From Across the Clouded Range (76 page)

Ipid could not help but to smile. It
was as if Belab was speaking to his heart. He could not be sure,
but it felt like the old man was smiling as well behind his
cowl.

“
I will leave you now.
Another of our order will see to your transport. Just remember,
remain patient and wait for your opportunity. I will be in touch
when I can, but Arin suspects me always, so he will be suspicious
if I am seen near you.”

Belab turned, opened the door of the
house, and started inside. As he went through, he stopped. “For the
sake of your people, do not fail in your mission, Lord
Ronigan.”

Ipid stood on the stoop not even
noticing the misty rain that was soaking through his woolen shirt.
There was so much to think about that it took several seconds
before he realized that Belab had used his title calling him ‘Lord
Ronigan.’ How could the old man know his position? For a second,
that worried him. Did Arin know? No, he would have made use of such
information by now, so why did Belab know, and why did he mention
it now?

Puzzles on top of puzzles, he thought
as he pondered Belab’s words. Ipid knew enough to never trust the
motives of powerful men. They were almost always hiding larger
agendas, trying to exert their influence. It was their nature. To
this point, Ipid had been so focused on military strategy that he
had nearly forgotten politics. Belab’s whole purpose was to remind
him that there was more than one way to bring down the Darthur, to
focus him on the political as well as the martial. He chastised
himself for not seeing that sooner.

The opening of the door broke Ipid’s
thoughts. He jumped slightly, half-expecting something horrible to
emerge from the house, but a small figure was there instead. The
figure was clothed just as Belab had been but was smaller and
straighter than the old man with disheveled robes hanging off of a
lanky frame. Ipid bowed to the new arrival – a habit that had been
literally beaten into him by the Darthur.

The small figure released a laugh that
could only be described as a giggle. “No lord has ever bowed to
me,” said a decidedly feminine voice. “I will see to your
transport, Lord Ronigan.”

Ipid was shocked. He looked deep into
the cowl – the voice was that of a young woman – but could not see
anything through the hood. The figure reached out a small hand and
took hold of his. The hand was soft, supple, and delicate but
ice-cold – it seemed to draw the very life from him.

“
Does it surprise you that
there are women among us, Lord Ronigan?” The hood turned toward
him, looking up into his eyes, but he could not see anything
through the shadows. “We do not discriminate in our order. Though
there are few women with the gift, we have our place.”

The cowl remained locked on him, and
he felt as if he were being carefully analyzed. “Come. We must
depart. The sun will be rising sooner than you think, and you have
much to do.” The small figure turned and led him through the last
houses of the village toward a small stand to trees.

“
How will we get to
Thoren?” Ipid recovered enough of his senses to ask his most
pressing question, though a thousand others were waiting on his
lips. Ever since Arin had suggested that he would be at Thoren
before the dawn, Ipid had known the answer to that question. The
only way it was possible was for him to ride one of the creatures.
The thought terrified him. Despite what Belab had said, the stoche
were gruesome beasts, and he could not imagine the horror of flying
through the night on the back of one of the terrible
things.

“
I will see to your
transport,” the woman repeated. “Do not worry. The Belab has asked
that you be treated with special care. Come now and remain quiet.
We do not want to disturb the tal’ ladorim, stoche as you know
them. They can be temperamental at night.”

Ipid opened his mouth to ask another
question, but the woman cut him off. “Please,” she said with a
small motion and squeezed his hand, which was still trapped in her
icy grasp. Her voice was so sweet and soft that Ipid could not help
but visualize her as young and beautiful, and after two weeks of
the company of men, he found her presence strangely alluring. At
the very least, he had no desire to upset her or draw the attention
of the creatures, so he bit his tongue.

The woman led him into the dark grove.
As she walked, she whispered strange words under her breath, which
were coming decidedly faster. Ipid shared her fear. His heart was
pounding so that she could probably feel it through his hand, and
he could barely breathe. Their pace was painfully slow. Ipid wanted
to run, to be done with this nightmare, but his guide led him at a
methodic march. His legs trembled, but the path they followed was
smooth, and he did not stumble, though he wanted to
collapse.

All around them, dark shapes stirred
in the murky shadows. There was a rustle in the trees and the
crackle of feet over dried leaves. Hisses, grunts, and growls
intermingled with the crunch of foliage, the patter of the rain,
and the thump of feet. Just enough light from the nearby buildings
made it through the trees to glint off of teeth and talons. The
grove was alive. Everywhere, the creatures moved and shifted around
them. They were inches away on every side.

There was a scamper of feet on the
trail in front of them, a gasp from beside him. The grip on his
hand tightened. Ipid’s eyes spun around at the same time a black
shape reared up before them. The te-am’ eiruh woman held her hand
out to block the creature, which had four arms extending from a
serpentine body. The thing stood twice as high as Ipid. An array of
claws sparkled at the end of each of its arms. A cavernous mouth
opened toward them revealing more angular, glistening shapes.
Ipid’s breath caught. His head spun and knees shook.

“
Do not move,” the voice
at his shoulder warned. “It will not hurt you as long as you are
with me.” His guide traced symbols with her free hand and whispered
strange words. Her hand clenched his tightly, but he barely
noticed. His heart felt like it would pound through his
chest.

“
Go now!” the woman
commanded in the strange language that Ipid could understand but
not use.

The creature hesitated and made a
mocking lunge toward Ipid. The feint almost sent him to his knees,
but the grip on his hand gave him courage, and he stood his ground,
straightened his posture, and raised his chin. The creature hissed
an indecipherable string of what might have been words, seemed to
bow slightly, and scurried into the trees out of sight.

