Chapter XIV: Cleaving the Berg
The three friends expected to spend about four hours hiking back toward the rafts. Instead, after only two hours, they were surprised to find one of the rafts floating down the river. More surprising than the barge, however, was who was piloting it: Sabretha stood atop it in a confident wide stance, poling it along adjacent to the bank.
She brought the raft to a stop against a pile of driftwood just upstream of the three hikers. “Well, are you going to get aboard? I can’t hold this thing here all day.”
Jessar stared at her in wonder. She had seemed so mad before, and now she stood there smiling as if the incident with Vilia had never happened. He was doing his best to understand, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t figure out her behavior.
Stefir smiled back just as pleasantly as he took a wide step onto the raft. “Thank you, Sabretha. How kind of you.”
Ogador and the Lynx leaped aboard, grabbing additional poles and helped the Valkara push their transport out into the flow.
The sword maiden asked, “Lynx, how far is it to Jilaron?”
“If we do as we discussed at Klapek and pole through the night, I believe we’ll arrive late on the fourth day from now. I hope Almek keeps his word and waits for us.”
“He will,” Stefir insisted.
The prince nodded to Sabretha as he pushed a heavy stroke on his pole. “Sabretha, if we are to continue through the night, we are going to have to set up a rotation. I suggest we each take a six-hour sleep shift. Since you have been poling alone, perhaps you should take the first rest.”
“And how will we eat?” she asked.
Ogador leaned on his pole a moment in thought. “Hm, a good question. We used up all Ledrana’s and Jessar’s trail rations back in Galbard. I had figured the turtle people’s hospitality would get us to Plasis.”
“Ogador, I believe I saw some fish traps on the bank by the pier at Klapek. We could borrow some of them.”
The prince shook his head. “No good, Stefir. Traps must be baited, set, and then checked. We can’t afford a day’s delay to catch our meals.”
The chronologist slammed his pole against the raft and laughed. “There you are wrong, Prince. The empty traps are light enough for Silentwing to carry. I can have Silentwing place the traps sufficiently ahead of us that we can pick them up as we pass. He can also catch bait for the traps and use stones to weight them down.”
“Stefir, you’re a genius,” Jessar said, thankful they’d found a solution.
“I suppose so,” the wizard admitted.
“Unfortunately, modesty is not your strong suit,” Ogador commented.
They soon reached the pier and recovered several of the traps. Jessar went ashore momentarily to see if the gypsy was still there, but Ludar was nowhere to be found. Stefir communed with Silentwing and sent the owl on a flight to deposit one of the traps downriver.
By the time they reached the point in the river where the owl had set the trap, the sun had set. Having skipped lunch, the travellers were famished by the time they went ashore and cooked the two fish they had trapped.
The next four days went by slowly and monotonously. Poling the raft was hard work, and their schedule was relentless. The distance between their poling stations and the need to be quiet enough to avoid awakening the traveller whose turn it was to sleep meant that they couldn’t even enjoy many conversations. The meals they shared at every watch relief were just long enough to cook and hurriedly eat.
Thus it was with enormous relief that the friends welcomed the sight of Jilaron as they rounded a lazy northward bend in the river just before sunset. Over the course of the last two days, the pines had given way to hardwoods, and Jilaron was constructed in ancient, spreading oaks. Unlike every other turtle village in Galbard, Ardek was almost an integral part of the elvish city. The turtle people had carved a beachhead out of the forest, and adjacent to the village was a gypsy campsite. A tavern, The Jetty Jongleur, built out on a jetty sat just downriver from the camp.
There was only one turtle ship in Ardek, and Jessar read the name ‘Almek’ burned into the wood of the forward end of the second deck. Of course the turtle and its master were still out somewhere on the river, giving the reptile the chance to forage for its own livelihood.
An old man sighted the raft and cried out an alarm in their native tongue. The males of the community rushed to arm themselves with tridents. Soon, a small army rushed toward the travellers. Jessar looked nervously over at Stefir.
“The turtle people jealously defend their monopoly of transport on the Veinous River.”
“Yes, I’ve witnessed their defense of that right before. It was barbaric. What should we do?” Sabretha asked.
The wizard pointed to the turtle ship, where the oldest son was scrambling down one of the pillars. “Hopefully, he will clear up this problem.”
The boy ran over to the organizing mob and spoke excitedly, gesturing with the animation that was characteristic of the turtle people. Although there were several heated exchanges, eventually the villagers disbanded, many of the boys wearing an obvious look of disappointment.
The travellers poled their raft to the bank, gathered their packs, and then pushed the raft back into the current. They climbed the rope ladder into the turtle ship and reclaimed their rooms.
In unspoken accord, the friends gathered in the common room. The prince clapped his gloved hands together. “I think it’s important that I head to The Jetty Jongleur to see what became of the wounded.”
