Guardians of the Lost (14 page)

“Yes, I do, Shakur,” said Dagnarus. He fell silent and was silent for so long that Shakur thought his lord had departed and was startled when he once more spoke. “I am about to tell you something that I never told you before, Shakur. I have never told anyone.”

Shakur knew Dagnarus lied. He had told Valura. He told Valura everything. But Shakur said nothing, made no comment.

“I tell you this now, Shakur,” Dagnarus was continuing, “because you are my lieutenant and it is time that you know of my true plans, my ultimate goal.

“When we returned from the land of the taan and I emerged for the first time from the Portal, walked again on the soil of my own homeland, I made a journey, a solitary journey. Do you recall, Shakur?”

“I do, my lord. I was opposed to your going by yourself. I considered it too dangerous.”

“Yet, what could harm me?” Dagnarus said dryly. “No, this was a journey I needed to make on my own. Where do you suppose I went?”

“I have no idea, my lord.”

“I went to the heap of ruins they are now calling Old Vinnengael.”

Shakur could think of nothing to say. He was astonished and yet he was not. He had often been told that the criminal is ever drawn back to the scene of the crime.

“I went to that place in search of the Sovereign Stone. Not such a foolish quest as you might suppose. A bahk had taken the Stone from me. I had received reports that numerous bahk were to be found in the area of Old Vinnengael, drawn there by the wayward magicks that yet pervade that accursed place. And it is accursed, Shakur. I am not a coward. I have proven my courage in battle countless times. I wore the armor of the Void and carried the magic of the Void as my weapon. Yet, I tell you, there were times during my journey when I knew fear, when I thought that perhaps I had overreached myself.

“This is not the time to recount my adventures, however. I could not find any trace of the Sovereign Stone. I knew then that it was not there. I could have departed, but I hoped to find some clue as to the Stone's whereabouts. I fought my way through the ruins and the magic to the very center of what is now left of the Temple of the Magi.

“No other had been there before me. I know that, because no other could have survived the going. I stood amidst the rubble and wondered why I had come. There was nothing here for me. I was about to leave, when my foot struck against something. I looked down to see a skull. The flesh was gone from the body, yet I knew him by the robes he wore. It was my whipping boy. Gareth.

“As I stood staring at the body, the events of that terrible night came back to me with such force that it seemed to me I lived them all over again. And then, as the memories began to fade, a voice spoke to me. ‘My prince,' said the voice, and I recognized it. It was Gareth who spoke.”

“A waking dream, my lord,” said Shakur, who didn't like where this tale was heading. “He was in your mind. You imagined you heard him.”

“So I thought myself,” said Dagnarus. “So I hoped—with all my heart. I do not mind admitting to you, Shakur, that when I heard his voice speaking to me from the grave, my blood ran chill. I have never been one to look behind me. What's done is done. The strong man faces forward, never looks back. Yet, sometimes, unbidden, I do look back and when I do, I see the reproach in Gareth's eyes. I
see his blood upon the wall and the light of life fading. Of all I knew, he alone was true to me and faithful. He deserved better of me.”

“He was a traitor, my lord, a coward and a weasel,” said Shakur bluntly. “Whatever punishment you meted out, he richly deserved.”

“Did he? Well, perhaps you are right.” Dagnarus's introspective mood had ended. “However that may be, the voice was not my imagination, Shakur. Gareth's spirit appeared to me there in the ruins of the Temple of the Magi.”

“And what did his spirit have to say to you, my lord?”

“Some very interesting things, Shakur, so you may dispense with the sarcasm. I asked why he continued to remain in the world, why he had not gone off to some well-deserved rest.

“‘My spirit is so bound up with yours, my prince, that it is not free to depart until either your spirit is free of the Void or utterly consumed by it.'

“‘You know what has happened in the world since?' I asked him.

“‘I do, my prince.'

“‘Do you know where I may find the human portion of the Sovereign Stone?'

“‘I do not, my prince. The Stone has passed beyond my ability to see. In truth, I believe that the gods hide it from me. I have, however, discovered something else that might be of use to you.'

