30:
F
IRST
T
REMORS
The blazing cloud faded, shooting glowing sparks and fiery trails into the air. At my feet lay Dinatius, still unconscious, though he continued to moan and twitch within the cord that bound him. Bare ground still supported us. But this ground felt different, flatter as well as harder. As the fiery cloud dissipated, I could see that the ruins of the ancient mound, strewn with broken weapons and forgotten treasures, had disappeared.
Instead, a ring of mammoth stones surrounded us. The stones, which rimmed the top of a rounded hill, stood in a stately circle—some upright, others leaning to the side, and still others supporting huge crosspieces. The circle of stones!
Triumphantly, I rammed my staff into the ground. I’d done it. I’d traveled by Leaping!
In the gaps between the stones, I caught glimpses of the surrounding hills, patched with snow and stands of leafless trees. But there were no trees on this hillside. Nothing stood here but pillars of stone—with one exception. A lone, moss-covered boulder rested near the edge of the circle, looking like a small, shaggy mountain.
Then I noticed something odd. While snow crusted much of the ground outside the circle, even dappling the pillars themselves, not a single flake of snow lay within the ring itself. And something else: The color of the ground seemed unusual, not quite right. Lighter somehow. Yes, that was it. The soil itself, and the few brittle blades of grass, seemed subtly whitened, as if they’d been infused with mist. Bending low, I lay my open hand on the turf. It felt strangely warm.
I scratched my nose, thinking. It could, I supposed, have been caused by my Leaping, which required a great concentration of power. And yet I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was something more, something ominous.
I glanced at the sun, shining high overhead. Under its rays, the air felt chilly, but not unbearably cold. In just a few more hours, it would set—for the last time, perhaps, on the Fincayra I knew.
My gaze moved to the encircling stones. Rough-hewn and immense, they seemed part of the land, and equally old, pillars of time as well as of rock. And they seemed quiet. Intensely quiet. Almost as if they were waiting, and watching.
Where was Rhia? I scanned the distant hills, searching for any sign of her. Nothing. And no trace of anyone else, either. Not a single canyon eagle perched on the pillars; not a single man or woman stood beside me in the circle. No living things at all. My stomach churned. Was it possible, in Fincayra’s time of gravest need, that no one would come to help?
Stiffly, I worked my left shoulder. Though rapidly healing, it still felt weak. Too weak, I feared, to help much in battle. I hefted my staff, swinging it savagely over my head as I’d done in my fight against Dinatius.
Suddenly a spear whizzed through the. air, passing just over my head. At the same time, I heard a chorus of raucous cries. From behind several pillars raced at least twenty warrior goblins, fully armed with daggers, swords, and spiked clubs. They charged straight at me, their thin eyes glinting under their pointed helmets.
Roaring and snarling like ferocious beasts, they rushed forward. Their three-fingered hands grasped their weapons tightly, while countless scars marked the gray-green skin of their arms. I knew from past encounters with warrior goblins that some of those scars came not from battles, but from the ritual slicing of their skin that they performed afterward, using their own blades. And I knew, as well, that each scar represented one more foe they had slain.
Instinctively, I stretched out my arm toward them. Howling winds erupted from my fingers, blasting them so fiercely, they couldn’t advance. Several lost their footing; others were forced back out of the circle. One of them stumbled backward into another member of the band, causing them both to fall down. Before the first one could rise again, the goblin he’d knocked over smashed him brutally in the head with his club, leaving him senseless.
The winds, though, could not stop the goblins’ advance for long. They spread out rapidly to attack me from several sides. Many hurled poison-tipped spears. Halting the winds, I drew my sword, hearing its resonant ring once more. I darted around the circle, rushing any goblin who ventured too close. One I slammed in the chest with the head of my staff. The blow, though struck by my weak arm, tore off his breastplate and sent him sprawling.
“Diiie!” cried another, attacking from behind. His broadsword slashed my legging, grazing my thigh. I whirled around, sweeping my own sword. The blade bit deep into his brawny arm. He roared in pain, dropping his weapon. I kicked him hard in the abdomen, knocking him backward into a pair of attackers. All three fell together in a tangle of limbs.
