THE LETTERSEEKER

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

            The party from the Ashgar disembarked upon a broad gravelled beach. Garufel led them across the beach along a line of dark cliffs to a place where the sheer walls sloped away somewhat. Here was a stairway, rising into the slowly lifting fog like a ladder with its top in the heavens. Never had Gretta seen such a sight. She thought it more mystifying than the volcano of Zoak-Tschut, greater than the stones of the Gladheel downs. Broad and deep were these stairs, a difficult stride even for a big man, and fashioned of glistening white marble. And lying upon them were the guardians of the Stonemote, the Leen-Csah.

            Gretta had never seen a lion but she knew the look of one from paintings and tapestries she had seen in the palaces of southern kings. In the south such creatures were legendary and were depicted tawny; but the great cougars of the Stonemote had grey coats, the very grey of the mist of Meiush-Srrnyo, so they were near-invisible upon The Stair. Sooner than their long bodies she saw their eyes: orbs floating like a conjuration in the still air, five pairs of them piercing her heart with a steely gaze though they were not fixed upon her as much as upon the Golden Wizard who stood ahead of her. And what eyes they were! Silver with iron-blue pupils, they spoke to her with silent eloquence of ice and stone and times and purposes beyond her ken. Gretta found herself holding her breath, as though even the sound of breathing might break the spell woven by their gaze.

            Then as she exhaled again in a long soft sigh, the cougars came down the stairs and their bodies appeared to materialize out of the very air, coalescing first about the eyes. Smooth-flanked, lithely muscled—short work these would have made, thought Gretta, of the pompous bears of Maegeth! The five halted a few paces from Garufel, the largest a little ahead of its companions. Then its mouth opened and it spoke.

            Gretta almost turned her head away in a mixture of fear and disgust. The articulation of the Csahhi speech twisted the jaws and lips of the monstrous thing, oddly showing the render-teeth and giving an unexpected human cast to what otherwise would have been, for her, sheer loveliness: for the huntress admired nature's living forms and enough she knew of the languages of birds and other familiar creatures not to have been dismayed by natural discourse; but those animals of her experience spoke always according to their proper shaping, making forest-talk which suited them. This was different. Growls turned into intelligence matching her own—aye, maybe even beyond her own.

            Out of the corner of her eye she noted Dunpate, who reacted in his own manner. The prince drew back apace with a low mutter, his hand flying to his sword-pommel. Then a-sudden, he sneezed! This broke Gretta's mood and she laughed out loud while the prince stared back in rebuke with red eyes, fumbling at his nose with a kerchief in his left hand (but he kept his right at the hilts, his wiry muscles well tensed for action). Garufel cautioned them both with a gesture.

            “Peace, prince and princess. We meet here the Stairguard of the present age, Shallra-Csahhi, who with her four mates in accord with the ancient oath sworn to O'Krrn 'sa Ellihm at the Driving of The Nail, watches and judges: who may pass the stairs. For now she says that only I may ascend, or with me whoever carries the Bodla of Berainn.”

            “Stoneglow Threescar!” exclaimed Gretta. “It is he who has the Bodla.”

            “Aye, the Letterseeker,” said Garufel, “who is not with us, thanks to constant Maegeth! This I have explained to Shallra- Csahhi. She permits me to mount to the Stonemote and keep vigil by the Heelstone. It is there, if we ever see him again, that we shall meet with Stoneglow. As for the rest, you may camp...”

            Garufel did not finish. At that instant all were transfixed by a tremendous blast. It clapped down upon them from above, turning the overcast purple-black as might look a flame turned inside out, near-blinding them all (save the wizard) by unlight—Night of Arem new-come to the Narrow Lands, shocking the Stonemote above as it poured from the throat of the thing that made it.

            With a scream Gretta threw her hands before her eyes, where an afterimage of purest white flooded her vision. Prince Thierknut overbalanced as his head snapped toward the source of the fury and he stumbled back to keep his footing. His trained arm whipped out his sword and brandished it. Yet ere the edge of the prince's blade cut the air Flarann had an arrow in his bow aimed up along the line of the Stonemote Stair.

            In the dead still that followed the awesome boom, a roar rose in unison from the throats of the five cougars. Gretta shivered from spine to toe at the terrible response. At the end of it she distinguished articulation—a word more than a sentence, urgent and swift. The wizard raised his right hand. He held his spear in it, and the tip now blossomed with an amber radiance that cut sharply through the mist above.

