To the left of the door, hung at eye level from two bolts driven into the rock, was a metal plaque bearing the inscription:
O mortal me, o mortal my portal,
Ingenious keys cause one to chortle
,
This one is simple but W
izards beware,
Lest it permanently part your hair
.
Hunter commented wryly, “Assuming that the said wizard is a creature who actually
has
a head of hair.”
Amberthurn, who had shape
-shifted into a humanoid in order to fit down the narrow staircase to the vault, sniggered and suggested that they examine the inscription more closely. Then he left.
“Are you sure you should be doing this?” Zephyr asked, for the umpteenth time. “It could be a trap.”
“It undoubtedly is,” Kevin replied, fatigue lending ire to his voice. “Why else would Amberthurn set this test? Why did you not tell me that I had been entered on that roll of wizards? I thought I had a choice in the matter!”
“Peace, good outlander. I had nothing to do with the Roll of Initiation–and such a thing has never happened before. The Dragon-Magus must be mistaken. Neverthel
ess, you accepted his challenge–foolishly.”
“I was
merely annoyed. ‘Remarkable specimen’ indeed!”
Truth be told, that much had been sheer adrenalin. He had not stopped trembling since.
“The Dragon-Magus might be listening right now,” added Alliathiune, giving the walls an uncomfortable stare. “I hate it down here. All that rock and earth pressing down from above!”
“Just think of Glimmering of Dawn.”
He, Akê-Akê and Amadorn had remained behind, accepting Amberthurn’s offer of hospitality and supplies for their journey ahead. Where to, they did not yet know, but trusted that it would become clear soon.
“This stone feels curious,” rumbled Snatcher, running his forefinger along a chisel-mark near the door. “It blanks out all magic. My deep sight reflect
s off the surface. I could not tell if the vault beyond is one pace or a hundred deep.” He tapped with his knuckle. “It sounds solid. Impenetrable.”
“What do you make of the plaque? Zephyr? Alliathiune?”
“An odd inscription indeed, good outlander,” replied the Unicorn, peering over Kevin’s shoulder. “Almost as if it were a purposeful misdirection.”
“Or contained elements of the truth without revealing all.”
Kevin nodded soberly, absorbing Alliathiune’s contribution. “That’s an interesting idea, to be sure, but there is precious little to go on. Mortal my flipping portal! That’s a wizard boasting about the ingenuity of what he has created, while calling it simple just to exacerbate one’s frustration. He’s either a tease, or insane, or both.”
“There is a keyhole.”
“Is that your talent for stating the obvious coming to the fore, good Unicorn?”
Zephyr became ridiculously cross-eyed as he stared down his nose at Alliathiune. “I was
wondering
, my good green grasshopper, if the Lurk had thought to attempt his deep sight through the keyhole, having therefore an unobstructed view.”
“Of your hindquarters if you keep standing there.”
Kevin clucked impatiently. “Please, I need silence in order to concentrate.”
Zephyr was about to riposte–disparagingly–when the
diminutive Dryad thumped the sharp end of her elbow into his flank. “Oops.”
Nevertheless the door was, as Amberthurn had suggested, curiously impervious to the techniques they were prepared to attempt. Snatcher’s deep sight was as useless applied to the keyhole as they had been on the door itself. Short of inserting a key and or trying to pick the lock, which would likely trigger any traps within, there was little that they could do.
Kevin had Zephyr setting up a couple of spells to magnify the plaque’s inscription, but until that was ready …
He sat on the floor and put his head into his hands. He must concentrate. Ignore a pounding migraine. Must shut everything ou
t and let the ideas flow. Must remember that comment of Zephyr’s. Wars on the Hills had always proceeded the same way, with the Forest creatures fortifying their homeland against the invading hordes. They had not learned. They were gathering the races at Thaharria-brin-Tomal, sitting back, waiting for the Humans and the Fauns to come to them. What if they did things differently? What if they took the fight to the advancing Humans? How could they effectively resist, slow the advance, buy themselves time to find the Magisoul and return it to Elliadora’s Well?
He disappeared into contemplation.
* * * *
“Drink this.” A slim hand pushed a wooden cup
into his grasp.
“Ah
… thanks, Alliathiune. Mmm–Aïssändraught and a hint of something else, if I’m not mistaken?”
“
Caraweed,” she smiled. “For your headache.”
“How did you
… oh, forget it. Dryad empathy?”
“Have I been repeating myself, perchance?” A self-deprecating smile accompanied these words. “On your feet, good outlander, for the Unicorn has made a discovery.”
“Aha!”
Zephyr–bless his cotton socks,
Kevin grinned inanely–had indeed made a discovery, and was immodestly extolling his prowess to Snatcher, who had the slightly detached aspect of one who is pretending to listen without really listening. This was a form of self-preservation against the Unicorn’s garrulity. He had set up a lens using the unique magic of his horn. He had focussed it on the plaque, taking great care not to actually touch it, and within the curling capital letters at the start of each line had discovered a further message, crafted in microscopic lettering on the inner edge of the down stroke where even a close examination might easily overlook it.
When he began to read it,
Kevin felt a chill run down his spine. He read:
O noble W
izard, the scrolls and tomes of power this vault contains,
I, Ozark the Dark, have stored up against a diabolical
lighttime, and here set the immothal guardians about,
Te
nebrous, Freathalous, Anomalous, and Syallous these four,
Lest ye the unprepared dare seek this knowledge and be
annihilated.
“Who were those guardians?” he asked Zephyr. “I assume they meant to write ‘immortal’?”
