Andrak took a half step forward. “Did you acquire the treasure, Dark Wyrm?”
Still Kalgalath said nought, the mirth of his silence confirming what the Magus already knew.
“Remember our bargain, Drake,” sissed Andrak, dark hands reaching out, clutching. “The silver horn: Was it there? I must have it. I will send for it.”
Slowly, down and forward the black Dragon snaked his head, until his golden eyes were level with the ebon cowl, his Drake’s gaze seeking to penetrate the darkness within the hood, failing. Molten stone poured in a stream from overhead; bubbling lava heaved.
“No, Mage,” hissed Kalgalath at last, “it was not there.” And the Drake threw back his head, his thundering laughter booming within the seething chamber.
Andrak clenched his hands in fury, knuckles turning white. Long moments passed, and still Kalgalath’s laughter bellowed forth. Yet at last Andrak’s rage abated, and reason held sway. “Then it must be churning at the bottom of the Maelstrom, pulled down with the Dragonships of the Fjordsmen. Hence, it is not lost, just mislaid. There is still a chance for recovery, Wyrm, mayhap in a century or so, at the next mating time. Mayhap before, can I influence one of the Krakens to seek it. Regardless, it is still owed to me by you, and when next you couple within those dark depths-”
Black Kalgalath’s roar of anger whelmed down upon Andrak’s form, and a raving jet of fire burst forth from the Drake’s throat and blasted the Mage. . to no effect. “You!” thundered the Fire-drake. “I owe you nought! Our bargain was that if the silver horn was in the hoard at Jordkeep, then would I deliver it to you. Heed me, fooclass="underline" It was not in the hoard, and so our bargain is done! And if you expect me to search for an unimportant trinket during the dire time of the mating, then you are a greater fool than even I suspected!”
Andrak’s figure shook in rage, and he started moving his hands in an arcane pattern, yet stopped almost immediately, realizing the futility of the gesture as long as both he and the Dragon were in their present forms.
And so they glared long at one another: the Drake crouching on a molten throne, as if to leap upon this intruder; the Mage with no discernible eyes, yet rage burning forth from his dark cowl. And all about them lava spewed and molten rock poured down in seething streams from above. At last Andrak broke the impasse: “I will have that horn, Wyrm,” he vowed, and spun on his heel and stalked off through the fire and brimstone.
And Black Kalgalath watched as the dark visitant slowly crossed the molten cauldron. And the mighty Dragon thought upon the raging deeps of the Great Maelstrom, and of the dreadful creatures that dwelled down within that hideous abyss. “Not likely, Mage,” he hissed to himself. “Not likely.”
CHAPTER 35
Early Winter, 3E1602
[The Present]
Down and around the great flank of Black Mountain fared Elyn and Thork, knee-deep snow slowing their pace. Behind them lay the hidden Wizardholt; ahead, they knew not what. Yet northward they trekked: Thork leading, steering toward a target he knew as nought but a black pulsation upon the great strange spherical map of the Mages; Elyn following, her eyes fixed upon Thork’s back, trudging within the trail he broke for now, knowing that her turn would come, her mind speculating upon the long skein of events that had brought them to this time and place, knowing it was all part of the warp and woof of the Unseen Weaver.
And their breath blew whitely on the thin frigid air, and icy coldness clutched at them.
Yet down the northern buttress of Black Mountain strove warrior and Warrior Maiden, the broad granite shoulders warding them from the direct rays of the low winter Sun, a Sun whose light shone brightly upon snow lying upon distant slopes ahead. But even though they travelled in the mountain shadow, still both wore the slitted eye guards that warded against snow blindness.
All day they travelled thus in the chill mountain shade, exchanging places now and again but ever bearing northward, trusting to the words of the Wolfmage, trusting as well that their interpretation of the globe led them toward Andrak’s strongholt, and that the Kammerling lay within.
Night found them down at the northernmost foot of Black Mountain, huddled together for warmth, sitting with their backs to mountain stone, wrapped in their cloaks, sharing both their blankets, not daring to light a fire for fear that it would be observed. Yet even had they not felt that they were nigh hostile eyes, still they might not have had the wherewithal to set a campblaze, for wood was scarce among the stark mountains of Xian.
Hardly a word had been spoken between the twain that day, for the terrain was rugged and all their energy had gone into the struggle down the slopes. Even now they did not speak, for they were spent, the thin air and deep snow and broken land having taken its toll. And so in silence they ate crue and sipped from their waterskins. They could hear the wind sighing across the high mountain stone above, the land seeming empty of all life but their own. And in this lonely place Elyn leaned her head against Thork’s shoulder and fell asleep, a half-eaten biscuit in her hand. Thork gently took it from her grip and stowed it away, and brushed her copper hair from her face, and slid both of them down till they were lying side by side. And hugging her unto him, he too fell asleep; and the Moon sailed silently across the night sky above, saying nought about the Dwarf and the Warrior Maid clasped in each other’s arms below.
And as they slept, exhausted, from within the very stone itself there sounded a faint patterned hammering, as if a massive fist far below whelmed upon the deep rock, striking out an arcane message, sending tidings to others far and away, and neither Elyn nor Thork gave heed to its proclamation.
When Thork awoke the next morning it was to Elyn’s voice singing. He was enwrapped in the blankets, still warm from her presence. He lay and listened to the words. .
Would you fight to the death
For that which you love,
In a cause surely hopeless. .
For that which you love?. . and a sadness fell upon his heart. Even so, he listened to her voice and found beauty therein.
As Thork sat up, Elyn stopped, as if embarrassed to have anyone hear her. She knelt at the tiny ice-laden rill flowing from the stone of the mountain flank where they had camped, filling the waterskins, readying them for the trek ahead.
“Hai, layabout”-she grinned-“better hurry. I’ve broken my fast and am ready to carry on, and I’d rather have you at my side than trailing far behind.”
Thork returned her smile, his sadness vanished. “Lore has it that it is the lot of the male to have a female chattering at him in the early morn.”
“Early morn?” Elyn smiled and cocked an eye at the Sun rising slowly between two peaks. “Midmorn, more like.”
Thork stood and stepped behind an outjutting of stone, where he relieved himself. They had both ceased to be embarrassed by such, having travelled a lengthy distance together, days and weeks upon the trail, staying nigh one another for the protection of the Wolfmage’s silveron stone. Yet as he belted his breeks and stepped back toward the rill, he spoke of what was to come.
“My Lady, we slogged some thirteen miles yester, and if the Mages’ map be right, then the eve of this day will see us come unto Andrak’s holt, if indeed that black dot upon the globe showed the true location of his lair.” Thork squatted by the rivulet and washed his hands, finally cupping them together and scooping up a drink and then another and one more.
“Your meaning, Thork?”
“Just this, Princess,” replied the Dwarf as he broke out a biscuit of crue. “That stone you bear: trust you that it will succeed in gaining us unseen entry into Andrak’s keep?”