Guardians of the Lost (59 page)

They handed off the story to the elves. Damra told her tale, reluctant and halting, obviously uncomfortable about discussing elven politics with humans. Shadamehr asked several questions of her. To her amazement, he spoke fluent Tomagi and his questions indicated that he knew a great deal about the current elven political situation. He held the Divine in immense respect, and he did not mock the elves, as did many humans. Damra relaxed and was
soon amazed to hear herself talking to him as if she had known him all her life.

“Well done, Damra of Gwyenoc,” said Shadamehr approvingly at the end of her story. “A hard decision, but I think you made the right one. Garwina has lowered the Portal defenses to permit Dagnarus entry, undoubtedly in return for promised considerations. I'm certain Dagnarus agreed to relinquish the Portal once he has achieved his goal of capturing New Vinnengael. Unfortunately, when the time comes, Garwina will find Dagnarus reluctant to give the Portal back—”

A knock came on the door. “My lord!” called out a voice.

“Yes, what is it?” Shadamehr demanded, irritated at the interruption.

A head poked in the door. “My lord, our scouts report that the taan troops at the eastern end of the Portal are not marching as we feared they might. They're setting up camp on the banks of the river.”

“Probably waiting to establish their supply lines. Unless—” Shadamehr turned to Rigiswald. “You don't think Dagnarus plans to sail down the river, do you?”

Rigiswald scowled, considering. “The taan hate water and fear it. They don't even like to get their feet wet. I doubt if there are any who can swim. Still, they worship Dagnarus as a god. Who knows what he could force them to do?”

“Taan?” Damra was confused. “What are these ‘taan'?”

“The creatures that you saw entering the Portal. They fight for the army of Prince Dagnarus. From what information we've been able to glean, they come from a world on the other side of a Portal—”

“Continent,” said Rigiswald sourly. “A continent. Not another world. Preposterous to even consider such a thing.”

“Continent, then,” said Shadamehr with a wink. “Now, then—”

“A desert continent,” Rigiswald continued sententiously. “That's why they can't stand water.”

“Thank you,” said Shadamehr. “Now then, this gives us more time than I thought we had. What else, Rodney?” he asked.

“The scouts have retreated, my lord. They said it was too dangerous.”

“Wise people. Nasty sort, the taan. Don't want to get too close. Anything else? Carry on, then.”

The seneschal departed. Shadamehr turned back to the elves. “What are your plans, Damra of Gwyenoc?”

“We must reach New Vinnengael—”

“Yes, the faster, the better. And you can bring word of this army to the King, who probably knows nothing of the fact that he's about to be attacked by ten thousand monsters—”

He stopped speaking. Bashae was saying something to the Grandmother in Twithil.

“Is that their language?” Shadamehr said softly to Ulaf. “I've never heard it before.”

“Nor have I, my lord.”

“Sounds like a collection of crickets, doesn't it?”

The Grandmother responded tersely, shrugging her shoulders. Bashae looked at Jessan, who cast Shadamehr a glance that was intense and scrutinizing. At last, slowly, Jessan nodded his head.

Bashae came to stand before Shadamehr. Raising up the knapsack, the pecwae said, “Here. You take it.”

Shadamehr leapt from his chair, backed off with as much haste as if the pecwae had presented him with a snake in a basket. Shadamehr put his hands behind his back.

“I appreciate the thought, but no. I couldn't possibly.”

Rigiswald gave a dry chuckle.

Shadamehr cast him a cold glance. “Just shut up, Old Man. You don't know anything, so don't look so damn smug.”

Bashae stared at Shadamehr in dismay. “You won't take it?”

“I…uh…That is…You see…It wouldn't be right,” Shadamehr finished lamely.

“Why not?” Bashae asked. “Damra was going to take it, but she couldn't touch it because her magic is Air. But yours is Earth, like mine. I'd feel much better if you took it, sir. It's hard to sleep at night with so much responsibility,” Bashae said and he was deeply in earnest.

“Don't you see, Bashae, the gods gave it to you,” Shadamehr said, pointedly ignoring a snort from Rigiswald. “If they'd wanted
me to have it, they would have chosen me, but they didn't. I'm afraid you'll have to carry the Stone a little longer. But,” he added, his voice softening as he saw the pecwae droop, crushed and disappointed, “perhaps I could help guard the Stone. Would that be acceptable? You could use an extra hand, what with your friend here carrying around a Vrykyl magnet. The least I can do is go with you.”

