As he stared, the irregular green object began to spin on its axis. A deep whir emerged from green depths. It reminded Torquil of a waterwheel at flood time. Soon it was rotating rapidly enough to make him dizzy and he found he had to turn his gaze away from it.
A shape was close at his side and he had to force himself not to jump. Damn, but the boy could move quietly!
Titch held the stoneware pitcher. Irritated at his nervousness, Torquil declined a refill. The boy turned to Ergo, repeated the offering.
"Milk gives me gas. Can't handle too much of the stuff," Ergo explained. "Got any sugar balls?"
"No."
"Gumdrops? Caramel ladies? Chocolate strings or honey-dew squares?"
"No, sir," said Titch apologetically.
Ergo looked displeased. "What kind of boy are you? Boys always have candy. Though perhaps I am asking too much. This is no normal home for a child. I should not be surprised that you have no access to sweets."
The boy thought a moment, then brightened, eager to please. He fumbled in a pocket. "I have a cinnamon bar."
"Ah, sweets in a sour place after all." A beatific smile spread over Ergo's face. Titch held the bar out to his guest but Ergo shook his head.
"Your hospitality is admirable for one so young, but I will not take all your candy. Share and share alike's my motto." Having said this, he extended a hand.
Titch grinned and broke the bar in two. Ergo's graciousness did not prevent him from taking the larger half and popping it into his mouth.
"Thank you, boy. My stomach was growing tired of naught but healthful food. For that boon I will tell you my full name. I am"—he hesitated, chewing and trying not to mumble the words—"Ergo the Magnificent. Short in stature, tall in power, narrow of purpose, wide of vision." He looked at the boy. "What do you think of that, eh?"
"That is very impressive, sir," Titch admitted.
"I should hope so." Ergo smiled contentedly as he masticated the spicy remnants of the cinnamon bar.
The boy glanced away, embarrassed. "I am Titch."
"So you said. Not impressive, but adequate." The boy looked pleased and Ergo beamed at him. He was thoroughly enjoying his favorite role—that of the powerful but benign dispenser of small favors.
Being somewhat less than interested in this wordplay, Torquil had moved off to one side. He'd set his cup on the floor and checked to make certain no one was watching him. Now was the time to check out something that had intrigued him since they'd first entered the seer's cave.
He still was not certain of the composition of the massive green object that spun in the air before the seer, but as to the nature of many similar small shapes lining the walls he was more confident. He pried at them with his knife and was gratified to find that they came free of their binding matrix with ease. Ignoring the magic the old men played at he pleasured himself by filling his pockets with the long, vitreous emerald crystals.
Now the seer seemed to be staring intensely at nothingness. The great emerald was a wild blur in the center of the chamber, its outlines no longer distinct, its substance malleable. Sparks shot between the old man's fingers and the rotating mass. Colwyn watched in awe and thought of small lightning. His vocabulary did not contain the words necessary to describe what he was seeing, but he was certain of one thing: there was great power at work here, ancient power, power of the sort Ynyr had casually alluded to during their journey. Power enough, perhaps, to surprise even the Beast at rest in his Fortress.
An image began to form above the explosively rotating green mass, changing and contorting as it began to coalesce, gathering strength and outline. Colwyn watched as walls and towers of alien design began to take shape. They had not been designed by human hands, to please human eyes. They were constructed of the maybe-stone that teased the senses.
As the seer leaned toward the emerald blur, it seemed certain that the lightning must consume his hands. Suddenly an inhuman scream of rage erupted from within the green. A black claw emerged from nowhere to shatter emerald and image alike. It followed both into oblivion.
The violence of the confrontation had sent the seer tumbling backward. Fragments of green-tinged electricity hung for long seconds in the air. Colwyn ignored the sharp fragments of green that had gone flying as he rushed to help the old man.
"Are you hurt?"
"No." The seer reached up and accepted the leverage of Colwyn's arm. His smile was grim. "Am I cut or otherwise injured where I cannot see?"
Colwyn looked him over. "No. By some miracle the splinters missed us all." Ynyr's smile told him that the fact they had not been cut to ribbons had nothing to do with any imagined miracle.
The seer dusted himself off as he spoke. "The Beast does not like curious humans poking into his private affairs. This in itself is a challenge to his mortality and the veil of omnipotence he chooses to wear. I was not quite able to pinpoint the location of the Fortress, I am sorry to say, but at least we have managed to upset his day. That alone was worth the intervention."
"His power is too great for you to overcome?" Ynyr asked.
"Yes. Here." The seer gestured toward the center of the chamber and the remnants of the emerald mass. "This was but a poor device, incapable of sharp focus over a long distance. There is better, and it reposes in a place where his power cannot reach, where old shields still function."
"The Emerald Temple," Ynyr murmured, nodding knowingly. "I was told when still young that it had been reduced to the status of a myth."
"No. It exists still, the best protected relic of our golden age, my friend. In that place he cannot oppose my vision."
"By going there we risk exposing its location to him."
"I think it worth the risk," the seer replied, "if this young man is truly the one king you speak of."
"He is that," said Ynyr, "and more. We go to rescue his bride-to-be."
"Ah, that would be the Lady Lyssa. Yes, that is worth the risk."
Colwyn listened carefully to this elderly dialogue. There was much hidden meaning here, if only one possessed the wits to unlock the secrets these old men discussed. Alas, real knowledge lay buried beneath a flurry of half-truths and partial revelations.
"Will you travel there with us. then?" Ynyr inquired "It lies deep within the Wyn-nah-Mabrug, the Great Swamp, where the earth itself consumes unlucky travelers. It is a long time since I trod the way."
"Our need is great. You have already acknowledged that it is worth the risk," Colwyn said, pressing for a decision.
"No need to fret, my young king." The seer rose from his seat. "Having agreed with your purpose, I must fit my own feelings to your needs. Of course I will accompany you." He turned. "Titch, prepare my things." The boy nodded and disappeared into a side tunnel. The seer listened to his haste and smiled.
"A quiet boy, an orphan I took in when no others would. He is fleet of foot and mind and has the sense to listen when most his age do naught but chatter incessantly. He has been useful to me. In return, I care for his needs and do my poor best to educate him." He turned away from his guests, murmuring softly. "Education escapes those who are not of a mind to listen. Such see only what they wish to see."
Torquil nodded dutifully at this wisdom while making certain his recent crystalline acquisitions remained hidden behind his back.
Bare mountainsides and dead woods, cloying fog and valleys aflame, and now this, Colwyn mused as they approached the edge of the Wyn-nah-Mabrug. Surely somewhere on Krull there was a land of soft green hills and clear skies, where the people went about their daily tasks contentedly and tragedy did not mar their every thought. He longed for such a sanctuary even as he knew such restfulness was not for him. Not while Lyssa remained a prisoner and bands of Slayers roamed the land with impunity. Someone had to do something. He had not chosen this path. It had chosen him.