The Faerion (27 page)

"Slightly more. Do I look it? You are not required to answer honestly." She smiled at him and he remembered that smile. He felt the warmth inside himself grow again and he managed a small smile in return.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, knowing he was lost.

"Oh dear," said Dellana. "I need a friend, not a disciple. Walk beside me, not behind me."

"I'll try."

She laid him down on a bed and Carle fell asleep immediately. Dellana made sure the doors were locked and sat on a chair next to Carle. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. No turns or murmurs in his slumber. He was right about one thing, she admitted, Garlac would soon be searching for them. If he was brave enough to face Lord Daass with his folly, there would be far more resources at Garlac's command to find them. The siege would help Garlac's search. She looked out the window, wishing the shadows to grow quickly to hasten their rendezvous with Mortic. There too, she would have to be wary. Mortic would not let them go easily. He would have some trap set and she must uncover it quickly for she would need to protect Carle as well as herself and that would be a distraction. Often she asked herself why Carle appealed to her and each day she knew less of the answer. She would like to talk with Berimar just once, before she met Mortic. She had the power, but was it safe enough? What was Berimar doing? Would she put him in jeopardy?

She opened a window, letting the cool air surround her. She sat on the floor in the middle of the room, closing her eyes. Her mind drifted out of her body following the air currents out the window and far away. It flowed Crestan miles of grasses, hills and mountains to the lair of Galamog and next to it, the cavern of Berimar.

His mind greeted her immediately and she was aware of wards surrounding her in a tight grip.

"It is very dangerous, Dellana. Galamog stirs."

"I needed to talk to you."

"So I guessed, but why?"

"I must leave Nantitet now. It is under siege and the only person who can help is Mortic."

"Mortic? You can't trust him."

"I am not stupid, only your sister. Am I stronger than Mortic? And can you guess what traps he may set?"

"He is strong, but not I think, as strong as you. He will have spells of Galamog's making and I cannot advise you against those for I have no knowledge of them. I would say do not go with Mortic, it will only lead to your death or worse."

"This city is too dangerous and I must leave."

"Use your own skills. Risk being known as a sorceress, but do not allow Mortic to help you. It will only lead to ruin. I must go."

Her eyes snapped open, as contact was broken. Her head ached. Berimar lacked social graces and always gave her a migraine. She knew now they could not meet Mortic. She would have to trans-locate herself and Carle, but was she strong enough? She had not used such power often, and moving two people took more than twice the effort. The other obstacle would be Carle himself.

Dellana spent most of the night recalling spells and deciding on a course after they escaped Nantitet. The Wierland army surrounded the city and they had come from the south. Beyond Nantitet to the east lay Mordyn and Berimar. That direction might not be closed off. Could she be of help to Berimar? Once, she thought not, but her confidence had soared since she lived in Mordyn and she found few things in the wide world she cared about more than her brother. She and Berimar were unique and lonely in their existence. Perhaps Navir could help them in that regard. Blackthorne never would. He was a dark one, Blackthorne. His mind burned so brightly but he locked it away from them all. Still, she had been happy for him when he fled Galamog's lure. Perhaps that was why Berimar hated Blackthorne so, that he escaped when her brother could not. She had not thought of that before and it opened her mind to other things.

Dellana shook Carle awake. "It is time."

"We go to Mortic?"

"No. I have thought of another way."

"Good. I did not trust him."

"Nor did I, but at the time there were few options. This is what we shall do. You are aware of my abilities?"

Carle nodded his head.

"Have you ever been sea-sick?"

"Once. I don't relish the thought."

"You may be again. I will use a spell to transport us outside the city. I am not sure how far I can direct us. We will be beyond the Wierland army, but we may still be in sight. The only affect on you will be disorientation."

"I'm always like that around you." He grinned foolishly. Dellana smiled and kissed his forehead.

"Be silent when the spell is over and do what I say."

"When do we start?"

"Immediately."

"Supplies?"

"Only ourselves. Everything else is too much to handle. Now, stand still."

