Ravenshade Page 24

  “What did it mean? I felt…desperation. Shandor had seen something more, but I didn’t know what it was at first. Then, I knew! Arialde had left the Stone before Shandor could reveal the threat that came not from the north, but from the west. It came not to Mountain-home, but to the Lake. Everyone had been deceived. Wrothgar had not been quartered in the Fell-ruin, as all had thought. He had arisen from Tûr Dorcha, and he was making his way to the Lake-realm, which now had only the barest number of defenders remaining within it. He stole into Tal-sithian like an evil vapor, and took the Stone of Léir!”

  A collective gasp went up from all who listened to Nelwyn’s recounting. “But that would make him invincible!” cried Galador. “He would know when and where to attack, know all his enemies’ weaknesses, he would know the outcome of battles before they were fought…it would be the worst thing that could happen!”

  “I know you’re right,” said Nelwyn, “because I saw it! Wrothgar forced Shandor into his service, thereby gaining the foresight to send his armies always to the right place at the right time. They overcame Mountain-home, sweeping down from the north before Magra or anyone else could stop them. I…I even saw Orrion there.”

  “Orrion was in Mountain-home?” asked Fima.

  “Yes, he was there—in the thick of the battle, fighting to the last.” She shuddered, recalling Orrion’s last moments. “He grew weary, and fell to a troll. It crushed the life out of him…I’ll never forget the sound of his ribs breaking.”

  Tears came to Nelwyn’s eyes then, as the worst of the vision bloomed once more in her mind’s eye. “Magra died a very bad death, writhing in the clutches of Wrothgar’s fire-demons, all his valor gone. Ordath fled deep into the catacombs beneath the mountain, only to be taken like a doe brought to bay by a pack of hounds. Her power flared around her, but it was not enough.”

  “And what of Gorgon Elfhunter?” said Gaelen in a small, quiet voice.

  “He was placed in command of his own army. Oh, Gaelen…they burned the Greatwood. They burned the trees…”

  Galador embraced her gently. “Was there anything more?”

  She shook her head, whispering “Was that not enough?”

  “She is drained, and in need of rest,” said Galador. “I will take her to our chambers now. Obviously, you all have things to discuss.”

  “No…wait!” cried Nelwyn, pulling away from him. “I have things to say!” The haunted look in her eyes chilled them all. She turned to Maji. “There is something more. The evil that killed Aryiah is still among us.”

  “Are you sure?” said Gaelen.

  “As sure as I can ever be of anything,” said Nelwyn. “One thing is certain—I must leave the City with very little delay. The evil that took Aryiah still walks here, and I am in fear for my life. Aryiah was killed to keep these insights from being known, for she might also have received them. Now that I have received them, I cannot stay.”

  “But you have told us all of your insights, Nelwyn,” said Lord Salastor. “Whatever evil took Aryiah did so, in your mind, to prevent such knowledge from reaching the people. There are now ten who know of it…surely the villain will not attempt to kill us all. I believe you are safe for the moment.”

  “Yet I will not be at ease here, not ever again. I felt the presence of Aryiah’s killer, and…I still feel it, begging your pardon.”

  Salastor looked around at Nelwyn’s most trusted friends. “Surely you do not believe that the killer is here, in this room?” he said.

  “Of course not,” said Nelwyn, her ears turning red at the very suggestion. “Still, I know that he is somewhere in the City. So long as I am here, I will not wish to be alone.” She did not realize that the killer was in the room, looking through the eyes of Lore-master Fima. Kotos had done his job well. It would not be long now, and his waiting would end.

  “We must speak now of Nelwyn’s vision and what course should be taken,” said Rogond. “Why have we, in Dûn Arian, been gifted with such insight? Perhaps Ordath and Arialde have also been enlightened and, if so, then there is not as much to fear.”

  “And if they haven’t, are you willing to take the chance?” said Fima. “We should proceed as though we are the only persons who possess this foresight. We risk far more by making assumptions to the contrary.”

