Bastion of Darkness (26 page)

“I tink dey mean to be fightin’ gargoyles,” Okin Balokey said.

“Dey good boys,” Mamagoo added, and Ardaz realized then that this third woman—a beautiful, slender creature with skin as dark as night and huge eyes—was someone of great importance. He also realized that while the accents remained, the tone of their voices had changed, had become more serious. Ardaz nodded as he considered the tactic. The Architects had seemed almost simple with their speech pattern to the wizard and his friends, jolly and innocent. But there was another side to them, grim and serious and far from simple. There had to be such a side, he understood, for them to have so thrived in such a dangerous environment. Like the elves of Lochsilinilume—to an outsider, at first glance, they would seem joyful to the point of frivolousness. But anger Arien Silverleaf and his kin and one would find as deadly an enemy as existed in all Aielle!

“We should be letting him keep Pouilla Camby,” Mamagoo went on.

Okin Balokey started to protest, but the young woman cut him off with a wave of her hand, looking to Mamagoo to elaborate.

“Dey be fighting gargoyles, and dat be a good ting,” the old woman reasoned. “Dey waked the dragon, but put de ting back in its hole, and dat be a good ting.”

“Unless de ting come back out,” Okin Balokey said grimly.

“His wing be pretty broken, man,” Mamagoo said. “And if he come out, he not be finding us.”

“He be finding dem three that got his treasure!” Okin Balokey reasoned, catching on to her plan.

“And dat put it all back where it be,” Mamagoo agreed.

“And if we got de sword, and old Salazar find out, den we be losing many tunnels, I tink,” the younger woman said, to which Okin Balokey could only nod his agreement.

“Dey be good boys,” Mamagoo said again. “And dat one wit de sword be stronger than any man I be seein’! Metinks dem gargoyles not to be a happy group when Belexus comes calling with Pouilla Camby!”

All three laughed at that.

“You be tinkin’ de same, old wizard man?” the younger woman said suddenly, obviously aiming her question at Ardaz.

With a huff and many throat clearings, Ardaz bumbled into the room. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, no, no,” he stammered. “Just walking along and heard you talking.”

“And you be liking what you be hearing?” Mamagoo asked.

“Yes, yes!” Ardaz beamed. “And you’re right, you know, all of you. None better at chopping gargoyles—we call them talons—than Belexus Backavar, no, no. He’s killed a few, he has, ha, ha, a few hundred!”

“He be a good boy,” Mamagoo said.

“He needs that sword now,” Ardaz tried to explain. “Our enemy, the one who leads the gargoyles, has brought forth a most evil beast, a wraith, you know.”

“Dead ting?” Mamagoo asked. Then, when Ardaz nodded, she shivered. “Ooo.”

“And that sword, that most beautiful sword, is the only weapon that might hurt it,” the wizard explained. “My sister—she’s a witch, you know—”

“I’m not liking my sister much eider, boss,” Okin Balokey said.

That stopped Ardaz short, until he took a moment to think about it. “Oh, no,” he explained. “Not that kind of a witch. A real one, of course. A real one, yes, yes. She found out about the sword, with magic, of course—witch magic, that—and, well, we came to find it.”

“And you did,” the younger woman said.

“Ah, but my manners be missing!” Mamagoo exclaimed suddenly. “Old Ardaz, dis be Calaireesa, chief of de Architect Tribe.”

The wizard bowed low in respect. His expression was one of curiosity as he came out of the bow, though. “Yes, well, I have been meaning to ask, and now seems a good time: Why are you called that? Not a usual name, after all: the Architect Tribe.”

“De book say so,” Calaireesa answered.

“Book?”

“De Architect Book,” the woman explained.

“Oh, de book, she save our lives,” Mamagoo added.

“She showed us how to make de tunnels and de rooms, boss,” Okin Balokey explained. “We all be children when first we came here.”