“I agree,” Stefir said, causing Ogador to look at the wizard uncertainly.
“Good,” Jessar said, standing.
“Not so fast, Lynx. You are overdue for the treatment. We haven’t been able to do it while we were on the raft.” She motioned to the serving girl to prepare the things she needed.
“See you later, Jessar,” Ogador said, smiling at the Lynx.
Sabretha and Jessar went to his room, and he relaxed on his bed.
She removed his wrapping. “Lynx, you really must look after your back. Your first wound has healed nicely. In fact, the scar is almost gone. The second one is nearly healed, but your latest ones are jagged and ugly. They may leave scars.”
“Believe me, I didn’t get any of these on purpose. By the way, do you have nothing in your pack besides spearmint? Where are you getting it all?”
She laughed as the serving girl brought in the steeped herbs and steaming towels. “Of course, Bidmaron gave me quite a bit. Ledrana gave me many sprigs back at Maili’s. I found more at Galvek, and, recently, I found a lot of it at Klapek.”
“Oh.”
The Valkara carried on her work quietly and almost seemed gentle compared to past treatments. Finally, she broached the subject both of them knew lay between them. “You saved the Yitrava’s life back there didn’t you?”
“I suppose, but I had no choice. Please believe me, Sabretha,” he pleaded.
“Stefir explained the whole thing to me this morning while you slept. You were really quite a hero.”
“I’m no hero. Like I said, I had no choice. I couldn’t just let the hostages drown.”
“Lynx, the gypsies, I think they have a tradition about obligations to someone who has saved their life.”
Jessar shrugged as best he could lying on his stomach. “Most peoples do. It is a simple matter of gratitude. It’s natural to be grateful to someone who saved your life.”
Massaging the leaves onto his back, she continued, “I have journeyed with the gypsies at times, Lynx. I believe their tradition goes well beyond simple gratitude.”
The Lynx groaned, recalling the specifics of gypsy custom. “Oh no, you’re right, Sabretha. An unwed female whose life is saved—“
“Must either become the companion or concubine of her saviour.”
“Sabretha, I’ll never see her again.”
“Lynx, I seem to remember she can make the Yitrava’s Summons, so she can have you any time she wants.”
The Lynx swatted his hand against his mattress. “I had the perfect chance to steal my hair back while she was unconscious. Why didn’t I think of that?”
The sword maiden smiled smugly and reached into her pack. She extracted a brass cylindrical censer by a fine chain affixed to a ring on its conical top. Woven throughout the heart-shaped vents on the incense burner were numerous locks of curly black hair. “You didn’t have to. I did.”
“Thanks,” Jessar said as she put the Summons back into her bag.
“Yes, that should solve the problem with that wench. Now if you’ll just avoid laying on top of her anymore….”
“I didn’t mean to, I—“
“Just like you didn’t mean to be kissing her?” She was reapplying his bandages, and she jerked the knots tight again.
The Lynx groaned. “Look, Sabretha. That wasn’t my idea.”
“Did she slip you the tongue?” Ogador asked as he strode into Jessar’s room.
“Yes,” Jessar reflexively replied without thinking.
The Valkara fumed. “And you let her? You liked it didn’t you?”
“I, no, I—“
The sword maiden stormed off, flinging the now cold towel across Jessar’s face.
The wizard turned to watch her leave. “You have a real talent for that, Jessar.”
“So it would appear,” he lamented. “Why are you two back so soon?”
“Well, the tavern has no customers. The proprietor said the gypsies came through and put the lynx symbol in front of his place, so no one’s been in. He did tell us, however, the wounded townspeople and soldiers have been taken to the Healers inside Jilaron.”
“I see you managed to get a drink,” Jessar said, gesturing to the picture the prince carried in his hand.
“Yes. It’s quite good, an ale.”
“What about Ludar and Nishar?”
Ogador shook his head. “No one fitting their descriptions has shown up here.”
“What happened with her?” Stefir asked.
“She’s mad about the Yitrava. By the way, Stefir, Sabretha took the Summons Vilia had made.”
The chronologist sighed and nodded. “That is very good, Jessar. It is one less thing we have to worry about.”
They spent the night playing Chips and discussing the events back at Klapek. The following morning, Jessar and Ogador continued the sword lessons, but this time the rearmed prince was able to spar with the Lynx, who found it an entirely different matter to swing his sword against a real opponent. The prince also affixed a stout piece of driftwood to the railing, permitting the Lynx to practice strokes on the false target.
With no further adventures to delay their progress, the travelers crossed into the kingdom of Farzal early on the tenth day. A small border tax stand and guard detachment marked the last reaches of Galbard. According to Jessar’s maps, his homeland stretched eastward only to the headwater springs of the Galbard River south of the checkpoint.
