A Facet for the Gem (20 page)

“He is no rabbit. You underestimated him before.” Morlen choked slightly on his words of warning, realizing he still carried neither bow nor sword. “Felkoth is unlikely to remain in the forest, knowing the king’s men will soon be searching. He’ll seek refuge someplace out of sight and far less accessible.”

“I owe him no higher estimation than previously given,” Roftome retorted stubbornly. “I merely let my eagerness to end him get the better of me, but never again.”

Suddenly, the glint of light upon metal drew Morlen’s passing gaze back as he urged Roftome to slow, and, hovering, they both focused on the same vertical grid, waiting for the sign to hail them again. Minutes passed with no result, leading him to wonder if maybe he’d simply caught a frozen stream at a deceptive angle, when once more the elusive glare repeated unmistakably. This time they pinpointed its location high on an icy slope.

Leaning into each breeze that hit harder the closer to the mountain they forged, Morlen saw the outline of a form that became gradually defined. Soon, he realized, it was a man, but not Felkoth. “One of the city men?” he asked tentatively. “I see no others around him.”

“No,” Roftome answered assuredly while he prepared to land, the curious figure standing unthreatened by their approach. “Not one of them.”

Setting down against the white-blanketed rock, Morlen dismounted, looking on as the silent stranger stepped nearer, a full head taller than he, and, by his appearance, not much older. He was suited in armor, silver and bright, his helm crafted as an eagle’s head (though its design seemed quite antiquated), and he was caped in red, with a dark scar through his cloven left pauldron.

Walking closer to them, he halted an arm’s length away, and the snow did not even buckle under his weight. A more formidable warrior than Morlen had ever seen, the man’s face shone in warm recognition, as though to greet a close ally.

“You are seeking someone,” he said with barely the force of a whisper, though it resounded powerfully through the quiet, chill air.

Morlen gave no response at first, wondering if the hallucinations that often visited miners and smiths in sweltering heat could be brought on by fierce cold as well. But, studying his stately addressor, whose stance was broad and solid, he cast aside such notions. Instead he wondered how far this man’s watch extended through the mountains, and if he alluded to Felkoth’s whereabouts.

“Yes,” he finally replied. “I am trying to find—”

“Morthadus,” said the man, and Morlen was immediately taken aback.

How could he know this, of all names? Its relevance to himself could not possibly be suspected by any stranger. Still, as this rare opportunity reared its head, offering answers for which he’d lately found himself at a loss, he nodded.

Brimming with knowledge scarcely seen in one so young, his smooth visage masking an ancient memory, the man smiled at him now. “The father of your fathers.”

Again, Morlen tried in vain to understand, though he felt encouraged by the man’s acute perception. “How…?” he cautiously began, but found no need to finish.

“You will find him,” the man interjected, “where the halves meet.”

Looking kindly at Morlen for a moment longer, he seemed to know his message was received. And yet, Morlen gleaned no meaning from it, no interpretation that could shed any light whatsoever, resolving only to remember it.

Then, the man strode smoothly to Roftome, who gave no warning at his advance, merely standing calm with beak relaxed as he stroked his neck feathers. “You have a good friend here,” he praised. “I too had such a friend. But, I lost him, long ago.”

Proud to have borne Roftome’s stout frame on his own shoulders, and taking solace in their mutual loyalty, Morlen was aggrieved by the man’s words. “Your eagle?” he asked, unable to expel many dark images stirred by the thought.

“No.” The man continued to pat Roftome with loving regard. “A man. Like my brother.” Withdrawing from Roftome, he stood farther apart this time and faced Morlen. “Farewell,” he bade encouragingly. “I believe we shall see one another again.”

Morlen drew a quick breath, seeing now that no flakes touched the man but fluttered unhindered through his wide, translucent form, which showed the hazy terrain behind as he gracefully took his leave. He walked far into the open white background, fading with each steady pace until they saw him no more.

Shielding himself from razor-edged winds that swept more forcefully now, he felt these unexpected words of counsel slowly uproot his determination to scour the frost for Felkoth. Instead his aim was diverted toward someone who, with Nottleforf’s promised help, might yet be found.

