Ruins of Camelot (26 page)

Gabriella spun around, her eyes going wide and her free hand dropping to her sword.  Even in the midst of her fear, she reminded herself not to drop the glass lantern, not to shatter it and spill its mysterious contents.

The rushing howl increased, splitting into several sources and snaking through the statue army.  Gabriella cast around, looking, but could see nothing.  Her heart pounded now, pulsing in the corners of her vision.

Suddenly, there was movement between the ranks of statues.  A ribbon of dust lifted into the air and rushed towards her, swirling through the petrified soldiers.  As it came, it emitted a low, harsh roar.

Gabriella turned, gripped the lantern pole with both hands, and ran.  She dashed along the wall, her feet slipping on the loose shale, and bumped one of the stone soldiers with her elbow.  The statue began to totter, but Gabriella did not look back to watch.  There was a loud clack of stone on stone as the statue keeled over, knocking its closest counterpart.  More cracks rang into the air as a chain reaction ensued.  The howling tendrils of wind seemed to grow enraged by this.  Their voices rose to furious shrieks, and their numbers seemed to increase, even into the hundreds, all swirling closer to her.

The tottering statues caught up to Gabriella as she ran.  She sensed the movement of them next to her as they keeled over, breaking against their mates.  Heads cracked off and rolled into the aisle before her.  A cacophony of crashes filled the air, competing with the screams of her hidden pursuers.

Then, horribly, a rank of the stone soldiers leant ponderously across the aisle ahead of her, almost as if they had come alive.  Their calm faces leered at her as they toppled over, striking the cavern wall and shattering.  Her path was suddenly blocked, filled with crumbling statues and choked with dust.

Gabriella turned, dropping the lantern pole and grabbing for her sword.  The lantern globe struck the ground and shattered, sending up a burst of blinding, blue light and then falling dark.  Gabriella boggled in the sudden dimness.  Shadows loomed over her, faint in the light of the distant lanterns.  The howling winds surrounded her now, collapsing upon her, becoming visible as snakes of dust and grit.  They had faces, each one a mask of gaping rage.  Gabriella raised her sword to them, knowing it was useless, ridiculous.

A burst of air suddenly swarmed over her shoulder, beaten by a fury of wings.  There was a screech, a flurry of motion, and Gabriella realised that the dark shape was a bird flapping wildly against the howling tendrils and forcing them back.  It screeched again, switching its tail feathers in the air like a rudder.  The snaking winds recoiled slightly from the bird, pushed by its wings, but did not retreat.  They strained closer, their incessant howls merging into a ululating roar.

"Fall back!" a voice called out, so loudly and suddenly that Gabriella cringed in terror.  It was a woman's voice, clear and strong in the rushing dark.  "Fall back, armies of Orudhor!  This is not your enemy!  Your day of vengeance still awaits!  Fall back now and return to your slumber!"

A burst of pristine, white light exploded before Gabriella.  Before it, the swirling tendrils shrank away, diminished and fading.  The light remained, glimmering, and Gabriella saw that it came from the end of a wand.  The wand was held in a woman's hand, but she herself was not visible through the light.

Gabriella collapsed to her knees, still gripping her sword, weak with relief and confusion.  The bird landed before her, and she saw that it was a falcon, the very same one that had visited her early that morning and chased her out of the cursed stone clearing.  It cocked its head at her, showing her one gold-ringed eye, seeming pleased with itself.

The white light finally faded but did not completely vanish.  It moved now, lowering, revealing a tall woman with red braids framing a pale, narrow face.  She was dressed in robes the colour of sunflowers with a black cloak pulled over her shoulders.

"That," she said gravely, inclining her head to meet Gabriella's eyes, "was far too close for comfort."

Gabriella's voice came out as a hoarse rasp.  "What was that?" she asked breathlessly.  "Who are you?"

"
Alas
,
the spectral army of Orudhor,
" the woman replied, glancing back out over the ranks of stone soldiers, "
They are
cursed to remain with their frozen bodies until their time of reckoning.  They were once quite noble, before being turned to stone by a certain mercenary sorcerer.  Now, being dead, they are no longer… exactly sane."

Gabriella looked around at the frozen army, many of them now toppled and broken.  Stone dust still arose from the shattered ranks.  She chilled with the realisation that these were not in fact statues, but petrified men, lost to the ages.  She gulped thickly.

"And to answer your other question," the woman answered, switching her wand to her other hand and reaching to help Gabriella to her feet, "we are Featherbolt and Helena.  I presume you can guess who is who."

The woman, Helena, led Gabriella out of the chamber of the frozen army, following a jagged rift that descended even deeper into the earth.  Featherbolt flew ahead, occasionally circling back and landing on the woman's shoulder.  Shortly, another cavern opened before them, lit with a strangely glowing subterranean river.

"It is I," Helena called out, her voice echoing into the depths of the chamber.  "And I bring a guest."

A point of light arose in the dim distance, and Gabriella saw that it was another wand, held upright in the fist of a tall man.

