Guardians of the Lost (49 page)

T
he trail that led up Dragon Mountain was little more than a donkey path. Twisting and turning, the trail meandered around enormous red-rock boulders, twined along ridges and crawled around scraggly fir trees. Climbing it could take days. The Omarah, a tribe of humans who worship the monks and serve them, built small warming huts along the route for the comfort and protection of those travelers who find themselves benighted on the mountainside. The huts are simple structures, similar to those in which the Omarah live, and are always stocked with firewood.

Wolfram was familiar with this trail; he'd climbed it many times, and the journey usually took him three days on foot. Since horses do not fare well on the steep mountain trail, an enterprising group of Vinneng-aeleans had established a small town at the base of the mountain, where they offered to board horses for those making the climb and rented out mules and donkeys. Wolfram boarded the horses with the Vinneng-aeleans (although he considered the price they charged exorbitant), but he scorned to ride a donkey. Dwarves consider the donkey a horse-gone-wrong, use them only for hauling.
Wolfram always made the climb on foot, taking his time. He had favorite huts along the route where he liked to spend the nights.

Ranessa, of course, turned his plans upside-down. If she'd had wings, she could not have reached the top fast enough to suit her. As it was, forced to rely on feet, she started up the mountain at a speed that soon had the dwarf huffing and gasping. She glowered whenever Wolfram stopped for breath and paced about in a fume of impatience, demanding every thirty seconds to know if he was ready to go yet or if he had taken root.

“The monastery has been there for centuries, Girl,” the dwarf protested. “It's not going to sail off in the next high wind.”

She refused to listen, but hustled him and badgered him so that he never knew a moment's peace. At one point, they passed some fellow travelers—a group of scholars from Krammes returning from a meeting with the monks. There is an unofficial custom on the mountain that groups who meet on the trail always stop to exchange pleasantries and the news of the world. These humans were extremely interested to hear that Wolfram and Ranessa came from the west. Was the rumor of war in Dunkarga true?

Wolfram would have dearly loved to have had a bit of a chat, but when he told Ranessa that he was going to visit with these fine people, she flew into a rage. Her angry shouts rebounded off the side of the mountain and her wild-eyed look caused the Krammerians to hastily change their minds and continue their journey. Wolfram regretted every kind thought he'd had toward Ranessa the night before.

The sun was dipping into the west when they reached the first of his favorite warming huts. Wolfram announced that they would be spending the night here. Ranessa was appalled and insisted that there were many more hours of daylight left. Wolfram was firm, however, for the next hut was half-a-day's journey farther up the mountain and he had no intention of getting caught on the slopes after dark. Exasperated, he told her she could keep climbing if she wanted. Ranessa looked for a moment as if she would, but then either she saw the wisdom of the dwarf's decision or she was more
tired than she would admit. She hurled herself into the hut and plopped down on the floor, where she sulked for the remainder of the night.

At least when she sulked she was quiet. Wolfram considered this a blessing. Pleased with his victory, he prepared for sleep. He didn't bother to keep watch, for the trail was guarded by the Omarah. The dwarf fell asleep at once, which was good, for Ranessa had him up twice during the night, trying to convince him that it was dawn and time to start.

After another day traveling with Ranessa up the mountain, Wolfram decided that anything—even falling off the mountain—would be preferable to spending a single second longer with her. To her great joy, he agreed to continue their climb well past sunset. Fortunately, they happened to run into one of the Omarah, who walk the trail at all hours of the day and night. Taking the Omarah aside, Wolfram showed the woman his bracelet and said that he was on a mission of the utmost urgency and needed her help. She agreed to guide them the rest of the way.

The tallest humans on Loerem, the Omarah average seven feet in height and some may be taller. They are a silent, impassive people, who speak only when they have something to say and then they say it in the fewest possible words. Omarah are studiously polite, but are not given to casual conversation or idle chit-chat. They answer questions with a nod or a shake of the head and if the question cannot be answered like that, they don't answer it. No one knows much about them, for they never speak of themselves to any outsider. So far as anyone can tell, the only place that the Omarah have ever been seen is on Dragon Mountain. If they exist anywhere else in the world, no one knows of it.

