A Darkness at Sethanon (11 page)

Arutha stood
silently by the entrance to the inner sanctum of the Temple of
Lims-Kragma. Armed guards surrounded the antechamber while temple
guards in the black and silver garb of their order filled the inner
temple. Seven priests and priestesses stood arrayed in formal attire,
as if for a high ceremony, under the supervision of the High Priest,
Julian. At first the High Priest had been disinclined to participate
in this charade, but as his predecessor had been driven past the
brink of insanity by confronting the agent of Murmandamus, he was
sympathetic to any attempts to balk that evil. Reluctantly he had
agreed at the last.

The prisoners
were herded forward, toward the dark entrance. Most held back and had
to be shoved by spear-wielding soldiers. The first band contained
those judged most likely to be members of the brotherhood of
assassins. Arutha had grudgingly agreed to this sham, but had
insisted on having all suspected of being Nighthawks in the first
batch to be ‘tested’, in case the deception was revealed
and word leaked back to the other prisoners being held.

When the
reluctant prisoners were arraigned before the altar of the Goddess of
Death, Julian intoned, “Let the trial commence.” At once
the attending priests, priestesses, and monks began a chant, one that
carried a dark and chilling tone.

Turning to the
fifty or so men held by the silent temple guards, the High Priest
said, “Upon the altar stone of death, no man may speak
falsehood. For before She Who Waits, before the Drawer of Nets,
before the Lover of Life, all men must swear to what they have done.
Know then, men of Krondor, that among your number are those who have
rejected our mistress, those who have enlisted in the ranks of
darkness and who serve evil powers. They are men who are lost to the
grace of death, to the final rest granted by Lims-Kragma. These men
are despisers of all, holding only to their evil master’s will.
Now they shall be separated from us. For each who lies upon the stone
of the Goddess of Death will be tested, and each who speaks true will
have nothing to fear. But those who have sworn dark compacts will be
revealed and they shall face the wrath of She Who Waits.”

The statue
behind the altar, a jet stone likeness of a beautiful, stern-looking
woman, began to glow, to pulse with strange blue-green lights. Jimmy
was impressed, as he looked on with Laurie. The effect added a strong
sense of drama to the moment.

Julian motioned
for the first prisoner to be brought forward and the man was half
dragged to the altar. Three strong guards lifted him up onto the
altar, used ages past for human sacrifice, and Julian pulled a black
dagger from his sleeve. Holding it over the man’s chest, Julian
asked simply, “Do you serve Murmandamus?”

The man barely
croaked out a reply in the negative and Julian removed the dagger
from over the man. “This man is free of guilt,” intoned
the priest. Jimmy and Laurie exchanged glances, for the man was one
of Trevor Hull’s sailors, ragged and rough looking in the
extreme, but above suspicion and, judging from the performance just
given, not a mean actor. He had been planted to lend credibility to
the proceedings, as had the second man, who was now being dragged to
the altar. He sobbed piteously, yelling to be left alone, begging for
mercy.

Behind an
upraised hand, Jimmy said, “He’s overdoing it.”

Laurie
whispered, “It doesn’t matter; the room stinks with
fear.”

Jimmy regarded
the assembled prisoners, who stared with fascination at the
proceedings while the second man was judged innocent of being an
assassin. Now the guards grabbed the first man to be truly tested. He
had the half-captivated look of a bird confronting a snake and was
led quickly to the altar. When four other men were led without
protest, Arutha crossed to stand next to Laurie and Jimmy. Shielding
them from the gaze of the prisoners by turning his back on the
proceedings, he whispered, “This isn’t going to work.”

Jimmy said, “We
may not have dragged a Nighthawk up there yet. Give it time. If
everyone comes through the test, you still have them all under
guard.”

Suddenly a man
near the front of the prisoners made a dash for the door, knocking
aside two temple guards. At once Arutha’s guards at the door
blocked his exit. The man hurled himself at them, forcing the guards
back. In the scramble he reached for a dagger and attempted to strip
it from a guard’s belt. His hand was struck, and the dagger
skittered freely across the floor, while another guard smashed him
across the face with the haft of a spear. The man dropped to the
stone floor.

