Guardians of the Lost (61 page)

“Thank you, my dear. Now run along. You and Ulaf.”

“Absolutely not—” Alise began, fire in her eye.

“If I am arrested you will be of much more use to me on the outside,” said Shadamehr quietly. “Now go!”

The officer cursed at the wagon driver and finally ordered two of his men to grab hold of the horses' reins and lead the wagon off the road. This impediment cleared, the officer cantered forward, brought his horse to a halt directly in front of Shadamehr.

“Baron Shadamehr?” said the officer, dismounting. “I am Commander Alderman.”

“Commander,” said Shadamehr, bowing.

“Baron.” The commander bowed. “A request has been made, my lord, that you and the elves”—his gaze shifted to Damra and Griffith—“proceed immediately to the Royal Palace. In accordance with that request, I am here to escort you.”

“And I do appreciate you taking the trouble, Commander,” said Shadamehr languidly. “You must have spit yourself dry polishing up your armor. But despite the fact that I haven't visited your city for fifteen years, I recall the way to the Royal Palace. Unless you've gone and moved it?”

Watching out of the corner of his eye, Shadamehr saw Alise and Ulaf melt into the crowd, taking the other members of his party with them. They did not go far. Posting themselves on the outskirts of the crowd, in strategic locations, his people patted their weapons, letting him know that they awaited his command.

“No, we have not moved the Palace, my lord,” said the officer. “Now, if you will mount your horses and come with us, Baron, Dominion Lord and, er…Elven lord.” He bowed to Damra and glanced askance at Griffith. “I am also to bring along the Trevenici.” He pointed at Jessan.

“What's going on?” Jessan demanded. “What's this fool saying? I'm not going anywhere with—”

“Oh, yes, I think you will,” said Shadamehr. Gripping Jessan's arm, he gave it a good squeeze and said softly, “The officer said nothing about bringing the pecwae. Keep quiet and don't cause trouble. Oddly enough, I think I know what I'm doing.”

Jessan glanced about. True to form, the moment there seemed likely to be trouble, the pecwae had vanished. Jessan cast the officer a smoldering glance, but kept silent.

“Excuse us, Commander,” said Shadamehr. “My Trevenici friend feels shy about having to appear in court—nothing fit to wear, you know. I've persuaded him that although he's a bit underdressed, the regent won't hold it against him. That's who we're going to see, isn't it? The regent?”

“In the name of the King,” said the commander solemnly.

“Of course. Actually, my companions and I look forward to speaking to Most Revered High Magus Clovis. We were intending to call at the Palace ourselves. I was going to change clothes first, drape myself in black, but if you don't think there's time—”

“The King is expecting you, my lord,” said the commander.

“Then far be it for me to keep the King waiting,” said Shadamehr. “He probably wants his afternoon nap. I'll just explain to my friends what's happening. These elves don't speak our language. Unless you would rather tell them, Commander?”

“You go ahead, my lord. I don't speak elvish,” said the officer.

Damra and Griffith caught on quickly. Shadamehr turned to them and they regarded him expectantly.

“It seems we're being arrested,” he said in Tomagi. “I'm telling you that we're being taken to see the King, so if you could just smile and nod. That's it. Someone saw us riding in and took the trouble to report our arrival. The regent has asked these guardsmen
to escort myself, the Trevenici and you two elves to the Palace. What does that tell you?”

“I'm not sure,” said Damra cautiously.

“Who knows you have the elven Sovereign Stone? Who knows the Trevenici carries the blood knife? That's it, just smile and nod.”

“The Vrykyl,” Griffith said grimly.

“I fancy that's the case. We know that Vrykyl infiltrated the courts of Dunkarga and the Tromek. My guess is that one or maybe more have infiltrated this court—”

“Baron Shadamehr,” said the officer, starting to grow impatient, “we are expected—”

“Yes, yes. Takes a bit longer to explain things to elves, you know. All the formalities one has to go through. We've just barely made it through discussing the weather.”

Shadamehr turned back to the elves. “The King's been murdered—”

“Murdered!” Damra was aghast.

“Smile and nod, smile and nod. Not a doubt of it. The King was a hale and hearty man in his late thirties. He died in his sleep of his heart stopping. The same way you would have died, Damra of Gwyenoc, if Silwyth had not kept you from eating the soup.”

“I see.” Damra forgot about smiling and nodding. She cast the officer a dark glance. “Why are we going along with this, then?”

“Because,” said Shadamehr, “there is an army of ten thousand monsters sweeping down on this city and an eight-year-old child in charge. I hope to find someone who will listen to us and heed our warning. And, if we can discover this Vrykyl and dispose of him, so much the better. Are you both with me?”

