EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (415 page)

By late afternoon a light sprinkle was falling. They had put the disturbing scenes of the millhouse behind them and kept on the move, finally discovering the road marked on their map. Already soaked by the drizzle, they agreed camping in the damp weather would be as miserable as traveling and far less productive, so they decided to push on.

As they continued, the road widened into a well-traveled way with many diverging branches. In better weather it might have seen frequent traffic, but today there was not a soul in sight. Their first encounter with another human being didn’t occur until they reached the Blackwater bridge, where the map indicated they could cross the river.

Here they found a wrinkled old man in a wet cloak, securing the shutters of his toll roof.

“Wait! Please don’t close up yet,” Eydis said. “We’ve come a long way and are desperate to buy passage across the river.”

“I’m sorry to say you’ll not be gettin’ that today, young miss.” The toll man had to raise his reedy voice to be heard over the rising wind. “Take a look over yonder.”

They followed his direction to the rickety bridge, which stood partially submerged in the swirling river.

“She’s floodin’ high,” the old man continued. “Must be gettin’ heavy rains upstream. And it looks to be headed our way. You folk had best wait on the weather and cross in a day or two.”

Geveral could see by the dark sky ahead that the man was right. They would soon have more to worry about than wind and drizzle.

But Eydis wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I’m afraid waiting is not an option for us. Is there no other way to get across this river?”

In the failing light, the old man squinted over her shoulder at Orrick and Geveral. “You lads ought to talk sense into yer lady friend. Mark my words, ’tis a dangerous storm on the way. I’ve been on this river long enough to know when I see it comin’.”

But under Eydis’s answering scowl, he relented. “There’s a ferry five miles up the road, if you’re foolhardy enough to risk the wild crossing.”

Geveral thanked him, but the toll man seemed distracted, staring after Eydis and Orrick. “You know, there’s somethin’ familiar about your big companion,” he said. “Can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve seen that face of his somewhere before.”

Shrugging, Geveral took his leave and hurried after the others.

Eydis had her map out again and was scanning it for the ferry. “Can you do nothing about this rain, Geveral?” she grumbled as sprinkles spattered over the map. “I thought Drycaenian mages could manipulate weather.”

“I wish I could,” he said honestly, “but it’s not that simple. I’m as helpless against this rain as you or Orrick. What’s with him anyway?”

The big barbarian had come to a standstill in the road and was staring as though fascinated by a soggy notice nailed to a signpost. Whatever he saw was apparently not to his liking, because he ripped the poster down, crumpling it viciously before Geveral could get a look.

“Is something wrong?” Geveral asked him.

Brows lowered, Orrick said, “Nothing that concerns you, wizard boy.” Stuffing the crumpled poster inside his cloak, he stomped away.

“So I’ve been promoted from
boy
to
wizard boy
?” Geveral asked under his breath. He tried to catch Eydis’s eye to see if she’d noticed Orrick’s odd behavior, but she was engrossed in her map.

“If we keep going after sundown,” she said as they walked, “and push through until midnight, I think we can make the ferry in good time. Once we’ve crossed over, we can camp on the other side of the river and find our way back to the road in the morning when we have the daylight. Of course, we could move faster if the rain stopped.”

Geveral caught the hint. “I told you, it’s not in my power. Even the best mages struggle with weather, and I am nothing beside them.”

“So you keep telling me,” she persisted, casting him a sidelong look. “But when the hunger hounds chased us, I saw you reach out to that old tree, and I’m sure you did something. Communicated with it in some way.”

He let his discomfort show, and she dropped the matter.

But she was right. He had connected with the forest sentinel, even if he wasn’t ready to discuss it. The brief communication was a first for him, a level of understanding he had never achieved with the smallest of seedpods before, let alone a full-sized tree. He wished he could speak with Mentor Kesava about it, that he could ask the many questions tumbling around in his head. But Kesava was dead, home was growing more distant with each step, and it felt wrong to discuss sacred things with outsiders. Not even one as brave and good as Eydis. As for Orrick…

He glanced at the tall threatening figure leading the way. Thinking of the crumpled notice hidden inside the barbarian’s cloak, he knew he was a long way from being able to trust Orrick as an ally.

Chapter XVII

O
RRICK

O
RRICK
SQUINTED
AGAINST
THE
driving rain that made it difficult to see more than a short distance ahead. The night was a dark one, heavy clouds blotting out any hint of moon or stars. If not for his superior night vision, he wouldn’t even have seen the crevice in the outcropping of rocks lining the road. It was just one deep slash against lighter shapes and shadows, but that was enough to draw him in for a closer look.

He thought he heard Eydis call, “Why are we leaving the road?” but her voice might have been only the shrill howling of the wind.

“Never mind. Just follow me!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The gale snatched up his words and threw them back at him. But if the others didn’t hear, at least they followed as he led them to the overhang, bowing his head against the spray.

They were in luck, he discovered, on reaching the shelter and ducking inside. It was no crevice but a small cavern, deep and wide enough to accommodate all of them. Eydis entered after him, throwing back her hood and shaking water from her red hair.

He raised his voice over the echo of the rain hitting the rocky roof. “I told you we should have sheltered in the trees a mile back. In this deluge we could’ve passed by your precious ferry and never seen it.”

“I know,” she admitted, moving aside for a soaked Geveral to pass. “Our best course now is to weather the storm and look for the ferry in the morning.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Geveral put in. “Some previous traveler has left us stocked with firewood.”

He was right. There was a pile of dry logs near the back of the cave. Orrick gathered an armload and piled them in a corner, where they would be shielded from the worst of the wind. It took several failed efforts with his flint, but he was eventually able to coax up a fitful flame.