The Omarah woman walked ahead of them. She wore leather armor and a fur cape and carried a gigantic spear that doubled as a walking stick. The climb proved to be relatively easy, for the air was clear as finest crystal and the stars so numerous that the sky seemed to be crusted with them. Topping a rise, the Omarah silently pointed.

A building, aglow with light, stood in front of them.

“Is that it?” Ranessa asked in hushed tones.

“That's it,” said Wolfram, who was never more thankful to see any place in his entire life. “The monastery of the monks of the Five Dragons.”

He thanked the Omarah, who refused to accept any payment, but turned in silence and stalked back down the path. Wolfram headed for the monastery, hot food, cold ale and a comfortable bed. He had walked a good many paces when he realized he was walking alone. Turning, astonished, he looked back to see Ranessa standing where he'd left her, staring.

“Are you coming?” he demanded.

She shook her head vigorously.

“What?” Wolfram roared. “After all your hustle and hurry that half killed me on that blasted trail now you're not coming?”

He stumped back toward her, so furious he could barely see straight.

“I'm afraid,” she said, her voice quivering.

“Afraid!” He snorted.

Grabbing hold of her, planning to drag her if necessary, he was startled to feel her hand as cold as the hand of a corpse and that she was literally shaking with fear.

“What's there to be afraid of?” he asked, bewildered. “You wanted to come here. You've talked of nothing else for all summer!”

“I know,” Ranessa whimpered. “I want to be here and I don't. I can't explain it. I don't understand. I…I think maybe I'll go back down the mountain.”

“Oh, no, you don't,” said Wolfram. The bracelet on his wrist was warming rapidly, but he had no need for its reminder. “We're going inside to find a bed and a meal. If you want to leave in the morning, that's your look-out.” He glared at her. “Are you coming or must I carry you?”

“I'll…I'll come,” she said meekly.

Meek! He never thought he'd see the day. Not trusting her, he kept a firm grip on her hand and led her to the monastery. She clung to him like a frightened child. Glancing at her as they entered the light, he was alarmed to see how pale she'd grown.

“Is it what I told you about the monks, Girl? Is that what's scaring you? It's possible I may have exaggerated. The monks are very kind. They wouldn't hurt a flea. You're a bit strange, Girl, but they're used to strange people. They see all kinds here. They'll make you feel welcome.”

Ranessa paid no attention to his words of comfort. She stared at the monastery, her eyes so wide that he could see the immense granite structure with its many windows reflected in the dark pupils.

Unable to fathom what was wrong, keeping hold of her, lest she flee into the night, Wolfram brought her to a long wide porch and climbed the stairs to the entrance.

No guard stood at the door, for there was no door. No porter was present to answer a stranger's knock. Those who come to the monastery are not considered strangers. The windows have no bars or panes of glass, but freely admit the sunlight and the night, the wind and the water. Entering through the archway, Wolfram led Ranessa into the huge common room. An enormous fire pit stood in the center. Every day, the Omarah carried in huge logs for the fire pit. A fire always burned, even in summer, for the air was cool on the mountaintop. The monks kept refreshments for their guests. In the center of the room was a large wooden table spread with plain but nourishing food—bread and cheese and nuts, large jars of cold ale, a cauldron of steaming mulled wine.

Sleeping arrangements were simple. All who come to the monastery, from crowned king to rustic woodsman, were given a rush mat and a wool blanket and a space on the stone floor near the fire. In vain the important Karnuan general argued that he must have his own sleeping quarters. In vain the Vinnengaelean merchant offered silver argents for a room. Merchant and general ended up on the floor, along with everyone else. The rooms were for the monks, whose studies must not, on any account, be disturbed.

Once they were inside the monastery, Wolfram was relieved to see Ranessa relax. He stowed her near the fire with orders to warm
herself, went to fetch her a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, fussing over her as if she were his only begotten daughter about to be married on the morrow. He ladled out a mug of the steaming wine and persuaded her to drink a sip. The wine restored some color to her cheeks. She stopped shivering, but she could not eat. Fortunately, there were no other visitors. He and Ranessa had the huge room to themselves.

