Voyage of the Fox Rider (65 page)
With their Dwarven lanterns now illuminating the way, into the passage stepped Brekka and Dokan, and ten strides later they entered a chamber where stood a large canopied bed, black velvet drapes closed about. A crimson rug covered the floor, with a black-leather couch and chair sitting thereon. Too, a writing desk stood against a wall, lacquered black with a scarlet Dragon twining up and across the closed cover.
As others of the warband quietly entered the room, Brekka pressed a finger to his lips and jerked his head toward the bed. Dokan nodded, and handed his bow to another Châk, taking his axe in hand instead, and quietly the scouts stepped to the bedside. Brekka raised his crossbow to his shoulder, while Dokan reached toward the curtain.
At a nod, Dokan lifted his axe high and with a free hand threw the drapery wide.
The bed was empty.
Brekka looked at Dokan and grinned. Dokan shrugged, then stared about the room. On the far wall
hung another black velvet drape, with no decoration. Stalking to the wall, the scout cautiously looked behind, then motioned others to him, Aylis among them. Jerking a thumb toward the drape, he signified to Aylis that there was a chamber on the other side of the cloth. Aylis stood before the drape and whispered her castings, then turned to Dokan and shook her head,
No
.
Carefully, Dokan drew the drape aside, revealing a narrow doorway. Peering within, the Dwarf gasped, for the room was piled high with treasure—chests, ingots, bags, silks, incenses, perfumes, and other such. Dokan turned to Aravan, a question in his eyes. “‘Tis the plunder from the weed-entrapped ships, I ween,” murmured the Elf.
Dokan nodded, then stepped into the room, with Brekka following as well as others. Ignoring the treasure, they scanned the walls for another opening, an exit to elsewhere, but they found none.
Finally, Bokar turned to Aravan. “Unless there are secret doorways hidden along the routes we travelled, we have come to the end, Captain. The place is empty—no Durlok, no Ukhs, no Hr
ks, and best of all, no Trolls.”
“Yet my stone is chill,” said Aravan, his hand to his throat.
Aylis stepped to Aravan’s side. “Give me the amulet, Aravan; I will find whence the peril emanates.”
Once again Aravan handed the blue stone to Aylis. Holding it she said, “I will need aid, for my eyes will be closed as we follow the trace.”
Saying nothing, Aravan smiled and offered her his arm.
“Unde?”
she whispered.
Slowly Aylis turned, yet she faced toward a blank wall of the treasury. Bokar and Kelek examined it, tapping on the crystalline stone. After a moment Bokar growled, “Bah, I find nothing.”
“Yet the peril lies in that direction,” declared Aylis.
Brekka stroked his dark brown beard. “Beyond that wall lies the crystal chamber.” His Châkka talent of knowing where he had walked made his statement a certainty. “Mayhap that is where you would have us go.”
Aylis nodded, and they all moved back out from the treasure room and through the bedroom and the laboratory to come once again to the temple. Aylis stood in the doorway, her gaze sweeping the chamber. Down at the central dais, Jinnarin yet wept at Farrix’s side, the Pysk now holding the lax hand of her mate. Behind her, Rux lay upon one end of the crystal block, his head down on his paws. Jatu and the Men stood with their backs to the altar, their chary eyes scanning. One Man stood in the other doorway, warding at that entrance. Alamar was on the far side of the chamber, yet examining the runes carved in the crystal floor.
At last Aylis closed her eyes.
“Unde?”
With Aravan at her side, the seeress slowly paced down into the shallow hollow, her right hand outstretched before her, index finger extended, the amulet clutched in her left, her eyes closed, a frown of concentration on her brow. Down she trod and down, toward the great crystal block. At last she came unto the altar, and with her eyes yet closed she reached out with her finger to touch the source of peril. “Here,” she murmured, “here lies the evil.”
Aylis opened her eyes.
Her finger rested on Farrix.
HAPTER
30
In the Garden of Dreams
Spring, 1E9575
[The Present]
S
lowly Jinnarin raised her face to Aylis, tears flooding her eyes and streaking unchecked down a visage twisted in torment. In a voice but a whisper, she rasped, “What? Evil? My Farrix? It is not so, Aylis! How can you— He’s dead, Aylis, dead! He can’t be evil; Farrix is dead.…” She broke into desolate sobs, choking on her grief, her heart broken.