“We are, my lord,” said Damra.

Griffith smiled and nodded.

Shadamehr grinned and turned to the officer. “My elven friends profess themselves to be overcome with rapture at meeting the regent. I mean, the King.”

“I should think they would be,” said the commander. He cast Shadamehr a sharp glance and gave his men a terse order to take up their positions.

Shadamehr mounted his horse. Jessan mounted his. He cast a quick glance around the crowd, searching for his friend and the Grandmother, but he couldn't find them. Suddenly a woman broke through the crowd, hurled herself at Shadamehr.

“Baron! I adore you!” Alise cried, reaching up to hand him a rose.

“Of course you do, my dear,” said Shadamehr. Leaning down to take the flower, he said in an undertone, “Find the pecwae.”

“The pecwae!” Alise gasped.

“Yes, I seem to have misplaced them.”

“How did you—”

“Here, now, enough of that, you froward hussy,” said the commander, edging his horse in between the two of them. He glowered at Alise. “And you a magus!” he stated, shocked.

At the officer's orders, the cavalry unit closed in around Shadamehr, moved him and the others off at a swift pace.

“How the devil did you lose the pecwae?” Alise asked his retreating back.

He glanced over his shoulder. Raising the rose to his lips, he kissed it, and then tucked it rakishly behind one ear.

“Rot in hell,” Alise called after him.

“I love you, too!” he shouted.

A
lise stood in the middle of the street, looking put-upon, disgruntled and worried.

“What's up?” Ulaf asked, bringing along the rest of Shadamehr's retinue. “What did he say?”

Alise waved her hand disgustedly in the direction of the disappearing Shadamehr. “He's lost the pecwae.”

“The pecwae?” Ulaf repeated, glancing down at the pavement, as if he might find them underfoot.

“I think he did it on purpose, so they wouldn't be taken prisoner, but he didn't have to be so bloody efficient about it,” Alise said. “I don't see hide nor hair of them and they shouldn't be hard to spot, what with the Grandmother in that bell-ringing, stone-clicking skirt of hers.”

“They're timid and shy, and they're in a strange city where they don't know their way. They—”

“And one's carrying the Sovereign Stone,” Alise interrupted, sighing. “They were probably scared out of their wits by the soldiers.”

Ulaf looked grave. “I was about to say that, being timid and shy, they wouldn't go far, but if they're frightened they might just start
running and keep on running. And they're fast as rabbits, even the old one. How long have they been gone? When did you last see them? Anyone?”

He looked at the group of Shadamehr's people gathered around. They shook their heads. No one could recall.

“They were with us when we rode in the gate, but that's the last I remember seeing them,” Alise said. “If they took off at the first sign of trouble…” She glanced at the sun that was high in the sky, nearing noontime. “Then it's been about an hour. For all we know, they might have run back out the gate.”

“Bloody hell,” said Ulaf with feeling. “I'll organize search parties. Everyone knows the pecwae by sight, that will be some help. We'll divide up the city in grids working from the gate inward. I'll send a team outside and alert the orks down by the waterfront.”

“One of us will have to keep watch on the palace. That's where Shadamehr's been taken for an ‘interview' with the regent. I'll do that,” Alise offered.

“And someone's got to go to the Temple of the Magi and alert Rigiswald. He's in the great library boning up on the Sovereign Stone.”

“I guess I'll have to do that, too,” Alise said, adding with a harassed look, “It's just like Shadamehr to go and get himself arrested and leave us to do his dirty work.”

“Cheer up,” said Ulaf soothingly, patting her on the shoulder. “Maybe this time they'll hang him.”

“That must be the hope that guides me,” Alise said. “Everyone have his penny whistle?”

Reaching into her chemise, she drew out a small, bright silver flute attached to a silver chain. The rest of the group exhibited their own whistles. When placed to the lips, the whistle produced an unmistakable sharp, piercing screech that could be heard for blocks. Shadamehr's people used them routinely to contact each other in emergency situations. Ulaf split up the group, assigning each person to a different district and area in the city.

“You all know the signals,” said Ulaf in conclusion. “Whistle
only if you need help. Headquarters is the Tubby Tabby in Miller's Alley. Remember, the pecwae are probably frightened and confused, so be gentle. Don't scare them. And don't go asking about for them. We don't want to announce their presence in the city if we can help it.”

Everyone nodded and took off, each heading for his or her own particular location.

“How do you think Shadamehr's going to get out of this one?” Alise asked Ulaf as he was about to depart.

