"Try. You are only a very little under his power, child—you can still free yourself if only you want to."
Aeriel moaned in despair. "But I do not want to," she faltered. "I want to go to him. I want to spend all my life in his service. I want to die for him."
"Once you wanted to kill him," the duarough said.
Aeriel closed her eyes and whispered, "Yes." That also was true.
"And would you leave the wraiths to their fate of death?" the duarough said.
Aeriel shook her head. "No. No."
"Then you must not let him take you."
"Listen," cried the vampyre, frustration beginning to override the honey in his tone. "You needn't fear about the bats and the lizards. I won't catch them anymore if you don't want...." His voice broke suddenly with rage and he shouted, "Where are you, you worthless little drudge? Come out now so I can kill you. How dare you resist me? Obey!"
Aeriel was shaking. She could not move.
"Why?" the darkangel roared. His voice rose and trembled. "Why have you done this to me? Telling me tales, sending me dreams-^lies! They are all of them lies. Tell me no more of them...."
He broke off suddenly. The timbre of his voice changed, grew frantic. He was not speaking to her anymore.
"No, go away. Go away," he said in a frightened whisper. "I don't want to think about you anymore. I left you behind a long time past. Why have you come back? Go away!"
Silence. For a moment Aeriel could hear nothing but the fire snapping and her own uneven breathing.
"What is it?" she breathed.
"His dreams," said the duarough softly.
"Don't come near me!" shrieked the vampyre. "Don't look at me. Don't touch me. I am the master here. You must obey me. Obey me...."
His voice trailed off into a wail. Aeriel was shaking so hard she could scarcely speak.
"I," she said. "I have done this to him."
The duarough shook his head. "He has done this to himself. What you have done, and will do, may be..."
"I want to go to him," said Aeriel.
"Do not," said the duarough sharply. "Even now he is treacherous and dangerous."
"He weeps," said Aeriel.
The duarough shook his head.
"I can hear him," she insisted.
"He has no blood," the duarough said, "nor tears. He is baiting you."
"You are wrong," answered Aeriel. "I think he truly suffers."
"That may be," the duarough told her. "But he will recover."
Aeriel listened to the vampyre's dry sobbing. He moaned.
"Leave me. Let me be. Why do you haunt me so? I want no more dreams, no dreams.
Please..."
Aeriel put her hands to her ears and sank down. "I cannot stand this anymore. Stop my ears."
The duarough came forward, the beeswax in hand. The wax was hot and soft in her ear.
He pressed it into place, then turned her head to reach the other. He pulled off a piece of wax from the lump, but before he could put it in, the icarus called again, from farther away than before. She heard him limping upstream along the bank. His voice shook a little, but that was all. He was trying to sound pleasant.
"Where are you?" he cried. "Come out. There's no need to be afraid___"
Aeriel let the duarough press the warm wax into her ears, and then all was quiet.
HOW LONG SHE MIGHT HAVE DOZED,
Aeriel could not tell. When she awoke, the duarough was taking the wax from her ears. The great book lay open on the sand across from her; itspages were covered with many rows of runes, and the illuminated picture of a great snowy heron. The small white fire flickered as before—it never seemed to burn down, and she had never seen the duarough add kindling to it. When his careful, stubby fingers had gotten most of the warm wax from her ears, she could hear it snapping quietly now and again.
"Is it safe?" she said, sitting up and taking the last bits of beeswax from her ears herself.
Her mind was clear now, no longer under the dark-angel's spell. She felt stronger, and more sure.
"Safe enough for the moment, I should think," the duarough replied. "He has gone off upstream into the higher caves. I have closed a few passages and opened others to confuse him. I think he will be lost up there for a while yet. Are you hungry? Here, eat this."
He produced from one of his many hidden pockets a large white mushroom—one of the many that grew in the caves. Aeriel took it gladly. It was fluffy as angelfood, but at the same time very filling. The duarough went back over to the fire and knelt beside his book. Aeriel gazed at the illuminated picture of the heron while she ate, and wondered what it signified.
