Kavin's World (17 page)

Along the walls, in niches, figures stood, man-sized; at first I took them for guards, but saw they were only statues. The nearest was a rather ordinary looking man, in odd garments, but with no mark of any reason for his honored status. The other statues seemed very like the first.

The floor of the place was an enormous expanse of polished stone, set with a maze of odd designs in colored inlays, all geometric figures—circles, stars, lettered lines. I could see no other doors, and the whole vast place was quite empty.

Then a door opened, and a man came out, and walked toward us, slowly.

He seemed a most unlikely wizard, even more unlikely than Thuramon. He was a man of average height, with a short gray beard, bald, and dressed in a simple tunic of coarse cloth. I had expected some sort of display, I suppose; possibly gaudy jewels, or splendor of costume, at least.
Or guards, a gemmed throne, and the like.

And now he was before us, lifting a hand in a bored greeting.

“Prince of Dorada,” he said, grinning familiarly at me.
“And your man of art, the apprentice Thuramon.”
He chuckled sardonically, and his eyes rested on my face. “I am Arastap, and I speak for all who dwell here. We are the Dragon’s Nephews, to use the old word for our kind in your tongue.”

“You seem to have sharper ears than most, Lord Arastap,” I said, calmly enough. “You know my name and Thuramon’s, and whence we came.”

“I know also that you held friendly parley with the servants of the beast,” he said, still smiling.

“You mean that ice-faced one who calls himself Theodron,” I said. “Then you may also know I made no bargains with him or his Brotherhood.”

“Had you done so, your ships would even now be
flaming
in the sea,” Arastap said. “That one has always undervalued us, because we let him go his way.” He laughed, pleasantly. “He has never learned enough humility to know why we were so forebearing with his kind.”

“He bars our path,” Thuramon said. “If we should try to make our way across Koremon, he and his kind would probably slay us all.”

Arastap transferred his cool gaze to Thuramon, and looked puzzled at him.
“Across Koremon?
Why should you wish to go that way? Know you not what lies beyond?” He laughed again. “Why, little Thuramon, I thought you somewhat of a fumbler, but not completely a fool. Come, wouldn’t it be better to be torn by werewolves’ teeth, or drown at sea, than live… under the three?”

Thuramon’s face set. “It is the three we seek.”

“Dragons!”
Arastap cried, turning his face to the dome above; his voice echoed oddly, and he seemed to speak to the empty air around us.
“Colleagues!
The arrows for our bow!”

Out of empty space, a murmur came, the sound of voices, as if a dozen giants spoke together in a rumbling conference.
And with that sound, there was also a deep booming music, tones as of distant pipes; the sound of dragons, purring.

Then one of the human voices came out of the general murmuring, more clearly, clanging in the dome around us.

“Now is our time come! Our long waiting is over! Bid these good men welcome, Arastap, and tell them the rest!”

The dragon’s Nephew extended a hand and took mine to grip it firmly. Now his face bore a wide smile of joy.

“You are the enemies of our enemy!” he said. “Good Thuramon, take my apology for my words, about your skill.”

“I’ll consider it,” Thuramon said, looking surprised, and considerably pleased.

“Prince Kavin… there are things better seen than told,” Arastap said. “Come with me, into the ancient halls of this place, and you will see. But know this… you are the first who have ever entered here who are not our craft.” He lifted his hand, and made a certain gesture toward me; I hesitated a moment, and then returned the sign. “You are Initiate in the Mystery, then,” he said, satisfied. “Good. I know you will speak to none outside of anything you may see that should be kept secret. Come… this place is only a hall of audience, where we sometimes speak with outsiders with whom we have dealings.”

He turned, and strode toward the door by which he had entered, and we followed.

“I would you had the time, to see much more of our home than you will see now,” Arastap said, as we hurried along. “If… I mean when… you return from the land beyond Koremon, there may be time then.”

We were going along a handsome arched gallery, lit by the same witchfire that had lighted the dome. It was an artfully built place, fit for a palace. Doors lined it along its columned walls… but there was no sign of any other person.

“Such a place of beauty…” I said, thoughtfully. “Have you no servants? Or is this all kept by magical arts?”

“This?” Arastap glanced around. “Oh. No, we have no servants. As a matter of fact, we… we are the servants, in a sense. We serve our… uncles.” He grinned. “We have ways of having our work done for us, but there would hardly be need for many servants even so. There are only thirteen of us.”

