Wizard of the Grove (46 page)

“Why not?” Jago asked gently.

“I couldn't pass,” she said simply. “In both height and width, it had been built too small.”

They traveled in silence after that; Raulin's thoughts on treasure and the battle that would come before he held it, Crystal's moving beyond the second door, and Jago wondering what could be so bad that the giant could not, would not, speak of it.

*   *   *

The next morning they got their first good look at the pass into Aryalan's valley.

“Forget it,” Raulin declared emphatically. “There has to be another way.”

“Not without going many miles. Another month of traveling perhaps. What's wrong with this path?”

“It's too . . .” Raulin waved his hands about and Jago finished it for him.

“High.”

“Yes?”

Jago gripped Raulin's shoulder. “My brother,” he explained, “hasn't much of a head for heights. Nor,” he added, taking another look at the pass, “are either of us related to goats.”

From where they stood they could see the ledge they had to follow dwindling into almost nothing as it curved around the mountain.

“Look, why don't we just follow the gorge,” suggested Raulin. “It's
going in the right direction. It's an easy walk. When it ends,
then
we can take to the ledge.”

Sokoji shook her head. “The gorge ends in a cliff, thirty of your body lengths or more high. If you wish to enter the valley, this is the only way.”

Crystal caught both Raulin's hands in hers. “It has to be wider than it appears,” she said gently, “or Sokoji would not be able to use it.” Her eyes began to glow and she allowed him to sink a little way into their emerald depths. “I would never let you fall.” The glow dimmed.

He returned the pressure of her fingers and said, “My heart believes you; I'll see what I can do to convince my feet.”

Working quickly, for Sokoji was vague about the length of the pass and none of them wanted to be caught on the ledge after dark, they stripped the sleigh of everything they could carry. Even considering the size of the packs, looming like great misshapen growths on the brother's backs, that seemed a distressingly small amount when compared to what remained on the sleigh.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Jago reassured Crystal after she pointed this out. He settled the rope holding the bedrolls into a more comfortable position on her shoulders. “We always figured we'd have to leave the sleigh at some point. With you and Sokoji helping out, we're taking more than we planned on.”

“You planned on being without the shelter?” She shivered in sympathy, warming the fingers he held out to her—knots and lashings needed freedom from mittens.

“It's only for one night,” Raulin reminded her. “The next night we'll be in the gatehouse—Sokoji promises it's safe—and the night after, we'll be back at the sleigh. Provided, of course, we haven't all dashed our brains out falling off the mountain.”

“Land on your head, you'll bounce.”

“I'd land on yours given half a chance.”

Jago reached over and chucked him under the chin. “Glad to see you've regained your sunny disposition.”

Raulin growled something uncomplimentary and shook his fist at
the younger man, but Crystal saw the tightness leave his face for the first time since he'd seen the pass.

Slipping a small bag of oatmeal into her pocket—a pocket Jago was certain already held the teapot—Sokoji shook her head at their bickering and asked, “Are you ready then?”

“As ready as we'll ever be,” Raulin sighed.

Crystal and Jago nodded.

The giant turned and led the way up the blasted slope of the Mighty One.

Great chunks of pinkish granite made a straight line impossible, so they wove a serpentine path around and over the destruction, often traveling at an angle where hands were needed as much as feet.

“I don't think,” Raulin panted as they rested about halfway between the sleigh and the rock ledge they were aiming for, “I have ever been so tired. This pack weighs two hundred pounds.”

“Old and out of shape,” gasped Jago, pulling off his hat and fanning himself with the end of one braid. He let a mitten dangle from its string and scratched vigorously at his beard; sweat was running into it and it itched. Maybe it would've been a better idea to let Crystal remove it as she had Raulin's. . . .

“Are your legs sore?” Crystal asked, squatting beside Raulin and studying him with a worried frown. She laid a hand on his thigh and he covered it with one of his.

