Journey into the Void (44 page)

J
OINING THE OTHERS AT THE WATER'S EDGE, SHADAMEHR SILENTLY
and without comment showed them the blessed medallion that marked him a Dominion Lord. Wolfram scratched his chin, twitched an eyebrow. The Captain grunted, as if this were something she'd expected all along, and went back to haranguing her crew for some infraction regarding the boat.

“Feel any different?” Damra asked.

“No,” he said bluntly. He tried to put the medallion around his neck. His fingers fumbled at the clasp. “I can't latch this damn thing!”

“Let me,” said Damra. Her own medallion had no clasp. The gods themselves had placed it around her neck.

The Lord of Seeking. His way would never be smooth, but that was as he had chosen.

“There you are,” she said, patting the chain.

“It itches,” he muttered.

“You'll get used to it.”

He said nothing, but only rolled his eyes.

“Hold this a moment.”

He handed her the knapsack, then leapt off the rocks into the river, landing with a splash that soaked those standing on the bank. He bobbed back the surface, puffing and blowing and treading water.

The orks grinned. Wolfram snorted in disgust. He had little use for water, either for bathing or drinking.

“Is it cold?” Damra called.

“Yes,” said Shadamehr, his teeth chattering and his lips turning blue.

He dived beneath the surface, came up snorting, then crawled out onto the bank. He gave himself a luxurious shake, like a dog. Wolfram drew back, scowling and wiping water off his shirt.

“Humans,” muttered the Captain of Captains. “They're all mad. No wonder the omens were bad.”

She gestured at the boat. “Get in.”

One of the orks, still grinning, handed Shadamehr a blanket to use to towel himself down. The others climbed into the boat. The orken rowers took their places. The Captain entered last, manned the rudder.

Damra handed Shadamehr the knapsack. He took it, slung his arm through the straps. He noticed that it felt it different. Heavier than usual. Suspecting Damra of playing a joke on him, Shadamehr opened the sack, expecting to find a rock inside.

The sunlight gleamed on the crystal-smooth sides of the Sovereign Stone.

Shadamehr stared in wonder at the sparkling jewel.

“Maybe I do feel a little different,” he said softly. He took it out, held it up to the light.

The jewel was beautiful, remarkable. The stone was heavy in Shadamehr's hands, far heavier than it should have been, to judge by its size. The edges were sharp, so that he was wary of touching them, lest they cut him. The sides were smooth, so that he delighted in running his fingers over them. The stone was cold to the touch, yet warmed as he held it.

He searched for his reflection in the crystalline surface, but could not see himself. Yet, it seemed, he could see the eyes of millions. Turning the stone one way, he could see through the clear crystal to the rocks and water and clouds and the flickering flames of their fire and they were all magnified in his sight, each one close to him. Turning the stone in another direction, all was blurred together, a jumble of grays and greens, blues and orange. He began to understand the mystery of the stone and the wonder of it, and he felt awed and humbled to think that this precious jewel should have come into his hands.

It was as if he held a tiny sliver of the mind of the gods.

“Are they all as beautiful as this?” he asked. “Could I see them?”

One by one, each of the others drew forth the portions of the Sov
-ereign Stone, held them, gleaming, in the sunlight. He knew by their expressions that they all felt his wonder and awe.

“Here's an idea,” said Shadamehr suddenly, thrilled and elated. “Let's try putting all the four pieces together!”

The expressions on the faces changed. They were suddenly dark and shadowed, wary and suspicious.

“And who would carry it?” Wolfram demanded. “You, I suppose.”

Shadamehr was taken aback. “Why, I don't know. I honestly didn't think of that. I guess…”

“No one's carrying my part of the Stone,” said Wolfram, his brows lowering.

“I…I would not burden anyone with mine,” said Damra, her cheeks flushing.

“I carry the ork's portion,” said the Captain. “None other.”

“I see,” Shadamehr said quietly. He dropped the Sovereign Stone into the bottom of the magical knapsack. It vanished from his sight. He felt more secure, now that it was hidden away, but the elation was gone. He was suddenly tired and oppressed.

He climbed into the boat. The others climbed in after, arranging themselves so no one sat near another. They started the trip upriver to Old Vinnengael.

Shadamehr sat by himself, staring into the dark water. He wondered if King Tamaros had also seen the emptiness that was the Stone's heart.

