Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (73 page)

“And you make this vow of your own will . . . freely?”

Gerick nodded.

“So be it sworn,” said Parven. A beam of amethyst light shot from his gold mask and focused on the

sword. The steel blade began to glow, brighter and brighter purple, until the shape lost coherence and the

metal sagged across Gerick’s hands. Gerick did not flinch, but left his hands in place until the shriveled

sword vanished, leaving only the stench of hot metal and scorched flesh. Then he rose to his feet, cold

and solemn, his hands held stiffly open at his sides.

Ziddari stepped forward, replacing the taller Lord, and gazed down at Gerick with his ruby eyes.

“You are learning the price of your power, young Lord. Not so very high. Not for this life for which you

were born. You are not the sniveling child I knew in that other place. You know blood and pain as he

could never know it. You know power as he could never have touched it, and the very things that made

him weak now make you strong. Now it is time to bid that child farewell. Do you agree?”

Gerick closed his eyes and bowed his head, and Ziddari laid his hands on the shining red-brown hair.

“And so do I remove from you the name you were given on this day twelve years past, and the shackles

it lays upon your freedom. No longer will its bidding give you pause, or its invocation cause you the least

concern. No longer will its bitter legacy enthrall you, but will seem as the tale of some other who is so far

beneath you as to be unworthy of licking your feet. The strength and wisdom grown in you, and the

passions that have shaped you are all that will remain. You are now Dieste, who is destined to be called

the Destroyer, the Fourth Lord of Zhev’Na.”

Ziddari raised his hands and Gerick looked up, and he was not the same as he had been. The graceful

youth of his features, already roughened by sun and desert, had taken on a stony edge. No longer could I

see the boy who had called for me to run away or who had been unable to look me in the eye as he

apologized for losing his soul. He was no longer a boy at all.

“Now,” said Notole, “receive our greatest gift to you upon this, the day of your birth, the day you

take your place among the mighty of the world.”

The Three gathered around Gerick. A low hum just at the bounds of hearing set my teeth on edge.

Over the glowing blue circle in the floor appeared a ring of dull brass, taller than a man. Suspended in the

air, the ring began to spin, teasing at the yellow lamplight and the colored gleam of the Lords’ eyes.

“You have tested the waters of darkness in these past days, but tonight you are to be immersed in

them, bathed in them, cleansed of those things that will prevent the fullest expression of your power. Step

into the orb, leave yourself completely open, and take your fill of what you find there. By its power and

ours and your own, you will be irrevocably changed. Is that your desire?”

Gerick nodded once more.

“Then enter and claim your birthright.”

Without hesitation, Gerick stepped into the very center of the orb, woven of red, green, and purple

light. His vague outline was visible inside it, his arms and legs spread wide, and his face upturned as if to

embrace whatever awaited him.

“My dearest son, don’t do it,” I cried. “Hold on to yourself. Nothing is irrevocable. You are not what

they are. You were blessed and beloved from the first moment your father and I knew of your life. You

were treasured by my brother who raised you as his own. And your dear Lucy, think how frightened she

was by the lies the world told of those with your gifts, but how she stayed because you were so dear to

her. Somehow you will know of these things again. You must not forget. . . .” And to fight off my grief

and despair I repeated the long story I had written in the past days, not believing he could hear me or that

it could change what was happening, but because I could not watch such evil and stay silent.

It seemed a lifetime until he emerged from the fiery orb, instantly enveloped in the smothering embrace

of the Three. Notole dropped a black robe over his head, the same as the other Lords‘. His hands

covered his face as they led him to the fourth throne upon the dais. Ziddari and Notole stood to either

side of him and gently pulled his arms outwards, uncovering his eyes. They were black pits, gaping and

empty.

Parven stood behind him, and while Notole and Ziddari held his hands away, the tall Lord fitted a

gold mask over the terrible hollows in my son’s face. So his were to be diamonds, glittering, cold,

blue-white stones that could never show fear or anger or love. I could not hear the words that Parven

whispered as he ran his fingers around the edges of the mask, but as the gleaming metal molded itself to

my son’s brow and his cheekbones, joining itself to his flesh, I sank to my knees and wept bitter tears.

“Young Lord Dieste, we welcome you to our company,” said Notole. “We are old, and you give us

new life.”

“You have bathed in the glories of Darkness, surrendering the flawed vision of your race in favor of

the true-seeing of your brothers and sister.”

“You have yielded your remaining attachments to the child you were and drunk the wine of

immortality.”

“We are Four, and no living hand can undo it.”

CHAPTER 44

The spinning ring vanished. The Lords took turns taking Gerick’s hands and kissing them,

congratulating him and each other.

“Now one small matter, and then we can welcome our Dar’Nethi guests,” said Ziddari. “It’s not yet

time for them to see you in your present aspect. You must make yourself an image of what they expect to

find. If you need guidance ...”

“I need nothing.” Gerick’s words were quiet and hard. To hear the familiar voice, so recently

deepened with approaching manhood, coming from the face with the gold mask and diamond eyes was

but another aspect of horror.

“Then we will leave you to your guests. Our allies will open a portal to bring them.”

“And what of my servants? Asleep as I said?”

“They are none of your concern, young Lord. They’re all dead.”

“Dead? But I said—”

“You said you might want to kill them,” said Ziddari. “We agreed with that. And so we have done.”

The three Lords vanished, leaving an echo of purest hatred and lust.

Only one black throne remained occupied. He sat still and silent, his elbows resting on the square

arms of the chair, his hands knotted into fists.

What did one say to one’s child who had been so grotesquely transformed? How did one counsel a

youth who was on the verge of destroying what balance and hope remained in the world? Would he hear

me now the others were gone? I had never thought to be allowed to speak with Gerick again, yet here

was an opportunity, and I could not think how on earth to begin.

