They left their horses in a heavy grove of jack pine on the slope near to the object of their designs, although Fia could not actually see the place. Arlot explained his plan, which he assured them was perfectly laid and could not fail. After all, wasn’t he an old hand at this sort of thing?
Fia was sure that he was, but she still didn’t like it. She had experienced plenty with her last try at helping unknown individuals out of seemingly perilous situations, and she didn’t trust everything that anybody told her, not anymore. Or at least she certainly hoped she had the good sense enough not to.
She whispered as much to Ilido but he brushed her off.
“It’s my…” He corrected himself, “It’s our king! We have to help save him.”
“But we’re not even sure he is in danger,” Fia reasoned. “We can’t believe everything just because somebody says it’s so. Why haven’t we heard about it, or its possibility before?”
“Because it just happened, as Arlot said. Fia, listen. News travels so slowly, we could not have heard about this any sooner.” He glanced out from behind the spruce the two were using as cover. “Come, Arlot’s signaling. I’ve got to go. Hurry, now!”
Ilido took off towards his designated post.
With a sigh she ran out across to where Arlot was crouched. She wouldn’t have become involved, but it seemed so important to Ilido, so what could she do? Besides, she could hardly traipse off into the Othiran side of the mountains by herself, and her just sitting this little game out would only increase the risk that Ilido was put into.
Arlot had made a ladder of stripped saplings and now ran and set it against the roofline of the house. He motioned her up it, and she complied, the give and bend in the green saplings making her a little queasy as she scrambled up. She had no sooner gained the roof than he was climbing on beside her; and then motioning for her to hurry, he set off across the shingles at a run.
She glanced at the faraway ground and blanched, but got to her feet and followed as fast as she dared. They ran along one roof and then jumped to another, Arlot running ahead of her. When she caught up to him he was kneeling down and tying a rope to a chimney. He immediately took the rest of the coil and tossed it off the other side of the roof.
“Climb down.”
“I can’t climb a rope,” she stated flatly.
With an exasperated sigh he started to haul it back up. When he had a satisfactory amount he put two good knots in it at a distance apart. “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Grip this one with your feet and this with your hands.”
Fia hated the feeling it gave her as she hung half off the roof, gripping the lower knot between her feet and the higher one in her sweating palms. What if her feet slipped?
Then he began to lower her down, rather hurriedly, with her swaying and dipping like a cargo box onto a ship. She was glad to hit the ground and stumble backwards.
Arlot was beside her in a minute, almost sooner than she could recover her balance.
“How am I going to get up it?” she inquired. “If we’re chased?”
“Will you just hurry up?” was the only reply.
Arlot led her quickly around to a window set less than a foot from the ground. The house, or dwelling, was apparently built to a large degree sunken into the mountain itself, construction that Fia had never seen before. And she had little time to see it now, as Arlot pried at the low window and it opened beneath his hands.
“Now down you go,” he said.
“Are you sure the dogs are out today?” she asked again.
“Positive. They always take the whole lot of them out into the forest for a good run once a week, on this day.”
“How do you know all this if you just got here recently?” she asked.
“It’s my business to know things,” he replied. “Now hurry, or they’ll come back.”
That was certainly not a happy thought. She reluctantly lowered her legs through the aperture and he took a good grip on her hands. The floor, she soon found, was further down than she had thought.
He let her down slowly through the small window, her feet not yet touching the floor inside when his arms had reached their full length.
“All right, you’ll have to drop from here,” he whispered and let go.
She landed wrong on her feet and fell in a pile on the smooth wooden floor. The small room was darkish and not exceptionally clean; the people of the house must have rarely used it.
“How am I going to get back out again?” she queried.
“I’ll pull you up,” he replied quickly. “Now hurry and get it before something happens.”
She nodded reluctantly and dodged around and out the door. He had said the treasury was to her right and she soon found a hall that looked like it could lead to it.
Cautiously she opened the doors as she came to them along the hall, holding her breath and thinking how idiotic this was every time she eased open a well-hung door. Carefully she would look inside; relieved to find no one in there, she could breathe again as she closed it, gulping in fresh air nervously, then continuing on to the next.
