Chasing the Prophecy
Aram’s launch rowed close to Jason’s. Aram had a scratch on his cheek and a bleeding gash on his forehead. A huge welt disfigured the side of Zoo’s face. One eye was swelling shut.
“Opinions?” Aram asked, swiping blood from his eyes.
“We’re in trouble,” Jason said numbly.
“Was it toying with you at first?” Drake asked.
“Looked that way,” Jasher replied. “It could have turned to iron the first time we hit it with a weapon. Fight would have been over.”
“Maybe at first it wanted to stay faster and more flexible,” Farfalee guessed. “The wood was fairly resilient, and it moved more gracefully.”
“I thought I had it,” Jasher mourned. “I meant to cleave it at the waist. But the instant my blade touched it, the Maumet transformed. Quick as a blink.”
“If it does that every time, what are we supposed to do?” Jason worried aloud. Once the Maumet had turned into steel, it had won the fight so quickly!
“The creature is strong,” Aram said. “When it kicked me in the chest, it felt like a blow from a mallet. The impact was not square, and still it might have killed me without my armor and cloak.”
“Drinlings can take punishment,” Heg said. “You don’t slay us with a blow to the abdomen. But it killed Ibe with a kick.”
Jason looked at the beach. He tried not to stare at the bodies. Minutes earlier they had all been alive and well. Those hardy drinlings had stormed the beach, ready for a fight, but the Maumet had killed them so savagely, so easily. Had the others not run away, they would have died as well.
Farfalee gave Aram a white bandage. He held it against the gash in his forehead as he spoke. “We knew it would be bad. I had hopes at first, when Jasher severed the hand. I envisioned us chopping off limb after limb, shrinking the brute until nothing remained. But after Ux took its foot, the creature got serious. The torivorian blade may have surprised it the first time. But clearly, if it chooses, the Maumet can immediately become any substance we use to attack it. Now I understand why everyone keeps away from this island.”
“Look,” Zoo said.
On the beach the Maumet crouched over Ux, probing him. The shiny metallic creature turned to gold-tinged skin, then to red muscle, then to white bone, then to brown leather, then finally to the black iron of Ux’s mace. Metal screaming, the Maumet stood upright.
“Solid iron,” Nia griped. “How do you fight solid iron?”
Jason shook his head in silence. He had no answer.
“We’re fortunate that any of us survived,” Jasher said. “We lost good people. Only the safety of the water let some of us escape.”
“The library must be at least a mile from the coast,” Jason said.
“Unfortunately, the task ahead will be as difficult as we anticipated,” Farfalee said. “We should return to the Valiant and confer.”
Drake chuckled darkly. “I’m afraid the only topic will be choosing how we die.”
CHAPTER 13
FINAL PREPARATIONS
The long stable contained more than a hundred horses, all of them impressive specimens, mounts for the elite of Trensicourt. Rachel paced down the center aisle, glancing left and right, murmuring Edomic phrases to those that interested her most. Galloran had instructed her to pick any mount she wished, and she wanted one that would respond warmly to her instructions.
Tark stood at one end of the stable, Io at the other. Neither man had struck up a conversation with her today. Rachel wore her veiled outfit of black robes. She now had three similar ensembles, and always wore one of them when out in public. In at least one way, the costume worked too well. Each day Io and Tark seemed to regard her with greater awe.
Rachel paused beside a large, dappled mare. She had learned many commands at Mianamon, but she tried something simple with only the slightest effort of will behind the suggestion. The horse backed up as requested. She gave more instructions, and without resistance or hesitation the mare reared, bowed, stamped a right foot, then a left, and at last sniffed the sweet grass on her flat palm without eating. Rachel hardly had to push to get the messages across. The mare seemed eager to please.
Rachel stroked the horse and told her to eat. “You’re my girl. You’re bigger than I was planning, but you’re the one I want. White with gray spots . . . how about Snowflake? I know you might have another name, but Snowflake can be your nickname.”
“Nedwin is coming,” Io announced.
“Good,” Rachel replied down the aisle. “I think I just found my horse.”
The tall redhead entered the stable and moved toward her with long strides. “You found a suitable mount?”
“Better than suitable,” Rachel replied, pulling her veil aside to better see him.
Nedwin drew near and regarded the horse. “Looks like a respectable choice.”
“And she’s smart.”
“Smart can lead to ornery.”
“Not Snowflake. We have an understanding.”
“The king wishes to speak with us,” Nedwin said. “Ferrin has news.”
Tugging her dark veil back in place, Rachel followed Nedwin out of the stable. The building had been cleared for her inspection, so idle stable hands watched as the foursome strode away.
“Is it good news?” Rachel asked as they entered the castle.
“Not sure,” Nedwin replied. “Based on his demeanor, nothing terrible.”
They passed many soldiers on their way up Galloran’s tower. Partway up the winding stairwell, six guards stepped aside to allow Nedwin access to a hefty door bound with iron. Nedwin unlocked it with a key and led the others inside.
Galloran, Ferrin, Nollin, and Kerick awaited them. Galloran wore his blindfold.
“The enigmatic lady in black,” Ferrin greeted with a wry smile.
Rachel pulled her veil aside. “Ha-ha.”
“The title has caught on,” Nollin said smugly.
“Title?” Rachel asked.
“Galloran’s Dark Lady,” Nollin supplied.
Rachel had never heard anyone call her that. But nearly everyone she encountered besides Tark and Io had taken to calling her “milady.”
“That’s a little embarrassing,” Rachel said, taking off her hat.
“It’s statecraft,” Nollin insisted. “We all have roles to play to add legitimacy to the forthcoming campaign. King Galloran is the saintly hero restored to his throne. Nedwin is the fallen but faithful squire reinstated to a position of influence. Kerick and I are the noble lords of the Amar Kabal, here to pledge the support of our people to the cause. Io is the drinling prince whose presence implies the backing of yet another ancient nation.”