Dreams of Darkness Rising (52 page)

Orla rose in anger at this affront. “Twice now you have spoken ill of a knightly order. I can not believe such irreverent twaddle of an order as ancient as my own, especially from one with such brazen regard for attire.”

“And that’s twice you’ve interrupted me. I’d suggest when you have something useful to contribute then speak up; otherwise I’d confine your opinions to events that happen east of Midlund, like most Eerians I’ve ever met do.”

Orla stepped forward in anger but before Hunor and Jem could rise Master Ten was stood between them. His short arms were raised in a sign of peace.

“Fury is the fuel of the dark paths,” Mek-ik-Ten said. “It has no place in this house of peace. Lady Orla, you would do well to listen, for I sense this tale shall send ripples across the pond of this world that may be felt even in the distant shores of Coonor—a place normally insensate to such tidings. You would do me dishonour as my guest if you embrace anger not wisdom.

“Speak now, Marthir, for your story is the crossroads of our days. Do not be distracted by your desires to fight battles that are not your concern.”

“Please accept my apology,” Marthir said. “The book was about Erturia and it dated back to the House of Valgansi during the Artorian Empire.”

“Erturia? The dead city? I thought that was totalled along with the rest of the Wastes two hundred years ago?” Hunor said.

“It was and that’s what made it strange for them to want this old book. In truth, I was shaken by the whole thing and made my way back to South Artoria and the Forest. The Druid council were as intrigued as I about these dark knights and their interest in Erturia.

“Over the next few years I was involved in gaining greater amounts of information about these black knights. None of them have ever been captured so it’s mainly from rumour and supposition. They are based, we think, in an old Imperial—that’s second Empire—fort in the Wastes. Their particular hatred for nature and life makes me think they are tied in some way to the Dukes of the Pale.”

“This combination of acid in their armour and white fire projectiles –the technology they employ is fascinating,” Jem said.

“Devilish more like. Anyway, about four months back I was called to the Druid council. They were particularly concerned that they had sensed a major disruption in the earth power in north-east Artoria and given the proximity of the dark knights they suspected evil was afoot. The council had already attempted to raise concerns with Queen Hirga in Keresh—via her daughter—but she was loath to take action in what is effectively North Artoria. King Liisar and his decadent court in Belgo would be a lost cause so the council didn’t even bother to try. Their conclusion was to send three missions north, one to spy on the fort, one to gain information on what the knights were doing in the mountains and the third to travel through the Wastes to Erturia.

“I volunteered for the third, given my knowledge of the Wastes from our days foraging in that cursed land. To my surprise they accepted my offer though when I explained that I wished to choose a group of mainly non-druids I thought I had pushed my luck too far, as ever.

“I took Ygris, Kervin, Ograk, my acolyte—Ebfir Greeneye—and Iogar, an Artorian warrior who knew Ograk. A good group for the task, I thought. It seems I was…wrong,” Marthir sighed, emotion in her voice.

“What happened in Erturia then Marthir? We know Kervin and you came out but what about old bead-beard Ygris and Ograk the miserable?” Hunor asked.

“Erturia was full of dark knights. They were digging in the centre of the city, where the Emperor’s palace was. Yet I don’t think they dug for the main ruins, they seemed to be going deeper. It seems that there was an older palace.”

“That’s correct,” Jem said. “The first palace was torn apart in the coup that killed Stelfan II. The Emperor’s eldest son had got involved with dark magic, to his own doom.”

“Well the doom has returned, Jem. The knights were meeting with a dark wizard called Xirik—I say wizard, when I mean ghast,” Marthir said, her voice shaking.

A chill flowed through the room. All were stunned into silence by the statement until Orla said, “A ghast? A vampyr lord? I thought them a tale for children and superstitious peasants.”

“No...no fairytales in what I witnessed. He annihilated our team and took Kervin, Ygris and Ograk captive. I was left, thought dead and that was Xirik’s only error.”

“What did this Xirik want in Erturia?” Jem asked.

“That was soon to become apparent. On the fourth day they exhumed the bones of a man, adorned in a rich purple robe that had somehow not rotted in the ground. The air stank of evil as they brought them forth.