"That is good news," the figure called back.  "Featherbolt found his quarry then, I assume."

"It would appear yes," Helena answered, glancing aside at Gabriella.  At the mention of his name, Featherbolt launched from the woman's shoulder and spiraled up into the murky heights of the cavern.  Clusters of brown shapes hung there, chittering faintly.

Helena watched after the bird and shook her head.  "He fancies himself kindred with the bats," she commented.  "Why he should wish to consort with winged rodents, I cannot guess, but it does occasionally serve a purpose."

The man approached, lowering his wand as he came.  To Gabriella, he looked like a taller, less fussy version of the late High Constable Ulric.  His red goatee made a neat point on his chin below a rugged face and rather severe eyes.  He was dressed similarly to the woman, although his robes were mostly deep crimson, offset with a fur-lined cape.  He smiled a bit grimly as he reached the two women.

"This is an unexpected meeting," he said, turning to Gabriella.  "You may call me Goodrik.  You have already met my traveling companions, I see.  Would you be so kind as to join us in a palaver?  We do not often meet human travelers this deep in the Tempest Barrens.  And you, for reasons as yet unknown, have attracted the rather insistent attention of our falcon friend."

Gabriella agreed to this, feeling that she owed as much to her benefactors in spite of knowing nearly nothing about them.  The three approached the shore of the subterranean river, and Gabriella saw that its glow came from thousands of tiny, incandescent fish that swam in its depths, remaining nearly motionless against the swift current.

The man, Goodrik, produced his wand and pointed it at an arbitrary spot on the rocky cavern floor.  He spoke a short phrase, and a burst of fire appeared on the rocks, burning merrily on nothing.  Turning slightly, he flicked his wand three more times, and then, after a short consideration, a fourth.  Three small but ornate chairs appeared around the fire, carved of wood and looking appropriately rustic.  The fourth flick produced a camp table with a tidy silver serving tray upon it.

"There," Goodrik announced, pocketing his wand.  "That should provide us some much welcome atmosphere.  Tea?"

"Why," Gabriella replied, impressed almost speechless, "yes.  I think."

"It is merely transfigured river water," Helena commented as she sat down.  "Just as these chairs are bits of driftwood.  Nonetheless, they will both comfort and warm us whilst we discuss.  Do sit.  There is nothing to be afraid of."

"I am not afraid," Gabriella said, smiling as she drifted onto her chair.  "I am just… I have never been in the presence of…"

"You can say it, my dear," Goodrik interjected, leaning to hand her a cup and saucer.  "We are witch and wizard.  I am glad we need not explain ourselves."

Gabriella took the tea and examined it.  The cup and saucer were bone china, smooth and delicate as seashells.  She raised the cup to her face, felt the steam on her cheeks, and smelled the fragrant richness.  It was black tea, piping hot.  "Who are you?" she asked, not yet daring to sip.  "Why are you here?"

"We are administrators at a certain society for our arts," Helena answered carefully.  "There once were four of us, but now there are only three.  That, in short, is why we are here in the Barrens."

"We are seeking someone," Goodrik added, sensing Gabriella's curiosity.  "A member of our society who has… gone missing.  The fourth of our council has remained behind to manage our affairs.  We were about to abandon our search when Featherbolt became interested in you and drew us here to find you."

"I see," Gabriella nodded, frowning.  "You are just as secretive as Professor Toph said you would be."

Goodrik smiled a bit stiffly at this, but Helena laughed.  "Our notoriety knows no ends, it seems.  Even after these many years of secrecy."

"Just because the magical folk have hidden their kingdoms away," Gabriella said, turning to Helena, "does not mean that we have been allowed to forget about you.  Some of your people still move amongst us, peddling their enchantments.  I have used some of their wares myself."

Goodrik raised his eyebrows.  "Have you?  Perhaps this is what drew Featherbolt's attention."

Gabriella shook her head.  "I did not bring any magic with me on my journey.  I have touched neither powder nor potion since the academy."

"Then what," Helena asked evenly, "do you think it was that drew our falcon friend to assist you, and so ardently that we were forced to follow him here in pursuit of you?"

Gabriella shrugged, settling her cup back onto its saucer.  "I could not guess," she answered, and then stopped thoughtfully.  "Unless it was this."  She reached beneath the clasp of her cloak and produced the falcon sigil on its length of chain.

The witch and wizard peered at it.  Goodrik's face grew slowly tense.  He looked meaningfully aside at Helena.

"What, pray tell," the taller woman asked, not taking her eyes from the falcon sigil, "is your name, daughter?"

Gabriella suddenly felt very wary.  She considered lying, but no suitable falsehood came to her mind.  "Gabriella Xavier," she answered guardedly.

"Gabriella," Goodrik repeated, nodding enigmatically.  "Well then, perhaps you might tell us what it is
you
are doing here, my dear, so very far from your home?"

Again, for reasons she did not quite understand, she considered lying to the witch and wizard.  Perhaps they were not as pleasant as they seemed.  As before, however, she could think of nothing to say other than the truth.  Gabriella was not much in the habit of deception.