City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar Page 4

  “Is it yet Long Tom who cares for her? You spoke of him when last spring you were here.”

  “The very same, Chier, and thou wilt meet him anon, for I would have thee in my cabin again and sailing the oceans of all Mithgar after this business is done.”

  Dalor cleared his throat. “Speaking of business, Aravan, is the plan yet the same?”

  “Aye, Healer,” replied the Elf. “Mages and Elves cross over at the mark of midnight on Winterday two days hence.”

  “And the number of Elves in the assault?”

  “At least fifty tens, all told, just as intended, though since others have discovered our aim, I believe that number might grow. From the High Plane they come, for, because of the Sundering, it has been long since any on Adonar took part in a battle against the Spaunen, and they would do more than their share. Yet Elves who have dwelt on Mithgar would not be denied, and they have crossed from the Mid to the High World to join the ranks as well.”

  “Good,” said Dalor.

  Branwen then looked at Aravan and said, “So you would have Dwarves in this fight?”

  Aravan nodded. “Aye, the Drimma are mighty warriors.”

  “But how would they cross the in-between? I mean, they know not the ritual.”

  “Branwen, thou dost forget, the Drimma cannot lose their feet. And once they tread a path, it is with them forever. Hence, once through the steps of the crossing rite, they would repeat it without error.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Branwen. “Then you are correct: we should have asked the Dwarves.”

  “And you say you have them on your ship?” asked Dalor.

  “None at the moment,” said Aravan, “but soon, I hope. A warband of forty will sail with us.”

  “Oh, my, the Eroean,” said Aylis, her eyes lost in softness. “I remember it well.”

  They sat in silence for long moments, but at last Aylis said, “Come, Aravan, there is something in my cote I would have you see.”

  Together they strolled to the small mountain cabin, and when Dalor heard the lock click shut behind them, he turned to Branwen and said, “As Alamar would say, canoodling.”

  Together they broke into laughter.

  In the black marks of the darktide, Elves on Adonar and Mages on Vadaria canted the chant and stepped the steps and crossed into the Untargarda, into the world of Neddra. The moment he reached the plateau, Aravan knelt and, shielded by Bair’s cloak to conceal the flash of light, transformed into a black falcon and took to wing. Up he soared and up, and then sailed o’er the crags, his flight curving on a long arc to another cardinal point of the nexus, a league and a mile due west the Black Fortress. There he settled down in an open area deliberately cleared in the midst of the Elven host where the captains waited for him. One of these captains, Silverleaf, whipped off his cloak and coaxed the near-wild bird to huddle beneath, the falcon kecking in irritation at having to do so. Finally, though, shielded by the garment, Valké transformed back into Aravan, the argent flare flickering under the edges. When the light died, Aravan stood and looked about to see not only Lian Guardians but Dylvana as well, the Elven race of the woodlands, come to join in the fight.

  Aravan turned to Arandor and said, “The Mages are across. Cloaked by illusion they are on their way here.”

  Arandor nodded and said, “How many, all told?”

  “Seven nines.”

  “Then I will divide my force into sevenths,” replied the captain, “a century and a half for each nine.”

  “Thou hast over one thousand?” asked Aravan. “I thought fifty tens was the count, though I suspected there would be more.”

  “Aye, our ranks have swelled,” replied the captain, grinning. “Wouldst thou care to command one of the companies?”

  Aravan shook his head. “Nay, for Valké is best as a scout.”

  Arandor spread his hands wide. “Aravan, ’tis a marvel that thou canst do such a thing.”

  “The crystal makes it so, Arandor.” Aravan paused a moment and then said, “When Valké is no longer needed, then will I join one of the companies, the one wherein Aylis marches.”

  Arandor shook his head. “Nay, Aravan. Thou art too valuable a warrior to spend thy time ever fretting at her side.”

  Among those gathered immediately about, two stepped forward—both Dylvana. “Vail and I will take Aylis under wing,” said Arin Flameseer, her bow in hand, as was Vail’s.

  “As will we,” said Ruar, touching his own chest and then canting his head toward Rissa and Eloran.

  Disappointed, yet understanding why Arandor would rather he be at the forefront instead of withdrawn and protecting Aylis, Aravan smiled and said, “Dylvana all, I see, and I could not ask for better.”

  Arandor nodded his agreement, and then said, “Dawn on this miserable world comes but six candlemarks hence. Let us form up our seven companies to be ready when Magekind arrives.”

  As Arandor went about the task of assigning one hundred and five tens among seven companies, one for each of the seven nines, Aravan paced and paused and paced again as he waited for his beloved to appear.

  And dimly silhouetted against the stars, the sinister black moon of Neddra stole across the dark skies above.

