He did not understand Mark's, "They're gone! More of that magic, I suppose. That damned centaur had something to do with it! Bring me a centaur!"
Mouseglove decided to leave it at that. Less now than at any other time, did he desire to fall into the hands of the ruddy giant the small men treated like a god. As he backed away, though, the words, "...At the triangle's point!" reached him from within. It would not be until later, however, that these would set off lengthy trains of speculation.
Instead, immediate considerations occupied him for the better part of several hours: Time to get out. Things are getting more frantic and life goes less certain. The longer I stay, the worse my chances....
The lock on the training room door barely halted his stride. Slowly and carefully, his fingertips found the controls in the model cockpit. He was afraid to make a light.... Funny if I can only fly it with my eyes closed, he reflected. It's scary up there, but it's worse down here. Anyway, better this than a dragon. What did he say about this little lever? Oh, yes....
Batteries fully charged, the dark birds fled across the night, the land, the water.
XVI
East and south. They traveled until fatigue overcame them. Night was rising when they located the island they had marked, and there they slept unmolested. The following day, before the night was fully departed, they crossed over the waters to the land, to sweep above mountains, dwindling rivers, desert. The next night was spent among chilly hills, where Pol reviewed all that he knew concerning their route and destination. The geography here was not congruent with that of his previous world. In that place, the larger land mass he had departed did not even exist, and that over which he was crossing, while similar in places, was not a true match. Distances varied radically between locales which seemed to possess some reconcilability on maps of the two worlds. But they both had pyramids in several places, though the one he sought had the way to its entrance flanked by rows of columns alternating with sphinxes, many of them fallen, damaged, but most still visible. Something in the description he had read seemed to indicate that he should commence his entrance at the end of that way.
The dark birdforms dotted the mountaintops like statues of prehistoric beasts, wings outspread. Had there been an eye to observe them, it might not even have noted their minute, tropism-like pursuit of the sun across the sky as they recharged their batteries for the night's flight.
The day had beaten its way well on toward evening before they stirred, almost simultaneously, as if shaken by a sudden breeze. They began to flex their wings.
Soon, one by one, they dropped from the heights, caught the air, rose, found their way, found their patterns, resumed their journey....
Pol's wrist began to itch some time before their goal came into view. He felt that it was not just the now-darkening sunburn, and increased his surveillance of the bright and wavering horizon. Minutes later, a pointed dot resolved itself before him and he licked his dry lips and smiled.
Your internal compass seems to be working fine.
I do not know what you mean.
That seems to be it up ahead.
Of course.
"Nora!" His voice came out as a croak. "I see it!"
"I think I do, too!"
It grew before them until there could be no doubt as to its nature. There were no signs of movement anywhere about the dark stone structure. The plain before it was dotted with columns and statues.
Moonbird took them down near the far end of the approach, and Pol's joints creaked as he alighted.
"I can't persuade you to wait here?" he said, as he helped Nora down.
She shook her head.
"If anything happened to you, I'd be in to investigate later, anyway. Waiting would just defer things."
He turned to Moonbird.
Wish I could take you with--but the entrance is too small.
I will guard. You will play sweet music for me later.
I appreciate your confidence.
Pol turned and looked up the sand-scoured roadway, pylons and beasts converging upon the dark rectangle of the structure's entranceway.
...Walking into a vanishing point, he mused.
"Okay, Nora. Let's go," he said.
His vision blurred and cleared again as they advanced. For a moment, he thought it was an effect of the brilliant sunlight or the sudden activity after hours of sitting crouched. Then he saw what he took to be flames pouring forth from the opening before them. He flinched.
Nora took hold of his arm.
"What is it?"
"I--oh, now I see. Nothing."
The flames resolved themselves into great billows of what he had come to think of as the weft of the world. He had never seen them bunched so thickly before, save in the great ball in the caverns of Rondoval--and here they were flapping and drifting freely.
"You must have seen something," she said as they continued on.
"Just an indication of sorts, showing a concentration of magical power."
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know."
She loosened her blade in its scabbard. He did the same.
His right wrist, which had not stopped its itching and tingling was now throbbing steadily, as if that special part of him which was best suited to deal with such matters was now fully alert.
He brushed his fingertips across the massed strands and felt a surge of power. He tried to locate some clue as to its nature, but nothing suggested itself.
The rod, the rod ... he concentrated. Somewhere among you , . .
A pale green strand, like milky jade, drifted toward him, separating itself from the mass. As he raised his hand, it seemed drawn toward his fingertips. Once he touched it, he willed it to adhere and held it, knowing that this was the one.
"Now," he told Nora, advancing to the threshold, "I know the way--though I know nothing of what it will be like."
He entered the narrow passage and halted again. The dimness about them deepened to an inky blackness only a few paces ahead.
"Wait," he said, commencing the mental movements which had summoned the phantom dragon from his wrist the night he had fled her village.
It rose and drifted before him again, exactly as it had on that earlier occasion.
Is this a phenomenon I am destined never to use in the absence of danger? he wondered.
Behind him, Nora drew her blade. His chuckle rang hollowly.
"That is my doing," he told her. "It is our light. Nothing more."
"I believe you," she said, "but it seems a good time to have a weapon."
"I can't argue," he replied, beginning to move once again, following the pale thread through the new light.
They came to a flight of steps where they descended perhaps ten meters, the air growing pleasantly cool, then clammy about them. From the foot of the steps, passages ran to the right, the left and straight ahead. The thread followed the one before them. Pol followed the thread.
After several paces, the passage began to slant downward, its angle of steepness seeming to increase as they continued. The air was thick now, and stale, with a scent of old incense or spices buried within its dampness.
The light danced before him. The walls vanished. At first, he thought that they had come to another set of side passages. As he willed his light to brighten and move, however, he saw that they had come into a room.
He sent the dragon-light darting before him, outlining the chamber, revealing its features. The walls were decorated with a faded frieze, the ceiling was cobwebbed, the floor dusty. At the far end of the room was a stone altar or table, a band of carvings about its middle. A dark rectangle stood behind it. The strand at Pol's fingertips ran directly across the block of stone and vanished into the shadowy oblong.