He looked at Damra. “Would my company be acceptable to you, Dominion Lord? I know the lands between here and New Vinnengael. No one knows them better. I could be your guide and I might also be of some use to you in a fight. In addition, I know several of the more popular elven love songs and I have a passable singing voice.”

“My lord, we would be grateful for your company, your guidance and your protection. But I understood that you meant to stay here and defend your castle—”

“Castle!” Shadamehr waved his hand dismissively. “Damp place. I was considering having it remodeled anyway. You can't think how the ceilings leak in the rainy season. And the tapestries want cleaning. Did you get enough to eat and drink? There's plenty more, just help yourselves. Rodney will show you to the dining hall.”

When the guests had departed, Shadamehr walked over to the window. Looking out at the castle and its grounds, he gave a deep sigh.

“My lord,” said Ulaf. “You could go with them and the rest of us could stay behind, undertake the defense—”

“No, no. I wouldn't think of it, dear friend,” said Shadamehr, turning to regard Ulaf with affection. “It wouldn't be fair—the lot of you having all that fun without me. I thank you for the offer, though. Besides, think how happy this will make Alise.”

“We could leave traps behind,” said Ulaf, hearing the wistful note in his lord's voice and hoping to cheer him.

Shadamehr's dejection disappeared. “We could, couldn't we? Cunning traps.” His eyes shone. “The Vanishing Room—”

“I was thinking of something a bit more lethal,” said Ulaf sourly.

“Yes, well, we'll see. We had best get to work immediately.
Rigiswald, I'll require your magical help with the traps. Ulaf, tell Captain Hassan to assemble the troops. We'll split our forces, travel to New Vinnengael by various routes, some by land, others by water. Confuse the bejeebers out of anyone trailing us.

“As for me”—Shadamehr rubbed his hands—“I need more rope…”

“F
eeling better, Shakur?” Dagnarus asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Shakur responded in sullen tones.

“Tell me again how you managed to get stabbed with your own blood knife?”

“It was not my knife, my lord,” Shakur returned, angry at the mockery.

“No matter,” said Dagnarus, his voice cold. “I trust there will be no further comments from you regarding Vrykyl who bungle their assignments.”

“I will go after the Stones, my lord. They are bound for New Vinnengael—”

“Of course they are. Where they will be in for a shock. This is how you will proceed. You will go to New Vinnengael…”

After Shakur had received his orders and departed, Dagnarus remained inside his command tent, which had been raised on the banks of the Arven, north of the border of the Vinnengaelean empire. Outside came the sound of ringing axes. The sound had not abated, not even during the night, as the taan continued to work by flaring torchlight. He had listened to that sound for
two days now and so constant was the noise that he no longer heard it.

He went over his plans in his mind. A few setbacks—he had been annoyed to hear that a force of elves had attacked his human mercenaries at the western end of the Portal, taking them completely by surprise. The elves fought like ravening wolves, with small care for their own lives. So ferocious was their assault that there were only a few survivors of Gurske's force who'd managed to make it through the Portal to report to him.

At first, Dagnarus had been worried that these elves might come through the Portal to attack the eastern end. Not that he feared he would lose to them, but such an attack would delay his march on New Vinnengael. Spies sent back through the Portal to study the situation reported that the elven numbers were too few. They appeared to be content with holding their ground. He would deal with that problem later. Or he would have the Shield deal with it, since it was obviously the Shield's blundering that had led to this debacle.

Then there was the report from his Vrykyl in the City of the Unhorsed that the dwarven part of the Sovereign Stone had been stolen. Try as he might, the Vrykyl could find out no information about who had taken the Stone. The dwarves refused to discuss it, even among themselves. They would say only that the Clan Chief was taking care of the matter. Knowing that the dwarves, who disliked and distrusted all magic, had never cared much about their portion of the Sovereign Stone, Dagnarus considered it likely that some dwarf had stolen the Stone for gain, probably hoped to sell it in human lands. Dagnarus ordered his Vrykyl to remain where he was and continue to nose about until he found out who had stolen the Stone and where the thief had taken it. Once provided with that information, Dagnarus would have little difficulty laying his hands on it. Perhaps, he mused, it was already on its way to Vinnengael right now. Such was the increasing power of the Void in the world.

All in all, Dagnarus was well satisfied. His plans proceeded on schedule. Not very long from now, he would be king of Vinnengael with the Sovereign Stone—all four parts, complete and whole—in his possession.

“Then you will see, Father,” Dagnarus said quietly, speaking to the long dead King Tamaros. “You will see what sort of king
I
make.”