She almost wished she wouldn’t find the treasure room. She didn’t like the idea of taking something from anyone, even if it had been stolen in the first place and had every right to be returned. And she certainly didn’t feel comfortable stealing from thieves with such a small amount of backup.
But there it was: the door at the end of the hall. She tried it and found it locked. This must be it then. She reached into her pocket and fished out the skeleton key Arlot had furnished her. She put it in the keyhole and maneuvered it just as he had shown her. It was a lot different when working with a real lock instead of Arlot’s fingers pretending to be one, but she heard the slight click she was hoping for, and the knob turned freely in her hand.
The door slid silently open, revealing an impressive collection of gems, jeweled designs, and varying chests of gold, silver, and copper coins. There in the middle of the room was a table, on which were assembled an array of beautiful boxes, made of every material imaginable.
Fia began by first looking inside these… and was bedazzled by the beauty of the pieces they contained. Strings of lustrous pearls the like of which she had only glimpsed at the court of King Hanor, glittering flashes of rubies and emeralds and sapphires set to perfection to maximize their impact, caught up in intricate networkings of fine gold and sometimes silver. With box after box she lifted the lid and then replaced it, the sparkle of topaz and beryl winking up at her in the dusty light from the high windows. The gems were among the finest she had ever seen and the craftsmanship of their settings was equally impressive. She could have spent days poring over their intricacies, but with every piece she grew more and more reminded that these thieves had a lot to lose, and would surely not take kindly to anyone caught snooping in their store room.
She closed another box on a glistening spread of aquamarine jewels caught in a silver netted necklace, like pieces of the very ocean frozen in time. This one, she could tell at a glance, was an Olayin piece, the distinct mark of their craftsmanship making it unnecessary to even look for the small Olayin symbol.
Her hand came next to a simple box made of blackwood, with only a light tracery running around its sides for a pattern. Inside was secured a rumpled length of white satin and something hard within it. Her fingers hastily parted the fabric from its contents and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
It was the Sunlight Stone. She lifted it gently from its case, and it lay in her hand like an enchanted bird, the crisp golden facets nearly glowing in the light from the high barred window. It looked like an embodiment of sunshine, and felt as smooth and cold to her touch as if it had been cut from glacier ice.
She caught a shaky breath. To imagine, that she held in her hand an object of legend, one of the great stones known to the jeweler’s trades, the mysterious, less than half-believed, Golden Light. Enchanted, she ran a finger over the corners of the facets, and tapped a fingernail against its perfect surface. Adamant. The hardest stone on earth.
She held it to the light and was amazed at the clarity and depth of color. Just as she had read. It was a perfect jewel.
Suddenly the back of her neck prickled with apprehension. Hurriedly she tucked it into her pocket, leaving the box as too big. The stone was almost a tight fit as it was. She quickly closed the lid on the box and hurried to the door. Closing it behind her, she rushed quickly back the way she had come. The jewel knocked against her thigh, cold and hard even through her layers of clothing.
Arlot was at the window. “Did you find it?” he asked quickly.
“Yes,” she said. “I left the box though; I didn’t think we’d need it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he gestured frantically. “Let me see it. We must make sure it is truly the Sunlight Stone.”
“There could not be two like it,” she said, but tossed it to him anyway. He gasped and gazed at it, nearly transfixed.
Noticing a sturdy wooden crate in the corner, she dragged it over to stand beneath the window and climbed atop it. “I think I’d better get out of here,” she told him.
“Yes, of course.” He seemed to snap out of his reverie and slipped the stone into his pocket. “Give me your hands.”
He took her small hands in his strong ones and pulled. It wasn’t the easiest way to get up out of windows, the strain on the shoulders was acutely uncomfortable, but under the circumstances Fia hardly noticed.
Her head cleared the windowsill and she hooked her elbows on the ledge. That’s when she heard the barking of dogs, and it didn’t sound that far away. In fact, it sounded like they were getting closer, and at a rapid rate.
