Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

The first thing of which he became aware was pain.

Consciousness returned more slowly. In the absence of light, Mithrais could not depend on sight to orient him. Gravel moved in rough beads beneath his hands, water seeped into his clothing; he clung to these sensations, even to the pain as his mind cleared. Rushing water resounded in his ears. Scent returned next: musty wet stone, a hint of rotting fish.

An attempt to sit up proved unwise, and he spent the next few minutes curled on the floor of the cavern. The burning lances of pain in his head streaked the darkness behind his eyes with white flashes, and he fought the sour nausea that came with them.

He had no way of knowing how long he’d been unconscious. Nor did he know whether Eirion, and the creature that had taken over his friend’s mind and body, were still in the cavern.

His disorientation enhanced by the press of rock on all sides, Mithrais attempted to open his heartspeaking senses. No resonance, not even the beacon he’d set before he followed Eirion into the mountainside, could make it through those walls of stone. Yet, a trace of magic lingered here—but not enough for him to cast a spell.

His fingers explored the knot on the back of his head, sticky with blood. He had no doubt Eirion could have killed him if it been his intent. Either he still maintained enough will to prevent the invader from carrying out its plans, or the elemental hadn’t yet determined what to do with Mithrais.

Perhaps it had. He didn’t know if he lay in the same place he’d entered the cavern, or if he had been taken deeper into the mountain. The sound of water seemed much louder than before, an underground river flowing through the black.

A second, careful attempt to sit upright proved more successful. The pounding in his head lessened, and with it, the white flashes behind his eyes. The cavern wasn’t entirely dark after all. In his right peripheral vision, the glow of false starlight clung in patches to what had to be a wall of the cavern. It vanished when he tried to turn and glimpse the shimmering mirage head-on. The sound of water emanated from his left, and echoes returned from every direction but one—behind him. He turned and reached out with a blind hand, expecting to come into contact with stone.

What he touched was cool and scaly.

A sharp cry escaped him, and he scrambled forward in the utter darkness. His forehead collided with stone in another burst of light behind his eyes. He lay sprawled on his side on the floor of the cavern as the pain returned in waves. A short, groaning laugh at his own carelessness escaped, and he held his head. His thoughts touched on Telyn. She might never know what happened to him if he were fool enough to break his own skull running from a lizard in the dark.

Something very large landed a nudge squarely in his abdomen. Startled, his hand came up and touched the side of a head, the angle of a jaw wider than his outspread fingers.

And a spark of connection, mind to mind, as his palm contacted the smooth-scaled surface.

That jolted him into motion. He scooted backwards until his back pressed against cold, unyielding stone and he could go no further. Warmth trickled down the side of his face. He could hear his own breathing, rapid and shallow, as he listened for movement over the sound of rushing subterranean water. The large, round nose touched him again and breath ripe with the scent of fish blew in his face.

His own breath rushed out in a gasp against the smell, and whatever investigated him sniffed. Its nose felt the size of a horse’s, soft and leathery against his cheek. He remained motionless. It would have already had ample time to eat him if that were its aim. The nose continued its gentle and curious inspection against his hair. He raised a hand to touch its head once more and brought his palm into contact with the scales.

A mind brushed against his: neither human nor Gwaith’orn, but a mind. He lowered his shields tentatively.

:wounded:

Unprepared, he recoiled and broke the connection. A moment later, the thing nuzzled his hand. Disbelief flooded Mithrais. It invited him to resume the heartspeaking link. He raised a now-shaking hand and laid it against the side of the scaly head.

:wounded: It was not a word, but a concept: the scent of blood, the beat of his racing heart, his own fear.

It pressed its nose against his chest. A low rumble began somewhere in its throat, and as his hand moved down the long neck just behind the jaw, it arched into his hand. Purring. The beast was purring like an enormous cat. He wasn’t sure if he should be amused or terrified. Cats played with mice before they were eaten, too.

:notfood: The idea seemed repulsive to it.