“The gods know,” said Ulaf with a smile and a shrug.

“About Shadamehr?” Alise said, amused. “You must be joking.”

 

Shadamehr was right. There were Vrykyl in the city of New Vinnengael. One of them, Jedash, stood not far from the baron, observed his arrest.

Following his failure to capture the dwarf, Jedash was hauled before Shakur to answer why he should be permitted to continue his wretched existence. Jedash responded sullenly that Shakur's orders were to apprehend a lone dwarf, not a dwarf being guarded by a fire dragon.

Jedash explained his difficulty in tracking the dwarf, how he was never quite able to catch him. He knew now that he had been thwarted by the Trevenici woman, Ranessa, who was really a dragon in disguise. Dragons are powerful in magic, some more powerful than a Vrykyl. Having no orders concerning the dragon, and not willing to take on a dragon single-handed, Jedash had deemed it best to immediately depart the premises and report back to his commander.

Much as Shakur would have liked to consign Jedash forever to the Void, that power belonged only to Prince Dagnarus and Shakur was loath to draw his lord's attention to yet another failure. Jedash escaped with a reprimand and was sent to New Vinnengael, there to await orders. Jedash was pleased with this assignment, for New Vinnengael was a large city with an immense population, a city where the body of a drunkard discovered in an alley with a stab wound to the heart was not considered anything out of the ordinary.
Jedash fed well and occupied his time pleasantly. Then Shakur arrived and Jedash was forced to go to work.

Jedash's assignment was to remain by the front gate, day and night, and keep watch for an elven Dominion Lord traveling in the company of a Trevenici and two pecwae. The Vrykyl did as commanded, taking on the varied images of his many victims so that he did not draw attention to himself. He might be three different people in any one day, from a fat merchant to a flirting whore to a shambling peasant. He had no idea what Shakur was doing. Needless to say, Jedash was not in Shakur's confidence these days.

Jedash didn't care. He was not ambitious, but he did want to avoid the Void, wanted to keep the right to wield his blood knife and continue his survival. Aware that he was on probation, he hoped for a way to prove himself to Lord Dagnarus. Jedash had been at his post only a few days and had not even started to grow bored with his duty when the Baron and his party arrived. Jedash saw the messenger ride off in haste to the palace and observed the subsequent arrest in disappointment, thinking that his job was over.

Then he noted something. His instructions had been to find one elven Dominion Lord, one Trevenici and two pecwae. The Dominion Lord and the Trevenici were hauled off, but the guards had not taken the two pecwae. Jedash saw the two hover on the outskirts of the crowd, keeping watch to see what happened to their friends. When the soldiers escorted Shadamehr away, the two pecwae took to their heels.

Intrigued, Jedash followed after the pecwae. They did not move as if they were frightened. Quite the contrary. From the purposeful way the elder pecwae walked and the interested manner in which she pointed out the sights, she might have been bringing her grandson home for a visit. After trailing them for several blocks, Jedash clasped his hand over the bone knife and imparted this information to Shakur.

“Bring them to me,” was the command.

“My pleasure,” said Jedash.

 

The Temple of the Magi and the Royal Palace stood across from each other in the exact center of New Vinnengael. The Temple was
designed to impress the viewer with the notion that this complex of buildings was the repository of the gods' power on earth, the holy and the ethereal made manifest. The Royal Palace was designed to impress the viewer with the idea that this single building was the center of man's power on earth, the temporal and the political made manifest.

Other races might and did quibble with this idea. The orks believed that the gods resided in Mount Sa'Gra. The Nimoreans saw the gods in every living thing. The elves scorned to think of the gods as being confined to a building of stone. But even the most inveterate detractor of New Vinnengael could not but feel awe at the magnificence of these structures. If nothing else, they were a testament to the creativity of mankind, to his love of beauty and his aching need to represent that love.

The centerpiece of the Temple complex was the temple itself, a building whose every line drew the eye to heaven. Tall spires pierced the clouds. Flying buttresses carried the earthbound dreams of man upward in graceful arches to the spires, that carried them to heaven. Huge double doors of beaten gold stood always open, day and night, to permit the worshipful to enter.

The University, the House of Healers, the Bibliotheca, and other buildings dealing with the workings and teachings of the magi were located behind the temple, amidst beautiful flowering gardens.

Directly across from the Temple was the Palace, an immense building formed in the shape of a crescent moon with its wings extending toward the Temple, as if to embrace it, yet never quite touching. Meant to give the impression of stable solidity, there were no fanciful, delicate spires on the palace, but thick, solid walls. The entire front of the building was a columned portico.

