Authors: Dennis L. McKiernan
Arin took a deep breath and her soft words fell into the silence of the chamber as the Dylvana recounted her vision in all its bloody detail.
* * *
“Without a doubt, it is the Dragonstone,” said Arilla in the stunned silence that followed.
“But how can that be?” protested a red-robed Mage. “The Dragonstone defies all scrying. Even the Dragons themselves cannot sense it.”
“Or so they said, Belgon,” replied Arilla. “Or so they said.”
“Well,
we
cannot find it,” declared another Mage, an oldster dressed in blue. He turned to a fellow Wizard. “And we looked long and hard.”
As the other Mage nodded in agreement, Arilla murmured, “True.”
Arin cleared her throat. “If the pale green stone I saw in my vision is indeed this unscryable Dragonstone, then how could I have seen it at all?”
Wizards looked at one another. Some shook their heads. Others shrugged. But Belgon stroked his chin in deep thought then looked up and said, “It must be the ‘wild magic’”
Arin turned to the red-robed, black-haired Wizard.
“‘Wild magic’? That’s the term Dalavar Wolfmage used. What does it mean?”
Belgon shook his head. “It means, Lady Arin, that you exercise an unknown power in a way we do not understand, for it requires no manipulation of the astral
Again a silence fell upon the Council. At last Arilla said, “As you can see, Lady Arin, we are stunned by your vision, not because we know what it means, but instead because you had a vision at all, for the Green Stone of Xian defies scrying of any sort…except perhaps that of the ‘wild magic’”
A white-haired female Mage dressed in a white robe leaned forward in her chair and held up a finger. Arilla glanced her way. “Yes, Lysanne.”
“Sage, we have not heard all of Lady Arin’s vision.”
“I know,” replied Arilla.
“But I’ve told ye all,” protested Arin.
Lysanne held out a calming hand. “Yes, you have said all you remember, Lady Arin, but you spoke of vague images you cannot recall.”
Arin turned up her hands in a wordless response.
“What Lysanne means,” said Arilla, “is that perhaps she can help you summon those lost images to mind. If so, then they may give us some clue as to where the Green Stone now lies and what to do about it.”
Silverleaf stood and stepped to the side of Arin’s chair. Arilla raised her gaze to him.
“I am Alor Vanidar, past Coron of Darda Galion, the Eldwood, the Land of the Larks.” Soft exclamations murmured ’round the chamber. Raising his voice slightly, Silverleaf said, “I”—he turned and gazed at Rissa and the other Elves, and then looked down to Arin—“that is,
we
would hear more of this Dragonstone, more of this Green Stone of Xian. Too, we would hear if there is a way to avert its terrible doom.”
Arilla nodded. “Yes, we owe you that much.” Now her
gaze swept about the chamber. “If there are no objections, I will adjourn the Council for the time being to tell these guests the history of the Dragonstone, inasmuch as we know it. Too, I propose that Lysanne try to recover the lost part of Lady Arin’s vision. But although we adjourn for now, be ready to reassemble on short notice.”
Again her gaze swept ’round the chamber, and hearing no protest, she looked at Lysanne. “Stay, Lysanne.” Then she gestured to Arin and Vanidar and their comrades. “All of you stay as well.”
But before she could bang her gavel down, there came a commotion at the doorway, and pressing through the gathered Mages came an armed and armored figure. Small she was, compared to the Mages, five feet two at most. She was garbed in brown leather—vest and breeks and boots—and hammered bronze plates like bronze scales were sewn on the vest; underneath she wore a pale cream silk jerkin. Her skin was the color of saffron, and a brown leather headband incised with red glyphs held her short-cropped raven-black hair back and away from her tilted eyes and her high-cheekboned face. And at her waist were sheathed two slightly curved swords: one barely longer than a long-knife, the other with a full-length blade.
She marched ’round the table, Mages turning to see. Ignoring the murmurs and the stares, she stepped into the open space before Arin and faced the Dylvana, her eyes of onyx staring into the hazel of Arin’s, and in a ringing voice declared, “
Watakushi wa tora desu!”
Now she grasped the hilts of her swords and, steel whispering, drew them both in a flash and held them on high, calling out,
“Kore wa watakushi no kiba desu!”
