Part 3 (2/2)
He fingered it absently as he spoke. ”The glaive is nothing but an ancient symbol. I was taught in school that symbols are distorted representations of half-remembered realities. It doesn't actually exist.”
”Oh, it exists.” Ynyr pointed toward a confluence of tall peaks. ”Up there.
You are partially right, though. It is ancient.”
”I need weanons. not symbols.” Colwvn directed his horse around a huge boulder, keeping his attention on the ground ahead. The rock here was broken and slippery. He would be glad when they came to firmer ground.
”Do not be so quick to disdain the use of symbols, my boy. They have their uses. Once, the glaive was more than a symbol. It was a powerful device, a great weapon. In the right hands it can be so again.”
”In my hands?”
”I wish I knew for certain. I have studied long hours alone and have learned much from our history.”
”Tell me.”
”Not now. This is not the time or place. When it is time I will tell you.
Before you can learn the secrets of the past, you must secure the future. For now it is enough for you to know that only a true prince of the mind can successfully make use of the glaive.”
Colwyn frowned. ”Prince of the mind? I'm not sure that I understand.”
”Recall your marriage ceremony. Yes, I know it is painful, but recall. The pa.s.sing of fire to water is proof that certain abilities have been inculcated in you, among them the ability to utilize your mind in ways alien to the average man.”
”That's a prince's right.”
”No, boy, it is not a prince's right! There's much more to it than that.
Some day I hope to make you realize how much more.” His attention turned from Colwyn to a saddle between two crags. ”We are near.”
”If you are so sensitive to such things, and to this glaive you insist is no fairy tale, and to the knowledge that surrounds it, why do you not wield it yourself against the Slayers?”
Ynyr smiled ruefully. ”It is true I am master of much that would startle you. But it is equally true there are things I cannot do. Employing the glaive properly is among them. And there is still an additional restraint.”15 ”What might that be?”
”I am old, Colwyn. Sad as it is, there are times when knowledge and talent must be supplemented with muscle. I might possibly have made use of the glaive many years ago, but no longer. And at that time Krull was at peace and there was no reason to wield it.”
”Are you so sure that I am the right one?” Sudden responsibility weighed heavily on Colwyn. He was beginning to believe in this old man. ”Maybe you are mistaken in choosing me for this task.”
”Perhaps. Nothing is certain,” Ynyr told him with unsettling candor. ”We'll know soon enough.” He reined in his horse and let Colwyn take the lead. The prince looked back.
”No, boy, I can't go with you. This far and no farther. I would endanger us both by accompanying you farther.”
”Then rest here, old man, and ease your mind. I'll come back with it. If there's anything up there”-he nodded toward the higher slopes, where a wind of hollow voice beckoned mournfully-”to come back with.”
”Oh, it's up there all right,” Ynyr a.s.sured him somberly as he dismounted.
There was a far-off look in his eyes as he squinted up at the silent rocks. ”It's up there, and if you do not come back with it, you will not come back at all.” His gaze s.h.i.+fted back to Colwyn. ”I am not trying to frighten you. Other men have sought the power of the glaive and have left only bold promises as epitaphs. Be sure of yourself.”
The prince's tone was bitter. ”Do I have a choice?”
”You do. No one else does. You are Krull's last option.”
”And Lyssa's. Wait here for me, Ynyr.” He chucked the reins, urging his horse upward.
Eventually the slope sharpened to such a degree that he had to leave his mount behind. Soon he found himself above the treeline, where only the wind grows. It blew sharply into his face, informing him that he was a trespa.s.ser in this rarefied region and that his continued existence came at the whim of the elements. He was hiking the land of quick storms and brutal cold, a place where a man's life was as fragile as the lichen and gra.s.s that clung to the rocks. In a few months this whole country would sleep beneath many feet of snow.
Better not to linger here, then, he told himself, forcing his legs to work harder. Anger pushed him from behind, determination drew him from ahead. His thoughts were full of Lyssa and of Ynyr's strange talk.
He was not so preoccupied that he failed to hear the ominous rumbling from above.
The first rocks were mere pebbles, advance scouts for the avalanche to come.
The falling stones rapidly became bigger. One just missed crus.h.i.+ng his right leg.
Frantically he dodged as he sought with his eyes for a place of safety, but the bare, rocky slope was devoid of shelter.
When in doubt, attack, his father had always told him. Instead of trying to flee he held his ground and met each threat while facing it, dodging skillfully.
Soon the landslide had to end. He wouldn't let it halt his ascent.
When the last boulder had slid harmlessly past, to crash somewhere oh the slopes far below, he rested only a moment to catch his breath before pulling his way upward once again. The terrain grew steeper and ever more precipitous but, mindful of Ynyr's words, he pressed on, keeping his eyes always on the crags above.
When it seemed he must step out onto the sky itself he reached a dark stain in the sheer cliffs. The stain marked a cleft in the rocks. Steam rose from within, emerging from the belly of the mountain in fitful, uncertain puffs.
What did you expect? he asked himself. To find the glaive resting on a golden cus.h.i.+on out in the open just waiting for you to pick up and slip into your belt? Cautiously, he started into the hissing crevice.
The narrow break in the rock led into the mountain, working its way gently downward. There were false side pa.s.sages and one place where he had to brace his back against one wall and his feet against the other to s.h.i.+nny down. The chimney opened into a small cave. Steam beaded his face and tickled his throat.
There was water here, and stone that ran like red milk, glowing and bubbling merrily near the back of the cavern. Every time a pool of water overflowed onto the molten rock a burst of superheated steam shot ceilingward. s.h.i.+elding his face, he16 worked his way toward the back, nearly tripping over a rock.
Except that it wasn't a rock. It was rounder and whiter than the exfoliated fragments he'd stumbled over on the slope outside, and it displayed gaps that had once housed human senses. The skull was also badly charred. He stared at it somberly. Evidently there were occasions when this cavern was less than hospitable.
Though it was incapable of threatening him, he edged around it. There were times when the dead could surprise you by fighting back.
Several pieces of ceiling collapsed into the lava basin. He turned away fast, but not quickly enough to avoid the splash of molten material. The several droplets that struck him burned holes in his tunic and he spent a frantic moment beating out the tiny fires.
Keeping himself poised for another rapid retreat, he bent over the bubbling pool. It was thick and shone a bright orange red; yet he thought he could make out something darker lying in the depths. The object was long and narrow, thicker at one end than the other.
He searched the floor of the cavern. There was nothing as useful as a tree limb, and he could imagine how lone the bones of his unlucky predecessor would last if thrust into that h.e.l.lish vat.
He found a broken stalagt.i.te, returned to the pool and reached with it toward the dark shape. The shape moved, confirming his judgment. There was no chance to raise it clear of the lava with the stalagt.i.te. The limestone was already melting away in his hand.
He dropped it and considered how to proceed as he watched it dissolve. The pit continued to boil and froth. There was a distant rumble, as though the mountain were growing impatient with him.
Remember your marriage ceremony, Ynyr had instructed him. Colwyn trembled a little at the prospect thus raised, but it was clear there was only one way he could proceed.
He thought back to the ceremony, worked to a.s.sume again the requisite mental posture. Only this time, he had to prove himself to a far less forgiving bride than Lyssa. It should not take long. He would not have long. There could be no uncertainty, no hesitation. Half closing his eyes, he thoughtfully rolled his right sleeve up to the shoulder.
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