“Crystal, we've been walking up and down mountains for weeks now. My legs are like rock.” He groaned without opening his eyes. “My back, however, is killing me. Thank you,” he added as it suddenly stopped. “Now, if you could just transport us to the tower . . .”

“I could make your packs lighter.”

“We discussed this already. You use your power for necessities only. Lightening our packs is no necessity.” He heaved himself to his feet. His undershirt—living up to its name under four further layers of clothing plus the great fur overcoat—was soaking wet and sticking to his back. Drops of sweat trickled down his sides, and, adding a new sensation to the discomfort, a freezing wind kept trying to sneak into
his sleeves, finding the smallest of spaces between mittens and cuffs. “On your feet, junior, we're wasting daylight.”

Jago sighed, put his hat on, and tried to stand. The pack remained where it was and, because he was securely attached, so did Jago. “You could quit laughing and help,” he pointed out when he'd stopped flailing.

Sokoji reached down and lifted him easily to his feet, her face grave. “Turtles,” she said helpfully, “have much the same problem.”

“Thank you.” He glared at Raulin, daring him to say a word and put out a hand to steady himself. “Chaos!” The corner of granite he'd grabbed had sliced into his outer mitten, almost going through the heavy sheepskin. He studied the slash and then the rock. “That thing's got an edge like a knife.” he marveled.

Raulin ran a cautious thumb along it and stuck the thumb in his mouth when it proved not to be cautious enough.

Jago grinned at him. “All right, don't take my word for it . . .” He glanced down as his mitt flared green, but an equal flare in Crystal's eyes decided him against commenting on the necessity of the power use.

“You'd think these edges would've worn smooth by now,” Raulin said reflectively. “It's been a long time.”

Sokoji's eyes lifted to the shattered peak. “The mountain remembers,” she said softly.

“Are you saying this mountain thinks?” asked Raulin.

“It remembers. The mountains are the bones of the Mother.”

“Why don't I find that reassuring?” he muttered as they began to climb again.

The ledge was wider than it appeared from the ground and for a little while it edged a slope not much steeper than the one they'd just come up.

Raulin kept his mind on his feet and his gaze firmly locked on Sokoji's broad back. He tried not to notice as the angle of the slope dropped away until the only word for it became cliff. He reminded himself that on level ground he had walked a path much narrower than the width they had here.

Sokoji stopped suddenly and he bumped against her.

“Give me the rope,” she said.

Jago took the coil off his shoulder and passed it up to the giant who tied one end about her waist and handed the rest back to Raulin.

“Keep about my body length of slack between us,” she instructed. “Then tie it securely and give it to your brother so he can do the same.”

“Why so much slack?” Raulin asked, trying to keep his thoughts off all the possible reasons for the rope.

“If you fall, the slack gives those next to you time to anchor themselves.” She caught the look on his face and patted his shoulder with a comforting but heavy hand. “You need not continue. At this point we can still easily turn and go back.”

“At this point? Does that mean we can't turn later on?”

“Yes.”

“I had to ask.”

“Could be worse,” Jago murmured behind him. “We could be in the snowshoes.”

Raulin closed his eyes and leaned against the mountainside, noting absently as he did that it rose up as perpendicular on the right as it fell away on the other side. He heard his brother say they could turn back, that it didn't matter, but on the inside of his lids he saw a great door of ebony and ruby, wealth enough to buy them a secure place in the world. He sighed, opened his eyes, and finished tying the knot about his waist.

Jago took the offered rope without comment, knowing the battle Raulin must be fighting with himself in order to go on. He'd seen his brother shake when he'd had to lean out a third-story window. No words could make it easier, so he offered his silent support.

Crystal felt Raulin's fear, felt Nashawryn twitch in answer, and hoped that if anything happened she would not have to fight the dark goddess for Raulin's life.

“Remember,” Sokoji told them when they were all securely tied, “the ledge holds me; you are in little danger.”