Viper swift, at Arin’s side, Silverleaf’s own blade sprang to hand, and as he started to step forward, the yellow warrior knelt on both knees before Arin and placed the gleaming swords on the black floor.
“Watakushi no kiba wa anata no meirei ni shitagai masu,”
she said in a soft voice, and then bowed forward and down, her forehead to the dark stone.
Arin looked at her in bewilderment, and then up and about at the Mages. “Do any of ye know—?”
Seated at the table, a white-haired Magus, at the end of
his current casting cycle, said, “I will translate for you, Lady Arin. First she said, ‘I am a tiger.’ And then, when she drew her swords, um, ‘These are my fangs.’ And lastly, when she lay them at your feet, she said something to the effect of, ‘They are yours to command.’”
“Mine to command?”
“Yes.”
“Her swords?”
“Yes, her fangs.”
“But I—”
“If you do not accept, she will be dishonored.”
Arin sighed. Stepping from her chair, Arin knelt on her own two knees before the abased warrior and took up the blades. Then she sat back on her heels and softly said, “Rise…”
“Aiko,” supplied the white-haired Mage.
“Rise, Aiko,” said Arin.
The yellow warrior raised up, and her eyes widened to see the Dylvana on her knees before her. Arin smiled, and reversed the swords and handed them to Aiko hilt first. “I will accept thy friendship and thine aid, Aiko, and yea, even thy service. Yet heed, thou art thine own woman, free to choose as thou wilt, yet should our paths run together awhile, then I welcome thee.”
Confusion lurked deeply in Aiko’s dark eyes, but she took the swords and sheathed them.
Arin stood and held out a hand to Aiko. Hesitantly, the warrior reached up and took it and stood as well, then she looked at Arin and grinned, her entire face lighting up, and Arin returned her smile. The Dylvana turned to Vanidar and said, “I believe thou canst put that away now,” gesturing at the long-knife still in his grasp. Vanidar grinned and slipped the blade back into its scabbard.
“Ahem!” Arilla harrumphed. All eyes turned her way. She glanced ’round the chamber. “If there is no more business…”
She banged the gavel down.
* * *
After the close of the session, accompanied by Lysanne, Arilla led the Elves and Aiko through the labyrinthine passages of the Wizardholt.
Aiko, striding at Arin’s side, was silent.
“Dost thou speak common?” asked Arin.
“Yes, Lady,” replied Aiko, the hint of a strange accent overlaying the words.
“I must ask: why didst thou pledge unto me?”
“My tiger told me so.”
“Thy tiger?”
“Yes.”
Perin, walking behind, said, “Thou must be the one we heard about, the one who came through the winter to Blackstone.”
“Two winters past,” added Biren.
Without turning, Aiko said, “I did.”
Arin glanced at the striding warrior. “And thy tiger told thee to do that as well, to come unto Blackstone?”
“Yes.”
“If it is no secret, why?”
“To pledge to you, my Lady.”
“To pledge to me?”
“Yes.”
Arin looked questioningly at Rissa, but she just shrugged.
“This, um, tiger of thine,” said Ruar, “just what is it and how does it tell thee of these things?”
Aiko strode onward in silence, answering not.
Arilla said, “She came to us two winters back. Said she had a purpose for coming, but until this day we knew nothing of it or of its import. She has been in service as a Warrior of Blackstone Mountain…until now, that is.”
“But this tiger of hers…” Ruar probed again.
“She does not explain it,” said Lysanne.
“Mayhap it is more ‘wild magic,’” volunteered Melor.
“Perhaps,” replied Lysanne.
They came to a large room with wooden doors—of various subdued colors—uniformly spaced ’round the walls. There were comfortable chairs and lounges arranged in clusters all about the chamber, with tables here and there. On one of these tables in the center of the room the Elves found their personal equipment piled; someone in the stables had unladed the horses and ponies and had brought their gear to the common room. “Those are the
guest quarters,” said Arilla, gesturing to doors. “Choose any room you like, at the moment all are unoccupied. Perhaps you need to freshen up—there are bathing facilities within.” She glanced at an elaborate waterclock on the wall. “What say we meet here in four marks, yes? At that time I will relate what little I—what little
we
know of the Dragonstone. And then we shall have a midday meal, after which Lysanne will tell you, Lady Arin, how you and she working together will attempt to find your lost memories.”