That afternoon, they all sat on the top deck. Although they sat facing east as they talked, the young boy in the crow’s nest spotted the North Veinous first. He yelled down a single word in the Civilized Speech, “Look!”
Even with his keen elven eyes, Jessar couldn’t see the intersection. To the northeast, however, he saw the North Veinous in a westward bend. Fed by the plains to the north, the mountains (???) to the east, and the great glaciers of the Frozen North, the northern branch of the greatest river in all Talan was almost as majestic as the western branch upon which they were currently travelling. Of course, the union of the two great tributaries winding to the south – still called the North Veinous due to its southerly flow – was the most impressive, a vast waterway that would qualify as a lake just from its girth.
The Lynx turned back to watch the boy change the unfathomable array of pennants on the yardarm.
Stefir saw Jessar’s puzzled look. “It means ‘All is well aboard. Request to beach.’ It also advertises the number of passenger vacancies and cargo space aboard.”
As the combined effect of the current of the great West Veinous and the powerful strokes of the turtle’s webbed feet drew the ship closer to the still invisible junction, the Lynx saw the goal of the second stage of their journey: The tip of a huge mass of ice rose above the banks of the river to the south. Next, the tops of tall wooden towers became visible.
They drew near enough for the travelers to see the river junction itself. Nestled in the southwest corner of this meeting point of two of the four mightiest rivers in all Talan, was Almudra, a frontier city of men from Farzal, characterized by the architecture of its buildings, wooden towers of previously unimaginable height.
Almek agreed to drop his passengers in this city. As the turtle approached, Jessar marveled at the tall buildings. He had never thought they could be so high. Many reached over ten stories. In the capital, some towers were rumored to stretch twice as high as Almudra’s highest.
The turtle people village Vilduz perched across the West Veinous on the north bank opposite Almudra. Standing as it did at the meeting of the ways, Vilduz was the largest village so far, with no less than twenty of the carapace roof huts.
“I fear we are too late for the Cleaving,” Stefir said, his face showing a look of concern.
The Lynx turned back toward the iceberg. As if to prove the chronologist right, the towering island of frozen water seemed to shiver and then shed itself of large sheets of unstable ice. Across the distance, a great rumbling finally reached him. The layers of sliding ice, themselves large enough to fill a good-sized estate, passed below the horizon, toward the still invisible river. Although the banks concealed the slipping avalanche’s plummet into the water, the resulting waves and showers of water rose above the earth in testimony to the singular event. Again delayed by the expanse separating Jessar and the iceberg, the noise of crashing water joined the rumble of the avalanche.
As the last of the sloughing shale-like material vanished, a second great event commenced. With the Lynx looking on in fascination, the ice mound shivered again before separating cleanly into five pieces. By this time, the turtle was close enough for the passengers to notice a lone figure standing atop the central, largest remaining fragment of the island. The other four sections leaned away from the main segment in a lazy fashion. A thunderous crack, louder than Jessar had ever heard during any storm, stretched out over the intervening distance, rattling loose railings. Then, as the smaller islands got caught up in the river’s current, the unstable masses flipped over one by one, exposing their previously submerged undersides.
Finally, the lone, stocky individual spread his arms wide as the island he stood upon sank down into the river majestically, below the line of sight behind Almudra.
Waiting impatiently for the turtle to reach the pier it was swimming toward, Jessar was surprised when a large shadow swept rapidly over the sun deck toward the east. He looked up and was even more surprised to spot a giant peregrine falcon bearing a rider and flying at an astonishing speed. The rider, wearing the traditional mountain goat fur jacket, leather pants, rider’s harness, and fur leggings, peered back at the turtle ship. The man hung below the bird from a complex sling designed to distribute his weight evenly along the avian’s musculature and to minimize the rider’s aerodynamic drag.
It seemed that the falcon-rider looked straight at him, revealing hawkish features reminiscent of his bird’s, along with a wide scar running down the entire length of the ridge of his nose. Somehow, this barbaric birdman seemed familiar, and the Lynx got the distinct impression that the feeling was mutual. The huge bird screeched a long, piercing cry, and the rider laughed and turned to face ahead.
Jessar watched the bird fly over the city and commence a dive below the level of the towers somewhere on the far side of the town.
Ogador ran toward the ladder. “I don’t like this,” he shouted.
The wizard snapped his fingers and answered Jessar’s unspoken question. “That is one of the falcons from Klapek. Grab your pack and follow Ogador!” He ran off after the prince.
By the time Jessar had retrieved his bag, the turtle, the ship winched tightly to its back, was tied alongside the pier. The four travellers waved to Almek and ran over the brow, down the pier, and along the wharf.
“Where are we going?” Jessar asked.
“The iceberg. Hurry!” the prince yelled.