He raised his free hand and found the other side of the beast’s head, diamond-shaped and more than a foot wide at the jaw. A tapered snout. Nostrils flared with flexible scales and gave way to hard, slick-armored skin at the bridge of the nose. It allowed the blind, hesitant exploration with more than tolerance. The rumble increased. The scaled head dipped and allowed his hands to continue smoothly over closed eyelids, the crest of a brow. Sharp projections suggested ears by position. The webbing of a corona-like structure of spokes with folds of skin between the ribs, like a collar, rose behind its head.

He now understood what he touched with his mind and his hands, the memory of the dragons in Ilparien flashing through his thoughts. The shape of their heads had been much the same. Already lightheaded, this revelation left him dizzy.

All at once, the beast’s head turned sharply to the left. :more:

More what?

It appeared to understand him. :moreyou:

After a moment, he realized the dragon meant someone else was coming. Across the cavern, warm orange light grew from a jagged opening in the wall. Mithrais could now see an outline of his strange companion. Scales glistened on the edges of its dart-shaped head and sinuous neck. Short, muscled legs kept its belly close to the ground.

His heart’s rhythm increased as a figure stepped out of the passage with a torch held high. His eyes were too dazzled to make out their identity. The figure knelt and touched a spot on the floor of the cavern as they examined something there.

The dragon placed its nose against Mithrais’ chest, a brief pressure that felt like a farewell, and slipped away. It made no noise until it entered the underground river with a great splash.

The figure in front of the passageway stood up, startled. A second person joined them.

“Mithrais!” Tal’s voice shouted. “Eirion?”

Mithrais staggered to his feet, still unsteady, and stumbled toward them. “I’m here. We need to get out, quickly.”

“Where’s Eirion?” Andai’s voice this time.

“The elemental... It has taken control of him. I don’t know where he is. Be careful.”

They came to his side to support him. Tal led the way with his torch, alert for any threat from the shadows in the cavern. Andai urged Mithrais to lean on him and led him through the narrow passage. Mithrais could not help but cast a furtive look over his shoulder as the darkness closed behind them. The front room, its ancient occupant still undisturbed upon the stone bed, was empty.

Outside, the atmosphere had changed. A sun shower fell in the horizontal light of evening while western skies cleared. The chill of the hollow no longer held unnatural cold, only the familiar coolness of low spots in the Wood, green-shadowed and hushed.

Mithrais eased himself to a seat on the ground and listened with heartspeaking senses while Andai tended to his injuries. The resonance and the new tone of the northern compass point washed through him. The null, like a heavy curtain thrown back, had disappeared. Life and sound returned to the valley.

Eirion, and the thing holding him in its thrall, were gone.

“By the Fates, what happened here?” Tal breathed. The stones around the doorway, where the binding spell had been set into the rock, crumbled beneath his hand. “These stones are turning to sand. It’s using Eirion’s magic.”

“We’ve lost him, then.” Andai uttered a curse under his breath. “And now that creature is loose in the Wood.”

Mithrais winced as Andai probed the knot on the back of his head. “I have to believe Eirion is still in there, somewhere. He didn’t kill me when he had the chance.”

“He came close.” Andai finished his examination. “Is there any way we can track him?”

“He must be on foot.” Tal came to crouch beside them.

“The null effect may mark his path.” Almost blinded by the pounding in his head, he came to his knees and opened channels of magic to create the focus map on the ground. Unbroken waves of gold washed over the landscape; no evidence of the shadow creature’s null on magic anywhere in the northern Wood. He oriented it to their position and expanded the view.

Andai gaped at the map in dismay. “There’s no sign of him.”

“If it used his magic, it has a way to overcome the null.” Tal’s mouth set in a hard line. “We’ll never catch him. Do we alert the Tauron?”

“Without the cooperation of the tree folk, there’s not much use in trying. Even if we did, what could they do to stop him? Eirion could kill them with a touch.” Andai’s voice fell in defeat.

Mithrais dissolved the map. He lay back on the damp earth and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head, palms pressed against his temples. “Let me rest a while, and I will try to go after him.”