Little danger,
Raulin repeated to himself.
Not
no
danger. Little danger. Great.
He shuffled forward as the rope stretching back from the giant grew taut—shuffled, for if he picked up his feet he would be
left for an instant precariously balanced on one leg. Inside his mittens, his hands grew clammy. His heart thumped so hard he felt sure the vibrations against his ribs would throw him off the precipice. He tried holding his breath. It didn't help. His focus narrowed to the rope tied around Sokoji's waist. The knot bobbed as she walked and it distracted him enough so that he could keep moving.

Gradually, he began to relax. The combination of the slow and steady pace and Sokoji's bulk—his mind simply refused to acknowledge that the giant could fall—calmed him. Then Sokoji turned to face the mountain, her hands flat against the rock, her feet sliding sideways.

“Hey!” Raulin stopped and as Sokoji felt it through the rope she looked back over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing?”

“There is a narrow place here,” she explained. “We must pass carefully. Do as I do. The path will not become less wide than your feet are long.”

Less wide than your feet are long? What kind of a measurement is that?
Raulin wondered. And he looked down.

Down.

A long way down.

He swayed. His head felt heavy, almost more than his neck could support. The world began to tilt.

Suddenly his cheek pressed hard against rock. His arms were outstretched, his fingers trying to dig into the granite. His toes attempted to root. He didn't remember turning. He couldn't make the world stop sliding back and forth. He needed to throw up. His pack. His heavy, heavy pack. It was out over the edge. It would pull him down. He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't remember how to breathe.

“Raulin!”

Jago's voice slapped against him.

“Take deep breaths. Slow down. Make it last. That's it. In. And out. In. And out.”

The world began to still.

“In. And out.”

“I'm okay,” he managed. The rock near his mouth was wet with
drool. His muscles felt like porridge and that weakness brought back the terror. He couldn't stand. He wasn't strong enough to hold his own weight. Before the world began to spin again, Raulin ground his cheek into the rough face of the mountain and drove the fear away with pain.

“I'm okay,” he repeated after a moment, and this time he was. “At least, I think this is as good as it gets.”

“Can you walk?” Sokoji asked softly.

The laugh he dredged up went beyond strained to just this side of hysteria. “If it'd get me off this mountain I'd dance.”

He heard the smile in Sokoji's voice.

“I don't think that will be necessary. If you could just slide your left foot. . . . Yes. Now, the right. . . .”

One sliding step at a time, they crossed into Aryalan's valley.

Safely away from the edge, Raulin took Crystal into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

She held him tightly and whispered. “I wanted to help . . .”

“Why didn't you?”

“Tayja said you needed to make it across on your power, not mine.”

He could still feel the fear knotting the muscles of his back. “Yeah,” he said, after a moment, “she could be right.”

*   *   *

Doan stayed close to the Mighty One as he stomped up into the gully. Unless they looked straight down, the tiny figures on the ledge would not be able to spot him.

At the north end, where a sheer cliff rose up two hundred feet or more, he scanned the rock closely then ran his fingers along a crack invisible to any eye but a dwarf's. A perfectly rectangular door swung open, folding back into the mountain.

Muttering about the dust, he stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. His eyes were red lights in the darkness and when they'd adjusted enough he started up the stairs. The watchtower had been destroyed with the mountain, but the lower gate into the valley should still be clear. Dwarves built to last.

*   *   *

Even destroyed by the Wizards' Doom, and with all its majesty hidden under snow and ice, the remains of Aryalan's tower drew the eye. Bits and pieces of half buried buildings jutted up in the center of a perfect circle, the shore of the lake still clearly delineated by a subtle difference in the shading of the snow. From where they stood, distance blurred detail, but the sense of what had once been, the power, the evil, the beauty, was strong.

“I think we have enough light left to get to the lake,” Raulin noted, squinting west. “It'll give us less distance to cover tomorrow and we can hit the tower still fresh.”

“Sokoji nodded. That would be best.”