Part 26 (1/2)
”You do well to fear it.” Zith nodded, his face grim. ”In the hands of the Dark it is the most fearsome of magics, allowing men and beasts to be twisted together, creating abominations like those dread h.e.l.l hounds.” He shook his head, ”Corrupted by the Dark, soul magic is a most foul curse, a bane against the world. Great wars were once fought over it.”
”But how can the G.o.ds allow such a thing to exist? The mere thought is loathsome.”
”Oh, it is not always evil. Wielded by Darkness, it becomes a terrible blight, the worst nightmare visited upon mankind, but used by the Light it becomes a true blessing. Souls are the G.o.ds' own element, their most wondrous creation. The wellspring of love and courage, the source of hope and compa.s.sion, the essence of an indomitable spirit, souls hold a power beyond all other elements. The best healers make use of soul magic. By coaxing and guiding the soul, they enable the sick and injured to heal themselves. As a Beastmaster, Danya wields soul magic, communicating with the spirits of animals. Soul magic is the most powerful of all the elements, for it embodies the power to create and the power to destroy, the best and the worst of us.”
Kath shook her head. ”I can't imagine wielding such a power.”
”Oh but you do.”
Startled, she stared at him, almost dreading the answer.
”Do you know what the crystal dagger truly does?”
She held his gaze, waiting.
”It slays souls.”
Stunned, Kath gaped at the revelation.
”The crystal dagger is the only soul magic ever crafted into a weapon of the Light.” His gaze pierced her, ”And it is yours to wield.”
”By the G.o.ds.”
Zith nodded. ”Just so.” He leaned back against the rock wall, a stern look on his face. ”And if we are to reach the Dark Citadel, there is one other type of soul magic you must face and defeat.”
”What?”
”The gargoyle gates.”
Memories of childhood tales reared like nightmares in Kath's mind. She shuddered at the thought.
”So you've heard of them?”
”Some of the veteran knights told tales of the north...but I did not believe them.”
”Such tales often hold a kernel of truth.” He tugged on his beard. ”I'd like to hear these tales. I suspect the north holds more nightmares than any of us know.” Zith fell silent, his face locked in thought.
”But what of the gargoyle gates?”
”Oh, yes.” He nodded, his gaze refocusing on her. ”From what I've gleaned, the gargoyle gates are a true horror. Souls of men and beasts forever locked in stone, they act as sentinels, coming to life if anyone dares to cross the gates. The painted people fear them, and rightly so.”
Kath made the hand sign against evil. ”But how is such a thing defeated?”
Zith shook his head. ”I do not know. But if we are to follow the Mordant, we must cross the gates.”
A mountain of worries fell on her shoulders.
Zith leaned forward, gripping her arm, his voice a whisper. ”And above all else, you must regain the crystal dagger, or all is lost.”
”Pardon me,” a raven-faced healer intruded. ”There's been enough talk for one day. Rest is the key to healing.”
Kath clenched her fist, hiding the pyramid.
A raven-faced healer stared back at her, a stranger, another watcher, pa.s.sing judgment. Kath wondered how much she'd overheard. Slipping the amber pyramid into her pocket, she took her leave of the monk. ”I'll see you tomorrow.” She left the chamber, her two guards d.o.g.g.i.ng her heels. Trailing a hand along the rough rock wall, she walked through the corridors blind, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, a storm of worries. But above all else, one thought rang through the chaos. I must regain the crystal dagger...or all is lost.
32.
Duncan Duncan reached the central mineshaft, the fearsome clatter a.s.saulting his ears. Like a metal monster ravenous for ore, the ma.s.sive chain rattled up and down the central shaft, enormous metal scoops s.p.a.ced along its length. Never in his life had Duncan seen such a thing. It seemed almost evil, a strange metal beast, yet he'd made up his mind to ride it to the surface. Desperate to glimpse the top, he stared aloft, but even his golden cat-eye saw only gloom.
One of the hunchbacks emerged from the gallery, struggling to pull a sledge loaded with ore. Covered in red dust and bent to his burden, Simeon looked like a gargoyle sprung from the underworld. Duncan joined the hunchback, pus.h.i.+ng the sledge from behind. Simeon threw a questioning glance his way, clearly surprised by the aid, but he did not protest. They muscled the sledge toward the bucket-chain. The great chain rounded a wheel fixed to the bottom of the shaft, ma.s.sive metal buckets gaping for ore. Three buckets pa.s.sed before the chain rattled to a sudden halt.
Simeon said, ”Hurry.”
They grabbed lumps of ore and heaved them into the bucket.
Simeon stared wide-eyed at Duncan's sundered shackles. ”You're marked for death.”
Duncan flashed a grin and spread his arms wide. ”No, for freedom.”
”It's today then.”
The bent-back man was not stupid. Duncan nodded, ”Spread the word, we rise tonight, attacking Grack as he climbs the ladder.”
”But not you,” Simeon heaved a lump into the bucket. ”If you climb the ladder like that, Grack will kill you.”
They worked to fill the bucket. ”I'll not be climbing the ladder. I'm riding the bucket-chain aloft.”
Simeon gaped. ”You're mad!”
Duncan grinned. ”A surprise for our jailors.”
The bucket jerked and the two men jumped back. The great chain rattled to life like a metal monster suddenly wakened, hauling the ore aloft. Other buckets descended, waiting to be fed.
Simeon stared at Duncan. ”It's madness to ride the chain.”
”I have to try.”
”You're a dead man.” The hunchback made a strange warding sign with his left hand and then shrugged into the harness affixed to the sledge. Turning without a word, he trudged back into the gallery, dragging the empty sledge behind him.
Duncan remained in the throat of the mine. He waited for the chain to come to a stop and then climbed into the ma.s.sive bucket. Rock dust covered the bottom, the dented sides rising to his waist. Spreading his feet wide, he gripped the chain, his heart thundering.
The chain clattered to life, lifting him as easily as a load of ore. He clung to the sides, enduring the jerking motion. Thirty feet up, the chain shuddered to a sudden halt. From below, he heard loud thumps as ore was dumped into a bucket. Two hundred heartbeats later, the chain lurched upwards again.
Lift and stop, he rode the bucket up through the mineshaft. It was a strange sensation, moving without effort, like riding the back of a giant metal beast. He watched the ladder rungs as they pa.s.sed, a measure of his pa.s.sage up the shaft. Abandoned galleries began to appear, dark mouths gaping in the rough rock wall. For the first time, he noticed subtle colors striping the mineshaft, bands of ocher, rust, and umber, proving the deep depths had their own strange beauty. Duncan s.h.i.+vered, longing for leaf and bark and honest sky, hoping the bucket-chain reached all the way to the surface. He stared aloft but saw only gloom. Once he looked down, but the view made him queasy, a sheer drop into h.e.l.l. He'd always been callous to heights, but somehow this was different.
The slow ascent gave him time to ponder his chances. He yearned for his longbow. With a single quiver he'd cut a swath through the guards but his only weapon was a crude iron wedge. He barked a laugh at the folly of his plan. Surprise was his only advantage, a slender hope. He'd have to find a way to distract the guards. Wielding chaos like a sword, he'd look for the chance to free other prisoners. With luck he might even live to glimpse the sky again.