"I have done some reading while you slept," the duarough said, "and have made something for you. Come and I will show you."
He rose and walked past her then to the door behind the partition. Aeriel followed hesitantly, half-expecting the vampyre to stand concealed just beyond the corner, ready to snatch them the moment they emerged. But no vampyre lurked. As they came through the door and walked down to the water, Aeriel saw moored to a stake driven in the sand a tiny skiff, shallow as a marsh boat, made of something pearly and translucent like horn or shell, with a heron's bust—head dipped, wings outspread—carved as figurehead upon its prow. The craft had a single tiny sail, so light that even the slight cave wind swelled it so the craft bucked and danced in the water like an eager horse.
"She is so beautiful," said Aeriel, drawing toward the little vessel like a moth to light. She knelt and laid her hand upon its slender prow. The skiff bobbed and rubbed her hand exacdy like a pony. "What is her name?"
"I have christened her
Wind,"
said the duarough, "
IVind-on-the-lVater,
in hope that she will bear you as swiftly as her name."
"Bear me?" said Aeriel. "I am not going___"
"But you must, child; don't you see? The icarus will kill you if you stay."
Aeriel shook her head and stroked the little ship sadly. "I cannot leave here. I am in his power, yes, but I have sworn to rescue the wraiths."
"He will not let you," said the duarough. "Believe me; your only hope to save them lies in going now and doing as I say."
Aeriel looked at him a long moment. Half her heart went out to the little vessel, yearned to go skipping away across the water, but the other half still longed after the darkangel, and wished never to leave him.
"You are not just sending me to safety, then."
The duarough shook his head. "No safety lies in this departure, Aeriel."
"You have a task for me to perform."
This time he nodded. "You must sail downriver through all the caves and under the plains till you come to the gorge where the river emerges. This will put you miles from the castle, and far from the eyes of the gargoyles—oh yes, daughter: well fed no less, they'd bite the hand that's fed them—raise the alarum if you left in their sight. When you come to the gorge, you must leave the boat and traverse the plains and the sanded desert."
He paused for a moment, took breath in order to collect himself. His words were hurried.
Aeriel listened.
"It will be a long trek," he told her. "I know not how long it will take you—many day-months and many to return. You must walk toward Oceanus, walk over the dunes until the Planet hangs directly above you in the heavens and you stand at the center of the world. There you must seek after the starhorse—he of the strong hoof, undying. Bring back what you may of him, for it is by the hoof of the starhorse that the icarus will fall.
Come now, say me the riddle again, that I may know that you have it fast in your mind."
Aeriel recited the rime to him then, and indeed it was as clear in her memory as if she had known it since childhood:
"On Avaric's white plain,
where the icarus now wings
To steeps of Terrain
from tour-of-the-kings,
And damoiels twice-seven
his brides have all become:
Afar cry from heaven
and a long road from home
—
Then strong-hoof of the starhorse
must hallow him unguessed
If adamant's edge is to plunder his breast.
Then, only, may the Warhorse
and Warrior arise To rally the warhosts, and thunder
the skies."
The little man folded his arms and nodded as he listened.
"Well enough, then. Good, child. Do not forget it." He unfolded his arms. "Now, as I told you, I do not know how long this journey will take you. I shall try to delay the vampyre, and I shall send you a helpmate if I can." He started. "Oh, I almost forgot."
He reached into one of his many hidden pockets and pulled out a little sack of black velvet, drawn together at the top with a drawstring. He handed it to her.
"I have put ample provisions in there for your journey," he said.
Aeriel gazed at the bag in bewilderment. It lay light and limp in her hand. "But it's empty," she said.
The duarough smiled. "Not so. Pull it open and look inside."
Aeriel did so. The interior was black and filled with nothing.
"Now close your eyes and reach inside," the duarough instructed.
Aeriel obeyed. She felt something smooth and round, the size of a fist. She pulled it out.
It was a pale golden fruit.
"Reach in again," the duarough told her.
