Chapter 18 (Original edit)

Chapter XVIII

As they entered the knoll, the trio found that it was just what it had appeared to be: a turve-covered burial mound. But what a burial mound! The chamber which the three adventurers from Seremoreh had entered was literally filled with treasure. Gems and jewels were strewn negligently all about the place. Dozens of heaps of golden and silver coins were scattered everywhere. There were magnificent diadems, beautiful bracelets, sparkling brooches, splendid necklaces, and wondrously fetching rings in improbable numbers. At least a dozen chests, both open and closed, lay against one wall. The open coffers were stuffed so full of treasure that it actually overflowed from them to the floor.

The walls of the domed chamber against which the strongboxes were stacked were not simple dirt or even stone as one might expect. Rather, they, too, demonstrated the affluence of whoever had been laid to rest within. They appeared to be fashioned from adamantine, an extremely dense metal so rare and difficult to work that it was usually only used as an alloy to provide strength to the much softer steel that was more commonly used for armor and weapons. It also explained why Jerrod had been unable to pierce the hummock with his astral sense from without. Adamantine was so impermeable that not even through the ethereal plane could one penetrate it.

The room was dominated not by any single item of the hoard of riches, the unmatchable mass of adamantine, or even the entire collection of valuables, but rather by the silent figure which lay stretched out upon a funereal bier in the center of the hemispherical chamber. Decked in shining armor, the uncorrupted corpse that rested upon the bier was huge. In life, whoever it was must have stood at least as tall as Brianna and as wide through the shoulders as her husband. He, for it appeared that the figure was male, was covered in shining silver mail, mail which showed no signs of decay, despite what must have been at least a thousand years of exposure to the strange environs of the Isle of Mists. A jewel-encrusted helm adorned the head of the martial figure which lay upon the bier. Clutched in the dead warrior's mail gauntlets was a sword, a sword which contrasted vividly with the rest of the riches which filled the room.

The sword did not gleam as did the mail. It was not covered with gems like the helm. It appeared to be a simple tool of the warrior's trade. Its pitted blade showed specks of rust on its stride-long surface. The haft had once been covered with leather. All that remained of the hide which had wound around the handle now were a few tattered bits that revealed that it had once been there.

It was odd that a warrior who was obviously rich and powerful like this one, would have so pedestrian a weapon. Somehow it didn't seem congruous with the rest of the contents of the room. Jerrod, realizing that he could once again use his astral senses, examined the sword carefully to see if it was really as innocuous as it appeared.

It wasn't. There was a glamour laid on it which hid its true appearance. With his astral vision, Jerrod could subtle changes which fundamentally altered the impression one received when one looked at the warrior's blade. It wasn't so much that the blade changed in every possible way. It was still plain and unadorned. Now, however, instead of a rusty, valueless old sword that didn't belong among the other treasures the barrow contained, it looked to be of great worth. First, it wasn't rusted or pitted. Like the warrior's mail, the blade itself shone brightly with the luster of the purest starsilver and looked to be as sharp as a razor. Second, the leather of the grip no longer appeared to be rotted and tattered. It was as fresh as the day it had been tanned. Third, and this, Jerrod was willing to wager, was what really gave the sword value -- even more than the starsilver of its blade -- it radiated mana.

Not only was the blade magically disguised by the glamour that had been laid over it, it seemed to be imbued with some sort of permanent enchantment which shone potently to Jerrod's augmented sight. It must be the Sword of Might! They had found it!

As he looked more closely, something in the mana field which the sword emitted troubled the young mage. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but there was something subtly wrong in the way the field radiated. It was almost as if their was another enchantment hidden by, first, the glamour, and, second, by the powerful magic of the sword itself.

No one had gone more than a step inside. Each member of the trio had stopped and looked with awe at the invaluable treasure which they had found. Before either of the others had shaken off the rapture which had enveloped the trio, Jerrod spoke. "We must be careful. There is more here than meets the eye. The sword clasped to the warrior's breast is enchanted with a glamour. Underneath the enchantment, I can see a starsilver blade which I am certain must be the Sword of Might. Yet there is something more to the spell. I do not know exactly what it is, but I sense that there is great danger, should anyone attempt to move the sword."

