Guardians of the Lost (15 page)

When at last Raven felt he had the strength to pull himself up, he crawled into the saddle and, with a mumbled command and a knee in the flanks, urged the horse forward. The beast was glad to comply and bolted from the courtyard with the wild, rolling-eyed stare of a horse that has been about to step on a coiled snake.

Raven let the horse have his head, not particularly caring where they were going, so long as it was away from the Temple and the horrid bundle. He slumped over the horse's neck, with only dim awareness of where they were. He guided the horse by instinct and knew that the animal stopped only when he became aware of cessation of movement. He recognized the barracks, but he did not have the energy to dismount and so he remained on the horse, head lowered, slumped in the saddle. He might have stayed that way until morning had not two of his fellow Trevenici walked by, having just come off watch on the city walls.

“Captain,” said one, resting his hand on Raven's arm.

“Eh?” Raven grunted, raised bleary eyes.

“Captain, you are back early—”

Raven felt himself slipping from the saddle, but he made no effort to halt his fall. He was home, in the Trevenici camp, among friends, comrades. He was safe. The burden was gone. He was rid of it.

Strong hands caught him, strong arms cradled him, strong voices shouted for assistance.

Raven paid no attention to any of it. At last, he could sleep in peace.

 

Brother Ulaf stood in the courtyard, staring intently at the bundle that reeked of Void magic. Confronted with this unexpected situation, he had to decide what to do and he didn't have much time to make up his mind. The porter Joseph was a notorious gossip, harmless, but loving to talk and this would be all over the Temple by morning. Ulaf had no doubt that the gods had guided his steps so that he happened to be the one passing by the gate at this particular time. It was his responsibility to figure out what the gods wanted him to do, how best to act. Having made up his mind at last, Ulaf acted with his customary decision.

He peered inside the gate house. Joseph sat on his stool with his head bowed, as though dozing. Ulaf smiled slightly, not fooled.

“Joseph,” said Ulaf peremptorily, “I want you to go wake the High Magus.”

Joseph jerked his head up, stared open-mouthed at Ulaf.

“Go on,” said Ulaf. “I will take responsibility.”

Joseph hesitated, hoping that Ulaf would think better of it. Ulaf frowned at the delay and eventually, with much reluctant scraping of feet and fumbling for the lantern, Joseph departed, heading back into the Temple.

Ulaf watched until the porter had entered the Temple and shut the door, then he hastened back to the bundle. Joseph would be in no hurry. He would undoubtedly try to find someone to complain to or at the very least attempt to foist this onerous duty off on someone else.

Ulaf had considered asking for Joseph to leave the lantern, but
changed his mind almost immediately. As a newly made Revered Magus, Ulaf was supposed to have only the most cursory knowledge of Void magic—enough to know to keep away from it. He should not be down on all fours pawing through this strange bundle. The night was dark, clouds covered the stars, and the Trevenici had happened to drop the bundle in the shadow of the gate.

Ulaf glanced around to make certain no one else was out taking a late night stroll. Seeing the courtyard empty, as was only reasonable at this hour, Ulaf bent over the bundle, twitched off the blanket and studied it, smelled it, poked it and prodded.

When Joseph, looking aggrieved, returned to say that the High Magus was coming and that he was not at all happy about having been wakened at this ungodly hour, he found Brother Ulaf where the porter had left him, his arms folded in the sleeves of his robes, standing a seemly distance from the bundle, regarding it with wary uneasiness. Ulaf had made one change, that he trusted the porter would not notice. Ulaf had not replaced the blanket over the armor, but had left the armor uncovered.

Lamps were lit. A man appeared at the top of the stairs, a dark, robed figure against the bright light. The High Magus was a man of stately mien, perhaps in his sixtieth year, with white hair and a white-streaked black beard. The man's face was patrician, with fine-honed features and deep lines that indicated a strong will and an iron disposition. The High Magus frowned slightly at the sight of Ulaf, who pretended not to notice. Ulaf knew very well that he wasn't liked, wasn't trusted. The fact that Ulaf was a Vinnengaelean among Dunkargans was enough to account for the distrust, but Ulaf was aware that the ill feelings of the High Magus ran deeper than that.

