Fionavar 1 (4 page)

Schafer went in, though, and unlocked his ground-floor apartment. Turning on a lamp in the living room, he poured himself a drink and carried the glass to a deep armchair. Again the pale face under the dark shock of hair was expressionless. And again, when his mouth and eyes did move, a long time later, it was to register only a kind of indecision, wiped away quickly this tune by the tightening jaw.

He leaned sideways then to the stereo and tape deck, turned them on, and inserted a cassette. In part because it was very late, but only in part, he adjusted the machine and put on the
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headphones. Then he turned out the only light in the room.

It was a private tape, one he had made himself a year ago. On it, as he sat there motionless in the dark, sounds from the summer before took shape: a graduation recital in the Faculty of Music's Edward Johnson Building, by a girl named Rachel Kincaid. A girl with dark hair like his own and dark eyes like no one else in this world.

And Paul Schafer, who believed one should be able to endure anything, and who believed this of himself most of all, listened as long as he could, and failed again. When the second movement began, he shuddered through an indrawn breath and stabbed the machine to silence.

It seemed that there were still things one could not do. So one did everything else as well as the one possibly could and found new things to try, to will oneself to master, and always one realized, at the kernel and heart of things, that the ends of the earth would not be far enough away.

Which was why, despite knowing very well that there were things they had not been told, Paul Schafer was glad, bleakly glad, to be going farther than the ends of the earth on the morrow.

And the moon, moving then to shine unobstructed through the window, lit the room enough to reveal the serenity of his face.

And in the place beyond the ends of earth, in Fionavar, which lay waiting for them like a lover, like a dream, another moon, larger than our own, rose to light the changing of the wardstone guard in the palace of Paras Derval.

The priestess appointed came with the new guards, tended and banked the naal flame set before the stone, and withdrew, yawning, to her narrow bed.

And the stone, Ginserat's stone, set in its high obsidian pillar carved with a relief of Conary before the Mountain, shone still, as it had a thousand years, radiantly blue.

Towards dawn a bank of clouds settled low over the city. Kimberly Ford stirred, surfaced almost to wakefulness, then slipped back down into a light sleep, and a dream unlike any she'd known before.

There was a place of massive jumbled stones. A wind was blowing over wide grasslands. It was dusk. She almost knew the place, was so close to naming it that her inability tasted bitter in her mouth. The wind made a chill, keening sound as it blew between the stones. She had come to find one who was needed, but she knew he was not there. A ring was on her finger, with a stone that

gleamed a dull red in the twilight, and this was her power and her burden both. The gathered stones demanded an invocation from her; the wind threatened to tear it from her mouth. She knew what she was there to say, and was brokenhearted, beyond all grief she'd ever known, at the price her speaking would exact from the man she'd come to summon. In the dream, she opened her mouth to say the words.

She woke then, and was very still a long time. When she rose, it was to move to the window, where she drew the curtain back.

The clouds were breaking up. Venus, rising in the east before the sun, shone silver-white and dazzling, like hope. The ring on her finger in the dream had shone as well: deep red and masterful, like Mars.

The Dwarf dropped into a crouch, hands loosely clasped in front of him. They were all there; Kevin with his guitar, Dave Martyniuk defiantly clutching the promised Evidence notes. Loren remained out of sight in the bedroom. "Preparing," the Dwarf had said. And now, without preamble, Matt

Sören said more.

"Ailell reins in Brennin, the High Kingdom. Fifty years now, as you have heard. He is very old, much reduced. Metran heads the Council of the Mages, and Gorlaes, the Chancellor, is first of
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all advisers. You will meet them both. Ailell had two sons only, very late in life. The name of the elder-," Matt hesitated, "-is not to be spoken. The younger is Diarmuid, now heir to the throne."

Too many mysteries, Kevin Laine thought. He was nervous, and angry with himself for that.

Beside him, Kim was concentrating fiercely, a single vertical line furrowing her forehead.

"South of us," the Dwarf continued, "the Saeren flows through its ravine, and beyond the river is Cathal, the Garden Country. There has been war with Shal-hassan's people in my lifetime. The river is patrolled on both sides. North of Brennin is the Plain where the Dalrei dwell, the Riders.

The tribes follow the eltor herds as the seasons change. You are unlikely to see any of the Dalrei.