The wharf abutted the river all the way around the city and along the North Veinous River to the edge of the building. As the friends rounded the turn to the south, they saw ahead a large crowd of people gathered to observe the Rending. The iceberg, still as large as four Galbardian estates, bobbed in the vigorous current and strained against three large hawsers attached at one end to bollards on the wharf and on the other end to a foot thick steel spike protruding from the frozen mass near its pinnacle.
Standing atop the berg was the same figure Jessar had seen from the turtle ship. Now that the Lynx had reached the edge of the crowd, he could tell that the person on the ice was a dwarf. Clad in a cape of some kind of dense white fur, similar knee high boots, breeches of white hide, and a wide belt made from strips of bone and twine, the dwarf was looking down the far slope of the iceberg. In his right hand, he held a spear fabricated from some transparent material.
The travellers stopped. Stefir asked one of the men, “Can you tell me where the great falcon flew?”
The burly man looked over his shoulder at the chronologist with only a mild look of surprise at the fact that it was an elf talking to him. “Yes, it flew over the iceberg and landed somewhere on the far side.”
“Thank you,” the wizard said, forcing his way through the crowd.
The friends shoved through, with many an ‘excuse me’ and just as many harsh glances from those they pushed aside. Finally, they reached the quay wall, but there was still a distance of at least a hundred feet from the wharf to the nearest ice edge.
“Very well, what now, Prince?” Sabretha asked.
“Swim?”
Jessar remembered the way the falcon-rider had looked at him and laughed. He flung down his bag.
The chronologist shot out an arm to grab the Lynx but not in time to stop Jessar from plunging into the river. “Wait, Jessar, my levitate spell—“
That was all Jessar heard before he popped back to the surface and commenced swimming toward the iceberg.
“There he goes again,” the prince said.
The Lynx swam furiously. Misgauging the swift current, he almost missed the southern tip of the berg. He hung on as best he could but was unable to get a good enough grip to scale the slippery, steep ice. Searching frantically for a flat enough area to scramble up, he circled the frozen island. As he rounded the southern end, he saw the great falcon perched on a flat shelf a third of the way up the slope. Of its rider there was no sign.
Peering curiously at the falcon and then Jessar in turn was the white-clad dwarf, still standing on the pinnacle. The Lynx turned his attention back to the falcon. Upon closer examination of the area, he noticed an opening in the ice behind the bird, like a frozen passage – probably where the falcon-rider had gone. Jessar knew that the scar-nosed man had come to steal Bidmaron’s Hood of Lendanor, just as he knew that the legendary relic must lie somewhere down the tunnel. How would he get there?
He scanned the ice below the ledge, looking for a fissure or some feature where he could gain enough of a grip to climb. Shivering, he realized he’d have to find it soon: the water flowing around the ice was much colder than the main current. Already he was losing dexterity in his hands.
Finally, he found a crack in the ice. It was rough enough to provide adequate handholds. In fact, Jessar realized as he began climbing and slit his thumb, the freshly exposed ice along the crack was wickedly sharp. After only about thirty feet of struggling, his hands were a swollen, meaty red, leaching blood from dozens of tiny lacerations. Ignoring his leaden, burning hands, he pressed on, making steady but slow progress toward the shelf.
As he moved on, a half-familiar cry welled forth from somewhere above, but muffled, as if from a distance or perhaps from around an intervening massive object. The Lynx looked up, wondering if the noise emerged from the cave. Maybe the bird had made the noise somehow.
As for the huge fowl, the peregrine had moved, perching above the edge of the shelf and stretching its neck to peer down its cruelly pointed beak at the approaching half-elf. Something in the eyes of the avian conveyed contempt for the groundling crawling below it.
Beyond the bird, the iceberg’s summit was now empty; there was now no sign of the dwarf.
Continuing up the fissure, Jessar considered how to deal with the giant bird. It would be difficult to maintain his footing in the crevice while wielding his sword. Even if he could do so, he would have a significant disadvantage trying to fight from below.
He was still some fifty feet from his goal and no closer to figuring out a better method of dealing with the waiting avian when the great bird keened a morose cry. The Lynx halted and looked up to the ice lip. The rider had returned to his mount and already hung in the sling suspended below the bird, facing down and forward. The four straps designed to hold his thighs and ankles against the bird’s hindquarters, permitting the rider to help support his weight on his own feet until the pair took flight.
The falcon spread its wings and sprang into the air. Its rider lifted his own legs, tucking them in the slipstream of the bird’s tail and tugging a strap that cinched the sling lines on his thighs and ankles to hold him in position.
Following its master’s directions conveyed through clicks and bird-like screeches, the majestic animal swooped toward the Lynx at a frightening speed. At the last instant, Jessar managed to squeeze himself into the crack just as iron shod talons raked gouges in the ice where he’d been. As before, the falcon-rider faced Jessar and laughed, unfurling in his left hand an ebony piece of fabric that could only be the fabled Hood of Lendanor.
