Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (13 page)

His voice swirled away on the wind. He closed his eyes and strained to hear an answer, but he heard only waves of wind louder than the breakers of the sea.

“I seek a sign, a word from you,” he called.

Again he heard only the wild rush of air assaulting his ears. Over and over he called. Nothing.

At length he had his fill of being buffeted on the heights. His throat was dry, his ears roaring. He returned to the cave with Haden and Resarian.

After a long drink of water, Trevin helped Pym lay a fire. The prince practiced pulling Haden’s bow with no arrow while Haden spread out the prince’s bedroll.

“Haden,” said Trevin, “were you in the gap with Arelin when he listened for the Oracle?”

“I was, but he stood there so long I nearly left before he heard anything.”

“So he
did
hear a message?”

Haden shrugged. “Said he did. I heard nothing but wind.”

“How did Arelin listen? What exactly did he do?”

Haden chuckled. “He did the same as you this afternoon. In fact, watching you took me back twenty-five years. Arelin leaned against the wind with his eyes closed. Finally I saw his lips moving as if he were conversing with someone. I thought he’d gone mad, and maybe he had. When we finally left, he wore a big grin on his face. ‘I’m off to the Dregmoors,’ he said.”

Trevin paced to the mouth of the cave. The mountainside lay shadowed in twilight. “I’m returning to the gap,” he said and strode out into the wind.

revin shouldered through the whistling gale until he reached the center of the gap. There he faced the wind and stared, squint eyed, across the land that lay north of the mountain range. A river curved like a black snake around the tall, flat-topped towers of earth that rose from the floor of Tabaitta Canyon. The sides of the plateaus looked like sheer cliffs, striated with purple shadow, darkening as he watched.

With arms outspread like an eagle’s wings, Trevin leaned into the wind. “I seek the harps made from the great Tree,” he yelled, barely able to hear himself. “I seek the comains of Camrithia.” He heard nothing. “Can you help me?” He felt crazed talking to the wind.

Seeeeeker
.

A shiver shot through Trevin.

Seeeeeker. Seeeeeker
.

“I’m a seeker,” Trevin called. “Will you advise me?”

Hold fast to the search. Hooooold faaaaast, Seeeeeker
.

“Where do I search?” Trevin’s words blew back into his throat. He pressed into the wind. “Where are the comains of Camrithia? Where are the harps of the great Tree? Where do I go from here?”

The wind howled.
Seeeeek meeeee. I would seeeee yooooou face to faaaaace
.

Trevin glanced around. The Oracle had a face, not just a voice? “Where do I find you?”

In the caaaaanyon
.

Trevin scanned the canyon. Plateaus dotted the landscape all the way to the horizon. “Where in the canyon?” he called.

Only the wild, lonely howl of the wind answered him.

Trevin stayed until darkness swallowed the canyon and the gap where he stood. Only the top of the mountain remained golden in the light of the setting sun, but it, too, quickly faded into night. With the wind thrashing his back, Trevin returned to the cave.

Tomorrow he would venture into the canyon.

A hand shook Trevin’s shoulder. He pushed himself to a sitting position and blinked heavily at Haden. “Did I cry out?”

“You were mumbling, but I was going to rouse you anyway.”

“My turn at watch.” Trevin drew his cloak snug and followed Haden to the mouth of the cave. On the eastern horizon a thread of gray rimmed the mountains.

Trevin turned to Haden, whose profile seemed chiseled from stone. “It’s almost daybreak. You stood my watch as well as yours.”

“I wasn’t tired,” said Haden. “I’m in a quandary. Resarian is pressing to stay with you until you get an answer from the Oracle. How long do you mean to be here?”

“I heard my answer,” said Trevin.

“And?”

“The Oracle directed me to the canyon. I plan to trek in after daybreak.”

Haden glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping prince. “Resarian will want to go with you, but it’s against my better judgment.”

“And mine,” said Trevin, “but I have no authority over the prince.”

“He might relent on the matter if he woke up and found you gone.”

Trevin nodded. “Tell Resarian he can show me around when I visit Flauren.”

Haden smiled. “That I will. By the time we return to camp, your horse should be free. Shall I hold him for you in Flauren or ride him to the canyon in search of you?”

“I can’t say where you might find me. I’d best come for him in Flauren.”

“Until then, keep the mount you borrowed.” Haden grasped Trevin’s hand. “I wish you good speed.”

To avoid the howling gap of Windsweep, Trevin and Pym backtracked west along the ridge and crossed the mountains at a pass Haden suggested. In the canyon below, dawn’s pale rays trickled across the tops of the plateaus while the depths of the gorge slept in heavy gray shadow.

As Trevin headed down the steep, narrow path, he studied the nearer plateaus. Many looked bare, but others bore shadowy brush, and dark patches topped several of the more distant plateaus. Groves, he guessed.

A movement atop one of these caught Trevin’s eye. If he looked straight at the dark plateau, the movement stilled. If he looked aside, it returned.

He pointed. “What about that one, Pym? The seat of the Oracle?”