And if so, why hadn't he smashed it into pieces?

 

Silwyth thought about the Dominion Lords, as night fell. He wondered where they were, wondered if Shadamehr had accepted the gods and vice versa—if the gods had accepted Shadamehr.

Silwyth's thoughts turned from Shadamehr to Shakur and from there to Dagnarus. He wondered what the Lord of the Void was plotting. The mercenary band of which the dwarf had spoken was something new. Silwyth had not figured them into his calculations. Would they disrupt his plans? He needed to find out more about them.

Silwyth made no sound as he walked. He went barefoot, the soles of his feet hard and supple as the finest boot leather.

He had lived so long in the wilderness, lived off it and amid it, that he was part of it. The animals did not stir as he passed. The deer continued
to graze. The rabbit slept. The squirrels mistook him for a tree. The snake slid over his foot. The fox hurried past on fox business with never a glance.

Silwyth had seen signs near the Portal that a large band of riders had been in the vicinity. Busy with the Captain and Wolfram, he had lacked the time to investigate. He planned to return to the Portal, pick up Klendist's trail, and follow him. They were all bound for the same place—Old Vinnengael, where he would meet the Dominion Lords. They would need a guide through the ruins, someone who knew the dangers. First, he would deal with this Klendist.

Silwyth came to a shallow stream that flowed among the trees. The stream was lazy, took its time. The water murmured softly to itself as it tripped over rocks and slid beneath willows, its ripples decorated with winter's dead leaves. Silwyth was about to cross the lazy stream when he felt a sudden, strange lethargy seize hold of him.

He sat down on a moss-covered tree stump, suddenly and heavily. The weakness had robbed him of the power to walk. He'd been subject to such attacks before, but never this severe. He knew immediately what was happening.

He was dying.

Silwyth thought of all he had left to do, all that remained undone, unfinished.

“Let me live,” he prayed to the Father and Mother. “Just a little longer.”

“Lay down your burden,” was the answer. “Others will take it up. That is the way of all things.”

With a sigh, he let it go.

He sat on the rock and looked at the water, dappled with shadow and sunlight. He saw himself as another of the brown, dried-up leaves, falling onto that rippling surface, carried to the endless sea.

Now that the burden was gone, lethargy brought peace. He was not afraid. He waited for death patiently, as a lover waits for his beloved. The song of the stream, the warmth of the sun made him drowsy. His head fell forward on his breast. He was drifting into the sleep that is the final gift of the Father and Mother, when a shadow fell over him, a shadow cold and empty.

The shadow, the danger, roused him and pulled him back.

Silwyth opened his eyes.

“Lady Valura.”

She stood before him in her woman's form, beautiful, young, her skin white and waxen as the petals of the gardenia, her mouth carnelian, her body matchless in its form and grace. The eyes, the empty eyes, stared down at him.

“If you seek revenge, Lady,” said Silwyth, “you come too late. I am dying.”

“Liar!” She spit the word. Her lips twisted in a sneer. “What have you ever done but lie? You are not capable of speaking the truth!”

“I have never lied to you, Lady Valura,” said Silwyth.

She moved closer, watching him warily. He had tricked her before, tricked her and hurt her and humiliated her. She did not trust him, would never trust him, not until she held his chilling body in her arms and sucked his soul into the Void.

Silwyth did not move. In his eyes she saw what she always saw: pity. When he was dead, she would pluck out those eyes.

Valura reached into her bosom and drew out the Blood-knife, the knife made of her own bone.

“You seek to thwart my lord,” she said.

“I have done my best,” Silwyth replied.

“Why?” she demanded.

“You know why, Lady Valura.” He looked up at her, into the empty eyes. Once, long ago, he'd seen in those eyes a lovely garden.

“Dagnarus loves me!” she cried.

“He hates you. He loathes you. He cast you off. He sent you away. He does not want you around him…”

She clutched the bone knife, her fingers clenching and unclenching. “He will. When I save him from his peril. When I give him what he has long sought. He will love me. He will! And you will be witness to it. For I will take your body and your soul!”

She stabbed the knife into Silwyth's chest. In her fury, she struck wildly and she missed her target. The knife did not pierce his heart.

Enraged, she jerked it out, held it poised to strike again.

Silwyth saw his own blood glisten on the knife. He saw his blood spattered on the lady's white gown.

