Rhapsody, Child of Blood (70 page)

Rhapsody nodded. "I thought as much. I'd be happy to teach you. I taught Grunthor."

'Really." Jo started to walk farther down the stone steps hewn into the mountain along the cavern walls.

'Let's go back," said Rhapsody hurriedly. "I think we should wait for the other two to go exploring down here."

Jo sighed in annoyance but did not protest, following her sister back up into the library again.

Che better part of a day had passed before Achmed and Grunthor returned, little the worse for wear. Grunthor had sustained a minor injury to his hand, which Rhapsody washed and bandaged over his protests of the wound's insignificance. Both seemed satisfied with the day's reconnaissance.

'We found a few in the crumbling city—by the way, their word for the Cymrians is Willums" Achmed related over supper.

'Interesting," Rhapsody said. "Well, at least someone remembers old Gwylliam fondly."

'I thought you might enjoy that, Rhapsody. Anyway, the tribes are dispersed throughout the Teeth and deep within the old Cymrian realm; we only saw a few groupings."

'Yeah, we saw a lot o' Claws and Eyes but no Guts," added Grunthor, chewing on his rations.

'Claws and eyes? Guts? What are you talking about?"

'That's one method by which these Bolg describe themselves. The Claws are the soldier types, the hunters and marauders. It's that kind of tribe that Roland generally gets to clean out every spring.

'The Eyes are the spies, obviously. They live on the moun-taintops, facing the steppes, and on some of the higher slopes that look inward, facing the heath. They tend to be thinner of body, less muscular, and scavenge more than they raid.

'And the Guts live deep within the mountain and elsewhere in the hidden parts of the realm. I couldn't glean much about them except that they are some of the more feared tribes. Generally they keep to themselves, but when they spill out of their lands, there's havoc."

'Spilling Guts. That's precious," said Rhapsody.

'Their chieftains incorporate the type of clan they are into their names. Oh, by the way, we now own some Claws of our own, a small herd called the Night Reavers."

'Excuse me?"

Grunthor grinned, showing his carnivorous smile. "Yeah, the Warlord 'ere—that's what they call 'im—got 'is own personal 'onor contingent now."

'Warlord?" Rhapsody asked.

'Well, it's an improvement on'the Night Man,' which is what they called me at first,"

Achmed said, chewing.

'I'm not callin' you no damn Warlord," Jo muttered into her mug. "Warthog, maybe."

Rhapsody hid her smile. "Where are these—these Night Reavers now?"

'Tied up in one of the lower hallways."

She dropped her bread in alarm. "Tied up? You left them tied up? Won't the other Bolg wandering by attack them?"

'Well, possibly, but the Night Reavers were considered the most fearsome of the groups we could find within a day's travel. I doubt the other Bolg would want to risk the wrath of anything that could subdue the Reavers and leave them trussed like turkeys in a hallway." cAchmed was correct; other tribes did wander by the captive Reavers, but did not seek to attack or loose them. They were able to see this on the great marble table beneath the dome. Achmed showed the women which lights represented his prisoners, and the flickering movements that indicated the visiting tribes.

Jo had made a remarkable discovery that went a long way toward redeeming her in Achmed's eyes. It was she who had determined the purpose of the apparatuses next to and above the stone table.

The pipe that hung from the ceiling above the table was a speaking tube, a form of acoustic address system that allowed for a speaker's voice to be transmitted throughout the mountain or to specific regions, depending on what had been selected on the table map. The apparatus that protruded from the floor was the opposite, a listening tube, that allowed the sounds from specific areas to be transmitted back to the library through the pipe structure.

Both of these apparatuses were tied into the duct and ventilation system that ran throughout the mountain, a complex series of tunnels and vents that drew air from the fierce winds that circled the mountaintop to cool and cleanse the air within the mountain fortress. When heat was needed in the cold months, the air could be diverted through Gwylliam's mighty forges, which now lay dormant in the depths of the Teeth.

At one time from those forges great vats of iron, steel, and bronze, as well as precious metals, had been poured and beaten into some of the finest weaponry and armor in the known world, as well as impressively crafted items of ornamentation.