            “Nay Flarann, Thierknut!,” he warned. “What's there is beyond your weapons. Go back to the ship, everyone. Bring men and arms, archers first, all but the sailors. For you Shallra will now lift the Ban of the Stairs, for there is an attack upon the Stoneshield. Follow us warily! Meanwhile bid Ferenth take Ashgar off a little into the protection of the cliffs on the far side of the Srrnyo. Lady Gretta, I think your father would not have us risk you in this. I bid you stay with Ferenth until we test it further. Now go!” Then the wizard turned and with the five grey ghosts leaping ahead of him he raced up the Stair, taking two steps at a time.

* * *

            So came the Lord of the Black Flame, Rillqath Dreadworm, out of the Deathmote Door into the Narrow Lands. Ice blocked the entrance as he, with Maegeth new-armed upon his back, saw it open before them; but he put forth his flame and the rime of centuries fell easily before it. They emerged into the bitter air of the southern crags, for as they left the Night of Arem sight returned —and with it space, time, and body.

            Then Rillqath spread his mighty wings as an ebon shroud against the antedawn, thrusting away from the sheer precipice that dropped to an indecipherable depth below. A wild cry of triumph escaped Maegeth's lips. The rising moon albescent shone upon her silver armor, gift of the Dark Mirror that clung skintight neck-to-toe about her slender form; and each scale of it cast the curvéd image back to the stars, so she seemed a white flame upon the black. Her hair flew out behind her as they mounted the skyroad, like a dark sibilant command from the mouth of Asli- Trrgja: Go now and destroy.

            North over the lands in the morning sped the dragon and his consort, urgent upon their mission, pausing not for food or plunder though many villages—yea, even kingdoms lay helpless before their glory. A promise of greater dominion drew them on until beneath them lay the Necklace of Fire at the breast of the Stonemote. Relentless, Rillqath pursued the line of peaks until they reached the central cone, sixth among the thunderbeads of the Falling Mountains, the towering mass of Zoak-Lactha.

            Rillqath circled thrice the pillar of steam that rose from the crater, and as the sun's first rays lit the highest billows he called out in the tongue of worms: “Heed and homage, earthfires! Even you shall bow to my might when the Stoneshield cracks!”

            In response an early breeze bent the sulphurous mist northeast as a banner marking the direction of the Stonemote. A good omen, guessed Rillqath; and he had the scent of the fjords in his nostrils as he rode down the wind from that od'rous flag, Vllkzha Nhrrn “the Flutter of the Peak.”

            Maegeth urged him on, calling out directions, but he had no need for them. He was guided by the will of Urtri. Yet he would have been better advised, perhaps, to look below him. His passage did not go unobserved.

            People there are that dwell even in the Falling mountains. Manlike, but not men, known to few save the Leen-Csah whom they worship. Shortlived and few in numbers compared to humankind, still they breed in the spent tunnels beneath those empty cones where the lava once ran. They gather lichens for food close to the hotter slopes where the earthheat gathers in the crevasses though snow and ice fall thick above. So an hundred eyes marked the Dreadworm's flight high over the north spur of Zoak-Lactha, and an hundred of the Trill, as they call themselves, drew sharp breath between their heavy lips as they paused from foraging.

            “This must be reported,” said Tt-a their leader in the Trill-tongue that sounds like the murmur of sulphur springs, and she turned her single eye, gleaming leprous white against the center of her forehead, to the youngest of their group.

            “Rt-u,” she said, calling the youth by name, “you are most agile. Hasten to Tschut-Nhrrn, to Zoak 'sa Dlltr where dwells The Lion. Tell her of this thing we have seen.” And Rt-u, obeying, passed his fistful of lichen to a companion, then turned and slipped his stubby form into a dark opening at the foot of the crevasse.

            The Dreadworm took no heed of the Trill-folk, but even had he noted their existence it would have meant little to him, since he could enter their tunnels and crush them like ants and scorch to death those who fled beyond his teeth and claws. So he came to the Stoneshield where it overlooks the high branch of Meiush- Srrnyo, and he could not see the Ashgar where she was anchored deep in the cleft beneath the fogs.

            Pristine, faultless, of a grey to match the velvet hide of the Leen-Csah who guard them, the great stones waited. For a bare instant he hovered above the circle. Only a thousand feet now separated him and Maegeth Crowhair from their goal after a flight across half a planet. Maegeth hissed against his hesitation.