“‘You were a loyal friend, Gareth, and you continue to be. What is it you have discovered?'

“‘All believe that the Portal to the Gods was shattered, as were the other Portals. They are wrong. The Portal to the Gods remains intact.'

“His spirit gestured, Shakur, to where the Portal had once stood. The doorway had collapsed. I could see nothing but ruin. Seeking to test his words, I walked in that direction. I had taken only a few steps, when I felt the wrath of the gods like a hot wind from a raging fire.

“‘What is that to me?' I asked. ‘I care not what the gods do or think.'

“‘It might be everything to you,' Gareth replied. ‘I have learned that if someone enters that Portal bearing in his hand all four portions
of the Sovereign Stone, the Stone will come together again. Four will be one.'

“‘And one will rule four!' I said.

“‘I know nothing of that,' Gareth said and his voice was bitter. ‘The gods speak to me no more. I am not permitted into their blessed presence, so heinous were my crimes. Yet, this I do know. You are the only person now in Loerem who has the power to bring all four pieces of the Stone together.'

“‘Well, then,' I said, ‘what else could this mean but that I am meant to rule over all of the others?'”

Shakur said nothing, but Dagnarus could hear even his silences.

“I am not a fool, Shakur. I was skeptical myself. ‘Tell me this, Master Whipping Boy,' I said, ‘if the gods speak to you no more, how did you discover all this?'

“He did not want to answer me. He sought to evade my question. Using the power of the Void, I pressed him hard and at last his spirit, under constraint of the Void, had no choice but to respond.

“‘Your brother told me,' he said at last. ‘Helmos. He told me this as he lay dying.'

“‘You lie,' I returned in anger. ‘Helmos was dead when I left him. You were dead. And if you were not then, you would have been after the blast.'

“‘Not so,' Gareth replied. ‘The blast expanded outward from the Portal. The Portal itself was unharmed. Over time, the unstable structures have disintegrated and collapsed. Then, it stood in peace and serenity. I felt my death upon me, yet I could not depart without begging forgiveness of your brother—'”

“The traitor,” Shakur intoned. “It is as I have always said, my lord. I wonder that you still trust him.”

“I never trust anyone, Shakur, as you should know by now. To my mind, this proves the veracity of his tale. Gareth dragged himself over to the dying Helmos. Helmos forgave him and then whispered these words. ‘The Sovereign Stone must be made whole again. The four pieces must be brought here to the Portal. Whoever does so will gain the gods' greatest blessing.'”

“Do you
want
the gods' blessing, my lord?” Shakur asked.

“If it means ruling over all of Loerem, I think I could stomach it,” said Dagnarus. “Thus you see, Shakur, why the discovery of the human portion of the Stone is so significant, coming at this time. I have now only to lay my hands on it and the other three and there will be no one who can stop me.”

“Indeed, so it would seem, my lord,” Shakur replied. “Still, you put a lot of trust in one whose last act was to betray you…”

“Gareth?” Dagnarus gave a shrug. “He was always weak. As it turns out, Helmos's forgiveness availed the whipping boy nothing, for his spirit is doomed to remain imprisoned in the Temple where lies his body. He serves me still. He has no choice. The Void constrains him. If I need him, he is bound to come do my bidding. So long as he returns to his body at night, his spirit is free to roam the world at my command.”

“Then why do you not send him in search of the Sovereign Stone, my lord?” Shakur asked, nettled.

“Because his last act was to betray me,” Dagnarus replied.

“I understand, my lord.”

“I thought you might. Now you know my reasons for what I do and why the recovery of the Stone is so important. I will send the Vrykyl Jedash to assist you. He is the closest within call.”

He paused a moment, then he spoke again, “Shakur, you will find the Sovereign Stone. You will.”

No threat was issued, but it was there. Dagnarus could not only inflict pain on his Vrykyl, he could, with a single word, drain the magical power that kept Shakur's corpse shambling through this life. Much as Shakur loathed this existence in which he walked as a shadow in the land of the living, with no rest, no pleasure, no joy, he feared the Void more. Its empty darkness gaped always at his feet, eager for the single misstep that would cause him to fall into that eternal abyss.