“You may steal my body,” he said. “But you will not claim my soul. That I have given to the Father…and the Mother…”

Valura struck again. Her aim was true. She stabbed to the heart.

Her form altered, changed. Valura vanished. Silwyth stood in her place.

His corpse remained seated on the stump, slumped over, blood oozing from the two chest wounds. Valura kicked the corpse, knocked it sideways into the stream. She kicked it again and again, viciously, until at last her rage was spent.

“Curse you!” she said with Silwyth's lips. “Curse you to the Void!”

But that did not happen. He had escaped the fate he deserved. His corpse lay in the stream. The water flowed red with his blood. His dead face stared up at her. In his eyes, the pity.

She had taken his face. His soul had escaped her.

Valura had stabbed a dead man.

A
CTING ON K'LET'S ORDERS, THE TAAN TRAVELED EAST. THEY
moved rapidly, their strong legs eating up the ground. Their destination was unknown to them.

That K'let had a purpose, none doubted. Taan did nothing without purpose. No moment was ever wasted in frivolity. Even during those rare times when the taan were permitted a day of recreation, their sport consisted of honing the skills of their warriors, the skills that meant their very survival.

Raven continued to lead his tribe of half-taan, a task that was proving extremely difficult. Although K'let had mandated that the taan accept the half-taan as fellow tribesmen, not even the revered kyl-sarnz could force the taan to treat the half-taan with respect. They were shunned and tormented.

K'let had ordered that the half-taan should march with the main body of taan, so that they could be protected. This meant that the half-taan were relegated to the rear of the column, forced to eat the dust of the hundreds of taan ahead of them. The taan had the first pick of camping ground. The half-taan were given the worst. Lately, the taan had taken to raiding the half-taan camp at night, stealing their food, cutting slits in their tents, destroying anything they found.

Raven protested this treatment to Dag-ruk and the other nizam. They laughed at him and jeered. What did he expect? These wretched half-taan could not take care of themselves, could not think for them
selves. Even K'let knew that. It was why he had ordered that they march close to their protectors. Half-taan were fit only to serve the wishes of their masters. Raven soon realized that he would never change the mind of the taan. Only the half-taan could do that.

Raven worked with the half-taan, teaching them to use weapons, teaching them fighting tactics, teaching them to think for themselves and respect themselves. The last, the most important, proved the most difficult. Every time a taan walked into their camp, the half-taan cringed and groveled. When Raven berated them, they cringed and groveled before him.

Raven was patient. He had worked with raw recruits during his days with the Dunkargan, and he knew that teaching them self-respect would take time. Fortunately, the taan blood in each of the half-taan ran hot. They were natural-born warriors. And although their half-human bodies lacked the physical power and stamina of the taan, they proved to be quicker and more agile. Every day the half-taan improved with their weapons, and, as they gained confidence in their skills, they began to gain confidence in themselves. Raven only hoped that they managed this before some taan killed them.

Acting on K'let's orders, the taan continued their journey, turning northward. Their destination now had a name, Krul-um-drelt, meaning “City of Ghosts.” One of the half-taan told Raven that the human name for the city was Old Vinnengael.

Raven opened his eyes wide on hearing that. The ruins of the city of Old Vinnengael had an evil reputation, not only among his people, but among all peoples he'd ever encountered.

“City of Ghosts,” Raven muttered to himself. “K'let will fit right in. I'm not sure about the rest of us.”

He tried to find out more about why they were traveling to Old Vinnengael. He spoke to Dag-ruk about it, but if she knew, she would not tell him. She went about openly with the shaman, R'lt, and had proclaimed that she would take him for her mate. Dag-ruk treated Raven only slightly better than a half-taan himself and would deign to speak to him only if she felt like it. Raven redoubled his efforts to train the half-taan in fighting.

The taan were within a day's march of Old Vinnengael when they were ordered to halt and set up camp. K'let had been away from camp for sometime, gone on some mysterious mission. Orders came from Derl,
who was in command in K'let's absence. The taan would camp there to await K'let's return.

Raven took advantage of the respite in their constant marching to work with his half-taan. He was pleased with their progress. They were starting to hold their heads up, to look straight ahead instead of constantly staring at the ground. He was so pleased with their advancement in their fighting skills that this day, he sought out Dag-ruk.