Urki had begun to start forward again, but now he stopped and raised his hand. "If the Sword is trapped, then perhaps other items here are trapped as well. Perhaps, there are even snares for the unwary that are triggered simply by a careless step or some other equally innocuous stimulus. We must proceed with caution. I wish Neun Ja were here, she would be a great asset in uncovering whatever pitfalls lurk here to ensnare the unwary. Each of us must check carefully before we move, both visually and using Jerrod's astral vision. Jerrod, can you detect any other magical hazards about the chamber?"

Jerrod frowned with concentration for a moment and then nodded, "There seem to thin tendrils of mana running to many of the more spectacular items of treasure in the room. It looks almost as if it is a spider's web, where a single tug on a strand of the lacework will trigger a deadly response. The strands all seem to run to the bier where they disappear."

"Alright, then," Urki sighed. "None of us should touch anything in the room without Jerrod's assurance that there are none of these strands attached to it. Even if he deems it free of any enchantments, do not touch anything until each of us has inspected it for physical traps. The entry here was far too easy for such a great mass of treasure. I would surmise that there are other, less esoteric means of foiling thieves here than the magical web of which Jerrod has warned us. I think our first order of business is to get the Sword for which we have come. Jerrod, see if you can discern more about the enchantment which wards it."

Jerrod once more plunged his consciousness into the ether and scanned the enchantment which shrouded the Sword. Sifting through the layers of the incantation, he found the element that had disturbed earlier. It was almost imperceptible, a thin strand like those which radiated from the bier. Like those filaments, it, too, disappeared into the funereal stand. Carefully, Jerrod sent his senses questing along the strand and tried to penetrate into the bier itself. He met a figurative stone wall. Again and again he tried to break through, but nothing he could do could penetrate the bier's outer integument.

Frustrated, the young mage looked once more at the connection between the Sword itself and the mana strand. As he scrutinized the attachment, it seemed to him that it was possible to sever the bond if he was careful. Cautiously, Jerrod reached with his senses toward the link.

"JERROD! Thank the gods that you are safe!" Berit had just burst through the doorway. Her exuberant entrance, broke the young mage's concentration. He turned and looked toward her. He watched with growing horror as she continued her headlong rush into the barrow and stumbled unto the coffers along the far wall.

The wispy strand of mana that connected the coffers to the bier began to swell and change. Straight and almost transparent to begin with, the thread of mana began to sway sinuously and shift in color. First, pale yellow, then bright orange, then a deep bloody crimson, it shifted through the spectrum. Berit took no notice. Neither Urki nor Derazha seemed alarmed either. Panic erupted in Jerrod. Only he could see the trap that was poised to strike. He drew in his breath to shout but before he could utter a sound, the now viperous stream of mana lunged for the intruder who had given it its strange life.

Berit went suddenly rigid as if all of her muscles had clenched at once. Her hair stood on end and there was a sizzling sound as the smell of burnt hair began to circulate through the chamber. Berit went limp as abruptly as she had gone taut. She collapsed to the floor like a falling bridge. Her legs and arms began to buck in strange convulsive movements.

The mana had seized her and it had not yet let go. As Berit had gone through her spasms, it had thinned considerably. Now, it injected the red which filled it into Berit. A vermillion flush began to suffuse the ilvan maiden's features almost if all of her blood vessels had suddenly burst. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of Berit's mouth. Blood began to ooze from her ears, then her nose, finally from the corners of her eyes.

"Jerrod," Berit gasped. "Don't forget...." Then the light in her eyes dimmed and her chest stilled as she ceased to breath.

