Feynard (44 page)

“
Something like that. It was an accident, I assure–”

“An
accident?
” Her voice rose several decibels, to a level at which he could feel the blast let alone hear her. “You tried your magic on the door?”

“Well
… sort of,” he whispered, nonplussed by the strength of her reaction. Anyone would think she actually cared about his fate, the way she was carrying on. “Alliathiune, I tried to be careful, I swear. As I bought the blue key near the lock it began to change shape before my eyes. I wasn’t doing anything. And when I inserted it into the lock, the roof came down. I don’t remember much after that.”

The Dryad’s
jaw hung open. “You saw it change shape and you still–you’re unbelievable! By the Hills, how many more accidents will it take for you to realise that magic isn’t a toy? It has the very real power to leave you very
dead!
I despair, good Kevin, truly I do. For a clearly intelligent being you do the stupidest and most thoughtless things, things which you should have learned to avoid when you were only a few seasons old! You
still
inserted the key into the lock?”

“Yes.”

Her petite foot tapped the floor at a dangerous tempo. “Tell me, was there some irresistible force guiding your hand?”

“Not exactly.”

“Zephyr forced you to comply?”

“Not that either.”

“Then your mind shut down of its own accord?”

“I just didn’t think–”

“Now where have I heard that before?” She struck a mocking parody of his voice and posture. “Oh, I just put my hand in my pocket and hundreds of Black Wolves fell over and died. Oops, I touched the Faun and snatched him from death’s door in the twinkling of an eye. Oh dear, it looks like he’s decided to adopt me for his lord and master. Well, look, I just happened to lean against the wall of Shilliabär Tower and create a hole in a prismatic shield, which is logically impossible–yes, don’t look at me like that, Zephyr told me all about that little episode!”

Kevin hoped his face revealed nothing of his memory of Alliathiune rising nude from the pool of
Shiär-Lazûr!

“
And, I was as drunk as a Stoat, but still stood up and defeated the Dark Apprentice, who had brought down Driadorn’s finest magicians, without so much as breaking a sweat!”

Alliathiune glared at him as though he should fall contritely at her feet in an
outpouring of humble apologies.

“Well, I opened the door, didn’t I?”

“And what do you think I was going through in the meantime, thinking you had buried your asinine outlander carcass beneath two hundred feet of solid rock? How do you think I felt? Honestly, good Kevin, sometimes the only person you think about is yourself!”

Kevin
blinked.

“You stupid, stupi
d … stupid
man!
”

Rare as it was for Alliathiune to run out of creative ways to express his multiplicity of shortcomings, this time it indeed appeared as though the transgression had rendered her incapable of speech. Stupid man? What did that have to do with the price of tea in China? Not
for the first time, Kevin wished he understood women. Or Dryads, for that matter. But he was saved from further embarrassment by the Dragon-Magus appearing in their midst in the guise of a tall, dark man.

“One must disagree,” Amberthurn said smoothly. “Wizard, you have proven your mettle and the vault lies open before us. One smells the magic already. One is pleased–you did well to survive.” He turned to Alliathiune. “I foresaw his survival, good Dryad. You need not have
feared. Now that I have what I want, it is time to keep my end of the bargain.”

Kevin
pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his shirt. “Speak, noble Amberthurn.”

“Ah, you learn the ways of Driadorn so well, good outlander,” the Dragon-Magus sneered. “Very well, know then that the
Magisoul is hidden within in a fortress twin to this one, beneath the dread battlements of Shadowmoon Keep.” By Alliathiune’s gasp Kevin knew that this was not good news. “Should you reach it, which is spectacularly unlikely given the Utharian Men, Trolls, and within the Keep itself the dreadful remnants of Ozark’s experiments on living flesh and the leavings of his evil sorceries, you will find the crystal embedded in many layers of protection. Beyond the first door lies the Labyrinth and the Dragon of Shadow. Beyond the second, an Elemental Dragon of Earth. Beyond this again, Fire, and then Acid. Finally, there is the Dragon of Shadow, the most terrible of all. Should these four elemental Dragons be defeated or circumvented, which I can assure you is utterly inconceivable, then the Magisoul will be yours for the taking.”

“Right.”

His reaction visibly raised Amberthurn’s ire. Towering over Kevin like a black wraith, he snarled, “Even Ozark the Dark was unable to breach the first door!”

