The Eye of the Hunter (57 page)

“Hold,” called Urus, then—
“Raka! Raka!”
—commanded his gelded dromedary to kneel. ’Mid
hronks
of protest, the camel reluctantly obeyed. “I will walk and see if it provides passage through,” said the Baeran, dismounting.

“I will go with thee, Urus,” declared Riatha, her camel, too, grumbling as it knelt.

And so did all the camels growl, as down they were commanded, the remaining companions dismounting, as well.

Leaving camels and comrades behind, Urus and Riatha stepped into the slot, disappearing ’round a twisting curve and into the shadows beyond. Faeril heard a faint
shing
as Riatha drew her sword.

* * *

Time passed, perhaps a half hour all told, and up through the slot bouncing from the walls came the echoing call of a Jillian crow.

Gwylly leapt up from the rock where he had been sitting. “Safe passage!”

Halíd looked at the buccan, questioning.

“It is Riatha,” explained Gwylly. “The caw of the crow is a signal that all is well and to come ahead.”

Halíd turned up the palms of his hands. “How do you know that it is not a desert crow simply calling to its mate?”

Gwylly smiled.
“This
crow is found only in the Jillian Tors, year ’round, and has a distinctive call.”

Halíd nodded in understanding, moving with Gwylly to the animals, fixing the lead line of Riatha’s dromedary to the last of the camels in his train, while Aravan tied the lead of Urus’s gelding to the train that followed him. And with shouted commands of
“Kâm! Kâm!”
they got the grumbling beasts to their feet.

Into the high-walled crevice they went, Aravan and Faeril first, three pack camels and a dromedary trailing after, Halíd and Gwylly following, three pack camels and two dromedaries in their train, for tethered behind was Reigo’s dromedary as well as that of Riatha.

Daylight faded as inward they rode, the walls cool in the
notch, and even though it was mid of day, the air in the narrow slot felt chill. Downward they fared along a rock-strewn floor, among boulders and fallen slabs, with ragged, shadowed stone looming overhead. The clamor of grumbling camels reverberated along the twisting corridor, sounding as would a mighty caravan, but the softly padded feet of the complaining beasts made no sound as they walked, for as with all camels their steps moved in silence, though their irritated
hronks
more than made up for any secrecy they might otherwise achieve. And so, stepping silently and objecting loudly, down they went into cool shadow, along a narrow, tortuous path, while high overhead a thin jagged line told where the distant sky was above.

At last Faeril saw before her a great vertical cleft filled with bright daylight, and she knew that they had come to the end at last, and they rode out into a sweltering blast of heat on the canyon floor, the dazzling Sun blinding, painful to the eyes. Dimly, through tears, she could see two figures walking toward them, and only by the sound of their voices did she confirm that they were indeed Urus and Riatha.

Halíd and Gwylly came riding outward, and Gwylly, squinting, called, “Hoy! Too bright to see. And it’s like a furnace out here.”

* * *

The eyes of the new arrivals adjusted to the daylight as Riatha and Urus retrieved their dromedaries, the odorous beasts sneering and eructing accusations as down they knelt, then stood again.

“Somewhere south there sounds the fall of water,” rumbled Urus, “and southward, too, are trees in the distance. Let us go there to pitch camp.”

Down a long slope of scree they rode, down into the gorge bottom, where sparse grass grew among thorny weeds. “Prime camel fare,” said Gwylly, Halíd agreeing.

They rode a mile or so along the burning floor of the broad canyon, here a half mile from rim to rim, sheer walls of tawny stone rising up to left and right, towering a thousand feet high. As they went, the vegetation slowly changed, becoming more succulent. In the distance ahead they could see a line of trees: not palm trees, but something else altogether. Too, as they fared, the sound of a fall of water came louder to their ears, as if they were nearing the source.

At last they reached the tree line and rode into shade.

“Grass!” cried Faeril. “Real grass! I was beginning to think that the world was made of nothing but rock and sand—

“But, Aravan, what are these trees?”

“Kandra,”
declared Aravan. “This is a
kandra
wood.”

