The Thirteenth Scroll (46 page)

Aurya fed the flame of her power with fuel of herself and felt the magic respond with new strength, banishing her weariness
and preparing her again to give chase. Later, she would pay for this false and arcane burst of energy, with a true weakness
from which she would not easily or rapidly recover. She did not care. When the child was hers, she would have its power to
return her strength.

Giraldus was approaching her. “That fog,” he said, “was it—”

“Magic?” she finished for him. “Yes—they’ve a mage with them, whoever they are.”

And this changes everything
, she thought but did not say aloud. Giraldus and his men would be useless in a battle of magic—as this fog had proved.

Or maybe not
, Aurya thought. Giraldus had said he wanted to feel the magic again, to become her partner in the arcane. If there was time
before she met with this unknown sorcerer, perhaps she could establish a link between herself and Giraldus, so that his strength
was at her call. It might give her the advantage she needed to prevail.

Aurya glanced around at the men. She saw the one who had lost his horse, but she would not wait until he found it again. Whether
he rode pillion behind someone else or did not ride with them at all, she did not care.

“Let’s go,” she called, and once again led the chase.

She quickly pushed her horse into a gallop, bending her body low over its neck as it ran through the band of trees that grew
between the river and the bogs. Her horse, eager to be away from the place that had terrorized it, needed little urging.

Even so, the pursuit was too slow. Aurya would gladly have sprouted wings and taken flight to find the white dove and lock
her black talons around it.

Coming finally out of the trees, Aurya pulled back on the reins. Here, for a time at least, she had to go slowly enough to
find their trail. But the mage had made that task easier by revealing himself. Magic would touch magic, leaving traces that
she needed no elusively written scroll to follow.

She kept her horse to a walk while she searched the riverbank, every sense of magic extended. She knew, she could
feel
, that she was close. A small, white stone suddenly
caught her eye. It shimmered with a brightness far beyond its natural appearance, pulsing with the magic it had so recently
channeled.

I have you
, Aurya thought as she quickly slid from her gelding’s back and picked up the stone. He was clever, this mage, to have used
so small a focus. Anyone else, less sensitive, less driven than Aurya would have easily ridden past it, losing the trail without
knowing where or why.

Aurya closed her fingers around the stone. The magic thread between the focus and the mage was fraying, but it had not broken
yet. It glistened like sunlit dew upon spider silk.

“They’re on the river,” she said aloud, opening her eyes to look at Giraldus. “That’s where we must go.”

Giraldus looked at her, dumbfounded. “Are you crazy, woman?” he said at last. “We have no boats. Do you expect the horses
to gallop along on the currents? It’s over, Aurya. I’ve humored you enough.”

“
No!”
she shouted. “Send the horses home with some of the men. Their swords will make little difference in a battle of magic. It
will not take long to tie a raft together—enough for ourselves and a few others. But I
will
go, Giraldus, even if I must swim the entire way. Now is not the time to turn coward—not when the child is almost in our
grasp.”

Giraldus looked as if someone had struck him, which was exactly what Aurya had done when she called him coward. Quickly dismounting,
he strode up to her, his height and brawn dwarfing her body. But not her spirit. She met his eyes unflinchingly.

“Once more,” he said through clenched teeth, “and then it is finished. If we do not catch them this time, it’s done. Do you
understand? It’s done.”

That said, Giraldus turned to his men and began issuing orders.

Lysandra paddled the boat as hard as she could, matching Renan stroke for stroke. It had taken three days to ride the current
downstream. They had no such luxury now. Their only chance of safety was to reach the Realm of the Cryf.

Lysandra paddled till her arms ached and her shoulders burned, and kept on paddling.

They had caught up with Talog and Selia on one of the few stops that nature necessitated. Cloud-Dancer rejoined Lysandra,
refusing to leave her side again. Then Talog led the boats to the other side of the river and closer in to shore, where the
current was less strong and the paddling easier.

