THE LETTERSEEKER

CHAPTER SEVEN

            Drrkla leaped from pine to birch, moving fast. He was one of the dark eschol of the slopes of Barallas: a tree squirrel black as charcoal with grey-tipped paws. His bushy tail was longer than his body and flattened at the end. It was prehensile and strong, capable of striking a sharp blow at an enemy. But seldom did the eschol turn and stand, for they could take flight through the branch-woven air almost as swiftly as birds.

            Now, though, Drrkla fled no predator. He moved with unfamiliar purpose through the growing dawn. A message had come from the rodents of the caves, passed from throat to throat in shifting modulations, mūr to vole to squirrel: dudu drrmet Hrrtha nolemi valat—so Drrkla carried it at last to the clearing in the vale where the great tent stood.

            The Night-friend, the Moon, had set before he came and the Day-fire not yet risen, but Drrkla followed a different light: the Sun of the Immortal who had entered the valley the day before, whose presence was felt by all the living things.

            Krrafllna!

* * *

            Within the tent, the Golden Wizard put the finishing touches on his handiwork. During the night while he and Mindilfir had held long counsel, Garufel had cut and re-sewn his blue cloak to fit Stoneglow Threescar.

            “Good,” He said, folding the cloth and replacing it in his pack. “—Now for Stoneglow.” He stood up and hitched the pack upon his shoulders.

            “I wonder will he wear that cape,” said Mindilfir. “There are few men, including myself, who would easily put on a wizard's cloth—even for an hour.”

            “Do not forget he was sent to us by The O'Kuern,” said Garufel. “There are purposes in him that he himself does not suspect, and he carries a learning from the Midlands we may not reckon here. When the moment comes I trust him to act, and act well.”

            “Let's take it to him, then,” said Mindilfir.

            Together they left the tent and started across the clearing. The moon had set behind the western ridge and the first grey streaks of dawn were showing in the east. Suddenly Garufel halted. “Shh—,” he said to Mindilfir. “Something's coming.”

            There was a shift of leaves in the near trees and the Hunterchief heard feral talk, chip-chip, chip-chip! But the wizard heard more than that: Krrafla—krrafllna, cried the little voice. And then a black eschol dropped from the firs and darted toward them, almost invisible in the dim morning light. The guard at the tent raised his bow, but Garufel motioned against it.

            Drrkla, unafraid, took a flying leap, caught Garufel's sleeve with his sharp nails, and scrambled to the wizard's shoulder, chattering excitedly. “What! Say you so, little Drrkla Fuzztail?” exclaimed the wizard.

            “What is it, Loremaster?” asked Mindilfir.

            “Good tidings that aid our plans,” said Garufel. “Gretta's prison in the caverns is known to the cave-mūr of Grimdale. I have only to enter the caves and they will lead me to her chamber.”

            “Vrrjhri!” exclaimed Mindilfir. “We'll have her out! ”

            “I must leave for Needle-eye at once. Come on, Hunterchief. Stoneglow's part is all the more important now.”

            They broke into a run, Garufel leading. The motion was to Drrkla's liking, for in his element the squirrel dealt readily with snapping limbs and tossing branches. As the wizard loped along, the agile creature ran across the top of his pack from his left shoulder to his right and back again, chattering still. So they crossed the stream and came to the tent where Garufel had left Stoneglow the night before.

            The tent was empty.

            Gone!

            Garufel turned to Mindilfir, but before he could speak the ground beneath them shook and a blast reached their ears from the valley's head. A look of sudden understanding swept over Garufel's face. That was the Bodla—nothing less!

            “Stoneglow! He's at the caves!” cried Garufel to Mindilfir. “Be quick, Mindilfir, gather your men. We must go to him!” Taking up his spear from where he had placed it in the tent, he charged off alone into the trees, the eschol still clinging to his shoulders.

* * *

            Threescar kept the Bodla before him, using its glow—much fainter now—for a lantern. They climbed and slipped, ran and stumbled. The fissure thrust deep into the mountain's heart, sometimes stiflingly low and narrow, sometimes wide enough for two to walk side by side. At last the passage came to an end. They entered an immense hall, whose far side was not visible in the shadows. Fairy-columns ran from floor to ceiling. The floor itself sloped a little down, smooth and easy to walk upon.

            There was a sound of running water. At the end of the slope they came to a deep cut that ran the length of the cavern as far as they could see. At its bottom, judging from the sound, a small river hurried along. The Bodla-light was almost gone, but with the fading remnants of his vision Stoneglow glimpsed the current. The flow was to their right. If Needle-eye, the exit Garufel had spoken of, was in this cavern, it would be where the river left the interior. They turned that way.

