Gaal the Conqueror (18 page)

Bomgrith smiled. "I've never seen anything like that power.
Who would have thought the words on copied pages could
produce such marvels?"

"It is truth. But speak to me of the earthquake damage."

"The city walls-" he looked round the room as he spoke,
for the room in which they were seated was itself a hiding place
carved secretly and magically inside the wall that surrounded
Bamah, "-the city walls appear to have done very well. Their
strength is astounding. We have found no crack in any part of
them."

"And in the city?"

"The damage is minor, and almost no one has been hurt. But
cracks have appeared in most of the buildings. It is feared that
another quake may bring the whole city tumbling down."

"What of the temple?"

"Who knows. It is built by magic, by evil magic rather than
by men. To me it seems that it will take more than an earth quake to bring it tumbling. Even our prophecies speak of its
destruction centuries hence."

Several minutes elapsed before they spoke again. Finally as
the widow once more consulted the hourglass she said, "Surely
it is time for Zagen to arrive?"

"He should be here now. His strength never seems to fail
him. I marvel at all he does."

"He puts many of our younger ones to shame on his long
journeys. But then he is a tribesman from the mountains."

The bell rang, and this time Bomgrith sprang to place his ear
against the hole in the wall. He smiled as he listened and then
turned to speak into it the words, "Do not hasten, good sir, and
take care as you descend the steps from the trap door."

Minutes later an old man wrapped about with a gray cloak
was seated at the table with them. It was Zagen the Wanderer,
the seer of the mountain tribes. His shoulders were stooped, his
movements slow, but the dark eyes that surveyed them from
beneath thick, bushy brows were piercing.

"We are grateful for your return, having longed for your
safety, sir," Bomgrith said.

In a surprisingly deep and firm voice, Zagen replied, "And
you are the matmon Bomgrith. How the years go by! I was
present at your birth. It seems but yesterday. And your grandfather? I had expected him here."

"He is no longer Servant to the Council," the widow Illith
interrupted. "Age and infirmity have taken their toll."

Zagen nodded. "It was overdue. He served well and faithfully. In the early days we would never have managed without
him. And now?"

"They have elected Bomgrith."

The old man looked up, startled. His deep voice was raised
a few tones as he cried, "Bomgrith! You cannot have seen more
than a hundred summers and are little more than a child! How
can one so young-and a matmon, forsooth-assume such a heavy weight of responsibilities?"

Bomgrith grinned. "How can one so old and arthritic attempt
such long and perilous journeys?"

Zagen stared at him keenly. "Ah, but that is different. No one
would suspect a decrepit old man of trafficking in secrets of the
Brotherhood."

"And no one would suspect a young, yellow-haired matmon
of directing the Council of the Brotherhood," Bomgrith retorted impishly.

"Bomgrith has wisdom beyond his years," Widow Illith said
hastily. "The Council wanted him. The mantle and the spirit of
his grandfather have fallen on his shoulders."

"At least his grandfather's ready wit and readier tongue are
his," Zagen conceded. "Tell me, you who have wisdom beyond
your years, and on whose shoulders so weighty a mantle rests,
what news do you have of our Master?"

"You failed to meet him among the mountains? I had hoped
you would have news of him for us."

The old man shook his head. "We of the tribes were expecting him. But it is many days since I left."

"He left here to visit the tribes. Indeed he should have left
them himself by now. We are all concerned. He was to pass
through the great forest of the north on his return."

"How so? What need would he have to go there? Unless,
unless ..."

"Who knows. He kept his counsel to himself. What is the
wondering that crosses your countenance?"

Zagen's frown deepened. "One tribe was expecting the
Sword Bearer to come who would bring with him the dogwoman from worlds afar. It has long been prophesied so. Who
is to say how they would journey to Bamah?"

"Ours was the tribe expecting him to come," the widow said
quietly. "But we were forced to flee from our village."

"But through the northern forest? Rumor has it that Shagah walks there hunting the Sword Bearer who has already come."
"Yet Gaal planned to pass through?"

"That is what he said."

"The coming of the Sword Bearer is the only reason that
would draw him into so great a peril. My father, who was when
he lived a seer like me, often said, `He who bears the sword
must encounter many perils in a perilous wood.' No other wood
in all of Anthropos has perils such as the northern forest if
Shagah roams there." He nodded to himself and finally smiled
broadly, smiting the table suddenly with his fist. "The Sword
Bearer is coming!" he cried. But at once he regretted his enthusiasm, wincing at the pain in his rheumatic hand.

"There will be peril enough for the Master when he returns,"
Bomgrith said hastily. "They know he has been here frequently, and the red-haired matmon have been instructed to watch
for him. They must know how many of us have now been
liberated from their spell, so I am certain the Circle of Light
has plans for his arrest. Constantly their guards inquire among
the people for a description of him, and knowledge of his
whereabouts."

Zagen was slowly rubbing his painful hand. "Their guards?"

Bomgrith shrugged. "The redheads. There's goblin blood in
them. They sneak for the Circle of Light, and they're not under
the spell. They call themselves guards."

"Can you not urge Gaal to stay away from Bamah?"

