Robert Redick - The River of Shadows

“You should sleep here tonight,” said the Master Teller. “I cannot let you enter Vasparhaven, but there is a Ilyrette, a way-cave, not far from here, and it is safe, and sheltered from the wind. In happier days it was a place where travelers rested often, before crossing the lake or descending to the plain. I will send food from our kitchens, and bedding too.”

“Both would be welcome,” said Hercol, “though we will only nap on the bedding, I fear. The one we chase is bent on the worst sort of malice, and if he escapes, not even your refuge here will long be spared. Take our animals in payment, Father-or if you need them not, take them as a favor to us.”

“We have stables,” said the old man, “and will care for your beasts until you return.”

“I cannot say when that will be,” said Hercol. “But there is a final matter we must raise. Come here, Pazel, and tell him what happened to you.”

As Hercol unwound the bandage on his arm, Pazel told the old dlomu about the spider. “It was as big as a coconut, Father. And transparent. I thought it was a piece of ice, until it jumped and bit me.”

The novice, clearly shocked, turned in agitation to his master. The old dlomu for his part showed no reaction at all. He studied the mark on Pazel’s arm. “They do bite, sometimes, the wild medet spiders,” he said, “and some who suffer the bite know great pain. With others, however, there is no pain at all. You may feel a little cold in the arm, but it will pass.”

“Then with your leave, Father, we will go to our brief rest,” said Hercol.

“You may have more time than you think,” said the priest. “The lake is vast, and the fishermen go deep into coves and streams, and rarely return before midnight. I will make inquiries, but do not hope for much.”

The travelers bowed and offered their thanks, and the Master Teller sent the novice to show them the way. A few minutes’ walk brought them to another cliff door, smaller and simpler than the doors of the temple. Inside was a dry cave of several rooms. There were tables, chairs, rough beds of a sort. Just minutes later the food arrived: cauldrons of thin stew balanced on either end of a staff across broad dlomic shoulders, hot bread, flat cakes made with onion and some sort of corn. It was all delicious, and so was the jug of black beer that washed it down.

By the time they finished eating it was nearly dark. Hercol asked Thasha, Pazel and Neeps to help him with the signal-fire. Bearing a heavy woolen blanket, lamp oil and a telescope, they set off back along the lake, watching the first stars appear over the teeth of the mountains. In Vasparhaven shadowy figures were moving, placing candles in the windows. The stars were igniting too, and by the time they reached the ridge and looked down on Masalym’s Inner Dominion the sun was gone.

Hercol dashed oil on the brush pile. Then he bent to strike a match, and soon the dry scrub was roaring with flame. Next he reached into his coat and removed a sheet of folded paper, glanced at it briefly and replaced it. “Very well,” he said. “Take a corner of the blanket, Thasha, and step back.”

Hercol and Thasha stretched the blanket between the fire and the sweep of the plain. “Hold it higher-we must block as much light as we can. That’s the way. Now flatten it to the ground-and raise it again-very good.”

They moved precisely, hiding and revealing the fire by turns. Each time they bent down Hercol looked pointedly across the Inner Dominion. At last it came: a pale and distant light. Hercol raised the telescope to his eye. “That is Olik, upon the Dais of Masalym,” he said. “He is answering with the code we agreed. Now to tell him that Arunis is here.”

Five times they stretched the blanket, and five times lowered it. Then Hercol, studying the valley again, nodded his satisfaction. “The prince has understood… two, three, four-five! Well, there is something you’ll want to know. Five flashes means that the Chathrand is safely away.”

The relief was so great Pazel almost cried aloud.

“Wait! He is signaling again,” said Hercol. “… four, five, six, seven-” He lowered the telescope and looked at them. “Eight. Macadra’s ship is entering the Jaws of Masalym, even now.”

“Then he’s got to get out right now!” said Thasha.

“Can we tell him that?” said Pazel. “Do you have some way to tell him?”

Hercol shook his head. “Olik knows the danger better than we do,” he said. “But feed the fire all the same, boys. We must inform him that we ourselves mean to go on. And then hope that he flees instantly, now that there is no reason to keep searching the city. A noble prince! He kept his word to the folk of Masalym, despite the peril to himself.”

They raised and lowered the blanket several times more, and the light below them flickered twice, and Hercol said that it was the signal that Olik had understood. Then they sat down on the stony earth, waiting for their fire to die. The wind tossed Thasha’s hair about like a tattered flag. The light in the valley abruptly disappeared, as though snuffed, but the friends sat awhile longer in silence.

“I’m a mucking fool,” said Neeps suddenly.

“You are that,” said Thasha.

Neeps did not even look at her. “I’ve got nothing,” he said. “How am I supposed to take care of them? I should be hanged, is what.”

“Not every act of yours was foolish,” said Hercol. “You chose a Tholjassan for a mate: that counts for something. Tame your fear, Undrabust. Your child will find its way in the world.”

“My child,” said Neeps, as though the notion shocked him yet. “Do you know, there are times when my mind just seems to vanish? To go out like that fire down there. I can’t even think about what I’ll do when this is over. What the three of us will do.”

“See first that your future is not stolen from you,” said a voice from the darkness.

The humans started. It was the Master Teller. The old dlomu seemed to have just appeared there, conjured by the night, his cloak billowing about him. They could not see his face; only the silver eyes shone from beneath the hood.

“I warn you,” he said, “it is being stolen even now. We who read the signs have never beheld such a conjunction of ills. Alifros is bleeding; soon it will hemorrhage. And the wounding hand-it belongs to that mage who came before you. Who is he? Will you tell me his name?”

The others hesitated, and the Master Teller said, “I shall name him, then. He is the murderer of Ullimar, Ullum’s son. He is the Traitor of Idharin and the author of the White Curse; he is the father of the Ravens: Arunis.”

“You knew all along!” said Pazel.

“I did,” said the old man, “but you were quite unknown to me, and though you claimed friendship with our brother Prince Olik, I could not be sure. I feared you might in truth be part of the sorcerer’s company-especially as one among you bears a Plazic Blade. Now that that cursed thing is elsewhere I can better sense your goodness. Yes, I recognized Arunis Wytterscorm. Long have I traced the arc of his journeys, in the tremors of the earth, the grinding of her bones against one another. He has come back across the Ruling Sea to plague us again, this time bearing some horrible tool.”

“It is the Nilstone, Spider Father,” said Hercol.

The old man was very still. “That I did not know,” he said after a pause, “and worse tidings I cannot imagine. Arunis, with Erithusme’s orb! The death of this world has been his long, his passionate ambition. Now he has the power to bring that prize within reach.”

“He has aimed a cannon at Alifros,” said Hercol, “but we think he is still struggling with the match. Should he gain full control of the tol-chenni’s mind he will become invincible. That is why we are in such need of haste.”