 

In later days, when those who had served Baron Shadamehr were old men and women, they proudly spoke of knowing him. They recalled many adventures, terrible and dangerous, with laughter and tears. But few ever spoke of that wild dash to escape Shadamehr's Keep.

Most who recalled that horrendous journey remembered it as starting out in excitement and ending in pain, weariness, and a distinct desire to never set eyes on a horse again. Shadamehr divided his troops into three bands, sent one band circling east of the foothills of the Mehr mountains, while he and his group chose to ride straight through the foothills. The last band consisted of thirty orks who elected to travel by water, not willing to leave their boats behind for the taan to capture. Rigiswald went with the orks, for he was too old to ride, he said. Alise and Ulaf traveled with Shadamehr.

He placed the dwarves among his retinue in charge of setting the pace, telling them that they must cover no less than fifty miles a day and more if the weather held and the riding was good.

They emptied the stables of the Keep, bringing the extra horses with them so that the riders could change mounts frequently. Most of the horses were of dwarven stock—hearty and well accustomed to galloping long distances. They took no supply wagons, for those would slow them down. Each person carried what food he needed for the journey; Shadamehr quipping that by the end, hunger alone would spur them into New Vinnengael.

Every day, they were up with the dawn, riding for hours through the wind and rain of the coming autumn with only the briefest stops to rest and water the animals. The men suffered more than the beasts, for the dwarves took excellent care of the horses, pampering and making much of them, while the riders were expected to look out for themselves. By the end of the journey, even the stoic dwarves looked ragged and bleary-eyed.

If not for Shadamehr, none would have made it. He kept up their spirits, making them laugh with his pranks and practical jokes,
singing them songs (he had a remarkable baritone), telling them stories to keep their minds off their exhaustion and discomfort. He made no secret of his own pain, complained loudly and often, to everyone's amusement. He ate his meals standing, for, he said, he was too saddle-sore to sit down. He was the first to rise, the last to sleep, and took more than his share of the watch detail.

They rode the last miles in a stupor; many having the feeling that this nightmare journey would never end, that they were doomed to gallop forever across a sea of grass that rolled to the horizon. On the tenth night, the Grandmother lay down and told them to bury her on the spot and be done with it. They eventually talked her out of it, but every single person in the group knew how she felt.

The last day, they had been riding only a few hours when a dwarf—one of the advance scouts—came haring across the plains with the news.

The walls of the city of New Vinnengael were in sight.

All of them stopped and looked at each other, immensely and humbly thankful, too tired to rejoice.

They had covered a thousand miles in sixteen days.

 

Taking the lead, Shadamehr guided his horse across one of the many bridges that led over the meandering river in the waterfront area of the city. He was almost across when he sighted an enormous ork, comfortably ensconced on an overturned boat, braiding rope.

The ork rose to his feet and stretched, yawned and scratched himself.

Shadamehr reined in his horse. “Keep riding,” he said to Ulaf. “I'll meet you near the north gate.”

Shadamehr moved off to the side of the road under the pretext of looking to see if his horse had come up lame. The ork sauntered over and struck up a conversation.

“I am glad to see that you and your group arrived safely,” Shadamehr said in a low voice. “Was there any trouble? Did you find lodging?”

“Along the waterfront,” the captain replied. “We arrived several days ago. I have been waiting for you ever since. We had no trouble
on the journey down the river, but the omens are very bad, my lord. I waited to warn you.”

“I could have guessed,” Shadamehr said dryly. “What's happened now?”

“We had been traveling about three days when we saw an eagle flying high above us. The eagle circled three times and called to us and then flew away. At that moment, a wolf appeared on the bank of the river. The wolf howled at us and then it, too, ran away. Next, a fish leapt from the water and landed in the boat. It spoke to us and then it jumped back out again. The fish no sooner hit the water than a huge tree crashed down in front of us, barely missing striking our boat.”

“And what does the shaman say this all means?” Shadamehr asked.

“It was a warning,” the ork said solemnly. “A warning from the gods themselves. The eagle of the elves, the wolf of the dwarves, the fish of the orks, the tree of you humans. All of them crying out to us.”

“I see,” said Shadamehr thoughtfully.

“It was well they warned us,” the captain continued. “Moments after the tree fell, those orks who had been in the rear came paddling up in great haste. The army of beast-men was not far behind us. Some of the beast-men are traveling by boat—great, huge rafts made of fresh-cut logs lashed together. Others come overland. The beast-men run swift as a galloping horse and they do not seem to tire. They kill animals as they run and devour them raw.”

