“I never said you would. But Harden’s more cynical.” Jonik folded his oilcloth and deposited it into the pocket of his cloak. “So everything you’ve told us is the truth?”
“Yes, every bit of it. I’ve led you here, have I not? The ruins…the lands…it’s all as I’ve said.”
“And my grandfather? You’re quite certain you don’t know where he is?”
“I told you. He was consumed in the fume and I didn’t see what happened to him. I would guess he fell into a chasm. Though it’s possible he was…well…”
“Go ahead. Say it.”
“Eaten,” Armdall finished. “Once or twice I saw the dragon’s head plunge down from the skies. It’s possible the king…I don’t think so, but…it’s possible he may have been swallowed.”
With the Mistblade in his grasp, Jonik thought. That would be a calamity. When he’d told Ilith he was going to set out to fetch the Blades of Vandar for him, he had not reckoned on delving into the internals of a colossal, world-ending dragon god. He smiled at the absurdity of it. “Well, let us hope your first instinct is correct. I would sooner spelunk down into those rifts out there than down the throat of the Dread.”
The Oak gave a small smile, perhaps the first Jonik had seen from him. “Yes, I’d say that would be preferable. Though may I ask…the Mistblade, you say it’s of vital importance that you find it. Why is that? Do you intend to try to combine them, as your grandfather once did?”
Jonik saw no reason to lie to him. “I do. Though not for me. I serve a greater power, Sir Owen, but I’ll say no more on it for now.” He looked across the hilltop, at the black and broken land beyond. “The mists are a little thinner,” he noted. “Come, you can show us where you last saw him.”
Sir Owen led them out, leaving Harden to prepare a broth. It was well into the afternoon, and Jonik had no expectation of finding either his grandfather or the Mistblade today. He would call this a first scouting, to get a better feel for these lands. Across the hill, the waning mists unveiled the true breadth of the battlefield, the earth torn with great vents and deep pits, some so deep the bottom could not be seen. Most were thin, but here and there a wide chasm yawned open, metres wide, its walls plunging down into the earth with roots and rocks and little ledges poking from its sides. Down some, stagnant pools of rainwater had gathered. Down others, hot air rose, and with it came a haunting sound, echoing from beneath the earth. That movement of the winds, Jonik took that for. Or some fell creature, lurking below.
Gerrin went around with a parchment in his grasp, scribbling a map with a quill pen, guessing at the width and depth of each rift. When he could not see the bottom, he simply drew a cross. Soon there were many rifts with crosses beside them. “So where abouts was the king, then?” the old Emerald Guard asked.
Sir Owen shook his head, turning around a full circle. “Somewhere around here. I could not say with any certainty.”
“So he might have fallen into any one of these cracks?”
The Oak nodded.
“Did you climb down to check any of them?” Jonik asked.
“A couple of the shallower ones. But I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back out, without ropes or anyone to help me. So my search was limited. And the ground was unstable.”
Jonik learned that to himself a short while later, when he inched too close to one of the edges and the earth gave way beneath him. His left foot went first, slipping, then his right, and he’d have gone tumbling down were it not for Sir Owen, who dashed in and grabbed his arm, hauling him back.
“Thank you,” Jonik said, panting. His heart had leapt into his mouth for a moment. Most likely this armour would have protected him from the fall, but there was no guarantee of that. “I can see how my grandfather might have fallen in.”
Armdall nodded solemnly. “Even if he survived the fall, he’d have starved to death by now. With all the rain, water shouldn’t be a problem, but food…I doubt there would be much of that down there.”
Just worms and roots, Jonik thought. There was also the chance he was crushed to death, or entombed when some chasm wall collapsed on top of him. That would be a foul fate, lying trapped under a thousand tonnes of rock, with nothing to do but mull on your mistakes and follies until your body eventually gave out. Perhaps that was what had happened. And perhaps it would be just.
Gerrin came over from a nearby fissure he’d been mapping. “Wide one, that, and deep,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a lot worse than I thought, Jonik. We’d do well to consider going for help. It’ll take a hundred men to search these chasms and even then it could take weeks.”
“We are the help,” Jonik said. “I’d rather not bring anyone else into this if I can avoid it.”
“Then I guess we have to hope we get lucky.” Gerrin looked at Sir Owen. “Maybe Vandar will guide us, how about that? He brought Janilah here after all. Only fair that he helps us find him.” He turned his eyes across the plains as the mists continued to clear. To the south, the signs of the Dread’s passing were clear. Some thickets out there were burned, and the grasses had been scorched to black. Once the dragon and the demigod had dealt with the king, the battle had evidently continued to the west. Down the slope, more pits and scars peppered the land, and here and there were boulders and rocks as well.
“Are those gruloks?” Jonik asked.
Sir Owen’s answer was indefinite. “It’s hard to say. Even when you get right up near them, they’re impossible to distinguish from regular rocks.”
“Could we try to wake them?”
“I…wouldn’t,” the man said. “If you still had the Nightblade, they might have come to you willingly, but you don’t. They may only try to kill us.”
Come to me willingly, Jonik thought. That gave him an idea. “If the Mistblade fell into one of these chasms, wouldn’t the gruloks gather close to it?”
Gerrin thought the notion had merit. He had a look around, searching for a place where there were many rocks and boulders close together. There were none, however, and their hopes were quickly dashed. “Maybe all the gruloks here were killed?” he offered. “How many of them did you see die, Owen?”
“Some…from afar. That one that was bitten…” He gestured to a scattering of stones at the edge of one rift. “That’s probably it, right there. And those down the hill…they might all be dead as well. There were about a dozen of them here, I remember. If any of them lived, they might have gone off looking for another to serve.”
“Did you see any moving away, once the dragon had gone?” Jonik asked.
“None. Though there was a lot of smoke still. I could easily have missed them.”
Jonik pondered which Blade of Vandar would be closest. The latest tidings they’d heard said the Frostblade and Sword of Varinar were still a thousand miles to the west, and Elyon was known to move about a lot with the Windblade. We could use him here, Jonik thought. As ever, thinking about his half-brother made him nervous, but he tried to push that aside and think of the greater good. With the Windblade, Elyon would be able to fly down these chasms one after another just like that. And if he were to find the Mistblade somewhere down there, he’d have the strength to bring it up as well.
But Elyon wasn’t here, and he was, so he’d have to do this alone.
“We’ll start with the smaller rifts,” he decided. “That will give us a better understanding of what we’re dealing with, and we can go from there. Best we go down in minimal armour. Full plate will be too heavy for the ropes.”
Gerrin agreed. “Just the essentials should serve. To protect us should we fall.”
Jonik looked to the skies. It was getting late and would soon be dark. “Should we start now or tomorrow, do you think?”
Gerrin thought about it. “There’s still some more mapping to do. And we haven’t covered the whole battleground yet. I’d say we get a good night’s rest and then attack it full-on in the morning.”
Jonik agreed with the plan. Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.
34
