Voyage of the Fox Rider (71 page)

“Five miles,” gauged Jatu.

As the black Man stepped aside, again Bokar looked through the slot and growled, “How is it getting through the weed? It seems not slowed at all. —Shallow draft? Special hull? Magic? What?”

“Here, let me see,” snapped Alamar.

The eld Mage stepped around Rux and toward the window slit, crowding past Aravan, Jatu, and Bokar.
“Visus,”
he muttered, then peered out. And as he looked upon the distant galley, his face drained of blood. “Adon!” he breathed, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, Adon.”

Now Aylis moved to Alamar’s side and invoked magesight as well, and she, too, peered at the far ship.
And she blenched and sucked air in through clenched teeth. “So much , Father. So very much .”

Below, Jinnarin gripped Farrix’s hand tightly in her fright, his return grip just as firm, and she asked, “I don’t see— What are you talking about, Aylis?”

Aylis did not look away from the galley as she answered the Pysk’s question. “The ship, it is bright with astral fire. If it is Durlok that we see burning so, then we cannot hope to defeat him. Perhaps all the Mages in Mithgar combined could not do so.” She turned to Aravan. “We cannot take on such ; instead we must flee.”

But it was Alamar who replied, and his voice was filled with weariness. “No, Daughter, we cannot hope to flee without his detecting us.”

“Captain,” said Jatu, “we can return to our boats and row to the far dark end of the understone lagoon and hide. Then slip out after the galley is docked and unladed.”

Again Alamar spoke: “There is no place we can hide from Durlok. He will know that his sanctuary has been invaded the moment he enters, for he will cast a revelation to see that all is as he left it. And we have broken his grasp upon Farrix, and this he will detect.”

Bokar grunted, “Mayhap we can find an escape through the vent fissures overhead.”

Aravan shook his head. “A temporary evasion at most.”

“Whatever we do, we must hurry,” rumbled Jatu, “for the galley draws nearer with every stroke.”

“Can we not use cunning and guile?” asked Farrix. “Trick them somehow?”

“Trick twenty-eight Trolls? Perhaps,” muttered Bokar. “But how do you trick a Mage?”

Silence fell upon them all and they peered at one another as waves broke against the rock below, while in the distance the galley came on.

Alamar took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out through puffed cheeks. “How do you trick a Mage? That Mage? That Black Mage? Perhaps there is a way. Though I am not certain that I have the .”

Fright leapt to Aylis’s eyes. “What, Father? What do you—?”

“I defeated him once, Daughter; he cannot have forgotten that…he cannot have forgotten it was me who”—Alamar glanced at Jinnarin and smiled at her—“who did him in the eye.”

The Mage turned to Bokar. “If I fail, Dwarf, ignore the Trolls. Instead have all your warriors concentrate on killing Durlok. Perhaps a crossbow bolt or axe will get through.”

“Father, you can’t—”

“Daughter, I must…and to trick him I need your aid. Stand close behind me—close as you can get. The rest of you back away and let be. I need all my attention on what I do.”

As Alamar turned to the slot and gathered his energies, and as Aylis stepped close to her father to stand right behind, Bokar whispered to Aravan and at the Elf’s nod, the armsmaster went into the narrow passage, taking Arka and Dett with him. “He goes to set ambush,” murmured Aravan to Jatu.

The black Man grunted, then whispered in return, “I’ll go get the Men and join him.” Without awaiting permission, Jatu slipped into the crevice where Bokar had gone.

Jinnarin and Farrix started to climb down from the sill, but Alamar hissed, “No, stand there together, one behind the other. At this range, Durlok will see you as one.”

Farrix started to step in front of Jinnarin, as if to shield her. “No, Farrix,” she exclaimed. “You are taller, and I would see.” Sighing, he gave back, and Jinnarin stood before him instead.

Alamar raised a hand and pointed out the slit and down to the ocean some hundred yards away.
“Imago mei igens in eo loco.”

