The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [36]
Helgrym cursed and turned to run, knowing as he did so that doom was upon him. As he sprinted through the uneven darkness, he started to sing his favorite ballad. If one had to die, 'twould be nice to hear it, just one more time…
When dark wings swooped and the song abruptly ended in a wet, gnawing sound, eyes peering out of the doorway of a nearby tomb blazed golden with anger. A hand stroked the curves of a harp whose strings it did not touch, and a low voice told the night, "Stupid mages-may you all boil in the bile of your own arrogance! I had plans for those two!"
***
Sarasper did something to one of the stones in the wall, and it swung inward to reveal a niche, out of which he pulled a fist-size wooden box. He slid one side of it open, and light spilled out: bright radiance centered on a pebble, which he set on the floor before pinching out Hawkril's candle lamp with steady fingers.
"My price," he told the smoking candle gruffly, "is your aid in a matter that rides me day and night."
"A debt? A quest?" Craer demanded. "Something lost that must be found?"
"Four things to be recovered," Sarasper said shortly. "The quest may last longer than the life remaining to me."
"I don't know if I'm hurt that badly," Hawkril rumbled, and looked at the pale, pain-lined face of Lady Silvertree.
"I fear I am," she whispered, so softly that the armaragor had to lean forward to hear her. She raised her voice to add calmly, "Say more of this quest, healer."
The old man was busy at another place on the wall. The stone that opened this time yielded a robe that was more tatters and varicolored patches than whatever garment it had started out as. He shrugged his way into it, ignoring a strong smell of mildew, and said in his rough voice, "The patron of all healers is Forefather Oak, mightiest of the Three, and betimes he speaks to we who heal by sending us visions in our dreams."
Hawkril shrugged. "I often have dreams that blaze bright-or dark-enough to recall when I'm awake… most of them of blood, and battle, and friends gone down fighting. Does the Old One's face appear, or do you just do as most priests do and sort out the dreams that are to your liking and deem them the ones sent you by the Forefather?"
Sarasper stiffened. Slowly he drew himself erect, as grandly as if he were himself a baron, and said slowly and coldly, each word dropping forth like a stone, "Were the Forefather to send you a vision, you'd know it and not speak so. With gold fire he laces about his scenes, and they burn forever, fading not. Trust me in this, swordmaster, as I would trust you to correct me in weapon work."
Hawkril nodded, a little abashed. "Say on," he bade, waving a hand.
The old man inclined his head, as if dispensing royal justice, and said roughly, "Steep this price may be, but this quest gnaws at me."
He stopped and glared around at them all. "It should gnaw at all folk up and down the Silverflow. It should snarl and prowl at the hearts of every warrior and wizard in what was once Aglirta-and must be again!"
His voice lost its imperious edge and became a rough mumble once more. "It has worked on my thoughts these last few years, the visions coming again and again until I prowl these ways endlessly, never able to rest. The Worldstones must be recovered. The Dwaerindim must then be placed correctly to awaken the Sleeping King… who will rise, as the tales say, to restore peace and bounty to the land."
"Ah, horns and bebolt!" Hawkril burst out in disgust. "That's but a legend, a fancy tale to make children's eyes bright! 'But find the Four Lost Stones, and the castles will rise, the mountains fall, and golden age come upon the land, and everyone will grow fat and happy on endless plenty, as the perilous beasts flee afar!' Nursemaids prattle suchlike!"
Embra Silvertree nodded. "My shelves back at the castle still hold three tellings of the saga of the Dwaerindim that tutors read to me until I could read the words for myself.