Voyage of the Fox Rider (70 page)

“It was so real,” added Farrix. “I mean, if Jinnarin hadn’t flown, I believe that I would have thought that she had lost her mind, and had convinced another
Pysk—Aylis—to go mad with her. And when I awoke from the dream within the dream, well, I had to be convinced all over again. And, of course, when I awoke from the last dream, well, here I was in a madhouse itself, what with yelling warriors beating upon a giant dead lizard, or the like. Then I wasn’t at all certain that I hadn’t gone ‘round the bend myself.”

Jinnarin began giggling and Jatu roaring and Aylis laughing as well. Aravan joined in the mirth along with Farrix. Even Alamar cackled. All laughed but Bokar, his visage grim. When the laughter died, the armsmaster stepped forward. “Master Farrix, I need ask a vital question.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and toward the passageway leading toward the quay, saying, “Where be the Trolls?”

Farrix looked up at him and replied, “Why, with Durlok, Armsmaster Bokar, rowing his black ship.”

Façade

Spring, 1E9575

[The Present]

B
okar turned to Aravan. “Captain, now that we have Farrix, I suggest we leave, and quickly. Before Durlok and his twenty-eight Trolls return.”

“Still afraid of the Trolls, eh, Dwarf?” snorted Alamar. “As I said before,
I
can deal with them.”

“Father!” Aylis rounded on her sire. “We have already had this argument. Twenty-eight Trolls are too many for us to face.”

“Bah!” replied Alamar.

Farrix looked up at Aylis. “How did you know there were twenty-eight?”

Bokar answered the question. “We counted the beds, Master Farrix.”

“Oh my”—Farrix turned his hands palms up—“of course. How thick of me.”

“There
are
twenty-eight, aren’t there?” asked Jatu.

The Pysk nodded. “Yes. And fifteen Rucha and four Loka, too.”

“Fifteen Rucha!” exclaimed Jinnarin. “But we counted sixteen beds.”

“One is dead,” replied Farrix. “Killed by—”

“Argh!” snarled Bokar. “Ukhs and Hroks are of little threat, but the Trolls are a different matter.”

“Captain,” rumbled Jatu, “Bokar is right. We should go, and now.”

“No!” barked Alamar. “If we go now, Durlok will
know that we’ve been here, what with the Pysk gone and a dead Gargon hacked and splattered all over his floor. He’ll run and find a new place to hide, and we’ll be millennia tracking him down again. And all the while, he’ll be performing hideous rituals—slaughtering the innocent, gaining in power—all to some evil end.”

Farrix’s face had gone flat, the blood drained from it. “Alamar is right, you know—about the rituals, I mean. Durlok is a monster.”

The elder nodded vigorously, then turned and gestured at a trail of scattered papers leading from the crystal chamber back into the laboratory. “I have been in his sanctum, examining his tomes, his scrolls—I was there when the Gargon fell and Jatu called, and I came running.” Alamar stalked to one of the papers and scooped it up and held it on high before him. “These are the horrors of a Black Mage; they are vile, terrible things, filled with dreadful rites and depraved sacraments—wicked, malevolent abominations. And all are dedicated to the gathering of power over others, to utter dominion and the destruction of free will, and to the glorification and ascendancy of Gyphon.”

Alamar crumpled the parchment and flung it down. “No, say I. I will not allow such a fiend loose upon the world. If I must remain here alone to face him, then let it be so.”

“But, Father,” protested Aylis, “you cannot hope to defeat both a Mage
and
an army of Trolls. Instead, let us return to Rwn, gather the aid we need. Durlok’s trail will be warm, and we will have the master seers to track him. They will have the power to break his wards, to find his essence.”

“Is it so,
chieran?
” asked Aravan. “We will not lose the opportunity to rid the world of such a monster?”

Aylis nodded. “Yes, my love. He cannot escape, now that we have something of his and know where to start.”

“But wait!” exclaimed Jinnarin. “If that’s all it takes, couldn’t you have tracked him down long past, when he crossed over from Vadaria? That was a known place to start.”

Aylis shook her head. “Although we knew where
to start, we had nothing of his, nothing embedded with his essence. What he did not take with him, he destroyed before he escaped.” Aylis gestured toward the sanctum. “But now we have much to choose from, all imbued with his very .”

