“Delnur Ivi, Toli,” Quentin murmured as they trudged along. Repeating the words over and over by the flickering torchlight, he had wracked his brain for some smattering of the Jher speech he could use and that was what he had come up with. Delnur Ivi. Hold on… hold on.
Quentin rolled over in the darkness and was startled to see a faint light bouncing toward him out of the formless void. It seemed to float or swim in the darkness, and it bunked like the eye of some cave beast that had happened upon their trail and was now stalking them. He watched as the light grew brighter by degrees.
Quentin sat up, wondering whether to wake the others and warn them. He heard the shuffling footsteps of someone coming down the passageway toward the chamber where they had huddled to sleep. But even as Quentin framed the thought, the feeling of danger passed. He waited and presently the light burst through the arched entrance to the chamber, filling the room, or so it seemed to Quentin’s light-deprived eyes, with a sunlike brilliance.
“So it is! You are awake, Quentin. Come with me, I want to show you something.”
“But the others-”
“Let them sleep. It is not far. Come along.”
Quentin stood stiffly and found at once how sore his feet were. He padded after Durwin, who lifted the torch high so both could use it as they entered once more the main tunnel they had been following on their last march. Presently they came to a small arched entrance in the side of the passageway. Durwin stopped and said, “I have been wandering long up and down this gallery. I only saw this when I was returning to the chamber to sleep a little while ago. I decided to try it. Follow me.”
Quentin, curiosity piqued, stooped and ducked under the arch. At once they were in the uncomfortably close confines of a low and narrow wormhole tunnel that twisted and turned with barely enough room for a man to stand erect.
The tunnel fell away steeply, far more rapidly than Quentin thought safe; it seemed as if the tunnel would suddenly pitch down and he would find himself falling into a bottomless well. But Durwin seemed to have no fear, lurching along as quickly as his legs would carry him. So Quentin kept his fears to himself and followed dutifully along.
They came to a narrow place-the end of the tunnel. But Quentin saw Durwin turn sideways and disappear into a crack just wide enough to squeeze through. He, too, turned his shoulders and, holding his breath, scraped through the thin opening. As he came through, Quentin felt Durwin grab him by the shoulders and lay down the torch so that he could see that he only stood on a narrow ledge.
Then Durwin smiled at him in the glow of the torch, his face gleaming with ferocious glee. “What is it, Durwin?” asked Quentin. He felt a thrill of excitement tingle along his spine. Quentin heard his own voice fall away from him, and he knew he must be standing before an enormous chasm.
“What is it? What is it indeed!” laughed the hermit. “I will show you.” Durwin’s voice sounded empty and metallic as it reverberated through the dark space before them. Quentin crowded closer to the rock wall at his back.
The hermit took the torch and with a mighty heave sent it spinning off into the darkness beyond.
“No! Wait!” cried Quentin. His cry echoed back to him from across a great distance. The torch tumbled and spun as it fell and fell, and Quentin saw the reflected flash of the fire on smooth surfaces as it plunged and at last extinguished in a splash that sounded like ice splintering on a newly frozen pond. “Watch,” said Durwin breathlessly.
Quentin could see nothing and worried about the torch. How were they to find their way back again? But then a strange and wonderful thing happened.
As he watched, he imagined that he saw the stars of heaven come peeping out, one by one, into the blackness surrounding them. At first these stars were but the tiniest slivers of light, but they began to grow. “What-?” began Quentin. He never finished the thought.
Above him the vaulted roof of the enormous chamber had begun to shine with a soft amber luminescence that blushed pink like a winter sunrise. The far walls held glimmering green traces like liquid light streaking down. The floor of the cavern far below shone with its own ghostly light in irregular splotches here and there, in seams of blue and gold. Within moments-though to Quentin it seemed like the slow dawning of day-the vast chamber was radiating light from all sides and Quentin was swept away with incredulous joy.
“Durwin,” he whispered.
“Yes, Quentin. We have found it. It is the lanthanil.”
FORTY-SEVEN
BY THE FIERCE light of the Wolf Star the sentinels watched them coming. Although it was the sixth hour of the night, the cold glow of the awful star cast a light as bright as day upon the plain. The star had grown to fill the entire eastern sky, obliterating all lesser lights. And by the light of their savage star the Ningaal came to Askelon.
A messenger was dispatched to bring the King; he had ordered that he be notified, whatever the hour, when the enemy approached. The courier had scarcely left the battlements when he was back with Eskevar, grim and glowering in his sable-lined cloak, its golden dragon brooch and chain glittering in the streaming light.
The embroidered silver figure of the dragon could be seen writhing on the back of the hooded cloak as it swirled out behind him. The King was wearing tall red boots, and his sword hung at his side; those who saw him knew that he not been to bed that night, but had been waiting and was ready to meet the enemy.
They were still a long way off as Eskevar glared defiantly out into the unnatural night. “Come to Askelon, you barbarian horde!” spat Eskevar. “Come and meet your doom!”
The commanders who had gathered around him exchanged worried glances, for Eskevar’s countenance burned with a feverish mien like the mazard of a ravening wolf. He cocked his head to them and said, “Rudd, there. And you, Dilg; and Fincher. The dragon sleeps while the enemy draws closer. He is under the hill sleeping in his hall of stone, but not for long. He will awaken and defend his home. Never has the hand of an invader touched these walls, and none ever shall. The dragon will stop them. Yes, the dragon!”
The lords nodded in silence, afraid to break in on the King’s ravings. Eskevar gripped the stone crenelle with both hands as if he were holding up the walls with his bare hands. “See how they come,” he said slowly, every word ringing clear. “I feel their hated feet upon the land. I feel their evil intent deep in my inmost parts. But the dragon’s heart is in me; it is of iron. I am not afraid.”
The lords shrank away from the Dragon King. Even those who had served in the wars against Goliah had never seen him so. His eyes started from his head and his mouth was taut; his high, noble brow shone smooth and tight in the starlight.
“This is a wonder, is it not, my lords? Look upon it. See how willingly they come to the slaughter. See the accursed marching to their destruction. But have no pity for them, my lords. They deserve what they shall receive. They shall be cut down.”
“This night is chill, Sire,” said Rudd. He spoke hesitantly, for a number of soldiers had gathered around and were murmuring over the King’s behavior. If it was to be whispered about that the King had lost his senses, their soldiers could not be expected to fight as they should when the time came. “Perhaps we should all wait within for a little. I would talk with you about our defenses.”
Eskevar turned to them as if seeing them for the first time. “Eh? What is that you say?” He passed an unsteady hand over his brow, now beaded with sweat. Rudd felt a shudder shake the King’s frame as he placed his hand on his elbow.