Authors: Christopher Stasheff
They
replaced them, though, from the villagers who toiled under the lash of
Bolenkar's soldiers. Those troops were never great in numbers; the allies defeated
them easily, and villagers thronged to swell their ranks—in gratitude and,
frequently, in search of revenge. Many shamans joined them, closely coordinated
by Yocote with Lua by his side; oddly, the shamans seemed to feel there was no
loss of face in hearkening to gnomes, since everyone knew they were too weak to
be able to rule. The two developed amazing persuasive abilities. Together, the
shamans called game small and large to their armies every night—game that had
to travel for days to come to them. Others planted grain each evening, chanting
spells; in the morning it was ready to harvest. Thus they traveled through the
land without despoiling it and came to the eastern mountains without arousing
the enmity of the people who dwelled in the plateau.
So
by the time they began to climb the winding trails up into the foothills of the
eastern mountains, their army was nearly ten thousand strong. Soldiers appeared
to roll boulders down upon them, but the massed shamans caused the huge rocks
to swerve around the army or, in many cases, to roll back upon those who sought
to push them. Bolenkar's priests appeared, chanting spells to bring down the
hillside in an avalanche—but Lua set her hands against the earth and, with her
gnome's magic, bade it remain still. Thus they climbed higher and higher,
chopping their way through skirmish parties and monsters, always wary at every
turn of the path, until they finally came out at the top of the ridge. There,
they looked down upon a valley with a hill rising from it, and upon that hill,
Bolenkar's citadel, Vildordis. But they also discovered the reason Bolenkar's
army had not fought them in force before, for monsters roamed the hillsides,
and the valley floor was filled with campfires and tents.
“Bolenkar
has summoned all the Vanyar here to stop us!” Yocote cried, staring down in
horror.
“All
the Vanyar, yes,” Kitishane returned. “Perhaps Masana is among them.”
Yocote
looked up, startled at the thought. Then he began to smile.
Yusev
called out something in his own language, and a young woman hurried up next to
him. He asked a question; she frowned, staring down at the horde in the valley
below, then answered. Yusev smiled and reported, “She says she sees knots of
people sitting around campfires, each listening to someone who gestures often.
She also sees other knots of men who argue fiercely.”
“No
knots of women arguing with each other?”
“None.”
“I
am not surprised.” Kitishane turned to Lua. “Would any woman choose Bolenkar's
way over Lomallin's, sister?”
“Not
freely, no,” Lua replied.
“Masana
has been as good as her word,” Yocote said, grinning. “She has converted many
of her tribe, and they have gone among the other Vanyar to preach.”
“How
many will fight for Bolenkar?” Culaehra asked.
“All,
if his monsters and his soldiers stand ready to slay any who turn back.” Yocote
stepped up atop a rock. “Let us see if we can forestall that.” He spread his
hands and began to chant. Yusev looked up in surprise, then grinned and spread
his hands, too, chanting in unison with Yocote.
“See
two men argue angry,” the Darian woman said, her accent so strong it was barely
understandable. “See one hit other. Other hit back. Them fight.”
She
went on to report the events. Here and there throughout the horde fighting
broke out. The men around the fighters took sides, then began to join the
fight. The fighting grew and grew, spreading out like ripples in a pond.
Yocote
lowered his arms and jumped down off the boulder. “Let it work, like yeast in
beer.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
But
Kitishane frowned. “Bolenkar cannot ignore this.”
“He
never could,” Yocote replied. “It has only escaped his notice till now.”
“What
will he do when his spies bear him word?”
The
answer came quickly. The monsters on the hillsides turned, roaring, and started
to descend. The gates of the citadel opened, and a hundred more came loping and
flapping down—came lopards and manticores, harpies and chimeras, dire wolves
and other monsters too bizarre to name. They descended on the Vanyar, roaring,
and tore into the rear of the horde even as their kindred were running down the
valley sides. Vanyar screamed as huge claws ripped them apart, roared in anger
of their own just before serrated teeth tore them apart.
Then
the whole horde jolted into realization—with help from Yocote's and Yusev's
spells, of course. They stopped their fighting, staring in horror.