“Er
… right.”

Alliathiune stood straight and firm alongside
Kevin, undismayed. “We gratefully receive your word kept and honour upheld, noble Dragon-Magus.”

Amberthurn held out his clawed hand. “You will need these–magical keys, two of the four one need
s to open the way to the Magisoul. There is a ruby key and an emerald key. How you make use of them is your affair.”

“Thank you,”
Kevin blurted out, plucking the keys carefully off of that black, armoured palm.

“One will not lament the loss of
an outlander in this impossible quest for the Magisoul. But one knows you Humans shake hands in this manner.”

So saying, Amberthurn,
the Dragon-Magus of Black-Rock Keep, shook hands with Kevin Albert Jenkins, allegedly and by complete coincidence some sort of Wizard of Driadorn.

“
One formally welcomes you to the roll of the
Korahlia-tak-Tarna
. You are a wizard indeed.”

And he disappeared into thin air.

Alliathiune looked at Kevin with dark and stormy eyes. Well had she warned him of the perils of wizardry!

His voice echoed in the
close space. “Do Dragons often shake hands, noble Zephyr?”

K
evin Jenkins walked taller
leaving Black-Rock Keep than when he had arrived. At long last, he had been able to contribute positively to their quest rather than merely tagging along–or being dragged along–as before.

“Insufferable,” Zephyr said, loudly enough for him to overhear.

Alliathiune returned, also at an unnecessary volume, “Let the good outlander strut for a space. He’ll get over it.”

And so he did,
when they presented his suggestions to the Council of War back at Elliadora’s Well.

Zephyr made a still mirror just before dawn on the
fifth morning after departing Amberthurn’s lair, as they marched down the road called Dragonlair Way towards the coast, visible at a great distance but still six or seven lighttimes distant. They had adopted the Witch’s suggestion to take the coastal ferry to Utharia, the Uthar capital city, from where they hoped to travel across the Broadleaf Valley and up Anurmar Gorge towards the Shadowmoon Mountains. This route had the advantage of avoiding the main Troll hunting grounds. It was somewhat roundabout, according to the maps, but the wilderness and mountains between were generally regarded as impassable save by extraordinary effort. With Amberthurn’s safe conduct clearing their path through his realm with miraculous efficiency, no doubt due to his inimitable leadership style and personal charms, Akê-Akê quipped, they were making very good time.

So Zephyr made his still mirror to
speak to the Council and update them.

The news clearly made the Council members feel bullish. “Excellent news!” crowed
Two Hoots. “Our faith is indeed justified. When the Magisoul is brought back to Driadorn, this Blight will become a bad memory; a tale told to chicks and children.”

“It must yet be found and recovered,” the Jasper Cat purred. “Good Zephyr, you should inform us if you require any other assistance, such as we are able. We have mobilised a team of Unicorn scholars
, should you require research conducted. A veritable army of the magically adept gathers here at the Well. Our hopes go with you, naturally.”

Or,
Kevin thought cynically, we would like to keep an eye on you.

“There are several matters which will require your input,” said the Unicorn. “Noble Dryad, would you explain?”

“My Queen,” said Alliathiune.

“Good Seer and Sister,” she replied, stepping forward so show her beautiful features in their small mirror. “May the Forest ever nourish your roots.”

“And the Mother spread her branches to make your home safe and peaceful.” She drew a deep breath, about to launch into sacred waters. “My Queen, recent conversation with the noble outlander has served to clarify the nature of the Blight. Recall how one of the Elliarana was rotting within? What we believe is that the Elliarana serve as a kind of magical protection of the Forest, which is consistent with the early legends that we Dryads pass down about how and why Elliadora first planted the Sacred Grove, and why it is located at the Well in the very heart of the Hills. Our conjecture is that if the Blight has affected the Sacred Grove, then firstly it must have been invisible but present for some length of time, a number of tens of seasons perhaps, but Elliadora’s great magic safeguarded us from its ill effects. Perhaps if we Dryads had attended more closely …” She shrugged. “It is not my place to comment on our absence from the Grove for nigh on a thousand seasons.”

“No, it is not. But do continue.”

“Secondly, we conclude that the Blight is not merely a physical malady–it is a magical one. The Dark Apprentice has been most cunning in his invention of evil. The conclusions for the land of Seventy-Seven Hills are dire.”

