The Thirteenth Scroll (47 page)

She said nothing of this to Giraldus. It did not matter—she was on the right path now.

But not if they did not hurry. Up ahead the thread of magic light was dimming. Soon, Aurya feared, she would lose sight of
it completely.

“Over there.” She pointed to where the thread led to the riverside. The raft followed its direction. Even so, the light of
the thread was growing dimmer with each breath she took.

“Hurry!” she cried.

When they reached the bank, she did not wait to be handed to dry land, but scrambled ashore on her own. Not waiting for the
others, she started running down the passage ahead. It was long, and for now, straight. Piles of luminous stones held off
the darkness, but she took no time to wonder at them. With each step, her guide was growing fainter.

She found the stored boats of The Others and had to climb over them.
Fools
, she thought,
if they believe that will stop me
. But, once past the boats, the thread she had been following stopped. Aurya closed her eyes for a moment, spending some of
her remaining strength to try and
feel
the presence of the mage… trying to
feel
anyone or
anything ahead in this underground. But there was nothing. It was as if the passageway led straight into a realm of complete
emptiness
.

Then she noticed it. The fire that was her power, that burned as much a part of her as her own breath, was gone, extinguished.
It was as if her heartbeat had stopped. After almost a lifetime with its presence, she now felt empty, defenseless—and utterly
lost.

Only courage and pride kept her in control. She heard the sound of the men’s feet running toward her. As soon as Giraldus
was again at her side, she pointed down the passage ahead of them.

“That way,” she said in a voice resounding with the confidence she did not feel, and she led the way forward.

Lysandra felt as if she could have slept the clock round, awakened to eat, and then gone back to sleep some more. But circumstances
were not wishes, and just over four hours after she collapsed, she heard Renan calling her name.

“Lysandra,” he said again, “wake up. There isn’t much time. They’re coming.”

His words dispelled the last of her sleep. She sat up as quickly as her protesting muscles would allow.

“Where are they?” Her voice was thick and hoarse with too little rest.

“Close,” he replied, “but Eiddig has everyone ready. Here.” He placed a small bowl in her hands. “It’s a balm the Cryf healers
sent. It works wonders. And there’s some food and drink waiting.”

She nodded, bringing the balm to her nose. She could smell peppermint, which would be cool and soothing to her tired muscles,
but the strong scent kept her from telling what else it contained.
No matter
, she thought absently as
she began to slather it on, first her sore arms and then her tired legs.
I can find out later
.

The peppermint immediately began its work, making her body feel more refreshed than it was. The sudden coolness and slight
tingling also helped clear her mind. Tired though she was, she could think again.

She heard Renan doing something a few feet away. “Here,” he said. “I’ve brought you a plate. But you’ll have to hurry—Eiddig
is waiting.”

Lysandra ate as quickly as she could, aware of strength returning to her body with each mouthful. Finally finished, she held
out one hand and felt Cloud-Dancer take his usual place. Then she held out the other hand to Renan.

“Lead the way,” she said. “I’m ready.”

He gave her hand a little squeeze and together they left the sleeping cave, heading for the huge, central meeting cavern where
Eiddig waited.

The distance did not feel as long this time as it had during their previous stay. When they stepped from the passage into
the huge open area Eiddig came hurrying toward them with amazing speed in one so old.

The Cryf Guide placed his palm, fingers pointing upward, against Lysandra’s forehead in the greeting he had used several times
before.

“The Divine truly hath guided thy footsteps, Healer,” he said. “Renan-Sant and our son of the Twelfth Clan, Talog, have told
us of thy plight. Fear not, for the Cryf are prepared and are strong in battle. By the Will and Bidding of the Divine, we
shall protect thee, who art Prophecy’s Hand, and She-Who-Is-Wisdom.”

Lysandra was suddenly frightened for the Cryf. In their own way, they were more unworldly then even Selia. Did they know whom
they were offering to fight—not just Giraldus and his soldiers, but the Lady Aurya and her magic?