Watching the bird fade into the distance, he noticed something that had escaped his attention: On the east bank of the river stood a large village of lean-tos. Smoke from a half dozen campfires twisted to the heavens. Although the village’s occupants were too far away to confirm their identity, they could only be the Ice Elves, a tribe of nomadic elves who made the annual journey from the Frozen North to Farzal and beyond.
He continued the climb of some thirty more vertical feet in ten minutes. When he reached the lip, he placed his hands in his armpits to warm them up. As he stood on the ledge looking at the ice tunnel, he realized the flaw in his plan: He had no light source. Why should he even go in the tunnel now? The Hood was gone. However, the Pyramid Shrine would still be inside, and Bidmaron would no doubt want that important relic. After all, it was significant to the Swordlanders in and of itself. So, he’d just have to hope the tunnel was short enough to fetch the relic by the light filtering in from outside.
He headed into the perfectly round tunnel, marveling at the smoothness of its walls. It carved straight into the iceberg. He walked over one hundred feet, and still its end was nowhere to be seen. He reached the point where the sunlight failed completely. The Lynx paused. So far, the passage had been completely uniform, but would it continue to be so?
He put his hands out before himself and continued on, deciding to trust his instinct that the way ahead would remain steady. The darkness became complete, but then he began to imagine a light ahead. No, he was certain of it. There was a soft green glow coming from somewhere ahead. Could there be a glow worm waiting for him in the darkness? He drew his sword, although he knew from his experience back in Galbard that it would be of little use.
Nearing the end of the tunnel, he saw a perfectly spherical chamber ahead – the source of the green light. He reached the end of the passage and pondered what to do next. The bottom of the chamber was fifteen feet below, where a pillar of ice rose to a level even with Jessar’s chest.
Atop this pillar rested a pyramid of gold two feet high. Embossed onto the sides in small panels were a series of images or symbols, including a sphinx and lion, although most of them were too small to make out from his position. On the side facing him, one of the panels at the bottom center was missing, creating an opening into the object’s interior, from whence the illumination was originating.
Now how had the falcon-rider reached the pyramid? If Jessar slid down the side of the room he would never be able to climb back up the slippery ice. There were no traces of handholds or any other mechanism the thief might have used. Besides, if he got to the bottom, how would he get up the pillar to retrieve the relic. Although it was hollow, the pyramid would be heavy.
Gripping his sword like a pick, he experimentally chipped at the ice on the floor. Uncharacteristically dizzy from the move, he overbalanced himself in the process, losing his footing and falling over the tunnel side.
He found himself in a heap at the foot of the pillar. Beside him sat the chunk of ice he’d chipped out. As he watched in fascination, however, the ice chunk melted from the bottom up, merging seamlessly into the chamber floor in just a few heartbeats.
…So much for trying to chip handholds into the ice. While he pondered the situation, he imagined hearing footsteps from the tunnel above him. Soon there was no mistaking the fact that at least one person was approaching. Was it the dwarf? If so, would he come believing the Lynx was just another thief attempting to plunder his iceberg?
“Jessar?” Stefir’s voice rang out.
“Down here.”
The unmistakable blue glow of the wizard’s staff emanated from the tunnel. Soon the Lynx’s three friends and the dwarf approached and stood beside Jessar.
“A real quandary,” Ogador observed.
“How did you get down there?” the Valkara demanded.
Not wanting to admit it, he stood up, grasping the pillar for support. “I, ah—“ He reeled and fell over again.
“Jessar!” he heard Sabretha yell as she leaped down to join him in the spherical chamber. With the last of his consciousness, he smiled at the sword maiden’s use of his name before he faded into blackness….
Several times Jessar thought he awoke, and each time he saw through the blurry haze a caring and lovely face peering down at him. She was…. He should know. Yes, the solowen, Sabretha. And then he knew he really hadn’t awakened. He just couldn’t visualize a caring look on her face. He slipped back into his fevered dreams more solidly.
The scene in his dreams shifted, but he was still with a female, an elwen this time. He even knew her name: Galia. Of course he knew her name. After all, he shared her bed whenever she summoned him. There were occasionally other females there, too. They were, they were ... friends of his mistress. Yes, that was it: Neighboring mistresses of other villas. Jessar was the only half–elf passion slave in the area, which made his mistress popular with her neighbors. Most of the time, their visits were a pleasure, a departure from routine. After all, who ever heard of an ugly elwen? There was one he did not like, however. She made him feel unclean. He protested to Galia, but she invited the other elwen anyway. Generally, Galia treated him well, so he tolerated the slovenly one as best he could.