The two boats now stayed close together. All through the rest of the day they drove themselves, all of them working harder
than Lysandra ever thought possible. She did not have the time or the energy to spend on trying to
see
their pursuers. Now that the first elation had worn off, the ability of
Far-Seeing
was too new for Lysandra to know what its effects or demands upon her might be.

They kept going into the night. Their only sleep came in little naps, one at a time while the others continued paddling. Their
bodies were working too hard to feel the cold, as the night wore on hour after long hour.

Dawn came in a brilliant glory that was noticed by eyes and minds too tired to care, and by Lysandra not at all. She had stopped
using her
Sight
, stopped thinking or doing anything that might distract her from the rhythmic motion of her arms.

Then, finally, two hours into the daylight, Lysandra heard the first faint sounds of hope. She snapped her head
up, drew a deep breath and held it, heart pounding as she strained to hear more clearly.

There it was again: the unmistakable sound of hundreds of birds, carried outward on the morning breeze.

“Do you hear it?” The sudden burst of hope and excitement gave volume to her voice as she spoke for the first time in hours.

Renan and Selia did not, not yet—but Talog did. The young Cryf’s joy rang in his voice as he agreed with her. He was almost
home. Lysandra envied him the feeling; her cottage was still over half the kingdom and many dangers away.

The nearness of his home gave Talog new energy, and he paddled all the harder, making Lysandra and Renan struggle to keep
up. But within minutes, the sound became loud enough for them all to hear—and what had been a desperate chore now became an
act of anticipation.

Safety was ahead: safety within the secret Realm, where they could all rest, at least briefly, from the danger of this pursuit.
Whatever was coming, they would not face it alone.

Each moment, every dip and pull of the paddle, brought them closer. Finally, they were floating again between the hollowed
columns of antediluvian creation, into the beauty and wonder of the long first cavern that stood between the Up-world and
the Realm of the Cryf.

But they would not travel the heart of the Realm afloat. Talog paddled his boat to the bank and motioned for Renan and Lysandra
to do the same.

“Our travels shall be faster now by the pathways of my people,” he said. “The ways of the Cryf go straight unto the heart
of the Realm, where Eiddig awaits. Those who follow know not our paths.”

Lysandra was overjoyed by the thought of dry land again. Selia said nothing. Lysandra could feel her fighting to control the
fear that had filled her every moment since she left the convent. Every hour since then had taken her farther away, every
action had been precipitated by dangers suddenly heaped upon her as she was forced back into the world she had eagerly thought
to renounce.

While Talog and Renan unloaded the boats, Lysandra went over to Selia’s side, wishing she had some words of comfort to offer.
But she would not give her empty promises or say that all danger had passed and only a bright future lay ahead. Instead, she
put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders, offering in a gesture the warmth that might give Selia some of the encouragement
her words could not.

Unexpectedly, at her touch, their minds and thoughts merged. The impact of it stunned Lysandra, but only for an instant. Selia,
too, was taken aback—and yet they both immediately knew that their minds would always be open to each other. It could be no
other way if Wisdom and Prophecy were to combine into that one Light that was
Truth
.

As the surprise faded, Lysandra felt again the emotional turmoil that raged within the younger woman. Selia was holding herself
in the delicate balance between desire and duty. It was a mixture of feelings Lysandra understood well—and she knew how precarious
the balance could be.

Do you truly trust them so much?
the younger woman asked her finally—of Talog and Renan, of this place they were now entering… and of what waited ahead.

Yes
, Lysandra told her.
That much and more. I do not know why each of us was called out of our chosen existence, to do what none of us ever wanted
or expected to
do. But I do know that without faith that there is a purpose, without the trust and hope that are part of faith, there exists
only Darkness. It might not be felt today or tomorrow, but the Darkness
is
there. I have been to that Darkness, Selia. It is not the Darkness of the mind or the body. It is the emptiness of the soul
and blindness of the spirit
.