“I knew I had little time to free my comrades. I got into the Halls of Justice where they had them prisoner but I found only Ygris and Kervin. It transpired they needed fresh blood for their ritual.

“The three of us were on the roof of the Halls when we saw poor Ograk die. More blood than I thought any body could hold,” Marthir said. Tears were now running down her cheeks. “And from the bones rose a terrible white faced man, hair as black as night, lips as red as a rose.”

“Vildor,” said a voice from the far side of the room.

All heads turned as Emelia entered, her face ashen despite the comforting warmth of the room.

“Aye, it was Vildor,” Marthir said. “Back from the dead.”

***

Sat at the edge of the smooth circular living chamber Orla noted how Emelia’s arrival had subtly altered the dynamics in the room. The girl sat by the central fire pit. Jem was sat by her side, a move that seemed to draw unwarranted attention from Marthir. On Emelia’s far side the small Galvorian monk had moved and he now sat munching on what seemed to be pebbles.

Orla surveyed Marthir, who was talking in hushed tones with Hunor. She caught a glance at one stage from him; he threw her his trademark smile, which Orla was certain would charm any passing peasant girl. The knight felt isolated, both physically and mentally from this group.

Moreover, and she was most troubled to admit this, both Emelia’s and Marthir’s outbursts had wounded her far more effectively than any sword thrust. The druid she had little respect for: the woman was clearly liberal in her sexual morality and the practices of those who worshipped the earth goddess were infamous, at least according to the sombre priests of Torik. But Emelia was a different matter. Agreeably the girl was an absconded servant and were she being completely, well, Eerian about it her opinion would count less than a griffon’s. But she had developed a respect for the girl over the past few weeks and in doing so felt stranded between two worlds. The more she reflected, the more morose she became and the more she began to doubt her own heritage, her own culture. And those screams, the screams from years before always came back at times like these.

***

Whilst Orla sat wrapped in thought Emelia picked at the potato and sage dish that Master Mek-ik-Ten had given her.

“You’re certain you feel able to sit through here, Emelia?” Jem asked.

“I’m fine, Jem, really. My shoulder aches like a demon, which I suppose is rather ironic. Yet I’ve not slept so undisturbed in weeks,” Emelia said.

“The sanctuary is shrouded in wards and bolstered by the peace of the minds within,” Master Ten said. “Speak to me now of Vildor.”

“I’m not sure how to explain, Master Ten. I sort of visited his dreams at first then he began coming into mine.”

“You mean you dream of him?” Jem asked.

“No. It’s more than that. He is in my dreams. Independently. We interact, as if we were meeting in real life. But I have this feeling that he’s constantly trying to entrance me, to …seduce me somehow.”

Jem looked at Mek-ik-Ten with alarm.

“H-how is it happening? Why is it me?” Emelia said.

“It is you because in this world there are those whom events of import gravitate to. In the way iron fragments will drift to a magnet or bees to the flower the forces of this world swirl around you Emelia,” Mek-ik-Ten said.

“But why now?” Emelia said. Panic was clawing at her and she could feel an increasing desire to flee. She could sense Lady Orla glaring with hatred at her.

“These dreams of Vildor have only been with you since we were taken from Azagunta, am I correct? As I told you before, Master, Emelia had had a strange encounter with a Dark-mage in the cemetery.”

“He was using some black stone for his magic until I challenged him. I could feel the dark sorcery in the gem when I held it,” Emelia said.

 Master Ten rose and ambled across the chamber, deep in thought. He exited through one of the room’s three doors. Emelia sighed and rested her head against Jem’s shoulder.

Master Ten re-entered and returned to his place by the fire pit. In his hand was a large amethyst covered in runes and suspended on a leather thong. He placed the pendant in Emelia’s hands.

“Now empty your mind of its clutter. Block out the chatter of Hunor and the scents of the potatoes and the charcoal. Hear nought but your heartbeat, slow and steady, thudding its rhythm of life.”