“I’d be hard-pressed to say.” Pym squinted at it. “If we could fly like Serai, we could get close enough to see a hut or house atop, but flying’s not in my plans.”

The wind gusted.
Trussssst yourself
.

“What did you say?” asked Trevin.

“I said it’s not in my plans to fly. The mere thought of Windsweep gave me the wobbles.”

The wind whipped Trevin’s hair into his eyes.
Trussssst yourself
.

Trevin brushed his hair back and snorted. Himself. Exactly what he did not trust. He had lived as a thief, an informant, and a betrayer, and descending this mountain trail reminded him of another mountainous descent, tailing a caravan …

He fingered the harp pendant around his neck, trying to ward off the past. This was his future.

“We’ll try the plateau with the darkest grove,” he said. “Something’s moving on top.” He mapped it in his mind. Three plateaus to the east of the river. Four plateaus north from a light green patch at the canyon rim.

The path down the mountain was rocky, the journey slow. Trevin listened for more windwords but heard only lizards skittering through dry brush, ground mice scrabbling, birds scolding.

By noon they were out of the foothills and stopped to rest their mounts at a spring, where Trevin filled their water skins.

“We’re being watched,” said Pym. “From above.”

Trevin looked up to see two dark spy-birds riding the wind currents. They spiraled slowly and soared out of sight. His skin prickled. Dreia had been followed after she took the harp from Aubendahl, just before her entire caravan was ambushed and murdered. He hadn’t considered that he might be courting the same fate.

A scrub-covered plain separated the foothills from the canyon, but the distance across was farther than it looked. By the time Trevin and Pym reached the rim of the gorge, dusk was claiming the canyon floor. They stopped and dismounted.

“We’ll soon be in need of more water,” said Trevin.

“The only water I see is below,” said Pym.

Trevin eyed the ribbon of river winding its way around the flat-topped outcroppings. “We’re not likely to make it into the canyon before nightfall.”

“We’ll quench our thirst yet.” Pym led his roan to a stand of thick, rounded plants, drew his sword, and slashed the plant in two. Thin green juice bled out. He handed half of the fruit to Trevin. “Desert pear.”

Trevin slurped the sweet juice while Pym gave the last of their water to the horses. As they drank, Trevin realized that the stand of desert pear was the light green patch he had seen from high in the mountains. He scanned the tops of the tablelands and located the one he had marked in his mind that morning. Four north. Three east of the river.

“Drat those draks,” said Pym. “They’re as pesky as bedbugs.”

Trevin watched the birds soar over the canyon and circle back. Then, not wanting to waste daylight, he led Pym along the canyon rim in search of a trail to take into the gorge the next morning.

As the last of the sunlight faded, Pym discovered a trail down. With his sharp eyesight Trevin could have trekked the path at night, but since Pym and the horses had no such gift, they camped beneath the stars, with Trevin and Pym taking turns standing watch.

Early the next morning they set out on the steep, narrow trail, which appeared to be ancient. They walked their horses down, hacking through overgrown brush. When they reached the canyon floor, they headed straight for the river, where they not only drank but bathed as well.

Then they set off to look for the plateau Trevin had seen, counting three
east from the river and four north from the stand of desert pear. But while Trevin thought he knew the location of the light green desert pear, he could no longer see it from the floor of the canyon. Nor could he see anything atop the cliff-like formations, which rose like giant columns supporting the sky.

“The Oracle could be on any one of these,” he muttered as they rode slowly around the plateaus. “Even if we find it, I see no way up. I’ve scaled stone walls, but I can’t gain footholds here unless I chip out the stone.”

He nudged his horse on. In, out, and around they wove as he counted again.

Then, among the vertical striations of one plateau, Trevin spied horizontal lines. He closed his eyes to clear his vision, looked again, and pointed. “A ladder.”

Pym frowned. “I don’t see it.”

“Straight ahead.” For the first time in days, Trevin’s spirits soared. He was close to the Oracle, close to answers. He felt it. He dismounted, loped to the ladder, and grabbed a rung at shoulder height. “It’s carved in the stone.”

Pym ambled to his side. “Frustrations! I don’t see it.” He touched the rock wall, slid his hands up and down, back and forth. “The sun hasn’t burned your brain, has it?”

Trevin stepped back and closed his eyes. Was his mind playing tricks on him? When he opened his eyes, he clearly saw the ladder, solid and inviting, rising to the top of the plateau. He climbed two rungs. “I’ll show you where to place your hands.”

Pym paled. “I can’t climb what I don’t see.”

Trevin jumped to the ground and dusted his hands. “Stay with the horses, then.”

“As your armsman, I’m obliged to tell you I’m uneasy about this. We don’t know what’s atop.”

Trevin looked up at where the ladder ended and the sky began. It could be a trap. Or the Oracle. Or the cave where Benasin was held. There was no shortage of sky. The harp could be up there.

Trussssst yourself
.

“You camp here, Pym.”

Pym huffed and handed Trevin’s sword to him. “In case it’s unfriendly up top.”