Aravan turned to Alamar. “Is it so, Mage Alamar?”

Alamar looked about as if seeking allies, but all faces were grim, waiting. At last he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I had forgotten about the seers. —Yes, it is true.”

Aravan’s gaze swept over each one there. “We will leave, and swiftly, for I will not jeopardize the lives of all just so that one elder can wreak his revenge. Yet we shall return, fit for the fight, on that ye have my word.”

Alamar ground his teeth. “You realize, Elf, that by running away with your tail between your legs, you are condemning more innocents to die.”

Aravan’s gaze was steely. “Mayhap, Mage Alamar. Yet by garnering the help we need, we make certain that the monster is slain. To do otherwise is to virtually ensure our failure and give Durlok a free hand.”

Farrix pounded tiny fist into tiny palm. “Yes! And Durlok must be stopped, and to that end I’d rather be certain than sorry.”

Alamar’s jaw jutted out stubbornly, but Aylis stepped to him and embraced him, whispering, “Father, Farrix is right: Aravan’s way is best. I know it and so do you. But even if you think otherwise, still there is your pledge to me—to return to Rwn now that Farrix is found—and I now ask you to honor it.”

For long moments he stood rigid in her clasp, his arms at his sides, not returning her press. But at last he nodded jerkily and patted her on the back, saying, “All right, Daughter. You’ve made your point. Aravan, too.” Tentatively Aylis drew back and looked at his face, and he smiled at her…but his smile did not reach his eyes. And once again his jaw shot out, and he looked at Aravan and waved in the direction of the laboratory and declared, “But we won’t go till I’ve burned those unholy incantations to ashes—epistles of torture, primers of agony, scriptures of pain and suffering.”
Alamar turned on his heel and marched back toward the sanctum.

Aylis stepped to Aravan. “I will go with him and make certain that we salvage something of Durlok’s essence.”

Aravan canted his head. “I will go with thee,
chieran
.”

“We’re coming, too,” said Jinnarin, as she and Farrix leapt down from the crystal block, Rux jumping down after. Jatu glanced at Bokar and shrugged, and scooping up the scatter of papers as they went, together they all followed Alamar into Durlok’s lair.

As they came into the laboratory, Jatu waved a hand toward the hall leading farther inward. “What about the treasure, Captain?”

“Leave it behind, Jatu,” replied Aravan. “We have no need of such, and I would not weigh down our small craft on the return journey.”

“Leave it behind for Durlok?” asked Farrix. “He will use it for evil ends.”

Jinnarin looked at Aravan. “We could hurl it into the sea.”

Bokar shook his head. “There is a great amount, Lady Jinnarin, a veritable Dragon’s hoard. To cast away all will take much time. Yet if we do not, it will be as Master Farrix has said, Durlok will use it for his own ends.”

Alamar, throwing scrolls and tomes into a pile, called out, “Pah! If Durlok has Foul Folk at his beck, treasure is of no matter. He can always have them ravage and pillage for more, or even dig for it.”

“Finding gems or precious metals in the ground is not such an easy task,” growled Bokar.

Alamar turned and glared at the Dwarf. “Hah! For a Mage it is a trivial matter.”

Bokar’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, and instead began throwing papers and scrolls and such onto the growing pile.

Farrix turned to Aylis. “I say, if Mages can easily find things, well, could you find my bow? Durlok took it and put it somewhere, and, burn me, I’d like to get it back.”

Aylis smiled. “Perhaps I can at that, Farrix. Jinnarin, will you let me have yours?”

Jinnarin handed over the tiny bow to Aylis.
“Iveni simile,”
the seeress murmured. Deliberately Aylis turned and cast about as if seeking and finally began slowly pacing down the hallway toward Durlok’s sleeping chambers, with Aravan at her side and the Pysks at her heels. Bearing a Dwarven lantern, Jatu followed. Through the bedchamber Aylis trod, each step more sure than the last. Into the treasure room she strode and swiftly to the pile where she took up the mate to Jinnarin’s bow. She turned and stooped down to Farrix. “Thy bow, tiny one,” she said, grinning, casting Aravan a sideways glance.

A great smile split Farrix’s face, but then he craned his neck, looking into the gleaming mound. “Uh, d’you see my arrows anywhere?”