Then,
with a vast shout, they turned on the monsters. Battle-axes waved, rose, and
fell as a hundred humans fell upon each monster, and the shouting took form, becoming
words: “Lomallin! Rahani! Lomallin! Rahani!”
Culaehra
sucked in his breath. “I must give these Vanyar their due. They are brave.”
The
monsters began to retreat. A score of them lay dead.
The
gates of the citadel opened again, and soldiers poured out.
Down
the hill they came and struck into the churning mass of Vanyar, straight
between two monsters and the men who fought them. Some stopped to attack the
men from the back; the Vanyar turned with howls of rage and struck. Most of the
soldiers, though, plowed on into the Vanyar horde as far as they could.
They
neared the center before they bogged down. There they spread out, slashing and
hacking, leaving a sort of channel behind, walled by soldiers fighting Vanyar.
More soldiers came running into that channel and joined in; the pool of
fighting spread and spread again.
“The
fools, to set themselves to be surrounded!” Culaehra cried.
“The
better for us,” Yusev told him. “We need only watch, and battle with whatever
is left.”
“Stand
ready for that,” Lua told him, and caught Yocote's hand. “Come, shaman! If that
castle stands on a hill, surely there must be a way to it through the earth!”
Yocote
frowned, then knelt and set his hands to the ground, beginning to chant. Lua
knelt by him, singing a song of her own. The only familiar word was a name:
Graxingorok.
“Behind
you!” Kitishane gasped.
“What
moves?” Yocote asked, then went back to chanting.
“A
stone! It rolls . . . There is a cave! Something moves within that cave! It is
a stone, but it walks!”
Yocote
whipped about.
The
“stone” stood twice his height, almost to Culaehra's belt, but its arms were
long and thickly banded with muscle, as was all its body. Its skin was gray and
rough, as if it were stone indeed, but its beard and hair were almost black. “Who
calls by the name of my kinsman?” it asked in a voice like the rattle of
falling pebbles. “Who calls by Earth?”
“Yocote
of the gnome-folk, O Dwarf,” the little shaman replied.
“Are
you he who aided Graxingorok?”
“I
am,” Yocote answered. “We all are.”
“Then
ask. We owe. I am Tegringax.”
“I
am Yocote; these are Lua, Kitishane, and Culaehra.” Yocote indicated his
companions with a sweep of his hand. “We seek your help in fighting those who
hold that keep yonder.” He pointed to Bolenkar's castle.
The
dwarf frowned, not even bothering to look. “Is there any true chance you might
slay them?”
“Step
forward, Culaehra,” Yocote commanded. “Touch his sword, O Tegringax.”
Culaehra
did as he was bade, frowning in puzzlement. The dwarf set his stony hand on Corotrovir.
His eyes flew open in astonishment. “This sword was forged by Ohaern!”
“Forged
by Ohaern, for the purpose of killing Bolenkar,” Yocote agreed. “Touch his
armor.”
Tegringax
reached up to the breastplate, then snatched his hand away, trembling. “By all
the earth! This came from the hand of Agrapax himself, and is newly forged!”
“Even
so,” Yocote confirmed. “Do you doubt we stand a chance against the Scarlet One?”
Tegringax
laughed, a sound like rust flaking under a whetstone. “You do indeed! Come, I
shall lead you there! But only you four, mind you!”
Culaehra
whirled. “Kitishane, stay to guide the battle!”
“Never!”
Kitishane trembled with anxiety. “Stay, and never know what happened to you? If
you think I will let you go away from me to great deeds or doom, you are mad!”
Culaehra
stared down at her, not really amazed. A fond smile curved his lips, and he
caught her up in his arms to kiss her, deeply and well. When she could lean
back, stunned, he said, “We live or die together, then.”
He
spun to Yusev. “It is for you and your war chief to order the battle! Wait
until they are done chewing each other up down there, then harry them as your
people always have—do not let them march straight against you!”
Yusev's
teeth shone in a grin. “Never fear. The People of the Wind know how the
sandstorm strikes.”
“Well
enough, then!” Culaehra clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay and wreak havoc!” He
whirled to the dwarf. “Lead us, then, Tegringax! Down into the bowels of the
earth!”
The
dwarf laughed again and, laughing, turned to lead them back into the cave.