After drinking the wine, Ranessa lay down upon the mat and closed her eyes.

Wolfram waited to make certain she was asleep, then he departed to the meeting room, there to make his report and to hand over the silver box that belonged to Lord Gustav, the Whoreson Knight.

Although the hour was extremely late, acolytes and several monks were still awake, studying and transcribing, listening to questions, providing information. An acolyte, smiling, came to greet him. Wolfram gave his name, showed the bracelet, and was about to say that he needed to speak to one of the monks on a matter of urgency, when the acolyte interrupted him.

“We have been awaiting you, Wolfram the Unhorsed,” he said pleasantly. “Fire left word that you were to be sent to her immediately upon your arrival.”

“Fire!” Wolfram grunted. “Well, well.”

Five monks head the Order of the Keepers of Time, one monk for each element and one for the Void. The Heads of the Order are known by the name of that element, not by any name of their own, presuming they ever had names.

Each monk represents the race most identified with a particular element. Thus Fire is a dwarf, Air an elf, Earth a human, and Water an ork. No one knows to what race the monk of the Void belongs, for on those rare occasions when that monk makes an appearance in the monastery, it is hooded and cloaked in black that covers every portion of its body. Even the hands are wrapped in black cloth.

Few visitors to the mountain ever see the five monks that are the Heads of the Order, for they keep to themselves, rarely
deigning to speak to the many visitors who come in search of advice or answers to questions. Wolfram had never seen the Heads of the Order and had not expected to see them this time. He was surprised, but, after a moment's reflection, decided that he shouldn't be.

Wolfram and the acolyte ascended the stairs to the very top part of the monastery, reserved for the Heads of the Order.

The acolyte showed Wolfram to a room and then left to inform Fire that the dwarf had arrived. Wolfram sat in the chair, kicked his heels on the legs and looked around. There wasn't much to see. A simple desk with nothing on it. Two wooden chairs of plain make and design. A window carved in the wall looked out at the stars.

The monk did not keep Wolfram waiting. A dwarf clad in bright orange robes entered the room. Wolfram started to stand, but she raised a hand to indicate that he could remain seated. She crossed the room, sat down behind the desk, and regarded him with eyes in which flickered a portion of the element for which she was named.

She greeted him in his own language, asked if he'd had a good journey.

Wolfram replied, warily, eyed her closely.

The monk was a dwarf, but there was something distinctly undwarf-like about her. What that was, Wolfram couldn't say. Perhaps it was the bright orange robes, a garb no self-respecting dwarf would have been caught dead wearing. Or perhaps it was the way she spoke Fringrese, as though she knew the language perfectly but was not quite familiar with it. Then there was the fact that no dwarf would voluntarily live her life in one single location, not unless she was Unhorsed and forced to do so.

Wolfram decided in that moment that the rumors he'd heard all these years about the Heads of the Order must be true. This was not a dwarf. This was a shape-changer who had altered form to look like a dwarf. He was immediately on his guard.

The interview started well. He handed over the silver box that Lord Gustav had given him, told Fire what Lord Gustav had told him to say.

“I'm the killdeer with the broken wing. The young ones went off in a different direction,” Wolfram said. “His plan worked. Danger followed us.” He explained to her about the Vrykyl. “I'm hoping the young ones got away safely,” he added, hinting for more information.

Fire said nothing. She gazed at him expectantly. Her face was smooth and blank.

“Whatever is in that box must be extremely valuable,” Wolfram said, trying again.

Fire smiled, took hold of the box and set it to one side. She gestured for him to continue with his tale.

Giving a shrug, Wolfram complied, providing a quick synopsis of the rest of his journey. He did not go into detail. He would do that when the scholar monks took down his description, tattooing it onto their bodies. Fire continued to listen without comment. He spoke casually of Ranessa, saying only that she was a Trevenici who had chosen to accompany him. He hoped that Fire would evince some sort of curiosity about this companion or make some mention of why they wanted to see her. If she did, Wolfram would have been able to parry her questions with a few of his own.