Achmed had gathered a collection of weapons from the various display cases to analyze, and had spread them out on one of the long study tables. Rhapsody came upon Grunthor running his hands over one of the swords from the vault. There was a look of sadness on his face that reached down into her heart. She walked up to him and wound her arm through his. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

Grunthor looked down at her as a smile crept over his face. "Oh, nothin', darlin'."

"Missing your troops?"

'Naw. Oi'll 'ave some new ones soon enough, Oi suspect. Oi was just thinkin' what a waste it all is."

Rhapsody sighed; she had been thinking much the same thing. It was painful to see what the Cymrians had been, their fellow Seren, their countrymen, perhaps even descendants of their loved ones.

In the artifacts left behind she could see the life's work of craftsmen, engineers, architects, draftsman, builders of intricate roadways and great machines that had outlived their civilization, men and women of great vision and the ability to bring it to life, now gone, crushed beneath the heel of senseless power-hunger.

'Cheer up, Grunthor," she said, forcing a smile. "Just think about how Gwylliam will spin in his grave, knowing all his sophisticated machinery and weaponry will soon be in the hands of the Bolg for use in building up their civilization."

The Sergeant chuckled. "Oi don't think the oP boy 'ad a grave, if that's 'is body over there. But maybe if we get 'im to spin fast enough on the floor, 'e can get'the machin'ry goin' again." cAchmed had selected his next tribe to recruit. The Dark Drinkers were an Eye tribe, a group of swift scavengers that used the shadows of the mountain to ambush solitary travelers or the weak among other Bolg clans.

This time all four of the companions took to the tunnels, lying in wait for those Bolg who relied on the element of surprise. The rout was messy, but thorough, and within an hour Achmed had a new group of loyal spies who would act as spokesmen for him.

'Go throughout the tunnels with this warning," the new Warlord instructed the survivors. "The King of Ylorc has come to the mountain. Those who wish to be part of the realm will gather in the canyon beyond the Teeth when the moon is full, ten days hence.

'In three days you will feel me inhale, cold as the winter wind; anyone I touch thus is summoned. The following day you will feel me exhale; the warmth of my breath will touch you again. You must come at ful -moon's night to the canyon. Anyone who ignores my summons will be consumed in the fire of my belly on the eleventh day." The night eyes of the ragged cave dwellers blinked rapidly in the dark at the words.

»t^eep within the Hidden Realm, the Bolg shaman woke in the darkness of his cave.

His eyes, cracking open as sleep fled, stung around the edges, even bled a little as awareness slowly came back to him.

The vision was almost upon him. He had time to sit up and grasp his head before it broke across him like a strong wind.

Something had come to the mountain. There were whispers of it from the Eye clans, a low buzzing hum about a man who blended into the darkness, but they were only fragments of a story. The tale itself had not yet made its way here, to the Deep lands, far beyond the Teeth.

Saltar, whom the Bolg called Fire-Eye, rested his hand on his chest, concentrating on the vision, but it was still unclear. The images were strangely familiar, but far beyond his comprehension. He would wait, keeping watch, until the visions became clearer.

V~> right of you to threaten to breathe on them without making sure the vents worked first," muttered Rhapsody. She sat atop Grunthor's shoulders, trying to pry loose one of the main gear levers.

They were deep in the belly of Gwylliam's ventilation system, having found the architectural drawings and notes indicating how the operations had been designed and implemented.

It had been an arduous process, trying to locate where the massive structures matched the drawings. Once they had figured that out, the task had become dangerous. More than once the men had needed to climb out to the exterior crags, digging loose centuries of rock and debris from the wind that clogged the outer vents.

The wind howled around them, tearing at their clothes, all but pulling them into the canyons below.

The ventilation system had been built from the same strange metal Achmed and Grunthor had seen in the cathedral in Avonderre, and was seemingly impervious to rust, despite centuries of disuse. The machinery itself seemed to still be in working condition, but occasional fittings and levers were rotten with age or decay from exposure.