“I will find the Sovereign Stone, my lord,” promised Shakur.

R
aven began his journey by retrieving the armor from the cavern, wrapping it in the tarp he'd brought for the purpose. He was forced to touch the various pieces to place them on the tarp. The feel of the metal was slimy, oily, and although he wrapped his hands with cloth, like bandages, the foul ooze from the armor penetrated the cotton, leaving patches of oily residue on his skin.

Once the armor was safely packed, he washed his hands, washed them several times over, but, although the residue came off, he could still smell the horrid odor or imagined that he could.

He was unable to convince the knight's horse to carry it. Every time he then strapped the armor on the horse's back, the beast bucked and plunged as if the armor were a load of stinging nettles. Finally, Raven was forced to make a litter out of tree branches and strap the litter to the horse. Placing the armor on the litter, he dragged it behind him and he was able to set out on his journey. Every time he passed a stream or an oasis or well, he halted to scrub his hands again.

Dunkar, the capital city of Dunkarga, was over seven hundred
miles away. The journey normally took him a few weeks of leisurely riding and it was a trip he always enjoyed.

He did not enjoy this one.

First came the dreams. Night after night, the moment Raven fell asleep, he dreamed of the eyes searching for him. He didn't know why, but he was terrified lest the eyes should find him. He spent all his sleep-time looking for places to hide from the eyes. Just when it seemed they must see him, he would wake, drenched in sweat and shaking. They had not found him yet, but every night, they came closer.

His sister's words haunted him.
You will save the people, though you yourself will be lost
. He had the dreadful feeling that if the eyes ever once looked into his, they would draw him inexorably into their emptiness and his sister's prophecy would prove correct. His one consolation was that Jessan and the others were far away, safe from this curse.

After a week of these terrible dreams, Raven eventually gave up trying to sleep. He wanted nothing more now than to reach Dunkar and the Temple of the Magi. He would have ridden day and night but he was forced to halt to rest the horse. When such stops were necessary, he built immense bonfires to keep away the eyes. After three days of this, his body took over and imposed sleep upon him. An old campaigner, he'd often dozed in the saddle and he found he could do so again. Once he left the wilderness of Trevenici lands and reached Dunkarga, the road to Dunkar was a King's Road, well-traveled and broad. Near the capital city, the road was actually paved. The horse knew its business and followed the route with only minimal guidance. Raven had the feeling the horse would be as relieved as he would be to rid itself of the Void-tainted burden.

The lack of sleep took its toll on Raven's mind as well as his body. He spent most of one afternoon in violent argument with a dwarf, who was riding on the back of the horse with him. Their combined weight—his and the dwarf's—were too much for the horse to bear. Raven told the fellow repeatedly to jump off, but the dwarf ignored him. The dwarf continued to sit behind him, gloating over the wealth he was going to win when he came to some
mountain or other. At length, Raven jumped down off the horse. Drawing his sword, he threatened to cut off the dwarf's ears if he didn't dismount. By now, Raven had reached a well-traveled section of road and it was only when he saw the stares and heard the laughter of his fellow travelers that Raven realized he was threatening nothing but air. He was hallucinating.

He had no idea how long he was on this nightmare journey. Half-stupefied, weary beyond caring anymore what happened to him, Raven rode day after day and wondered if he would be forced to ride forever. Then came the day he lifted his head and saw Dunkar on the horizon. Tears came to his eyes.

Graceful minarets and twisting spires alternated with squat bulbous-shaped domes to form a border of black lace on the hem of sunset's splendid red-golden robes. The capital city of Dunkar was far distant yet, but at least it was in sight, for which blessing Raven thanked the gods. He would reach Dunkar long after nightfall, but he would reach it.

He stopped at a roadside well only long enough to water his horse and splash the cold well-water on his face and wash his hands. He was weary to the point of collapse, but he was not going to spend another night on the road in the company of the accursed armor. He pushed himself, pushed the horse and when the beast came to a halt and stood with its head down, shivering, too exhausted to go farther, Raven slid off its back and, leading the horse by the reins, walked the remainder of the way to his destination.