But he had a secret his mistress didn’t know. He had learned how to get past the giant attack anacondas lying like a living fence around the villa. Strange, but he couldn’t remember how he did it right now. His mistress slept in late every morning, and she had never summoned him then. So, every dawn, he eluded the snakes and went to see, who was it? A wizard, it was. He specialized in ... Jessar couldn’t see it in his dream, but he remembered his sessions with the wizard, learning how to tame, channel, and control the Flux. He learned many spells from the ancient one. He willed himself to dream about those visits, to recall some of the spells, but his dreams turned down another route.
Again, as he had so often before, he dreamed of his arrival in Plasis. As he thought of the slave ship, however, it seemed as if a voice from outside intruded on his sleeping thoughts: “You have survived some initial trials. This is good.”
Jessar wondered who was speaking. As if to answer the unspoken question, the voice continued, “An interested party.”
His dream on hold, the Lynx continued the mental conversation. “Why?”
“I doubted it at first, but you may be the One.”
“Huh? What—“
“The Rescuer.”
“Who?”
“Stefir,” a voice said, different from the mental voice with which he’d been conversing.
“You’re here too?”
“Jessar!”
The Lynx realized the new voice was real and that someone was shaking him. He struggled out of his dream sleep.
A strange, wholesome odor permeated the air. The sight of the wizard’s face greeted Jessar as he opened his eyes.
He was in a strange room – not the turtle ship and certainly not his treehome. As he wondered where he lay, a movement at the door caught his eye. Was that a shapely ankle slipping through as the door closed?
The room was small, barely big enough for the single bed, two chairs, and a small cabinet. A large diameter candle burned below a small crock sitting on a wire stand. Inside the container, large red leaves roiled on the surface of the boiling water -- the source of the wholesome scent in the air.
“I am glad you are back, my friend.”
Jessar looked at the door again and back at Stefir.
The wizard answered Jessar’s unspoken question. “It was the end of her watch.”
“Watch?” Jessar’s voice cracked. He reached for a water glass by his bed. The motion sent dizziness washing through him.
“Yes, you must take things slowly, Jessar.”
“Wait, the last thing I remember, I was in the iceberg chamber at the Pyramid Shrine. Where am I and how did I get here?”
“That is a rather long story. I have a question for you first, however. What were you saying just before you awoke?”
The Lynx took a sip of the water and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was weird. It was as if someone was talking to me in my dream.”
Stefir leaned forward. “What did this individual say?”
Jessar shook his head in an effort to clear his memory. “He told me I had survived some initial trials and that I was the one, the Rescuer.”
“Do you know anything about the Rescuer?”
“No, I’ve never heard of any specific person called the Rescuer. Look, Stefir, do you suspect something or what?”
The chronologist leaned back and sighed. “Not really, Jessar. Who was this person talking to you?”
“He didn’t say, just that he was a concerned individual.” Stefir sat rubbing his knee and avoided looking at the Lynx. “Stefir, you know something. What is it?”
“Very well. It makes no sense. The only Rescuer I know about is an ancient legend from the Innocent Age. The Evil One, the exiled God, no one knows his whereabouts. The legend of his Secret Sect holds that someone they call the Rescuer will bring their God from his unknown location of exile to Here, Talan. They call this person the Rescuer.”
“More Prophecy? Stefir, if you’ll forgive me, I don’t see how I can be both the Sealer of the Dooms, the Liberator, the next chronologist, and, for good measure, the Rescuer of the Exiled One.”
“I said it made no sense. This is not supposed to be the age when the Evil One is liberated. Perhaps he meant Liberator rather than Rescuer. You cannot dream something you do not know, Jessar, so either you knew something about this Rescuer before and it is lost in all your past memories, or in your dream you confused facts you do know about the Liberator.”
“Sure, Stefir. It makes sense to me,” he said in relief. “There was more to my dream, but what happened at the iceberg?”
“Jessar, what happened before we arrived at the chamber?”
“Why do you insist on not answering my question, Stefir?”
“I will do so, but I must know what happened.”
The Lynx sighed in resignation. “Okay then. I swam around the iceberg and found the ledge beside the tunnel. The falcon was perched there all by itself. I climbed up a fissure in the ice, but before I could get to the passageway—“
“Ah, indeed. That explains things. You are fortunate you never reached that ledge. Please continue.”
“Look, Stefir, I’m tired and really not in the mood for this right now, so I want you to promise you’re going to fill me in without your usual diversions.” He looked at the wizard with raised brows.
“Very well,” the chronologist said, almost biting his lip.
“Okay. The rider came out, mounted the falcon, and flew away with the Hood. They dove at me, but I was able to hide in the fissure.”
“Not completely, unfortunately,” Stefir observed, nodding to the Lynx’s bandages.
