Devastating Hate (35 page)

The episode with Morana was still in his mind. Caphalor had been strongly attracted to her from their first meeting, but when she was so outspoken that evening at dinner, the scales had fallen from his eyes: Morana had understood him and his emotions so much better than he had done himself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Imàndaris looked at him quizzically. “What is worrying you?”

“Nothing.” He answered lamely. “Nothing to do with the crater or the project.”

She gave a kindly smile. “Then it must be me! That's why you're staring.”

Caphalor decided to seize the moment. “Well, now that you mention it: I was wondering why the daughter of an artist would choose to take up the sword rather than a sculptor's chisel or a painter's brush. You are sure to carry your mother's talent within you.”

“Who knows? I prefer handling weapons. That's all.” Imàndaris looked up at the crater's edge, where a unit of cavalry were heading out on their rounds. “They're going to hunt down elves, I see?”

“Yes. I have sent them to search for elves and do their arms practice at the same time. If Tion and Samusin are favorable, the soldiers will get to try out their new lance skills.” His laughter was dark. He went on: “We were lucky at Sonnenhag because the óarcos weren't expecting us, otherwise Carmondai would hardly have carried off the victory against Toboribar, but what he managed to teach the troops in that short time is amazing.” Caphalor walked on, accompanied by the nostàroi. “And how is it that the Inextinguishables came to select you for this high office? Please don't think me rude; I have never been one for politics and I don't know who is advising the rulers now. You may have many sponsors. But I had never heard your name until very recently.”

“You were well known for not being interested,” she said. “You had your estates, your family and you preferred life as an . . . outsider. You went into battle when you were needed, but then you went back to your farming.” Her tone remained amicable. “You and I were never on
the same campaigns, Caphalor. That will be why you had never heard my name.”

“You must have been good.” He pointed to the silver nostàroi emblem on her black mantle. “Or you would not have been awarded that badge.”

“My mother never understood me. Sometimes she said she doubted I was really her daughter. She did not disown me, but she never invited me to come home. I'm her guilty secret. Her other children turned out better, to her way of thinking.” She looked around. “Where are we heading?”

He pointed to the center of the crater. “Over there. The elves attempted to have the hole filled in, but they could not finish it. I want to take a closer look. That hill would be a good place for the governor's palace. Excellent vantage point.”

Imàndaris nodded. “We ought to get the slaves straightening up the edges. That gentle curve wastes space. We'll need more room.”

“More? There's plenty of space for thousands here. What numbers are you thinking of?” Caphalor grinned. “Dsôn's citizens won't want to emigrate.”

“That's true. But . . . I don't know. What we create here today we don't have to worry about tomorrow.” She tossed back her reddish blond hair. “Will you join me at dinner? I'd like to discuss our plans for the other elf regions. Our scouts are back from Gwandalur and they've got news about the dragon. It could prove more dangerous than we'd thought.”

“Oh?” He was pleased that Imàndaris was interested in his opinion, although he was well aware that her goals were different from his own: consulting him would help her strengthen her reputation with the troops. He was still a popular commander and if she were on good terms with him the soldiers would accept her.
A clever move.

“You can answer later.” She indicated the massive heap of earth and strode off. “Let's have a good look at this first.”

They arrived at the foot of the hill. Composed of loose sand it now had a light frosting of snow, making it look like icy chalk.

Caphalor cautiously scaled the slippery slope. Grains of sand and crystals of snow crunched under the thick soles of his winter boots. He trod heavily, testing the composition of the ground. “I've always
wondered why they started building this mountain in the center of the crater,” he called to Imàndaris. “It would have been easier to tip all this sand down the edge rather than build up in the middle.”

“That's true. Almost any other method would have been simpler.” She bent down to pick something up. “Is this glass, do you think? Have they been trying to melt the sand down?”

Am I imagining it?
Caphalor felt the atmosphere changing. The energy he had noticed before was ebbing away as he climbed. He turned to the nostàroi. “Do you feel it?”