“Brother Ulaf,” said the High Magus, his voice crisp and alert. If he had been sleeping, he was quick to wake. “I am told that you need to see me on a matter of urgency that could not wait until morning.”

He laid an irritable emphasis on the latter words.

Ulaf bowed, as was proper. Approaching the High Magus, he spoke in a hushed voice properly tinged with horror.

“I did not know what to do, High Magus. I thought that you
should be informed.” Ulaf made his eyes round in the lantern light. “I've never seen anything like it.”

“Like what, Brother Ulaf?” the High Magus snapped. He had no use for what he considered the histrionics of a Vinnengaelean.

Ulaf gestured respectfully. The High Magus turned to look at the bundle on the litter.

“Joseph, bring the lantern.”

Joseph hastened to comply, held the lantern light directly over the dark armor that did not shine in the light, but seemed to suck it up, diminish it. The High Magus took a step toward it, then he stiffened. He was expert at controlling his facial expressions, but Ulaf—who was watching closely out of the corner of his eye—saw the swift contortion that passed over his features.

“Void magic, High Magus,” Ulaf felt called upon to point out.

“I am aware of that,” the High Magus snapped. “Give Brother Ulaf that lantern before you drop it, Joseph, and return to your post.”

Ulaf took the lantern from the shaking hand of the porter, who was staring at the dark armor with wide-eyed terror. The porter started to leave, but he couldn't take his eyes from the horrid bundle, and nearly tripped himself.

“Wait, Joseph!” said the High Magus. “Where did this come from? How did it get here?”

“A-An officer brought it, High Magus,” Joseph stammered.

“What officer?” the High Magus demanded. “What was his name?”

“I-I don't know, High Magus. He wanted to come inside and I-I said he couldn't. And then the brother here—” Joseph looked helplessly at Ulaf.

“I happened to be passing by, High Magus,” said Ulaf deferentially. “I heard the soldier at the gate. He was most distraught. He threatened to dump this in the street. I thought—”

“Yes, yes,” said the High Magus. He cast a frowning glance at the armor. “He came inside and left it.” He shifted the frown to Ulaf, who bore it meekly. “I assume you questioned him. Asked him his name, how he came by this…this…”

“I did, High Magus,” said Ulaf, “but he was not very cooperative. He was a Trevenici,” he added, as if that explained everything.

“His name?” the High Magus persisted. “There are a thousand Trevenici soldiers in the Dunkargan army.”

“I regret, High Magus…” Ulaf lowered his eyes. “It didn't occur to me…The armor was so frightful…”

The High Magus snorted. “You, Joseph?” he demanded of the porter. “Did you get his name?”

“I-I-I…” Joseph stuttered.

“What rank was he then?” The High Magus looked extremely put out.

Ulaf was chagrined. “I am sorry, High Magus, but I know so little of the ways of the Dunkargan military…”

Joseph could only shake his head.

“Go!” the High Magus ordered and Joseph fled thankfully back to his gatehouse.

The High Magus turned his gaze to Ulaf. “Did you even bother to question this Trevenici about how he came by this accursed armor, Brother Ulaf?”

“Indeed, I did, High Magus,” Ulaf stated.

In his enthusiasm, he was waving the lantern about and accidentally shot a beam of light directly into the eyes of the High Magus, who flung his arm over his face and backed away precipitously.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace!” Ulaf gasped and hastily lowered the lantern. “I did not mean to blind you—”

“Continue,” the High Magus muttered.

“According to the Trevenici, he came across the armor while he was out hunting. The armor being quite…er…well made and no one being about to claim it, he thought he would appropriate it for his own use. He quickly discovered that the armor was cursed and decided to bring it to the Temple, in order to be rid of it.”

“And what happened to the knight who wore this armor?” the High Magus asked. Glancing down at it, he pointed to the hole in the breastplate. “Such a wound would be mortal.”

Ulaf felt that he was under intense scrutiny, though he could not
see the High Magus, who remained standing in the dark, careful now to keep his face out of the light.