            After a while Stoneglow became aware of phosphorescence in the limestone. He replaced the Bodla in its case. There was enough light, pale blue, for them to pick their way. At last, at a point where Gretta stumbled, he realized that she was too weary to go on. He, too, was close to his limit.

            “We must rest,” he said. She nodded agreement.

            Stoneglow found a ledge halfway up the sloping side of the cavern. It was hidden in shadow and slightly hollowed. They threw themselves down there and fell into an exhausted sleep.

            A snuffling came from below. Stoneglow's eyes snapped open. He rose to his knees, crawled to the brink of the platform and looked down into the cavern.

            One of the bears!

            Not twenty yards away the animal stood silent, swaying its head from side to side. Then it turned its attention toward their hiding place. With a grunt, it began moving up the slope toward the ledge.

            Gretta was awake now, sitting up slowly. Stoneglow motioned for silence. What could he do? He had no knowledge that might bring back the power the Bodla had shown in Maegeth's chamber. His enhanced vision seemed completely gone. He thought of Jad's sword.

            It was small—but he could not suffer Gretta in the jaws of the beast! He drew the little blade from its sheath and turned to Gretta.     “Run now,” he said. “Follow the river. There is an exit at the far end.” Then he began racing down the slope, crouching low, until he came out of the shadows about thirty feet to the side of the bear.

            The bear saw him, let out a snoring growl, and rushed after him. He attained the bottom of the slope, running erect now as fast as he could. He meant to lead the bear on a long chase out of the chamber back the way they had come, but it was faster than he guessed. In moments it began closing the gap between them. Desperately he fought to read a pattern in the faint luminosity of the cavern.

            Not for a moment did he suspect that Gretta was darting up behind the bear. She could not catch up with them, so she let her spear fly just as the beast was about to flatten Stoneglow with a leaping blow, and the point sank deeply into the beast's left shoulder. It was not a death wound, but the bear bellowed and reared.

            Then Stoneglow saw it—a thin strand, barely visible, nothing like those interlaced channels he had seen so clearly in the chamber; but it was there, curling away from his swordtip and around behind him like a whip. With a cry he whirled about, letting the sword take the route it had chosen.

            The bear towered over him, its right paw descending. The end of Stoneglow's thrust came just under the swing of the paw. He drove the blade against the massive breast. The paw hissed by, inches from his head. Hot blood splashed his face and shoulders, gushing from the wound. The bear toppled, tearing in panic at the hilt protruding from its chest.

            Stoneglow reached for his knife, but he had no need. The great animal gave a last roar and was silent. It would hunt no more for Maegeth!

            Stoneglow wiped the blood from his eyes with his sleeve. Gretta was wrestling with the spear, trying to pull it from the bear's body, but the point was gripped by muscle and bone, and she could not get it out.

            Stoneglow looked at her in amazement as he realized what she had done, but he had no time for further thought, for now sounds came to them—armor, footsteps, weapons! Surely Maegeth in pursuit! He pulled Gretta away from the bear. “Come on, we've got to keep going,” he commanded, and his eyes, lit by the killing- fire, were as fierce as hers that held the wolfish light of the huntsmen. She abandoned the spear and came with him.

            After about an hour they seemed to be gaining on their pursuers, for the sounds faded. Then the passage narrowed to a tunnel, with only a yard-wide runway between the tunnel wall and the drop to the river. The phosphorescence gave out and they had to go by feel, testing every step. As they edged along, pressing close to the rock, they both sensed a deep rumbling—life in the mountain, somewhere near. It was periodic, like pressure built up and released again and again in a subterranean cauldron.

            At last a faint light shone ahead of them. A turn brought them out of the tunnel into a domed chamber. There the rumbling became a deep, booming roar. The path ended. A sheer drop, twenty feet or more into the water, confronted them. The river plunged into a deep pool below that filled the entire hollow save for the ledge upon which they stood.

            At the bottom of the pool a shaft of daylight pierced upward, illuminating the water and casting a flickering glow upon the dome above and upon their faces. There was an opening beneath the water, and through it the river drained in a violent whorl: A maelstrom beneath Barallas, Needle-eye!

            Stoneglow did not hesitate. Awesome as the path had become, he had the foreknowledge that this was an exit. Before Gretta could protest, he wrapped his arms about her waist, lifted, and leaped. The water was a cold shock. Stoneglow found himself utterly in the power of the swirl, twisted and wrenched about as he tried to cling to Gretta. He could not. His hands flew apart like branches breaking in a sudden storm. She spun away from him beneath the water.

