Doom of the Dragon (29 page)

Skylan was relieved. From what he had heard about the dangers of the stormhold, he didn't want her anywhere near it. He knew that if he told her that, however, she would perversely decide to go. Skylan was curious as to why she was going to all this trouble to clean the jewelry, but he was so grateful that she was staying safely in the ship that he did not ask, for fear she might change her mind.

Skylan told Wulfe that he was to stay with Aylaen. Wulfe stared at him as though he didn't understand a word Skylan was saying and followed after them the moment Skylan turned his back.

The trail leading up to the stormhold turned out to be well tended and easy to climb. The path wound among ancient trees and there were even parts of it where they found steps cut into the rock to assist them over the steeper portions. The sun had been shining brightly when they set out, but now rain clouds, blown by an offshore breeze, drifted overhead. Beneath the clouds, the air was cool and moist.

They lost Wulfe about halfway through the journey. The boy had been lagging behind, and no one saw him leave. Skylan hoped he had merely grown bored with the climb and gone to the ship.

The forest straggled to an end about forty paces from the stormhold. Skylan called a halt at the tree line. To reach the stormhold, they would have to cross a large stretch of bare rock, visible to whoever—or whatever—was keeping watch. Their only advantage was that the rain had started, little more than a drizzle, giving them some cover.

The Vindrasi wore their armor and all except Farinn carried weapons. Dela Eden had smiled at this, asking what good Skylan thought swords and axes would be against magic.

“I suppose these wizards bleed like other men,” Skylan had replied, refusing to be intimidated.

Skylan and his friends walked forward. Having to move out in the open now, being watched by perhaps malevolent eyes, he heeded Dela Eden's warning and kept his hands well clear of his sword. He advised the others to do the same.

Those forty paces seemed the longest journey Skylan had ever made. He expected every moment to feel an arrow thud into his ribs or a spear to strike his chest, for he did not entirely ascribe to this notion that the wizards would not kill when threatened. Something had killed those two priests.

No arrow flew from the stormhold; no spear crashed down at their feet. No voice commanded them to halt or even shouted a warning. All Skylan could hear was the wind whistling through the crenellations on top of the tower, the rain pattering on the rock, and the crash of waves far below.

The rain had obscured their view of the stormhold, making it seem solid and formidable. But as they drew nearer, they could see it more clearly and they began to breathe easier.

“The only danger I fear is that this heap will come crashing down on our heads,” Sigurd stated.

The stormhold consisted of a single round tower that seemed old beyond reckoning. The stone walls were dark and dingy gray tinged green from lichen, and starting to crumble. Cracks zigzagged up the walls and there were places where stones had either disintegrated or fallen out.

The stormhold had no windows and only one entrance—an arched doorway without a door. Skylan tried to see inside, but the interior was pitch dark in the gloom. The only sound was the incessant dripping of rain falling off the wet stones.

“Seneschal!” Dela Eden called. “I have brought visitors. We come in peace.”

They waited for several moments in silence, while the mists and the rain closed in around them, making it seem as if they were in a world that consisted of only the tower and the stony ground. When no one responded, Dela Eden shook her head.

“The seneschal is always at the door to greet visitors. I fear we are too late and even he has fled. I will go inside to see. The rest of you wait.”

“I'm coming with you,” said Skylan.

Dela Eden shrugged. “Be careful. Do not touch the key or anything around it. Remember the two dead priests.”

Skylan could think of nothing else. Dela Eden entered first and he immediately lost sight of her in the darkness. Drawing in a deep breath, he plunged in after her.

A short, narrow corridor opened into a large, circular chamber with no ceiling, open to the air. In the center of the chamber was a circular stone wall, standing about waist-high, reminding Skylan of a well, except that it was far larger.

No one was here. That much was obvious.

“Do you know where this seneschal lives?” Skylan asked.

“I have no idea,” said Dela Eden. “I have never been to either kingdom.”

Frustrated, Skylan walked over to the wall and peered down into the well with some thought that perhaps it led to an underground chamber where the seneschal might be hiding.