  “Our course is clear,” said Nelwyn. “We must return with all speed to the northlands, to Tal-sithian, and warn the Lady that the Stone must be moved. Then we must travel to Mountain-home, to warn the Elves before Wrothgar has time to strike. I pray that we are not too late.”

  Fima shook his head. “I don’t believe such an offensive is possible,” he said. “According to all beliefs of the Wise, the Shadowmancer is not yet strong enough. Perhaps they are wrong, but perhaps Nelwyn’s vision is warning us of a more distant future. If so, then we have time to avert it.”

  “Yet we cannot be sure, and when we are not sure we must act quickly,” said Hallagond.

  “What you’re planning is no small matter,” said Azori. “It will take some time to gain the northern lands. And it will be a hard journey, no matter what path is chosen.”

  “Say nothing of any of this to anyone,” said Galador. “We do not want Aryiah’s killer to know of Nelwyn’s insight, and we must never leave her alone. Let us keep to our own thoughts for the moment and meet again tomorrow. One more day will make little difference.”

  Everyone agreed to this plan. They dispersed to ponder all they had learned, all save Gaelen and Galador, who remained with Nelwyn. Gaelen’s thoughts had been moving in a different direction from the others in the Company, and now she turned to Nelwyn. “You said you had seen Orrion defending Mountain-home. Are you absolutely sure of it?”

  Nelwyn nodded. “Yes. He was there, during the last battle. He fought like a cornered dragon, but a troll crushed him.” She closed her eyes, trying not to recall the image again. To be crushed beneath the feet of a nine-hundred-pound troll was a gruesome death. She sighed, trying to ward off tears. “He had a kind heart. It would be a pity to lose him.”

  Gaelen had not seen any evidence of Orrion’s kind heart—she saw something quite different in him. Yet Nelwyn had seen him defending Mountain-home, fighting to the death. It made no sense. And Gaelen had suspected Orrion in the death of Aryiah, yet Orrion was long gone, and Nelwyn had said that Aryiah’s killer still walked among them. Gaelen was confused, until she remembered that Orrion had it in his power to manipulate the minds of others. Perhaps Nelwyn was being manipulated?

  No, that is most unlikely, thought Gaelen. She is highly attuned to the presence of evil. It would be most difficult to deceive her. She left Nelwyn to rest with Galador, knowing that she would receive no further guidance. Then she went to find the two people whose thoughts she would share.

  Rogond and Fima had gone to Fima’s study and were engaged in a lively discussion. When they saw Gaelen, they welcomed her.

  Kotos smiled, knowing that Gaelen would never detect his presence. She had only been suspicious when he had shared consciousness with Gorgon Elfhunter. Kotos had deceived the mightiest and most worthy beings in all of Alterra upon a time—neither Dardis, nor Ri-Aldamar, nor Baelta, nor Léiras, nor even Shandor had suspected him. He had little to fear from the likes of Nelwyn or Gaelen.

  Nelwyn, in fact, had proved to be the most fertile soil in which to plant his foul seed—the soil of an open, unassuming mind. Now the evil, poisonous vine that sprang from it would take the Company exactly on the path Kotos had intended. Once Wrothgar achieved His desire, the vine would turn on the innocents and strangle them as they slept.

  Gaelen, Rogond, and Fima debated far into the night. Fima and Rogond sat on opposite sides of Fima’s long, low table, and Gaelen curled up in one of the red velvet chairs like a cat, watching and listening. When dawn came, Fima and Rogond were fast asleep, but Gaelen was still alert, pondering all she had heard, as the scholars stirred and went about their morning duties. There was no question that the Company needed to return north, b
ut Gaelen’s purpose in doing so would be quite different from any she professed to have.

  The debate had ended in her mind. In the end, she had elected to trust the instincts of Toran over all else.

  Chapter 11

  THE LONG ROAD NORTH

  Because of Nelwyn’s contention that there was still an evil presence lurking in Dûn Arian, the Company would leave in secret. Preparations were made in quiet haste. Salastor and Fima met in the underground level of the library, considering various paths to the north in order to decide the best way to be taken. With them was a map-maker, Carmyn by name, who had already spent quite a lot of time studying with Fima. It was his opinion that she could be trusted.