They dislike walls and cities." Kim's frown, Kevin saw, had deepened. "Over the mountains, eastward, the land grows wilder and very beautiful. That country is called Eridu now, though it had another name long ago. It breeds a people once brutal, though quiet of late. Little is known of doings in

Eridu, for the mountains are a stern barrier." Matt Sören's voice roughened. "Among the Eriduns dwell the Dwarves, unseen for the most part, in their chambers and halls under the mountains of

Banir Lok and Banir Tal, beside Calor Diman, the Crystal Lake. A place more fair than any in all the worlds."

Kevin had questions again, but withheld them. He could see there was an old pain at work here.

"North and west of Brennin is Pendaran Wood. It runs for miles to the north, between the Plain and the Sea. Beyond the forest is Daniloth, the Shadowland." The Dwarf stopped, as abruptly as he'd begun, and turned to adjust his pack and gear. There was a silence.

"Matt?" It was Kimberly. The Dwarf turned. "What about the mountain north of the Plain?"

Matt made a swift, convulsive gesture with one hand, and stared at the slight, brown-haired girl.

"So you were right, my friend, from the very first."

Kevin wheeled. In the doorway leading from the bedroom stood the tall figure of Loren, in a long robe of shifting silver hues.

"What have you seen?" the mage asked Kim, very gently.

She, too, had twisted to face him. The grey eyes were strange-inward and troubled. She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Nothing, really. Just . . . that I do see a mountain."

"And?" Loren pressed.

"And . . ." she closed her eyes. "A hunger. Inside, somehow. . . . I can't explain it."

"It is written," said Loren after a moment, "in our books of wisdom, that in each of the worlds there are those who have dreams or visions-one sage called them memories-of Fionavar, which is the

First. Matt, who has gifts of his own, named you as one such yesterday." He paused; Kim didn't move. "It is known," Loren went on, "that to bring people back in a crossing, such a person must be found to stand at the heart of the circle."

"So that's why you wanted us? Because of Kim?" It was Paul Schafer; the first words he'd spoken since arriving.

"Yes," said the mage, simply.

"Damn!" tried Kevin softly. "And I thought it was my charm."

No one laughed. Kim stared at Loren, as if seeking answers in the lines of his face, or the shifting patterns of his robe.

Finally she asked, "And the mountain?"

Loren's voice was almost matter-of-fact. "One thousand years ago someone was imprisoned there.

At the deepest root of Rangat, which is the mountain you have seen."

Kim nodded, hesitated. "Someone . . . evil?" The word came awkwardly to her tongue.

They might have been alone in the room. "Yes," said the mage.

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"One thousand years ago?"

He nodded again.. In this moment of misdirection, of deceit, when everything stood in danger of falling apart, his eyes were more calm and compassionate than they had ever been.

With one hand Kim tugged at a strand of brown hair. She drew a breath. "All right," she said.

"All right, then. How do I help you cross?"

Dave was struggling to absorb all this when things began to move too quickly. He found himself part of a circle around Kim and the mage. He linked hands with Jennifer and Matt on either side.

The Dwarf seemed to be concentrating very hard; his legs were wide apart, braced. Then Loren began to speak words in a tongue Dave didn't know, his voice growing in power and resonance.

And was interrupted by Paul Schafer.

"Loren-is the person under that mountain dead?"

The mage gazed at the slim figure who'd asked the question he feared. "You, too?" he whispered.

Then, "No," he answered, telling the truth. "No, he isn't."

And resumed speaking in his strange language.

Dave wrestled with the refusal to seem afraid that had, in large part, brought him here, and with the genuine panic that was building within him. Paul had nodded once at Loren's answer, but that was all. The mage's words had become a complex rising chant. The aura of power began to shimmer visibly in the room. A low-pitched humming sound began.

"Hey!" Dave burst out. "I need a promise I'll be back!" There was no reply. Matt Sören's eyes were closed now. His grip on Dave's wrist was firm.

The shimmer in the air increased, and then the humming began to rise in volume.

"No!" Dave shouted again. "No! I need a promise!" And on the words he violently pulled his hands free from those of Jennifer and the Dwarf.

Kimberly Ford screamed.

