Troy Denning - The Obsidian Oracle

“Very little, save that the legends claim my amulet came from there,” Tithian lied. He cast an annoyed glance at Agis, then used the Way to send a message: Your gamble was a bold one, but unnecessary. I have matters well under control .

I’ll believe that when they let us go , the noble replied. Despite his acerbic comment, Agis did not voice any further doubts.

When Sachem Mag’r accepted Tithian’s explanation without further inquiry, the king continued, “Andropinis loaned me a fleet because he believed what I said. If he was concerned enough to risk his ships, perhaps you should worry, too. The Saram must conquer you before they capture Balic.”

“No one will conquer the Joorsh!” protested Orl.

Several other giants voiced their agreement, but Mag’r remained thoughtful and studied his chiefs for several moments. Finally, he raised his hand for silence and looked at Tithian with something other than spite in his eyes.

“If we let you live, how will you help us beat the Saram?” the sachem asked.

Tithian smiled. “That’s for us to decide together,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps your army can lure the Saram out to do battle while we sneak into their castle. We’ll steal what we came for, as well as rescue the Oracle for you.”

Mag’r shook his head. “We’ll have to think of another plan,” he said. “You’re too small to carry the Oracle.”

Tithian breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t worry about that. Together, Agis and I can lift even the largest giant here,” he said, laying a hand on Agis’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“If we have to,” the noble replied, stepping away from the king’s grasp. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends .

As the skiff crept around the craggy point, an unexpected wisp of dank air wafted over Agis’s face. In the blackness of the night, it took him a moment to locate the source of the breeze: the gaping mouth of a grotto, less than a dozen yards away.

The cave opened into the base of a rugged peninsula, a stony bluff that rose straight out of the Sea of Silt. From Agis’s perspective, its sheer cliffs appeared to stretch clear to the sky, but the noble knew better. Earlier that night, as Kester had poled the skiff across the dark bay, he had seen a ring of lofty ramparts crowning the summit. The walls stood twice as tall as a giant, with flying turrets at every bend and jagged crenellations capping the entire length.

Agis motioned toward the shadowy cavern. “This one looks small enough,” he whispered. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Nymos raised his narrow snout and sniffed at the draft, then a shudder ran down the entire length of his serpentine neck. “That wouldn’t be wise,” he said. “There’s a dreadful odor inside.”

“What’s it comin’ from?” demanded Kester, using her plunging pole to hold the skiff motionless.

“I’m not sure,” replied the jozhal. “But it’s foul and savage. There’s no other way to describe it.”

“Whatever it is, I doubt it’s any more savage than her,” said Tithian, looking up from his duties as floater.

The king pointed at a low isthmus curving out from the forested hills of Lybdos to connect with the rugged peninsula beneath which they hid. Directly behind the rocky neck, Ral’s golden disk hovered low on the horizon, silhouetting a chameleon-headed Saram against its golden moonlight. She paced along the treacherous crest with great care, studying the placement of each step before taking it.

“The less time we give her to spot us, the better,” Tithian said. “Go into the cave.”

“Let’s try another,” insisted Nymos. “Mag’r said the peninsula is honeycombed with grottoes.”

“That may be, but it could take us all night to find the passage we need,” countered Tithian. “We don’t have time to look for a cave you think smells nice.”

“I agree,” said Agis.

“You see, we can work together,” said Tithian.

“Agreeing is not trusting,” warned the noble, his hand brushing a coil of giant-hair rope that hung from his belt. As soon as Tithian’s freedom was no longer necessary to the company’s safety, he would use that rope to bind the king-and this time, there would be a choke loop to tighten at the first sign of trouble.

Tithian smiled at the noble’s gesture, then said, “But you must admit, it won’t be easy to find another cavern like this. It’s big enough to hide our skiff, yet small enough to keep giants away from it while we’re gone.”

“What does that matter?” objected Nymos. “This plan is ludicrous. It’ll never work.”

“Don’t ye start with that again,” growled Kester, pushing the skiff forward. “Sit down and spare us yer ranting.”

They were all familiar with the jozhal’s objections to the plan Tithian and Mag’r had worked out. Upon hearing that the Saram citadel sat upon a peninsula riddled with grottoes, and that caves opened both inside and outside the castle, the king had suggested they might sneak inside through a subterranean passage. Nymos had immediately pointed out that even giants were smart enough to seal off such a connection. Tithian had shrugged the reptile off, assuring him-and the others-that he could break any Saram seal and rescue the Oracle.

Mag’r had liked the idea, except that he wanted the companions to open the castle gates for his warriors so that they could rescue the Oracle. To make sure Tithian and the others kept their part of the bargain, the sachem had threatened to sink the Shadow Viper if the gates were not opened when he attacked at dawn.

As the skiff slipped into the grotto, it grew so dark that Agis could not see the bow of the craft, much less anything that lay beyond. Still, he did not kindle a torch, fearing that its flickering light would spill out of the cave mouth and draw the sentry’s attention to them. Instead, the noble borrowed Nymos’s cane and knelt on the forward deck. He swung the small rod slowly back and forth, searching for obstacles in front of the ship and softly tapping the walls to keep track of them.

They continued in this manner for many minutes before a low rumble shook the cavern, stirring up a choking cloud of silt. So deep and muffled was the sound that Agis felt it in the pit of his stomach more than he heard it.

“Far enough!” hissed Nymos. His twitching tail thumped softly against the skiff’s gunnels.

Kester stopped the boat, and Agis peered back toward the cavern exit. The noble saw nothing but deep, profound darkness. “Perhaps we’re in far enough to light a torch,” Agis suggested.

The others agreed. Nymos fumbled about in the bottom of the boat for a moment, then passed a rancid smelling torch forward.

“What about fire?” asked the noble.

“Allow me,” said Tithian. The king rummaged around in his satchel, then said, “Kester, strike this stake over this plate.”

The noble heard what sounded like a stick being drawn over a rock wall, then the acrid stench of brimstone filled his nose, and a white sparkle of light momentarily blinded him. When his vision returned to normal, he held a burning brand. In the bottom of the boat lay the greasy skin from which the torch oil had come, while Kester held a slate of white pumice and a blackened stick in her hands.

Nymos snatched the implements from the tarek’s hands and sniffed them with his twitching nose. “Magic?” he asked, his tone covetous.

“Hardly,” replied Tithian. “A simple bard’s trick.”

Kester retrieved her plunging pole from across the beam. “Magic or not, light is light,” she said. “Now we can go on.”

The tarek pushed on.

By the light of the torch in his hand, Agis saw that a stain of milky white calcium coated the ceiling of the grotto. Slender gray stalactites pierced the veneer in a hundred places. The tips of the pendant spears had snapped off at a height half again that of a man, leaving the ends sharp and jagged. The breakage puzzled the noble, but even after studying the formations carefully, he could not determine what had caused it.