"It's not that," Ergo answered, hastening to soothe any injured feelings. "Only that I could not think of allowing my Lord Colwyn to place himself in danger where I could not be of assistance to him."
"Aye, I see your point," said Kegan. "One never knows when one might encounter a band of Slayers who could be terrified into submission by the sight of a hysterical pig." The other escapees joined in his laughter.
With great dignity Ergo turned and followed the others. "It is also clear that my advice is not appreciated by those of lower intelligence." This last was whispered aloud only when he was well out of sword reach.
Colwyn sighed indulgently. "Very well. We four will go." He looked to Ynyr.
"As you wish. It will not matter once we are inside."
Ergo didn't like the sound of that but saw no way of backing down. He was committed to whatever lay inside. Out of the tart into the pie pan, he thought. Better the other way around. Oh well, glory awaits. But he took care to stay well behind Colwyn and Ynyr. There was no point in rushing on to glory.
A modest hike brought them to an open place before a sheer cliff. Ergo took a moment to try ingratiating himself further with the leader of the escaped prisoners.
"He marches us straight toward the sheer face of the rock." He nodded at Ynyr. "The old man has raisins in his braincase."
"And you have fruit on the brain," Torquil replied. "You and I should have such raisins." He stopped and put out a restraining arm, which knocked the breath from the smaller man. "Hold. See? Some magic is about to happen."
Ergo stared. Ynyr stood at the foot of the cliff, waiting patiently and doing nothing. "What magic? He stands like one paralyzed. That is not magic. Constipation, perhaps, but not magic."
Torquil glared at him. "You have no respect for your elders."
"I never got anything from my elders except beatings and bad advice." He gestured at the motionless Ynyr. "Why should I look differently on this one?"
As he spoke, the face of the cliff began to change. Sheets of flowing green appeared, a bright wash of color that covered a portion of the bare rock. Ynyr stepped forward . . . to be swallowed up by the waterfall as though the stone beyond had vanished. Colwyn followed. Torquil glanced meaningfully down at his companion.
Ergo shrugged. "All right, so that's a good reason. I didn't see him do anything, though." But the condition of his belly belied his words as he watched the disdainful Torquil disappear into the green cascade.
First you threaten to turn a king into a toad and now you dispute a true wise man's knowledge. It was a wonder he was still alive.
For several moments he debated whether to follow or return to the camp. As he hesitated, he fingered the interior of a pocket. He was already out of gooseberries. Nothing to live for, then.
Cursing under his breath at having fallen in with such a group of visionaries and thieves, he reluctantly hurried to catch up with the others.
"Mad," he mumbled as he stepped anxiously into the waterfall. "They're all mad."
VI
Inside they found themselves walking down a passageway lit by the same cool green glow that had suffused the waterfall. It led inward and down. The slope was gentle.
Colwyn was glad of the coolness. He'd recently found himself inside a mountain cave where the air was considerably less hospitable. Clearly this place was nothing like the cavern of the glaive. There was no steam, no sign of lava or stink of sulfur. The temperature stayed pleasant as they walked, though he wondered at the complete absence of any breeze.
The tunnel made a sharp turn to the right and opened onto a spacious chamber that had been hollowed from the rock by some unknown force. Light penetrated from above, so bright that its source could not be discerned. The walls and ceiling were smooth and relatively featureless. Colwyn could not tell if the chamber had been formed by natural forces or the hand of man.
The room was sparsely decorated. A few draperies and hangings, utensils and plates of common shape and manufacture. On a simple seat sat an old man whose gaze seemed to be elsewhere. Colwyn advanced, his eyes never leaving the white-bearded figure. He noted the way the eyes twitched absently, never focusing on anything in particular.
Seer or not, this old man would seek his visions without the aid of normal sight. He was quite blind. Close by sat a young boy whose eyes never left the visitors. The child's movements were short and quick. Colwyn thought of the cats that infested Turold Castle. Here in this boy they surely had a quiet, two-legged relation.