            “Rillqath! I command thee now. Break the stones to gravel. Sear the inner chamber!”

            Rillqath plunged earthward as if obedient; he would maintain the illusion that he was her servant until the deed was done. Yet he grinned with evil craft as he plummeted, filled with doom, down upon the megalith, knowing that the power she hoped to gain after the ending of the Bodla-house would avail her little once Urtri could again give the Image Nameless a living form in the Narrow Lands. Then it would be he, whose Truename Shlarrth means “grief,” who would become the chief instrument of the destruction of the world, yea, bringing grief to all and having pleasure in the command of his own kind, for Urtri would fashion a horde of Dreadworms out of the crumble of the stones.

            So together, but with different desires, the Black Flame and the White came against The Ring, the Greatest of Doors whose secret kiva lay empty beneath the soil! The Nail was gone—robbed, it might seem. but it was The O'Kuern who had removed it. Not robbed but plucked back into the changing world to fulfill that suffering without which vitality must end.

            Thus as Rillqath descended many purposes and plans o'erlapped in a braid too delicate for any to read: save the Letterseeker, who, had he been there that instant when all waited breathless for the outcome, might have glimpsed the fabric's edge at least.

            Alas, he was not there.

* * *

            The east garden of Quastid's house was heavily planted, not only with exotic flowers but with herbs of great value whose seeds had been gathered by the healer over many years of travel. Many now were bruised and broken as Esnert Dimweal and his son Gaunt crept to the house wall, trampling foliage beneath their boots. At the house they worked slowly along, peering in the windows.

            “Hah!” Esnert breathed, clutching Gaunt by the shoulder. They were in luck. There in a bedroom, with scarce a pane-o'-glass between them, lay the scarface—helpless as a cradled infant. His left side was to them and they could see the grey stripes upon his cheek. He was asleep upon a pallet, no one else in the room, and there was the very blue cloak spoken of by Ushtorth, along with other gear. A pretty setup!

            The two drew their long iron knives with expert silence. Esnert motioned Gaunt ahead. Using the knifetip Gaunt easily snapped the windowseal. In a moment they were over the casement and into the room, stealing swiftly toward the bed. Esnert grinned a dirty grin as he moved and his tongue clucked deep within his throat in anticipation of the kill.

            Suddenly there was a blood-curdling scream, Shreee-iu! A hellthing with round yellow eyes came out of nowhere, dashing itself against Gaunt's face. Needle-like talons sank deep into his right eyeball while another worried his nose.

            “AAAIEEE!” A stream of blood erupted down Gaunt's cheek, splattering his vest.

            At the yulet's battle-cry and Gaunt's answering scream of terror Esnert froze for a split second, then whirled. Seeing the wild thing at his son's face, he whipped his left fist at it; but it was faster, flashing up then circling back. Gaunt had dropped his knife and flung both hands against his eye, trying to stop the pain and blood. Esnert remembered then where they were and what foul deed they had come to do. The scarface.

            He spun back to the bed. His prey had his eyes open, a bewildered expression on his face as he tried to register the scene half-awake. With a vicious hiss Esnert left his son to deal with the owl. He lunged at Stoneglow, his long cold knife descending in a deadly thrust, quick as a striking snake.

            The Bodla.

             This was the thought that slammed home as Stoneglow came to his senses. The Bodla—take care of it!

            Though he judged himself no swordsman, by the aid of the Well of Garufel Stoneglow Threescar had achieved a mighty deed: He had driven his sword deep into the heart of a beast of Maegeth. That lesson his muscles well-remembered. So now as Esnert attacked, the Bearmaster was swifter. His sword lay to his right alongside the mattress where he had on impulse left it, not visible from the window. The hand that had slain the bear flashed to it, gripped and thrust in a single fluid motion.

            The point struck Esnert in the throat just above his adam's-apple. New-sharp'd in Quastid's armory, it cut an angle clear to Esnert's brain. With a gurgle Esnert died, dropping his knife harmlessly upon the pillow as Stoneglow rolled away from the sudden bloodgush.

            The door burst open. In ran Dohan and Trask, their own broad knives in their hands, Edis and Liesa behind them in the hall. “Lord Stoneglow!” Trask shouted, looking wildly about. But Dohan, grim and cool-headed, leaped over Esnert's lifeless form and came upon Gaunt, who was flailing ineffectively at Itu with one hand and groping for the windowsill with the other.

