The Rock of Ivanore (9 page)

“Why are you laughing?” Marcus asked defensively.

A wide grin spread across Jayson's face. “You seek the Rock of Ivanore? What village, may I ask, has sent you on this grand adventure?”

“Quendel,” answered Marcus. “East of the Jeweled Mountains.”

Jayson's grin widened even more. “Quendel. Yes, I know that place. And I suppose it was that old wizard of theirs, Zyll, who put you up to it, eh?”

Marcus nodded. He was quite perplexed now. How did Jayson know Zyll? Marcus had never seen Jayson in the village before. It must have been before Marcus was old enough to remember.

Jayson glanced toward the table where Jerrid still lay unmoving, then leaned close to Marcus, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you know why I laugh, Marcus? I laugh because what Zyll has sent you to find isn't magic at all. It isn't even a stone.”

“Then you've heard of it?” asked Marcus, filled with sudden optimism.

“I should hope so!” said Jayson, stifling another laugh. “Because
I am
the Rock of Ivanore!”

ayson clasped his hands together and stared past the now-dying embers. A sudden melancholy came over him. Whether it was the effects of the ale setting in or the memories, Marcus wasn't sure.

“Ivanore is my wife,” Jayson said.

A log in the fireplace broke in two, the shower of spark and ash resounding through the silence as though a tree had been felled. The only other sound in the room was Jerrid's occasional shifting upon the table. Marcus was filled with questions. He spoke cautiously.

“Isn't it against the law for humans to marry . . . your kind?”

Jayson's eyes were fixed on the fire. “I'm only half Agoran,” he said spitefully, although the edge in his voice
softened as he continued. “We were wed in secret. Her father had forbidden her to marry me, but we were young, in love, and nothing and no one could separate us—or so we thought.”

Jayson's gaze drew inward as if observing some distant memory. He did not see the embers now, or anything around him. He saw her. He saw Ivanore. Marcus was sure of it.

“She called me her rock because I was strong,” Jayson continued. “I stood up to her father, vowing to protect her at any cost. And we were happy for a time. Until . . .” His voice broke off. He raised his hand and ran it through his disheveled hair. The expression on his face grew anxious.

“Until what?” Marcus coaxed gently. “What happened to her?”

Jayson now turned his gaze on Marcus. His eyes were vacant, as though they did not recognize him, but the emptiness was fleeting. “In time her father's soldiers discovered our location,” he said. “I was exiled. The last I saw of my Ivanore, she was standing atop the cliffs of Dokur watching me sail away shackled to the mast of her father's ship. That was nearly fifteen years ago.”

Marcus's interest intensified. “Exiled? But why?” he asked, appalled.

“Isn't the answer obvious?” said Jayson bitterly, holding his clawed fingers to his face. “He did not want me to pollute his daughter with my impure blood. Since then not a day—not an hour!—has passed that I have not thought of them and vowed one day to return.”

Jayson rose to his feet. “The hour is late. I must rest for a bit before I continue my journey. I will be leaving at sunrise.”

“Is that where you're going, back to Dokur? To Ivanore?” asked Marcus, eager to hear more. It seemed to him that Jayson was a mystery waiting to be solved.

Jayson walked across the room to the staircase, his shoulders hunched as though carrying an unseen burden.

“Yes,” he replied, pausing on the bottom step. He stared ahead and did not speak for several moments. He drew a deep and troubled breath, and Marcus expected him to speak again. Instead he continued up the stairs, saying nothing. Marcus was alone with so many questions left unanswered.

THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH

he next morning Marcus awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing, ushering in the new day. He was accustomed to waking at that hour since he was responsible for milking Zyll's goat and gathering eggs for breakfast. As an orphan, it was his duty to tend to the general chores of the cottage. Thus, while all the other children in Quendel were still tucked snugly in their beds, he was up sweeping out the chimney, or scraping ice from the well, or darning stockings. So on this morning when the cock crowed, he awoke with a start as his companions slept on.

Remembering his conversation with Jayson the night before, he quickly pulled on his clothes and hurried outside. He found Jayson in the square filling his water skin at the well.

“Jayson!” Marcus called out. Jayson turned and pulled the hood of his cloak off his head.

“Marcus, what are you doing up at this ungodly hour of the day?”

“You're not leaving, are you?”

“I've several days' walking still ahead of me to reach Dokur, so I'd better get on with it.”

“You're going to Ivanore,” said Marcus.