“The Trevenici had no idea, Your Grace,” said Ulaf. “He could find no sign of a body. Of course, the man was lying,” he added disdainfully. “He did not want to admit that he had stripped the dead. We all know and deplore the barbaric ways of the Trevenici.”

The High Magus made no comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He remained silent, staring down at the armor. Ulaf was respectful of his superior's musings for a moment, then he said, tentatively, “I find it appalling to think that there may be knights—paladins, if you will—dedicated to the evil practice of Void magic, Your Grace. Where do you suppose such a knight might have hailed from? What was his objective? What killed him? For certainly he must have been very powerful.”

Again, Ulaf was aware that he was being scrutinized.

“I, too, would be interested in answers to these questions,” said the High Magus. “One reason I deem it imperative to speak to that Trevenici. Could you recognize him again, if we find him, Brother Ulaf?”

“Oh, yes, I am certain of it, Your Grace,” said Ulaf without hesitation. “I can even give you a description of him.”

He proceeded to do just that. The High Magus listened with interest at first, then shook his head.

“You have described a Trevenici male, Brother Ulaf. Did you notice nothing more specific about this man? Scars? Body paint? Adornments?”

Ulaf lowered his eyes. “The night was dark…I was excited…One of these barbarians looks the same as another to me…Perhaps Joseph…”

The High Magus grunted and made a dismissive gesture, well aware of the limited scope of Joseph's power of observation. “If you can tell me nothing more of importance, Brother Ulaf—”

“I am sorry, High Magus—”

“Then you should go to your bed. Please say nothing of this matter to your fellow brethren. I would not want to start a panic. The armor is antiquated and archaic and
Vinnengaelean in design
.” He emphasized
the latter. “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Dunkarga. I think therefore that this is a Vinnengaelean problem.”

Ulaf bowed, but said nothing.

“Since the armor is Vinnengaelean, a report of this matter should be immediately carried to the Temple in New Vinnengael. You had not intended to leave us quite this soon, Brother Ulaf, but you are the logical choice as messenger—”

“I would be only too happy to carry news of this to the Temple, Your Grace. I can be ready to depart in the morning or at Your Grace's pleasure.”

“Excellent. I will write the report this night. I know this means that you will have only a few hours sleep, but you should be ready to ride at first light.”

Ulaf bowed again.

The High Magus bent down and began to wrap up the armor in the folds of the blanket.

Ulaf knelt to help, but the High Magus waved him away. “The fewer who have contact with this, the better. I will deal with it. Go to your bed, Brother Ulaf. You will need your rest.”

Ulaf returned dutifully to the Temple. He walked the narrow corridors to his own cell, but only to fetch and light a dark lantern. Making sparing use of the light, Ulaf hastened through the main living quarters of the Temple until he came to the kitchen. He exited through the kitchen door that led outside to the cook's herb garden.

Once outdoors, Ulaf dared make no more use of the dark lantern, for fear even a quick glimmer of light would be noticed. His eyes soon grew accustomed to the darkness. Treading softly, he took his place behind a trellis supporting bean vines and waited.

Within a few moments, he saw a bulky figure in the darkness—the High Magus, carrying the armor wrapped in its blanket, walking around to the back of the Temple.

“I was right,” said Ulaf softly to himself. “He's going to hide it in the wine cellar.”

Ulaf had considered where the High Magus might hide the cursed armor on the Temple environs. Ulaf had no idea if such
armor could be immediately destroyed, but he doubted it. Yet it had to be placed where it would not be discovered and where it could do no harm. Ulaf had been forced to touch the armor during his investigation and although he had wiped his hands numerous times on his robes, he still had the sensation that the terrible ooze was on his fingers.

The wine cellar contained bottles of wines served only at the table of the High Magus and thus it was always kept locked. The High Magus was the only person who had keys. The wine cellar was located below ground, to keep the wines at a constant temperature all year round, and was accessible only by a door located in the back of the kitchen gardens. The wine cellar was the logical place.

Ulaf watched the High Magus squat down to unlock the cellar door. Suddenly, the High Magus lifted his head, stood up straight.

“Is that you?” the High Magus said quietly.

Something approached through the garden. Ulaf stared.