'Just because you open this once doesn't mean it will work when we need it to, Achmed," Rhapsody warned from her perch on the giant Firbolg. "There are so many pieces to this apparatus, and many of them are close to rotten or sticky from having sat so long untended." They had already had to reopen several passages which worked the first time, only to catch and jam shut the second time around.

'This is the last one. If you can open this area we will have cleared the system for all the tunnels within the Teeth; not bad for two days' work," said Achmed. He and Jo were oiling an enormous gearshaft next to a giant fan. He gave the securing chain one final pul , then turned to the other two again. "How's it coming?"

'Let's try it," Rhapsody said to Grunthor. The giant Bolg nodded and lifted her down from his shoulders, then gave the lever a firm tug. The grate it was attached to slid open with little resistance.

'Perfect; now close it up quickly," said Achmed. "Let's hold our 'breath' a little longer."

Rhapsody closed her eyes. She was already holding hers.

Che next morning the sun rose over the Teeth in a deep fog. Just as it crested the horizon a terrible grating sound was heard within the mountains, a scraping sound like a sword against the grinder's wheel. Moments later the tunnels of Canrif were filled with an icy wind, whipping through the corridors with a ferocious whine, blasting the Bolg with gale-force intensity.

Even within the belly of the ventilation system Rhapsody could hear the cries of panic. She turned to the others with alarm on her face.

'Enough, Achmed; you'll freeze the children and the injured."

Achmed nodded, and Grunthor and Jo pulled the levers, shutting the outside vents.

They went about closing down the rest of the system while Achmed and Rhapsody hurried up the stairs to the speaking tube.

As they climbed, Rhapsody grasped Achmed's elbow.

'It isn't always going to be that violent, is it? Canrif will be uninhabitable."

'Not once it's been running regularly. I think the air just needs to come into balance on both the inside and the outside of the mountain. And, by the way, we call the place Tlorc now. In case you hadn't noticed, Gwylliam's century is over by a millennium or so."

When they reached the stone table, Rhapsody drew forth her lark's flute. They had agreed the night before that Achmed's voice, while frightening in person largely because of the sandy quietness of it, was insufficiently frightening for an initial address.

Rhapsody planned to compensate for that musically.

She started a discordant melody that served to pick up on the tones in the Dhracian's voice and exaggerate them, adding in the sounds of howling winds and voices that shrieked and moaned. Achmed cleared the speaking tube and delivered his message.

'Tomorrow I exhale, one breath, long enough for you to feel my heat without being ignited this time. Those who come to me in the canyon when the moon is full will be part of the new power of Ylorc. All others will perish under my heel." His voice reverberated in a monstrous echo. Achmed closed the speaking tube.

'Well, that was horrifying," said Rhapsody as she put her flute away. "Do you think we convinced them?"

'Some of them. Others will be convinced tomorrow. And some will remain defiant, preferring to pit themselves against a new warlord than take a position of secondary power."

'And what about them? What are you going to do to con vince them?"

'Let's just say they won't live to regret their skepticism."

breathed on us, the Fist-and-Fire spies were saying. Cold, like the screaming wind.

Saltar rubbed his eyes, trying to make the vision clearer, but he could hear nothing more. The sight that was his gift was not a sign from the Future, or a prediction. It was merely the ability to see something that was here, and inevitable, an eye with especially long vision.

The screaming wind. The words reverberated in his head.

The Spirit was always looking into the wind. Perhaps whatever was coming was what it sought.

C,'his is never going to work." "Don't be so negative, Duchess; give it a try."

Rhapsody turned to face the smiling giant. "You don't understand. Forges this size are stoked constantly for centuries. If we had a week we couldn't gather enough fuel to get this up to the point where it could melt ice, let alone steel again."

'It doesn't have to melt anything," said Achmed patiently. "All it has to do is be hot enough to heat the air. There's a warm spell on its way, I can tell by the clouds.

Besides, if you think back to your fiery baptism and concentrate, I'm sure the forge fires will burn hot enough to convince the Bolg I'm breathing on them."

'If we could duplicate your real breath, they would surrender in a heartbeat," said Jo, who was working the bellows over the small fire that the others had built. "Perhaps we should throw some stinkweed in there."