The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) (26 page)

“That my race would risk itself for another? Yes, that surprises me. I thought the story was a fairy tale.”

The second troll, the shorter one with the circular head, stared at Lanokas. His voice was shrill compared to the other’s. “You say human race be cruel?”

“Of course humans can be cruel!” said Kansten.

Lanokas said, “We’re also capable of great sacrifice. Great nobility of spirit.”

The taller troll nodded. He nearly smiled. Kora said, her voice stronger than before, “What Great Revolt? I’m sorry, it’s just that I, I never heard of it.”

The tall troll said, “A civil war, long ago, when a group of rebels tried to overthrow our Leader. There has always been blood prejudice among us, and he was kind to the light-skinned trolls, you see. Too kind. He treated them as equals. These rebels were monsters, true monsters. Your kind helped fight them.”

“You’re light-skinned yourselves,” said Lanokas.

The tall troll snarled, “What if we are?”

“You know what it’s like to be hunted. So do we, all three of us.”

The trolls gave him a blank look, so Kansten explained before her friends could stop her, “He’s our prince.”

A murmur of surprise sprung up among the trolls that stood behind them. The two in front exchanged dark glances. The tall one said, “A hunted prince? King Hune’s son?”

Kora gulped, but nodded.

“What does this mean? Hune is dead?”

The sorceress said, “We humans suffered a revolt of our own.”

The tall troll shook his head, strangely somber. “Hune was good to us. Worked with us, more than any of his predecessors. I am captain of the 3
rd
army, I wondered why his contact ceased. I’m glad Hune did not betray us. You three may pass. Rankush, lead them to where the path splits.”

The troll beside him grunted. His voice was shrill as ever. “How do we know that man is prince?”

“He’s the image of his father, you fool.”

Rankush grunted again, a harsher sound this time. He took off down the hall. Kora grabbed Kansten’s arm to move her forward, and Lanokas fell in step. Wherever Rankush might guide them, their only option was to follow.

“Thank you,” Kora told the captain, hoping to keep relations cordial. “Thank you.”

The troll nodded in response, the trace of a smile on his face but no jovial spark in his eye. Kora resisted the urge to shiver as she passed him. She was not sure how fond she was of trolls, but she was in awe to have survived the encounter with these: so far, that was. Rankush was not in the best of spirits, and Kora noticed Lanokas return his hand to his sword hilt. After a few seconds Kansten glanced behind. “Your friend back there is something,” she said.

“Pikebash no is friend,” snarled Rankush. The sound of his voice gave Kora goose bumps. “He master. I get food and bed for serve him, and sometimes coin.”

No one said another word. The only light still came from the torch Kora held, and she wondered how Rankush could see, ahead of the flame as he was, but then she realized his eyes must work differently than a human’s. Perhaps he could even see in total darkness. The thought made her uncomfortable, and she had no misgivings about leaving her guide when they reached the fork in the path Pikebash had mentioned. A string of the same statue lamps as before burst into life down the right-hand side, dazzling her eyes. Rankush stepped blindly back, nearly running Lanokas over. He grumbled, steadying himself, and squinting and blinking, said, “I leave here. You alone. Only humans take path here.”

He tromped back the way they had come without any sign of acknowledgment. Kora listened to him go and sank back against the wall.

“Trolls,” she said. “Trolls!”

Kansten grinned. “What’s next? Dragons?”

Kora groaned. “Don’t say that. Do not say that, don’t even think it.”

“We won’t find other creatures,” said Lanokas. He adjusted his sack across his shoulder. “The sorcerers’ tests don’t repeat that way. The ancient magicians coexisted with the trolls, which takes an open mind. Apparently the Councilors valued that.”

Kora, calmer now, asked, “Did your father never mention trolls?”

“Not to me. I had no idea they existed beyond children’s stories.”

Kansten said, “They’re not the stupid oafs we make them out to be, are they?”

Lanokas smiled. “They’re as intelligent as we are. The officer, his control of our language is impressive. We have the upper hand in hygiene though.”

Kora broke into a laugh that was a little hysterical; a concerned look from Kansten clammed her up. She took a deep breath, tried to reconcile herself to the fact that trolls were real, and considered the best thing to do was to put distance between herself and their caverns.

They took off down the path to the right. It had an upward incline, and Kora noticed the air begin to freshen. After maybe half a mile—it was hard to judge distance—they entered an airy, circular chamber where, straight ahead, set in the rock wall, was the largest wooden door Kora had ever seen. It was wide enough that, if open, four people with outspread arms could easily have walked through side by side. Chinks of light passed between the door and the wall, outlining its massive frame; there was no knob or handle of any kind. Carved six inches deep in the wood (six inches was only half the door’s thickness) were the ten numerical digits at eye level, each about the size of Kora’s palm.

Kora pushed the door, but it would not budge. Behind her she heard Kansten mutter, “Wonderful.”

“What?”

Lanokas said, “It’s another of those black tapestries.” Kora turned to find it just as he began to read.

You proved your pow’r in entering our caves.

Wisdom has taught you the value of pride.

In not rushing to attack your very life you saved;

             
Now your true worth two last tests will decide.

A full breadth of knowledge one needs inside our Hall;

History we deem to move you forward.

Ten digits appear in the stately wooden door.

Fill them in one proper, precise order.

First give the year of Herezoth’s union,

Next, of her great constitution;

Third, the number of blood kings to date,

Then the date of magic’s restitution.

When did we found our hallowed law courts,

And how many then did we robe?

After how many years did we alter that sum?

In which months will you find rulings slowed?