Dellana spoke soft and fast. She held both of Carle's hands. He closed his eyes and felt his stomach rising to his throat when suddenly they were spun and spun and dropping, fast, faster and then stopped. His body quivered and it proved difficult to keep from retching. Dellana pulled his arm.

"Quietly. Run with me. A hundred yards and we shall be beyond the sight of the Wierlandians."

Carle focused on the ground before them. It seemed endless but then they were through a thicket of trees and dropping to the ground.

"Rest here." Dellana retraced their steps to spy out the land behind them. After several minutes she returned. "We are safe. No one saw."

"Where do we go?" asked Carle, still light-headed but no longer sick.

"Mordyn. To help my brother, Berimar."

"Oh!" said Carle. He was sick again.

The rumors of her origins vanished in the shadows of the past. A shipwreck on the western shores left no survivors. Many sailors died days before landfall. Their throats ripped open, their bodies bloodless. Witnesses reported a huge wolf leapt from the deck to the rocky shore and vanished into the woods. The true facts became distorted through the centuries but the terrible fear of the unknown remains. Lady Natale Galamog, ruler of the southern lands, a creature of unknown origin and unseen by outside eyes. No one who enters her lair returns to the living save Berimar and in the past, Blackthorne. Her fury smites armies. Her touch freezes life. Her teeth piece the toughest hide; her lips drain lifeblood from her unlucky visitors.

When Berimar and the Tuors crossed into Mordyn her eyes opened. Each step closer to their destination brought more activity in the mind of Galamog. The caverns of the foothills wound through the blackness, sucking light and life from the world above. The stones groan and crumble as the queen of darkness rises to explore her domain.

A guard at the gate to her sanctuary did not realize his danger until too late. The great shadow rose around him slowly as an hourglass filling with sand. He felt the chill, and then the blackness entered his body sucking his life away. Even his cry of terror vanished into the shadows. At the next change of guard his absence was noted, but no one realized their queen had awakened.

Berimar felt the tremor as Galamog moved under the earth, but he said nothing to his companions. He fought the compulsion to warn Galamog that the Faerion might be entering her domain. He wasn't sure, but with Blackthorne and Wynne together the odds were good that one of them carried the book. Navir's presence made certain that if the Faerion was with them; they would use it. Berimar had to protect himself from the trio and keep the Tuors out of their hands, at least for a time. Following one compulsion made it easier to ignore others. Only for a time, and it always proved difficult.

Berimar fortified his wards protecting his cavern. In his mind he calculated that Galamog would reach him even as Navir and company did. He would not allow either side to enter his domain and he would parlay with the victor.

He watched the Tuors. He made an effort to make each thought; each movement deliberate to slow the process he must undertake. For Elise was correct. He would have them on his dissecting table. The choice was not his, but he could delay it. If Galamog proved greater than the Faerion then he would do as she commanded. If he could wait long enough and the Faerion destroyed her, then the Tuors would go free, he hoped. He did not know what would happen after Galamog's death. It was uncertain how her sorcery would unravel and what lives would be taken with it. Berimar hoped his life would not be one of them.

"Berimar?" asked Culver.

"What is it?"

"Can that basin let you see anywhere?"

"Yes, why?"

"I was wondering if we could see Paglo one last time. Before.. you know."

Berimar smiled at Culver.

"That much at least I shall do for you. Gather round the basin."

Elise, Tomen and Culver moved closer to the sorcerer as he moved his hand over the water. The water swirled and slowly the image of Whitehall opened before them.

"There's our house!" cried Elise.

"Look, Gamthen is tending our garden. The house looks so pretty, Elise. I can almost see you on the porch."

"There's your chair, Culver," said Tomen. "Many are the mornings I've walked past you sitting there. I never told you before, but I enjoy your poems."

"Tomen!" cried Elise. "I am surprised."

"Thank you, cousin," said Culver, his eye was brimming. "It means a great deal to me."

"I know that now," said Tomen.

Berimar watched his captives closely.

"There's Avolan. I wonder what he is mixing in that stew?"