Jinnarin gasped, for of a sudden, on the ocean where Alamar had pointed towered a giant figure facing south, facing away from the isle, facing the direction whence came the black galley. Even though she couldn’t see its features, Jinnarin knew that it was an image of a Mage, for it was dressed like Alamar. Upward it loomed, a hundred feet or so, and she guessed that it bore the features of a younger Alamar, for its
hair was brown instead of white, and its form looked sturdy, strong, with no hint of the elder’s frailty.

“Cande,”
hissed Alamar with effort, and in the twilight a spectral glow first limned the figure and then flared into brightness—a burning giant on the malachite sea.

Jinnarin glanced back and up at Alamar, and sweat beaded his brow.
“Imita me,”
he sissed, his voice shaking with effort. Behind him, Aylis grew pale, fear in her eyes.

“Vox valida,”
he uttered, his words but a groan, his lips drawn thin with trial, sweat runnelling down his face, and he seemed to be ageing even as Jinnarin looked on. She wanted to reach out, to aid him in some fashion, but she didn’t know how, and she knew that anything she might attempt would perhaps do more harm than good.

Agonized, she watched as with great effort Alamar straightened and raised his hand and pointed into the distance. His mouth moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound came from him. Yet from behind, from the outside, a great voice boomed out across the darkling sea: “D
URLOK
!”

Jinnarin whirled and looked outward. The huge glowing figure stood with an outstretched arm, a finger pointing at the far black galley. For long moments nothing changed the oars yet beating through the twilight, the sails bearing the wind. Again the fiery image called out—“D
URLOK
!”—then motioned the black craft onward, as if inviting it to near. “C
OME
,
MY OLD ADVERSARY
,
IT IS TIME WE BATTLED AGAIN
.”

Now the oars ceased beating and the black craft slowed, borne forward only by the wind.

Again, long moments passed. Yet of a sudden a gigantic figure loomed on the distant ocean, this one dressed in dark robes and illuminated by a black fire, and Farrix hissed, “He has slain a victim.”

Jinnarin glanced back at her mate. His face was filled with rage, and his hand strayed to his arrows, as if he would shoot someone. Behind him, Alamar stood trembling on the verge of collapse, his features even more aged. And Aylis wrapped her arms about him and held him up, tears running down her face.

“I
SEE YOU ARE FILLED WITH THE OF RENEWED YOUTH
“came a voice booming across the tides.

Jinnarin spun and faced outward again. At this distance she could not be certain, but the long angular features of the image of the Black Mage seemed twisted in a rictus grin, a skull-like grin.

Alamar’s image called out, “I
HAVE DESTROYED YOUR
G
ARGON
, D
URLOK
,
AND SET THE
P
YSK FREE
. Y
OU ARE NEXT
.”

Surprise flashed across the face of Durlok’s likeness, and it turned its head slightly, as if looking elsewhere within the caverns. Then once again it faced Alamar’s icon and anger filled its features, making it seem even more skull-like for the image had no hair—not even brows stood above its eyes.

Alamar’s semblance boomed out, “D
ID YOU TRULY EXPECT A
GARGON
TO BE A CHALLENGE TO ME
? P
AH
!”

Now Durlok’s simulacrum raised a hand, and a great bolt of lightning flashed out, not at Alamar’s image, but at the lookout slot instead.

“Averte!”
hissed Aylis, and the great jagged bolt crashed into stone, barely missing the slot, shattering white light stabbing inward through the opening, deafening thunder whelming in on the heels of the glare, hammering into Jinnarin and Farrix and slamming them sideways against the rock wall of the slit, stunning them.

Ears ringing, Aravan stepped toward Aylis but she shook her head and waved him back. He reached out to aid the Pysks, who even then were beginning to stir, but once again Aylis waved him back, not daring to risk anything which might distract her father in the slightest. And so Aravan stepped hindwards, back to where Rux whined and cowered, and the Elf squatted down and soothed the fox.

Her own ears ringing, Jinnarin shook her head trying to recover, while behind her Farrix stirred. Through swimming eyes she looked up at Alamar, the eld Mage shuddering in the agony of maintaining such a potent spell, given the meager limits of his astral fire, which even now was draining swiftly, the of his life nearly spent.

