At once the Mwellret’s head snapped up, as if an animal testing the air. Jair went cold, a sense of something tremendously evil settling over him as he stood there in the sudden silence.
The Mwellret’s serpent tongue snaked out. «Magicss, little friend? Magicss do you have?»
No one spoke. Jair was sweating violently. Foraker glanced about at him sharply, momentarily uncertain as to what had happened.
«In your voisse, little friend?» the Mwellret whispered. «Ssense it in your voisse, I do. Ssense it in you. Magicss like my own. Do it for me, yess? Sspeak!»
Something seemed to wrap itself about Jair, some invisible coil that squeezed the breath from him. Before he could help himself he began to sing. Quick and sharp, the wishsong slipped from between his clenched teeth and waves of color and shape rode the air between them, dancing through the darkness and lamplight like living things.
An instant later Jair was free again, the coils that had bound him gone. The wishsong died into silence. The Valeman gasped in shock and dropped weakly to his knees. Slanter was at his side at once, pulling him back toward the door, yelling wildly at the Mwellret, grappling with his free hand for Edain Elessedil’s long knife. Hurriedly, Foraker parted them, his own sword drawn free as he turned to face Stythys. The Mwellret had suddenly shrunk in size, withdrawing into the shadows of the cowled robes, stepping back again into darkness.
«What did you do to him?» Foraker snapped. The Mwellret shrank back further, slitted eyes gleaming in the black. Foraker wheeled abruptly. «That’s enough. We’re leaving.»
«Sstay!» the Mwellret wailed suddenly. «Sspeak with Sstythyss! Can tell you of the Wraithss!»
«Not interested anymore,” Foraker replied, banging his sword handle against the storage room door.
“”Hss! Musst talk with Sstythyss if you wissh the Wraithss desstroyed! Only I know how! Ssecretss mine!“ the creature’s voice was hard and impossibly cold now, all pretense of friendliness gone. ”Little friendss will come back — musst come back! Be ssorry if you leave!“
«We’re sorry we came!» Edain Elessedil threw back. «We don’t need your help!»
Jair was walking through the open doorway now, supported on one side by the Elven Prince and on the other by Slanter, who was muttering every step of the way. Shaking his head to clear it, the Valeman glanced back at the Mwellret, a cloaked and faceless shape squeezed deep within the shadows as Foraker took his small light from the room.
«Needss my help!» the creature said softly, scaled arm lifting. «Comess again, little friendss! Comess back!»
Then the Dwarf sentries were closing and barring the storage room door once more, latch bolts and crossbars snapping tightly into place. Jair took a deep breath and straightened himself, shrugging free of the supporting arms. Foraker stopped him, peering closely into his eyes, grunted, and turned back down the passageway that had brought them.
«Guess you’re all right,” he announced. «Let’s get back up into the air.»
«What happened, Jair!» Edain Elessedil wanted to know. «How did he make you do that?»
Jair shook his head. «I’m not sure.» Still shaken, he began walking after Foraker, the Elven Prince and the Gnome on either side. «I’m just not sure.»
«Black devils!» Slanter muttered heatedly, invoking his favorite epithet. «They can twist you.»
The Valeman nodded briefly and walked on. He wished he knew how that misting had been done.
Chapter Twenty–One
Night swept down about Capaal, black, misted and still. Moon and stars lay screened away from the mountain heights, and only the oil lamps of the Dwarves and watchfires of the Gnomes gave light to the shadowed dark. Frost began to form on stone and scrub, moisture freezing white as the temperature fell lower. An unpleasant stillness lay over everything.
Atop the battlements of the Dwarf fortress, Jair and Elb Foraker looked down upon the locks and dams that spanned the gap between the mountains where the Silver River flowed.
«More than five hundred years old now,” the Dwarf was explaining, his voice low and rough against the night’s silence. «Built in the time of Raybur, when our people still had kings. Built when the Second War of the Races was ended.»
Jair stared wordlessly over the parapets into the darkness below, tracing the massive outline of the complex against the faint light of torches and lamps that lit its stone. There were three dams, broad bands curving back against the flow of the Silver River as it dropped downward to the gorge below. A series of locks regulated that flow, the machinery, seated within and concealed by the dams and the fortress that protected both. The fortress sat astride the high dam, sprawled end to end and guarding all passageways leading in. Behind the high dam, the Cillidellan stretched away into blackness, ringed by the red watchfires of the siege army, yet oddly opaque in the moonless shadows of this night. Between the high dam and its lower levels, the Silver River pooled in two small reservoirs on its passage downward from the heights. Sheer cliffs flanked both ends of the lower levels, and the only way down was across catwalks or through underground passageways that tunneled into the rock.
«Gnomes would love to have this,” Foraker grunted, his arm sweeping over the complex. «Controls nearly the whole of the water supply for the lands west to the Rainbow Lake. In the rainy seasons, without this, there would be flooding, as there used to be before the locks and dams were built to guard against it.» He shook his head. «In a bad spring, even Culhaven would be swept away.»
Jair looked about slowly, impressed with the size of the complex, awed by the effort that must have been expended in its construction. Foraker had already taken him on a tour through the inner workings of the locks and dams, explaining the machinery and the duties of those who tended it. Jair was grateful for the tour.
Slanter was absorbed in reworking Dwarf maps of the lands north to the Ravenshorn — maps, the Gnome had been quick to point out when they were shown him, which were entirely inaccurate. Anxious to avoid the necessity of a return to the storage room where the Mwellret was caged and determined to establish his own expertise, Slanter had agreed to make notations on the maps so that the little company would be properly advised as to the geography of the lands they must pass through during the journey that lay ahead. Edain Elessedil had excused himself and gone off on his own. When Foraker, therefore, had offered to show Jair something of the locks and dams, the Valeman had been quick to accept. Part of the reason for the tour, Jair suspected, was to take his mind off Garet Jax, who had still not returned. But that was all right, too. He preferred not to think about the missing Weapons Master.
«Cliffs don’t allow the Gnomes a way down to the lower dams,” Foraker was saying, eyes turned back toward the distant watchfires. «The fortress guards all passage that way. Our ancestors knew that well enough when they built Capaal. As long as the fortress stands, the locks and dams are safe. As long as the locks and dams are safe, the Silver River is safe.»
«Except that it’s being poisoned,” Jair pointed out.
The Dwarf nodded. «It is. But it would be worse if the whole of the Cillidellan were let loose into the gorge. The poisoning would be quicker then — all the way west.»
«Don’t the other lands know this?» Jair asked quietly.
«They know.»
«You would think they would be here to help you, in that case.»
Foraker chuckled mirthlessly. «You would think so. But not everyone wants to believe the truth of things, you see. Some want to hide from it.»
«Have any of the races agreed to aid you?»
The Dwarf shrugged. «Some. The Westland Elves are sending an army under Ander Elessedil. It’s still two weeks away, though. Callahorn promises aid; Helt and a handful of others already fight with us. Nothing from the Trolls yet — but the Northern territories are vast and the tribes scattered. Perhaps they will at least help us along the northern borders.»