Caught in Crystal

  The Sisters all started talking at once, reminding Kayl vividly of the behavior of Mark, Dara, and Xaya a few minutes earlier. Kayl did not bother to listen closely. She had done as much as she could, for now, in persuading the Sisters to discuss the problem at all. In the end, the Elder Mothers would make the decision themselves. Kayl looked across at Glyndon and saw that he had regained most of his color. She caught his eye and nodded slightly in the direction of the kitchen.

  Glyndon smiled, rose, and left. The Sisters did not comment on his departure, but when Kayl rose a moment later they looked questioningly at her.

  “I’m going to check on the children,” she said to no one in particular. “Join me, Bryn?”

  Bryn nodded. Only Kayl’s long acquaintance with her allowed her to see the amusement in Bryn’s inhuman eyes as the two Wyrds joined her in leaving the room.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE TAVERN-KEEPER WAS not in the kitchen, for which Kayl was grateful. The gray-haired man was sitting on a bench near an open hearth, telling a story to the three fascinated children. Glyndon was watching the group with a bemused expression; when Kayl and the Wyrds came in, he looked up and came quickly over.

  “Where did he come from?” Glyndon asked in a low voice as he joined Kayl. “He seems familiar somehow.”

  “He’s a villager, I think,” Kayl said dubiously. “Though he seems familiar to me, too.”

  “Listen to that story he’s telling.”

  Kayl listened. It was something about a group of magicians and an island and a white bird or a woman. “It’s the story of the founding of Varna,” Glyndon said. “I didn’t think anyone on the mainland knew it.”

  Kayl blinked and studied the gray-haired man more closely. He was clean-shaven, gray-eyed, tall and lean. His voice was deep and smooth, flowing like wine beneath the words of his story. He had no trace of the Varnan accent that still flavored Glyndon’s speech, but then, Kevran had not had an accent either. The thought of Kevran lit a candle in Kayl’s mind, and she said in a low, urgent voice, “Glyndon! Remember the man who told us how to find the Twisted Tower, the one Kevran talked to in that little town just outside the mountains? He had dark hair then, but his voice is the same.”

  “You’re right,” Glyndon said after a moment. “I wonder why he’s here now?”

  Before Kayl could reply, the storyteller turned his head, as though aware that he was under scrutiny. “If you’re looking for Penshar, he’s gone out,” he called. “I told him I’d keep an eye on things for a few hours.”

  “Oh?” Kayl frowned, thinking of Magicseekers. “Where’s he gone?”

  “There’s a woman he visits whenever he gets upset,” the gray-haired man said with a smile. His voice held a wealth of amusement. “And he’s had a rather upsetting evening.”

  Kayl’s opinion of Penshar’s innkeeping dropped another notch; after the confrontation between the villagers and the Sisters, she herself would not have left the main room unattended, much less the whole inn.

  The man must have seen her expression change, for he added, “I’ve done this before. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “All we need is a place to stand and talk awhile,” Kayl said. “The main room is a little busy.”

  “Well, if you want something, just ask,” the man said, and returned to his storytelling. The children did no more than nod at Kayl and Bryn before returning to their absorption.

  “Whoever he is, I wish I knew his secret,” Bryn commented. “I haven’t seen Xaya so quiet since before we left Copeham.”

  Kayl turned back to Glyndon. “Glyndon, was there anything new in what you ‘saw’?”

  Glyndon shook his head. “Nothing. And there should have been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The vision is always the same, but it still doesn’t feel certain. Yet normally I would have ‘seen’ an alternative by now, if there were one.”

  “Perhaps it’s the outcome of the vision that changes,” Bryn suggested. “Or the significance it has.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose,” Glyndon said, frowning. “I don’t think it’s ever happened before.”

  “Have you ever had visions of the Tower before?” Kayl asked pointedly.

  “I know, I know. It doesn’t make me any happier about going there, though.”

  “You can still back out,” Kayl said. “All the Sisterhood is offering you is a chance. You might not be losing anything.”

  “You’d still be going.”

  “Yes,” Kayl said, meeting his eyes steadily.

  Glyndon nodded. “Then there’s nothing more to be said.”