There was a hubbub on the other side of the mirror, quickly stilled by Two Hoots and the Dryad Queen. She asked, “What do you mean?”

Alliathiune stared into the water. “My Queen, how are you feeling?”

The Queen gaped,
and then her head jerked back as though punched. For an instant a hunted-animal look crossed her perfect features before her composure returned. Only the pallor of her cheeks betrayed her deep shock. “Good
Allämiuna
, surely you jest?”

A headshake flung a tear of Alliathiune’s into the mirror, sending tiny ripples to the edges.

“That’s a monstrous suggestion!”

“You tell her,
Kevin.”

He said softly, “I am sorry that this conjecture causes you pain, good Queen, but I
am a barbarian outlander with a lamentable penchant for morbidity that the noble Alliathiune is trying to beat out of me.”

Zephyr put in, “It was the outlander who first identified the source of the Blight as being at Elliadora’s Well,
good Queen. We thought him mad. Mylliandawn wished him strung from the nearest tree for crows to feast on his flesh, but you have seen the truth with your own eyes. He is no barbarian, but a faithful and trustworthy friend of the Forest. I would urge you to consider the import of his words with all seriousness.”

“Aye,” Akê-Akê grunted.

Kevin studied the Queen’s pallid expression. “I should add that the Dragon-Magus Amberthurn concurs with my conclusions and is taking his own steps against the Dark Apprentice and his vile machinations. But I am concerned for the Forest itself. Even my poor knowledge of healing understands that treating the symptoms is not the same as finding the cure. To treat the symptoms, I suggest that you recruit teams of Unicorns or other healers to actively purify the water of the Well. Hopefully this activity will go some way to staying the Blight’s advance. I also suggest, bluntly, that you find a way of planting a new Elliarana. Creative magic requires wholeness to function correctly, which is why there were seven Elliarana rather than six. The Sacred Grove requires a seedling.”

To his surprise, rather than expressing outrage at an outlander’s meddling in the secrets of the Dryads, the Queen nodded slowly and then even smiled at him. “Good outlander, I see now why you were the warrior determined in the Seeing at the Pool of Stää. That is the most meritorious suggestion I have heard so far.”

“It probably won’t heal the Blight,” he cautioned at once.

“No?”

“No, because the robot–automaton–will still be pouring filth at a terrible rate into the waters, good Queen,” he said. “For that we need the Magisoul. Or we need to find a way through that barrier, or we need to slay the Dark Apprentice.”

“So,” Two Hoots hooted, “you want the Dryad Queen to find out how such a seedling might be planted at the Sacred Grove?”

“Exactly. The right seedling, of course.”

She gave a thin little laugh. “The Elliarana are unique, good outlander, and to our knowledge neither flower nor bear fruit.”

“Perhaps you will find clues in the histories of your people,” Kevin offered, encouraged by Zephyr’s nod. “Do the legends not claim that Elliadora was Mother of all Dryads? You, her children, are best placed to undertake this investigation. We must all work together for the good of the Forest.”

These were just the right words
. Kevin had begun to grasp how important the forms and formalities were to Driadorn’s creatures. The Witch might scornfully dismiss such ‘platitudes’ as endless chin-wagging, but a well-turned phrase oiled the wheels of co-operation as far as the Council was concerned.

Two Hoots scratched vigorously beneath his wing. “Well spoken, good outlander. Your insights are welcomed by the Council of War.”

“There is a further matter which I wish to raise,” he replied, eager now to impress. “It concerns the manner in which you intend to conduct this war.”

“I defer to the Jasper Cat.”

Blink yawned widely. “Please elucidate our shortcomings, noble outlander.”

“The Jasper Cat is co-ordinating the war effort,” said Two Hoots. “He is a leader of vast experience and undoubted courage.”

“Well, it’s just that I don’t really understand why you are doing things the way you’ve always done them,” Kevin rushed on, simultaneously missing the subtleties of the exchange and inserting his foot firmly into his mouth. “If we are to defeat the Dark Apprentice’s armies, then the one thing we need is time. Amberthurn showed us a vision of the Human armies and they have armoured vehicles and flamethrowers and–”

“
Amberthurn
showed you a vision?”

The Jasper Cat’s dry interjection cut off
Kevin’s flow like a landslide dumped into a river. “Why … yes. Yes, he did.”

“And you would trust the word of a Dragon-Magus?”