  “The ways to the north are three, discounting the way you came,” she said. “I would not suggest returning by that path, though Bint Raed was right in leading you, for otherwise the journey would have taken too long. None of these ways are swift, and all have perils. The dangers to our north have protected us from outsiders, but they are inconvenient to those wishing to explore them or cross them.” She smiled at Fima. “Map-makers sometimes face difficult tasks, and we are not always accurate. I have found some inconsistencies in the maps you have brought with you, Master.”

  “That will not do at all!” said Fima. “You must aid me in correcting them, then. You know that my maps were originally set down by others, Elves and men most likely. I have only added to their work. Dwarvish maps of underground realms are very accurate.”

  Salastor smiled at both of them. It was interesting to note that true scholars, whatever their interest, shared a reverence for learning that made them both methodical and patient. Salastor was a scholar as well, yet he knew that there was some urgency to the Company’s departure.

  “Regrettably, we won’t have time to make corrections now,” said Carmyn, who shook very dark brown hair from eyes that were filled with regret. She did not wish to lose the gift of having Lore-master Fima in the Silver City, but she had to help him find his way. She pointed to her own large map. “You may choose the forest path, the mountain path, or the desert path. There are advantages to each. The forest path is the shortest way over land because you will reach the Ambros—you can follow the river north to Dûn Bennas. Those are the King’s lands and you will be welcome.

  “The mountain path is the most difficult and taxing, and it is also the longest, as you cannot go in a direct line. The desert will skirt the plains of thirst to the west, yet there are long stretches with no water. It will take the least amount of time, if all goes well. If all does not go well, thirst may take you.”

  “I thought you said the forest path was the shortest,” said Fima, who did not like the prospect of another desert crossing.

  “So it is, in terms of distance, but in terms of time, the forest can block you. There are places where it is very thick and wild—you will need to make your way around them. The path I will show you will avoid most of the deep ravines and gorges, but the going will not be swift. And then, there is the matter of Fómor.”

  No one needed any explanation of why Fómor, the fabled city of the Corsairs, had to be avoided. Fomorians were notorious for attacking travelers and not caring whether the travelers lived to tell about it.

  “They must not go near there,” said Salastor. “They will be set upon.”

  “They will skirt around the city by many miles, yet there is still the risk of running into the inhabitants,” said Carmyn. She turned to Fima. “You must make your way by night, and be as swift as you may. And even the desert path brings you to water-sources used by the people of Fómor. It is this river, here…see this one that seems to spring forth from the sand?” She pointed to the map. “If you take the desert way, you will indeed be happy to see it, yet there are always Fómorians marauding up and down its banks. All three paths cross it—no way is safe.”

  “Two matters must now be debated,” said Salastor. “Who will travel, and what path will they take? When the first is answered, all must agree upon the second. Fima, please come to my private council-chamber in one hour.”

  He rose and left them, intending to gather the Company. Fima and Carmyn looked at one another for a moment. Then they each took a piece of charcoal in hand and set to work in an attempt to repair as many inconsistencies in Fima’s map as they could in the hour remaining to them.

  In the end, the two matters Salastor referred to had not taken so long to debate. The membership of the Company would be eight, including the three Elves, Rogond and Hallagond, Fima, Estle, and Azori. Galador, in particular, was not certain of the wisdom of including Azori, but Azori would not leave Estle to face such a dangerous journey without him. “Besides,” he said with a wicked grin, “you will be very glad of me if we run into any of the inhabitants of Fómor. I know how best to deal with them. An honest person, such as Galador, would no doubt be thought of as an easy mark.”

  “That explains why you are confident in your own ability to deal with them,” grumbled Galador, who was not looking forward to a thousand miles of watching his back.

  “That will do, both of you,” said Fima. “Azori is right…Fómor is one of the greatest hazards we face. It certainly will not hurt to have him with us.”

