The camp was situated in the valley behind the fortress. In front of the citadel, farther down the pass, two curtain walls had been erected as the first lines of defense against any attacker. Tall, single gates of hammered bronze were the only openings in the walls. They stood open now, propped apart by huge timber balks. Workers and artisans poured in and out like streams of ants around a bowl of fruit.
Looking down on all this, Merith could well believe the completion of Pax Tharkas was not far away. A year, perhaps less. Feldrin Feldspar had done a magnificent job, building the citadel not only quickly but also well.
The night before, the master builder had shown him detailed drawings of the underground galleries that were being hollowed out of the mountainside beneath each tower. Enough food and water to last for years could be stored there, making Pax Tharkas resistant to any siege. An elaborate throne room, suitable for either the King of Thorbardin or the Speaker of the Sun, was also being constructed. Details such as these might take a few more years to finish, but the basic fortress would be ready to occupy much sooner than that.
A shadow fell across Merith; a cloud had covered the sun. As he turned from his study of the fortress, tiny particles peppered his face, and he inhaled grit. Vibrations tingled the soles of his shoes. It was an odd, tickling sensation, and Merith shifted his weight, looking down at his boots. Then he became aware of a deep humming sound, like the bass drums the priests of E’li sometimes played during festivals. The dust cloud was thickening. Below, workers scrambled in confusion.
“Landslide!” someone shouted.
Merith whirled and saw behind and to his left what he had only felt before. Boulders and rain-soaked chunks of wet soil were rolling down the east face of the mountain. Paralyzed, the elf warrior could only stare in amazement as tons of rock and dirt hurtled toward the quarries in the high pass. The noise increased to a deafening roar, and the ground shook so that he lost his footing and fell.
Screams filled the air, piercing the thunder of the avalanche. Merith rolled about like a pea shaken in its pod. He clawed at the stony earth, trying to keep his balance.
The landslide hit the pass. Rock chips and boulders flew, crushing everything they hit. Merith watched helplessly as a huge stone bowled over half a dozen quarry workers. A pall of reddish dust descended over the scene. The roar faded. The sobbing of the terrified and injured was everywhere.
“Help!” A loud cry sliced through the moans of the injured and dying. “Help, somebody! Help me!”
Merith stumbled to his feet and ran down the earthen ramp. The overseer was lying on the path on this side of the block. The convicts had scattered, as had the sweeper boys. Merith knelt beside the dwarf. Lugrim had an ugly, bleeding gash on his forehead. His heart beat strongly, however, so the elf warrior knew he was only knocked unconscious.
“Help, in the names of the gods! The stone is moving!” The shout came again, nearer this time. Merith looked up and caught his breath in a gasp. The severe vibrations from the landslide had twisted the path of the granite block. It was teetering on the edge of the ramp, and people lay prostrate in the very shadow of the rock.
Merith left the dwarf where he lay. A few paces closer, he saw two gang members close to the block. One was a Silvanesti he didn’t know; the other was Prince Ulvian. The prince’s pant leg was caught under the block! The granite had run over his trailing hem and was dragging him along. Only one of his comrades remained behind to help him.
“Merithynos! Help me!” screamed Ulvian. He kicked vainly at the huge stone with his left leg. His other was hard against the rock. The block crept forward on its own, driven by the slope of the ramp and its skewed position. In another yard or two, it would be far enough off the ramp that it would topple over on its side. Anything or anyone in its way would be crushed.
Merith and the Silvanesti pulled on Ulvian’s arms, trying to tear him free. The prince’s forester clothing was made of deerhide and was very tough. The warrior drew his knife and sawed at the leather. Too slow, too slow!
“Do something!” Ulvian pleaded, tears streaking his face.
“I’m trying, Your Highness!” Merith replied. The other elf stiffened for a moment, staring at Merith.
The lieutenant sawed harder at the deerhide and finally succeeded in making a small slit.
The block ground a sweeper’s broom into the stony ramp. The crushing sound of the wooden handle being pulverized sent fresh paroxysms of terror through the prince. “Please don’t let me die!” he groaned piteously. “Save me, Merith, Dru!”
The enormous cube of granite wobbled on the edge of the ramp. Merith cursed and tore at the leather pants with his hands. Ulvian’s lower body already hung over the rim of the ramp, while he was pinned on his back.
The Silvanesti, Dru, grabbed Merith by his cloak and dragged him away. “Go to the tent of Feldrin Feldspar,” he shouted at the warrior’s horrified face. “Get the onyx ring he keeps on a thong around his neck!” When Merith continued to regard him with utter incomprehension, Dru shook him and roared, “Go now, if you hope to save your royal charge!”
Merith scrambled up the ramp and sprinted toward the master builder’s tent. Mobs of dazed workers clustered around it, seeking Feldrin’s attention. Merith had to whip out his sword in order to convince them to part to let him through.
Feldrin stood at the door of his hut, a cold wet cloth pressed to his head. He took it away and dipped it in a bowl of fresh water. There was a goose-egg-size bruise over his left eye.
“Quick! Give me the ring!” Merith demanded.
“What?” rumbled Feldrin. Merith thrust a hand into the dwarf’s collar and found the onyx ring on a thong, just as Dru had said. It was made of black crystal, slightly larger than a finger ring, square cut, with odd glyphs engraved around the edge. Just then a shriek pierced the air. Merith yanked the ring from Feldrin’s neck and took off at a run. The master builder bellowed for him to stop.
If the prince dies, it will be my fault, Merith thought desperately. Not only Ulvian, but also perhaps the entire dynasty of the House of Silvanos might come to an end under that block of gray stone. Dru was a few feet from the block, kneeling, his eyes mere slits, his hands clasped around the four-inch-long cylinder of onyx he constantly carried with him. Ulvian was calling out to the gods, begging for a merciful, quick death. As Merith approached, he saw the near end of the stone begin to lift off the ramp, about to topple over.
“Here!” he cried, thrusting the black crystal ring into Dru’s fingers. The elf’s eyes snapped open. Not even the terror of the moment could overcome Merith’s shock at seeing the Silvanesti’s eyes. They were solid black, with no white at all.
Dru took the ring from the thong and fitted the cylinder of onyx into its center hole. The result was an object that looked very much like a child’s top—indeed, Dru balanced the two onyx pieces on the tip of the cylinder and removed his hand. The piece didn’t topple over, but instead began to spin. All by itself.
A roaring filled Merith’s ears. The air above the spinning top coalesced into a tight vortex, like a miniature whirlwind. Dust whirled and spun, caught up by the racing air. Dru rose to his feet and walked straight into the vortex. Merith, trying vainly to shield his face from the flying grit, was pressed backward. Invisible hands shoved him to his knees and then onto his back. It was as if lumps of stone had been laid across his chest. He could barely move his head, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
Through a haze of flying dirt, Merith saw Dru step up to the granite block and, with his bare hands, turn it over! The black-eyed elf simply grasped the lower edge of the stone and lifted it, with no more strain than shifting an empty barrel. The block slammed down on the ramp. Ulvian was saved!