The stone that rested before the old man elicited a gasp of admiration from Torquil, professional reliever of other men's possessions that he was. The emerald glowed with a powerful inner light and was no less than the size of the old man's head. Colwyn suspected that it was not the ordinary stone of Torquil's avaricious dreaming but rather a colorful manifestation of much more, just as its owner's vision extended into realms other men saw only as darkness and mystery.
The old man's hands moved through a picture hovering above the pulsating gem: the image of four wanderers. Colwyn had no difficulty recognizing his companions and himself. The wrinkled fingers swept easily through the image like birds through a cloud, without altering or distorting it. Unable to sense their presence with his eyes, the seer was tasting of his visitor's essence via means they could not fathom.
"I recognize an old friend," he said softly. Ynyr motioned for Colwyn and the others to wait. He stepped forward toward the seer. The boy watched carefully.
"A fellow student of knowledge," the seer continued, his fingers picking at smoke.
Ergo and Torquil did not have to be ordered to stay back. Such activities gave the prosaic thief the shivers, while Ergo finally allowed himself to relax. Torquil moved off by himself, intent on the bright crystals that poked from the rocks.
A voice drew Ergo's attention. "My name is Titch." The boy had come up quietly alongside him. He offered milk in a cup. Ergo accepted with thanks, though wishing for something stronger as he watched the two wise men.
"Greetings, friend of my youth," said Ynyr. "I see that your seeing is little changed."
The seer's smile widened slightly. "Alas, I see that which others cannot see, and would gladly trade all for the ability to see as they do. Such is not my fate, however. How may I assist you?"
Ynyr took a deep breath. Friend or not, the seer still abided by certain rules and restrictions. Would he aid them, even if he could?
"We seek the Black Fortress."
The seer nodded as if acknowledging something beyond their ken. "I suspected it was no simple request that brought you this far. Such a vision will be opposed. This is not the kind of request I expected from you, old friend. The Black Fortress, you say. Who seeks it?"
"The new king."
"King of what?"
"Of Turold and Eirig and perhaps a greater realm still . . . if fortune travels with us."
"A capricious traveling companion indeed. As for this new king you speak of, I know him not."
Colwyn stepped forward to stand next to Ynyr. "I am here, espier of the distant mysteries. Ynyr serves me and my purpose."
"Ynyr serves no man, be he king or commoner," said the seer with a knowing smile that made Colwyn wonder, "but while your reasons may differ, I see that your purposes are the same." Colwyn did not comment. Let the seer believe what he wished. All Colwyn wanted was the way to Lyssa.
"He does not speak," said the seer.
"For a young man he is wise," Ynyr said.
"Very well then. I will seek the Fortress for you." He pushed back his sleeves and leaned forward to press both hands tight against the emerald . . . if emerald it was. Torquil was no longer so certain. There was a hint of something else about the stone. Could it be another substance made to look like an emerald? A roundabout way to hide a secret.
As he stared, the irregular green object began to spin on its axis. A deep whir emerged from green depths. It reminded Torquil of a waterwheel at flood time. Soon it was rotating rapidly enou
gh to make him dizzy and he found he had to turn his gaze away from it.
A shape was close at his side and he had to force himself not to jump. Damn, but the boy could move quietly!
Titch held the stoneware pitcher. Irritated at his nervousness, Torquil declined a refill. The boy turned to Ergo, repeated the offering.
"Milk gives me gas. Can't handle too much of the stuff," Ergo explained. "Got any sugar balls?"
"No."
"Gumdrops? Caramel ladies? Chocolate strings or honey-dew squares?"
"No, sir," said Titch apologetically.
Ergo looked displeased. "What kind of boy are you? Boys always have candy. Though perhaps I am asking too much. This is no normal home for a child. I should not be surprised that you have no access to sweets."
The boy thought a moment, then brightened, eager to please. He fumbled in a pocket. "I have a cinnamon bar."
"Ah, sweets in a sour place after all." A beatific smile spread over Ergo's face. Titch held the bar out to his guest but Ergo shook his head.