Cries of ‘Aye!’ ‘By the Hills!’ ‘Fie!’ and ‘Never!’ rose from the assembled Council.

The Human regarded them open-mouthed. “But you don’t understand–this is a type of warfare you have never seen–”

“My poor
boy
,” hissed the Cat, “with your vast and detailed experience of the Hills–how long was it, did you say, you had sojourned in the Hills?” Kevin’s mouth closed with a snap. “Was it as much as a single season? No? And you claim to know our ways?”

“Just a moment!” said Zephyr.

“No, you take just a moment to consider the outlander’s words!” snarled the Jasper Cat, losing his temper. “How dare this Human saunter about as if he’s lord of the Hills and order us to listen to some crackpot ideas about warfare when he clearly doesn’t even know which end of a spear is which? We have lived all our lives in the Forest! We know our home! We know its ways, its traditions, and its values! We have fought this menace before and defeated it!”

“At what cost?”

“At the cost of our lives!” he roared, spitting directly at Kevin’s image in the mirror. The Human flinched. “What do you know of suffering and cost, good
outlander?
By the black pits of Shäyol, how dare you! You little puppy dog of the Dark Apprentice–you are doing his foul work by trying to divide this Council against itself! I will not stand for words that twist back on themselves like a worm caught above ground at the time of Thäunïon-Farätha!”

There was a ringing silence into which
Kevin wished he might sink and never be found again.

“Well,” Zephyr said softly, “I’m glad
you’ve cleared the air. I’ll be the first to admit that the outlander strains the limits of tolerance and patience, but he is no sending of the Dark One. He was Seen and summoned by the Dryads to be Driadorn’s champion. And we all know what that means, don’t we, Jasper Cat? Or do you deny a Seeing?”

Kevin did not know what this meant, but Alliathiune’s gasp nearby told him this was a serious accusation.

Blink’s expression suggested that perhaps the Dryads had been taken in, or worse, that they were weak-willed women susceptible to masculine charms, but he was too wise to voice these objections. “Very well,” he purred in a tone like smooth cream, “why don’t we listen to the outlander’s words of wisdom? I would very much enjoy learning how he proposes to correct our strategy.”

“It is more in the nature of an addition than a correction,” said Zephyr, having decided by
Kevin’s stricken expression to lay some of the groundwork. “We are well agreed that the basics have been addressed.”

“In your professional opinion?”

Two Hoots twizzled his head about to fix the Jasper Cat with the twin tawny platters of his eyes. “You spoke of cost, noble Cat. For the Forest and its peoples that cost was horrendous; neither lightly borne nor easily forgotten. There is war on the Hills, noble friends and allies. Remember what it meant for your kind. Remember those who marched to war but never came home. Remember the many sacrifices made that we might be free from the Dark Wizard’s tyranny. If even a small measure of that cost could be avoided, then I for one would be grateful to hear whatever contribution the good outlander has to make.”

The Jasper Cat went stiff with outrage, but he would not speak against the Owl. “I bow to your wisdom, Two Hoots. But we will measure and weigh these things and not act rashly.”

“In whatever we do,” sighed the Owl, “we will act with the agreement of the Council. Speak on, noble Tomalia.”

“Our greatest need is time,” Zephyr said. “Recovering the
Magisoul and returning to Driadorn may be a lengthy affair, even with the aid of our magic. In our current estimation the armies of Men will enter Driadorn within thirty to forty lighttimes–would you concur, good Cat?”

“I would.”

“We estimate we will require double that time to complete our quest and return.” There were further exclamations around the Council that Two Hoots quelled with a loud hunting shriek. “So in order to defeat the Blight, given our best efforts, we would require you keep the Men, and perhaps the Drakes, Fauns, and Blind Trolls occupied well into Budding season.”

With the problem baldly stated, even the Jasper Cat began to look uncomfort
able and suddenly discovered a rough patch on his immaculate fur which required grooming. Perceptive eyes noted this reaction, and so returned to the still mirror with greater attention than before.

Zephyr pointed his horn at
Kevin. “Which is why, fellow creatures of the great Forest, I found myself listening to the outlander’s ideas. Noble Kevin?”

Kevin
very nearly panicked, but the Lurk’s paw on his shoulder steadied him. “I–uh, I guess you haven’t heard of guerrilla warfare?” he stuttered.