For the first time, Jessar noticed that he was once again wrapped with straps of cloth.
“The bird got me? I thought it missed.”
“No, it did not, but your newest wounds are very clean and not too deep, sliced by the razor-sharp steel affixed the bird’s talons. You are lucky it could not strike any deeper. Now, please continue.”
“Okay. So, I went into the tunnel and tried to figure out a way to get the Pyramid. I fell into the chamber trying to chip a handhold. Then all of you showed up. I got dizzy and collapsed. That’s the last thing I remembered.”
“What about your dreams?”
“Stefir, what happened after I fell?” he almost yelled.
“Jessar, I am sorry, but your dreams are important. It seems they are the only way you are currently able to recall your past. Therefore, please tell me about them before you forget.”
“Okay. I remember my mistress’ name in Langbard. She was Galia, and I remember sleeping both with her and many of her friends from the neighboring villas. And we guessed right about the ancient elf: I did learn magic from the old wizard, Stefir. Almost every morning I escaped past the giant anacondas guarding the villa. But I still don’t know his name or specialty.”
“Hmmm. When you get stronger, another Mind Probe will be in order. Did you by any chance remember a specific word or phrase? It would seem totally alien, for the words are not of any language spoken on Talan.”
Though he tried to think back, he didn’t remember anything like that in his dream. “No, I think I’d remember something like that. Why?”
When Stefir raised his finger, Jessar knew, despite his warning, that the wizard had succeeded in diverting the conversation again. Yet the Lynx found he didn’t mind the prospect of another of the wizard’s drawn-out explanations. Somehow, magic seemed an integral part of his past, and he believed he’d have to recover whatever skills he once possessed in order to survive the mind trap when it tripped.
“Well, by tradition, mystics in most parts of Talan speak the words of a spell in the Sacred Tongue, though some shamans and natural talents use their own language. However, for each person, there is an individual word or sequence of words that must be uttered to cast most spells. Supposedly, this word or sequence of words, which we mystics call a magical keyword, is in some personal language, almost never in the Sacred Tongue. Sometimes not even the person saying them knows what they mean—“
“But what do the words do?”
“I was about to explain that. How they work and what they do vary almost as much as the words themselves. Some use their keyword to break the Flux Barrier. Others use them to begin Flux alignment. Most, however, use them to release the Flux and invoke the spell. I would say your keyword works in the latter manner, judging by the way you cast the fire strike spell back at the border station.”
“So, I must know these words to use my powers?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, you caught me by surprise back there, and I did not listen for your words.”
“Can’t you divine them? An apprentice must learn the words somehow.”
“Indeed, the major task of a master is discovering his apprentice’s keyword.”
“You’re a master.”
Stefir laughed. “I could not duplicate your master’s research! It is highly individual. I would have to know exactly what and how he taught you — duplicate his very thinking — to find your keyword. No, you will have to remember it yourself, or maybe my mind probe will dredge it up.”
“Can’t you just make up a new one?”
Stefir stopped laughing. He looked askance at Jessar. “All right, I will tell you the truth. Ever since the incident at the border, I have been trying to do exactly that — find your keyword. I did not tell you because I did not want to upset you if I cannot find it before….”
“Before what?”
“Jessar, we won’t always be together.”
Jessar tried to lean up, but sagged back to his pillow. “Stefir, you’re not talking about the blindness are you? That’s a long way off.”
“That’s wishful thinking. I have seen it in the star paths, Jessar, and I believe it’s not that far off.”
The lynx knew Stefir was serious: The wizard had slipped into informality. But there just wasn’t anything Jessar could say.
A brief pause ensued while the wizard peered closely at the Lynx. “How much do you remember about the Flux?”
“Not much more than the everyday knowledge, I’m afraid. I know the Flux gives a mystic his power to cast spells. And I know it has something to do with blood and pneumium.”
“Well, yes. Pneumium is the source of the Flux, of course. That is why it is called the metal of magic. In its natural state, however, the energy is inaccessible.” The wizard took a piece of some kind of metal out of his pocket. “Here, I can show you easier than I can tell you.”
“This is a lodestone, the key part of a compass. It is useful in some spells.” The wizard took a piece of small iron chain out of another of the myriad of pockets in his cloak and laid it on the crate. “Imagine that this lodestone is like pneumium in its natural state. You can see that this lodestone has no power over this iron. But watch what happens if I strike this stone just right….”
Stefir studied the grain lines of the lodestone for a moment. Then he struck it with his staff. He held the stone over the chain and, by slowly moving the stone, drug the chain along one of the boards of the crate.
Familiar with lodestone properties, Jessar wasn’t surprised. He looked on impatiently.