Large were the trees, spreading outward like oaks. Yet no oaks were these, but of a different ilk, for the
kandra
leaves were small and bladelike, shaped as rounded stone arrow points—green on the topside and yellow on the bottom, and quaking in the slight breeze as would aspen leaves tremble. Too, the bark was smooth and dun, and the thick boles bulged somewhat at the ground, gnarled roots diving down into the soil. “The wood of this tree is golden, the grain dense, and it seems to have a natural sheen, as if it contained an oil, though it does not burn. It is a precious lumber and found only on Mithgar, and only the wood of the Eld Tree surpasses it in value.”

Turning rightward, they followed the sound of falling water and came to a wide stream running clear and coursing in the shade cast by overhanging branches of the Kandrawood. Upstream a furlong or two they found a cascade falling some ten feet into a sparkling pool, rainbows dancing in the mist. Above the pool and a hundred yards beyond, the stream issued forth from a wide crevice at the base of the west canyon wall.

They pitched their camp downstream from the waterfall, down where the sound of the falling water was muted by the intervening trees. Halíd and Urus led the camels back to the succulent grasses at the edge of the Kandrawood, hobbling the grumbling beasts eager to graze. When they returned, Urus said, “I advise that we rest this day, for the journey has been long and wearisome. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin our search.”

Gwylly, sitting on the grass beside Faeril, asked, “How long has it been? How much time is left?”

Urus held up the fingers of both hands, ticking them down one at a time and then back up as he counted. “We spent two days at Sabra, and counting today, we have been thirteen days getting here. If we take the same time returning, thirteen days more, then the sum is twenty-eight. That means we have at most thirty-two days to search ere
our sixty days total are gone, ere we need be back at Sabra to sail on the
Bèllo Vènto
.”

Faeril’s amber eyes sparkled. “Thirty-two days to search? Then we are certain to find it, I think, for Dodona was believed to lie in the Karoo, in a place where
kandra
was said to grow, and here we are in the midst of the Kandrawood. It’s got to be near; I feel it in my bones.”

Gwylly sprang to his feet. “Bones or not, love, it’s me for a swim. Besides, I am of a mind to look behind that waterfall for a secret cave…for I ask you, where better to hide the Ring of Dodona?”

Faeril’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, Gwylly, do you think so? Wait up, I’m coming with you.”

* * *

Refreshed by their swim, it was mid-afternoon when all the companions returned to camp. In back of the waterfall Gwylly had found nothing but the slightly hollowed stone of the linn, needing a boost from Urus to clamber up behind. As Gwylly had emerged, sputtering and blowing, declaring failure, Faeril’s face had fallen, but then quicksilver swift she had broken into a smile, and they had gamboled in the water. Wallowing in the pool, even Halíd’s dark mood had lightened somewhat, the Realmsman still mourning Reigo’s death, his friend of many years.

And now as they sat under the
kandra
trees, Halíd gazed at the stream.
“Ilnahr taht,”
he murmured.

Gwylly, combing Faeril’s wet hair, looked up. “What? What did you say, Halíd?”

“Oh, I was just reflecting on an old legend of the desert, the legend of
Ilnahr taht
, the River Under.

“It seems that far beneath the sands of the Karoo flows an endless river, coming from the place beyond, going to the place afar, returning at last on its long, long journey unto its very own origin, circling forever upon itself.

“Some claim it is a river of death, while others call it a stream of life. The
imâmîn
say it is both, for are not life and death each part of the same endless circle?

“I know not the truth of it, nor whether this stream is
Ilnahr taht
, yet I am curious as to the source of this water and whither it does flow…for this gorge is surrounded by the Karoo. If it is not
Ilnahr taht
, coursing beneath the sands, then it imitates it well.”

* * *

The morning of the next day found each of them eager to set forth to find the Ring of Dodona. As they broke their fast, Riatha suggested their course of action:

“We know not what we look for, other than it is a ring. As to what the ring may be, the legends and tales are filled with speculation, and surviving fragments of the records do not tell; perhaps those who scribed them assumed that all would know. Many icons purport to show its mein, all different: a circle of fluted columns; a temple round; a wide stone basin; a ring of dolmen; a circular cavern; a crystal chamber; an enormous pillar; a mound. It could even be a finger ring or a ring of mushrooms. Natural or constructed, we here know not. Who can say? We cannot.

