Softly, gently, she began to hum, building the wishsong a stone at a time into a wall of non-seeing, creating in her place and in the minds of her companions an image of herself. Then abruptly she stepped away from her own ghost, flattened herself against the stone wall of the passageway, and watched the others walk past.
The illusion would only last a few minutes, she knew. She sped back down the sewer tunnel, following the cut and weave of the rock. The sound of her breathing was ragged in her ears. She reached the shelf, hastened to where it narrowed, and turned onto the stone bridge. The chasm yawned blackly before her. A step at a time, she inched out onto the bridge, picking her pathway across. There was silence in the gloom and mist that swirled about, yet she felt somehow that she was not alone. Her mind hardened against the brief surge of fear and doubt, and she withdrew deep into herself, passionless and cold. Nothing could be allowed to touch her.
At last she was across the bridge. She stood within the entrance to this new tunnel for a moment and let the feeling return. A brief thought of Rone and the others passed through her mind and disappeared. She had used the wishsong against them now as well, she thought bitterly. And though it might have been necessary, it hurt her deeply to have done so.
Then she wheeled abruptly toward the stone bridge, pitched the wishsong to a quick, hard shriek and sang. The sound echoed in fury through the black, and the bridge exploded into fragments and dropped away into the chasm.
Now there could be no going back.
She turned into the tunnel and disappeared.
The sound of the shriek penetrated up into the sewer tunnel where the others of the little company still picked their way through the gloom.
“Shades! What was that?” Rone cried.
There was a moment’s silence as the echo died away. “Brin—it was Brin,” Kimber whispered in reply.
Rone stared. No, Brin was right next to him…
Abruptly, the image the Valegirl had created in their minds faded into nothingness. Cogline swore softly and stamped his foot.
“What has she done… ?” the highlander stammered in confusion, unable to finish the thought.
Kimber was at his side, her, face intense. “She has done what she has wanted to do from the beginning, I think. She has left us and gone on alone. She said before that she did not want any of us to go with her; now she has made certain that we do not.”
“For cat’s sake!” Rone was appalled. “Doesn’t she understand how dangerous… ?”
“She understands everything,” the girl cut him short, pushing past him down the tunnel’s passage. “I should have realized before that she would do this. We must hurry if we are to catch up with her. Whisper, track!”
The big moor cat leaped ahead effortlessly, gliding back down the sewer tunnel into the shadows. The three humans hurried after, slipping and stumbling through the mist and gloom. Rone Leah was angry and frightened at the same time. Why would Brin do this? He did not understand.
Then abruptly they were back upon the stone shelf, staring out across the chasm to where the bridge fell away into the dark, broken at its center.
“There, you see, she’s used the magic!” Cogline snapped.
Wordlessly, Rone hurried forward, stepping out onto the jagged remnant of the bridge. Twenty feet away, the other end jutted from the cliff face. He could make that jump, he thought suddenly. It was a long way over, but he could make it. At least he must try…
“No, Rone Leah,” Kimber pulled him back from the precipice, reading at once his intentions. Her grip on his arm was surprisingly strong. “You must not be foolish. You cannot jump so far.”
“I can’t leave her again,” he insisted stubbornly. “Not again.”
The girl nodded solemnly. “I care for her, too.” She turned. “Whisper!” The moor cat padded up to her, whiskered face rubbing her own. Softly she spoke. to the cat, stroking him behind his ears. Then she stepped away. “Track, Whisper!” she commanded.
Wheeling, the moor cat darted onto the bridge, gathered himself and sprang into the air. He cleared the chasm effortlessly, landed on the far end of the shattered bridge, and disappeared into the darkened tunnel beyond.
There was concern reflected in Kimber Boh’s young face. She had not wanted to separate herself from the cat, but Brin might have greater need of him than she, and the Valegirl was her friend. “Guard well,” she whispered after.
Then she looked back again at Rone. “Now let us also try to find a way to reach Brin Ohmsford.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was nearly noon of the same day when Jair and his companions emerged once more from the Caves of Night and found themselves on a broad shelf of rock overlooking a deep canyon between the mountain peaks of the Ravenshorn. The peaks were so close that they shut away all but a narrow strip of blue sky far above where the company stood, lost in a gathering of shadows. The shelf ran left along the mountain face for several hundred yards and then disappeared again into a cut in the cliffs.
The Valeman stared upward wearily, following the lift of the mountains against the noonday sky. He was exhausted—drained physically and emotionally. He still clutched the vision crystal in one hand, its silver chain dragging against the shelf rock. They had been in the Caves since sunrise. For a good part of that time, it had been necessary to use the wishsong to project the light of the crystal so that they might find their way clear. It had taken every ounce of strength and every bit of concentration that he could muster to do that. In his mind, he could still hear the sound of the Procks, stone grating on stone, a whisper now of what had been left behind in the darkness of the caves. In his mind, he could also still hear Stythys’ final scream.
“Let’s not stand where we can be so easily seen,” Garet Jax said softly and motioned him left.
Slanter caught up with them, glancing about doubtfully. “I’m not sure this is the way, Weapons Master.”
Garet Jax did not turn. “How many other ways do you see?”
Silently, the members of the little company edged down along the rock shelf to the cut in the cliff face. A narrow defile stretched away before them, twisting into the rock and disappearing into shadow. They moved through it in a line, their eyes darting upward guardedly along its roughened walls. A draft of icy air brushed against them, blown down from the heights. Jair shivered with its touch. Numbed by the horrors of the Caves, he welcomed even this unpleasant feeling. He could sense that they were now close to Graymark’s walls. Graymark, the Maelmord, Heaven’s Well were all near at hand. His quest was almost ended, the long journey done. He felt a strange compulsion to laugh and cry at the same time, but the weariness and the ache in his body would let him do neither.
The defile wound on, slipping deeper into the rock. His mind wandered. Where was Brin? The crystal had shown them her face. But it had shown them nothing of where she might be. Gray mist and gloom had surrounded her in a dreary and desolate place. A passageway, perhaps, similar to their own? Was she, too, within these mountains?
“You must reach Heaven’s Well before she reaches the Maelmord,” the King of the Silver River had warned. “You must be there for her.”
He stumbled and nearly went down, his concentration drifting from the task at hand. He righted himself hastily and shoved the vision crystal back into his tunic front.
“Watch yourself,” Edain Elessedil whispered at his elbow. Jair nodded and went on.
Anticipation began to build within him. An entire army of Gnomes guarded Graymark’s battlements and watchtowers. Mord Wraiths walked its halls. Things darker still might lie in wait within, sentinels against intruders like themselves. Their company was but six in number. What hope had they against so many and such power? Little, it would appear; and yet, while it should have seemed altogether hopeless to the Valeman, it did not. Perhaps it was the faith that the King of the Silver River had shown in choosing him for this quest—a demonstration of the old man’s belief that he could somehow find a way to succeed. Perhaps it was his own determination, a strength of will that would not let him fail.