My left shoulder began to throb. I was still holding my own, but I knew that couldn’t last for long. The warrior goblins were too numerous, and I was tiring quickly.
Two of them hurled themselves at me from opposite sides. I stepped back, and they smashed into each other with the force of falling trees. Swiftly, I drubbed them in the heads with my staff. At the same time, I sensed something coming at me from the rear, and spun around.
Six warriors, arms interlocked, were charging as a group. I struck the ground with my heel, even as I uttered the command to ignite a scarlet ball of flames on the spot. Then I kicked hard, flinging the blazing sphere into the assailants. But my aim went awry. The fireball brushed the shoulders of two of them, making them roar all the louder, but did no further harm. It merely sailed past and struck a stone pillar, exploding into sparks.
The line of warrior goblins bore down on me. In seconds, we would collide. Glancing behind, I saw several more attacking, swords and spears upraised. Panting heavily, I knew that I couldn’t defeat all of them at once. At the edge of my vision I saw one especially brawny goblin, wearing purple armbands, charging at me. He bellowed fiercely, thrusting his spear point at my ribs.
Just then, a sharp tremor rocked the stone circle. The jolt knocked me to the ground, sending rumbling reverberations through my whole body. Likewise, the brawny warrior goblin lost his balance and slid sideways, barely brushing me with his spear. The interlocked group reeled as the ground shook beneath them, falling over one another in a writhing mass. All around the ring, goblins tumbled.
Before anyone could get up again, another tremor struck. And another, louder and stronger still. Then came another, more powerful yet. The rumbling quakes came faster and faster. The warrior goblins, struggling to stand, raged and cursed and beat on one another with frustration—as well as growing terror. For they knew, as did I, the one force on Fincayra that could shake the ground that way.
“Shim!” I cried in a lull between the great footsteps. “We’re here in the circle!”
Thanks to my staff, I clambered to my feet. That lasted only briefly, because one of the leaning pillars, shaken loose by the incessant pounding, smashed to the ground just a few paces away. I fell back in a heap, landing on top of Dinatius, slicing my forearm on the tip of one of his blades. But I was lucky compared to the goblins: Judging from the agonized shrieks, at least three of them had been crushed beneath the falling stone.
At that very moment, the enormous, wild-haired form of Shim reached the top of the hill. He bent down over the circle of stones, lowering his massive hand to the ground. To my astonishment, when he opened his palm, out leaped a host of squat, muscular figures, each of them armed with double-sided battle-axes.
Dwarves! Some carried barbed pikes and stone-tipped spears as well; a few also bore a dagger between their clenched teeth. They wore light but sturdy chain-mail vests, and wide belts above leather leggings. Their beards, whether black or red or gray, had been trimmed to a sharp point, ready for battle.
Instantly, the dwarves set upon the confused warrior goblins. At the same time, more dwarves lowered themselves skillfully from Shim’s arm or slid down the edge of his baggy vest. Even though the largest of them stood only half as tall as their enemies, they were ferocious fighters, agile as the wind, and completely fearless. They hacked away ruthlessly at the goblins, who fought back with equal fury, all the more because the tide had turned against them. For his part, Shim plucked several terrified warrior goblins between his thumb and forefinger, then flung them off into the distance like rotten pieces of fruit.
Even as I rejoiced at the dwarves’ arrival, it struck me that one of their number was missing. Nowhere could I see Urnalda.
Shrieks and cries of warfare, together with the clanging of axes and spears against broadswords, echoed within the ring of stones. Gore marred the snowless ground, while blood stained the pillars. Within a few minutes, the last of the warrior goblins fled or fell, ending the skirmish.
A deep-chested roar rose from the dwarves. They waved axes and pikes in the air, triumphant in victory. Soon, though, the cheering ceased, as the battle’s losses came clear. Several dwarves had been badly wounded, and at least half a dozen lay dead on the hard soil. Immediately, the survivors began the gruesome work of tending to those in need.
Shim kneeled at the base of the hill, resting his mighty chin on one of the stone crosspieces. His grin widened, showing a row of misshapen teeth under his bulging nose. Smugly, he gave me a wink. Only then did I notice the short, bejeweled figure with unruly red hair who sat perched on top of his nose. Urnalda! She watched me, arms folded across her gold-embroidered black robe, clutching her staff with one hand. She looked equal parts regal, frightening—and simply comical.