“Not ‘we,’ ” Calaireesa explained. “But de ancestors. Dey be children, and dey be cold, but de book, she showed dem how to make de tunnels.”

Now it began to dawn on Ardaz, yet another marvelous aspect of this unusual culture. With the exception of himself, Brielle, Istaahl, and Thalasi, all of the Calvan survivors of the holocaust had also been mere children. Perhaps the forefathers of the Architects had found a book, or many books, about architecture, a resource that taught them better how to survive in this new world. Might that have prompted them to consider the books as a sort of bible? “Oh how perfectly grand,” he beamed aloud, but quieted immediately out of respect.

“I would dearly love to see this book,” he said a moment later.

“Sure, man,” Mamagoo said, not even bothering to ask Calaireesa for permission.

Ardaz was truly delighted, and impressed. What a wonderful, open society these people had created. Trusting and generous, and always with a smile ready. He would come back here, he vowed silently again. Yes he would, when the situation allowed!

All three then escorted the wizard to a very small, very well hidden chamber, and therein, he found the remains of a dozen texts about architecture, the most prominent one a nearly complete volume titled simply
The Architect
. He found all three Architects quite willing to indulge his endless stream of questions, their answers usually only inciting another hundred questions in the wizard’s always-active mind.

Later on, Mamagoo escorted Ardaz back to his chamber. He wanted to ask her many questions, as well, about her magic and about any meetings she might have had with Calae, or with any of the angelic Colonnae.

“Met him once,” she answered before he could even really phrase the question clearly, “though I be just a girl den.”

“When first your people came to Ynis Aielle?” the wizard asked suspiciously, believing now, beyond any doubt, that Mamagoo had indeed been among those initial settlers, and that Calae had blessed her with the gift of long years.

“Oh, no, man, dat be too many hundred years ago,” she said unconvincingly. “I be looking dat old?”

Ardaz laughed and kissed her beautiful cheek. “You be looking simply wonderful!” he said, imitating her accent and drawing a wide smile indeed.

“Now, you be going in de morning, I know,” Mamagoo said. “You make sure dat your friend put Pouilla Camby to de good use, man. Too long dat sword be quiet! Too many gargoyles come about in dem years!”

“Do you want it back when he’s finished?” the wizard asked, and if Mamagoo had said yes, Ardaz would have certainly honored the request.

“No, no, man,” the woman said incredulously. “We don’t want no fighting, you know. Dat’s why we be living here underground—and don’t you be tinking dat any gargoyles might get in here! No, Pouilla will be happy, I know, wit dat big hunter. You tell him to use her good, and den she pass along to de next big hunter. If a gargoyle ever gets her, den we come out maybe, but as long as she be in de hands of de right people, den we be happy.”

“Most generous,” Ardaz said, starting another bow, but changing his mind and giving another kiss on the cheek instead.

“And we all hoping dat de dragon doesn’t come out and eat you all,” Mamagoo offered.

“Well, we’re hoping the same,” Ardaz replied, smiling, a grin that Mamagoo matched and that both held for a long, long while.

“But if he does, den dat be de way of tings,” Mamagoo put in, drawing a great laugh from Ardaz.

“You go and sleep,” the woman offered. “You got de long road ahead.”

“Long and dark,” the wizard agreed, but it seemed to Ardaz that the potential ending, if all went well, had just gotten a whole lot brighter.

T
HE
A
VALON MARE
responded with greater ease and greater strength than anything Bryan had ever known, weaving in and out of the towering snow drifts along the twisting ways of lighter snow cover. Not an experienced rider, the half-elf struggled for many miles, soreness settling in across his knotted leg muscles and buttocks. Finally, though, after more than two hours in the saddle, Bryan began to grow at ease, his natural elven affinity for animals helping him to empathize with the mount, to understand the signals he was sending to it, and that allowed him to figure out the proper posture and movements for a smoother and swifter run. His confidence growing, the half-elf loosened his grip on the reins, and the mare bent her head low.