  6

  Reconnaissance

  NEXUS

  WINTERDAY, 5E1010

  [THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]

  They came as a whisper through the night, a soft murmuring not unlike that of the wind. And of a sudden and before the Elven army, a Silver Wolf and seven nines of Magekind appeared: first they were not, and then they were, the illusion of vacant land falling away.

  Even as a pall of darkness gathered ’round the Draega from which Bair appeared, Alamar, at hand, sought out Arandor and, espying the leader, strode away.

  Aylis, with eight others trailing, passed among the Mages and stepped to Aravan’s side and welcomed his embrace. “How long, Chier, till dawn?”

  “Four candlemarks.”

  “Good, then we are right on schedule and I’ve plenty of time to explore the interior.”

  Aravan sighed, and though they had had this discussion many times, still he asked once again, “Canst thou not let another do it?”

  Aylis shook her head. “Nay, love, for I have trained. Fear not; your Elves and my nine will protect me. Now, get me close.”

  Aravan turned and signaled his squad even as Aylis gestured toward the eight Mages who had come with her. Quickly they assembled, for all knew the plan, and once again Bair became Hunter. At Aravan’s whispered command, they set out westerly, twenty Elves and nine Mages, an illusionist in their midst casting cover, and a Silver Wolf in the lead.

  Fretting, Alamar watched them go. “Fool of a daughter,” he muttered.

  “Thou art anxious?” asked Arandor. “Should we have sent someone else?”

  Alamar shook his head. “Nay. She is the best at this.”

  “Then why dost thou call her a fool?”

  “Because I love her,” snapped the Mage.

  Though the Elven captain said nought in reply, he nodded in understanding.

  Within a candlemark, Aylis and her escort reached the near side of the knoll from which she would do her exploration. It stood no more than five hundred paces from the outer wall beringing the bastion.

  As two Dylvana made their way to the crest, once again the Draega vanished and where he had been Bair now stood.

  “Hunter scented only distant Spaunen,” said the lad.

  Aravan’s hand strayed to the blue stone on the leather thong about his neck. “My amulet runs chill, yet I deem it does so because of so many Rûpt within the Black Fortress.”

  “Might I see this stone?” asked Delynn, the Sorcerer of the nine.

  Aravan pulled the thong up over his head and handed it to her. A small blue pebble depended thereon, the thong running through a hole piercing the center. “It grows cold when peril is nigh,” said Aravan.

  Delynn peered at it a long moment and then said, “,” and
she handed it back to Aravan.

  “ ’Twas given to me by a Fox Rider named Tarquin, when I rescued him and his mate from a fire.”

  “That explains it then,” said Delynn.

  “Explains what?” asked Bair.

  “Why it is ,” said the Sorceress. “It comes from the Hidden Ones, and that is the they have, a form we do not understand.”

  “Oh,” said Bair, sounding somewhat disappointed, for he had known this all along, but, it seemed, he had been expecting a deeper insight from the Mage.

  One of the Dylvana, bearing a spear, came back down from the crown of the knoll. “ ’Tis all quiet in yon fortress, Aravan, but for the wall patrols. Vail remains on watch above.”

  “Well and good, Melor,” said Aravan, and he turned to Aylis. “Chier.”

  Aylis gave him a quick kiss; then she sat on the chill barren ground, and the remainder of the nine took places, sitting in a shallow arc about her, Delynn midmost along the curve.

  Aylis looked at Delynn and nodded and then closed her eyes, and the Sorceress in turn looked about the arc and one by one called out the names of the others, and Mage after Mage in sequence murmured a word—“Coniunge”—and then remained silent thereafter.

  “What are they doing?” asked Melor.

  Aravan looked at Bair, the only one among those watching who could the effect. Bair said, “ flows to the Sorceress from each on the arc, and she in turn channels it to Aylis at the focus, each in the curve giving up a bit of life essence to power the spell.”

  Melor nodded, for he knew that castings required the use of , a form of life force, the loss of which caused the caster to age, unless the of others was employed. Most Mages spent their own life force, except when several agreed to combine, each to deliver some of his own to power a particular spell; in which event a Sorcerer was needed to handle the conjoinment. On the other hand, some Mages, without any prior agreement, wrenched away life force from their victims to drive their own spells; those who practiced such evil were named “Black” Mages.

  “And what is it she does?” asked Melor.

  “She is sending her essential self—her spirit, her soul, the very core of her being—into the Black Fortress to assess the number and kind of foe,” replied Bair.

  “I would think that quite dangerous,” said Melor.

  Bair nodded, but did not otherwise reply.

  Finally Melor said, “I will go back up and keep watch with Vail.”