            He surfaced amid spray, foam, and a sound as tangible as the water itself. The fur cape pulled at him. He sank, then rose again with an effort, always spinning, spinning...swept in a long curve about the perimeter of the awful tarn. At last he was sucked under, carried down, tumbled along. He could see nothing but a blinding wall of bubbles. He struck rocks on the floor of the underground passage. A stinging pain shot through his shoulder. Abruptly he was swept up again.

            Just as it seemed he could hold his breath no longer his head broke the surface. Gasping, he shook the wet hair out of his eyes and looked frantically about. He was outside the mountain. A strong current was taking him toward the shore. In a few moments his knees scraped bottom. With relief, he saw that Gretta was there ahead of him. He thrashed weakly to the beach and stumbled to her side.

            They sat together for several minutes catching their breath. Stoneglow's shoulder throbbed. He looked at Gretta.

            Her brief wet garment revealed every contour of her firm, athletic body. She pulled her hair back and began wringing out the water. Her features matched his dreams: the same strongly shaped face, somewhat high of cheekbone, with those enigmatic, tantalizing lips flushed red and partly open. Her deep brown eyes met his for a moment, but almost at once she glanced away.

            “We can't stay here,” he said. “They are coming after us.”

            “Aye, after us,” she said, looking back at him again. “But many will drown before they work that passage. We'll be gone. There's the way up.”

            She stood and began walking toward the dark cliffs that bordered the strip of sand. Stoneglow came after her, but she stayed ahead of him—she did not like to follow.

            They climbed the rocks. From the top a long, rolling slope dotted with pines led downward to a dark forest. They were low upon the eastern side of Barallas, with the afternoon shadow of the mountain upon them. In the distance where the woods came to an end was a wide grassy plain. At its center was a river, which Stoneglow rightly guessed to be the Mim.

            Far beyond the river, he knew, were the Falling Mountains. But they were hidden by a thick veil of mist. Looking to the north, Stoneglow caught his breath in wonder. The sea! There was a long shore, running easterly until it was lost in the haze. Beyond, a gleaming expanse of dark water, flecked with whitecaps. Wind blew there as it blew also where they stood, chill and sharp.

* * *

            Madness.

            The entrance to the Great Cave of Grimdale, which had gaped wide to the night and storms for untold ages, was now a heap of rubble, blocked forever. Half of Maegeth's warriors had been trapped within, most of them buried by the rockfall or killed by the blast. Others had to contend with two bears that had broken their chains and raged in the darkness. Their mistress held the bears in check no more; a smell of death and magic surrounded her frail form upon the stone seat.

            After Stoneglow and Gretta had fled and the last light disappeared from the chamber, Namon, still bleeding from the gash in his chest, shook off the daze that had come over him and knocked some sense into a few of the nearest soldiers, who found wall-torches. Sparks flew and there was light again.

            Fallen Maegeth lay rock-still in her chair. Her eyes were open in a fixed stare, almost as if she were watching the scene. Namon had about thirty men about him now, but they dared not approach her body, for one of the bears roamed near it sniffing at the platform.

            Suddenly the other bear lunged out of the dark. Maddened by the pain of its wounds, it heeded not the torches. Namon tried to form a spear-wall, but the bear came on too swiftly, knocking men right and left, killing with each stroke.

            It was Urku. He had been pierced many times, but still he raged, until a brave warrior came at him whirling a two-handed sword. His stroke severed Urku's right paw so that it hung by a few tendons from the arm like a purse dangling from its strap.

            With a terrible snarl Urku swung the other paw, breaking the warrior's neck. Namon lunged at the bear's right side with a spear, trying to run him clean through, but the tough hide and muscle prevented. Yet the wound was deep enough and mortal; Urku fell and rolled, shrieking as he tried to rise again.

            Namon did not wait for Urku to rise or die. He was sharp-eyed, and had seen where the other bear had gone. It had caught a scent and left the chamber through a fissure behind the platform. Acting swiftly, Namon took his men and followed after the bear, leaving behind their ruined Queen—and the last of the bears, alive, still raging against its chain.

            In Grimdale outside the caves the remainder of the Dark Maiden's force ran about in disarray, scarcely understanding what had happened. There were close to two hundred of them, leaderless until a sergeant named Torrsl, comprehending at last that the entrance to the Great Chamber had been closed and seeing that they were vulnerable to attack on the rocky slopes that divided the caves from the woods, began to call men to him.

            Torrsl had twoscore together and some semblance of order when a mighty warrior in brown leathern battle garb came out of the trees and headed toward them. He carried a giant's spear in one hand and a flashing sword in the other.

            Torrsl, a husky mercenary from the islands west of Dunclose, was brave. He called to his men and ran to confront the attacker. He did not recognize the Golden Wizard, but he thought it passing strange that just before they met, an animal, a squirrel it seemed, jumped from the man's broad shoulders and darted off. Then Garufel was among them.

