Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Page 7

  Four

  Mearead, Lord of the Crystal Falls, walked quickly, his sister-son, Colin, scampering to keep up. They entered one of the Caves of Making, the crash and clang of metal working assaulting their ears.

  The cave was vast, the roof hidden in its height. The floor was covered with forges and anvils and the thick shapes of dwarves moving about. The whole area seemed to be simply thrown together; there was apparently no logic in the placement of fire and forge.

  Mearead smiled at all the chaos, waving at dwarves as he passed, swapping a quick joke or a pat on the back. It was not lost on Colin that the three hundred or so dwarves in the cave were all working on armor or weapons.

  The red light of the flames cast great shadows on the walls, as if unseen giants mimicked the work of the dwarves.

  "Kinda spooky, ain't it?" Mearead laughed. "Sort of picturesque. I guess this is how humans picture us." He turned away and picked up his pace before Colin could answer him. Mearead for once did not want to talk, and the young dwarf honored his uncle's wishes even if he was bewildered by them.

  Colin had been arguing with Flann about the merits of an ax versus a mace in one of the many small libraries that dotted the caves of the Crystal Falls. Such conversations had become commonplace for the seldom serious dwarves as the rumors of the invasion of Tolath spread. Mearead had appeared out of nowhere and had ordered Colin to follow him. For the last hour and a half the young dwarf followed his uncle deeper and deeper into the interior of the caves. He had no idea where they were going.

  Neither said anything as they left the Cave of Making and continued down through narrow tunnels seldom used. There was little light except from the occasional Duiarcsolus, the dwarf light stones, set into the walls or ceiling. The stones found here were of poor workmanship and their light was weak and discolored. The young dwarf got more nervous as the way became more gloomy.

  He was surprised to find that at every bend or new hall there was a fully armored guard. It cheered him some to think about the impregnability of the dwarven caves.

  "Maybe," Mearead said aloud, "maybe we're not as impregnable as we think." Colin stared at him, wondering if his uncle could really read his mind. Well, he wouldn't put anything past Mearead's powers.

  "Who could invade us, my lord?" 'After all,' he thought to himself, 'the caves, for all their incredible beauty, had always been built for defense.' There was no dichotomy about this in the dwarf's mind; after all, his people were all born artists and warriors.

  "Probably said the same thing in Cardoc-nae-corond," answered Mearead, his voice unusually quiet.

  "You think that's what happened?" Colin asked. "That they were overrun?" He got only a shrug in response.

  The way now became harder. The hall they followed was full of defensive works. Colin's trained eyes picked out the many traps and pits prepared for any would-be invader.

  They passed a whole squad of guards who didn't disturb their card game to greet them. Colin had long given up his early dreams of introducing the human ideas of respect due to a superior. Mearead amused himself by shouting out one of the players' hands at the top of his voice.

  They left the happily arguing guards behind them, stepping into a small, half-finished hall. They followed this path until it ended in a solid wall, and before Colin could ask a question, Mearead placed both his hands on the wall, intoning a Word softly under his breath. The wall, which seemed so impenetrable even to Colin's dwarven eyes, opened slowly, a thin, greenish light filling the small tunnel. He followed Mearead through the door.

  They stood on a slim, uneven ledge. Some thirty feet beneath them lay the cave floor. The other side of the cave was lost in the distance. It was one of the largest caverns Colin had ever seen and it was filled with life.

  Little streams meandered all about, watering a great mass of vegetation and fungi. Dwarves wandered about, pruning here, uprooting there. The shapes of the vegetation were bewildering. Here a great mushroom-type fungus rose ten feet off the ground, there a twisting vine roamed the stream's bank, oval red fruits hanging off it like giant drops of blood.

  The plants radiated their own light. It was not a sickly, pale color, but bright hues covering the spectrum, miniature rainbows arching from one stream to another. The whole blended into a pulsating green light that beat with health and vigor. Colin whistled.

  "It's huge!" He looked at his uncle. "Why, I didn't even know this place existed." Mearead stared at the vision beneath him, the light softening the age and worry in his face.