"Lunch?" offered Elise. "He can cook you know."

"I know, I know. I just hoped he would find a way to help us."

"He doesn't know we are in trouble, Culver. He knows we walked into the unknown, but no word of us can have returned to him, unless the trolls sent him a letter."

Berimar chuckled, much to Culver's irritation.

"You are a warm, wonderful people," said Berimar. "It makes my task harder."

"Poor you."

"Do not mock me. I am trying to delay your fate until we see the outcome of Wynne, Navir and Blackthorne's quest."

"Can the basin hear what is happening?"

"Of course." Suddenly, they heard birds and the creek near Culver and Elise's house.

"I can almost smell the bakery," said Culver. "A nice hot loaf with jam."

"This is starting to be cruel," said Elise. "We know we cannot be there and it makes this pain unbearable.

"Why do you not listen to Wynne and Navir?" Tomen asked Berimar.

"Ah, little gets by you Tomen. If I knew what they planned, I would have to inform Galamog. Her magic compels me and it could not keep the knowledge form her. Ignorance is helpful in this case. Although I may have helped them, the possibility of thwarting their aim was much greater. I chose not to listen for your sakes."

"I almost believe it," said Tomen.

"Come, Culver." Elise pulled him by the elbow. "I cannot watch anymore. My heart aches and cannot find solace in views of home."

They sat on the pillows in the middle of the floor. Berimar studied them. Then he returned to the basin.

"Show me Dellana."

The scene blurred and images whirled through the water before slowing and forming faint images. He saw the white walls of the city and the Falloan army around it. He saw two figures hurrying across the plains south of Nantitet. He wondered who was with Dellana as the image enlarged and became clear. A monk, but then Dellana wore the same clothes. What had she been doing in Wierland? He noticed the tightness of grip with which she held her companion's hand and Berimar smiled. Smiled as he had not in many centuries, and he felt some brittleness crack and fall from his body. He knew it to be the ice that imprisoned his heart. A tiny sliver of freedom, a bit of him that Galamog no longer possesses. It was but a sliver but it was a start. He turned back to the Tuors. They saw his expression and did not know what it meant.

"I feel a start, a beginning in this battle. A small part of Galamog's grip on me has slipped."

"You said once that we couldn't believe what you say."

"True, true. Trust me not, still. However, there is hope I may shake this creature from me yet. Do you think someone my age can change? I hope so. You are delightful company and I do not look forward to reading your intestines."

His steps lightly guided him deeper in the cavern and he disappeared from the Tuors' sight.

They stood staring at the mountains before them. The trail wound down between two huge rock formations and disappeared into the gloom. The shadows seemed too long and dark for the time of day. It appeared color gave way to darkness in Mordyn. The arm of Galamog gripped the barren country tightly and fouled the air.

"Berimar is aware of us," said Blackthorne. "I know the feeling of his watchfulness. Also, there is something stirring under the mountains."

"I feel it too," said Wynne.

"Galamog?" asked Navir. "There is a foulness reminiscent of the Menaloch that troubles my homeland."

"The only answer," said Blackthorne. "Many years have passed since I walked this path, but I remember the force of Galamog's presence. It is a thing not sought after twice. Her image hammered inside my skull, trying to burn itself in my mind. She tried to be what I ate, what I breathed, what I thought. I barely had the strength to resist and I believe it was because she underestimated me. I wasted no time in fleeing her presence. Sometimes at night, when it is warm and humid I sense the beating of her heart and I realize I shall never be entirely free of her while she yet lives." He withdrew into his thoughts for a minute or two, and then shook his head.

"We must move quickly else she will be ready for us. Actually, we must be ready for her. She will strike at will and her power flows at her thought. This is a foolish undertaking."

"If it is foolish, it was your doing. You sold the Tuors to Berimar."

"Hold. He took them. I thought we discussed this already. Although I might have prevented it."

"What?" cried Wynne.

"It brought you and the Faerion here to destroy Galamog. A situation that might not have arrived if left to chance."

"You risked their lives."