The wizard looked at Jessar for a reaction and seemed disappointed not to have made an impression with his stage trick. “I see you are familiar with the properties of a lodestone. Well, pneumium is similar in some ways. If you know how to take a piece of pneumium metal and align the grains of power as I did with the lodestone, you would have an enormous amount of Flux. That is what Flux is, the power inherent in properly aligned pneumium.”
“Okay, but what does that have to do with blood?”
“Well, pneumium is a trace metal in almost everything on Talan, including your bloodstream. You see, one of the first lessons a wizard learns is how to align the grains of pneumium in his bloodstream through mental discipline. How well he is able to do this determines how powerful a spell he may cast. Of course, the wizard grows more fatigued mentally with each spell he casts, for the grains rapidly assume random directions again when the wizard stops concentrating after casting his spell.”
Jessar began to tire, though he struggled not to let it show. Stefir seemed to notice anyway. “You need to rest, Jessar. I think that is enough for today.”
“Oh no you don’t, Stefir. Now what happened to me?”
“You have been unconscious for two days—“
“What? We won’t make it to Plasis in time.” Jessar tried to sit up, but reeled with the same kind of dizziness he experienced back in the chamber.
“Now let that be a lesson. We could not leave until Bidmaron joined us, and he only arrived today. Almek will pick us up tomorrow morning. So, you must relax and let the poison—“
“Huh? What poison?” Jessar suddenly remembered the falcon’s talons. “Wait, the talons!”
“Yes, the falcon-riders coat their birds’ claws with a paste made from the venom of the deadly Cliff Snake. You almost perished. All we could do was keep you stable and control the fever until Bidmaron finally arrived earlier this afternoon.”
“What about the Healers?”
“There is only one in Almudra, and she left to assist the casualties from Klapek before we ever arrived here. It was only the Ludrum root Bidmaron administered as a blood restorative that saved you. You lost a frightening amount of blood. He had to let a great deal of it to get the poisons out of your system.”
Jessar rubbed his side. “What about the Pyramid Shrine?”
The wizard scratched the head of his staff. “I still do not know how the falcon-rider reached the Pyramid to extract the Hood. As you no doubt noted when you tried to chip the ice, the Pyramid prevented any damage to the ice of the chamber or tunnel.”
“But how?”
“The Pyramid Shrine is an ancient artifact from the Sacred Age or perhaps beyond that. The swordlanders brought it with them when they came West after the Dooms.”
“What is its significance?”
“What is a sphinx without a pyramid?”
“I don’t know. Why does a sphinx need one?”
The wizard tamped his staff on the wooden floor. “Who knows? I do not—“
“I wish Ogador were here to hear that.”
“Now watch it, Jessar. Some things are beyond knowing. Why is the sky blue? Perhaps the Technologists knew the answer to these mysteries, but I do not. Anyway, sphinxes live only in pyramids, and the swordlanders revere sphinxes for bringing their people out of savagery. Ask Bidmaron about it sometime; he can tell you all about the significance of these creatures to his culture.”
“Okay, I will, but how did the Pyramid wind up inside the iceberg?”
The wizard’s finger went up. “Ah, that is a story unto itself. It began—“
“I’ll ask the ranger about that too, then. So what happened to the Shrine?”
“Bidmaron now has it. I used my levitate spell to retrieve it from the pillar. Then Kazir—“
“Yes, the dwarf! Where is he?”
“He is here also.”
Jessar looked around. “And where is here?”
“We have taken rooms at The Frontier Frothery.”
“But we have no money.”
“Bidmaron had enough for a few rooms.”
Jessar furrowed his brow. “Okay, but there’s still one thing I’d like to know: How did you get to and from the iceberg?”
The wizard smiled. “I levitated everyone over on a timber. Kazir used his command of the ice to carve stairs down the berg to the tunnel and froze a walkway over the river to get back to Almudra.”
The Lynx yawned. “That sounds very interesting, the ice command, I mean. You’ll have to fill me in on that. But right now, well, I’m so tired.”
“Yes, it is a side affect of prolonged blood-letting, Jessar. I used most of my powers today in casting spells to reinforce your constitution before the ranger’s arrival, so I am also fatigued. Sabretha, bless her, volunteered to take most of my watch. In fact, she left just before you awoke.”
Now that was curious. He was surprised she agreed to take a turn at all.
“Still, you would not have made it without Bidmaron. His healing lore is without equal among the rangers, as Ogador will testify. The Ludrum, which sends some into convulsions and paralysis, was a necessary risk. The elf part of you is just not as efficient at producing blood as men. Do not tell Ogador I said that, or I will curl all your toenails.”
“So rest up, Jessar, for we are leaving in the morning. Bidmaron does not want you moved for another day, but we can spare no more delay now. We absolutely must reach Plasis in time to avoid the Days of Doom.”
The Lynx dropped off to sleep again, this time untroubled by his dreams.