Journey into the Void (13 page)

Most children are terrified of the black-clad figures who creep into their rooms at night and steal them from their beds. Such children must be calmed with spells, lulled into a magical sleep. Not Griffith. He knew the moment he woke and found the black-masked figures bending over him who they were and why they had come. He never spoke a word, but lifted up his arms to the man, who gave a smothered chuckle.

“We were right about you, I see,” he said, his words sliding softly through the black silken mask he wore over his face.

Strong arms clasped Griffith securely, bore him out of the bed he shared with his brothers, and took him to Ergil Amdissyn, the so-called floating castle that is the fortress of the Wyred. Griffith would not see his family for over eighteen years. When he was finally permitted to return, his elder brother told him bluntly that his father had been relieved to find that the Wyred had stolen away his effeminate son. This same elder brother, who was now head of the family, arranged a marriage for his younger sibling, but made it clear that Griffith was not welcome in the family home.

Griffith did not miss his family. They had given him two precious gifts: life and Damra, and he had repaid them for both by saving this very
elder brother from assassination. His family did not know the truth, of course, for the Wyred work their magic in secret. Griffith was glad they didn't. It was so much more fun to listen to his brother's tale of his heroic exploits and smile in secret, smug in the knowledge of what had really happened.

Griffith could still remember his first sight of Ergil Amdissyn. He did not know how long he rode, clasped in the strong arms of the Wyred mage, whose task it was to steal children gifted in magic. He remembered sleeping and waking and sleeping again, but whether it was one time or a hundred, he could not recall. The Wyred and his companions never spoke to the child, after that first comment, for one of the first teachings for a young mage is to learn to listen to the silence. Then, one morning, the Wyred roused Griffith from his slumbers and pointed a black-gloved hand.

The location of Ergil Amdissyn is a closely guarded secret of the Wyred, who swear never to reveal it on pain of dishonor, death, and imprisonment: dishonor for the House, death for the wizard, and eternal imprisonment of his soul in the terrible prison house of the dead. But it is not fear that has kept the tongues of the Wyred sealed for centuries. It is pride. Pride in themselves, pride in their work.

Ergil Amdissyn is a fortress built into the peak of a mountain of white granite. According to their history, the fortress was built for the Wyred by the legendary dragon Radamisstonsun, who, in return for a favor done for her by the Wyred, used her powerful Earth magic to carve the inside of the mountain into a fortress, hidden and impregnable.

Ergil Amdissyn does not truly float, but only appears to do so, as on the morning Griffith first saw it with the coming of a brilliant dawn. The mountain rose up from out of the cloud-covered waters of a lake fed by hot streams, so that steamy mists drift perpetually over the lake. It seemed to Griffith that the fortress floated on a fiery red-and-gold-tinged cloud. He stared in awe with the feeling that, at last, he had come home.

Griffith thrived in the strict and studious atmosphere of the Wyred schools, unlike some children, who could never get over their longing for home. Such children usually sickened and died, to be buried in the vaults beneath the mountain. Other children died during the schooling, for the training sessions were arduous and dangerous, meant to weed out the weak, both in mind and body. Those boys and girls who survived went on to become some of the most powerful and skilled magi in Loerem.

Unlike the Revered Brotherhood of the Temple of the Magi, the Wyred do not prohibit the use of Void magic. Although the elves abhor the Void, they understand that it has its place among the four elements, and they encourage their members to study it in order to be able the better to fight it. Some Wyred, such as Griffith, are allowed to choose to make the Void and those things pertaining to it a serious study. Griffith's area of expertise was centered on the Vrykyl, and his thoughts naturally drifted from nostalgic reminiscences of his years spent at Ergil Amdissyn to his studies of the Vrykyl and Shadamehr's dire news that the young king of New Vinnengael had been murdered and his body stolen by one of these foul creatures of the Void.

Griffith was musing on this, and, recalling that Shadamehr had been wounded in the palace, the elf thought that he could at last explain the cause of the Void taint that afflicted both Alise and Shadamehr. Feeling a soft touch upon his arm, he turned to see his wife.

“Do I interrupt you?” Damra asked.

“My thoughts were dark,” he said. “I am pleased to have them dispelled. How are you this morning? You spent a restless night. Were you troubled by disturbing dreams?”

“One might say I was troubled by a disturbing awakening,” said Damra ruefully. She did not stand close to the railing, as did her husband, but kept a wary distance, casting an uneasy glance at the rushing water that spread out in a wide V-shape from the bow.

“I wish you would step away from there, my love,” she added nervously. “I do not think it is safe.”

Griffith smiled to himself, but did as his wife asked. He walked back with her to the very center of the ship, drew her over to sit beside him on a wooden chest.