“Mayhap we don’t have time,” said Perin as he moved to the pile of gear.
“Time for what?” asked Biren, helping his brother sort.
Perin stopped and looked at his twin. “Mayhap every moment counts, and if we stop to refresh ourselves, we will have missed whatever opportunity there is to do whatever it is that can be done.”
“But, Perin, we have already been on this, um, mission since midsummer, and now is the dead of winter. What count another four watermarks, eh?”
“
Hai!
In four watermarks I can run three full leagues and some, and mayhap whatever it is that’s to be done, wherever it is that we have to go, we will be just three leagues short when the doom falls.”
Arilla cleared her throat. “You assume, my friends, that it is you who must carry on with whatever it is, if anything, that can be done. Yet perhaps your only part in this affair was to bring word of the vision to us.”
“But mayhap not,” said Rissa, taking the gear handed to her by Perin. “The vision, after all, came to Arin, hence mayhap it is we who must avert this thing, if it can be averted at all.”
“Please,” said Lysanne, her voice soft. “Let us neither argue nor speculate. When we discover what else it is that Lady Arin saw, then we may have a better grasp on exactly what is to be done. Till then, I suggest we all do as Arilla says, for I need Lady Arin well rested before I can begin.” She looked at Arin. “You must sleep well tonight, my dear, for tomorrow we shall make our first attempt at uncovering what else you may have seen.”
“Tomorrow!” exclaimed Arin, dismayed.
Lysanne nodded and smiled, tiny crow’s feet crinkling about the comers of her eyes.
Arin shook her head. “But what if Perin is right and we have no time to spare?”
“Then, my dear, we will simply be too late. Yet I cannot do this sooner, for I can see your
“
“Energy, durance, vigor. Your vitality has been sapped by your long, hard journey. But a good night’s rest will restore much of what we will need.”
“Enough!” snapped Arilla. “You must do as Lysanne says, else you may never reveal that which is now obscured.”
Arin sighed and nodded in glum resignation.
Satisfied, the Sage glanced at the waterclock. “Four marks, and we shall return.”
As Arilla and Lysanne left, gloomily Arin watched them go. Biren handed Arin her gear, and, fretting, she chose a muted-green guest-room door and moved toward it, Aiko at her side.
* * *
Bathed and somewhat rested, four marks later Arin stepped into the great common room. Waiting were Arilla and Lysanne, pouring tea from a service. Ruar and Melor were already there, as were Biren and Perin. Aiko was there as well, the warrior having moved her gear in the interim to the red-doored room adjacent to Arin’s green. As Arin took a cup from Lysanne, Venidar and Rissa emerged from their room, Silverleaf laughing.
When all were arranged in comfortable chairs, tea in hand, Arilla cleared her throat. All eyes turned her way. She took a deep breath and began: “Let me tell you of a day long past at the gates of Black Mountain when the Dragons came to call.”
T
he air over the Grey Mountains of Xian was filled with bellowing roars and the thunder of leathery wings. Dragons, mighty Dragons—glittering red and silver and black and green and other sheens—filled the summer sky. Down they came, spiraling and spiraling, ’round the towering Black Mountain where Wizards dwelled. Gate guardians cried out in fear and fled inside, slamming the great portals to. But still the Dragons descended, to land on mountain crests all ’round, settling like weighty, gleaming monoliths atop the lofty spires…all but three of the mighty Fire-drakes, and these came to rest before the shut iron gates of the Wizardholt. Two of these Dragons were massive and black, deep violet glints shimmering as they shifted about, and they had ebony claws like sabers which scored the dark stone of the foregate court. And they flanked a third Dragon, small by Dragon measure—if any Dragon could be said to be small. Green, he was, with a yellow cast, and seemed cowed by the other two. And in one claw he held a leather bag, tied tightly at the top by a thong.
“Wizards, we would parley!” bellowed the monstrous black Drake on the left.
The Drake on the right turned and hissed in rage and spoke in a tongue from the dawn of time, the words sounding like great brass slabs grinding heavily upon one another. [“
I
shall be the speaker here, Daagor, for
I
occupy the highest ledge!”]
Daagor’s massive tail lashed furiously. [“Only because
I
was in Kelgor, Kalgalath, at the time of the mating.”]