"Your hospitality is admirable for one so young, but I will not take all your candy. Share and share alike's my motto." Having said this, he extended a hand.
Titch grinned and broke the bar in two. Ergo's graciousness did not prevent him from taking the larger half and popping it into his mouth.
"Thank you, boy. My stomach was growing tired of naught but healthful food. For that boon I will tell you my full name. I am"—he hesitated, chewing and trying not to mumble the words—"Ergo the Magnificent. Short in stature, tall in power, narrow of purpose, wide of vision." He looked at the boy. "What do you think of that, eh?"
"That is very impressive, sir," Titch admitted.
"I should hope so." Ergo smiled contentedly as he masticated the spicy remnants of the cinnamon bar.
The boy glanced away, embarrassed. "I am Titch."
"So you said. Not impressive, but adequate." The boy looked pleased and Ergo beamed at him. He was thoroughly enjoying his favorite role—that of the powerful but benign dispenser of small favors.
Being somewhat less than interested in this wordplay, Torquil had moved off to one side. He'd set his cup on the floor and checked to make certain no one was watching him. Now was the time to check out something that had intrigued him since they'd first entered the seer's cave.
He still was not certain of the composition of the massive green object that spun in the air before the seer, but as to the nature of many similar small shapes lining the walls he was more confident. He pried at them with his knife and was gratified to find that they came free of their binding matrix with ease. Ignoring the magic the old men played at he pleasured himself by filling his pockets with the long, vitreous emerald crystals.
Now the seer seemed to be staring intensely at nothingness. The great emerald was a wild blur in the center of the chamber, its outlines no longer distinct, its substance malleable. Sparks shot between the old man's fingers and the rotating mass. Colwyn watched in awe and thought of small lightning. His vocabulary did not contain the words necessary to describe what he was seeing, but he was certain of one thing: there was great power at work here, ancient power, power of the sort Ynyr had casually alluded to during their journey. Power enough, perhaps, to surprise even the Beast at rest in his Fortress.
An image began to form above the explosively rotating green mass, changing and contorting as it began to coalesce, gathering strength and outline. Colwyn watched as walls and towers of alien design began to take shape. They had not been designed by human hands, to please human eyes. They were constructed of the maybe-stone that teased the senses.
As the seer leaned toward the emerald blur, it seemed certain that the lightning must consume his hands. Suddenly an inhuman scream of rage erupted from within the green. A black claw emerged from nowhere to shatter emerald and image alike. It followed both into oblivion.
The violence of the confrontation had sent the seer tumbling backward. Fragments of green-tinged electricity hung for long seconds in the air. Colwyn ignored the sharp fragments of green that had gone flying as he rushed to help the old man.
"Are you hurt?"
"No." The seer reached up and accepted the leverage of Colwyn's arm. His smile was grim. "Am I cut or otherwise injured where I cannot see?"
Colwyn looked him over. "No. By some miracle the splinters missed us all." Ynyr's smile told him that the fact they had not been cut to ribbons had nothing to do with any imagined miracle.
The seer dusted himself off as he spoke. "The Beast does not like curious humans poking into his private affairs. This in itself is a challenge to his mortality and the veil of omnipotence he chooses to wear. I was not quite able to pinpoint the location of the Fortress, I am sorry to say, but at least we have managed to upset his day. That alone was worth the intervention."
"His power is too great for you to overcome?" Ynyr asked.
"Yes. Here." The seer gestured toward the center of the chamber and the remnants of the emerald mass. "This was but a poor device, incapable of sharp focus over a long distance. There is better, and it reposes in a place where his power cannot reach, where old shields still function."
"The Emerald Temple," Ynyr murmured, nodding knowingly. "I was told when still young that it had been reduced to the status of a myth."
"No. It exists still, the best protected relic of our golden age, my friend. In that place he cannot oppose my vision."
"By going there we risk exposing its location to him."
"I think it worth the risk," the seer replied, "if this young man is truly the one king you speak of."
"He is that," said Ynyr, "and more. We go to rescue his bride-to-be."