            “Ushtorth! 'Snert!” Gaunt whined. He could not see. His right eye was permanently blinded and his left was clogged with blood from gashes on his forehead, nose, and eyebrow.

            Dohan siezed Gaunt's shoulder from behind, spun him around, and in a single move clipped him on the temple with his knife- handle. Gaunt dropped like a stone. His left arm fell across his father's corpse. But for the blood, which the pillow sucked greedily from the hole in Esnert's throat, they might have been two drunks collapsed in comradeship after a night's carousing.

* * *

            Forth from Rillqath's throat came then the unlight, the Black Flame of Arem, hurtling as a damburst down upon the virgin circlet. Never had the Stoneshield been so assailed. The Stonemote shook. It was only a shiver; yet the very spine of the planet felt it and the thunderbeads belched new flame from Tschut to Lactha to relieve the pressure. But the menhirs held. A grey flake fell from one, and that was all. Firm they were made; by magic were they placed; and untried was Rillqath's youthful power.

            A wordless curse slipped from Maegeth's lips. After the thrill of the dragon's long dive and the shock of his swooping recovery, she looked down upon the megalith from where she clung like a leech to Rillqath's neck, and saw no damage. Had she known better and expected less, she would have laughed in triumph. Any force that could so much as scratch the long-lasting stones was a mighty force indeed. That flake of stone might be the first of many.

            It was within the power of the dragon to destroy the Stoneshield now, with the Bodla gone, but not by a single blast. Rillqath beat his wings against the cold air. Next time, he would concentrate his flame upon a single stone. If one fell all would be the weaker.

            His internal furnace churned, gathering fire by the strange biology of the Dreadworm, drawing upon what energy had come with him out of Arem-deep. But as he rose and circled for another pass he looked away from the Stonemote plain for a moment. He did not see the shining figure that sprang from the mist by the edge of the Srrnyo, nor the quintet of grey wraiths who sprang before it.

            Garufel took the last stair with a bound and raced for the Stoneshield over the mossy earth. Immortal as he was, who had seen the Hunting of Berainn when the ages had scarce unrolled and watched Vrrjhri weaving in the glades, the Golden Wizard had already guessed the nature of his adversary. Now his guess was confirmed: a dreadworm! A pang struck him, not for himself, but for Stoneglow Threescar and the Bodla. Something had gone wrong, or such a creature could not have been sent again to Erta!

            Then he near-faltered; all at once many things became clear. The Image Nameless—surely this betokened Her return! Now Thierknut's odd behavior, his carping comments, and those uneasy feelings that had come to the wizard each passing day upon the Ashgar, were explained. The southerners could not be trusted! The Red Prince was noble and courageous but he had those weaknesses which suited the Image Nameless and might draw Her persistent whispering. The wizard's great heart skipped a beat, immortal though it was: To what fate had he left Proud Gretta?

            He could not turn back to see. His duty lay ahead where Shallra of the Csah and her four mates had already entered the Stoneshield. As his pounding feet took him within the coronet of stones, all else was forgotten save its defense.

            Straight to the central pillar he ran, leaping in a single thrust of his great leg muscles to its platform sixteen feet above. There he stood braced for action while the Leen-Csah circled beneath, running just within the perimeter. Garufel raised his spear, not to cast, but as a staff of power: it was ash, and might replace the alder for a time.

            Rillqath saw him then and felt his opposition as the dragon began his second rush. Maegeth saw also. Her cry of surprise and rage at the wizard's sudden appearance lent a terrifying counterpoint to Rillqath's bellow. Yet now the Dreadworm knew where to focus his blast! With a roar the flame emerged, black and curling, but narrow, a spout of lightless immolation edged by rippling luminescence where it met the alien space of Erta.

            Yellow flame sprang up to meet it.

            From the tips of the wizard's spear it blazed, spreading to the shape of a sphere half above the earth, half below, the monument entire englobed within it.

            “Helios! Esa Kel 'sa Cosulos!” Garufel intoned.

            The Stoneshield came alive. There was a deep, taught hum. The menhirs began to radiate a golden light. The Leen-Csah ceased their running and at a word from Shallra they took up positions each within the five inner trilothons, ready to spring at anything that came near, dreadworm or warrior-queen. In the yellow glow they seemed carved of gold. Then the black gout struck—and was absorbed!

            The yellow dome coruscated, marbled for a moment by dark striations. Then as Rillqath passed above the color regained its purity. The dragon cursed his second failure and wheeled in the air, readying his flame again.