Without a word, Aylis held out a hand to Jinnarin. “Be careful,” said the Pysk as she took back her bow but handed the seeress one of her tiny arrows.

“Iveni simile,”
muttered Aylis. At first the seeress turned to Jinnarin, for the tiny Pysk had additional arrows in the quiver at her hip. But Aylis murmured,
“Aliter,”
and turned again. Soon she paced into Durlok’s laboratory, where Bokar and Alamar yet cast papers onto the heap. In a drawer she discovered Farrix’s arrows. As she handed the tiny quiver to him, Aylis frowned and shook her head. “I suspect that Durlok was saving these to analyze. It would be a sad day were a Black Mage ever to discover the secret of your poison.”

“Indeed,” replied Farrix. “That’s why we tell no one ever.”

At these words, Jinnarin glanced at Alamar, but the elder was muttering to himself and did not hear.

Aylis looked at the mound of tomes and scrolls, of journals and books and papers. “Oh my, do we need burn this all, Father?” asked Aylis. “I mean, I have always revered all scribings for the knowledge they contain, be it precious or mundane. Are you certain we are not about to destroy something that will prove useful in the future?”

Alamar paused and looked at the pile. “I am not
certain, Daughter. But this I do know: Many of these things are written in Common. Others are scribed in the Black Mage tongue. Some are in Slûk. Those languages I recognize even though I do not speak or read or write some of them. There are other tongues, too, ones I do not recognize. Many of the papers are illustrated; others are not. But of those that are, all show monstrous rituals—eviscerations, castrations, flensing, torture, ritual rapes, and the like, all to leech power, of that I am certain. But there are also writings here without any illustrations, and so, indeed we may be throwing away irreplaceable knowledge…but I think it is knowledge of devastation and ruin, and I would keep it out of Durlok’s grasp. With the castings you have at your beck, you or other seers could easily read what is written, but we don’t have the time needed for you to examine all. Could we bundle it up and bear it back to Rwn to be used to combat the Black Mages, then I would do so, and gladly. Yet, just as is the case with the treasure, there is too much here as well; it would merely weigh us down. And so, I would destroy it all to prevent its use by Durlok…destroy it all but this”—Alamar held up a black journal—“a Black Mage lexicon, I think. Durlok’s very own; see, it has his .
This
we will use to track him when we are ready to do so.”

“Then, Father, if that is what we are keeping, I suggest that we each take a page from it so that if one is lost, we still have the means to trace his whereabouts.”

“Ah,” said Alamar, “a splendid plan,” and he ripped six pages from the journal and stuffed one of them into his robes. Then he handed a page to everyone but Aylis, giving her the remainder of the book instead. “Here, Daughter. When you get a chance, use your seer ability to decipher what is within.” Satisfied, he glared at everyone but Bokar and gestured at the mound of paper and said, “Now, if you’ve all finished your traipsing about, shirking the task at hand, then I suggest you pitch in so that we can finish this off.”

Swiftly the chamber was stripped of writings, Durlok’s bedchamber, too, all of it thrown onto the pile.
At last Alamar said, “All right, let’s set it afire and then get out of here.”

As Jatu bent down and made ready to set the whole of it ablaze, a hubbub sounded from the crystal chamber, and a Dwarven warrior came bursting into the sanctum. It was Dett, one of the sentries from the lookout post.

“Armsmaster! Captain!” he urgently said. “A ship! There is a black ship on the southern horizon and it is heading this way.”

“Durlok!” spat Alamar. But then a gleam came into his eyes, and he rubbed his palms together. “Well, well. So it’s come to a fight after all.”

Jinnarin stood on the sill of the slot at the lookout post and watched the black galley coming onward in the eventide; its oars beating, its dark sails canted at an angle to catch the westerly wind, hull and canvas casting long shadows in the setting Sun. And as it raced across the pale green sea, her heart hammered in her breast and fear coursed through her, and she half expected at any moment to see the ship disappear and a great spider come charging across the weed and waves. She gripped Farrix’s hand and glanced at him—his face was white and grim—then she looked back out on the undulant waters, pale green turning to malachite as the Sun sank in the west.
Is it only late afternoon? It seems we’ve been here forever
.