“Silwyth came to see me last night,” said Damra.

“Truly, that must have been a disturbing dream,” said Griffith.

“It was not a dream,” said Damra. “He was here, onboard the ship.”

“My dear—” Griffith began.

“I know it sounds crazy. I thought I was dreaming at first, but he spoke to me and put his hand on my wrist. He was as close to me and as real to me as you are right now.”

Griffith was dubious, perplexed. “I do not doubt you, my dear, but how—”

Damra shook her head. “His skin and clothes and hair were wet, so I assume he must have swum from the shore, but how he managed to elude the orks or find his way to me is a mystery I cannot explain. But then, Silwyth himself is a mystery. He was once Dagnarus's most loyal servant. If it were not for the fact that he freed you from the Shield's prison and gave into my keeping the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone, I would not…I do not…And yet…”

She halted, unable to express herself, and shrugged helplessly. “I know I'm not making any sense, but then nothing involved with Silwyth makes sense. And yet, it seems that I am supposed to trust him.”

Damra cast a sidelong glance at her husband.

Griffith smiled ruefully, and he shrugged. “What can I tell you, my dear? That he might be part of some elaborate conspiracy? That he has done all this to earn our trust with secret plans to destroy us?”

“The last seems most likely,” she said grimly.

“Why, what did he say to you?”

“That the power of the Void is ascendant,” said Shadamehr. “That no one can stop Dagnarus from gaining the Sovereign Stone, and when he does, he will rule the world as a demigod. That the only way to prevent this is to bring all four parts of the Sovereign Stone to the Portal of the Gods and there join them together. Am I right?”

Damra and Griffith looked up at him in astonishment.

“How did you know that?” Damra gasped.

“Because another of Dagnarus's servants told me the very same thing,” said Shadamehr gravely.

W
HO SPOKE TO YOU?” DAMRA ASKED, HER ASTONISHMENT
increasing.

“Dagnarus's Void sorcerer, Gareth.”

“Last night?”

“Yes, while I was asleep. I kept thinking it was a dream, but my dreams very rarely make sense. I show up naked in the royal court, tumble off bridges into ravines, or I'm chased by hordes of beautiful women, that sort of thing.”

“Are you never serious, Baron?” Damra demanded coldly.

“I'm serious about this,” said Shadamehr. “Or trying to be, at any rate. This dream—if that's what it was—was very realistic. We had a conversation, Gareth and I. At one point, I told him he was dead and at another point he informed me that I was the bearer of the Sovereign Stone. We conceded both points. I was in the ruins of a city that I knew immediately was Old Vinnengael, although I have never before been there, and I was in what I believe to be the Portal of the Gods.”

“And Gareth told you to bring the four parts of the Sovereign Stone together—”

“—in the Portal of the Gods,” said Shadamehr.

“Strange,” said Damra, staring out at the sun-sparkled water. “Very strange.”

“You
were
heavily tainted by Void magic, Baron,” Griffith pointed out.

“What?” Damra stared back at the baron, her gaze dark and suspicious. “What do you mean, he was tainted by Void?”

Griffith appeared sorry that he had spoken.

Shadamehr glanced at him, glanced away.

“It is a long story,” he said briefly. “And it has nothing to do with what we are discussing.”

“It might,” Damra persisted, her tone severe. “A servant of the Void came to speak to you while you were tainted with Void. You expect us to give credence to what he said?”

“A servant of the Void came to speak to you, and you believe him,” Shadamehr returned. “Or does Silwyth not count because he is an elf?”

Damra jumped to her feet. “You had no right to eavesdrop on our conversation,” she said angrily.

“Then don't hold your conversations in the open air in the middle of the deck,” Shadamehr retorted. “Orks aren't deaf, nor are they stupid. They travel all over the world, and some speak fluent Tomagai.”

Griffith put his fingertips and the tips of his thumbs together to form a V-shape.

“What is that?” Shadamehr demanded impatiently.

“A wedge,” said Griffith, “being driven between the two of you, the bearers of the Sovereign Stone.” He looked from one to the other. “A wedge of Void make and design.”

Damra's pale cheeks flushed. She lowered her long lashes, but kept her gaze fixed on the baron.

Shadamehr's lips compressed. Shifting his stance, he stood staring out at the rushing river water. The first mate ordered a couple of orken sailors, who had lingered near, hoping for a fight, to quit gawking and go on about their duties.

“I am sorry,” said Shadamehr at last. He rubbed his hand over his face, scratched his chin, which was dark from a day's growth of beard. “Yesterday was probably the worst day of my life, and last night managed to top it. That's my only excuse for being rude, and it's not a very good one.”

Turning to Damra, he made a formal bow. “I should not have been listening in on your talk with your husband, Damra of Gwyenoc. I apologize.”