Then the mare was running strong and tireless, the snow-covered land speeding by Bryan as he crouched low, his legs working in a rhythmic and painless posting action.

All the rest of that day, the mare pounded on, with Bryan stopping only when the horse seemed to need a break. Late that afternoon, the half-elf found an appropriate campsite, a patch of frozen brown earth in this mostly white wasteland sea. Though the snow was deep out here, the winds had brought it up in high drifts, and
those areas in the shadows of the drifts had little snow cover.

The next day was much the same, and the next after that, but Bryan did notice that the snow cover was gradually lessening the farther he got out from Avalon. The strong winds of the empty plain continued to pile the white stuff up in drifts, but this far out, the winds were more from the west than the north, carrying the warmer air from the sea and turning most winter storms into rainy events. That would prove a mixed blessing, Bryan knew, for though the going would be straighter with less snow obstacles, the concealing cover, too, would be lessened. The brown-and-white streaked plain stretched out far in every direction, a skeletal bush sticking through here and there, and Bryan understood that if he could see that far, then creatures far away might also spot him in his telltale rider’s silhouette.

His fears came to fruition later that fourth morning. A fog covered all the region early on, but it lifted rapidly, leaving the half-elf and his mount dangerously exposed on a stretch of flat ground. Sure enough, Bryan soon saw many forms breaking the horizon north and west of his position, and when he veered more to the south, he noted that there, too, were talons. They were not walking or running, but were riding on their lizard mounts, swift creatures that could almost catch a horse.

The half-elf grimaced and considered his course. He knew that his Avalon mount could outrun the lizards, tired as she had to be, but if he split the talon ranks, running straight to the west, it wouldn’t be hard for this band to figure out his destination. His only chance of getting into Talas-dun would be through stealth, and this group of obviously organized talons, even if they could not catch him, could certainly jeopardize that, could pass word along secret ways, perhaps with signal fires.

Reluctantly Bryan swung his horse about, turning to the southeast, the general direction of Corning, he figured. He figured that he would allow the talons to close on him, then lead them on a long chase, finally outdistancing them and circling wide in an arc that would bring him around a hundred and eighty degrees.

The talons closed as expected, those north of Bryan gradually catching their closer companions, all the band of about thirty creatures forming together into one whooping mob. They thought they had ambushed a single rider on a tired mount, one they could run down to exhaustion and then easily overwhelm. On they came, hollering and hooting, close enough so that Bryan could make out their every threatening word.

But the talons did not understand the power of an Avalon horse, and the mare easily paced them. Bryan had to rein her in many times to keep the talons hot on the trail. They covered several miles, and the talon hoots grew less and less, and Bryan understood that it was time to fly away. He fast approached a ridgeline, the backside of it conveniently hidden. He would go over the top, he decided, and cut fast to the east, and by the time his pursuers got to the ridge, he would be out of sight. He looked back once, offered a few choice curse words of his own, then turned back and lowered his head, letting the mare run free.

Her thunder had only just begun when Bryan’s heart caught in his throat, when the ridgeline verily exploded with rushing forms. For an instant the half-elf thought he was trapped and surely to die, thought that a third talon band had encircled him, thought that those behind him, perhaps, had even herded him in this direction. He winced, even cried aloud as the air about him filled with the buzzing of rushing arrows.

A horn blew, a note so clear that no talon could ever have produced it, and then Bryan understood. “Rangers,” he breathed, turning back to take note of the devastation the arrow volley had inflicted on the pursuing talons. When he looked ahead again to the ridgeline, he witnessed the splendor of the thunderous charge, Bellerian and his warrior kin tilting low their long spears, twenty-two Avalon mounts pounding up snow and frozen dirt, hooves ringing on the hard ground.

They passed by Bryan in such a rush that the wind of them nearly tumbled him from his seat, and as he collected his wits, he pulled the mare to a stop, thinking to turn back and join in the fight.