Jerrod was stunned. He rushed heedlessly over to where Berit had fallen. She was beyond the help of the living. No one that he had ever known personally had died before. Well, there were the sailors on Wavestrider, but that was different. Berit was someone he knew and for whom he had a growing affection. It had been so sudden and so senseless. An accident pure and simple. If only he had been able to get a little farther with the trap. He might have been able to disable it. Jerrod was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt as the certainty came over him that it was his fault that Berit had been slain by the barrow's wards. He had been asked by Nynaeve to care for her daughter and he had failed. Berit was dead all because he had been too slow with the disabling of the magical trap he had discovered.

"Jerrod? Jerrod? Are you alright?" Urki was bending over him with a look of concern plastered across his features. The grief-stricken young mage had fallen to the ground in a swoon and ended up in a heap next to Berit's corpse. "We need you to finish disarming the spell on the sword. There is nothing more any of us can do for Berit except take her remains back to Rendor so her friends and family can honor it. Please, let us continue with what we came here for."

Realizing that Urki had the right of it and feeling a bit ashamed of his display of grief, Jerrod staggered to his feet. Struggling to stem the flow of tears that was threatening to cascade down his face, the mage quickly brushed those few that had escaped his furious blinks away from his cheeks with his sleeve.

Jerrod nodded, "Just give me a moment. My concentration has been broken and I need to regain it ere I can disable this foul spell. Forgive me for my unmanly display. It is the first time I have ever seen a friend slain. I know that over the years experience teaches you how to deal with grief with more dignity. Its just that...."

The young mage trailed off into silence. Derazha walked over to him and draped her massive arms across his shoulders. "Jerrod," she said softly, "it never gets any easier. Losing a friend, even a friend for so brief a time, always rends one spirit. There is no shame in letting your grief show and much harm in trapping it inside. When you lock your sorrow away, its festers and rots and, if you let it putrefy long enough, it will steal your humanity from you. I have wept for those who have fallen often in the past and I will in the future. Of all of us, you knew Berit best, it would be passing strange if you were not the one who sped her soul on with your tears. Take your time. Recompose yourself. Do not fear our contempt, for that is the last thing that we would offer you. Both of us have lost this day as well and our hearts are with yours."

The young mage smiled up at the half-troll gratefully. She was the last person he would have expected to show so much compassion. "Well, perhaps the second-to-last," Jerrod thought with a quick glance toward Urki. Even Urki, though, looked bereft by the magnitude of their losses today. Berit dead, Brianna sorely injured with what could be a mortal hurt. The price which he and his comrades had paid for the Sword was very dear. It would not do for the sacrifices that his colleagues had made to go for naught. Steeling himself once more, Jerrod slipped once more into a trance and began to unravel the thread which bound the sword to the deadly trap which had slain Berit.

Anger or prudence, even later Jerrod was never sure which, impelled him to keep going and he let his senses follow the now disconnected strand of mana back to its source. Searching diligently, the young mage found a slim crevice in the hitherto impenetrable wall of the bier which he had come up against earlier. Slipping through this newly discovered chink in its armor, he found the central spell which protected the treasures of the room. Painstakingly, he worked until he uncovered its trigger and, with a grunt of triumph, he ripped it from the spell and disabled it forever, so ensuring that no one else would fall victims to its awful magic.

Having finished his task, Jerrod straightened. "It is done, the Sword is free for the taking as is everything else in this unhappy place. The magical trap is no more. Whether there are other physical traps, I cannot say. But the magic will slay no other innocents ever again."

Urki walked over and seized the Sword from the grasp of its lifeless possessor. As soon as the young warrior touched the potent weapon an unnatural energy seemed to crackle through the room and a strange, brilliant mist seemed to distort his vision. Jerrod's vision, too, began to pulsate with energy as he became once again aware of a brilliant mist which clung to himself and his comrades. As he had in Pond Eddy, the young mage became aware of a sense of deja vu. This time, however, he could perceive that he had company in this strange alternate reality. Urki's eyes flashed fire and the two strode toward one another, Jerrod having drawn the wand of Torvil and Urki brandishing the newly acquired Sword.