“An understandable but wholly erroneous deduction,” he replied, flashing his most infuriating smirk. “
Immothal
is an ancient High Owlish world. Tradition has it, good outlander, that the incomparable gift of language was first granted to the Owls, that they who are our foremost teachers and the wisest of all Driadorn’s denizens might codify it and pass on their learning to the other races. All languages upon the Seventy-Seven Hills have High Owlish as their collective root–although there are exceptions. Both Lurks and Unicorns, for example, have private languages whose etymology defies classification. Dryadic remain closest to the old forms. Standard Driadornese, also called Low Owlish by some, is spoken by every one of Driadorn’s inhabitants.”
But Zephyr’s initial spell, which allowed him to learn Driadorn’s languages at an accelerated rate, had never worn off, Kevin thought. He was beginning to understand Alliathiune when she sang in Dryadic. He knew a good smattering of Lurkish words.
“Go on.”
“It is actually a wizardly term, a code-word for a particular type of magic symbolised by the fusion of four different, equally ancient and arcane branches of magical lore,” continued the Unicorn. “According to legend, the lore of magic was first brought to Feynard by a star
-faring race called the Ilaxin Kihn, in the form of four great tomes of knowledge, each owned by an immothal guardian as the script suggests–Tenebrous, Freathalous, Anomalous, and Syallous. They arrived in a great hovering cylinder of light, and that they traded their greatest secrets for the Unicorn knowledge of
thia-na-liamos
, or the ability to manipulate pure energy. They tricked my kin. For when they had left, the immothal guardians denied access to the tomes until we were ‘ready’. By dint of experimentation, my ancestors determined this meant ‘never’, or at least until the Ilaxin Kihn returned to collect them again–and meantime, if interfered with, were to make life miserable for those who dared to interfere with them.”
“However, Unicorns are nothing if not tenacious.”
Alliathiune put in, “Others would say, ‘stubborn as donkeys’.”
“Tenacious,” Zephyr insisted, regarding her interruption with the same distaste he showed for raw meat. “It took a hundred seasons before the first
immothal guardian was defeated and the knowledge of Tenebrous–which describes the incredibly intricate art of the construction of great magic from simple elements–was garnered by those dedicated Unicorn scholars. Using these arts, they were able to defeat the other three guardians and thus learned the way of Anomalous, or the magic of conflicting elements, Syallous, the way of spoken or sung magic, and Freathalous, the art of natural or elemental magic at which the Druids excel.”
“So it doesn’t mean that these guardians are literally here?”
The Unicorn frowned thoughtfully. “The secrets of these four arts have largely been lost over the intervening seasons, good Kevin, or handed down in forms hardly recognisable from what must once have been. Much has been lost in the wars that plague Driadorn like the birth pangs of a mare. Perhaps the terrible Dark Wizard sought to deter casual inspection of the vault beyond, or perhaps this is his source of power.”
“So he once occupied this fortress?”
“He invaded and sacked Black-Rock Keep,” Zephyr agreed. “He must have breached these seals and determined what lay within–after all, is it not he who set the warning inscription and the guardians in place?”
“Or he who identified them,”
Kevin mused, “and, unable to defeat them, set such wards as would ensure no other magician would steal these secrets and thus become more powerful than he.”
“
We could speculate all lighttime in such a fashion and merely waste good air in this close chamber.”
Yes indeed,
Kevin very nearly agreed aloud. The Unicorn was nothing if not wont to use up good oxygen with his prattling!
Hunter stepped forward. “Is this fourfold lore indeed lost, good Unicorn?”
“Largely. I would hardly know where to begin.”
“Then I suggest that
Kevin has two things which Amberthurn does not–his Key-Ring of special keys, one of which may fit the lock, and the magic of his making, the puissance of which defeated the Dark Apprentice at Elliadora’s Well and indeed, incited a mighty work of restoration of my own health.” The Mancat regarded them narrowly. “One of our number should remain behind to shield noble Kevin with every artifice that may be commanded. Only Kevin may open the door, according to Amberthurn’s challenge, but the Dragon-Magus said nothing of protecting the good outlander’s person. The others retreat to the level above and wait for the good Human to work his arts. If ought should go ill, the others may mount a rescue attempt.”
There was some argument back and forth, but in the end Hunter’s suggestion proved the best option. Zephyr remain
ed with Kevin. The Lurk, Hunter, and Alliathiune beat a reluctant retreat.
Once the Unicorn was ready, Kevin pulled out his Key-Ring and began to search for one that fit. “The blue one,” he whispered at last. “Elementary, my dear Jenkins.”
His eyes widened, for as his hand moved to place the key in the lock, it began to change shape before his eyes. Never mind. He knew he had to learn courage.
Kevin inserted the key and turned it firmly.
And the world exploded.
* * * *
“I feel awful,” said Kevin, sitting on a stone while Alliathiune mopped blood off his arm with a cloth. “My ears are ringing. I can barely hear you.”
“You look awful.”
“What?”
“You look terrible!”
“Thanks. Rub it in then, why don’t you?” Kevin dug grit out of his eyes with his fingernail. “Is Zephyr alright? He took the worst of the blast.”
“Alive!” the Unicorn called, weakly.
Kevin glanced at the Dryad, grey with dust, streaked with sweat, clearly exhausted. His companions must have dug through the rubble of the ensuing cave-in to rescue them. All his grateful thanks had not improved the feisty Dryad’s mood.
“Snatcher’s just making plans to shift that big boulder without, in his words, turning Zephyr into a flatworm,” Alliat
hiune informed him caustically, hands on hips–which, if Kevin had learned a single thing since his arrival on Feynard, he knew spelled danger. “I’ve already checked and he insists with his usual obstinacy that he will be just fine. So, what happened?”
Kevin
smiled, smugly. “The key fit.”
“One of your keys?”
“With a little persuasion.”
Her look was a storm in the making. “What do you mean, ‘a little persuasion’?
Might you, perchance, mean to say, ‘I touched it with my magic’?”