"Ah, that would be the Lady Lyssa. Yes, that is worth the risk."
Colwyn listened carefully to this elderly dialogue. There was much hidden meaning here, if only one possessed the wits to unlock the secrets these old men discussed. Alas, real knowledge lay buried beneath a flurry of half-truths and partial revelations.
"Will you travel there with us. then?" Ynyr inquired
"It lies deep within the Wyn-nah-Mabrug, the Great Swamp, where the earth itself consumes unlucky travelers. It is a long time since I trod the way."
"Our need is great. You have already acknowledged that it is worth the risk," Colwyn said, pressing for a decision.
"No need to fret, my young king." The seer rose from his seat. "Having agreed with your purpose, I must fit my own feelings to your needs. Of course I will accompany you." He turned. "Titch, prepare my things." The boy nodded and disappeared into a side tunnel. The seer listened to his haste and smiled.
"A quiet boy, an orphan I took in when no others would. He is fleet of foot and mind and has the sense to listen when most his age do naught but chatter incessantly. He has been useful to me. In return, I care for his needs and do my poor best to educate him." He turned away from his guests, murmuring softly. "Education escapes those who are not of a mind to listen. Such see only what they wish to see."
Torquil nodded dutifully at this wisdom while making certain his recent crystalline acquisitions remained hidden behind his back.
Bare mountainsides and dead woods, cloying fog and valleys aflame, and now this, Colwyn mused as they approached the edge of the Wyn-nah-Mabrug. Surely somewhere on Krull there was a land of soft green hills and clear skies, where the people went about their daily tasks contentedly and tragedy did not mar their every thought. He longed for such a sanctuary even as he knew such restfulness was not for him. Not while Lyssa remained a prisoner and bands of Slayers roamed the land with impunity. Someone had to do something. He had not chosen this path. It had chosen him.
He was more right than he knew.
The seer raised a hand for the party to halt. "We must dismount here, at the edge of the Great Swamp. The ground is too treacherous to support the weight of horses."
Hands helped him down, moved to assist the somber Titch. As the horses were being tethered, a brooding Kegan walked over to whisp
er to Torquil.
"We went to a lot of trouble to get those horses. Ten to one they won't be here when we get out of that." He nodded sharply toward the swamp ahead, "If we get out."
"Come now, my friend," Torquil murmured softly, "do you think old Torquil would lead you on a journey without profit? Don't worry about the horses. We can buy more if necessary."
"There has been much talk of driving off the Slayers and of saving the land, of destinies and duties. I agreed to come along with that 'king' because it seemed meet to do so at the time, and because you made the decision. But in my heart I long for a visit to some city where we may again lighten the purses of those fat citizens who would keep our faces in the dirt."
"Those days will come again, my friend, if we lose our promised pardon. Meanwhile take heart. All is not as bleak as it may appear."
"Is it not?" Kegan let out a derisive snort. "So far all I see are losses and the potential of more."
Torquil slipped a hand into one back pocket and felt of the slim, cool shapes lying there. "Patience, Kegan, patience."
The other thief noted Torquil's tone as well as the movement of his hand. "Now, what secret would you be toying with there, good Torquil?"
"Not one to reveal here and now," came the reply. He nodded over to where Colwyn was in discussion with the two wise men. "There are eyes here that might frown on a little harmless work." With that he moved away, leaving a frustrated but intrigued Kegan to wonder what his chief was talking about.
"Ah, my friends," Torquil said pleasantly as he approached the triumvirate, "how are we to proceed? The day will not wait on us and I'd as soon spend as few nights as possible in such a place."
The seer raised a hand and pointed into the morass. "The temple lies near the center of the swamp, which comes very near dry land here. The place we seek is marked by three trees that grow as one." He reached out and placed a hand on Titch's shoulders. "Many's the time I've instructed the boy on its location, so it should not be lost should anything happen to me. He knows the way as well as I."
"You ask us to follow the lead of a blind man and a boy," Torquil muttered to Colwyn. "You ask much."