“Dur-zor,” said Raven, “tell Dag-ruk that I propose a contest between our two tribes.”

Dag-ruk burst into laughter. Turning to the taan warriors who had gathered around her, she told them Raven's proposal. The taan hooted and grinned.

“Does she refuse?” Raven asked.

“Of course, Raven,” said Dur-zor. “There is no honor for the taan to fight a slave.”

“But the half-taan are not slaves,” Raven argued. “Not now. K'let has set them free.”

Dur-zor looked uneasy.

“What is it?” Raven demanded.

“The taan do not see it that way, Raven,” said Dur-zor. She gave him a pleading glance. “I did not want to tell you the truth. You were so pleased with what you were doing.”

“Tell me,” Raven said grimly.

“The taan believe that K'let gave you all the half-taan as your own slaves.”

Raven stared. “Of all the—” He halted, baffled, then said, “Tell them the truth, Dur-zor. Tell them that the half-taan are not my slaves, any more than you are my slave. Tell them that the half-taan are…are”—he fumbled for a word—“are my brothers.”

“Do you mean that, Raven?” Dur-zor's eyes shone with pleasure.

“Of course I mean it. What do you think I've been doing all these weeks? Training an army of slaves for my own personal protection?”

“No, Raven, of course not,” said Dur-zor hastily. “I will tell Dag-ruk.”

The nizam was not impressed, however. Her lips curled in a sneer, and she said something that Raven could not understand, then walked off. When Raven asked Dur-zor to translate, Dur-zor would say only that Dag-ruk would not even consider a contest.

As they trudged back to their tribe, Raven was silent and thoughtful. Dur-zor had come to know that look on his face.

“Raven, what are you plotting?” she asked with trepidation.

He glanced at her and smiled. “Am I really so transparent?”

“I do not understand that word, Raven.”

“Can you really see through me? Like seeing fish through clear stream water?”

“Oh, yes, Raven,” said Dur-zor. Again, noting his look, she said, “Was that the wrong answer?”

He gave a rueful laugh. “We all like to be thought of as mysterious. I guess I'm not. What am I plotting?” His tone grew grim. “We'll have our contest, whether Dag-ruk wants it or not.”

Dur-zor sighed deeply, but she took care that Raven did not hear her.

Back in camp, Raven summoned together his half-taan.

“I have been to Dag-ruk, to ask if the taan warriors would compete in a contest with us,” Raven announced.

Most of the half-taan looked eager. Some looked startled. Others just looked sick.

“The answer was no. Not only that, but their ‘no' was an insult.”

He was pleased to see flashes of anger in the eyes of most of the half-taan, and he heard several growl. A few were vastly relieved, but that was only to be expected.

“We're going to shove that ‘no' down their throats!” Raven continued, and several of the half-taan grinned and shook their spears. “Tugi, you and Gar-dra and Mok will come hunting with me. We're going to bring down the largest beast we can find and haul it back to camp. Once we've got it, we'll make a fine show of it. We will spread the word among the taan camps that we have strong food for tomorrow night's meal. They will come to our camp to steal it. We will hide in our tents, and when they sneak into camp, we will teach them a lesson.”

The half-taan began to grin. One gave a whooping cheer that was silenced at Raven's frown. Only a few appeared fearful. Raven noted these. He'd make sure they were assigned some task that would keep them out of the way, keep them from being harmed. Overall, he was pleased with the response. His half-taan were eager to prove themselves. Thoughts of groveling and cringing were gone.

Raven assembled his hunting party and went out in search of a wild
boar that had been sighted in the area. Dur-zor remained in camp, continuing the weapons lessons for those who had yet to fully master the skill. The lessons were accompanied by insults and laughter, as some of the taan warriors came to watch. Taan children threw rocks at them. Dur-zor gritted her teeth and continued on with grim perseverance.

The half-taan killed their boar. Returning to camp, they gutted the animal and hung the meat high in a tree to let the blood drain. They spread the word among the taan that the half-taan would have a fine feast tomorrow. Strong food.

Back in their camp, the half-taan practiced with their weapons and waited eagerly for sundown.