Everyone threw off their wet cloaks and held their hands over the faint tendrils of heat rising from the pathetic fire. The rumbling of his stomach reminded Orrick he hadn’t eaten since this morning and wouldn’t get the chance to hunt tonight. They’d all have to sleep with empty bellies, a small discomfort among a load of bigger problems. But no one complained. The noise of the storm would have discouraged conversation, even among a more congenial group.

Orrick stretched his feet toward the fire, while Geveral fed sticks into the flames in a hopeless effort at building a steady blaze. Eydis’s lithe form moved around at the edge of the flickering shadows, spreading her cape and Geveral’s out to dry on the rocks. She didn’t offer to take Orrick’s soggy cloak, but that came as no surprise. It was clear since the addition of the dryad boy to their party that Orrick was the odd man out. Not that it mattered. He was accustomed to relying on no one, and he didn’t have the need for companionship that seemed to afflict other people.

He took out the crumpled notice he had ripped from the signpost earlier. Smoothing the damp paper, he examined the caption and the sketch of his likeness. The ink of the drawing was smudged, and he’d never been much good at reading letters. But he knew enough to realize he was looking at a reward posted for his capture. It may have been his own country he had allegedly betrayed, but the Lythnian authorities were certainly taking a keen interest in his fate. Scowling, he held the notice to the flames, letting it blacken and curl.

He was aware of Geveral watching him destroy the notice. He could feel the Drycaenian youth’s curiosity. But before the boy could annoy him with any questions, they were both startled by a short scream. Orrick followed the sound just in time to see the top of Eydis’s head disappearing through the cave’s floor.

“Eydis!” Geveral cried, even as Orrick scrambled across the cavern.

The hole in the floor must have already been there, concealed under old leaves and debris, just waiting for someone to step in the wrong spot.

Dropping to his knees, Orrick peered down into the darkness but could make out nothing.

Joining him, Geveral shouted down, “Can you hear me, Eydis? Are you all right?”

There came no response, no sound at all echoing up the abyss.

Orrick sized up the tight opening and decided his shoulders were too wide to fit through.

As if reading his mind, Geveral said, “I’m smaller than you. I should be the one to go down after her.”

“Wait,” Orrick cautioned, fetching a burning stick from the fire and dropping it down the hole. The flaming stick tumbled end over end, growing small in the distance, until finally smashing into the floor below. In the pool of light it created, there was nothing to be seen but rock. No sign of Eydis.

“It’s a long drop,” said Orrick.

Geveral prepared to lower himself down anyway. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Don’t be a fool. You’re no use to her if you get yourself killed.” Orrick looked thoughtfully into the shadows at the back of the cave. He’d noticed earlier how the wider cavern extended through a crevice into what looked like a tunnel leading deeper into the rock. It might be a dead end, but it was worth a try. “Let’s explore our options before either of us hurls himself down that hole,” he said. “There may be more than one way to reach her.”

Geveral looked reluctant but gave in. “As long as it’s quick.”

Grabbing another fire stick, Orrick fashioned it into a crude torch with a rag twisted around one end. With it lighting their way, he and Geveral delved into the deeper regions of the cave. It didn’t take them long to find a narrow tunnel leading further into the rock. Orrick sensed before they had gone far down the sloping passage that they were now beneath ground level. The air was cold, the floor damp. A constant dripping sound could be heard in the distance. Geveral called Eydis’s name again and again, but the only voice echoing back was his own.

As they proceeded deeper, the tunnel widened and branched into side passages. They passed stalactites and disturbed occasional clusters of sleeping bats hanging from the ceilings. Here and there lay heaps of bones, skeletons of small animals. Orrick hoped they didn’t meet whatever beast was big enough to kill such large prey.

“How deep do you think these caverns run?” Geveral asked, pushing through a sticky spider-web ahead.

Orrick didn’t answer. His eye was caught by a shiny glint where the light of his torch bounced off the near wall. He left the wider passage to get a closer look.

“Wait. Where are you going?” Geveral had to scurry after him to avoid being left in the dark.

“Take this,” Orrick said by way of answer, and thrust the torch into Geveral’s hands.

Kneeling, he dusted aside a pile of dirt and rotted leaves to reveal what shone beneath—a partially buried sheet of polished metal. With further digging, he unearthed a breastplate and a pair of mail gauntlets, among other mismatched bits of armor.

“How do you think those got here?” Geveral asked as Orrick dug deeper to uncover a heavy helm and a long-handled maul with a spiked head.

“More than likely we’ve stumbled over some brigand’s hoard of treasures,” said Orrick, trying on the helm and gauntlets. “What do you think?”

Geveral looked unamused. “Very fearsome. But I don’t see how any of this is helping us find Eydis. We should move on.”

“Not without this.” Orrick selected a halberd from the bottom of the treasure pile. “Take it. I’m tired of being the only armed member of this party. Where we’re going, we’ll need all the weapons we can carry.”

Geveral backed away. “Drycaenians don’t carry steel. It’s against custom.”

“Fine, no steel. Carry this instead. The shaft is oak, the head pure lead.”

Geveral flinched and caught the maul Orrick hefted at him before it could strike him across the chest. “I don’t think you’re understanding the point,” he complained.

“Eydis’s life may eventually depend on your ability to defend her,” Orrick said. “Get the point of that?”

Clearly that argument struck home, because the dryad boy grimaced but hung the war hammer from his belt without further discussion.

Digging through the stash of armor and weapons, Orrick privately thought the redheaded wench was more likely to protect Geveral’s life than he was to defend hers. So after putting on the pieces of armor he liked, he took up the rejected halberd, thinking to give it to Eydis whenever they found her.