  “This is fascinating,” Bryn said. “Or I’m sure it would be, if I knew what you were talking about. But aren’t you forgetting a little matter of some Magicseekers who may be ahead of you? What do you expect to do about them?”

  “I don’t know,” Kayl said. She glanced toward the door and shook her head. “The Sisters in there will talk about it for hours; I only hope they come up with something good. It’ll have to be, to get a group this size past Magicseekers without being noticed.”

  “Our woodcraft is at your disposal,” Alden said, bowing.

  “Such as it is,” Bryn added.

  “What?” Kayl said. “I thought you were going with Shav and his group.”

  “When Shav heard there might be Magicseekers about, he decided we should split up,” Alden explained in a dry voice. “Bryn and I are of the opinion that we’d be safer joining you than traveling alone in this territory.”

  Kayl stared. “Are you mad? We’re talking about going into the Windhome Mountains and trying to sneak past an unknown number of Magicseekers who are probably looking for us. Once we get past them, if we do, we have to get inside a tower with a death spell on the door and some kind of voracious black goo inside. And you think that’ll be safer than traveling alone?”

  “Probably—for Wyrds,” Bryn said cheerfully.

  “You are mad,” Kayl said.

  “Excuse me,” said the deep voice of the gray-haired man, “but you come from the Sisterhood of Stars, do you not?”

  Glyndon turned, frowning, and Kayl saw the gray-haired man behind him. Dara was standing beside the hearth, drawing a diagram on the stone with a half-burned twig to show Xaya where they had been; Mark was leaning over from the other side to correct any mistakes.

  “Forgive me for startling you,” the gray-haired man said, addressing Kayl and Glyndon. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of your discussion, and then, of course, I recognized you.”

  “Did you.” Kayl kept her voice flat. The man was too sure of himself; he made her uneasy.

  “Yes. My name is Ferianek Trone. I doubt that you remember me, but we met some sixteen years ago in a village a little south of here.”

  “We remember you,” Kayl said grimly.

  “Really?” The man looked surprisingly pleased. “I’m so glad. It will make things much easier. You see, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Looking for us?”

  “All of us?” Bryn put in, twitching an ear.

  “In a way,” Ferianek replied calmly. “I need your help, and I think you may be glad of mine.”

  “Really.” Kayl made herself smile at Ferianek. “And just what help do you need from the Silver Sisters?”

  “There are twenty swordsmen from the Circle of Silence on the road to Glendura’s Tomb,” Ferianek said bluntly. “Alone, I can do little more than slow them down.”

  “Why would you wish to?”

  “Tradition, a sense of honor, a wish to remedy my own mistakes…” Ferianek shrugged.

  “Your own mistakes?” Glyndon said, pouncing on Ferianek’s final words like a cat pouncing on the end of a dangling string. “What do you mean?”

  “My family has watched over Glendura’s Tomb since the Wars of Binding; in some sense it is my responsibility,” Ferianek replied evasively.

  “I’m afraid you go too fast for me,” K
ayl said. “I have never heard of a place called Glendura’s Tomb.”

  “Forgive me; I forget, sometimes, that the name is obscure. You may know the place as Iralor’s Sorrow, or Iralor’s Bane, or perhaps Kalervon’s Curse. And the folk around the mountains, those few who know of it, call it the Twisted Tower. It is a fearful place.” Ferianek paused, studying Kayl. “Have I convinced you yet that I am what I claim to be?”

  Kayl sighed. “I believe you… I think. Not that it matters; it’s the Elder Mothers you’ll need to convince.” By now she was reasonably sure that Ferianek was the wandering scholar the Elder Mothers had been hoping to find; she wondered what they would make of him. “In the meantime, you might explain just what help you are offering us.”

  “I can show you how to avoid the Magicseekers,” Ferianek said promptly. “I know several ways of reaching Glendura’s Tomb besides the one I told you of so many years ago. I doubt that anyone unfamiliar with the mountains would be aware of them.”

  “Which won’t help at all if the Magicseekers have already reached the Tower, or if they come to the valley while we’re still there,” Glyndon said.