This time Aeriel pulled out an oyster, still damp and cold in its shell. Bidden again by the duarough, she reached in once more and pulled out a handful of almonds. Again—a steamed crayfish wrapped in rushes. Again—a bunch of white grapes. She looked at the duarough. He smiled modestly, blushing a trace.
"Oh yes, my dear, I am a bit of a magician. One can't help but learn a thing or two in—"
A shout interrupted him, and then a crash far upstream, several chambers away. It sounded as though some heavy door had just been thrown aside. Aeriel gasped. The duarough paled.
"By the Pendarlon," he murmured, "he's found the way out already. I am not half the magician I thought I was. Quick, girl, into the boat."
Aeriel had no time to think, or even to say a word. The duarough was hurrying her into the little craft, which, for all its lightness, hardly dipped when she stepped in and settled herself on the cross-plank behind the mast. She replaced the golden melon and other foodstuffs in the black velvet sack and slipped it onto her sash.
Meanwhile the duarough freed the mooring from the stake and the skiff leapt away from shore like a steed given its head. He scarcely had time to toss in the cord before she was out of reach. Aeriel turned and would have called some farewell, save that the duarough put his finger to his lips and gestured back upstream toward where the vampyre must be, though they heard no more noise.
Aeriel had just raised her hand to wave, when
Wind-on-the-Water
sped through the archway into the next chamber and the little man behind on shore was lost to her sight.
Aeriel sat motionless, gazing astern. She felt suddenly abandoned and alone. After a moment, she sighed and dropped her hand, then turned and looked ahead to see where the river led.
The journey was long and at the same time swift. The river veered first right, then left, and seemed to be descending in a strange, irregular spiral through the rock on which the vampyre's castle rested. It ran down, ever down, through an endless series of natural chambers. Some were huge and wide, filled with curtains and columns, and pointed pedestals of crystal lime. Others were long and low, more tunnels than chambers.
In one, there was an opening in the wall through which she could see the stars. In their pale light and the brighter, warmer glow of the river, she saw that this was the haven of the bats. They flew in and out of the opening and through the cave like silver moths, and many of them clung to the walls and ceilings, like a mass of withered leaves. Their twittering, what she could hear of it, was high and wild and airy thin. Aeriel laughed and was surprised to hear how thick and deep her voice sounded next to theirs.
Another chamber, hours later, farther down into the heart of the mountain, was latticed with silver combs dripping honey like liquid amber. The great stingless bees that tended the combs were greyish-gold with bands of rose, and covered with velvet fur. She watched them crawling about their waxworks, building the six-sided chambers, filling them with sweet, thick honey, feeding their pale, formless young. On the far side of the room, on the greatest comb of all, Aeriel beheld the queen—larger than the rest, surrounding by her nurses and clumsy drones.
Then, much farther on, after Aeriel had drifted into sleep, she awoke to find herself in the greatest chamber she had yet seen. It was huge and dark. She could not see the limit before or behind. What she could see was the ceiling above dotted with glowworms, whose pale yellow light burned like phosphor. The air itself was filled with fireflies that hovered in the dark like candle flames. The stream ran nearly flat here, and Aeriel realized it must have emerged from the mountain now and be running under the plains.
The cave of the glowworms ran on and on. She fell asleep again and dreamed she was riding through deep heaven, surrounded by the stars.
When next she awoke, the first thing she thought was that she was still in the cave of the glowworms, but then she noticed that the lights overhead were smaller, silver, and Oceanus shone hoary blue in the middle heavens off to the right. There was a narrow beach on either side of her, then low, steep banks. The second thing she noticed was that her little craft was no longer moving. Its sail was full and it still bounced and bobbed in the bright water of the stream, but it had run aground on a little sandy shoal.
She got out of the boat to try to free it, but before she could do so much as lay a hand on it, it bounded away from her, merry as a greyhound. Then Aeriel remembered that she must abandon the little boat anyway, now that she had reached the plain; it was as well it had abandoned her. She checked to see that the small velvet bag was still firmly tied to her belt, then walked across the beach and scrambled up the bank.