‘Let’s see what we can find out about this place.’
Chapter 34
A brief search brought Isloman and the Cadwanwr to an opening that led on to a wide landing. Where they might have expected stairs, however, was a sloping ramp.
‘Down?’ Andawyr asked rhetorically as he set off purposefully.
The ramp sloped more steeply than the tunnel they had first found themselves in and it was uncomfortable walking. It spiralled steadily downwards, pervaded by a blue light that was sufficiently bright for them to see where they were going without the aid of a lantern. It prompted some comment but no one could find a source.
‘It’s the rock itself,’ Isloman said, his voice strained. ‘It’s screaming. This is a dreadful, dreadful place.’
As Orthlund’s First Carver, Isloman was unusually sensitive to qualities in rock that others were quite unaware of. Now his whole posture radiated distress.
‘Whatever this place is, it isn’t the work of master builders… it hasn’t even been built,’ he said. ‘It’s been twisted and torn from the virgin rock.’
Andawyr laid a comforting hand on his arm, but said nothing.
They passed openings that led on to the two lower balconies and a cursory inspection showed them to be similar to the one they had left. Eventually they came to the floor they had seen from high above. Andawyr held out a cautionary hand as they gathered in the broad doorway.
What had appeared to be a mosaic at its centre proved to be very different. The silver star was hovering some way above the floor, solid and many-faceted, with thorn-sharp points pricking the blue air. No support to it was immediately apparent. The rays that, from above, seemed to run from it were actually ridges rising from the floor, undulating up towards it.
‘They’re like those… mountains… outside,’ Ar-Billan said. ‘Same pattern.’ He bent forward and looked at them intently. ‘Probably the same proportions, by the look of it.’
He was about to step closer but Andawyr stopped him.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But we must be careful. This is no decoration. Everything here will have a purpose, and a bad one at that.’
Looking anxiously from side to side he stepped into the chamber.
‘It’s strange,’ he said, apparently satisfied that there was no immediate danger. ‘This must all have been achieved by the use of the Power, but I can feel nothing of it.’
He looked around and scowled. Serried ranks of unkempt Cadwanwr scowled back at him, for the circular chamber was lined with tall, narrow mirrors. The result was a vast blue desert, littered with ridges and overlooked by row upon row of ill-omened stars. As the others joined Andawyr, so crowds appeared all around them.
Despite their predicament, Usche was wide-eyed. ‘It’s like being at the centre of infinity,’ she said, spinning round and watching her myriad counterparts aping her.
Andawyr grunted and fiddled with his nose. ‘I’m open to suggestions,’ he said.
‘Smash it. Smash it all.’
Isloman’s harsh verdict drew all eyes to him.
‘I meant, what’s all this about?’ Andawyr remonstrated.
‘I know what you meant, but this isn’t the time for debate,’ Isloman retorted. ‘We don’t know how or why we came here – whether it’s chance or some devilment on Sumeral’s part – or whether we’re all dreaming, for that matter – but there’s nothing here I want to learn about any more than there’s anything I’d want to learn from murdering children in their beds. Smash it.’ He took his chisel back from Atelon and made to stand on one of the ridges, apparently with the intention of assaulting the baleful star.
‘No!’ Andawyr cried out urgently, seizing the big man’s arm and pulling him back.
Isloman jerked his arm free angrily and seemed intent on arguing, but Andawyr did not give him the opportunity.
‘I told you – none of this is decoration,’ he said, seizing Isloman’s arm again. He pointed at the star. ‘That thing’s the centre of something – a terrible focus for everything here. Who knows what touching it might do?’ He looked questioningly at Oslang and Atelon.
Both of them looked unhappy about what he appeared to be asking.
‘We’ll have to, I suppose,’ Oslang said. ‘But be careful – very careful.’
Andawyr ushered everyone back into the doorway, then stood with Oslang and Atelon at either side of him.
‘I’m just going to touch that thing with the Power,’ he said. ‘Very quickly. See if I can learn anything about it.’ He turned to Usche and Ar-Billan. ‘Whatever happens to me – or to all three of us – don’t interfere. Do you understand?’
They both nodded.
Andawyr rubbed his hands together nervously, then wiped them down his rope. After a glance at his companions he closed his eyes and became very still. Instinctively, Isloman moved protectively in front of Usche and Ar-Billan.
There was no sound and, whatever Andawyr did, Isloman saw nothing of it. But suddenly he was catching the little man as he was thrown violently backwards. The force of the impact sent both of them sprawling. Isloman rolled over, clutching his stomach, obviously winded, but Andawyr lay still. Oslang and Atelon, visibly shaken, were by his side immediately but as Oslang bent over to examine him, he became aware of Ar-Billan nervously clutching at his robe.
Looking up, he saw that the chamber was no longer empty. Picking its way towards him over the jagged ridges with a repellent fastidiousness was a strange horse, bearing a helmed and armoured rider.
Hawklan froze at the sound. It was a faint clicking. Was the Labyrinth awakening?
Was this the presage of a tumult that would rise and rise until it dashed him to his death?
The clicking grew louder. Hawklan could do no other than hold his breath, even though he knew that no sound was too slight for the Labyrinth to seize upon.
‘Hello,’ said a familiar voice in the darkness. Hawklan, senses heightened by fear, started violently at the unexpected sound.
‘Dar-volci,’ he gasped out in a mixture of anger and relief.
‘What are you doing here? What’s happened?’ asked the felci.
‘Where are Tarrian and Grayle?’ Hawklan asked in return.
‘They’ve gone,’ Dar-Volci replied. ‘I was trying to find my way back to the hall.’
‘Gone?’
‘Gone. Just disappeared. They were running ahead of me, then everything went very peculiar and they weren’t there. Rather churlish, I thought, leaving me without a word.’
The faint attempt at humour merely served to highlight a very uncharacteristic unease in the felci.
Hawklan crouched in front of him. ‘What do you mean, everything went peculiar?’
‘Just that,’ came the unhelpful reply. ‘And there I was, on my own. Now everything seems to be changing all the time.’ He repeated his own question before Hawklan could press him further. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’
Hawklan told him.
Dar-volci let out a series of anxious whistles. He began twisting round as though slowly chasing his own tail. ‘All gone? Andawyr and the others – all gone? And the hall and the Armoury?’
Hawklan had never seen him so disturbed.
‘And we’re lost?’
‘We’re lost.’
Dar-volci stopped turning, chattered noisily to himself, then looked around.
‘Not good,’ he muttered. ‘And this place is still changing.’ Hawklan followed his gaze but could neither see nor sense anything untoward.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Something’s happening, dear boy,’ Gavor said. ‘I’ve felt it in my pinions ever since we came in here, but don’t ask me what it is.’
Hawklan knew that his companions were telling him all they could.
‘Very well,’ he said to Dar-volci. ‘Take us to where Tarrian and Grayle disappeared. Perhaps we’ll find something there.’
‘I can’t,’ the felci replied. ‘I told you, everything’s changing. It’s almost as though the Labyrinth is only real where we can see it – or where you are,’ he added as an afterthought.
Hawklan frowned. ‘Go where your feet lead you, then,’ he said as encouragingly as he could. ‘We must keep searching. We can’t do nothing.’