“Yet this I can say: when we see it,
if
we see it, mayhap we will not recognize it as the Ring of Dodona. We must keep in mind that it may have decayed or fallen to ruin; it may even have been destroyed, deliberately or by natural forces. It may be a thing cleverly concealed, or it may be a thing in plain sight, a thing that we would not ordinarily take as a ring.

“Today I would have us ride together the length of this ravine, from one end to the other, from side to side, and measure out its extent, see its broad features. If we find not the ring, then after we have seen what these walls contain, let us devise a plan for searching out all.

“What say ye?”

* * *

For twenty-seven days they searched out the canyon, divided in teams of two: Gwylly and Halíd, Faeril and Aravan, Riatha and Urus. The gorge held the shape of a crescent Moon, running southerly and curving away to the west, seven miles from tip to tip, and three quarters of a mile at its widest. The only path inward was the one they had taken, except of course for the river, flowing in under the western wall, streaming some three miles southward, exiting out under the wall opposite. From under the Karoo it came; back under the Karoo it went; and the six of them took to calling it
Ilnahr taht
, the River Under. The Kandrawood grew the length of the watercourse, spreading out a goodly distance from both banks, filling the gorge from side to side for most of the river’s length. The very horns of the crescent gorge were rather barren, being farthest from the water, the vegetation sparse and dwindling in the far ends.
But the middlemost four miles were relatively lush, especially in the Kandrawood.

But twenty-seven days did they search, finding nothing that they could call a ring. A rope about his waist with Urus anchoring, Aravan even swam underwater under both walls looking for a hidden chamber beyond…to no avail.

They walked the flanks at the base of the high stone walls, seeking a hidden crevice.

They searched the walls of the chasm of the known pathway out.

They tapped on stones, listening for hollows beyond, and rolled aside boulders.

Halíd and Gwylly rode up and out and ’round the rim, not only seeking the ring
on
the verge above, but also seeking the ring
from
above, peering down into the canyon for any circular shape.

Again, all their efforts were futile, unavailing.

Each night they would return to camp, frustrated in their quest.

Twenty-seven days they had searched. In just five days they would have to leave.

* * *

It was after mid of night when Gwylly wakened Faeril for her turn at watch, giving over to her Aravan’s blue stone. As was their wont, they sat together awhile and spoke softly. And on this night Gwylly said something which continued to echo in Faeril’s mind long after her buccaran had gone to sleep: “What we need,” he had declared, “is an oracle to find the oracle.”

Faeril pondered Gwylly’s remark, wondering why it nagged at her so.
Perhaps
…

She went to her pack and rummaged about, finding the small iron box with its crystal.
Moonlight to see the future. There is no Moon, only starlight. Starlight to see the past. The last time I charged it, though, it was with moonlight
.

Faeril returned to the rock on which she had been sitting. With some trepidation she opened the iron lid and withdrew the silk-wrapped crystal.
The last time I tried to use this, I was in a coma for three days. Mayhap if I merely let it guide me, mayhap I won’t tumble down within
.

Faeril took the crystal in hand, closing her fingers about its long-sided, hexagonal shape. The damman next closed
her eyes, her mind canting a chant:
Dodona…Dodona…Dodona…

She felt a warm tingling at her throat. With her free hand she located its source, her fingers touching Aravan’s stone.

Left
, seemed to come a gentle bidding.
Left
.

Her eyes flew open. The stone stopped tingling.

Closing her eyes once more, she struggled to still her startled spirit. At last her heart quieted its wild hammering, and a state of anticipatory calm filled her soul.
Dodona…Dodona…Dodona…

Left…
.

* * *

Riatha wakened Gwylly, the buccan sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Darkness was yet upon the land.
“What is it?”
he whispered, not wishing to waken the others.

The Elfess whispered in return.
“Gwylly, dost thou know where is Faeril?”

Gwylly looked about, his heart thudding. He did not see his dammia, and alarm filled him. Still he managed to control his voice. “No,” he replied softly.

Riatha’s shoulders slumped, and she held up a small iron box and a black silken cloth. “Then, Gwylly, Faeril is missing, and I fear for her.”