of the Deepmind. The rest of the fountain basin was open to spectators who pressed and jostled close against the edge.
On an island at the center of the pool, porcelain statues of fish, dolphins, turtles, and sprites normally poured water in arcs and gushes. Today all were quiet. Instead, a giant column spewed from the mouth of a huge fish at the island’s center. Three high seats were set up near the edge of the basin, widely spaced but equidistant from the water spout. A plank bridge and short ladder connected each seat to the fountain’s rim. Before each seat, a wreath of golden flowers floated on the rippling blue surface.
Amlina and the other finalists were each led to their places, ready to cross the plank walkways and mount to the high seats. A flourish of trumpets sounded, followed by the tolling of gongs. The Mistress of the Tournament strode along the rim of the fountain and faced the crowed.
“Welcome, one and all, to the final event of the Tournament of Witches. Quon-xing, pure shaping, is the fifth revered art. It is the spontaneous use of mental power to create effects in the world. Today’s contest is simple: from their chairs over the pool, the finalists will seek to bend the arc of the waterspout, to draw it toward them by mental force. Whichever witch succeeds in bringing the falling water to the center of her wreath of flowers will be crowned champion.”
The Mistress introduced the finalists, beginning with Elani Vo T’ang. As Elani marched over the walkway toward her seat, Amlina stared around at the fountain and the crowd. Her vision wavered. Her ears burned and dizziness fluttered into her brain.
Amlina. Amlina.
Glyssa? Even as she recognized the voice, she sensed fear and terrible danger.
Amlina, we are one. Our minds are
one.
Glyssa was seeking to forge a mental link, as they had done many times before. Yes, Glyssa. I hear you. Are you in danger?
I have been captured … by the ogre. I am in a cage. I think our mates are outside.
In the Circle of Sublime Balance, Elani Vo T’ang had taken her seat. The Mistress was announcing the second finalist, Shen Tra Lo. In moments, Amlina would be called to step onto the rim of the pool, to walk to her chair, and compete. She believed she had a chance to win.
But that would mean breaking the mind-link with Glyssa.
Winning the Cloak was supposed to be her purpose, her destiny. But if that meant abandoning her friends—That was no choice at all.
I hear you Glyssa. Reach out for me. We are one. Our minds are one.
Before her eyes, the fountain shimmered and disappeared. Amlina fell to her knees.
Her eyes blinked, strained to see—a wide stone chamber lit by candles and lamps. Hands rose into view. They were not her hands.
I am with you Glyssa. I see from inside your mind.
“Yes, Amlina. I feel you with me. I am so grateful.”
Glyssa rose unsteadily to her feet. Amlina felt aches and stiffness. The chamber was dusty, a cavern or tomb, the air close and stuffy.
Nearby, radiant beams lanced between the floor and ceiling.
“The bars make a cage. They burn like fire.” Glyssa showed a blistered hand.
Beyond the cage, at a writing table, a black-robed witch sat reading by lamplight. At the center of the chamber, a monster covered in coarse white hair sat slumped on a throne. Eyes closed, the creature appeared to be in trance. Perfectly still, it yet emanated immense, unfathomable power.
“The ogre,” Glyssa whispered. “He is linked in mind with one called Clorodice. I heard him speak with her after he first brought me here. I could not move, but I heard him. The witch at the table serves them both. She is named Arkasha.”
Clorodice. Arkasha. I know the names, Amlina answered. The puzzle pieces were falling together. Clorodice was tapping the power of this ogre, a creature engendered by sorcery, to bend the outcome of the Tournament—so that her apprentice, Elani Vo T’ang would win and claim the Cloak.