Her own eyes flooding, Aylis wrenched about and buried her face against Aravan’s chest.
Aravan embraced her and whispered, “Not evil,
chieran
, the stone does not augur evil…it signals peril.”
Clenching the cold amulet tightly, Aylis drew back. “Peril, evil—regardless, I do not understand.” Blinking away her tears, she thrust the chill stone into Aravan’s hand then turned toward Farrix’s still form. “How can someone who is dead be a danger to—” Aylis gasped and started, staring intently, then cried, “His eyes! Jinnarin, his eyes! Look at Farrix’s eyes!”
Jinnarin looked. And even through her tears she could see that Farrix’s eyes were rapidly moving back and forth beneath their closed lids.
“Farrix!” she shrieked, flinging herself forward, clasping him, weeping now in joy. “Oh, Adon, he’s alive!”
Aylis turned to Aravan, tears streaming down her face. He held her close.
Jatu grinned and opened his mouth to say something, yet Jinnarin’s next words drew him up short. “But wait,” moaned the Pysk, her head on Farrix’s chest, “he has no heartbeat. He does not breathe.”
Aylis spun ‘round and stared at Farrix.
“Visus!”
she hissed, her gaze locked on the Pysk. Moment later, “Father!” she called, not taking her gaze from Farrix. “Come to me!”
Alamar looked up from the rune he now studied. “Father!” Aylis cried once again. Grumbling at this interruption, Alamar demanded querulously, “What is it, Daughter? I’m busy! Grief and mourning must wait for I need to look at the rest of these runes.”
“No, Father, not the runes, at least not now. Instead you need to look at Farrix. He has a casting upon him. Is he alive or dead?”
“How would I know? You are the seer.”
“But you have had experience with—with Durlok’s necromancy. And I fear that he has done something—”
“Necromancy!” Hastily, Alamar hobbled down across the rough crystal floor toward the altar.
“If it is necromancy,” hissed Aravan, “then the stone did indeed detect evil.”
Now the elder arrived at the dais and stared intently at Farrix. In a moment, “Aha!” he crowed, leaning down closely, noting the twitching of Farrix’s eyes, the eld Mage grinning. “Corpses don’t dream, and neither do the undead.”
“But he has no heartbeat,” wailed Jinnarin.
“Don’t be foolish, Pysk,” snapped Alamar, “of course he has one.”
“But I’ve listened and—”
“Well listen again!”
Jinnarin laid an ear to Farrix’s breast. After a moment she raised up and shook her head. “No, there’s—”
“I said listen!” barked the Mage.
Once again Jinnarin laid an ear to Farrix’s breast, remaining there a long while. Of a sudden her eyes widened in surprise. “A beat!” she hissed. Still she remained listening. Long moments passed, yet finally, “Another!” And a lengthy while after, “Another!”
Jinnarin raised up. “But he is not breathing.”
Alamar turned to Aravan. “Your long-knife,” he demanded. The Elf unsheathed the blade, handing it over to the Mage. Holding the steel between his hands,
“Refrigera,”
murmured Alamar. A moment later he turned to the altar. “Now watch, Pysk, but do not breathe on this cold blade.” Alamar held the blade next to Farrix’s mouth and nose. Finally a trace of mist condensed, then evaporated, and after a long while, another trace condensed. “See, I told you. He breathes.” Still holding the blade, he called out to Aylis, “Farrix is not dead. Daughter, nor is he one of the undead. There is no necromancy at work here, though Farrix
is
enwrapped in a spell, but one I cannot fathom for I have never seen its like.”
“Enchanted sleep?” asked Jinnarin.
“Bah! Foolish Pysk, looking for more miraculous ‘magic’?”
Jinnarin jumped to her feet. “Well if it isn’t magic, if it isn’t enchanted sleep, then just what
is
it?”
Aylis, examining Farrix, looked up. “It is a dangerous casting, Jinnarin.”
“Dangerous!”
“That’s what she said, Pysk, dangerous.” Alamar handed the long-knife back to Aravan.
Jinnarin wrung her hands, her gaze repeatedly darting from Farrix to Alamar to Aylis. “What’ll we do? What’ll we do?”