  As the Dylvana turned and quietly made his way up the slope, Bair stood at Aravan’s side and stared at the arc of Mages, Aylis cupped within. And as a nimbus of jade-hued flowed to the Sorcerer and from her to the Seer, he wondered at what Aylis saw.

  Disembodied, Aylis flew up and over the knoll and across the space toward the Black Fortress. Above the outer wall she soared, Spawn below standing at stations, a small rout marching widdershins along the banquette, the Rûcks in the band jostling one another and cursing. Over the killing field she swept and to the main wall of the bastion. There more Spawn stood ward, and another small jostling rout marched along the battlements. Aylis espied a closed door at one of the turrets, but this would be no bar to her spirit, and she swooped through it and into the chamber beyond.

  There, she slid behind a shadow—not in the wall aft of the darkness, nor in the shadow pressing against the stone, but between the darkness itself and the wall—for there could not penetrate. If any of Magekind was in the fortress, then none could see her. Yet Aylis herself could not see ought beyond the black unless she pressed her face forward to peek out from the umbra.

  Down she spiralled, now and then pausing to peer from in back of the shadow to see and count the numbers and kinds of foe. Floor after floor she descended, passing by arrow slits and by Rûcks casting bones, some shouting in glee while others cursed at the outcome of the throw.

  Within the corridors and aft of the darkness lying against the walls, Aylis sped a complete circuit of the fortress at each level, checking, counting, safe for the most part from any who could . Down through the strata she went—five, six, seven levels, and more—surely by then she was underground. Corridors branched off, and along these she flew, keeping behind the clinging dark, but momentarily stopping at intervals to peer out. At these pauses she noted barracks with sleeping Spawn, a mess hall with Hlôks and Rûcks gorging down gobbets of a dark and stringy meat swimming in an ocherous liquid of some sort; and in another place—a huge chamber—six monstrous male Trolls seemed to be wrestling, though when Aylis looked closer, it wasn’t wrestling they did at all. Disgusted, she flew farther within, and popped up and out into the central courtyard, and making a circuit she found a stable of Hèlsteeds; and in quarters above the mews she discovered an unmoving band of Ghûls, each one sitting with its back to a wall and staring straight ahead with unblinking dead eyes, a cruel barbed spear at hand. Like the corpse-folk they were called, each one seemed to be utterly without life, but Aylis knew it was not so. With but barely a glimpse, quickly she fled the place of the Ghûls, for if they were indeed undead, whether or no she hid aft of shadows, they would catch sight of her, for unlike the living, the dead could not only see through darkness but behind it as well.

  As Aylis passed back into the open courtyard, a dreadful howling sounded, and she followed it to its source to find a kennel of Vulgs worrying at the corpse of a large animal so mangled Aylis could not identify what it might have been, though it somewhat resembled a Troll.

  Back across the quadrangle she sped, and as she flew in the darkness over the cobblestones, she sensed an arcane power below. At last! ’Tis a sign of Magekind! Those who I came to find and count. Into the ground she slipped, and she eased down into a chamber, an arena, and recalling the tales that both Bair and Aravan had told, she recognized it as the mating field of Spawn. But it was totally empty at this time, no wild, unfettered coupling taking place; perhaps the females were not in heat. Yet the dark force she felt did not emanate from this hall, and down she went into the structure below.

  She descended into a chamber filled with mutilated corpses: some rotting, some fresh, some flayed, some missing limbs or heads, while others were gutted or had further atrocities performed upon them, as if some dreadful experiments were taking place. At one end of the room a curtained archway stood, and from the chamber beyond, a dreadful chanting sounded.

  Aylis approached the opening, and she peered within a candlelit room to see flowing. She slid behind a shadow and into the vile sanctum. And she peeked out from in back of the blackness to see what might be taking place.

  It was a ceremony, a rite, a ritual, for there assembled in a circle was a group of eleven, no, twelve Mages, one of whom—a Magus with long black hair down to his hips—called out arcane words. The other twelve were arrayed about a large geometric figure scribed on the floor—somewhat like a spiked wheel—and six of the Mages stood at each tine, and six more stood in the gaps between. At the hub of the wheel lay the corpse of a Hlôk, and flowed down and into the dead body, wrested from a score of screaming Rûcks shackled to the walls.

  And the corpse twitched and shuddered and then sat up; its jaw dangled agape, and its head tilted on its neck at a broken angle, and it opened its eyes all milky and dull. With the crackling of bone it wrenched its skull upright to look about at the Mages, and then swiveled its face toward Aylis as she jerked back behind the shadow; and she heard what seemed to be a thousand voices all crying out together, as if a myriad of dead souls were crowding forward to scream through the single mouth of the corpse and cry out a warning.