Emelia did as she was bidden, feeling fatigue slip over here like a warm blanket on a winter’s night. In her mind was a red haze and the thump of blood was loud in her ears. Then, gradually, an image began to form, coalescing out of the warm fuzziness: a warren of tunnels and caves; caverns with roofs dwarfing the mightiest temples of man; Galvorians stumping through the gloom, chatting in their scraping tongue. The images progressed: a marketplace in a cave, with gems and stones and long enamel pipes; a Galvorian child easing past a stall and deftly taking a pendant whilst the trader bartered with a priest.

“You stole this. As a child in the depths of Orio,” Emelia said.

“It is past time we discussed this treasure of yours,” Master Ten said.

Jem, looking a little baffled, reached into his cloak and brought out the crystal. It seemed to light from within and Emelia was taken back to that day in the Keep when she had first seen the stone.

Hunor and Marthir stopped talking and stared at the glowing blue light.

“There’s something familiar about that stone,” Marthir said.

Kervin entered the chamber and made his way self-consciously to sit by Emelia, with the look of a man who had interrupted a show half way through an act.

“How’re you doing?” Kervin asked with a wink.

“Feeling out of my depth, thanks,” she replied.

Jem looked uncomfortable as Kervin nudged Emelia then, clearing his throat, said, “The master feels and I must say I concur that it is past time to discuss this crystal.

“I am uncertain as to the exact nature of this crystal that has found its way, through routes best not elaborated, into our possession. I would suppose on reflection that some—the late Ekra-Hurr included—regarded it as a likely part of a prism of power. Such are the wards on it that even the deftest researchers are likely to remain uncertain, unless they have the skills to wield it.

“That curiosity is largely academic. We know that the Dark-mages seek it and that Vildor, one of the most feared mages of the past, covets it also. Whatever his plan and purpose I think it can be assumed it will be dire. My question to you my friends is where do we take it?”

“To state the obvious, I would say return the crystal to where it was taken from. Coonor in Eeria,” Lady Orla said.

“It should go to the council of Druids,” Marthir said. “They are the most objective and the wisest.”

“Have we considered that it could be used as a weapon against Vildor?” Kervin said. “If we can harness its energy then we could take the fight to him. Let’s take it to Queen Hirga in South Artoria. The fools in Belgo would have to listen to us then.”

“Have you all lost your minds?” Hunor said, shaking his head. “The last time I heard such quality judgement was when the Bulian guild of fire-eaters decided to hold their annual get together in a cellar full of neat whisky. What can we do against the minions of an ancient sorcerer? We should ditch this crystal in the lap of someone more capable: the Goldorian knights or something.”

Jem looked from one to the other and then turned to Emelia. She looked up at his earnest face and felt a sense of destiny overtaking her.

“This isn’t a time for hiding, for cowering in the recesses of the mountains until Vildor recovers his powers enough to come and drag it from our dead hands,” Jem said. “This crystal has come to us for a reason. The Dark-mages need this stone for some purpose and we can suppose if they want one, they want them all. I say there is another path for us and it is this—we find the other crystals and reform a prism.”

The suggestion struck the room like a thunderclap. Emelia shook with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Even supposing we were insane enough to try this scheme of yours, old mate, there is a slight flaw in your plan,” Hunor said. “The different crystals are all scattered who knows where and enchanted to escape detection. And that’s if any of them even exist any more. It’d be like finding a straight man in Kokis.”

“As even within the condemned man who walks to his death there is a flicker of hope, so we may find ours in this room,” Master Mek-ik-Ten said.

“And cryptic analogy aside, where exactly in this room is the answer,” Hunor said.

Emelia’s insides dissolved into ice as the Galvorian monk turned to face her.

“Here is our answer. Emelia will show us the other crystals.”

Chapter 6    Death in the chapel

Blossomstide 1924

“I just feel that it’d be courteous for you to join us, given that he saved me from certain slaughter at the hands of those bandits,” Aldred said.

Baron Enfarson regarded him with annoyance, looking up from a table strewn with scrolls and papers.

“If you think I have nothing better to do than spend my time with a wandering thespian who happened upon your misfortune, then you know me little, boy,” the baron said.

“He is excellent company, Father.”

Baron Enfarson snorted and returned his attentions to his desk. The last strains of sunlight were sneaking through the window of the study. Flecks of dust pirouetted in the beams, rising to the arched ceiling.