The High King's Tomb
Page 43
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As if called upon by the need to save the lives of the islanders, her ability had blossomed to the point where, if she concentrated hard enough, she could feel the vegetation beneath her feet sucking up moisture. Maybe if she had not been called to the messenger service, if she had never become a Green Rider, she would have remained with her family, carrying on the business of dowsing, but as a Rider, her brooch augmented her ability, made her more sure, more sensitive, and most important, completely accurate.
That day on the island she’d discovered a previously unknown spring that would tide the people over till the drought ended. She had also told them where to dig new wells, and how deep. In the end, she had left behind islanders relieved they would not have to be uprooted from the lives they knew and who were well pleased by this emissary of King Zachary’s.
The water that now played over her hand came from a deep, deep aquifer that sang of dark earth and pure sand and pebbles, of subterranean streams and falling from the sky. It sang as it drained from the basin, singing as it returned to the earth. Some mage, she surmised, had called the water to flow in this tower when beckoned, and over the millennia, it heeded his call. Such a feat required power far beyond her own meager ability.
Reluctantly she withdrew her hand and shook off the water. She had work to do. She had to find this Merdigen, the magical whatsit. She looked around. A table stood nearby with an unfinished game of Intrigue on it, the pieces draped with cobwebs, but there was no Merdigen in sight.
She turned toward the center of the chamber. Columns stood in a circle, supporting the shadowed ceiling, and on either side archways gaped with blackness. What drew her attention the most, however, was the pedestal in the center of the circle. A gemstone of green gleamed atop it. Tourmaline. If she shifted her gaze just right, viewed it with her peripheral vision, she could almost see something clouded above it, like the greens and blues of grass and sky. It was there, but not, hovering on the edge of her vision.
Still she saw no sign of Merdigen, and she recalled Garth had mentioned using the tourmaline to draw him out. That didn’t sound so strange, considering she just walked through a wall of granite.
She strode toward the center of the chamber and between a pair of columns and—
With a yelp she leaped backward, her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. She took a few moments to calm herself, surrounded by the ordinary chamber. Then, like a swimmer testing the water, she stuck her toe between the columns. When nothing dire happened, she followed with the rest of her body, and found herself amid a grassland.
Sunshine flowed down on her at the same autumn angle she had left outside, and the grasses hissed as a breeze flowed over them. Golden they were, with the season. Oddly though, there were no other structures or signs of civilization, and no D’Yer Wall within sight. All that remained of the tower were the columns standing in their ring, the arches east and west, the table with its dusty game of Intrigue on it, and the pedestal holding its gemstone.
So this was what Garth had meant by there being grasslands in the tower. But was she still in the tower? Her boot scuffed on stones, the same stone floor she had stood upon in the tower. The blocks that formed it looped outward in concentric circles till lost to the grasses beyond the columns, like ruins being reclaimed by nature.
She stepped back through the columns, and found herself surrounded by the stone of the tower chamber. She went back and forth a few times, testing the incongruity. She paused between the columns with one foot on each side to see what would happen. It was like standing in a doorway, she decided. When she looked at the foot outside the columns, she saw the tower chamber like the interior of a house. When she looked at the other foot, she saw the grasslands beyond stretching to the horizon.
Eventually she gave up the game knowing that Alton must be going mad waiting for her to report back. She advanced on the pedestal and circled it. The stone on top was pretty, she thought, sparkling in the sun, and looked harmless enough. What had Garth called it? The tempes stone.
She shrugged and put her hand on it. At first nothing happened, then a green glow rose from the stone and between her fingers. Fascinated, Dale removed her hand and surges of energy crackled within the stone, like lightning sealed in green amber.
“Finished playing?”
Dale leaped away from the pedestal as if it suddenly learned to speak.
“Over here.”
Dale glanced over her shoulder and discovered an elderly fellow seated at the table, one elbow propped next to the Intrigue board. Long ivory whiskers drooped from his jaw and he wore pale blue robes.
“M–M–Merdigen?”
“Of course I’m Merdigen. Who else would I be?” He rolled his eyes. Then he pressed his hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “More precisely, I am a magical projection of the great mage Merdigen. And who are you? You’re not the big oaf who was here last.”
“Garth—” she began.
“Funny, but that was the oaf’s name, too.”
“No! I mean the oaf—the Rider who was here last was named Garth.”
“That’s what I just said.”
Dale took a deep breath, feeling less startled, but more exasperated. “I’m Dale Littlepage, a Green Rider.”
“So I see.” He rose and crossed between the columns to stand before her. He looked her up and down in appraisal. “Well, Dale Littlepage, Green Rider, what have you to say for yourself?”