“You’re in no condition, especially not alone. Tal, what do we do?”

“We let him go for now. Do you agree, Mithrais?”

He could not think of any other solution above the pounding hammer in his skull. “Agreed. We’ll have to find another way to track him. But you need to finish the compass points first. We can’t track if we can’t take bearings.”

“And we’ll need to alert the Magians.” Andai stood. “I think you’re going to be very late meeting the King at the Eastern outpost.”

 

* * * *

 

Night filled in the spaces between the trees as Colm and Telyn walked in silence back to the barracks. They were unsettled by what they had failed to learn from the Gwaith’orn. She managed to glean little information about Mithrais. He had not left the Northern Wood, she determined, and he lived. Of Eirion, the Old Ones said nothing.

With a weary wave of his hand, Cormac hailed Telyn and Colm as they approached. He sat on a bench outside the barracks, slumped against the wall in exhaustion.

“You look spent.” She sat down beside him.

“I am.” He rolled his head to look at her. “I did the best I could. I think Emrys will have the use of his arm, but I don’t know how much. The cauterization did more damage than I could heal. I’m sorry. He lost a great deal of blood yesterday, and he’s sleeping now.”

“I know you did everything possible. Thank you.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Is the King still with him?”

“No. They’re all upstairs with Deirdre and the captain of the King’s guard, making plans to leave tomorrow with Tauron escort. Where is Mithrais?”

“We aren’t sure.” Colm’s clipped answer made Cormac raise his head. Even in the darkness, Telyn read his concern.

“Colm will tell you what we think is happening. I’m going to see Emrys a moment. I promise not to wake him if he’s asleep.”

“He’s in the surgery. First room on the left.”

She entered, careful not to disturb her cousin. A single candle burned at his bedside, and in the wavering light, she noted with dismay his pallor, dark beard a stark contrast against his skin. His right arm, wrapped in bandages, lay across his chest in a sling. She sat in the chair beside the bed and touched his cool hand. His fingers twitched. He stirred with a groan and opened one eye.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right, Tel. I felt you touch my hand. That’s something, at least.”

“Does it hurt terribly?”

“Not much any more. Your young friend Cormac is a marvel.”

“He is.”

“But he can’t work a miracle. I know.” Emrys raised his arm at the elbow and held his breath as if expecting more pain. His fingers twitched again. “I will have to change instruments. Didn’t one of our lesser famed ancestors play a lyre?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll have to relearn the bodhran, and everything else, with my left hand. It may take some time. But I think my harping days are done. My great harp was in the wagon that burned.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears burned in her eyes, and her voice caught in a sob. Emrys frowned.

“Stop it.” He let his hand drop back onto the sheets. “I’m not dead. At least now, I’ll have an excuse not to go into battle. I never cared for the soldiering part, anyway.”

“The guard said you saved Prince Keir’s life.” She forced her voice to steady and wiped her eyes.

“Yes, well... It was more like I got in the way of the brigand’s blade. It gave Prince Keir time to recover and dispatch the man himself. He took a wound in the side, but he’s already up and about.”

“They plan on leaving tomorrow, I hear. Will you be up for it?”

“Cormac and the other healer say until I regain my strength and can sit Colba again, I’ll have to ride in a wagon.”

“I’ll loan you mine.”

“The carriage is empty now that Vuldur is dead. And it has cushions.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He seemed to be taking it in stride, but she knew her cousin. The pain hid behind his eyes.

“Has Mithrais completed his work?” Emrys changed the subject.

“He hasn’t arrived yet, but he can be here quickly when he chooses. We aren’t sure when to expect him.” She chose not to burden Emrys with any of the details, which were sketchy at best. She rose from the chair and kissed him on the brow. “I’ll let you rest. We’ll start working on those left-handed techniques tomorrow.”

 

* * * *

 

Mithrais returned to the nearby grove not long after dark. His aching head still felt several sizes too large for his body, but he could not ignore a growing sense of urgency that took root in his mind.