  “I am afraid the Magicseekers will not find the path as easily as they had expected,” Ferianek said solemnly, but Kayl could hear the currents of mischief buried in the depths of his voice. “I doubt that they will reach the valley before you, unless you travel very slowly indeed.”

  “I take it you have arranged to delay them,” Kayl said.

  Ferianek nodded. “Delay, yes. But it will not stop them.”

  “Then it seems we have little choice,” Kayl said. Glyndon looked at her in surprise, and she shook her head. “If Ferianek has set traps along the main road to the Tower, we must find another way to reach it. You remember what those mountains are like, Glyndon; we could spend days or weeks looking for a passable route. We’ll have to accept Ferianek’s help.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Glyndon muttered. He studied Ferianek for a moment, then asked abruptly, “Why do you call the valley Glendura’s Tomb?”

  “It is a personal preference only,” Ferianek replied. “That name seems… less ominous, somehow, than the others. Perhaps it is because Glendura’s story is the only one that comes from before the Tower was twisted and the valley died.”

  “Would you tell us some of these stories?”

  “Of course,” Ferianek said. His voice took on a richer tone that pulled his listeners into the story almost at once. “Glendura lived long before the Wars of Binding. She and her husband, Iralor, were magicians more powerful than any wizard living today, for they knew all of the arts which were lost in the Times of Darkness, and others besides which we no longer even remember. Their home was a tower of gold, built in a single night by virtue of their power. But all their magic was not sufficient to keep catastrophe from falling on their children. Glendura died trying to protect them; Iralor alone escaped.

  “All of the legends agree on that much. What killed Glendura and her children varies from story to story. Several versions have them killed by the evil Shadow-born; in others, they die of a curse. One has them ambushed by Wyrds in the Kathkari Mountains.” Ferianek broke off and looked apologetically at Bryn and Alden. “Iralor seems to have had a grudge against Wyrds, and I think someone wanted to account for it.”

  “We understand,” Alden said. He sounded mildly amused. “Please continue.”

  Kayl felt a hand touch her arm. She looked down to find Dara standing beside her, with Mark and Xaya just beyond; apparently Ferianek’s storytelling had attracted their attention. Kayl smiled. She took her daughter’s hand and drew her a little to one side, so that Mark and Xaya could come nearer.

  “It is not clear whether Iralor ran from whatever killed his family, or whether he fought his way free but was unable to save them as well,” Ferianek went on. “He may not even have been present when Glendura and her children died. But whatever the reason, he did survive, and he brought their bodies back to the valley and buried them there. In his grief and guilt, he used his magic to twist and blacken the Tower. He lived there for years—centuries, some stories claim—bitter and angry and grieving for his wife. And so the valley is called Iralor’s Sorrow, as well as Glendura’s Tomb.

  “There are even more stories about Iralor’s death than about his life. Some legends say that his magic twisted him, even as it had twisted the Tower, and so he brought about his own death. Another version has it that he was killed by his brother, Iraman, when he turned to evil in his grief and bitterness. But all the tales agree that Iralor died in the valley, hence the name Iralor’s Bane.”

  “You mentioned another name as well,” Kayl said when Ferianek did not go on. “Kalervon’s Curse. Where does that come from?”

  Ferianek smiled and shook his head. “Another legend, even more confused and obscure than the stories about Iralor. Kalervon was another magician who fought against Iralor. He was defeated or destroyed—it is not clear which—and in dying he set loose, or perhaps became, a dreadful creature that either destroyed Iralor in turn or became his servant. The creature made its home in the valley, and both the valley and the creature were called Kalervon’s Curse.”

  “I see why you said it was confused,” Bryn murmured.

  Kayl and Glyndon exchanged glances. “Do the tales give any description of the creature itself?” Kayl asked.

  “Very little, which is unusual. ‘A dark creature,’ ‘an evil power,’ and ‘a wave of shadow’ are the extent of it. Most stories are much more graphic about the looks of their monsters.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us any of these stories sixteen years ago?” Kayl said. “You must have suspected we would find them useful.”

  Ferianek looked uncomfortable. “No one asked, and I wasn’t sure I ought to volunteer. Most people don’t think of legends as a particularly reliable guide.”