Jimmy, like the
others, was intent upon the attempt to restrain the man. Then, as if
time slowed, he saw another prisoner calmly bend over and pick up the
dagger. With cool purpose the man stood, turned, reversed the dagger,
and held the blade between thumb and forefinger. He pulled back his
arm, and, as Jimmy’s mouth opened to shout a warning, he threw
the dagger.

Jimmy sprang
forward to knock Arutha aside, but he was a moment too late. The
dagger struck. A priest cried, “Blasphemy!” at the
attack. Then all looked toward the Prince. Arutha staggered, his eyes
widening with astonishment as he stared down at the blade protruding
from his chest. Laurie and Jimmy both caught his arms, holding him
up. Arutha looked at Jimmy, his mouth moving silently as if trying to
speak were the most difficult task imaginable. Then his eyes rolled
up into his head and he slumped forward, still held up by Laurie and
Jimmy.

Jimmy sat
quietly while Roald paced the room. Carline sat opposite the boy,
lost in her own thoughts. They waited outside Arutha’s
bedchamber while Father Nathan and the royal chirurgeon worked
feverishly to save Arutha’s life. Nathan had showed no regard
for rank as he had ordered everyone out of Arutha’s room,
refusing even to let Carline glimpse her brother. At first Jimmy had
judged the wound serious but not fatal. He had seen men survive
worse, but now the time was dragging on and the young man began to
fret. By now Arutha should have been resting quietly, but there had
been no word from within his chambers. Jimmy feared this meant
complications.

He closed his
eyes and rubbed at them a moment, sighing aloud. Again he had acted,
but too late to stave off disaster. Fighting back his own feelings of
guilt, he was startled when a voice next to him said, “Don’t
blame yourself.”

He looked to
find Carline had moved to sit beside him. With a faint smile he said,
“Reading minds, Duchess?”

She shook her
head, fighting back tears. “No. I just remembered how hard you
took it when Anita was injured.”

Jimmy could only
nod. Laurie came in and crossed to the door of the bedchamber to
speak quietly to the guard. The guard quickly entered and returned a
moment later, whispering an answer. Laurie went over to his wife,
kissed her lightly on the cheek, and said, “I’ve
dispatched riders to fetch Anita back and lifted the quarantine.”
As senior noble in the city, Laurie had assumed a position of
authority, working with Volney and Gardan to restore order to a city
in turmoil. While the crisis was likely over, certain restraints were
kept in force, to prevent any backlash from angry citizens. Curfew
would stay in effect for a few more days, and large gatherings would
be dispersed.

Laurie spoke
softly. “I’ve more duties to discharge. I’ll be
back shortly.” He rose and left the antechamber. Time dragged
on.

Jimmy remained
lost in thought. In the short time he had been with the Prince his
world had changed radically. From street boy and thief to squire had
entailed a complete shift in attitudes toward others, though some
vestige of his former wariness had stood him in good stead when
dealing with court intrigue. Still, the Prince and his family and
friends had become the only people in Jimmy’s life who meant
something to the boy, and he feared for them. His disquiet had grown
in proportion to the passing hours and now bordered on alarm. The
ministrations of the chirurgeon and the priest were taking far too
long. Jimmy knew something was very wrong.

Then the door
opened and a guard was motioned inside. He appeared a moment later,
hurrying down the hall. In short order, Laurie, Gardan, Valdis, and
Volney were back before the door. Without taking her eyes from the
closed portal, Car line reached out and clutched at Jimmy’s
hand. Jimmy glanced over and was startled to see her eyes brimming
with tears. With dread certainty, the young man knew what was
happening.

The door opened
and a white-faced Nathan appeared. He looked around the room and
began to speak, but halted, as if the words were too difficult to
utter. At last he simply said, “He’s dead.”

Jimmy couldn’t
contain himself. He sprang from the bench and pushed past those
before the door, not recognizing his own voice crying, “No!”
The guards were too startled to react as the young squire forced his
way into Arutha’s chamber. There he halted, for upon the bed
was the unmistakable form of the Prince. Jimmy hurried to his side
and studied the still features. He reached out to touch the Prince,
but his hand halted scant inches from Arutha’s face. Jimmy
didn’t need to touch him to know without doubt that the man on
the bed, whose features were so familiar, was indeed dead. Jimmy
lowered his head to the bed quilting, hiding his eyes as he began to
weep.