A huge globe made of smooth gray stone floated in the center of the well. Astonished by the unexpected sight, Skylan rested the palm of his hand on the top of the wall, planning to lean over get a better view.

“Don't touch!” Dela Eden cried.

Her warning came too late. The moment Skylan's fingers touched the stone, a jet of air shot out from the wall opposite him, and struck him in the chest with such force that it lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the stone wall behind him.

He collapsed onto the floor and lay there, dazed and stunned. He glowered at Dela Eden, who was grinning at him.

“I warned you not to touch anything. Are you hurt?”

“What do you think?” Skylan returned, grimacing.

He moved gingerly, rubbing his shoulders and feeling to see if any ribs were broken. None was, but he must have bruised them, for it hurt to breathe.

“What's going on in there?” Bjorn shouted. “Skylan, are you all right?”

“I'm alive,” Skylan told them in no very good humor. “You can come in. Just don't touch anything!”

Sigurd and Farinn cautiously entered.

“I told Bjorn to keep watch outside,” said Sigurd, eyeing Skylan, who was taking his time getting to his feet. “What happened to you?”

“I tripped some sort of magical trap that threw me against a wall. Don't go near that well.”

“It is
not
a well,” said Dela Eden. “It is the key that opens the gate.”

Skylan was barely listening. He had noticed an iron ladder leading to the walkway at the top of the tower.

“Is that ladder safe to touch?” he asked.

“Only the key is guarded,” Dela Eden replied. “When the mists part, the view from the top is splendid.”

The room had been growing steadily brighter as the watery image of the sun appeared through the clouds.

“Sigurd, you and Farinn climb up there, take a look around,” said Skylan. “The seneschal must live somewhere close by. See if you can find a dwelling.”

Sigurd shook his head and backed away. “Not me. I'm not touching anything in here.”

Dela Eden was scornful. “All my life I have heard of the courage of Vindrasi warriors. Now I see you are milksops.”

She began to climb the rungs of the ladder, moving swiftly, hand over hand. Pausing halfway, she called down to Farinn. “Come join me on the walkway, young bard. I will show you sights for your song.”

Farinn glanced uncertainly at Skylan, who was looking very grim. Receiving his nod, Farinn nimbly climbed the ladder after Dela Eden.

“You have shamed us,” said Skylan to Sigurd in a low voice.

“Yeah, well, I don't see any foul magicks slamming
me
into a wall,” Sigurd returned. He cast a nervous glance around. “I'll keep watch outside with Bjorn.”

Dela Eden reached the walkway, a platform made of stone built at the top, encircling the tower. Farinn pulled himself up after her and after a moment's hesitation, walked over to the edge and looked out. He gave a little gasp.

“It's wonderful, Skylan!” he called down. “The sea is so vast. I must be seeing the world as the gods see it.”

“You're not up there to see what the gods see,” Skylan said sharply. “Any sign of a dwelling?”

“The forest is so thick…,” Farinn began. Catching Skylan's baleful glare, he added hurriedly, “I'll keep looking.”

Skylan turned his attention back to the well. Being careful not to touch the wall, he looked into the well to see a globe made of the same gray stone as the tower, striated with golden and silver strands as fine as cobweb, suspended in the middle of the well. As he stared, incredulous, he saw the pale sunlight flash on striations and realized in wonder that the globe was slowly rotating on some unseen axis.

Skylan didn't believe what he was seeing. Keeping a wary eye on the wall, he drew closer to investigate. The stone globe was as big as two ogres the size of Bear Walker and must have weighed as much as a hundred ogres the size of Bear Walker and yet it floated on air, as light as thistledown. He looked about for the chains or rods, anything that might be holding it, and saw nothing.

“Dela Eden, what is this floating rock?” Skylan called.

“I told you,” said Dela Eden, looking down on him from above. “That is the key to the gate of Tsa Kerestra, the Kingdom Above.”

“But if this is the key, where is the gate?” Skylan asked. “And how does it open?”

“According to the seneschal, there is a matching globe in the Kingdom Above. When the wizards perform the magicks, the globes align, the gate opens and the Stormlords can travel from the Kingdom Below to the Kingdom Above. I have heard that the beauty of Tsa Terestra makes the heart ache. I would love to visit it someday, but, of course, none except Stormlords may enter.”