She fought the urge to jab him to find out if he had substance, or if he were a mere illusion. If he were illusion, what should he care? Still, she restrained the impulse because it just didn’t seem polite.
That day on the island she’d discovered a previously unknown spring that would tide the people over till the drought ended. She had also told them where to dig new wells, and how deep. In the end, she had left behind islanders relieved they would not have to be uprooted from the lives they knew and who were well pleased by this emissary of King Zachary’s.
The water that now played over her hand came from a deep, deep aquifer that sang of dark earth and pure sand and pebbles, of subterranean streams and falling from the sky. It sang as it drained from the basin, singing as it returned to the earth. Some mage, she surmised, had called the water to flow in this tower when beckoned, and over the millennia, it heeded his call. Such a feat required power far beyond her own meager ability.
Reluctantly she withdrew her hand and shook off the water. She had work to do. She had to find this Merdigen, the magical whatsit. She looked around. A table stood nearby with an unfinished game of Intrigue on it, the pieces draped with cobwebs, but there was no Merdigen in sight.
She turned toward the center of the chamber. Columns stood in a circle, supporting the shadowed ceiling, and on either side archways gaped with blackness. What drew her attention the most, however, was the pedestal in the center of the circle. A gemstone of green gleamed atop it. Tourmaline. If she shifted her gaze just right, viewed it with her peripheral vision, she could almost see something clouded above it, like the greens and blues of grass and sky. It was there, but not, hovering on the edge of her vision.
Still she saw no sign of Merdigen, and she recalled Garth had mentioned using the tourmaline to draw him out. That didn’t sound so strange, considering she just walked through a wall of granite.
She strode toward the center of the chamber and between a pair of columns and—
With a yelp she leaped backward, her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. She took a few moments to calm herself, surrounded by the ordinary chamber. Then, like a swimmer testing the water, she stuck her toe between the columns. When nothing dire happened, she followed with the rest of her body, and found herself amid a grassland.
Sunshine flowed down on her at the same autumn angle she had left outside, and the grasses hissed as a breeze flowed over them. Golden they were, with the season. Oddly though, there were no other structures or signs of civilization, and no D’Yer Wall within sight. All that remained of the tower were the columns standing in their ring, the arches east and west, the table with its dusty game of Intrigue on it, and the pedestal holding its gemstone.
So this was what Garth had meant by there being grasslands in the tower. But was she still in the tower? Her boot scuffed on stones, the same stone floor she had stood upon in the tower. The blocks that formed it looped outward in concentric circles till lost to the grasses beyond the columns, like ruins being reclaimed by nature.
She stepped back through the columns, and found herself surrounded by the stone of the tower chamber. She went back and forth a few times, testing the incongruity. She paused between the columns with one foot on each side to see what would happen. It was like standing in a doorway, she decided. When she looked at the foot outside the columns, she saw the tower chamber like the interior of a house. When she looked at the other foot, she saw the grasslands beyond stretching to the horizon.
Eventually she gave up the game knowing that Alton must be going mad waiting for her to report back. She advanced on the pedestal and circled it. The stone on top was pretty, she thought, sparkling in the sun, and looked harmless enough. What had Garth called it? The tempes stone.
She shrugged and put her hand on it. At first nothing happened, then a green glow rose from the stone and between her fingers. Fascinated, Dale removed her hand and surges of energy crackled within the stone, like lightning sealed in green amber.
“Finished playing?”
Dale leaped away from the pedestal as if it suddenly learned to speak.
“Over here.”
Dale glanced over her shoulder and discovered an elderly fellow seated at the table, one elbow propped next to the Intrigue board. Long ivory whiskers drooped from his jaw and he wore pale blue robes.
“M–M–Merdigen?”
“Of course I’m Merdigen. Who else would I be?” He rolled his eyes. Then he pressed his hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “More precisely, I am a magical projection of the great mage Merdigen. And who are you? You’re not the big oaf who was here last.”
“Garth—” she began.
“Funny, but that was the oaf’s name, too.”
“No! I mean the oaf—the Rider who was here last was named Garth.”
“That’s what I just said.”
Dale took a deep breath, feeling less startled, but more exasperated. “I’m Dale Littlepage, a Green Rider.”
“So I see.” He rose and crossed between the columns to stand before her. He looked her up and down in appraisal. “Well, Dale Littlepage, Green Rider, what have you to say for yourself?”
She fought the urge to jab him to find out if he had substance, or if he were a mere illusion. If he were illusion, what should he care? Still, she restrained the impulse because it just didn’t seem polite.