  "There's much for you to learn," he said. "This is one of several gardens we keep in case the upper halls ever fall. This one alone produces enough food for half our population. Only those of our people who wish to work here know of its existence. There are always some who prefer to work with growing things instead of metal or stone." He turned and continued to walk along the path.

  Colin followed him, silent in his wonder. He sometimes liked to work in the gardens, but for all the beauty of the ones he knew, none compared with this. The two trudged on, through another secret way off the ledge, deeper into tunnels dusty with lack of use.

  As they went deeper the atmosphere became thick; not stuffy, but as if the air itself somehow gained weight. It made Colin uncomfortably aware of his own breathing. He could feel the breath going into his lungs, spreading through them like water. Sounds became muffled and Colin could hear little except his own beating heart.

  They finally stopped inside a cave. It was a lonely place, dark even to their eyes. Giant stalactites and stalagmites reached for each other, the smallest wider than a cart. Mearead led the young dwarf deep into the confusing maze. Colin soon lost his sense of direction completely, something that had never happened to him before. Mearead pointed to one stalagmite.

  "There," he said, his voice sounding tiny and distant in the strange air, "there is our door to the heart of the mountain, deep, deep into the very breast of She who is Mother to us all."

  He walked up to the stalagmite and stood in front of it. Colin waited to see a secret door appear, but nothing happened. Mearead just stood there with eyes closed for a minute, his mouth moving in silent prayer. He turned back to Colin.

  "Once I told a friend that the dwarven folk and the Morigunamachamain were greatly alike." He pointed at the stone. "But I did not tell even him about this, our greatest secret. Only we and the Morigu can know this. The full embrace of the Mother, only we can become part of that which is all." He took the other's hand. "Fear nothing," he said, "where we go, none may follow"; and with that he stepped into the rock. Colin could not believe it, even as he, too, went through solid stone. It was like stepping into a liquid with a slightly warm temperature.

  He could see, but what he saw his mind could not grasp. Here, all forms, all colors were one, and yet distinct and individual. His mind would recognize an image, a light, or the form of lines and shapes, but before he could focus on anything it would be absorbed back into the soothing darkness that was all.

  He could no longer see his body, but he felt, he felt his hands, his fingers move in the fluid, or the fluid move by him--which, he could not tell. His lungs filled with the darkness all around him. He went deeper but could not tell if it was up or down; he just knew he moved. He could not focus even on the touch of his uncle's hand. He grasped harder, and though he thought he felt nothing, he could close his hand no further. He was stopped by something that was firm but not solid. His thoughts drifted as if he was about to sleep.

  His mind retained no thought, yet it was aware, aware of the life above, below, around him: the dwarves busy in their caves, the horrors of the war in the south, the strange impressions from the mystical kingdom of Aes Lugh. But even this he could not hold. The outside world flowed away, leaving only vague emotions: the contentment, fulfillment in simply being, the erotic all that surrounded and infused him.

  Then. . . Pain. Actually, his mind realized not so much pain as he knew it, no warnings of damage to the body, just the fl
ush of renewed sensations, the nerves once more awake, aware. He felt strong hands holding him up.

  "Take it easy, lad. It's always confusing the first time." Mearead's voice pained his ears, though the tone was soft. The strong arms wrapped around Colin's chest and grasped hard, forcing him to gasp for air. His lungs burned with the fire of breath, the pain the newborn feels. He fell into a cushioned softness, gasping and choking. Mearead lifted him to a sitting position.

  "Open your eyes, boy," he said, "look, and see the heart, the womb of the Mother."

  Colin slitted his eyes carefully, waiting for the pain of vision, but it did not come. The room was light, gentle, and warming, like the sun burning red behind closed eyelids. But there was no real color to the light. It was as if his eyes had a new ability, an ability to perceive that which did not need light to take visual form.

  It was not a room that he saw, it was not a place. It simply was, it existed; it was warm, comfortable, safe. But it had no name, therefore it could never have a name; it just was.

  There weren't angles or definitions of form to focus on. There was no sound except for his breathing and Mearead's. Movement rustled clothes, but there was no floor to scrape against, no ceiling or walls to surround. Yet the feeling of being somewhere--here--was present.