Ipid released the breath that he had
not realized he was holding and gasped to restore his supply of
air. That was as close as he had ever been to one of the stoche and
as close as he ever wanted to be. He could not imagine what it
would be like to ride one.

“
I am sorry for that.” His
guide gave his hand another squeeze. “They are playful more than
anything but can be dangerous if you do not know how to handle
them. They should not cause us any further trouble. Come now. We
are almost there.” Despite the assurance, Ipid could still see the
things moving through the trees all around them, some of them just
inches away. One swipe of a claw could end his part on this world,
and his watery legs barely carried him to the small clearing where
they finally stopped.

In the clearing, the woman let go of
his hand, but Ipid did not. “I need my hands now, Lord
Ronigan.”

“
Of course.” Ipid released
her but did not stray far from her side as she walked to the center
of the clearing and began a slow chant.

Ipid assumed that she was summoning
the creature that would carry them to Thoren. He searched the sky,
anxiously watching for the thing, but the sky held only black
clouds and misty rain. A glance around the clearing showed that the
trees were filled to bursting with unnatural shadows. Eyes, claws,
and teeth sparkled everywhere but nothing broke the sanctuary of
the clearing. Ipid concentrated on remaining calm. He desperately
hoped that the pleasant young woman would travel with him and was
not sure that he would be able to make the journey without her no
matter how many lives were at stake.

He looked back toward his guide and
realized that her chanting had stopped. He scanned his surroundings
for the creature she had summoned. None appeared. The woman took
his hand in her ice-cold grip and pulled him forward. He complied
mechanically before looking at their destination.

There, standing before them, was
something more terrifying than any creature. Ipid blinked his eyes
to be certain it was not an illusion of the dark, misty night, but
he could see signs of the forest jutting out around the disk of
black to offset it from its surroundings. Staring with disbelief,
he realized that the disk did not actually have a set shape. It
churned and throbbed, in constant flux but without any pattern or
rhythm. Within the thing were a mélange of swirling images jumbled
together like a tornado. Black upon black the images were utter
chaos, defined only by their disregard for order or
logic.

They were almost on top of the vortex
when Ipid finally overcame his shock and planted his feet to stop
his progress toward what could only be his doom. He wanted to
scream but could not draw the breath it required.

The woman’s hand moved to his wrist,
becoming a manacle. He shook his arm but could not break the iron
grip. His mind raced with fear. The only explanation was that she
meant to kill him. No living thing could pass through that
manifestation of chaos incarnate and survive. He tried again to
break the grip, but it did not waver, and despite her slight build,
the small woman pulled him nearer and nearer to the chaos before
them.

His guide stepped into the black
shape. Ipid tried to resist. He dug his heels into the wet forest
floor, but his legs had lost their power. Crying with fear, he saw
himself inching toward the thing; the woman was simply too strong.
His knees buckled, his strength failed, and he lost his footing.
The hand on his wrist responded with a yank, and he fell headlong
into the swirling darkness.

Bone-numbing cold greeted him,
followed just as quickly by skin-charring heat. He was torn apart
bit by bit only to feel the bits come crashing back together in a
raging explosion. The disk closed around him to form a vortex of
horrifying images. That vortex tore him apart, stretched him,
smashed him, made him a part of its frenzied dance until the images
collapsed to a common source and fell upon him. There was a
terrible clap of power, and it all disappeared.

Ipid opened his eyes slowly and found
himself lying on the ground in a spot that looked much like the one
he had just left. He wondered what that trial had been as he lifted
himself to trembling knees. It took several seconds for his eyes to
focus, but when they did, everything was wrong. Not a cloud
obscured his view of the moonless sky, not a drop of rain fell. In
the distance was a sizeable town. Tents surrounded the buildings by
the thousands in innumerable sizes and configurations, but there
were no trees. Beside him was the same hooded figure that had
pulled him through the vortex.

He cringed back from that shadowed
cowl and struggled to find his feet, but it was all too much for
him to take. He fell back to the ground and did not rise
again.

Chapter 34

“
Time to wake, Lord
Ronigan.”

A soft voice and a gentle pressure on
his chest roused Ipid from the deepest, most relaxing sleep he
could remember having had in the past two weeks. His eyes opened
slowly, and the pressure on his chest moved to his forehead where
he felt a cold, but soft, hand pressed against his brow.

“
I hope you are feeling
better,” a woman’s voice said from near his side. “You do not
appear to have any lingering effects, but the first time you
experience the sie-eium taloru, it can be quite disorienting. I am
sorry that I was not better able to prepare you.”

The hand left his brow, allowing his
eyes to open and focus on its owner. Standing next to his bed – he
was lying in a luxurious feather bed – was a small woman in a black
robe. The woman was bent so that her face was just above his, but
she was not much higher than the tall bed and thin like a small
bird. The hood of her robe was thrown back to reveal delicate
features. She had ruddy, full cheeks that surrounded a pert nose
and round, red lips. Her face was framed by a wild mass of frizzy
almost white-blond curls that complemented her snow-white,
porcelain-smooth skin, but starkly contrasted with her large,
liquid, deep-brown, almost black, eyes. Small wrinkles radiated
from the corners of her eyes, and there was a slight sag in the
rounded cheeks that suggested that she was somewhat older than she
initially appeared – perhaps nearing forty. Yet, she showed all the
slimness of youth with a long neck that led down to what appeared
to be a slight frame off of which her robes literally
hung.

Seeing that he was awake, the woman
took a step back and returned to her full height, which, though
proud, was not much over five feet. Her hand, having abandoned
Ipid's head, found his and took it in an ice-cold embrace. That icy
grip was enough to trigger Ipid’s memories, and they rushed back in
a wave.