“It's fading,” she said, bewildered. “Can it be to do with this sand?”

The sand is blocking Inàste's aura!
Caphalor suddenly understood why the hill had been constructed in the middle of the crater. He stabbed his heel into the frozen layer of sand.

Imàndaris, eight or nine paces behind him, started clearing snow and sand away with her boot. She had gotten the same idea. “What's this?” She crouched down.

Caphalor hurried over to her, sliding on the white surface. He saw something black where she had exposed the ground.
It's stone! Just as I thought.

Brushing the pale sand to one side, Imàndaris was surprised to find a rock underneath. “What have the elves done here?” All at once her puzzled frown gave way to a dazzling smile. “Can it be . . . the fossilized tear of Inàste?” She closed her eyes in rapture. “Oh, Inàste! How wonderful if we have truly found a holy relic!”

“We should get the whole stone uncovered.” Caphalor kept his excitement under control, but inside he was as joyful as his companion.
How inspiring for our people if we have found some genuine portent from our creating spirit—something that can grace us with its powerful aura.

Imàndaris laid a hand on the precious stone. “Oh, in the name of all infamy!” she murmured, her eyes tight shut. “Come here, Caphalor! Place your hand here! It is—”

He knelt at her side. As he touched the black stone his fingertips tingled. The aura, the energy that filled the entire crater, was streaming into his body, permeating every fiber of his being and filling him with incredible warmth.

Inàste's fossilized tear!
There was no longer the slightest doubt in his mind. He quivered with joy. By chance he caught Imàndaris's eye.

Their glances melded, as did their thoughts and their emotions, it seemed to Caphalor. His heart was racing and his head refused to turn away from her.
What . . .

Everything around them disappeared—only her face existed in his mind. The place near the heart, the solar plexus, woke explosively and flooded his body with heat from head to toe.

Caphalor gasped as the feeling tore through him. It grew more intense yet and made his whole body quiver and shake. His teeth chattered wildly. Suddenly he understood that this was not happening within him, but was coming from the ground under their feet.

His thoughts and his senses returned abruptly to the present moment.

Imàndaris was kneeling at his feet and he could tell she was as shocked as he. The hill beneath them bucked and rocked like a rearing night-mare, eager to throw them off. Snow and sand slid down, slowly revealing the black stone.

“Inàste's tear has felt our presence!” she cried joyfully. “It has been waiting for us to find it and touch it.”

Caphalor was having trouble keeping his balance. Now he could see that they were standing on a sharp ridge, no broader than two sword blades. The pleasant vibrations emanating from the stone grew stronger as more of the rock was revealed, but jumping down would have been unwise as more and more sharp rocks appeared. One false move might see their death—or serious injury.

“Wait until the rock has settled down.” He said to Imàndaris. He held her by the arms and she placed her hands on his shoulders. In this way, each could help the other to remain stable on their precarious ledge.

Caphalor saw slaves staring up at them and other älfar running up to the crater from all directions. But there was nothing anyone could do but wait until the hill had stopped moving.

He glanced at Imàndaris and she returned his gaze. Something had changed. He remembered this from the time he had spent with Enoïla.
Has the power of the stone locked us together?

The quaking did not lessen. In fact, the vibrations were growing stronger and the summit of the hill started to move upward with a deep rumbling sound.

More multi-colored stone came to the fore and the hill became a mountain, higher and higher, and broader at the base. Great clumps of earth crashed down to the floor of the crater, making the waiting älfar scatter in fear.

Caphalor and Imàndaris were carried up and up, almost level to the crater edge, then farther still.

By all that's infamous, what is happening here?
Caphalor scrutinized the plain. Gusts of wind threatened to topple him, but Imàndaris held him fast.

At long last the vibrations ebbed away and the astonishing growth of the rock halted.