“And I am sorry, Baron,” said Griffith, bowing. “I should not have
said anything about the Void taint without discussing the matter with you first. Please accept my apology. I should explain to you, Damra,” Griffith added, “that the baron came by the taint of Void innocently. He was the recipient of a spell that saved his life, or so I believe.”

Damra remained unconvinced. “I do not understand what you mean, Griffith. How can a Void spell save a life? Void magic kills!”

“Any magic can be used to kill,” said Griffith. “A mage can transfer a portion of his own life essence through the Void into the body of another. The spell is quite dangerous, for it can completely drain the life of the wizard, if he is not careful. Or, I believe in this case, I should say, ‘she.'”

Shadamehr's face had gone gray and haggard. He gave another abrupt nod of his head, rubbed his chin, and turned away.

“Alise?” asked Damra, amazed. “But I saw her down belowdecks before I came up. She sleeps as peacefully as a babe—”

“The Grandmother,” said Shadamehr. “Grandmother Pecwae festooned her with rocks and brought her back. Alise was dying. I held her in my arms and felt the life seeping out of her. Poor Bashae
is
dead. And it is my fault. All my fault.”

“We are all of us weary and wounded, in spirit, if not in body,” Damra said remorsefully. She rested her hand gently on Shadamehr's arm. “I am sorry for my part in our quarrel.” She hesitated, then added, “Sometimes speaking of the night's shadows in the daylight helps to dispel them.”

“True enough,” Shadamehr responded. “But it is also true that dark things belong to the darkness and should be kept there. We will talk of this, but below, in our cabin. Besides, I don't want to leave Alise alone.”

The three made their way across the rolling deck, holding on to ropes or any solid object that came to hand to keep their balance. The orks grinned and nudged each other, laughing at the lubbers.

 

“Because of your courage, Baron, both portions of the Sovereign Stone have escaped Dagnarus,” said Damra, after Shadamehr had concluded his tale.

“Because of my tomfoolery,” he returned ruefully. “And dumb, stupid luck.”

“Say, rather, the intercession of the gods,” Griffith said gently.

“Then why didn't the gods intercede for Bashae?” Shadamehr demanded. “Never mind. It's my own private quarrel.”

He sat on a rickety stool near Alise's bed, holding her hand fast in his own. Griffith stood propped up against a bulkhead. Damra was curledup on the bed that was tucked inside a recessed cubbyhole. The four of them were a tight fit. In order to leave the cabin, two had to squeeze up against a bulkhead while the third climbed over them.

At least they had light. By clearing off the grime, they had uncovered a small porthole that could be opened to admit fresh air and the occasional splash. Shadamehr had obtained clean clothes from the orks, and he had taken a bath beneath one of the pumps. But the sewer smell still lingered unfortunately, making them all glad of the fresh air and the small patch of sunlight.

Damra frowned, clearly not amused. Sacred subjects are not matters for joking. Before she could say anything, however, Alise sat up in bed and cracked her head on the low ceiling.

“Ouch!” Alise clapped her hand over her forehead. “What the—” She peered around in the gloom. “Who is that? Where am I?”

“You are with me, Alise…”

“Shadamehr? Is that…Are you…”

“I am, my dear. I shouldn't be, but I am.”

Alise flung her arms around him, clasped him tightly. “Thank the gods!” she breathed, holding him fast.

“Devil take the gods,” said Shadamehr fiercely. “Thank
you,
Alise. You saved me. I—”

“No!” she said, suddenly recoiling. “No, don't say that. Don't say anything. If you're not dead, why am I alive? That spell I cast…”

She shuddered, huddled away from him, pressed her body up against the bulkhead. “What happened to me?”

He tried to calm her, but he could feel her body tense, go rigid at his touch, and he drew back reluctantly. “Alise…the Grandmother…do you remember anything?”

“The Grandmother…” Alise repeated gently. “Yes, I do remember. I remember sunshine and turquoise skies and lying in sweet-smelling grass and the gods came to me. They said…they said…”

“What?” Shadamehr asked tersely.

“They said, ‘Why did you waste your time trying to save that wicked Baron Shadamehr?'” Alise spoke in a whispering, ghostly monotone, adding softly, “‘The baron who smells like a sewer.'”

“They didn't say that,” Shadamehr protested, hurt. “Did they?”

“No,” said Alise, relaxing at his touch. But very gently, she pushed his hands away. “That's not what they said.”

“What
did
they say? That you are a hero for saving the life of the handsome and wonderful Baron Shadamehr?”

“No, they didn't say that either. Our conversation was private.” She squinted. “Damra, is that you? Griffith? What are you two doing here? Why is my bed rocking? And why do
I
smell like a sewer?”