"Perhaps we should. But he does enormous good here. Some
of the enslaved can sense we are free, even though we shuffle
and look dazed just as they do-when we walk abroad. But
they know, and they ask us about Gaal."

"It could be a ruse. Remember their minds are controlled."

"It could be. But it does not seem so. Regenskind and matmon alike have been set free following such appeals. But here
is another matter. Gaal says this will be his last visit to Bamah."

"In truth? He said so?"

"He said so himself."

A look of dread crossed Zagen's face. "Then I fear for us all.
I hoped I had misunderstood, but the story is taking place even
in our midst. It is even as the prophets foretold."

The widow Illith looked up anxiously. "The prophets foretold ill to him?" Zagen did not reply and the widow continued.
"I fear for him. And I fear for my son. Oh, Authentio! Surely
Gaal will come to free you!"

Bomgrith touched her hand again. "He will come. Never
fear, Widow! And Authentio will come here-to this very
chamber-and he will be free!" He turned to the seer. "Have
you any word for us?"

"Of Gaal I will say nothing. Whatever is to be, is to be. But
a picture of the city's Northern Gate rises constantly before my
gaze. And as I see it my limbs begin to quake. I know not why,
but it is a gate of peril. It threatens the safety of those who hide
in these walls."

"My Authentio was seized at the Northern Gate," the widow
said.

Bomgrith drew in a breath. "These walls are tunneled in
almost the whole eastern segment. You know that there are
now nearly three hundred of us living in them?" Zagen
nodded, and Bomgrith continued, "Our newest exit is through
the lodge of the gatekeeper of the Northern Gate. He was set
free three months ago. Could it be that-?"

"I know not how the danger will come. Only that it comes
from the Northern Gate."

"Nevertheless we must be careful. I will keep in close touch
with the gatekeeper and his family, urging them to keep a lookout. And I will warn the rest that the gate is dangerous and must
be avoided."

"We seem to be leaving the stream," John said.

It was true. Their path, which had followed the stream as it
made its eastward descent, now followed a steep upward course
through trees whose lower branches stretched over the path to
form a tunnel. At times they had to bend and duck their heads
to proceed.

During the two hours since Gaal left them, their path had
followed the stream. Their mood had been lighthearted, and
Eleanor had taken time to pick some of the wild flowers, weaving them together skillfully to make bracelets, a crown and a
necklace for herself. She ducked her head a little lower so her
crown would not be brushed off by the low branches. "Hey!
This path is paved with stone!" John said after a moment.

"Well, whoever made the path doesn't look after it or they'd
trim these branches," Eleanor replied.

The path ended as they faced a tunnel of rock. Beyond the
darkness inside they could see a tiny, distant circle of daylight.
Slowly they groped their way forward, emerging two minutes
later to gasp in astonishment at what they saw.

Fifty feet below them lay a garden shut in by rocky walls
rimmed with tall cedars. Cataracts of ivy and flowering vines
spilled down the rock almost everywhere, covering it with color.
The garden was shaped roughly like a figure eight, or was like
two circular gardens joined together, the first one just below
them and a second connected to it lying beyond. A path wound
among lawns of green velvet and blazing, multicolored flower
beds. A stream (John guessed it was the same stream they had
been following) wound through the garden, and here and
there you could cross it by rustic wooden bridges. Formal trees,
arbor vitae cedars, weeping willows, and many others provided
shade for chairs and benches. Yet everywhere stillness reigned.
There were no signs of people to sit on the benches.

"Boy, is that ever something!" John cried. "Last year my
grandma took me to see some gardens in Manchester. But they
were nothing like this."

He glanced at Eleanor, and was surprised to see her pale and
trembling. "What's the matter?" he asked. She stared at him
mutely, her eyes dark pools of fear. "What is it? What's bothering you? You look ill!"

"I'm terrified." Her voice was almost a whisper.

John was bewildered. "But why? What is it you're scared of?"

"I'm scared of this place."

"But Eleanor, it's simply beautiful. I've never seen a garden
like this in my whole life!"

Eleanor had clenched her fists in a futile effort to control her
trembling. She was not looking at the garden, but staring into
the space above it, and for several seconds she did not reply.
When she spoke again her voice was low and tremulous. "Don't
you understand? It's the same all over again. It's Shagah. It's like Rapunzel's tower and like Taavath-Basar. He's doing this
to fool us-like the water in the pool when we were thirstyand the tower that invited us to climb."

John stared at her. Fear wrapped her round like a cloud so
that she seemed remote and unreachable. "We nearly got killed
at the pool," she continued, "and think what happened yesterday and the day before! It's happening again, John. We mustn't
go down there. We must go back!"

Her panic was contagious, so that his heart began to beat a
little. Instinctively he tried to comfort her, and remembering
the way his father had often spoken to him, he moved closer
and hesitantly put his arm round her shoulder. "Hey, steady!"
he said. Curiously his own fear abated, even as he was speaking.

Eleanor continued, her voice shaking and her words coming
in jerks. "Ever since we set out it's been one scary thing after
another. How do we know we won't be killed, or imprisoned
for life-or something?"

John's voice was quiet and steady when he spoke again. "You
know, we can't go back," he said. "There's no place to go. This
may be an enchanted garden, but it would be worse if we returned."