“I’ve no time for this twaddle,” querulously snapped the elder, “I’ve got to get back to the runes. You tell her, Daughter.” Alamar hobbled away.
Aylis sighed, then turned to Jinnarin. “Farrix is in no immediate danger, Jinnarin. This sleep of his, it’s more like the winter sleep of a Bear.”
“Then how do we waken him?”
“Only if the spell is removed can we waken him.”
Jinnarin glanced down at Farrix. “How do we do that—remove the spell, I mean.”
Aylis shook her head. “If I had cast it in the first place, it would easily be done, for I would know the exact intricacies of the spell. Yet, to try to remove the casting of another…well, it is very dangerous, both for the one enspelled and the one attempting to lift the spell.”
“This danger you speak of, what is it?”
Aylis looked down at Farrix. “Should I try to remove the casting and fail, I could send him into a permanent sleep…or into death. As for the danger to me, failure might mean that I would fall under the same spell—then there would be two victims entrapped. Too, I could as well be slain. —I am not an expert in this particular form of casting, though I do know a meager bit.”
“Oh,” murmured Jinnarin.
“Why not take him back to Rwn?” suggested Jatu, glancing at the enspelled Pysk. “Surely someone there has the experience needed.”
Aylis sighed. “That is part of the problem. The casting binds him to this place. To remove him from the isle, perhaps from the altar itself, would mean his death.”
“Oh,” said Jinnarin. “Then we shall not move him.”
“Hmm,” mused Jatu. “That means either we must leave him behind while we go and get someone who can lift the spell—”
“No!” barked Jinnarin. “Now that I have found my Farrix, I will not leave his side.”
Slowly Jatu nodded, then said, “Then it seems that we must capture Durlok and force him to remove the casting…or Lady Aylis or Mage Alamar must attempt to remove it.”
Aylis shook her head. “Not my father. Although I have little skill in this art, he has none at all.”
Jinnarin’s face fell. “Oh, Aylis, I would not have you endanger yourself. Is there no other way of bringing Farrix back to me—other than lifting the spell, I mean?”
“One other, but the chances of it happening are remote.”
“What is it?”
Aylis looked at Farrix. “If he wakens himself, then perforce the spell will be broken.”
Jinnarin sighed and sat down beside her mate, her shoulders slumped in dejection.
Aravan glanced from Farrix to Aylis. “Now is not the time to decide. Let us think on it awhile. Mayhap another course will suggest itself.”
“Ha!” came Alamar’s call. “None of these runes are now empowered, though they have been in the past.” The elder began stepping down toward the central dais.
“What do they do, Father?”
“Well, my best guess is that they let Durlok talk to Gyphon, but that is merely a guess—a damn fine guess I might add. In fact, I am most likely right.”
“Talk to Gyphon?” Aylis was dismayed. “But Adon forbade—”
“I know. I know, Daughter.” Alamar arrived at the altar. “Nevertheless, that is what I think.”
Now Bokar came down to the dais, to Aravan. “I am sending out a squad to seek hidden doorways along the route we travelled, though it is unlikely we will find any whether or not they are there.”
“Nonsense,” snorted Alamar. “Finding secret portals is a trivial task.” The Mage glanced at the sleeping Pysk, then turned back to Bokar. “I can do nothing here. Instead I will go with your squad and use my
“Father.
“Daughter, this cavern was hidden behind an illusion. Durlok may have disguised other openings in a like manner.”
Aylis sighed and glanced at Farrix, then said to Aravan. “We will cover twice the ground in half the measure if I go with another squad and look as well. It will give me time to consider our dilemma with Farrix.”
Bokar turned to Aravan and asked, “Just what
do
you plan on doing, Captain? I mean, shall we stay in Durlok’s lair until he returns? Take him prisoner? Force him to remove the casting from Farrix? Haul him to Rwn for a trial by his peers? Or do we, instead, take our leave before he comes back? What?”
“He’s already had his trial,” barked Alamar. “Sentenced to exile on Vadaria, he was, before he escaped to Mithgar. And now, dead or alive he’s to be returned to Vadaria before he can do any more harm. Myself, I’d prefer to see him dead.”