Darkness
closed about them, and Yocote said, “Tegringax, we have folk whose eyes do not
see well in darkness. If you could—”
Light
flared, seeming bright in the underground night, but not so much as to hurt
their eyes. Culaehra saw that the light was a glowing ball that floated above
Tegringax's head. He wondered what it could be and how the dwarf could bring it
into existence so easily.
Lua
and Yocote took off their goggles.
The
way branched, two caves opening off of one. Tegringax chose the left without
pause. Culaehra wondered how, then remembered that the dwarf had spent his life
in passages such as this, probably in this very valley. Down they wound, the
floor sloping beneath their feet. Kitishane stumbled, but Culaehra reached out
to catch her arm before she could fall. A few minutes later he stumbled, and it
was her hand on his arm that kept his balance. So, clinging to one another,
they descended. They came to more branchings, but Tegringax never hesitated, always
choosing one without even seeming to consider.
Finally
the floor leveled off. They came out into a huge chamber, halfway up one of its
walls. Some strange quality in the stone took the dwarfs tiny light and
multiplied it, as if any gleam at all were enough to trigger the mineral into
imitation. By that eerie, sourceless light they saw below them a sort of
honeycomb, intersecting and meandering walls without a roof.
“It
is a maze!” Culaehra cried.
“And
we must cross it,” Yocote moaned.
Lua
only stared down with wide, frightened eyes.
“Be
sure to stay close behind me,” Tegringax told them. “I shall have no trouble
crossing through there, but if you are separated from me, you shall be lost, to
wander till you die.”
“We
shall stay close indeed,” Culaehra promised.
They
started down a series of long sloping ramps, Tegringax leading, Yocote and Lua
close behind.
“Do
you go ahead, little sister,” Kitishane told Lua. “I shall come last.”
Lua
flashed her a grateful smile. “Concerned that I might be lost? Not likely
underground, big sister—but I thank you!” She went ahead.
Kitishane
followed. She was indeed concerned, for if the others went too fast, the gnomes
might be left behind. Coming last, she could call out if they lagged.
Thus
they went into the maze, and Tegringax did not slacken the pace at all, for he
knew exactly where to turn. He threaded his way through at a constant, plodding
rate—but his legs were short, and he did not seem to feel any urgency, so the
gnomes kept up easily.
Onward
they went until it became almost boring, for the walls all looked alike, light
gray and smooth, though far from polished. The sourceless light was confusing,
and Culaehra was glad indeed for Tegringax's glowing ball. The eeriness of the
chamber dampened his spirits, and seemed to do so for the others as well, for
conversation lagged, then stopped, and they followed Tegringax in silence.
Finally
they saw that the tunnel far ahead opened out, and Culaehra said, “At last! Are
we come to the end of this maze, Tegringax?” “We are,” the dwarf replied.
“Praises
be! I shall be glad to see sunlight again, even if it shines on Bolenkar!”
“I,
too,” Yocote grunted.
“And
I,” Lua agreed. “Will not you, big sister?”
There
was no answer.
Culaehra
stopped on the instant and swung back to look. Kitishane was not to be seen.
“Kitishane!”
Lua cried. “Where have you gone?”
There
was no answer.
“She
is lost in the maze,” Culaehra groaned. “Call loudly, all of you, then listen
sharply! Tegringax, your pardon, but we must go back to fetch her.
Kitishane!”
“Kitishane!”
they all three cried together.
Then
they listened, straining their ears.
Kitishane
had been following, but lagged behind, to give Lua room—and to see if the gnome
slowed even slightly, so that Kitishane might call out to Tegringax to go more
slowly. Thus not even Lua noticed when the huge hand reached out from behind to
slap over Kitishane's mouth and yank her back against a leather breastplate. A
deep, harsh voice muttered something in the shaman's tongue, and all the world
went gray and misty about her.
She
stood frozen a moment in shock, then began to struggle violently, and in
silence, for a minute or two. Then she heard laughter, huge guffaws bellowing
in her ears, and the hold on her face and arm loosened. She thrust herself
away, feeling her face burning, the laughter still echoing about her as she
yanked her sword free—and saw Ataxeles standing there, lifting his battle-axe
from the loop at his belt, grinning as his laughter calmed.