Journey into the Void (3 page)

Ulaf might be able to help Shadamehr, for he was also a skilled Earth mage. She couldn't count on him, though. He was out searching for the pecwae and, even if Jessan found him in time and sent him to her, she doubted if Ulaf could heal this wound.

The magic of the gods could not save Shadamehr, but the magic of the Void that had wounded him might.

Alise brought to mind the loathsome spell.

Void magic is dangerous and destructive, not only for its victims, but also for the magi who casts it, for the magic of the Void demands a sacrifice—a bit of a magi's own life essence to power the spell, making the spell-casting painful and debilitating to the user. Even the simplest spell causes lesions and pustules to erupt on the skin, while more powerful spells can inflict such pain that the sorcerer falls unconscious or dies.

Prohibited from using the healing arts by the terrible nature of their magic, Void sorcerers had developed spells that could transfer a bit of the sorcerer's own life essence into the body of another in order to save him. The spell was said to have been perfected in ancient Dunkarga, a land where Void magic is widely accepted. The spell was not often used, and then only under the most dire circumstances, for if the spell was badly cast or the sorcerer made a mistake, the result could be fatal for both caster and patient.

Above all, the textbooks cautioned, “The spell should never be cast by a sorcerer who is by himself, without someone else on hand to assist him. For in order to cast the spell, the sorcerer must place himself in physical contact with the person who is to receive the benefits. When the spell is cast, the Void magic drains the life essence from the sorcerer, sends it flowing into the body of the patient.

“The caster must know when to halt the spell and break contact, and this is where an assistant is necessary. As the life drains from him, the caster grows weaker and weaker. If the caster falls unconscious, while still touching the victim, the spell will continue to drain the caster until it steals away his life. Thus, this warning: Never cast this spell alone! Two sorcerers at least should be present—one to cast and the other to break contact should the spellcaster fall unconscious.”

Alise had never used this spell. She had studied it, of course, but she had not committed such a terrible spell to memory. She loathed the use of Void magic. She did not mind so much the pain of the spell-casting, although that was bad enough, or the disfiguring pustules and lesions. She hated the way the magic felt inside her, as if maggots were feeding on her soul.

But she didn't have any choice. Shadamehr's skin had gone gray. His breathing had altered from rapid, shallow breaths to struggled gasps. He shivered with the cold, his body writhed in pain. His nails were blue, his flesh chill, as if death had already claimed him.

Alise looked over her shoulder toward the door.

Never cast this spell alone!

She saw the words printed large in the books, heard her tutor warn her over and over. If only Ulaf would come!

But he wasn't going to. She admitted that to herself. Ulaf was out searching for the pecwae, perhaps facing his own dangers. She could not wait. Shadamehr was very far gone.

Adjusting the lanternlight, Alise reached into a hidden pocket she had sewn into her dress and removed a small, slim volume bound in nondescript gray leather. The book appeared quite harmless on the outside. Even when it was opened, one would have to be a student of magic in order to recognize that this small book was worth the price of her life. If the Church discovered her with this book of forbidden spells, she could be sentenced to hang.

Even as she turned the pages, Alise could feel the heinous magic start to crawl under her skin.

She read over the spell, felt her stomach roil, and was forced to cover her mouth with her hand, so as not to retch. Simply reciting the words in her mind brought on nausea, made her so weak and dizzy she could barely concentrate. She couldn't imagine what horror and pain would come with speaking them.

Alise bent down and kissed Shadamehr gently, tenderly on the lips. Clasping his hand, she pressed his hand to her breast and began to speak the horrible, maggot-ridden words aloud.

T
HE ORIGINAL TUBBY TABBY HAD BEEN A FAMOUS TAVERN IN THE
city of Old Vinnengael. Two hundred years later, stories were still told of the tavern and its fat owner and his fatter orange cat, in whose honor the tavern was named. The stories had passed into popular legend, and almost every minstrel tale of long-ago heroes always began with a fortuitous meeting in the Tubby Tabby.