“Come,” Morlen said, reclaiming his place atop Roftome. “Felkoth will not move far under the city men’s watch.”

Preparing to take off at his companion’s behest, Roftome asked, “You mean to give up the chase?”

Morlen looked below where a thousand places of cover were now frozen closed. “There may soon be nothing left to chase, whether he lies low or rears his head. But, right now, there is someone else I need to find.”

They kicked off from the white peaks, passing over hundreds of icy trenches that could be housing the Tyrant Prince. Steering back toward familiar stretches of forest, Morlen hoped Nottleforf would uphold his reluctant promise, and finally send him in the direction he sought.

“You allow yourself to become far too troubled, Father,” said Ivrild at the king’s shoulder, as the three landed again in fields of emerald green centered in their realm. “If I were king, I would not bear so many burdens alone, as you do.”

Ondrel cut him off. “No, you would assemble a council to bear them for you, and then fly away in the night with an ale in hand and a farm girl on your lap.”

Ivrild’s rejoinder was swift, punctuated with a smirk. “No, actually, I thought I might appoint you as my top advisor, in matters of feather grooming, crop distribution, and the like.”

Knowing the attempt was futile under their scrutiny, Valdis nevertheless took pains to avert his half-smile.

“You see?” Ivrild laughed harder now. “He’s redder than your backside was that night we gave you your first lashing.”

Ondrel’s tone grew indignant. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. Letting me think it was Father’s doing for all those years.”

“It will be, this time; that goes for the both of you,” said Valdis, “if you cannot take your fill of this rare quiet, perhaps the last we find in a long while.”

Trading jovial glances, the brothers ceased their banter, finding it in their hearts to indulge his request, though Ivrild would not be completely silenced. “As I was saying before, Father,” he jabbed affectionately, “as king, your crown should weigh heavier than your troubles. What is the point of having a host of subjects under your rule if you’re unwilling to let your pain spill over a little onto them?”

Valdis’s face relaxed under the watch of his second-eldest son, who brought more laughter than his other children by far, and he felt no need for concealment this time. “To be king is to be alone,” he answered tersely. “You exist merely to give the people an illusion that they sleep each night behind someone keeping vigil with spear and sword in hand, ready to repel ten thousand snapping jaws from their doors at a moment’s notice.

“And if, perchance, they learn that this is well beyond your power, that you are in fact just as vulnerable as they, and that even you at times feel terror, how soundly will they sleep each night? How confidently will each soldier carry out the orders given him when the relentless hordes finally come? And rest assured, they are coming.

“But, to be father,” he went on, his lighter voice summoning their more optimistic attention. “To be father is to see your shortcomings erased, to feel your fear unravel when the faces that reflect the very best in you absolve every weakness, every doubt. You will be better kings than I, and fathers too. Your subjects will sleep far more peacefully than mine, and your men will fight far more fiercely. Your children will torment you with their keener intellect, sharper wit. Their strength and speed will make you consider yourselves relics in the dust. And you will thank them silently for it each day.”

He grinned at both of them now, letting go of any bravado he’d ever donned in their presence to make less of the perils toward which they’d flown. He knew more were on the horizon, as near as the cluster of men speeding at them from the capital.

“Suppose they’ve come to enjoy this enchanting quiet as well?” nudged Ondrel, his brother snorting in response as they hastened to keep up with the king, who took off to meet the frenzied messengers.

“My lord!” the first of them bellowed out in front. “He’s been seen… our scouts in the mountains just sent word!”

“Where?” Valdis demanded.

Wiping frost from his glistening brow, the man panted, “Climbing near the falls. They say he jumped as soon as he was spotted, and they couldn’t find his body in the river. He may very well have drowned.”

“No,” answered Valdis with certainty. “Not him.” Feeling his sons’ eager stares fixing upon him, he would not deny them the task they sought. “Gather every warrior at the capital to arms,” he charged both princes, knowing the confident enthusiasm they frequently inspired there could mean the difference between finding their target and coming up short. “I’ll round up all who are able to fly from the two middle cities. Track him wherever he goes, and wait for me,” he ordered, seeing their reluctance to obey. “Wait for me—do you understand?”