“I… we… thank you, Eiddig-Sant, and all of the Cryf, for your many kindnesses,” she searched for the right words. “The Up-worlders
who are coming are dangerous, Eiddig-Sant. There is one who has great power.”

He held up his hand. “Talog hath told us all, Healer. Thou must cease thy fear and trust in the Divine. All shall be well.”

Just then a runner dashed into the cavern. He ran up to Eiddig and spoke a few quick words in their own language. Eiddig nodded,
then he turned and gestured to the other Cryf in the cavern. Within seconds, Lysandra’s
Sight
showed there was no one but the Cryf Guide, the two humans, and a wolf left to be seen.

Eiddig then addressed Renan. “Take the Healer to the place prepared, as I did show unto thee,” he said. “Thou shalt watch
and know what must be done.”

“The Divine be with thee,” Renan answered. “Come away, Lysandra.”

“We can’t just leave him,” she protested. “He can’t face Giraldus alone, and especially he can’t just wait there for Lady
Aurya. What if her magic
does
work here? You’re the only hope then. You can’t just go hide.”

“Lysandra,” he said sternly, “it’s already settled… and I won’t be hiding, not exactly. Please, come. You need to be with
Selia right now. She
needs
you.”

Just then, she heard the running footsteps—booted footsteps—heading their way.

“Damn,” Renan muttered, pulling her along.

Calling to Cloud-Dancer, Lysandra ran to keep up with Renan. But she sent her
Sight
backward into the cavern. The last thing she
saw
before rounding a bend was Eiddig, sitting on a great stone in the center of the cavern floor, his gnarled hands loosely
gripping his great staff
and a gentle smile on his face, waiting alone to meet the foe.

The men ran with swords drawn; Aurya came with her head held high. She carried no sword, but a long dagger hung from her belt
where she could easily draw it. Thus far, she had used it only for such chores as slicing meat, knowing that her magic was
her greatest protection.

Now her magic was gone and the dagger’s weight had become a comfort. With each step down the long, dim, twisting passage,
she told herself that her magic would return any second. To believe otherwise was for her to invite the defeat of madness.

They hurried on, following the directions she gave as if she still saw the thread before her. She did not know why she chose
the branch she took each time the passage separated, but their only choice was to continue onward. She knew that she was lost
and could not have found her way back to the river. They were either going to find the child and its protectors—or they were
going to find their deaths, lost in darkness beneath the mountains.

But from up ahead, the light grew stronger and the passage opened into another great cavern, as big as the one at the entrance
to the underground. Aurya crouched at the opening. Giraldus was next to her again and together they studied what lay ahead,
looking for signs of danger.

All they saw was a strange old… man?… sitting alone on a rock, holding a tall, elaborate staff in his gnarled hands.

Giraldus did not wait for Aurya’s directions. He strode forward, leading his men and letting Aurya follow as she would.

The wizened creature before them looked up as they
approached. As they drew close, Aurya doubted it was a man after all. Then it smiled oddly at them and spoke.

“Ah, ye have arrived and finally,” it said. “Your coming hath been expected.”

“Expected for what, old one?” Giraldus asked haughtily. He raised his sword. “Did you expect this, too? Give us the child
you’re hiding, or you’ll feel the bite of it.”

The old one kept smiling. “Ye are given a choice,” he said, “and in that choosing doth your destiny lie. Lay down your weapons
and depart from here in peace, and ye shall all be shown the path back unto the Up-world—“

Giraldus laughed, stopping the old one’s words. He brought his sword up to the creature’s throat.

“Do as I say, old one—or your life ends now.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when, suddenly, all around the cavern floor and up on the many rough-hewn shelves that
encircled it, others of these strange creatures stood. In their hands they carried weapons of sharpened pikes, of picks and
axes, of broad-bladed knives and long-handled large-headed hammers. They began to surge forward, emitting a weird high-pitched
wail that made Aurya want to cover her ears.

Around her, the men cringed at the sound as they went into fighting stance. The old one still had not moved. He just kept
smiling.

“Lay aside your weapons now,” he said, “and ye shall suffer no injury. It is your last warning.”