            Yellow light flared from his weapons. Torrsl's mace was knocked from his hand and he fell backward off balance. Six soldiers received their death wounds before they learned the wizard's power. Then he was past them, heading unhindered for the caves.

            Now they could hear horncalls and shouts from the wood: the hunters were coming with their deadly arrows. That was enough for Torrsl. He got to his feet.

            Torrsl remembered then a rumor that had passed among the men when they were barracked in the caves. Ships, they said, were coming to Rivermouth from Dunclose, carrying reinforcements. “Break up,” he called. “Gather at Rivermouth!” The word spread, and as there was no one to contradict it, Maegeth's mercenaries scattered like leaves in the wind.

            Drrkla, having avoided the skirmish, caught up with Garufel and raced at his heels until the wizard came to the Great Cave. Finding it sealed, Garufel ran to a smaller entrance that he knew would take him to the central chamber by a side passage. Before going in, he paused and knelt beside the eschol, who by instinct would not enter.

            “Drrklw 'scholi Hrrtha fllnr,” he whispered to the squirrel, and a bit more, until he was sure it understood. Drrkla replied with a burst of chatter, then ran off to the trees.

            Garufel, not looking behind to see how Mindilfir's approaching troops might deal with what was left of Maegeth's army, turned and entered the Labyrinths of Grimdale.

* * *

            It was dusk. The eastern woods of Barallas had a threatening look, but once beneath the trees Stoneglow and Gretta found the walking easier than it had been upon the rocky slope. The gloom and the close-grown firs provided welcome cover. Gretta continued to cast sidelong glances at the outlander. She walked to his right, and with the scars out of sight she thought his face was not unpleasant or badly formed. Could she trust him, or not?

            He wore a fur of hunter-make, it was true. But had he stolen it? His other garb was quite strange: the weave of his trousers, the peculiar manner of his boots. And his voice carried no accent ever heard in the Narrow Lands.

            The wand, his implement of power, frightened her even though it was out of sight. It did not occur to her that he carried the Bodla of legend, for she knew nothing of Maegeth's demands or of the rumors that the Bodla had been taken from its High Seat upon the Stonemote. The stranger had behaved well enough toward her— but what were his real intentions? Neither immortal nor wizard, his magic perhaps was evil; yet it had challenged the crimson fire of Maegeth in the chamber, yea, and overcome it, defeated the very Mouthpiece of Urtri!

            Then as she thought of the Dark Maiden another feeling arose within the Princess, one wholly unfamiliar to her, for she had never loved before and she knew nothing of the ways of the heart. Jealousy it was, had she known. The stranger had looked upon Maegeth with desire. Revulsion shook her.

            He saw her tremble.

            “You're cold.” He stepped to her side. His fur had shed the water and begun to dry, so he undid the knot and took it off, then turned to cast it around her shoulders. Fear and pride together took her, and the sudden sight of those black scars! A brand of Asli-Trrgja they seemed, a warning. She thrust him away forcibly.

            “Nay, touch me not,” she said haughtily. “I am king's daughter; are you a lord that you may touch me? They say you are a man of my father's but no man of his would barter with the Dark Maiden. You hoped for me as prize? Well here I am, but you shall not put your arms about me, with your horrid cheek—ugh! Were those marks a brand of Maegeth's? I saw you lust for her.”

            As the accusations fled her lips her heart pleaded for him, saying she was wrong. Yet for all of her confusion, there remained an element of truth in her speech that struck Threescar like a lance in the heart. And now circumstance added to the difficulty, for at that very moment the after-effect of the tea overtook him, more fierce than before. Profound nausea clawed his entrails.

            He dropped the fur and doubled over, half crouched before the princess like a wounded animal. Then he fell sideways upon the turf as blackness surged up within.

            She stepped back in surprise. Was this a ruse?

            For a while she watched him. He was breathing heavily, the scars showing. Satisfied at last that he was truly unconscious, she knelt beside his head and studied his features, searching for a clue. He seemed as human as herself, though shorter than the men of the Narrow Woods, and there was something else about him—a difference she could not understand. She reached gently to one of the scars and dared to touch it, for up close she saw that the marks were not a brand but natural, the remains of a fearsome wound.

            Aye, and a fearsome pain he must have borne, she thought. But he stirred and she withdrew her hand.

            I may not trust him!

            It was growing dark now, and her escape lay before her. She took the cloak, thinking that it rightly belonged to one of her own people. Then she slipped quietly away; for she was a birthchild of the Narrow Woods and she knew exactly where she was and what paths to take.