Part 19 (1/2)
D'Rance saw him and did not bother to hide his own distaste. He tried to walk past his shorter counterpart, but D'Marr was having none of that. To know that the northerner had been put through the paces made his own tedious day more palatable. ”Tired already?”
”You will play no games with me, Orril D'Marr. Our lord has struggled long and I was forced to help maintain him, yes?”
”And what could you do for him, blue? Wipe his brow when he sweated?”
D'Rance sneered. ”The knowledge of a scholar is a greater weapon at times than the sword of a simple soldier, yes? You would have pounded on the crystal device with that toy on your belt, I think, as you did to the walls. Such effort, but so little result.”
”You're a scholar of magic?”
The blue man suddenly lost interest in the battle of words. ”I have given my all for our effort, little man, yes, and our Lord D'Farany knows this. I have been given leave to rest and rest I shall.”
The exhausted northerner turned and stalked into the fog. D'Marr watched him disappear, then glanced at the tunnel mouth. All the blue devil's efforts would amount to little before this night had ended. Whatever favor he had curried with Lord D'Farany would fade when D'Marr revealed the secret cavern.
He started down the tunnel, finalizing his plans. He would need four or five men, just to be on the safe side. They could plant the explosives in the proper locations and light the fuses. There would be rubble to clear away, too, which meant that five or six men would work better. The most important task D'Marr would save for himself, however. It was he who would be the first to enter the unknown, he, the discoverer. And whatever secret, whatever treasure lies behind there, I will be the first to know it.
”Sir!”
Although his expression remained bland when he turned back toward the mouth of the tunnel, inside, Orril D'Marr was seething. What do they want now? ”Yes?”
An understandably nervous officer even younger than he stood at attention at the edge of the entrance. No doubt he had been volunteered by his superiors for this mission. That way, if D'Marr chose to take out his wrath on someone, it would not be them. ”Sir, I have been ordered to report that there is some confusion in the eastern flank. Several men have reported a roving light. Two went out to investigate and have not returned. Another man reports . . .”
He waited, but the other officer did not go on. ”Reports what?”
”Someone laughing . . . from above him.”
The corners of D'Marr's mouth edged downward. His work was already falling apart. If this was an example of the situation being under Lord D'Farany's control, then it was no improvement. Success was supposed to mean that the fog would either vanish or obey the commands of his master. It had, so far, done neither as far as D'Marr could see. If anything, this latest report indicated things had turned worse.
He returned to the surface and looked around. How he was supposed to keep this rabble organized was beyond him, but it was his function. That meant chasing down those incompetent officers and uncovering the truth about things that went b.u.mp in the fog. He was growing tired of this. There would have to be some changes made in the ranks.
”What's your name?”
”Squad Leader, Base Level, R'Jerek, sir.”
The man's superiors had picked the lowest officer they could find. He still bore the R' caste designation. Anything above him would have the D' like D'Marr's name bore. His estimation of the value of R'Jerek's superiors dropped further. ”Your immediate officer?”
”Captain D'Lee, sir.”
”Lead me to him, D'Jerek.”
”Yes, sir . . .” The younger officer paused. ”It's R'Jerek, sir.”
”Not after I'm through with your superior, Captain.”
His guide said nothing more after that.
Orril D'Marr gave the tunnel one last glance. Tomorrow, he swore to himself. It'll hold until tomorrow.
SO MUCH POWER! Kanaan D'Rance stumbled toward his tent, which was, not by chance, away from the rest. As much as he would have been happier to sleep among the fascinating Quel artifacts, that was not allowed. Still, he had smuggled a few of the items into his tent, where he tried to understand and make use of them. His skills were growing; he had even managed to heal his hand without anyone ever discovering the truth. The streak in his hair was becoming a problem, however. He was certain that the Aramite leader suspected.
The secrets the trinkets held paled in comparison to the struggle that had gone on tonight, a struggle in which Lord D'Farany had all but triumphed. The mysterious adversary was vanquished; now, the Aramite commander only had to bind the magical fog to his control. Lord D'Farany was already talking of making use of the deadly mist, an idea contrary to his first inclination. Despite the wrongness of the sorcery tied into the fog, or perhaps because of it, the keeper now saw great potential in it as a weapon for the raiders.