“No,” Aurya screamed. Even as the first of the soldiers’ swords rang out in contact with his attackers, she drew her dagger
and lunged, plunging it into the chest of the old one. His body crumpled while the swarm of creatures crashed in upon them.

* * *

In the cave where she was waiting, Lysandra screamed. Sitting with Selia she was using her
Sight
to watch the cavern and Eiddig. She
saw
the sudden frenzy of Aurya’s attack, her dagger rise and plunge into Eiddig.

Once again, what she
saw
was blood and death.

Lysandra was no longer aware of the young woman sitting next to her, whose hands she had been holding. She was only aware
of the bloody horror she was witnessing.

Though hopelessly outnumbered, Giraldus, Aurya, and their band of soldiers would not give up. The number of Cryf coming at
them only spurred them to greater destruction. Swords and daggers met picks and axes, turned aside pikes. The Cryf, though
strong, were not trained to fighting. Swords cut and stabbed, sliced and parried. The hard-packed earth of the cavern floor
soon became soaked with stains of blood.

Blood was everywhere. It filled Lysandra’s
Sight
. It ran from swords, dripped from axes and pikes. It gushed from wounds, mortal and glancing. It flew in great drops through
the air, sent flying by swords raised to strike yet again and pooled beneath the bodies of the fallen.

The soldiers would not give up. One of them fell, then another; their wounds only made the others fight harder. It was a scene
from hell, both pitiful and horrific.

Although screams welled in Lysandra’s throat, they did not again pass her lips. She was struggling to
see
into the melee, to find Talog and Renan, and to know they were yet all right.

The
Sight
before her,
within
her, seemed to move in slow motion. The fallen of both sides were being trampled by the vast numbers of the onslaught. Giraldus’s
band could not win; they must know that.
Give up
, Lysandra’s mind urged them.
Let the killing stop
.

He could not have heard her—yet seconds later, the Baron raised his weapon in surrender. Beside him, Lysandra
saw
Aurya turn on him, screaming her frenzied demand for more bloodshed. She raised her bloody dagger to him, but Giraldus disarmed
her before she could strike, throwing her weapon to the ground.

Hatred distorted Aurya’s beautiful face, twisting it into a mask that looked barely human. Lysandra had never witnessed such
hatred, with eyes of her body or of her mind.

Only three of Giraldus’s party still stood: Giraldus, Aurya, and one other—a soldier whose years and experience showed on
his face. They were held fast while ropes were brought to bind them.

Lysandra stood. “I have to go to the wounded,” she said to Selia. “Stay here until—“

Just then, Renan burst through the entrance of the cave. He was disheveled and dirty, covered with sweat and blood. But most
of the blood was not his own. He bore one wound in his left arm, where the point of a soldier’s sword had caught him, but
bleeding had already stopped.

“It’s over,” he told them breathlessly.

“We know,” Lysandra replied, standing very still. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him and assure herself that
he was truly all right. The intensity of the desire shocked and frightened her.

But Cloud-Dancer had no such hesitation. He ran to Renan, nearly knocking the man over with enthusiasm. Renan laughed. Lysandra
could hardly believe her ears… after all that her
Sight
had just witnessed, this man was able to
laugh
.

But the laughter died quickly. “The Cryf need both of you. Lysandra, the Elders have asked for you to come
care for Eiddig. They fear he may not survive. And Selia, for you they have waited a long time.”

“For me?” Selia said, her voice filled with new uncertainties. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Lysandra reached out and took the young woman’s hands, holding them as she had all those miles ago in Caerryck. Their minds
touched, opened, merged. They were Wisdom and Prophecy. Just as Wisdom had brought Prophecy forth, now Prophecy helped Wisdom
to understand that they were both called by a Power far greater than themselves.

Are you ready now?
Lysandra asked her.

Will I ever be?
Selia answered.

Yes
, Lysandra told her.
I did not think I would be, but now I understand. Trust the Wisdom within you, Selia. It is your Truth, and in your Truth
is Life
.

Lysandra felt rather than heard the younger woman’s acceptance. Together they followed Renan back to the Great Cavern and
the path that had begun and awaited them there.