  “Ignorance is a worse one,” Glyndon said. “You can make up for your negligence now. Have you ever heard of a man named Gadeiron in connection with the Tower?”

  “Oh, he was long after Iralor’s death,” Ferianek said. He seemed relieved to return to the subject of the Twisted Tower. “Gadeiron wasn’t very interesting, really; just a fairly typical evil magician who was killed in the end by a band of heroes.”

  “I want to hear that one!” Mark said.

  “You always want stories about heroes and magicians,” Dara complained.

  “Some other time, Mark,” Kayl said. She wondered what Javieri would think of Ferianek and his stories.

  “Perhaps we should return to the question of paths through the mountains,” Ferianek suggested.

  “An excellent idea,” Glyndon said blandly. “You said you knew several routes to the Tower. Would all of them be passable this early in the spring, or would we have to wait a week or two?”

  “Mother?” Mark spoke softly, so as not to interrupt Glyndon or Ferianek.

  Kayl turned. “What is it, Mark?”

  “Is Ferianek coming with us?”

  “I don’t know yet. It will depend on what Javieri and Miracote decide.”

  “I hope he does,” Dara said wistfully. “He’s nice.”

  “He certainly seems to be. Now, I think it’s time for you two to get to bed.”

  “But Mother!” Mark protested. “It’s still early!”

  “And we haven’t seen Xaya in ages,” Dara added.

  Kayl was pleased to note that, despite their dismay, both of the children kept their voices low. She was tempted to give in as a kind of reward, but she knew it would be unwise. “We’re going to have to leave before sunrise,” she said, trying to sound gentle as well as firm. “I don’t want you half-asleep on the trip.”

  Before Mark and Dara could resume their pleading, Xaya said, “Mother?” Both Bryn and Alden turned, and Xaya said, “Kayl is sending Dara and Mark to bed, and I wondered whether you’d decided anything.”

  Bryn sighed and glanced at Kayl. “Not yet, dear. In the meantime—Kayl, would it be too
much trouble to let mine spend the night with yours? It might turn out to be convenient.”

  “Oh, yes, Mother, please!” Dara said.

  Kayl hesitated, then nodded. “But only if you go up to bed right now,” she said.

  “Oh, we will,” the children chorused, and trooped out of the kitchen.

  “They’ll be awake half the night, talking,” Kayl said, shaking her head.

  “But they’ll be determined not to show it in the morning,” Alden pointed out.

  They rejoined Glyndon and Ferianek, who had moved to the hearth and were using Dara’s discarded twig to draw maps of their own on the gray stone. Halfway through Ferianek’s explanation, Barthelmy walked into the kitchen, frustrated and fuming over the endless repetition of the Sisters’ discussion. When Kayl gave her a summary of Ferianek’s story, she insisted on summoning Javieri at once, and the whole thing had to be gone over again.

  Javieri listened with a carefully neutral expression to the various suggestions, then nodded thoughtfully. “We seem to have little choice,” she said, echoing Kayl’s earlier observation. “Still, at least now we know how many Magicseekers we have ahead of us.”

  “Then you agree?” Barthelmy said.

  “I do, but there are still the others to convince.” Javieri glanced around the kitchen. “I think it would be best if I was the one to present this suggestion to them.”

  Kayl saw Glyndon’s mouth twist in a wry smile as he joined the rest in nodding agreement. “Very good,” Javieri said. She looked at Ferianek. “Will you come and tell us your stories; if I send for you in a few minutes?”

  “I would be glad to,” Ferianek said.

  As Javieri started to leave, Alden stopped her and said something in a low voice. Javieri nodded and went out. Alden came back to the little group by the hearth, looking smug.

  Kayl studied him. “You aren’t still seriously thinking about coming with us, are you?”

  “If you’re willing to have us, yes,” Alden replied.

  “Why?”

  Bryn gave Alden a fierce grin. “I told you she would insist on knowing. We’re taking a chance, Kayl. The last half-reliable rumor we heard put a city of Wyrds somewhere in the north end of the Windhome Mountains. We’ll be heading in that direction in any case.”