Before Lysandra could say more, Renan called to her. He and Talog had carried the boats far enough into the passage not to
be easily seen.

Lysandra briefly tightened her arm around Selia’s shoulder. “Trust,” she said softly before turning away, “and your fears
will have no power. Remember that even the smallest beam of Light banishes the Darkness.”

She was glad to find Renan had remembered her walking stick. After so many miles together, it was comforting to have it again
in her hand and her other hand on Cloud-Dancer’s head. Although her
Sight
was now something she could call upon at will, she used Cloud-Dancer’s vision as they started down the long passageway ahead.
Their bond was stronger than ever, and Lysandra was using this touch of mind upon mind to let the wolf know her continued
gratitude for his companionship.

They had all had too little sleep and had worked far too many hours. Lysandra’s arms felt like lead and her legs were as wobbling
as a new fawn’s. Only Talog seemed unaffected, too filled with the joy of being back in his beloved Realm. Lysandra did not
begrudge him his excitement; she would feel the same way if her cottage waited at the end of this road.

They kept going, somehow. Step by step. Talog, who bounded ahead, had been back to check on their progress three times. But
they had not seen him now in almost an
hour. Lysandra did not know how much farther she could walk, even to save Selia—even for the unrealized hope and future of
the kingdom.

Then she realized that the sound she had been hearing without it registering in her too-tired mind was the sound of running
feet—Cryf feet. It was a unique sound, unlike the tap and clatter of the heavy, shod feet of her human companions. There were
many of them coming; she tried to count but that, too, took too much effort.

The sound was nearer; then it was all around her. “Talog?” she said aloud.

“I am here, Healer,” he replied. “All shall now be well. Eiddig-Sant hath called the Cryf to readiness. Thou mayst rest now.”

Strong arms lifted Lysandra and laid her in a long sling filled with the soft nesting material that had been her bed once
before. The sling was suspended on poles and carried by the runners. Lysandra relaxed back into this portable bliss and finally
let her efforts cease into unconsciousness.

G
iraldus would send only two men with the horses, one of whom was young Rhys. The other eight he
insisted on keeping with them. Aurya did not waste time arguing. She did not care about the numbers as long as they
hurried
.

Finally, two rafts were done and they were on the river, working in shifts at the long poles that gave them momentum against
the current. It was far slower going than Aurya liked, but it was the only way to follow the fragile trail of magic that was
their guide.

She kept expecting that trail to lead to the other bank of the river and continue on land, but as long as it continued along
the water, so would they. All through the rest of the day, through the night, and into the next day—she would not let them
stop for fear the thread of magic would lose its cohesion.

It was nearing noon the following day when Aurya first heard the birds. The sound carried over the water like no birdsong
she had ever heard before. As they continued their passage upstream, the sound got louder and louder. There had to be
hundreds
of many varieties, all singing their calls together.

Birdsong became cacophony as, at last, the river rounded a bend and she saw the huge cavern, like a great maw opening in the
side of the mountain.

“You can’t mean us to go in there,” Giraldus demanded. “I’ve heard many a tale of people going into these caverns and caves—and
never coming out again. It’s too dangerous, Aurya.”

“Yes,” she said. “We’re going in there.
They
went in there—and it’s not as dangerous to us as losing the child. Are you to be turned away by the fear of old tales told
to frighten children? If that’s true, perhaps you shouldn’t be King. But
I
have the heart it takes to be Queen. Put me to shore, and I’ll follow them on my own.”

Giraldus growled in frustration. He knew that her threat
was very real and that short of binding her from shoulder to foot and keeping her that way, nothing he could do would stop
her now. All he could do was leave her or go with her… he gestured for the men to keep going.

Aurya was not prepared for the sight that awaited just within the cavern’s dome. When she saw the hollow pillars of stone,
heard the crescendoing cries of the fledglings and parent birds echoing off the high ceilings, she knew that this, not Yembo,
was the place of Tambryn’s scroll. She had been on the wrong path from the beginning.