At his insistence, Tal and Andai had already begun to make their way to the Eastern outpost. If there was any hope the Tauron might track Eirion and his unwelcome parasite, Mithrais believed it imperative they activate the final compass point. With a wary eye on the trees, they had been reluctant to leave him behind.

When he could stand and walk without dizziness, Mithrais created the magelight. He examined the chamber and its bony occupant more closely in search of answers. With a glance into the dark mouth of the passageway leading into the cave, he considered his encounter there. The dragon recognized him as a heartspeaker and invited contact. All of this suggested it had been no stranger to the Silde at one time. At last, he followed the upward path out of the hollow. He took the broken track past the cairn, no wiser than before, but now certain the chamber had not originally been a tomb.

He emerged from the brush into the empty grove. “Old One? May I speak with you?”

“What troubles you, Magian?” The sprite stepped noiselessly out of the trunk.

“I think you know.” He waited.

“It walks among us in flesh once more. We do not think it will stay here, but outside our domain, who knows what mayhem it will create in order to grow stronger. Evil times may lay ahead, Lord of the Wood.” Again, it used the title Mithrais did not understand, not with Gwidion back in his rightful place.

“Will you help us? We’re unable to track Eirion with any certainty. Can you tell me what direction he travels?”

The sprite went silent for a while. Mithrais sensed the departure and return of the short, staccato pulses of resonance the Tauron once used to take bearings.

“Toward the sunrise. It moves with a purpose.” It paused. “Toward the Seed-voice and our speaker. Two of the other Magians are there as well. But also, the one who says he is a King.”

“I was to meet them there tonight.”

“Perhaps it is best you attend this King.”

“Why?”

“When we last encountered it, there were no others on the Isle to be drawn into conflict. What chaos could be unleashed should it inhabit the body of a King who commands an army?”

Mithrais stiffened. “Eirion knows King Amorion is here in the Wood.”

“Then so does the creature inside him.”

Mithrais paced the grove. His certainty Eirion maintained partial control remained unshaken, and he tried to come up with a strategy to at least delay the danger. The pain in his head continued its unwelcome distraction.

“Old One...is it possible we could help Eirion cast this thing out and destroy it? I believe he is still fighting it. He didn’t kill me although he had the chance.”

“It is possible. But he does not have the strength of heart and mind your forebear possessed.” It motioned toward the cairn.

A frisson shot through Mithrais. “Who was in the chamber?”

“Terrais. Once our King. He trapped the darkness within himself.”

“Why didn’t he cast it out and destroy it?”

“It is a living creature, however dark. Terrais held strong convictions never to take life. We thought it died with him, but it awakened with the return of magic. We did not expect this to happen.” The sprite eyed him sidelong in the darkness. “A willing vessel has more control over a spirit of chaos than one who has been taken by force. Terrais chose his fate.”

The table and chairs, elements of daily living he had glimpsed, made sense now. “He chose to be imprisoned there with that creature?”

“After his Queen’s death. It was she who gave him the strength to keep it at bay.” It paused. “Inside the body of this Magian, it can use his knowledge for ill. He is already in a weakened state. This creature will drive him beyond his strength. It will be forced to take another vessel or risk its destruction in the light of the sun. It will be vulnerable to one who is strong in mind and heart like Terrais and his descendants.”

He found himself smiling faintly. Even with speech returned to them, the Gwaith’orn persisted in their refusal to give direct instructions. “I understand what I have to do. How much of a head start does Eirion have?”

“Night is its element, and it travels more quickly in the shadows even within flesh. You can still move faster upon the resonance.” To his surprise, the sprite touched him on the brow with its twiggy hand as if in blessing. Warmth flooded through him and erased the headache to a dull memory at the base of his skull. New energy made him stand taller, his mind clear and alert. “A gift of strength for what you must do. Attend this King.”

“Thank you, Old One.” Mithrais reached for magic and rose with it above the top of the trees, silent as an owl in flight. Beneath his feet, the leaves shone silver with the rays of a waxing moon in the east, illuminating a path only he could travel. At the end of it, Telyn waited with the King, and he let his heart guide him through the resonance.