T
omas
awoke.

Something had
called to him. He sat up and looked about in the dark, his more than
human eyes showing him each detail of his room as if it were
twilight. The apartment of the Queen and her consort was small,
carved from the living bole of a mighty tree. Nothing appeared amiss.
For an instant he felt fear that his mad dreams of yesterday were
returning, then as wakefulness fully came to him, he dismissed that
fear. In this place, above all others, he was master of his powers.
Still, old terrors often sprang unexpectedly to the mind.

Tomas regarded
his wife. Aglaranna slept soundly. Then he was on his feet, moving to
where Calis lay. Almost two years old now, the boy slept in an alcove
adjoining his parents’ quarters. The little Prince of Elvandar
slept soundly, his face a mask of repose.

Then the call
came again. And Tomas knew who called him. Instead of being reassured
by the source of that call, Tomas felt a strange sense of fate. He
crossed to where his white and gold armour hung. He had worn this
raiment only once since the end of the Riftwar, to destroy the Black
Slayers who had crossed into Elvandar. But now he knew it was time to
wear battle garb again.

Silently he took
down the armour and carried it outside. The summer’s night was
heavy with fragrance as blossoms filled the air with gentle scents,
mingled with the preparations of elven bakers for the next day’s
meals.

Under the green
canopy of Elvandar, Tomas dressed. Over his undertunic and trousers
he drew on the golden chain-mail coat and coif. The white tabard with
the golden dragon followed. He buckled on his golden sword and picked
up his white shield then donned his golden helm.

For a long
moment he stood again mantled in the attire of Ashen-Shugar, last of
the Valheru, the Dragon Lords. A mystic legacy that crossed time
bound them together, and in odd ways Tomas was as much Valheru as
human. His basic nature was that of a man raised by his father and
mother in the kitchen of Castle Crydee, but his powers were clearly
more than human. The armour no longer held that power; it had been
but a conduit fashioned by the sorcerer Macros the Black, who had
conspired to have Tomas inherit the ancient powers of the Valheru.
Now they resided in Tomas, but he still felt somehow lessened when he
forwent the gold and white armour.

He closed his
eyes and, with arts long unused, willed himself to travel to where
his caller awaited.

Golden light
enveloped Tomas and suddenly, faster than the eye could apprehend, he
flew through the trees of the elven forest. Past unsuspecting elven
sentries he sped, until he reached a large clearing far to the
northwest of the Queen’s court. Then he again stood in
corporeal form, seeking the author of the call to him. From out of
the trees a black-robed man approached, one whose face was familiar
to Tomas. When the short figure had reached him, the two embraced,
for they had been foster brothers as children.

Tomas said,
“This is a strange reunion, Pug. I knew your call like a
signature, but why this magic? Why not simply come to our home?”

“We need
to speak in private. I have been away.”

“So Arutha
reported last summer. He said you stayed upon the Tsurani world to
discover some cause behind these dark attacks by Murmandamus.”

“I have
learned things over the last year, Tomas.” He led Tomas to a
fallen tree and they sat upon the trunk. “I am certain now,
beyond doubt, that what stands behind Murmandamus is what the Tsurani
know as the Enemy, an ancient thing of awesome abilities. That
terrible entity seeks entrance to our world and manipulates the
moredhel and their allies - toward what particular ends I do not
know. How a moredhel army gathering or assassins killing Arutha can
aid the Enemy’s entrance into our space-time is beyond my
understanding.” For a moment he fell into a reflective mood.
“So many things I still don’t understand, despite my
learning. I almost came to an end to my searching in the library of
the Assembly, save for one thing.” Looking at his boyhood
friend, he seemed possessed by a deep urgency. “What I found in
the library was barely a hint, but it led me to the far north of
Kelewan, to a fabulous place beneath the polar ice.

“I have
lived for the last year in Elvardein.”

Tomas blinked in
confusion. “Elvardein? That means . . . “elvenrefuge”,
as Elvandar means “elvenhome”. Who . . .?”