She swung her head up to look at Arlot as the bottom seemed to fall out of his plan. With a swift touch to be sure the gem was in his pocket he wheeled about and disappeared in a trice behind a spruce tree.
Fia didn’t even have time to splutter. In shock and apprehension—she could hear the bounding footsteps of the dogs only right around the corner—she lost her hold on the window ledge and slipped back into the house, the window coming down with a bang as a thundering pack of well-muscled, furry bodies flew past.
What Arlot would do with those on his trail was beyond her to figure out, but she knew she would to be quite occupied figuring out what she was going to do. Perhaps he would make it to the rope; from what she had seen he was pretty good with ropes.
But she needed to get out, that was for certain. If she did she would still have to worry about the dogs, but one thing at a time. And what of Ilido, had he been able to keep safe?
She knew she needed something more to stack up on her crate, and with a quick look could see there was nothing of use in this room. In a flash she remembered a small table off to one corner in the treasure room. If she brought it to the window, and put the box on top of that, she could surely get out again. Carefully opening the door she slipped out and hurried down the hall.
She had nearly reached the door to the treasure room when a door right in front of her opened suddenly to reveal a tall, lithe man in the hall before her. Dark hair was swept away from his high brow; his matching dark eyes seemed able to catch the truth straight from your mind without the bother of speech. Thankfully, she quickly reminded herself, that was impossible, and therefore could not be the case.
“Who are you?” she asked, and then blinked at her own temerity.
To her great surprise he answered without hesitation.
“I am Gilahdro,” he said. “And you are trespassing,” he held up a warning finger, “if not a thief.”
“I’m sorry.” She gulped. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well,” he resumed, “don’t cry. It may all come out well regardless.”
She certainly hoped so. But she didn’t see how it could. And she hadn’t been crying, but she had no idea how long that might last.
“So who are you?” he inquired, in a soft voice. There was a lilting sound to it, which made her wish they were meeting under different circumstances. He’s still a thief, she reminded herself sternly, no matter the circumstances. His sleek black hair seemed the color of night, until he turned his head and the sunlight sparked red and golden highlights scattered through it. He had the most piercing eyes she had ever seen, and yet at times they almost seemed to invite you to start laughing.
“I…” She wasn’t sure what to say. “I am Fia,” she managed.
Something changed in his eyes for a second and then he smiled, but it wasn’t the same. “Well, Fia. Won’t you step this way?”
She cautiously did as he asked, until she noticed it was the treasure room door that they were standing in front of.
He threw it open and entered, leaving her outside the door. He walked straight to the blackwood box and lifted the lid with a snap. His eyes did some snapping of their own as he locked her in their glare.
“Where is the gem?” he asked, and his voice was soft, but the undertone was not.
She turned and dashed for her window entrance, certain that sheer terror would carry her the extra height she needed to make it out. But he was right behind her amazingly fast, and she felt a lean hand grip her arm and spin her around. She came up sharply with her back against the wall, her breathing fast and shallow and the intimidating form of Gilahdro only a few steps away, blocking her escape like an oversized black cat.
“It didn’t belong to you,” she said, as if a logical defense would have any effect on an avaricious thief. “It belonged to Othira.”
“Did it now?” He tipped his face; his tone was low and husky, and made her blood run cold.
“Yes, and Othira needs it.”
“For what?” He lifted a dark eyebrow, forming a quizzical mark above an equally quizzical eye.
“For its king. He needs ransomed.” She lifted her head. He might be a scoundrel, but her intentions were pure. “The Sunlight Stone belongs to Othira, and its king has need of it.”
“Ah. And who told you that?”
“None of your business.”
The back of her mind registered the sound of a thump from somewhere but she was too busy desperately thinking of a way out of her position to consider it.
“But it is my business.” He moved closer until he was towering over her, his eyes boring into hers, trying to cow her into speaking out of fear. She fought the urge to let her tongue fly, and made herself look back into those gleaming dark eyes steadily.