To get closer, I climbed on top of the moss-draped boulder near the edge of the circle. “So,” I called up to them, “you two made peace. I’m glad, as well as grateful.”
“Peace be not the right word,” retorted Urnalda. “Instead, we made
pieces
.” She slapped her thigh at her joke, cackling with delight so that her blue shell earrings danced up and down, tinkling.
Puzzled, I stared up at her. “I don’t understand. Pieces of what?”
“Of stone, that be what!” Her laughter broke out again. One of the earrings flew off, but she waved a finger and halted its fall, then made it travel back through the air and hook itself again on her ear. “Shim and I be friends now, Merlin. You be remembering the little, er, surprise I had waiting for him? Well, it be a pit, a giant-sized pit.”
More puzzled than ever, I tapped my staff against the boulder. “This is how you made friends?”
Shim nodded. “But the pit is not giantly enough, harr harr! I falls into it, and breaks through into some more underly tunnels. Manily more. Then I tries to get out, and breaks lotsly more rock everlywhere. By the times I escapes, there’s a hugely hole in the land.”
“My amphitheater!” crowed the enchantress, waving her arms. “Now Urnalda be waiting no longer to give weekly addresses to my people, to view plays in my honor, and all the rest. So kindhearted Urnalda be offering pardon to Shim for his crimes of spying.” Her voice suddenly lowered to a growl. “Unless I be learning that he says or does anything I not be liking.”
The giant grinned ever so slightly. “I is muchly grateful to her.”
Without warning, the boulder shifted under my feet. I toppled off, scraping my back on the rough surface as I fell. At the same time, a spear hissed directly through the spot where I’d been standing. Even as I hit the ground, I saw who had thrown it: the brawny goblin with the purple armbands. He stood at the far side of the circle, bleeding from a gash in his ribs. Cursing vehemently at having missed his target, he slipped between two standing stones and started running down the hill, pursued by several dwarves.
Slowly, I stood. With a knowing nod, I placed my open hand upon the shaggy moss covering the boulder. I could feel, beneath the moistness of the moss, the slightest quiver, gentler than a butterfly’s fluttering wing. “Thank you, living stone, for saving my life.”
From deep within the mass of rock, I felt an ancient, throbbing voice. It was a voice I had heard once before, years ago, a voice I could never forget. For it spoke out of the vastness of time, from the strength and experience of stone. Its words came slow, hard, and unadorned.
You are welcome, young man. You have never been far from my thoughts, since the day you entered me and spoke your two-legged notions.
I sighed softly. “Yes, I know, I resisted you that day. You wanted me to harden into stone, but I couldn’t do it. I want too much to live, and change, as a man.”
Change!
bellowed the voice, flowing into my hand like a torrent of sound.
It is I who knows the truth about change—I who have bubbled within the belly of a star, risen aflame, circled the universe in a particle of dust, then built a new world over numberless eons. Not in many wizards’ lifetimes could you learn what I have learned, or see what I have seen.
“I know, great stone. And yet I hope that somehow, if we survive this day, I could come and learn from you.”
The boulder rocked slightly, grinding into the soil.
For that you will need patience, young man, not one of your strengths. And yet you are the first of your kind to speak with me, and the only living creature ever to resist my powers. So it is possible you could learn, with time.
Gratefully, I nodded. “Who told you of our plight, that you came here today?”
Just above my hand, the stone’s surface quavered. From under one of the drooping clusters of moss, a tiny, glowing speck emerged. The light flyer fluttered toward me, hovered before my face, and landed gently on the tip of my nose—just as it had done once before, at the old oak tree that Rhia had tried to awaken.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The delicate creature whirred its wings softly. Suddenly it flew off, flashing brightly. It circled one of the pillars, then veered westward, invisible against the lowering sun.
“Less than an hour be left before Dundealgal’s Eve,” declared Urnalda from her throne atop Shim’s nose. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she surveyed the hills beyond the circle of stones. “Yet no one be joining us.”