Giving barely discernible nods in answer, the two brothers turned their eagles to lead the group back. Knowing how quickly impatience would seize them if they came upon Felkoth, Valdis descended to summon a force great enough to finally eliminate his enemy, though a part of him suspected that three thousand spears and bows might still be too few.

Spat upon a slick bank by roaring waters, Felkoth slowly slithered through muddy gravel, one elbow dragging after the other until he rested flat upon dry land. And, scanning out over the former Freelands stretching ahead, his spirits soon soared as he realized he’d reached his own territory once again.

Even so, he was days away from any haven. And, though unsure how long he’d been on display beside the river, he sensed the Eaglemasters with their abundant spies would soon be on his trail. Lying still, he merely listened for any sound of the massing fleet that would quickly swarm above, ready to hunt him to the ends of the earth. He hoped against hope to see Valdis at the head of their ranks, and kept the Dark Blade ready to bleed him slowly for all to see.

Then, quite abruptly, the smoothest splash caught his ear. Slowly turning over with his body low against the ground, his spirits swelled once more as he laid eyes on a very familiar mode of deliverance. The mountain eagle stood a dozen paces away, talons submerged in glittering shallows as the lower half of a blue-tinted fish wriggled limply within its beak, and its head feathers showered the glassy surface with falling droplets.

He had to strike fast if he meant to evade the Eaglemasters. And he would not be unseated this time, judging the bird’s size to be significantly smaller than the previous brute he’d harnessed. Dagger drawn, he slit through the upper left side of his robes, tearing out a long strip of fabric. Wrapping each end around his palms like a garrote, he pushed himself upright, eyeing the unsuspecting creature’s spacious back.

Careful not to disturb even a pebble from the loose terrain, he paused to look over the river and adjacent forest, and saw thousands of identical red figures in an airborne formation that pointed like an arrowhead straight for him. Pulling the lengthy cloth around white knuckles, he bolted forward, letting each stomp announce inevitable capture to his prey, and lunged out with arms extended as the raptor leapt from the bank in an attempt to escape.

He crashed hard between its wings, hooking the makeshift rein under its throat with ruthless force, and the ensnared creature thrashed violently with no choice but to fly in the direction steered. Forcing its thick head to the right against screams of protest, he drove his carrier away from the coming assault, squeezing out every ounce of speed it would relinquish.

Its windpipe bent under the unrelenting strain while he struggled to maintain altitude, cursing the only harbor offered him in the Quiet Waste. Still, he would not allow Valdis the satisfaction of bringing him down, even if it meant descending into the depths of the earth, where the Eaglemasters dared not fly.

They were close now, and his shrinking lead would hold their fire at bay only a short while longer. Passing into caustic air pumped from their destination, the bird fell dizzily in a sharp decline that required all his strength to counteract. He nearly snapped its neck until they leveled out again, coasting a few dozen yards above the volcano’s summit.

He had no time to contemplate what might be found within the crater’s boiling depths, having heard nothing more than old men’s fireside tales about it. His closing pursuers had begun testing their range, and hundreds of arrows fell close behind him. It would not be long before he became a viable target, and the beckoning mountain sat miles away.

He unsheathed the Dark Blade and bashed it flat against the eagle’s lower back, bringing a distressed burst of speed, taking care not to make any cut that would bring the flight to a premature end. Again he struck even harder, and this time they teetered upward as the eagle’s backside bobbed low in response.

Then, rearing back for a third stroke, he found it unnecessary as a wayward arrow tore down through the bird’s tail flesh, summoning another high-pitched shriek muffled by the rein he still held securely. It careened downward again, but was lifted by his urgent efforts to keep them above the hollow peak that was barely below eye level.

Hearing the Eaglemasters’ emboldened shouts, he tensed his body in anticipation of the downpour to follow, beating his transporter once more across its broken tail. The shock traveled through every stiff feather, inducing a turbulent jolt that bucked his head just inches out of a zipping arrow’s path, while others began to shroud them on each side.