Shielding his face, he worked his way toward the back, nearly tripping over a rock.
Except that it wasn't a rock. It was rounder and whiter than the exfoliated fragments he'd stumbled over on the slope outside, and it displayed gaps that had once housed human senses. The skull was also badly charred. He stared at it somberly. Evidently there were occasions when this cavern was less than hospitable. Though it was incapable of threatening him, he edged around it. There were times when the dead could surprise you by fighting back.
Several pieces of ceiling collapsed into the lava basin. He turned away fast, but not quickly enough to avoid the splash of molten material. The several droplets that struck him burned holes in his tunic and he spent a frantic moment beating out the tiny fires.
Keeping himself poised for another rapid retreat, he bent over the bubbling pool. It was thick and shone a bright orange red; yet he thought he could make out something darker lying in the depths. The object was long and narrow, thicker at one end than the other.
He searched the floor of the cavern. There was nothing as useful as a tree limb, and he could imagine how lone the bones of his unlucky predecessor would last if thrust into that hellish vat. He found a broken stalagtite, returned to the pool and reached with it toward the dark shape. The shape moved, confirming his judgment. There was no chance to raise it clear of the lava with the stalagtite. The limestone was already melting away in his hand.
He dropped it and considered how to proceed as he watched it dissolve. The pit continued to boil and froth. There was a distant rumble, as though the mountain were growing impatient with him.
Remember your marriage ceremony, Ynyr had instructed him. Colwyn trembled a little at the prospect thus raised, but it was clear there was only one way he could proceed.
He thought back to the ceremony, worked to assume again the requisite mental posture. Only this time, he had to prove himself to a far less forgiving bride than Lyssa. It should not take long. He would not have long. There could be no uncertainty, no hesitation. Half closing his eyes, he thoughtfully rolled his right sleeve up to the shoulder.
Then he gritted his teeth and plunged his bare right hand into the seething cauldron.
There was no pain. Only a faint tingling, an odd sensation as full of excitement as threat. His arm felt through the molten rock for only a few seconds. Then he yanked it out, blinking in wonder at the object he'd retrieved.
The flattened, starlike glaive sported five curved arms in which blades lay concealed. It was a dull black from years of sleeping untouched in the lava basin. So intent was he on the glaive itself, on this fragment of mythology suddenly become real in his hand, that he ignored the flames that enveloped his arm.
Abruptly the dancing fire vanished into the glaive, sucked up by some unheard call. As it disappeared, the black crust of chilled lava cracked from the surface. Now Colwyn was compelled to turn his eyes aside as the black became gold and the glaive began to burn with a light as strong as the sun's.
Flat and made to fit the hand, it seemed as natural to fling it as it was unnatural to see it return to his hand. His exuberance sent him scrambling and sliding back down the mountainside, and it was as much luck as good sense that enabled him to reach the waiting Ynyr unhurt.
'I have it, Ynyr, I have it! The glaive is real, and I am its master!' He raised the weapon and made as if to throw it over the steep slopes, but Ynyr hurried to forestall him.
'What's wrong? This is the glaive you spoke of, isn't it? I saw no other weapon.'
Ynyr eyed him thoughtfully. 'And what else could it be? Yes, that's the glaive of legend, as surely as we both stand here examining it.'
Colwyn frowned. 'Then, what troubles you? Haven't I come safely back with it?'
'You have acquired power, yes. Wisdom is far more elusive and harder to come by. Power used frivolously is power wasted.' He nodded toward the gleaming weapon. 'I am pleased, but not awed.'
This time Colwyn disdained a quick reply in favor of a moment's hard thought, which pleased Ynyr considerably. The prince slipped the glaive into a loop on his belt.
'That's better,' said Ynyr. 'You're learning. Don't use the glaive until you need it. Then the power will be there when you require it most. It is not a toy. Do not play with it, Colwyn.'
'How will I know when to use it?'
'That is easier known than when not to.' He peered closely at the glaive with old eyes, ran the fingers of one hand over its five golden arms. It was cold to his touch, inanimate now, responsive only to Colwyn's commands. The old books described it accurately he thought. It shone as though it had been forged yesterday. Now if only the descriptions of its powers were equally accurate.
If this young prince will grow up, there may yet be a chance to drive the Slayers and their master from the world. It is much to place on the shoulders of one so headstrong and inexperienced. At least he is willing to take advice, Ynyr mused. That was a hopeful sign.
'You will know,' he told him confidently.
Colwyn was looking past him, across the mountain's flanks down to the forested hills beyond. Power was in his hand and revenge in his heart. He felt there was nothing that could stand against him. It remained for Ynyr to worry about what lay in the impetuous prince's head.
'Lead me to the Black Fortress and I'll jise it soon enough,' Colwyn muttered angrily. He hefted the glaive, luxuriating in its solidity and coldness. 'It strains to be used and I terribly want to use it.'
'Patience, patience. Finding the Fortress is not easy. It knows no single kingdom but claims all Krull as its domain. With each sunrise the Fortress moves. Sometimes it comes to rest in the mountains, othertimes the desert, sometimes it hovers over the sea. Never twice in the same place. Even the Beast does not control everything, so he moves about to confuse and frustrate as well as to terrify. Furthermore, he is dependent for such movement on the activity of Krull's magnetosphere, which is in a constant state of flux.'
Colwyn looked baffled. 'Old man, you use words I do not know.'
'Ancient words, Colwyn.'
'It is Lyssa I seek. You told me you knew where to find the Fortress.'
'Courage is not the only virtue of a king, nor is the power he may hold in his hand. Courtesy is also useful, especially toward one's elders. You would not be here now nor that,'
—he gestured to the glaive—'be in your possession if not for me.'
Colwyn forced himself to relax. 'I'm sorry. It's only that the thought of Lyssa… there…'
'Such thinking crowds reason from your brain and weakens you. You need more than resolve to reach and penetrate the Fortress. Stealth is less exhausting than strength. Spend the former wisely and husband the latter.' Colwyn's inner torment was plain to see and Ynyr softened his tone, put a comforting hand on the prince's shoulder.
'I do have a tendency to lecture, I know. It's only that more than Lyssa's fate rides with us on this journey, my boy. I know how you are feeling. I too was young once. I too have loved as you do.' His voice fell. 'But you will be luckier than I. You must be.'
Come now, old man, he told himself angrily, this is no time to burden the lad with your own sordid past. What he needs now is advice and reassurance.
'What I told you, Colwyn, was that I knew how to find the Fortress. That is not the same as knowing where it is today. You hold in your hands one device of the ancients. Krull holds other secrets. The way we will locate the Fortress is by enlisting the aid of the Emerald Seer.'
'But his whereabouts are a mystery to all.'
'Not quite all,' Ynyr corrected him. 'It is known to me. Oh, don't look so startled. Did you think that having solved one mystery,'—and he pointed to the glaive—'I was incapable of solving any more? A day's journey from here lies the means by which a man may extend his vision. Come.'
'If it lies within a day's ride of the White Castle, why has the place never been found before?'
Ynyr shook his head. So much to teach, so little time for instruction. 'The glaive lay in a spot even nearer and had done so undisturbed for hundreds of years. Proximity is not the same thing as being close at hand. The Emerald Seer guards his privacy with more subtlety.'
Colwyn thought back to the charred skull he'd stumbled over in the cavern of the glaive and nodded slowly. He mulled over the old man's words as they started down the mountain.
Their journey took them through a mountain pass rarely traversed by the citizens of Eirig. Soon they once more enjoyed the company of evergreens and berry bushes. Birds and insects filled the airways between the trees,