And in mat moment the room began to dissolve on them. Kevin, frozen, disbelieving, saw Kim reach out then, wildly, to clutch Dave's arm and take Jen's free hand even as he heard the cry torn from her throat.

Then the cold of the crossing and the darkness of the space between worlds came down and Kevin saw nothing more. In his mind, though, whether for an instant or an age, he thought he heard the

sound of mocking laughter. There was a taste in his mouth, like ashes of grief. Dave, he thought, oh, Martyniuk, what have you done?

PART II-Rachel's Song

It was night when they came through, in a small, dimly lit room somewhere high up. There were two chairs, benches and an unlit fire. An intricately patterned carpet on the stone floor. Along one wall stretched a tapestry, but the room was too darkly shadowed, despite flickering wall torches, for them to make it out. The windows were open.

"So, Silvercloak, you've come back," a reedy voice from the doorway said, without warmth.

Kevin looked over quickly to see a bearded man leaning casually on a spear.

Loren ignored him. "Matt?" he said sharply. "Are you all right?" The Dwarf, visibly shaken by the crossing, managed a terse nod. He had slumped into one of the heavy chairs and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. Kevin turned to check the others. All seemed to be fine, a little dazed, but fine, except-Except that Dave Martyniuk wasn 't there.

"Oh, God!" he began, "Loren-"

And was stopped in mid-sentence by a beseeching look from the mage. Paul Schafer, standing beside Kevin, caught it as well, and Kevin saw him walk quietly over to the two women. Schafer
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spoke softly to them, and then nodded once, to Loren.

At which point the mage finally turned to the guard, who was still leaning indolently on his weapon. "Is it the evening before?" Loren asked.

"Why, yes," the man replied. "But shouldn't a great mage know that without the asking?"

Kevin saw Loren's eyes flicker in the torchlight. "Go," he said. "Go tell the King I have returned."

"It's late. He'll be sleeping." "He will want to know this. Go now." The guard moved with deliberate, insolent slowness. As he turned, though, there was a sudden thunk, and a thrown knife quivered in the panelling of the doorway, inches from his head.

"I know you, Vart," a deep voice said, as the man whipped around, pale even by torchlight. "I have marked you. You will do what you have been told, and quickly, and you will speak to rank with deference-or my next dagger will not rest in wood." Matt Sören was on his feet again, and danger bristled through him like a presence.

There was a tense silence. Then: "I am sorry, my lord mage. The lateness of the hour . . . my fatigue. Welcome home, my lord, I go to do your will." The guard raised his spear in a formal salute, then spun again, sharply this time, and left the room. Matt walked forward to retrieve his dagger. He remained in the doorway, watching. "Now," said Kevin Laine. "Where is he?" Loren had dropped into the chair the Dwarf had vacated. "I am not sure," he said. "Forgive me, but I truly don't know."

"But you have to know!" Jennifer exclaimed. "He pulled away just as I was closing the circle. I was too far under the power-I couldn't come out to see his path. I do not even know if he came with us."

"I do," said Kim Ford simply. "He came. I had him all the way. I was holding him."

Loren rose abruptly. "You did? Brightly woven! This means he has crossed-he is in Fionavar, somewhere. And if that is so, he will be found. Our friends will begin to search immediately."

"Your friends?" Kevin asked. "Not that creep in the doorway, I hope?"

Loren shook his head. "Not him, no. He is Gorlaes's tool-and here I must ask of you another thing."

He hesitated. "There are factions in this court, and a struggle taking place, for Ailell is old now.

Gorlaes would like me gone, for many reasons, and failing that, would take joy in discrediting me before the King."

"So if Dave is missing . . . ?" Kevin murmured.

"Exactly. I think only Metran knows I went for five-and I never promised him so many, in any case. Dave will be found, I promise you that. Can I ask you to keep his presence a secret for this time?"

Jennifer Lowell had moved to the open window while the others talked. A hot night, and very dry.

Below and to her left, she could make out the lights of a town, lying almost directly adjacent to the walled enclosure of what she assumed to be Paras Derval. There were fields in front of her, and beyond them rose the thick, close trees of a forest. There was no breeze. She looked upward, apprehensive, and was desperately relieved to find she knew the stars. For though the slender hand on the window ledge was steady, and the cool green eyes gave little away, she had been badly thrown by Dave's disappearance and the sudden dagger.