  "Mearead," Colin's voice rasped, but the place absorbed the edges of the sound, "am I blind?" He dared not look at the other dwarf, not knowing what he would see or if he would see anything.

  "No, lad," said a voice behind him, "you're not blind. There is nothing here to blind you, or for you to see. Here eyes are not needed, neither are hands or ears. But the Mother gives us breath here, gives us speech and hearing, but there is really nothing to see."

  "I, I don't understand. Where are we? I mean, it is like nowhere, nothing, but it is." He stared down at his legs and rubbed his fingers back and forth on his shirt, concentrating on the rough texture.

  "This is the soul's place, lad. Our bodies are no help here."

  "What, what do we do now?"

  "We wait." Still Mearead did not show himself. "We wait." His voice, quiet, was swallowed by that which never needed voices, never needed air.

  Dun Scaga stood high up on a bare hillock. Its walls were hard and grey with age, its towers thrust toward the sky with a dogged determination that had daunted many a would-be invader. But for all that, the grand old castle's days were numbered and none knew that better than its master, Laird Fin.

  Fin sprawled on the massive wooden throne that dominated the small audience hall deep behind the castle walls. His red hair and beard fit with his stout and powerful frame. He lounged indolently on the throne, fitting the picture of a Laird: independent and strong, born to rule.

  His features were solid and undistinguished except for his left eye. There, a scar through the eyebrow lifted the corner of the eye and the edge of his brow. It gave his face an almost comical effect, as if he viewed everything with constant skepticism and a touch of humor. Many times had that scar served him well as an opponent misjudged him, only to fall to his elemental anger or razor mind.

  Two warriors stood at either end of the small dais that the throne rested on. They, like their lord, wore chain-mail coats with odd bits of armor strapped here and there. Each held a heavy two-handed sword across their shoulders. The two followed Fin's lead and stood comfortably, their bodies angled as if any minute they would simply crash to the ground. But their weapons were sharp and their hands held the scars of seasoned warriors. None held a sword in Dun Scaga unless they were well-versed in its deadly magic.

  Except for these three the hall was empty. On the walls hung the dusty battle flags that the clan of Scaga had been taking from their enemies' dead hands for three hundred years. Though there were larger and more powerful clans, it was known throughout the empire that there were none more deadly.

  The nail-studded wooden door at the end of the hall ground open and an old veteran led in two figures. Both were draped with black cloaks that hid head and hand. The two figures were wide at the shoulders and their gait was bowlegged like a horseman's. Fin was not the only one to recognize them as goblins. Though none of the three figures at the end of the hall moved or shifted their positions, a tense edge filled the void between them and the figures moving toward them.

  The old veteran stayed by the door, closing it behind him. The two goblins walked the expanse of the hall alone, their soft footsteps the only sound. They reached the foot of the dais and bowed in unison, bowed deeply, a servant to his master.

  "Greetings to the lord of Dun Scaga," said one, his voice remarkably refined. "We bring a message from our masters --meant, I might add, for the lord's ears alone." Fin said nothing. Staring at the two of them for a moment, he let the silence drag out until the one who had not spoken shifted in agitation.

  "Your masters," he stretched the word out, "should have informed you that the Laird of Dun Scaga has more than one pair of ears."

  "I see," answered the speaker. "Well, in that case, I bring you this." He gestured to the other who reached inside his cloak and withdrew a small pouch. One of the soldiers took it and handed it to Fin. Fin grasped it in his hand, feeling the small hardness within. His face showed nothing, he had expected this, but still.... He opened the bag, letting the signet ring fall into his palm, the small ruby flashing red in the torchlight. He inspected it for a moment, his mind surprised by the sudden heaviness of the delicate bit of jewelry.

  "You recognize it, of course," the speaker said softly.

  "Oh, aye, I recognize it," Fin's voice was equally soft, almost a snake's hiss. His grey-green eyes refused to look at the thing in his hand, staring at a point directly over his antagonist's head. "She was a lass of seventeen when I put it on her finger." His two warriors moved closer to their lord, their hands fastening around their sword grips. The two goblins ignored them.