"My friend," cried Jerrod, "it is good to see you once more!" So saying, the mage reached out and clasped the warrior by his free arm in a comradely grip. As soon as the pair of young heroes touched one another, there was abrupt discharge of energy that filled the room with a sharp, acrid odor like that which lingers around the sites of lightning strikes. Both young men crashed to the floor in a swoon.

Derazha, caught off guard by the strange behavior of her two companions, had done nothing during the peculiar exhibition which the two humans had put on. She, too, had felt the surge of energy which coursed through the room when Urki had grasped the Sword of Might. Unlike her now insensible friends, she still had possession of her faculties and recognized that what she had just witnessed was nearly identical with that which had befallen when Jerrod had touched the wand of Torvil. The feelings generated had been stronger and it had been more clear and persistent for her this time then they had those many days ago, but they were as alike in kind as two peas in a pod.

"It would appear that we can expect something of this sort every time one of us first touches the item to which he or she is attuned," mused the half-ilf aloud. "I like it not. Such debilitating consequences could bring dire results if foes are still about when one of us handles a newly found artifact. Well, there is no sense in worrying about that now or wasting any more time. Jerrod said that the trap which slew poor Berit is deactivated, and if the incident at Pond Eddy is any indicator of how long these two will be unconscious, I have a few minutes to fill."

The huge half-troll sighed and began to do the things she deemed needed to be done ere the trio took Berit's body back to the ship. First, she went over and checked on Jerrod and Urki. Neither seemed injured. Both breathed regularly and showed no sign of hurt beyond those which they had already taken in the battle on the beach. Satisfied, she picked up Berit's lanky form and place it by the portal which led outside. By the time she had finished, Urki and Jerrod were beginning to make feeble moaning sounds which signalled their impending return to consciousness. Nodding with this confirmation that her diagnosis had been correct, Derazha went over to the mail-covered cadaver and began to remove its armor. As far as she was concerned, a complete set of starsilver armor was far more valuable than the gold and jewels and the other trinkets that lay scattered everywhere about her. Since they could take very little out of the mound because of the sad burden which they must bear back to Nynaeve, it seemed to Derazha that an aid in their battle like such singular armor was far more precious than mere trinkets. Besides, if there was anything else of great worth here -- beyond the merely monetary -- it was probably magical and only Jerrod could discover.

As she finished stripping the corpse of the unknown warrior, she saw that it was indeed a male human. He had a beatific smile on his face as if his death -- or something subsequent to it -- had pleased him. His translucent ivory skin still showed no sign of decay and an unanticipated curiosity about just whose body it was that they were robbing flashed through the half-ilf's mind.

Her speculation was interrupted almost before it had begun when Urki sat up and groaned, "What in the six hells of Torolis happened? I reached for the Sword and suddenly my mind began to whirl with chaos! Faagh! Is everyone else alright?"

Derazha turned to her reviving comrades. Jerrod had also risen to a seated position. "I would guess the same thing that happened in Pond Eddy when Jerrod received the Wand. This time it was worse, though, I think because you both were present with your tokens of power."

"You two don't look so well. Are you up to traveling? Can you carry Berit between you? I'm bringing this armor with us. The starsilver alone in priceless, but even more importantly I think, is the armor itself. I have a hunch we will have need of it some day."

Like the first time he had been stricken by these strange flashbacks, Jerrod was able to shake off the effects of the strange episode which he had gone through. He also recognized that he had to relinquish his claim on time for recuperation because of the exigencies of the situation, something he would never have understood a scant hand or two of five-days ago. They had to carry Berit down and he had to help. And Derazha was right, starsilver armor would be invaluable in their quest. The strange corpse wasn't the same size as anyone in their company, though. The mailshirt might fit either Wolf or Derazha. And breeches could be close to either Brianna or Derazha's. Perhaps they could be altered at Rendor if need be. The ilvankind were rumored to have knowledge of such mystic crafting. While the armor would be more of a bane for himself, Ordolf, or, perhaps Neun Ja, because of its deleterious effects on their abilities to cast spells, Jerrod was beginning to see that the survival of the warriors was important as well.