“What now?” It was all I could come up with.

His thoughts were clearly far away. “Did you say something?”

“What happens now?”

“You will be given to the Dar’Nethi as we promised. Nothing else concerns you.”

How small a spark is needed to ignite a holocaust. “Do not speak to me in Darzid’s words!”

The tips of his fingers tapped each other rapidly. “And whose words should I use but those of the

Lords? I am one with them.”

“Use your own words. They didn’t take your mind from you. Think. Act. Take hold of your own

life.”

“You know nothing.”

“Gerick, you must listen to—”

“I will
not
listen to you.” He sprang from his chair and circled behind it, gripping the thick black edge

of its back. His restless hands began tapping their frantic rhythm on the stone. “You are filled with

incessant noise, and all I want is for you to be silent. My name is Lord Dieste, and you will show me the

proper respect or I’ll teach you how to do so; I’ll put you back where you were found.”

“And where was that? Do you even know?”

“In servitude proper to your meager abilities. You are nothing to me. Servants are nothing to me. It

doesn’t matter if they’re all dead.”

Some struggle was going on inside him. I pressed hard, hoping to find some crack, some chink in the

walls the Lords had built to imprison him. “But your masters have promised to give me to the

Preceptors.”

“Only if I wish it. They do everything I wish.”

“And what is it you wish?”

He clasped his hands together and pressed them to his chin, as if to quiet their agitation. “I don’t

know.”

“You made them promise to save my life. Can you even remember why?”

“A stupid and childish whim. I am no longer burdened with such.”

“Does it matter what I wish?”

“Not in the least.”

“But if it did matter, I’d wish to stay with you. I would care for you and be your companion. You are

my—”

“I have no need of companions!” He circled the throne again and sank slowly into its stony embrace,

pressing his clenched hands to his forehead. “I want to be left alone. And I have no further need of

servants. All my servants have been disposed of. They can no longer interfere . . . or leave their thoughts

cluttering up my head . . . dead men’s thoughts . . . slaves’ thoughts . . .” In that instant, he might have

been transformed into the same stone as his chair. Agitation stilled, cold anger muted, imperious manner

quenched, his words dwindled to a whisper. “Impossible. Impossible. How could he be here?”

The diamond eyes jerked up. A searing lance pierced my forehead. “You lied! What were the two of

you doing? What was he doing here?”

My mouth worked soundlessly as the pressure in my head grew . . . only to be abruptly halted when

the round blue glow in the floor began to pulse rapidly. Gerick jumped up, spread his hands, and pressed

his palms outward, and in a stomach-wrenching explosion of enchantment, the vast, empty darkness of

the Lords’ hall was transformed into a more ordinary sitting room.

Even as I blinked and gaped at soft couches, polished tables, well-stocked bookshelves, and bright

lamps hung from a high, painted ceiling, the air in the center of the room shivered with the discontinuity

that signified an open portal. Beyond the portal lay another room, somber gray stone, a long table and

seven high-backed chairs, backing on a massive hearth. I could not fail to recognize the place—the

Preceptors’ council chamber, where I had last seen my husband as he plunged a knife into his belly. The

Preceptors stood waiting in the center of that chamber.

First to step through the portal were Madyalar and Exeget, followed by Y’Dan and the two old ones,

Ustele and Ce’Aret. Last came Gar’Dena, and only in looking at the giant sorcerer did I regain a sense

of the months that had passed. His massive flesh sagged, as if he had lost a great deal of weight, and with

it, the joy and genial sweetness that had illuminated his presence. His broad face was grave and creased

with care.

I expected jaws to drop in horror when the Preceptors beheld the fearsome aspect of their

Heir-to-be. The Preceptors were secretive, imperious, single-minded in their intents, yes. But the

corruption of a few—Exeget, certainly, and perhaps some ally or two—could not blind the rest. They

would never anoint an Heir so clearly the tool of the Lords. But when I turned to the one who stood

beside the crackling hearthfire to greet the Dar’Nethi, my heart sank. Gerick looked entirely himself, a

tall, slender youth, skin darkened by the sun, dressed elegantly in purple and silver. His eyes were the

brown that matched my own. Surely it was my imagination that I saw the icy brilliance of diamonds in

their depths. An image, of course ... as Darzid’s face had been ... so the Preceptors could not see what

had been done.

I jumped to my feet. “Gar’Dena, good Preceptors, don’t be deceived. This is the Lords’ house!

They’ve changed my son . . . corrupted him . . .”

No one acknowledged me. All their attention was focused on Gerick. I hurried across the room,

intending to grab their sleeves, to pluck their robes or hair, whatever it would take to get them to heed

my warning, but my steps did not reduce the distance between us, and none of them seemed to see or

hear me.

“Welcome to the house of my protectors, Preceptors,” said Gerick, bowing slightly, his earlier

agitation as hidden as his true face.

Exeget stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We rejoice in your ascendance to majority, Your

Grace, but we cannot but wonder at its venue. Your refusal to return to Avonar even for this glorious day

has given rise to great disturbance among your people. The rumors rampant in this past year are

multiplied a hundredfold, and though the Gate-fire yet burns white, you cannot fail to know that seven

villages and innumerable households have been destroyed in the past months. The Zhid have grown bold,

and your people worry about friends who do not reveal their names”—he waved his hand to encompass

the room—“yet stand so high in their Prince’s regard.”

“My protectors have done me great service, Master. No Dulcé have been sent to poison me, as

happened to Prince D’Natheil two years ago. No knife has appeared in my hand, and I suffer no

madness to make me turn it upon myself as my late father did. I have lived in safety and comfort until my

majority, and have put the time to good use developing my skills on many fronts. When I venture the

Bridge, I will not be broken by it.”