When the city of New Vinnengael was in the planning stages, several would-be tavern owners came to blows in the desire to name their businesses after the legendary tavern. Then one stated that he could prove that he was the ancestor of that same fat owner, and he even produced a fat cat that he claimed was the descendant of that same famous cat. His proof was accepted. On the day the king moved into the palace of the newly constructed city of New Vinnengael, the man opened the Tubby Tabby Two. The tavern had remained in the family, and now the owner's children's children ran it. A descendant of the same orange tabby snoozed in the sunshine by day and lounged on the bar by night.

The tavern had always been a favorite of the members of the Shadamehr family, one of whom had, years ago, secretly helped the owner out of his financial difficulties. The tavern had a back door that led into a very dark alley bounded by a wall that was easy to climb and another door that led to the roof, with other roofs within easy jumping distance. Since the Barons Shadamehr—an eccentric and independent bunch—were tireless champions of the weak and downtrodden, they tended to be
the targets of the strong and powerful, who weren't at all pleased with Shadamehr meddling and took action to stop it, with the result that such means of hasty egress had proven most welcome to the various barons down through the years.

Ulaf was quite familiar with the tavern, for he found it an ideal place to meet with the people who kept him informed of what was going on in the world beyond the walls of New Vinnengael. The tavern was also the place where Shadamehr's people would gather if there was trouble.

Having found the pecwae, Ulaf shepherded them to the tavern, moving as fast as he could, all the while keeping a watchful eye out for the patrols. The bells rang curfew just as they turned into the block on which the tavern was located.

The streets were mostly empty. The patrols were already on the march, looking for violators. The patrols were also looking for Baron Shadamehr, but Ulaf had no way of knowing this. He guessed that something had gone wrong, for he'd heard the blowing of the penny whistles used by Shadamehr's people to alert each other in times of crisis. Ulaf had been about to go find out what was up, when he'd caught a glimpse of the pecwae, disappearing around a corner, and had instead gone after them.

He was certain to discover what had happened when he reached the meeting place. In the meantime, he had the two pecwae, and Bashae had the Sovereign Stone in the knapsack. Ulaf meant to keep hold of all three.

Ulaf would have been glad to rid himself of the Trevinici warrior, who had suddenly arrived on the scene.

“What a strange coincidence,” Ulaf muttered, “that in a city that never sees a Trevinici or a pecwae, they should both suddenly bump into one another.”

And then he remembered Shadamehr saying once that, “There are no such things as coincidences, only the gods' practical jokes.”

So if this was a joke, who was getting the last laugh? Bashae and the Grandmother came from a land far from New Vinnengael, a land where the sight of a Trevinici—the pecwaes' ancient protectors—was as common as a sparrow. They could not know that seeing a Trevinici in New Vinnengael was tantamount to seeing a whale floating in one of the city fountains. Ulaf supposed that Jessan was the first Trevinici to have set foot in New Vinnengael in the past twenty years—if not longer. For there now
to be two Trevinici in New Vinnengael stretched credibility to the utmost limits.

And for that Trevinici to have “stumbled” upon the two pecwae…

Ulaf had been warned that Vrykyl were in pursuit of the pecwae—or rather, the Vrykyl were in pursuit of the Sovereign Stone carried by the one pecwae, Bashae. Ulaf was unfortunately all too familiar with the Vrykyl. He'd encountered them before, much to his regret. They could take the form of any person they had killed, and he guessed that the strange Trevinici, walking down the street alongside him, was one of the powerful and terrifying Vrykyl. Ulaf had no way of knowing for certain, short of forcing the Vrykyl to reveal himself, and he had no intention of doing that. If this Trevinici was a Vrykyl, then they were in extreme danger.

“On the other hand,” Ulaf argued with himself, “if this Trevinici is a Vrykyl, why didn't he use his Void magic to turn me into a pile of greasy ash and take the pecwae and run? Why is he coming along tamely?

“The obvious answer,” Ulaf replied to himself, “is that the Vrykyl is under orders to keep himself and his magic hidden.”