  "You will be glad to know your wife is in fine health, alive, unharmed, and," the goblin cleared his throat with a decidedly unhuman sound, "untouched." This last bit almost broke Fin's composure. He was no stranger to the goblins' desire for human women.

  "Don't fool with me, scum!" He spit the words out. Both the goblins recoiled from the harshness of the words. "Tell me what you want, and tell me now!" The goblins could not help giving each other a quick glance. They were in the lion's den; getting out was not going to be easy.

  "All know of the prowess of the Scaga clan," began the speaker. "Since the creation of the Green Branch knights the Clan Lord of Scaga has always been a member and usually several members of his immediate family. Both you and your son are members of that elite group, as is an inordinate number of your clan's warriors." He stopped for a moment. Fin could picture in his mind the goblin licking his fangs.

  "Get on with it," he said. Another pause.

  "The war, which the empire has brought upon itself by its unjust persecution of the goblin race, is a waste," the speaker's hand fluttered out; it was covered by a black glove, "a waste for your people and mine. We wish to end it as soon as possible. Once we have reclaimed land that rightfully belongs to us." He stopped for a moment as if he expected an answer. He got none.

  "But, as I say, this war is with the empire, not with humans. We therefore do not wish to antagonize those who will soon be our neighbors."

  "My lord," the youngest of the warriors turned to Fin, "must we listen--"

  "Shut up," Fin silenced the other. He looked back at the goblin. "Finish."

  "Well, as I was saying, we hold no claim on the land of Scaga. We have no fight with you."

  "Ah, so that's why you kidnapped my wife."

  "Detained, my lord, detained so that we would have a chance to speak with you, before, ah, blood was shed between your people and mine.

  "After all, it is not unknown to me that your clan fought hard against the destroyer Lir. Your people quite rightly wish their independence. This is a quality both our peoples share."

  "The terms," Fin's voice was pitched low.
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  "Your wife will be returned to you after we have overthrown the harsh rule of the empire. In the interim none of the Scaga clan will take arms against us. Of course, we realize that you do not wish to fight your own kind, so all we ask is free passage of our armies through your land. Your people will become neutral, and have no doubt," he added quickly, "we will pay well for the right to cross your borders, very well. Furthermore, we will make a binding nonaggression pact between your people and mine, a treaty that will last until the end of time."

  "My wife."

  "Your wife will be well taken care of, treated as her station deserves, served by human women and guarded against any evil; she will be safe until Tolan falls. Once the city is taken she will be returned to you safe and unharmed. It is well-known in all the land the great love you have for your lady. We respect that, and in fact admire it."

  "My wife," Fin continued as if the goblin had said nothing, "is dead." The two goblins went still. After a moment the speaker cleared his throat again; this time it sounded like a growl.

  "I assure you, my lord, she is alive and well taken care of."

  "My wife," Fin interrupted; he sat straight and stared at the two, "is also a knight of the Green Branch."

  "That is known to us, my lord, and believe me, she is treated as such a noble lady should be." Fin sat back, massaging his eyes for a moment. Then slowly he got to his feet. He walked down the dais and circled the two goblins. He shook his head again.

  "You do not understand," he smiled at the two. "Your information is remarkable, I'll give you that, and your assassins first-rate, though I suppose you noticed the head of the one you sent after me at the front gate. But," he sighed theatrically, "your masters are not as clever as they think they are. They think to use my love for Katherine against me, thinking that I would betray all my people to get her back. This I would never do, mainly because she would never forgive me. But that doesn't really matter, because she is a Green Branch knight."

  The two goblins' orders were clear: if Fin did not agree, then kill him. They both raised their throwing daggers at the same time, but the two warriors stationed at the throne moved first. They threw the goblins to the ground. Several doors, unseen until now, opened and warriors poured into the room. Quickly the goblins were disarmed and tied, their concealing cloaks torn away. Their mouths were gagged, since Fin had guessed one could use magic. With their arms tied, their mouths gagged, and some mage from inside the castle sheathing their minds, their magic was as useless as their daggers.