Skylan watched the stone globe revolving on its axis. The sunlight flashed on the myriad golden and silver strands, as fine as the thread of his wyrd. He tried to fathom the powerful magicks that must be at work just to keep the globe afloat.

“These wizards must be gods,” he muttered.

“Not gods,” said Dela Eden, climbing down the ladder to come speak with him. “Humans with godlike powers.”

“Then why do people with such power grovel on their bellies in front of Raegar when, from what I've seen, they could use their magic to destroy him and his army?” Skylan demanded, frustrated.

“You are a simple soul, Skylan Ivorson,” said Dela Eden, smiling at him. “Everything with you is either bright sunshine or dead of night. You do not understand those who dwell in the twilight.”

“All I know is that these wizards are cowards who lack the courage to fight to save themselves,” Skylan said. “Instead they will betray a trust and give Raegar the spiritbone! And not even that will save them, for he will attack them anyway!”

“Since you cannot talk to them, what will you do?” Dela Eden asked.

“The only thing I can do,” said Skylan in grim tones. “If the Stormlords will not fight Raegar, then we must.”

“Skylan!” Farinn called. “Come up here! You need to see this!”

Hearing the warning tone in the young man's voice, Skylan quickly scaled the ladder, which was made of iron and looked very flimsy. Thinking he'd had his fill of magic, he stepped from the ladder onto the walkway and looked out to sea.

The view took Skylan's breath and he understood now why Farinn had said the gods must see the world like this—ripples of sunlight on blue-gray water stretching to the horizon.

The shoreline where the dragonships had landed ran from Gray Beak north, vast stretches of gleaming white sand and sawtooth grass extending up the coast. To the west, thick forests of dark green vied with the gold of the wheat fields and the lighter green of rolling hills. Due north, an enormous mass of dark gray storm clouds hovered protectively over a large plateau with steep, sheer walls that thrust up out of the grasslands.

“Dela Eden says that Tsa Kerestra is built on top of those dark clouds over the plateau,” said Farinn. “Look north of that, along the horizon.”

Skylan squinted against the brilliance of the sunlight on the water and saw what seemed like small dots floating on the surface of the water.

“I see dots,” said Skylan. “What do you see?”

“A fleet of ships,” Farinn answered readily.

“Raegar's fleet,” said Skylan.

“I cannot be certain—” Farinn hedged.

“You can be certain,” said Skylan grimly.

The Stormlords were also certain, apparently. Dark clouds suddenly descended from the sky and boiled around the ships, enveloping them in rain, striking them with lightning. The squall did not last long, driven off by the sunlight. The dots sailed on.

“Sigurd, Bjorn!” Skylan shouted, climbing down the ladder with Farinn following behind.

The two entered the stormhold with caution and stopped just inside the doorway.

“Raegar's fleet is on the way,” Skylan reported.

“That means a fight,” said Sigurd, grinning. “Against the living this time, not ghosts. Real heads to bash.”

Skylan smiled. He did not like Sigurd, but he had to give the man credit. When it came to battle, Sigurd had never yet met the skull he couldn't crack.

“The rest of you go back to camp,” Skylan said. “Tell Aylaen and Bear Walker about the fleet and assemble the chiefs. I'll talk to them when I return.”

“What are you going to do?” Bjorn asked.

“I'm going to take one more look around this place. There might be something I missed,” said Skylan.

“Don't let any magicks knock you on your butt again,” said Sigurd.

He, Bjorn, and Farinn left the stormhold, accompanied by Dela Eden, the three continuing a running argument about the effectiveness of the Vindrasi shield wall as opposed to Cyclopes archery.

Skylan remained by himself in the stormhold. He didn't really expect to find anything. He just needed a moment alone, to think, make plans. He watched the globe, serenely floating in its dark well, and swore in vexation.

“If you are this powerful, why give up without a fight? I don't understand!”

The globe had no answer for him. Shaking his head, Skylan left, glad to walk out into the sunshine. He was following the path through the trees, deep in thought, when something sprang at him from the shadows.