  Galador’s expression indicated that he was not convinced, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  The matter of the road took longer. None were in favor of the arduous way through the hills, but they were divided as to the choice of forest or desert. Estle, Hallagond, and Azori favored the desert, but the Elves, Rogond, and Fima preferred the forest.

  “I don’t like the sound of deep gorges and ravines,” said Azori. “These forests are not like your northern ones—they are not even like the forests near Dûn Arian. From what I have heard, they are thick and treacherous. The threat of pestilence is always there, and strange beasts lurk in the shadows. There are far too many hiding places for comfort! At least in the desert you can see your enemies coming.”

  “Carmyn has drawn a path that will not require traversing deep gorges, but she did say the forest would make for slow going,” said Fima. “Yet there is always water. And I cannot imagine, with three Elves among our number, that we will ever want for food, either.”

  “They will not know what is safe to eat in this forest,” said Estle, who was loath to admit that she was afraid of the unknown. “Things live in the water—things that will sicken a man. And while the Elves may not suffer pestilence, we of mortal race surely will. There are fevers lurking in those dark, wet places. I fear them more than any lack of water…we survived a desert crossing far worse than this one will be.”

  “Yet some of us almost died,” said Fima, his face drawn at the memory.

  “We dare not imperil those of mortal race,” said Gaelen. “I will now amend my choice in favor of the desert.”

  She remembered the terrible fever Rogond had been suffering when she had first met him. He had nearly died, trembling and crying out in torment. She would never see him so miserable again if she could help it. The vote was now even.

  “One of us must decide,” said Fima. “Who shall be declared the leader of our Company?”

  For a long moment, no word was spoken as everyone considered this very difficult and awkward question. Fima had been right in asking it—someone would have to take leadership. He looked hard with his bright blue eyes at each in the assembly. “Are there any volunteers?”

  “I would follow anyone except Azori,” muttered Galador.

  “And I would follow anyone except Galador,” Azori replied with a sinister smile.

  “As if either of you would be suitable,” said Estle. “For this task we need someone sane, sensible, and neither prideful nor reckless. That implies a feminine hand, but disqualifies Gaelen. I submit that, since it was Nelwyn’s insight that has set us upon the quest, it should be Nelwyn who leads it.”

  She looked at the various wide-eyed expressions around her. “Just because a person keeps her thoughts to herself, and is not inclined to be
forceful in her opinions, does not mean she cannot lead well. None of you even considered Nelwyn, and yet she is the obvious choice.”

  “That is the first truly sensible thing I have yet heard from you, Estle,” said Gaelen. “And I concur.”

  “And what if I prefer to not have this choice made for me?” said Nelwyn. “I have not the experience or wisdom in these lands that others have. I am not suitable!”

  “You seek the advice of others in making your decisions, is all,” said Gaelen. “No one expects you to know everything. Remember…Rogond led us in the search for Hallagond, even though he knew little of the desert. We managed to not only find Hallagond, but we survived the desert because Rogond knew to seek help from those with greater experience.”

  “We survived in spite of my leadership, not because of it,” said Rogond with a shake of his head. “Yet I will follow Nelwyn willingly and with no regret. Is there anyone among you who will not?”

  Hallagond nodded. “That’s good enough for me. I believe you have just been appointed to the post, Nelwyn. Now, you must decide which road to take. Will it be the desert, or the forest?”

  “I will defer to those of greater experience in this matter, as in all others,” said Nelwyn. “I cannot take a course that is known to put some at risk of pestilence. Much as I regret saying it, I must now choose the desert.”

  There was immediate relief on the faces of Estle, Hallagond, and Azori. The dangers of the desert were familiar, at least. Fima, however, was in dread of it and it showed—The desert had nearly killed him the last time. Yet the decision had been made, and he would not challenge it.

  “At least now we can properly provision ourselves,” said Azori, approaching Nelwyn as though to embrace her or to clap her on the back.

  Galador stepped in front of him, and both his eyes and his smile were chilly. “I realize that sutherling customs are different, Azori, but as you have pointed out, we Elves do not like to be touched. I would appreciate it if you would follow our ways with respect to Nelwyn, at least.”