Kanaan D'Rance agreed for the most part, but he differed with his master in one respect. He wanted control of the mist for himself. There is a power there, yes? A different, alien magic! It had repelled him at first, but now it attracted. The blue man felt he could accomplish great things with it once he learned how it had come to be. He needed time, though, time alone in that chamber. Time alone to study.
Thrusting aside the flap of his tent, the tall figure darted inside. It was not until the flap had closed behind him that he noticed something was amiss. Something that only his burgeoning magical senses could note.
With no effort at all, he created a small ball of light brilliant enough to illuminate most of the interior.
Lord D'Farany's work? Was he now toying with the blue man? He did not like the thought of ending up as one of the martinet's playthings. Orril D'Marr excelled at slow death, yes.
It was then he noticed that his carefully hidden collection of Quel artifacts had been taken out and scattered over his worktable.
Who would dare? This was not the way of Lord D'Farany. D'Marr, then? One of his spies? It made no sense; they could learn nothing from his collection save that he had palmed some pieces. The little martinet would know that such efforts would be a waste of everyone's time.
Somehow, he knew that this could not be the work of the Aramites . . . yet, who did that leave?
One of the figurines on the table, a small crystal bear, leapt up from the table and past his shoulder.
Stunned, he spun around, trying to keep track of it. The Quel talisman stood on the ground behind him, as motionless as it had been before its extraordinary leap into momentary life. With great caution, Kanaan D'Rance reached down for it.
The tiny bear sprang away from him, flying into the dark shadows in the corner of his tent. The blue man snarled and started for the spot. Although he could not see the artifact, he knew that it could go no farther. The tent would impede its progress. Now it was a simple matter of searching those shadows. The scholar in him took over. Once he found the peculiar little piece, he intended to study it thoroughly until he discovered the reason for its sudden animation.
A laugh from within the shadows made him pull back his questing hand.
A grotesque, round figure who could have not been hiding all this time squatted in the shadows. He could see nothing of the face except the long, narrow chin and the slash of mouth. The creature raised a spindly arm to the huge, broad-rimmed hat he wore and lifted it just enough to reveal the rest of the unholy visage. It was all D'Rance could do to keep from shouting. He stood there, petrified.
”A fascinating struggle; a struggle fascinating to me,” said the intruder. ”Especially to me.”
”Who . . . ?”
The mouth shaped into a mischievous grin. A bony hand formed a fist, then opened again. In the palm of the hand was the elusive figurine. ”Plool I am; I am Plool . . .” The grin grew wider. The eyes, the unG.o.dly, crystalline eyes, glittered merrily. ”A friend.”
”SOMETHING HAS DEFINITELY changed, Lord Gryphon, and not necessarily for the better!”
The Gryphon noticed it, too. There was indeed a change in the air, or rather the fog. He s.h.i.+vered and was not exactly certain why. The change might have been for the better; they had no way of knowing otherwise.
Pessimism? More likely experience and common sense. The lionbird had been in too many dire situations not to expect the worst. Usually, through no effort of his own, he was proven correct in that a.s.sumption.
”What do you make of it, Darkhorse?”
The shadow steed snorted. ”Nothing! I make absolutely nothing out of it. It is from Nimth and as far as I am concerned, that which is Nimthian is a threat to all!”
”Like Shade?” he could not help asking the eternal.
Darkhorse was prevented from answering by what sounded like a crack of thunder. He stumbled. The entire area was suddenly aglow even though it was still night. The Gryphon heard a rumbling, glanced down, and, with the aid of the mysterious light, saw the earth opening up before them. He started to point it out to his companion, but the stallion was already backing away. The chasm began to widen and from it poured forth a grayish substance much like clay.
”Can you leap over it?” He had seen Darkhorse clear gaps far wider than this one.
”I will do so once I am certain that it is safe to do so! Do not trust appearances in this place; there is usually more to come!”
That was when the molten clay turned toward them.