“We're on board an ork ship,” Shadamehr explained. “We're fleeing New Vinnengael. And about the sewers—”

“That's a relief, leaving New Vinnengael. I suppose we're on the run, two jumps ahead of the palace guard who are determined, as usual, to hang you or behead you or maybe both.” Alise pushed back a few straggling red curls from her eyes, swung her feet over the bed.

“Don't you remember?” Shadamehr asked.

“I find I am hungry, my husband,” said Damra hurriedly. “Did you say something about bread in the galley?”

“Yes, I'll show you,” Griffith offered. “If you two will excuse us—”

“I'll come with you,” said Alise. “I'm ravenous.”

Shadamehr caught hold of her wrist.

“Alise, we need to talk.”

She lifted her head, shook back her red hair, and looked him in the eye. The two of them were alone in the cabin. The elves, deeply embarrassed, had fled.

“No, we don't. There's nothing to say.”

“Alise—”

“Shadamehr.” She took hold of both his hands in hers, held them fast. “I know what I need to know. I remember what I need to remember. Nothing has changed between us.”

“But it has,” Shadamehr said quietly.

“Then it shouldn't,” she said, refusing to look at him.

“Alise, you saved my life,” said Shadamehr, drawing her close. “Because of me, you nearly died—”

“And so now you are in love with me,” she stated, trying to wriggle
away. “Now you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Have baby Shadamehrs. Grow old together.”

“Yes!” he cried rapturously.

“What?” She stared at him.

“Yes to all that. But not baby Shadamerhs. Baby Alises. Six girls with red hair, like their mother, to plague me and torment me and never do what they're told and…” He paused. “We'll have to deal with a few small matters first, of course, such as the Sovereign Stone, which is now in my possession and which a dead man told me to take to Old Vinnenagel and the Lord of the Void, Dagnarus, seizing New Vinnengael and the fact that we're on the run for our lives, but once this is all sorted out—”

“I knew it!” Alise struck him in the chest. She started to push him away, then stopped, looked up at him earnestly. “I don't think it will work, Shadamehr.”

“Of course, it will work. The dead man told me—”

Alise smiled, a lopsided smile, held up her hands, made two fists. “I don't mean that. I mean us. Lodestones,” she said, hitting them together, bouncing them apart. “You see? I do remember. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash the sewer out of my hair.”

“Alise,” he said, holding her fast. “I don't blame you for not trusting me. I never spoke a serious word in my life before last night and now listen to me. You can't shut me up. I love you, Alise. And not out of gratitude for saving my life,” he added sternly, halting the words on her lips. “I calculate that saving my life this one time makes us even for all those other times you put my life in danger.”

“I never!” she said indignantly, trying unsuccessfully to wrest her hands from his grip.

“Oh, but you did. There was that time with the trolls. ‘Don't ride across the bridge' I warned. But, no, you wouldn't listen and out come three of the biggest trolls I've ever seen in my life, and trolls are damn hard to kill—”

“I'll think about it,” Alise promised hastily.

“You'll think about marrying me? Truly?”

“Yes,” she said. “Anything not to hear the troll story again. Now will you let me go wash my hair?”

“I was going to suggest it,” said Shadamehr. “Quite frankly, my dear, I think it's proof of my love that I even let you get close to me, the way you smell…”

Alise gave him a shove that knocked him backward into the bulkhead, kicked his shins for good measure, then turned and marched out.

 

Alise was an experienced sailor, having accompanied the baron on more than one expedition. Before the day was out, she would have the sailors rigging a pump for her to wash her hair. She would have her chemise hanging from the yardarms and, dressed in clothes borrowed from the orks, be dancing hornpipes at the midnight watch.

“We will work,” said Shadamehr, fondly rubbing his bruised shin.

He stood alone in the cabin, smiling at the small, round patch of sunlight. But even as he watched, the sunlight faded away with the passing of a cloud.

Always a cloud. And this time, enormous clouds, masses of clouds. So many they might never see the sun again. He lifted the knapsack containing, presumably, the human portion of the Sovereign Stone. The knapsack looked very ordinary, its leather worn, its stitching frayed. Holding it to what light remained, he opened it up, peered inside, saw nothing except lint. According to Bashae, the knight Gustav had claimed the knapsack to be magical. The Sovereign Stone was hidden in folds of magic and could be revealed only by a secret word.

“Wouldn't it be a great joke,” said Shadamehr to himself, “if all this time we've been risking our fool lives for an empty knapsack.”

The word he was supposed to speak, “Adele,” was on his tongue. He would see this Sovereign Stone. He would see what Bashae had given his life to protect. He would see with his own eyes what all the fuss was about. He was not going to take this on faith….