This surmise was not much comfort, for it opened up another box of terrible suppositions and surmises, the main one being that there were more Vrykyl working on behalf of their master, the Lord of the Void, Dagnarus, whose armies were even now marching down on New Vinnengael from the north.

Ulaf decided that his wisest course was to take everyone—pecwae, Trevinici, Vrykyl, and all—to the tavern, where he hoped he would find Baron Shadamehr and the rest of the Baron's people. Together they could figure some way to deal with this deadly situation.

The Tubby Tabby was located at the end of a block on Chandler's Street. As they turned into the street, the raucous laughter could be heard a block away. The sign featuring a painting of the famous slumbering orange tabby swayed and creaked in the evening breeze.

The heat and noise from inside the tavern burst on Ulaf with the force of a dwarven fire spell as he yanked open the heavy wooden door. On the lower floor was the tavern proper and two large common rooms, where travelers could find a pallet for the night. An enormous fireplace at one end of the tavern provided light and warmth. Seeing a number of his friends and comrades among the crowd, Ulaf breathed a sigh of relief.
Ulaf took firm hold of the pecwae, who stood frozen like terrified rabbits on the door stoop, and shoved them inside. The Trevinici hesitated in the doorway, and Ulaf hoped that he might be intimidated by the crowd and decide to depart. The warrior scowled darkly at the sight of so many people, but he followed the two pecwae inside and hung on to them like grim death.

An unfortunately apt analogy, Ulaf thought to himself.

He scanned the crowd hastily for Shadamehr. He did not see him, and that was a bad sign. Either the baron was still under arrest, or something worse had happened. None of Shadamehr's people gave any outward sign that they knew Ulaf, who gave no sign that he knew any of them. The tavern owner, who knew Ulaf well, looked right past him, and the busy serving wenches cast him harassed glances, as if he were just another customer. All knew that Ulaf might be there on some important business, that he might be using any one of his assumed identities, and that if he wanted to be recognized, he'd give them the signal.

The tavern was crowded. Visitors to New Vinnengael had been caught by surprise by the curfew. They'd be sleeping four to a bed. In addition, some of the locals who lived nearby and who figured they could sneak home before the patrols caught them, were here to talk about the rumors of war. Every table was filled, but Ulaf was not concerned, and, indeed, shortly after his arrival, a table near the door opened up. He steered the pecwae in that direction. The two men who had been sitting there passed by him without a glance, although one did rub his nose in a peculiar manner.

Ulaf knew the man, knew that his signal meant that something dire had happened and that they had to talk. The man walked up to the bar. Ulaf didn't dare leave the pecwae, not with the strange Trevinici hanging about, but he needed to know what was going on.

He settled the Grandmother in her chair, thinking as he did so that the normally feisty elder pecwae was unusually subdued. Every so often, the Grandmother lifted the agate-eyed stick, turned it this way and that. Then, looking grim, she would shake her head and the stick at the same time.

Some of the patrons were gawking at the pecwae and the Trevinici. Shadamehr's people studiously avoided looking at them and did what they could to distract the attention of the rest. The man at the bar rubbed his nose again, and this time gave a loud sneeze.

The Trevinici did not sit down but stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his dark gaze fixed on the two pecwae.

“Bashae,” said Ulaf, “come with me—”

“Look, it's Jessan!” cried Bashae. He waved his hand. “Over here, Jessan!”

Jessan entered the room, extremely pleased and relieved to see his friends; so pleased that his usually stern expression relaxed into a smile. He halted a moment to stare in astonishment at the strange Trevinici. He was about to greet this fellow warrior, then recalled his urgent message. Jessan turned aside, spoke in a low, urgent tone to Ulaf.

“I need to talk to you. Alone.”

Ulaf nodded and the two moved back toward the door.

“I have just left Alise and Shadamehr,” Jessan said. “The baron has been wounded. Alise wants you to come right away.”

“Wounded?” Ulaf repeated, shocked. “Is it bad?” It must be, he thought, for Alise to send for him.

“He's dying,” Jessan said bluntly. “He's in the back room of a tavern down that way.” He jerked his thumb. “Alise is with him, but I don't think there is much she can do for him. He is in a very bad way.”