“Shit.” Kansten ran a hand through her hair. “Shit, what do we do now? I don’t know this stuff.”

“Me neither,” said Kora. “I don’t know any of this, except the year the dukedoms united. 1012.”

Lanokas said, “I had to study all of this for years on end. We’ll see how much I remember.”

He touched the interior of the “1” on the door. When he withdrew his hand, the space filled itself in with wood that moved forward from the carving’s depth, as though pushed from the other side. The number shined bright blue for a moment, then receded as though nothing had happened. The process repeated without change for the zero, the one again, and the two.

“The constitution,” said Kora, and Lanokas pressed the year 1297. “The kings of your line? How many have ruled?”

“My father was eighteenth.”

             
Kansten asked, “What’s magic’s res….?”

             
“The Restitution,” said Lanokas. “It was ages ago, before Herezoth was unified. A southern lord learned his wife had been unfaithful with a sorcerer, so he murdered them both and banished all the magicked from his lands, which were extensive, the size of a city. The handful of sorcerers affected complied. They went to surrounding regions and raised political support for their cause, instead of resisting physically. That’s what makes the story famous. The magic community made the injustice public knowledge, and the lord’s reputation fell among his peers, to the point that he had to take the sorcerers back. That was the Restitution, in 765. Or was it 769? No, sixty-five. I’m sure it was sixty-five.”

             
Kora held her breath. 1-8-7-6-…. Lanokas had two fingers within the “5” when he pulled them back as though something had bitten him. “It’s sixty-seven. 767.” And so it was.

             
“This is insane,” said Kansten. “What’s the point? Who knows that? For what?”

             
Lanokas, whose outstretched arm was shaking a bit, lowered his hand. “People like me know this, people highly educated. The magic court was classist, that’s what this is about. What’s next?”

             
Kora checked the tapestry. “When was the court founded?”

             
“That’s 1364.” Lanokas entered the numerals. “Next they want the number of councilors, right? It was twenty-seven. Nine from each province. They lowered it to nineteen five years before Hansrelto, but when exactly….?”

             
Kora smiled. “Hansrelto’s revolt was 1394. My parents were always fascinated by it. Do you know what months the court of magic met?”

             
“The opposite of the public courts. Which means they held half-sessions in…. February, it would be. February, March, October and November. 2-3-1-0-1-1.” Kora helped the prince keep his numbers straight, and he entered the rest of the code. When he pressed the final “1,” the carvings vanished and the door swung outward.

The sunlight, the wind, the smell of fresh snow: it was all a miracle, so much so that Kora ignored the cold. She felt like she had been trapped in the caverns for months, like she never would find a way out. Judging by the sun, she had spent three or four hours in the mountain.

Lanokas was first to step outside. Kora followed onto a thin, flat protrusion on the side of the mountain, which fell sheer away beneath them and rose unscalable at their backs. Twenty feet distant, on the side of an adjacent peak, was a second cliff with a marble platform somehow free of the white powder that smothered everything else. As the Leaguesmen watched, it shot a beam of thick golden light into the sky, a beacon to call them forward.

Kora, whose throat felt dry now she had left the cavern, stood with her back against the rock, as far from the cliff edge as she could manage. She suddenly wished she were back with Pikebash, and shut her eyes because her vision had gone hazy. Lanokas and Kansten grabbed her hands. Gathering herself, she pictured the column of light and said, “
Trasporte
.”

             
“KORA!”

             
Kora crumpled, faint and feverish, where a moment before she had stood on the snowy ledge. She struggled to stay conscious, saw Kansten and Lanokas’s terrified faces swim in and out of focus until she gave it up and fell into oblivion. She came to with a cold, sticky face, and realized someone had rubbed snow on her forehead. Her sight grew clearer by the second, mostly by force of will. Her companions helped her up.

Kansten asked, “Are you all right?”

“I think so, I…. I don’t think magic will get us across. There’s an enchantment of some kind. It blocked me.”

Lanokas’s face was troubled, his cheeks and nose red from the chill, but he kept his voice firm, even cavalier. “How do we cross without the transport spell? Suggestions?”

“Without any spell,” Kora qualified. “I don’t know.”

Kansten started stomping her feet to keep warm. “Think,” she said. “This is the last test. The
last
test. We know it can be done, others have done it.” She froze with a jolt, then tromped over to the cliff edge. Kora’s head was spinning. Lanokas grew tense.

“What do you think you’re….?”

“This is the point closest to that ledge over there. To that light,” said Kansten. “I bet there’s a bridge.”

Kora’s vision blurred a second time. For an instant she thought she would faint again; Lanokas’s pinching hold on her shoulder only zapped her strength the more.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he told Kansten.

“There has to be a bridge. There’s no other way, don’t you see?”

“Get back here!” Kora pleaded. Her stomach felt like it had turned to mush. “Please get back….”

“If I fall, use that
Mudar
spell. You can’t use magic to cross the gap, but you can lift me back up, right?”

“Listen to me, I’m terrified of….”

Kora’s voice died as Kansten stepped off the ledge, neither floating in midair nor falling: a wooden board materialized beneath her. Lanokas relaxed his grip, and Kora massaged her upper arm, forcing herself to watch as Kansten walked the twenty feet to the cliff where the pillar of golden light still rose. With every step a new board appeared, while the old one vanished the moment her weight left it. She motioned for the others to join her. Kora stared at Lanokas, white as chalk.

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.”

“Not this. Lanokas, I don’t like heights. I don’t like them. It’s bad enough just being out here, but to step out like that…. I’d rather there actually have
been
a dragon. I’m serious, I’ll faint and I’ll fall. I can’t do this.”