 

Klendist and his force reached Old Vinnengael at about the same time as the taan, although neither was, for the moment, aware of the other. Klendist rode from the east and made camp south of the ruined city, that was about ten miles distant. The taan were camped about twenty miles to the west. On the morning that Raven asked Dag-ruk about the contest, Klendist formed scouting parties, sending them out to observe the lay of the land. He ordered his men to keep special watch for any small parties, such as this group of Dominion Lords.

The scouts departed. Klendist remained in camp, waiting for Shakur.

The day passed with no sign of the Vrykyl.

Klendist found the wait boring. He had no real idea when to expect Shakur, and the thought came to him that he might be stuck there for days on end without action unless, by some stroke of good fortune, they came across these Dominion Lords.

The scouts returned at sundown with their reports and, at about the same time, Shakur rode into camp. He motioned peremptorily to Klendist to ride with him.

“I see your scouts have returned. What have they found?” Shakur demanded when they were alone.

“A group of bahk have taken up residence outside the ruins of Old Vinnengael,” Klendist reported. “My men counted about fifteen of the monsters, but there may be more inside the city.”

Shakur eyed him. “That will make no difference to you, Klendist. You have no need to enter the city. Not unless you fail in your assignment.”

“We're not going to fail.”

“Good. What else?”

“No sign of those Dominion Lords—” Klendist began.

“No, it is early yet.”

“But this is a vast area. There are more ways into the ruins than there are holes in a Dunkargan cheese,” Klendist stated. “If I had five hundred men, we couldn't begin to cover them all.”

“You will not need five hundred men. You probably won't even need five. The Dominion Lords have a guide, who will lead them straight to you.”

“Ah, well, that's better,” said Klendist. “Who is this guide? We don't want to kill him by mistake.”

“Valura is in no danger from the likes of you,” Shakur returned coolly. “And you are not to kill anyone.”

“Sorry, my mistake. But these are Dominion Lords, Shakur. Powerful warriors who fight with the blessing of the gods. We may not have any choice—”

Shakur's helmed head leaned close.

Klendist was a brute, with a brute's callous courage, but he could not help feeling a clenching in his gut as he stared into those empty eyes and caught a whiff of the rotted flesh beneath the black armor.

“You have a choice, Klendist,” Shakur hissed. Drawing out the Blood-knife, he held it in his palm. “This is your choice.”

The knife was yellowed with age, stained russet brown with the blood of those whose lives it had drained.

“I understand you, Shakur,” said Klendist harshly. “Put that damn thing away.”

“See that you do understand me,” said Shakur, thrusting the knife back into its sheath. “The Dominion Lords are to be captured alive.”

Klendist growled in dissatisfaction. His horse shifted restlessly. “I've been thinking about this. Taking them won't be easy.”

“You have war wizards who can deal with them, and Valura will be there to help you.” Shakur was fast losing patience. “By the Void, Klendist, there are only four of them! You are two hundred. You can all pile on top of them, if nothing else.”

“And what do we do once we have them?” Klendist retorted, undaunted. “They will be difficult to guard. I don't want the responsibility for them.”

“You will not have it long, rest assured of that,” said Shakur. “His
Lordship is eager to meet with them. Once you have captured them, His Lordship will come retrieve them.”

“And he'll pay us?”

“And pay you.”

“Very well,” said Klendist. “We'll wait until we hear from you. Just out of curiosity, Shakur. While we're dealing with the Dominion Lords, what will you be doing?”

“There is another Vrykyl out there, one who is far more dangerous to my lord than any twelve Dominion Lords. My task is to deal with their rebel.”

Klendist gave a whistle. “That powerful, huh? Mind telling me who he is or what he looks like? I wouldn't want to run across him.”

“If you did, it wouldn't matter,” said Shakur. “Because by the time you figured it out, you would already be dead.”

The Vrykyl turned his horse's head, galloped off.

Klendist glowered after him. He remained watching until he was certain that Shakur was gone. Klendist didn't believe this story of a rebel Vrykyl. Shakur was up to something.

“Something private on his own,” Klendist muttered. “All that bullshit about dealing with some deadly foe. As if there was any foe a Vrykyl couldn't handle. Well, whoever the rebel is, I wish him luck. I wouldn't mind seeing that Void-cursed monstrosity fall off his high horse.”

Returning to the campsite, Klendist found his men in a state of excitement. The last patrol had ridden in, and they came with good news.

“Did you find the Dominion Lords?” Klendist asked, swinging down out of the saddle.