“Oh, gods,” Ulaf said, feeling his own life drain out of him.

His first impulse was to dash off immediately, but he forced himself to think the situation through rationally. He had the pecwae under his care, the pecwae and the Sovereign Stone. They were his responsibility, and he couldn't abandon them. He glanced at the man at the bar, who returned his glance with an urgent look and an even louder sneeze. Jessan, meanwhile, had gone back to staring at the Trevinici.

“Jessan,” Ulaf said. “Do you know that man?”

“No,” said Jessan. “I've never seen him before. By his markings, he belongs to a tribe that lives far from my tribe, somewhere near Vilda Harn.”

“That's strange,” said Ulaf, “because he claims to know you. He told the pecwae that you sent him to find them. He used your name to try to lure them out of the city.”

Jessan's brow furrowed. “Why would he say that? I've never seen him before. I've been with Baron Shadamehr.”

“Jessan,” said Ulaf swiftly, “I'm going to tell you something that you won't like to hear, and you must remain calm. You can't react. I think that Trevinici is really a Vrykyl.”

Jessan stared at him for a moment. His eyes darkened, his frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Don't expose him,” Ulaf cautioned. “Not in here. I believe he's after the Sovereign Stone, and he won't hesitate to kill everyone in this place to get hold of it.”

“What do we do?” Jessan asked.

“You go over and talk to the Trevinici. Look at how nervous he seems. He knows something's up. Allay his suspicions.”

“And then what?”

“All chaos is going to erupt in a moment. When it does, you grab the Grandmother and Bashae and hustle them out of here. Take them back to Alise and Shadamehr.”

“What about the Vrykyl? He'll try to stop me.”

“Don't worry about the Vrykyl. I'll deal with him. Your only concern is the pecwae. Understood?”

Jessan gave an abrupt nod and walked over to talk to the strange Trevinici. Ulaf lingered a moment, expecting the worst and preparing to deal with it. Jessan knew what he was about, however, and the two were soon conversing. Bashae munched contentedly on bread and cheese and listened to the two warriors. The Grandmother sat staring into space, her mouth gaping slightly, her gaze glassy-eyed and vacant.

Ulaf didn't like the looks of her. The thought came to him that perhaps she was having an apoplectic fit, as sometimes occurs with the elderly; but, if so, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the bar. As he walked, he nonchalantly lifted the penny whistle that he wore on a silver chain around his neck, brought the whistle out into plain sight. He toyed with it, but didn't put it to his lips.

Reaching the bar, Ulaf took his place next to the man who had been rubbing his nose.

“What news, Guerimo?”

“There was trouble in the palace. Shadamehr and the Dominion Lord had to jump through a window. Now there are battle magi after him!”

“Battle magi!” Ulaf groaned.

“They're probably on their way here now. They know this is where he holds court when he's in the city. Do you know where the baron is? We need to warn him.”

As Ulaf listened, he kept his gaze fixed on the pecwae and Jessan and the false Trevinici.

“Strange as this may seem,” Ulaf said, “we have worse problems. I need to create a diversion.”

“The usual?” Guerimo grinned.

“The usual,” said Ulaf.

 

Jessan had made the decision to leave New Vinnengael before he had ever reached the Tubby Tabby. He'd thought it all out on his way to the tavern, which he'd managed to locate more by accident than design. He would retrieve the two pecwae and go back to their homeland, to a place where he could see the sun and breathe the air. Once there, he was certain he would be able to think things through and find again the answers that he seemed to have lost along the way.

In Jessan's former life—the life he'd lived before he had set out upon this journey with the Sovereign Stone—he'd been a child. In this life, he had left childhood behind. He had fought and vanquished a powerful foe. He had taken his warrior's name—Defender. He had been faithful to his promise to the dying knight, Gustav. He had visited strange lands, met strange people. He'd come to admire some of them, come to loathe and fear others. He had learned much, or so people kept telling him. On thinking it over, however, Jessan realized that they were wrong. In his previous life, he'd had answers to everything. Now, he had only questions.