Yet his glowing icon stood straight, and laughed at Durlok, the likeness afar enraged. “Is
THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO
?” boomed out Alamar’s figure.

“B
AH
!” sneered Durlok’s image. “I
COULD SQUASH YOU AS EASILY AS I COULD AN INSECT
, A
LAMAR
. Y
ET I HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS NONSENSE
. I
MUST CONSERVE MY ENERGIES FOR THEY ARE NEEDED TO DELIVER MY GRAND WEDDING GIFT TO ALL OF YOUR ILK
, A
LAMAR
,
BUT AFTERWARDS
,
IF YOU YET LIVE
…”

Of a sudden, Durlok’s simulacrum vanished. In the twilight Jinnarin could see that the black galley oars again took up a beat, but this time one side backed water as the other side pulled forward, and the sails were shifted about as the galley turned away. And something white was cast over the side as Durlok surrendered the field.

“His victim,” gritted Farrix.

And in the chamber behind, Alamar hoarsely whispered,
“Dele,”
his image vanishing even as the aged Mage collapsed in Aylis’s arms, and weeping, she lowered his frail form to the stone.

Plumes

Spring, 1E9575

[The Present]

A
lamar!” cried Jinnarin, leaping down from the lookout slot. “Alamar!”

The Mage lay on the stone floor, reedy air rattling in and out of his thin chest, and he looked as if he had aged decades, his hair now sparse, the flesh on his face like translucent parchment mottled with brown spots. On her knees, Aylis wept at his side, and Aravan knelt down and put his ear to Alamar’s breast and after a moment said, “Thready.”

“We’ve got to get him to Rwn,” gritted Aylis, “to Vadaria. His is almost gone. It was too much, this spell of his. It was too much.…”

Opposite Aylis and Aravan, Farrix stood next to Jinnarin, his arm about her, the distressed Pysks powerless to aid. Rux stopped his agitated pacing and came and nosed his way between the two, seeking comfort.

Aravan raised up from the elder. “Jinnarin, find Jatu, Bokar. Tell them what has passed. Tell the armsmaster we need a healer for Alamar and a litter to bear him to the quay. Have Jatu and the Men ready the boats. We are leaving as soon as it is safe.”

Jinnarin nodded, glad of something to do, and she shook the tears from her eyes and leapt upon Rux and sped away.

Aravan turned to Farrix. “Keep watch on the black galley. I would not have Durlok turn back and catch us unaware.”

As Koban and Relk set the litter down on the quay, Alamar’s eyes fluttered then opened, and he tried to raise up but failed. Jamie leaned down. “Here now, Mage Alamar, you shouldn’t be wanting to get—”

Alamar reached up and grasped him by the shirt, and with surprising strength pulled Jamie to him and murmured something, his quavering voice nearly lost in the echoing surge
shssh
ing in the cavern. Alamar lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Bokar squatted beside the litter. “What did he say?”

“Burn the papers, Armsmaster. He said to burn the papers.”

Bokar knelt and even though he did not know whether Alamar could hear him, he spoke to the elder: “Even now, Mage Alamar, Jatu is setting the fire. The documents will be burned.”

A dinghy was maneuvered to the steps of the quay, and the litter was borne down to it. Alamar was lifted into the boat and made comfortable on the bedding that had been laid for him. Burak, one of the Dwarven warriors, clambered into the boat with Alamar. Burak would watch over the eld Mage and administer whatever herbal medicines might help from those they had brought along. Though not a chirurgeon, Burak—along with three others in the warband—was nevertheless trained in the arts of treating warrior’s wounds and sicknesses in the field, and as the most experienced, he was the one who accompanied Alamar into the boat.

As the Dwarven rowers followed and arranged themselves in the craft, a piercing whistle from the passage behind sounded above the waves, and after long moments, Jatu and Farrix and Jinnarin came out from the darkness of the corridor, both Pysks mounted upon Rux.

Aravan looked at Jatu. “They burn, Captain,” said the black Man. “Durlok’s writings burn.”