Shadamehr regarded the ork in consternation. Even if he believed only half of his tale—orks love to embellish a good story—this was dire news. “How far behind you, would you say?”

“Two days, maybe three at the most.” The captain shook his hoary head, scratched himself on the chest. “There are a great many orken trading and fishing vessels at the waterfront. The shaman says we must warn them, but I wanted to speak with you first.”

“Thank you, Captain. Yes, you can warn them, but tell them that if they leave New Vinnengael, to do so quietly. I don't want to start a panic.”

The captain grunted. “We orks do not have so much love for humans these days that we would go out of our way to do them a good turn. Present company excepted,” he added with a bob of his shaggy head. “Trade goods, that's the only reason the orks are here. Still I think even the stupidest human will start to notice something is wrong when they wake up tomorrow to find no more orks in the harbor.”

“Yes, but by that time, I will have warned the king.”

“The gods help us,” said the ork, tugging on a lock of his hair on his forehead in respect. “What are your orders for us?”

Shadamehr considered his options. “I may need to leave this city in haste. I'll need a seagoing vessel, doesn't have to be large. Can you find one for me and keep it safe until you hear from me? I have money to pay for it—”

The ork waved his hand. “Not now. Maybe later. I know of such a ship and her captain owes me a favor. We'll be in the harbor. Send me word.”

Shadamehr agreed and the two parted, the ork heading back down toward the harbor district. Shaking his head and sighing deeply, Shadamehr mounted his horse and continued toward the palace, increasing the animal's pace to a gallop.

 

As the citizens of New Vinnengael are fond of bragging, they live in the most magical city in the world.

Every important structure in the city, from the defensive walls to the palace, had been raised by Earth magic. New Vinnengael was the world's repository of magic. The Temple of the Magi located in the city's heart was the largest of its kind anywhere in Loerem. Humans interested in Earth magic came from all over the continent to study there and, since its library was considered the finest collection of arcane knowledge in the world, magi from the other elemental practices came to the Temple, as well. The beauty of the city itself was another kind of magic, for the New Vinneng-aeleans were right when they claimed it to be the most wonderful city in Loerem.

Thanks to Earth magic, silver and gold and diamond mines
spoon-fed wealth to the empire, that was growing fat and jolly and apoplectic as a result. For example, the New Vinnengaelean Navy was no match for the swift-sailing, far-ranging fleet belonging to the orks, but the New Vinneng-aeleans knew that what they lacked in speed, maneuverability and fire power they made up for in panache.

The New Vinnengaelean military was the best equipped, with the best uniforms, the best armor, the best horses in Loerem. The soldiers looked particularly dazzling on parade. They were not so dazzling on the battlefield, as they had discovered to their discomfiture following their disastrous loss of their only Portal at the newly renamed Karnuan city of Delek 'Vir.

There were some in the city and in the empire who did not think that all was magic in New Vinnengael. They saw a citizenry who had put their wealth into buildings and temples and public edifices, erecting monuments to themselves, instead of investing the money in people. Some who thought this were a group of disenchanted military officers, who had left New Vinnengael and moved to Krammes, far from the influence of the royal court. Here they sold their ornate and useless parade armor to raise money to found the Royal Cavalry School.

They hired the finest swordsmasters and riding masters. They bought the finest horses and the best horse trainers. They brought in the best instructors. They studied military history and strategy and tactics, often resorting to the shocking practice of examining those of the enemy. The best people in the military were quietly sent to Krammes to train as officers for a future military that might not be as dazzling as the current one, but would certainly be more effective.

That day was not here, however. Krammes was far from New Vinnengael, on the other side of the continent (only a few hundred miles south of the site of Old Vinnengael). Dagnarus's army of taan drew closer every moment. He would find the city a hard nut to crack. Its center might be soft, but its shell was formidable.

To those who first saw the city, riding from any direction, New Vinnengael seemed to be a star fallen to earth, floating on the
water. Immense walls of dazzling white marble, built in the shape of an eight-pointed star, rose up from a peninsula that extended out into the Arven river. Designed to emulate and venerate Old Vinnengael, which had overlooked Lake Ildurel, the river created both a strong defense and a beautiful vista.

Immense towers, outfitted with impressive engines of destruction, guarded the city gates that were located at the northwestern end of the outer wall. Similar engines, designed for battling ships, guarded the waterfront. Soldiers walked the ramparts, glowering ferociously to intimidate the peasants and showing off their colorful uniforms to the giggling milkmaids, coming to sell their wares in the famous New Vinnengaelean market.