“Yes, if all goes well. I don't know what sort of reception I'll have when I get there. At the very least, I expect to be exiled all over again.”

Marcus shivered from the brisk morning air. He had left his cape back at the inn. “Why go at all then?” he asked, rubbing his hands together to stay warm. “Why not send word to your wife and have her meet you
here
?”

“I bear an important message for Lord Fredric, her father. The fate of Imaness rests on delivering it in time.”

“Then let us come with you.”

“That's enough, Marcus!”

Jayson's tone was severe, but immediately his countenance softened. He replaced the plug in his water skin and slung it across his back. “I should not have told you what I did last night,” he said apologetically. “I'm afraid the ale got the better of me. You mustn't tell the others.”

“But why?” said Marcus. “We came here to find
you
. How can you allow us to continue our quest in vain?”

“Your quest is not in vain,” Jayson spoke in earnest now. “If Zyll wants you to bring the Rock of Ivanore back to Quendel, then I should be obliged to accompany you
there, but I must first go to Dokur. If I am discovered, I will be arrested and perhaps killed. No one must know I am here until I have safely delivered my message. Will you keep my secret for me?”

Marcus replied quickly. “I promise,” he said.

Jayson smiled with relief. “Thank you. And I promise that I will rejoin you in one week's time.”

“Where will we meet?”

“Follow the main road toward Dokur. Stay in the village there. I will find you.” Jayson pulled his hood over his head and began walking away.

“And what will I tell the others?” Marcus called out after him.

Jayson answered without turning around. “Tell them I said the stone you are seeking may be in those parts. Let your search carry you along.”

Jayson's form disappeared behind a stable just beyond the border of the town square. Marcus turned and hurried back to the inn. He wondered how he would manage to keep such a secret from Kelvin and the others for so long. But then again, he had given his word, and by withholding Jayson's identity, his successful quest might be better assured. He would reveal the truth later, of course, after Jayson had delivered his message. Then he and the other boys would return to Quendel in triumph.

errid Zwelger flung off his covers and cursed under his breath. The sight of Marcus's empty bed sent a jolt of adrenaline through him that immediately chased any remnants of sleep from his brain and body. The chill morning air bit into his lungs as he took his first breaths unprotected by the heavy, woolen blanket that had covered him during the night.

He had gone to bed long after everyone else had retired for the night. After supper he had laid his head on the table and fallen asleep. He guessed it was well past midnight when he had awakened and inadvertently overheard a private conversation between Marcus and Jayson. He had been about to make it known that he was awake
and excuse himself from the room when he heard Jayson utter a statement that made his blood run hot.

Jayson, the Rock of Ivanore? Could it be?

Jerrid remained motionless on the table and listened intently as Jayson spoke of a secret marriage and exile. After Jayson and Marcus went upstairs and the embers in the hearth had cooled, Jerrid sat with his face in his hands, turning Jayson's words over and over in his mind.

Zyll had given six boys a charge to retrieve the Rock of Ivanore and bring it back to Quendel. In keeping with tradition, those who returned from their quests in triumph received the greatest of honors and rewards. Those who failed were destined to a life of mediocrity and shame.

Jerrid's father had never missed an opportunity to remind his son of his own quest many years earlier. “I was one of nine,” he always began in his grating, pompous voice. “Quendel had a different master then, much more clever than Zyll. We were to slay a Cyclops and bring back its eye. We found him in the Caverns of Feolina, in the southern mountains. It was a young one, probably strayed from its herd. We surrounded him and closed in for the kill. Bartholomew Tendall was to fire the first arrow, but he was nervous. He hesitated—and the beast turned on him in a rage.”

Here his father always curved his fingers as though they were claws and snarled like a wild animal. “One swipe and poor Tendall lay in pieces on the ground. The moment I saw him I knew what must be done. I flung myself upon the monster's back and slit its throat with my
knife. The other boys gave me the honor of bearing home the eye.”

A turn, a sweep of the arm, a pushing out of the chest as he relived that moment of glory from so many years ago. Surely no less glory awaited his son if he were to return to Quendel with the mystery of the Rock of Ivanore solved and in his possession.

But as his eyes blinked in the morning rays that escaped through the slats of the inn's low roof, Jerrid knew that his chance at such glory had slipped from his fingers.

Jerrid hurried down the stairs and through the dining hall where the innkeeper was just preparing the morning meal. He dashed out the front door and ran toward the town square. He was out of breath when he met Marcus walking toward him, shivering from the cold.