FORTY-EIGHT

“NO,” INSTRUCTED Durwin. “These will not do.” He handed two shining green rocks back to Toli, whose eyes sparkled as he looked at them. “Neither green, nor amber, nor blue, red, nor even gold is suitable. Perhaps for chalices and utensils and the like, but not for the Zhaligkeer. The Shining One must be made from white lanthanil, for it is most rare and possesses the greatest powers.”

Quentin looked around. “I wondered why so much of the precious rock lay about. It was the white the Ariga prized most.”

“So it is! We will have to delve for it if we are to fashion a sword,” Durwin stated. “For I have not seen a showing of white since we entered here.”

“Nor have I.”

At Inchkeith’s suggestion they spread out, each to a different quarter, to search for a vein of white ore among all the rainbow traces of colored lanthanil. Inchkeith schooled them on what to look for and how to go about it, so that at the end of several hours search they were well-acquainted with the methods of miners. But by the end of an entire day’s search they were no closer to having found a speck of the rare white ore.

The next day’s search brought nothing but sore fingers and knees to the miners. The day following it was the same. Quentin considered these periods of activity to be days since they were bound on each side by intervals of rest, but how long in duration they were, he could not say. At the end of it, as they sat before the small fire Toli had made in a ring of stones, frustrated and longing for sleep, Inchkeith grumbled to himself-a habit he had fallen into of late.

“What was that?” asked Durwin.

“Nothing,” growled Inchkeith. He raised his cup once more to his mouth.

“You said something about the water,” replied Durwin. “I think I would like to hear it again.”

“I said this water tastes as stale as stone!” Inchkeith glared at the hermit with a look of smoldering exasperation.

“I think you may be right,” said Durwin, tasting his water. “Very like stone.”

“What is so odd about that?” inquired Quentin. He believed they were all beginning to show signs of strain and exhaustion. “We have been drinking this water for two days.”

“Yes,” added Toli, “ever since we emptied the skins, we brought in with us.”

“Where did you fill them, Toli?” asked Durwin eagerly, leaning forward in the light of the fire.

“Why, at the pool over there. Just below where we entered. But it is safe enough. I tested it myself and found no ill effect. It is stale because it had been so long in the cave, away from sun and air.”

“Then the pool is not fed by a spring?”

“I should say not. If it were, perhaps the water would have a fresher taste.” Toli looked narrowly back at Durwin.

“Why this sudden interest in our water? We have been drinking it two days, as Toli says. It has brought no harm.” Quentin shrugged and as a show of confidence in Toli’s judgment he drained his cup.

Durwin stood abruptly. “Take me to the pool.” No one moved. “At once!”

Toli rose and led him off. Inchkeith and Quentin stared at one another, mystified. “Well, we might as well trail along after them as wait here. I am ever amazed at the notions that hermit takes into his head. There will be no sleep until he is satisfied anyway.”

So the armorer and Quentin followed the figures receding in the glowing half-light of the great vault. When they caught up with them, Durwin and Toli were down on hands and knees peering into the ebony depths of a pool whose surface looked as hard and polished as black glass.

“No, I cannot see anything,” sighed Durwin. “But I think we must try.”

“Try what?” asked Quentin.

“I cannot be certain,” began Durwin. “But…”He hesitated.

“Out with it, you pesky hermit. What do you suspect?”

“Only this, and it is a forlorn guess-that it would be very like the Ariga to further conceal their prize in a way that did not altogether hinder discovery.”

“You think it is in the pool?” Quentin knelt and stared into the water in disbelief.

“Perhaps,” intoned Durwin. “I did not say for a certainty that it was.”

“Bah!” said Inchkeith. “This is seepage water, nothing else. You will find nothing down there.”

“Oh, do not be so sure. Have you seen any seepage or running water since we have entered the mine?”

“A little, of course.”

“Very little, sir. The Ariga miners knew their craft-far better than any miner living today. Water is a constant danger in a mine. But as you yourself have seen, no such hazard threatens this mine; the Ariga had ingenious ways of disposing of it. Therefore, I am inclined to believe that this pool is here for a purpose.”

“Of a purpose or no,” Inchkeith said, squinting into the fathomless depths, “how do you propose to delve down there?”

Durwin shook his head and stood. “That I do not know. But let me sleep on it. Perhaps something will come to me in my dreams.”

They all went back to the place where Toli’s fire still burned and pretended to try to sleep. But the attempt was far from effective because each had fallen prey to the puzzle of the pool: how to remove the water. So each tossed and heaved under their cloaks and thought about nothing but the pool and the white lanthanil that might lay buried in its black depths.

At last Quentin sat up and said, “It is no use. I can not sleep, and if my ears tell me anything, they tell me no one else is sleeping either. We may as well talk about it.”

“You are right,” grunted Inchkeith. “There will be no rest until we have solved the riddle of how to get ore from a puddle.”

“So it is,” Durwin said, rising up. “Has anyone thought of a way?”

Blank stares met over the fire. It was clear that no one had any idea of how the mining operation might proceed.

Slowly Toli got to his feet. “There is only one way,” he said. “I must go down there.”

Silence followed this pronouncement. Toli’s features had become a mask of fear and revulsion such as Quentin had never seen on his friend before, not even in battle. “Toli, there is no need; we will find another way.”

“What way would that be?” Inchkeith muttered.

“We could drain it, or-” Quentin could not think of another way to suggest.

“You see, my way is best,” said Toli softly. He appeared as a man going to his death.

“But-” Quentin started to object.

Durwin stopped him, saying, “No, I believe Toli is right. His is the only way. I see no reason to talk about it any longer. We might as well get on with it since no one feels like sleeping.”

“No!” Quentin protested. “I will not hear of it, even if Durwin thinks it the only way. If anyone must go, let it be me. It is supposed to be my sword, after all”

“Think of what you are saying.” Durwin turned a steady gaze on Quentin that made him feel like a small child. “Are you fit to swim and wield a pick underwater? With your arm, what could you do?”

Durwin continued, “Who of us better than Toli? Inchkeith? Myself? No. Toli is right. He is the only choice. Of all of us, he has the best chance of succeeding.”

“Then I will go with him,” said Quentin hotly. Durwin shrugged. “You may be of some help. All right. Let us begin.”

Within a short time they were ready. Toli and Quentin stripped off their clothes and, wearing only their leather baldrics-to which had been attached long ropes, tools and, on an inspiration from Inchkeith, small pieces of glowing lanthanil so that they might be seen as they descended and worked in the inky depths-they stood on the brink, looking morosely into the pool as if Heoth himself waited below to embrace them in his icy grasp.

Durwin and Inchkeith held the ends of the ropes. “Remember, you have but to tug on the rope and we will pull you up in an instant. Do not try to swim-save your energy and lungs. It will allow you to work longer. The weight of the tools you carry should take you down quickly enough. Save your strength, both of you.”