So Berit had to be carried. And Jerrod had to recover, as Urki already had. It seemed a shame to leave all of this treasure here though. Some the jewelry pieces were exquisitely wrought. He would love to present one to his mother or to....Jerrod's mind suddenly flashed back to Berit's dying features and her dying request. He might have liked to have given her one and he would not forget. No, he would remember for a very long time.

The trip to the beach was long and arduous. It seemed far longer to Jerrod than had the trip to the burial knoll. Perhaps it was the dolorous burden which he and Urki lugged down the twisting trail, perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps it was the aftereffects of the traumatic events that took place in the barrow, perhaps all of these combined with the eerie atmosphere of the Isle itself to distress Jerrod, but whatever the reason the hours wore heavily on the young mage. The fetid stench of the carrion left from the battle as the trio of survivors neared the shore added further to the misery which had engulfed the young mage. Even the mystical ring which had succored him after the battle aboard Wavestrider did little to heal what ailed the distraught young mage.

When the trio finally reached the beach, they stepped out of the jungle to find most of the remnants of the ilvan crew, stripped to the waist burying the grisly remains of the dead marauders in the sand. The rest were still aboard Wavestrider guarding the prisoners that they had captured during the battle at sea whose wounds were not so severe as to preclude independent action. The ilfs on the beach had made great headway in interring the dead that covered the sand of the Isle of Mists. They had buried all of the slain marines who had sailed with them from Rendor and marked their graves with stone cairns. While they were not so painstaking in their treatment of their fallen foes, the ilfs still had buried more than half of them near the line of the vegetation which skirted the beach itself. The ilvan sailors were fighting a running battle over the remaining bodies with night scavengers from both the jungle and the ocean which scuttled to and fro trying to sate themselves on the corpses of the fallen while desperately to stay out of the light of the glowing torches of the sailors.

When the trio of surviving heroes was spotted with their grave burden, a collective gasp went up from the laboring ilfs and they dropped their tools as one. The ilfs of Wavestrider had gown fond of their youthful compatriot. Even those who had not known her before had been beguiled by her energetic manner. The sailors even forgave her her obvious attraction to the young human mage who had charmed them with his love for the sea. Now that that very same mage had saved all of their lives and Wavestrider as well, any lingering doubts about his fitness as a consort for an ilf which they had held, had evaporated. So when they saw their cherished `little sister' lying still in the arms of Urki and Jerrod in a manner which screamed loudly that she was dead, the ilfs were buffeted by a deep and abiding sorrow at the loss and keening wail went up from them as one.

Jerrod had never heard ilfs make such a noise. It plucked at his heartstrings and touched the core of his own grief at the loss which the body he held in his shaking arms represented. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. The sorrow that he had bottled up in the face of the need of the quest in the burial mound now sheared through the fetters which he had placed on it like scissors through paper. It was all the mage could do to maintain his grip on the corpse of his friend, his beloved. Somehow, Jerrod could no longer even say exactly what he felt toward the ilvan maiden whose inert form he and Urki bore. Had he been falling in love? He supposed that it no longer mattered, it was part of the past now, a past he could not resurrect. But how he wished he could change some of things he had had done and said when he and Berit had first met!

Wracking sobs shook the young mage and one of the ilvan sailors who was nearby came and gently relieved Jerrod of his burden. The bereft young man collapsed to the beach and poured out his anguish for all to see. The sailors, seeing the young mage's great sorrow, respected his grief and left him alone to make his peace with his loss.

Urki started toward his younger friend to comfort him and jolly him out of the heartache which had overwhelmed him, but before the warrior had taken more than a single step, Derazha's clawed hand fell gently on his shoulder and the huge half-ilf murmured, "Let him be. He needs to come to terms with the losses that battle engenders. Though I would wish it otherwise, he will almost certainly be forced to face them again. Besides, I doubt that there is anything which you could say which would lighten his loss even the tiniest bit. No, I think we would both do better if we turn our efforts toward getting back to Rendor with our newly-acquired burdens."