Dunkar was a walled city. The gate on this, the main road, was well-guarded. Approaching the guard house, Raven called out loudly to announce his arrival. Few ordinary travelers journeyed so far into the night. The guards would be suspicious. As it was, the sound of Raven's own voice startled him. He didn't recognize it and his fuddled mind wondered for a moment who it was who had shouted.

Guards came out bearing torches that flared painfully in Raven's bleary eyes. He blinked gummed eyelids, held up a shielding hand. Fortunately, he was well-known among the soldiers. Dark looks changed to welcoming grins.

“Captain!” said one, “we weren't expecting to see you back so soon.”

“Get out of here, Captain,” said another, laughing. “No soldier in his right mind returns from leave early. They'll come to expect that of all of us!”

“What'd you bring us, sir?” asked a third, holding the torch over the bundle. “Spirits? A haunch of venison?”

“Keep your hands off that!” Raven snarled.

The soldier stepped back, a startled expression on his face. “Yes, sir!” he said, making a mock of his obedience. He exchanged wondering looks with his comrades.

Raven couldn't explain. He was too tired.

“Just let me through,” he ordered.

The soldiers did as they were told, but sullenly and with an ill will. Raven knew he had fallen in their estimation and the knowledge bothered him, although it shouldn't. He was not in this business to be liked. The next block, he was practically weeping at the thought that they all hated him.

“Gods!” he said to himself, wiping the sweat from his face. “I'm going crazy. Crazy as my sister.” The thought terrified him and fear jolted him back to reality. “Just a little longer. A little longer and we'll be rid of it.”

Guiding the stumbling horse, he wended his way through the empty, narrow streets, heading for the Temple of Magic.

 

“But, Captain,” the porter said, peeping at Raven through the grate, “what you ask is impossible. I cannot permit you entry at this hour of the night!”

“Then I will dump this in the street,” Raven said savagely and raised clenched fists. He kept tight hold of his sanity in those balled fists. “And you must suffer the consequences. I haven't slept in days!” Someone was shouting now, making a hell of a racket. He had the dim realization that maybe it was he himself. “You'll let me in or by the gods I'll—”

“What is the matter, Porter?” came another voice. One of the magi of the Temple had been crossing the courtyard. Hearing
Raven's shout, he came to investigate. “What is all the commotion? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“This officer”—the porter pointed through the closed gate at Raven—“insists that he must come inside. I told him to return in the morning, Brother Ulaf, but he refuses. He says his business is urgent and will not wait.”

“Perhaps I can help him,” said the magus. “Open the gate and let him enter.”

“But the rules—”

“I will be responsible, Porter.”

The porter, muttering, opened the gate. Raven led his horse with the litter bearing its strange and terrible burden into the Temple's courtyard. The porter locked the gate behind. Brother Ulaf turned to Raven with a pleasant smile that faded when he studied the man closer. “Captain, you don't look well. What is wrong?”

“This is wrong!” said Raven in a hollow voice. Taking out his knife, he cut the straps that bound the litter to the horse. The wooden poles fell to the cobblestones with a clatter. “Come closer. You'll see what I mean.”

Brother Ulaf, mystified, drew nearer. Bending over the bundle, he reached out a hand to touch it. Raven had no need to warn the magus. Brother Ulaf gasped and snatched his hand back. Appalled, he looked at Raven.

“It reeks of Void magic,” he said sternly. “What is it?”

“Your problem,” Raven said. “Not mine.” Taking hold of the reins of his horse, he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Brother Ulaf's voice snapped.

He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, but he had an air of authority that Raven recognized and to which he instinctively reacted. He remained standing, his head bowed with fatigue and thankfulness that he had handed over his burden.

“Joseph,” said Brother Ulaf, “bring a lantern.”

The porter, shaking his head, headed for the stairs that led to the Temple proper.

Brother Ulaf tucked his hands in the sleeves of his robes and remained with Raven in the darkness. No lights shone from the Temple
windows. Even those who stayed up late studying would have gone to bed by now. Neither man spoke. The young magus stared in horrible fascination at the bundle. Raven stood straight and rigid, as if on parade, looked straight ahead.