Imàndaris looked around excitedly. “What just happened?” she asked, joyously, as a flight of birds went past them. Gray wisps formed beneath them and they were surrounded by light fog—they had reached the clouds. “What a splendid gift the Creating Spirit has given us. We are so high above the crater!” With a laugh she released Caphalor's hands.

Caphalor nodded. The recent splinters of unendingness had brought so much that was new and unusual he could hardly keep track. Strangely, he was thinking about how difficult the descent was going to be.
One false move and we die
. He leaned over and looked down.

The mountain reared up, sharp as a needle within its coat of cloud and mist. Pieces of earth slipped down its sheer sides, breaking up as they plunged to the crater floor. The rock was wet in places and jets of water could be seen emerging.

“The Creator Spirit's tear is pretty sharp and pointed, isn't it?” he commented.

“But it has to be one of her tears. How else can we explain what has just happened to us?” Imàndaris also risked a look over the side. “Is it a sign? Does she want us to find our future here? Does she want us to leave Ishím Voróo?”

Caphalor was doubtful. “I reckon the mountain may explode or slip back down again,” he said. “But if it does remain, it would be a good
site for a palace,” he added cautiously. “We will need many slaves to hew steps into the rock.” He imagined a new Bone Tower up here on the mountain as a symbol of his people's superiority over the elves.
Truly! Can there be any greater fate in store for me than this?

Imàndaris stretched out her arms and laughed, her bright red hair and the edges of her robe lifting in the breeze. “We are blessed, Caphalor!” she exclaimed. “The Creating Spirit has chosen us!” She turned abruptly toward him, eyes bright with enthusiasm and he could not resist: many paces above the floor of the crater, their faces touched by the wind and clouds, he took her chin gently in his hands and gave her a long kiss on the mouth. She responded passionately.

Tark Draan (Girdlegard), in the Gray Mountains,

4371
^st
division of unendingness (5199
^th
solar cycle),

late autumn.

By now Simin was having no trouble at all finding his way about in the labyrinth of tunnels—as long as he stuck to the main paths, which would let him traverse the Gray Mountains quickly in his search for the demon.

Three times now he had narrowly avoided bumping into orcs. One of the monsters had got wind of him and had followed his tracks, but a masterly shove had sent the screaming greenskin plunging into an abyss. It would not be coming out again.

But then he had seen Hianna the Flawless escorted by a troop of älfar and she certainly did not look like their captive—more like their ally.

Famenia was too slow. She did not explain the true nature of the älfar to Hianna in time.

Unfortunately Simin had found no opportunity to speak to the maga alone. There had always been several älfar around her and he could not risk discovery if he wanted to carry out his original mission.

Who knows what kind of promises the älfar have made her? If they've got Hianna on their side, it will make everything harder for us.
His disappointment ran deep.

At least his mission was proceeding. He was now fairly sure he had reached the northern part of the mountain and the place where the dead had risen again, according to what Famenia had said. But as yet he had seen no indication that the demon was near.

Where has it gone?
Simin did not want to think about the demon being in Girdlegard, using its unholy powers.
It's essential that Famenia has succeeded in warning and winning over the other magi. Otherwise . . .

A shadow unfolded from the wall and lunged at him and Simin sprang backward as an ax just missed his head and shattered upon meeting rock.

In front of him was an orc nearly the same size as himself, staring dumbly at its broken weapon in dismay.

That's all right by me.
Simin kicked his enemy in the groin, making him double up with pain. The magus then aimed his boot at the creature's face. Snorting, the orc lurched to the side and fell against the tunnel wall.

The fact that the orc was in that area of the mountain was strange.
This region is under human control.

He sprang forward, pulled out the orc's sword and placed the tip of it against the creature's neck. “What are you doing in our region of the mountains?” He hoped the orc would fall for the trick and assume that he was a human ally.

The beast looked at the edge of the sword and then at Simin. He groaned.
That kick was effective.
“I got lost,” he grunted, his tiny eyes glittering with fear.