A favorite pastime of children and visitors was to try to count the number of columns. For some reason that could never be satisfactorily explained, the count either came out one thousand four hundred and ninety-nine columns or one thousand five hundred. The mystery of the vanishing column was one of the wonders of New Vinnengael. Treatises had been written on the subject by experts,
who spoke of optical illusions or the position of the sun or the movement of shadows depending on the world's alignment with the stars. Each theory had its advocate, who could often be heard explaining the pet theory to visitors.

The Palace stood seven stories high with seven rows of seven hundred crystal windows that looked out to the east on one side and the west on the other. When the sun set, the light struck the myriad windows with a blaze of fire, so that one was nearly blinded by the sight. The banner of Vinnengael flew at the highest point on the palace, with the banners of its subject city-states ranged around it. All banners flew at half-mast this day, in honor of the death of the King.

Unlike the Temple, the palace was not open to all and sundry, for the political center of the Empire must be protected. When the Palace was first built, there had been thoughts of surrounding it with a high stone wall, but what is the use of building a marvelous structure if no one can see it? The Palace Guard had decided upon a fence made of twisted wrought iron topped by spikes, a fence that surrounded the entire palace and its gardens, front and back, and was enhanced by magical spells to repel any invading force. The Royal Guard mounted duty at the Palace Gate. Visitors gaped through the wrought-iron bars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young King and trying to count the columns.

The Royal Cavalry handed off their prisoners to the Royal Palace Guard with dispatch and efficiency. The prisoners dismounted, their horses were led away to the stables. The cavalry officer saluted the Baron and the two elves, who smiled and nodded. The visitors, enthralled by the sight of the elves, clustered as near as they could, which wasn't very near, due to the guards, who hustled the party through the gate with alacrity.

Some know-it-all pronounced that these were representatives of the elf king coming to give homage to the young King and everyone immediately believed it.

The guards marched the prisoners across a courtyard that seemed as wide as the Sea of Redesh to Jessan. The palace was an enormous stone monster, its maw gaping wide, showing one thousand
five hundred teeth and a myriad, gleaming eyes. At the thought of being swallowed up by this dreadful place, his steps faltered, his hands grew cold and clammy.

A longing for the silent, snow-filled forests, for the safe, warm, musky darkness of his uncle's hut filled Jessan's soul. He had borne with stoic fortitude the broken fingers of his hand, but this pain of longing for his home was too wrenching. Hot tears filled his eyes.

A hand gripped Jessan's arm.

“Steady, warrior,” said Shadamehr. “You've done well so far, but you're about to face your greatest challenge. Quite likely, there's a Vrykyl in here, waiting for us. We don't know which one of these people it might be, although I have an idea. You must keep your nerve, watch me and act on my signal. Can you do that?”

Shadamehr regarded Jessan with confidence. Damra, walking on the other side of Shadamehr, smiled at Jessan. He realized suddenly that these strange people considered him an equal and his longing and his fears vanished.

“I understand,” Jessan said softly. “What do you want me to do?”

“You're doing fine, so far,” said Shadamehr with a grin. “Continue to act the part of the gawking rube and they'll discount you completely. They're going to take our weapons, once we're inside the palace. They won't find the blood knife, will they?”

Jessan shook his head, grateful to the man for crediting him with play-acting, when Shadamehr must have known Jessan's fears were very real.

“No, I guessed it had ways of keeping itself to itself. It's my thinking that the Vrykyl believes you carry the Sovereign Stone. Keep the Vrykyl thinking that, if you can. How's your hand? Can you use it?”

Jessan wiggled the fingers. “Stiff, but I can manage. What about Bashae and the Grandmother?”

“I have my people searching for them. They'll find them and keep them safe. Don't worry. Once we're finished here”—Shadamehr spoke blithely, as though they were going to have tea and crumpets and then depart—“we'll go retrieve them.”

“And then what?” Jessan asked.

He'd been looking forward to reaching New Vinnengael, to getting rid of this Stone and the terrible burden he bore. Now that was impossible, or so it seemed. He began to think that he must carry the burden forever.

“One step at a time,” said Shadamehr. “One foot in front of the other. One breath to the next.”

“All is in the hands of the gods,” said Damra.

“Good lord, I hope things aren't as bad as that,” said Shadamehr.

The Royal Guards marched their prisoners across the stone paved courtyard. Eventually, after what seemed a journey of several days to Jessan, they reached the palace. They did not enter by the huge formal doors. Made of silver, the doors were opened only on special occasions. The last time had been just a week ago, to permit the coffin of the King to be carried out of the palace in solemn procession across to the Temple.