“Leave her be!” the voice of Ilido cried out in his most commanding tone. Which could be quite commanding, Fia suddenly noticed. It must have been he who had made the thump, and she was flooded with gratitude for his attempt to help her escape, even if it didn’t end up working.
“What have we here?” Gilahdro commented softly, almost in a single stride positioning himself to have both Ilido and Fia before him, but far enough away neither of them could reach him with any sudden rush. “A thief companion?”
Ilido’s face was dark with anger. “I am Ilido Enhousen, devoted subject of King Gregor, and I have more right to that gem than you, mountain dweller.”
“A proud speech for a proud name,” Gilahdro observed dryly, but there was a different light to his eye than there had been before. Half his face wrinkled into a smile, the other was seemingly untouched. “Ah, you have the look of them, certain enough.” He looked at Ilido with that laughing dark eye, as if he was giving him a compliment that Fia did not understand. “And you say that what she tells me is true, then, that you took the Sunlight Stone to pay a ransom for King Gregor?”
“It is.”
“Then you have been misled, my young son, oh, yes, the both of you. King Gregor is not in need of ransoming. He lies safe as can be in a hidden house, where his only danger is quite near him, even in him.”
Ilido winced internally; Fia saw his eyes blink quickly. Then he was expressionless again.
“Aye,” resumed the master of the house, and she knew he was speaking more to himself than to either of them, and certainly not to her. “There’s no doubting it.” His wariness seemed to slip away from him as he considered, and the fierce look he had at first tried to frighten Fia with faded.
“Well, then,” he broke the moment’s silence. “Come, Ilido Enhousen of Othira, and you, too, little lady, and I will show to you an old and well-guarded piece of art, most prized and very valuable. Come, for you who serve Othira so staunchly ought to know where you stand.”
“Why should we trust you?” asked Ilido, unconvinced.
“That is exactly what I’m going to show you.” He smiled.
“Where?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to step this way a little.” He held up a finely chiseled hand and beckoned.
Ilido glanced at Fia, and then signaled his decision to accept the offer by stepping forward to follow the dark-haired man. They were in a pretty fix no matter what; Arlot would certainly not be returning for them, Fia knew. She came along after Ilido, trying to keep an eye out for something they could use to stand on back at the small window.
“I hope you know your country’s history, young Ilido,” continued their host.
“I do,” her friend replied.
“Then you will no doubt recall that the Sunlight Stone had a sad habit of being stolen from the king’s treasure room with bothersome repetition, and it was always a great deal of trouble to get back again.”
He paused at a portrait hanging on the wall. It was a nobleman of a high rank, richly dressed with heavy embroidery, a popular portrait costume of several generations ago. He stood tall and straight and lean, one hand on his sword, the other resting on the neck of a fiery war horse with flaring nostrils and one hoof pawing the ground. The horse had obviously not been a part of the original sitting.
“Here we are. Do you recognize this gentleman?” queried the master of the house.
Fia looked at him quickly and could see at once an obvious resemblance between the gentleman in the portrait and their current host.
“He bears the crest of the Alandron family, but the background doesn’t fit. The Alandron lands are in the south, and that is Crystal Mountain behind him,” Ilido said.
Fia looked at the painting more carefully. It was true, it was the mountain, from a different angle, the very one on which they now were trapped by their history-enchanted host. She wondered if Ilido was trying to put him off his guard, and hoped he would do it soon.
“He is Barendol, and was the first of my fathers to come to this mountain. He had admired it since first seeing it as a young man, which is why he requested the artist paint it as the backdrop. This was painted when he was twenty-eight, and he settled here when he was thirty-three. But that has little to do with our story.” He reached behind the portrait and produced a folded parchment, which was instantly recognizable as being of the best quality.
“Read it,” he instructed as he handed it to Ilido.
Carefully Ilido unfolded it and glanced across it. His eyes took on a perplexed look and he looked up at Gilahdro.
Gilahdro nodded carefully.
“You are the keeper of the Sunlight Stone…,” Ilido stammered.
Fia hurriedly crooked her chin over his shoulder to take a look.
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