The Temple of the Magi was an imposing structure, the second largest in the city, next to the king's palace. Its gleaming white dome and four spiraling minarets could be seen for miles. Its gardens were legendary. Only the Temple of the Magi in New Vinnengael was larger—a sore point to the Dunkargans, whose Temple had been the largest in the years after the fall of Old Vinnengael, until the Vinneng-aeleans had built their Temple in its new location.

Dunkarga was an impoverished country, following the ruinous civil war with its brothers, the Karnuans. The Dunkargans could only watch with seething jealousy as the wealthy Vinnengael empire poured immense amounts of money into building a new temple, mainly—so the Dunkargans felt—to spite them. Now all the Dunkargans could do was sneer at the new Temple, proclaim it ostentatious and boorish and take comfort in the fact that their Temple was far older, dating back at least three centuries. The great king Tamaros had once visited their temple, something which the people of New Vinnengael could not say.

A light flared in the windows of the entry chamber, streamed out onto the white marble stairs. Joseph was returning with a lantern.

“Bring it to me,” Brother Ulaf said to the porter. “Go back to your duties.”

The porter handed over the lantern and retreated to the gatehouse. Lifting the lantern, Brother Ulaf looked Raven full in the face.

“What is your name, Captain?”

“Raven, Revered Magus.”

“You are Trevenici?”

“I am.”

“Where is your village located?”

“It is only a small village, Magus,” Raven replied. “Of no importance.”

Brother Ulaf raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on that score. He glanced back at the bundle. “I ask again, Captain, what is it?”

“It is…or was, knightly armor, Revered Magus,” said Raven. He raised a hand to shield his burning eyes from the light. “Evil armor. I am not a magus, but I think this armor has been cursed by the Void.”

Brother Ulaf shifted the lantern, held it over the bundle.

“Would you unwrap it, Captain?” he said, straightening.

A strong shudder went through Raven. He shook his head and took a step backward. “No,” he said, unable to even phrase the refusal politely. “No,” he repeated doggedly.

Brother Ulaf eyed the warrior doubtfully and then he reached down himself. With a swift and sure movement, he grasped hold of a corner of the bundle and tugged it open. The lantern light gleamed on a portion of the armor, glittered on the black spikes. Raven's disturbed fancy pictured an insect's black jointed legs.

Brother Ulaf gazed at the armor in silence for a long time, so long that Raven's burning eyelids closed.

“How did you come by this?” Brother Ulaf asked.

Raven woke with a start. Fortunately, he had his answer prepared or he would have never been able to articulate it. He looked back at the armor, saw that the magus had covered it up with the blanket again.

“I found it, Revered Magus,” he said. “On the banks of the Sea of Redesh. I was out hunting…came across it. There were signs of a…fight.” He rubbed his eyes. “The knight who wore this was dead. I didn't see anyone else.”

The Magus peered at Raven intently. “What did you do with the body?”

“I buried it,” Raven said.

“Why take the armor?”

Raven shrugged. “I am a warrior. The armor looked to be well-made, valuable. A shame to let it go to waste. Only later, I found out…” He swallowed. “I found out it was…like that. Horrible. I knew I had done wrong and I brought it here to turn over to the Church.”

“You buried the body, you say. How did this so-called knight die?”

“A sword thrust, through the chest. You can see it went through the armor.”

“Strange,” murmured Brother Ulaf, “for such well-made armor. You did not see the battle? You heard nothing? You saw no one else around?”

“No, Magus,” said Raven. “I did not.” He was growing impatient. “I have told you all I know. I have brought you this armor. Do with it what you will, just so long as I never have to look at it again. I bid you good-night.”

Turning, he stumbled in his exhaustion and almost fell. He caught himself on his horse's flank, pressed his head into the warm flesh and stood there waiting for the mists that shrouded his eyes to pass. He was aware of the magus's voice, continuing to ask questions, but Raven had provided all the answers he was going to. He ignored the voice and, when the man dared lay a hand on his shoulder, responded with a low snarl that was so fierce and feral that the hand was immediately removed.