“Thirteen?” I asked. “You
mean,
thirteen who rule this island?”

“I mean thirteen all told.” Arastap said. “Thirteen… there were many more of us, once… but these are all now. We shall live on here, doing our work, until there are no more.” He sighed, stopping before a carved door.

“Here…”

The room beyond was another palatial chamber, furnished with great carven chairs, jeweled lamps, and a table that seemed to be carved from a single enormous gem-stone. Arastap dropped into a chair, and gestured to us to do the same. He pointed to the wall, and a wine-red drape moved silently aside.

Beyond, there was what at first I thought to be a huge window. It overlooked a vista of forest and hill, from a point high in the air, as if it were a tower.
But the scene was in full sunlight, and I suddenly remembered that it was still night, outside this craggy castle.

I leaned forward, studying the scene. Then I saw moving figures, very small, walking along a grassy track, and beyond, familiar walls and a squat tower.

“This is a scene from your journey today,” Arastap said. “With this… window, I suppose you might call it… we can see great distances.
Both in miles and in years, if we wish.
But only into the past.
We do not read the future with this.”

Thuramon was fascinated. “Into the past!” he
said,
his eyes wide.
“To learn so much!”

Arastap nodded.
“Too much, for most men’s peace.
It’s better to lie about one’s own history, even to one’s self. Most nations do that quite well.” He chuckled dryly. “With this, we caught glimpses of what has happened to you, until today. We saw you approach, in the sea; and we did not know then, that you were enemies to the three kings. Although we knew they must have loosed the evil that struck you… we thought you only… well, barbarians.” He leaned back, and looked at us. “We learned… from another kind of magic… that our only hope of striking at the three would come soon, within a certain time. We could not learn what that hope would be. But when you spoke, we received a new message. Now, we know. You are to be our weapon against these.”

I felt uneasy, listening to this.

“Arastap…” I said. “We would welcome aid… but we are not a tool for another. Your acquaintance, the Abbot, has already offered us such a post if we wanted it.”

“Pride, pride,” Arastap murmured. “Come now… let’s not quibble about an unfortunate turn of phrase. Not tool, then, but ally. Will that do?”

“One thing I do not understand,” I said. “You seem to know of these mysterious three, and hate them. But how could they injure you, masters of magic that you are? And then, too, why should you need alliance with us, a tribe of refugees? Surely your own magic arts should be enough.”

Arastap shook his head. “Not enough. I have told you, we are but thirteen individuals. Very much individuals, too, I fear. We cannot even work well for a common end with each other, except in time of great peril.” He smiled at me, a little wearily. “When I spoke the word pride… I did not mean your pride alone.
Ours… one of our greatest weaknesses.
Each of us is very wise, and very learned… and each is jealous of certain anciently held rights. We work together very badly. But there’s one more reason why we cannot attack those three, even if we were more numerous, even if we could agree for more than a day at a time. We are the Dragon
people, all that
are left. By our law, we cannot leave this place, nor cease our service to our… friends.”

He turned in his chair, facing the window again.

“The Brotherhood of Wisdom, as they call themselves…” he said. “They came here, long ago, fleeing what they called sin. They found
a
herb in the forest, which they were taught to use by a stranger, who came to their monastery. And later, he taught them other things, little by little. And one day, some of them entered the temple of their god, and threw down his altar, and burned a new kind of sacrifice on it.” Arastap smiled. “They were surprised to discover that their god was so powerless. Not even an attempt at vengeance came against them. So… now they have a different kind of wisdom, and a different god. But they are the same fools they always were.”

“Fools or not, they can transform themselves into near-invulnerable beasts, I’m told,” I said. “And it may be that they’ve command of other evil magic. How can we drive them out of Koremon?”

Arastap sighed. “We shall miss them, in a way. We have let them go on, because…” He paused, and shrugged. “It was wrong of us, in a way. They have enslaved the small folk of Koremon, and they hunt them, like cats after mice. And live on their labor at the same time. But… our dragons are strong and healthy enough on a simple diet of fish, of course. But they do so enjoy the taste of the werebeasts!”

I stared at him. “You’ve preserved them, like… like wild game?”

He nodded. “I fear so. And now we must help you clear them away. Well… the plant still grows in many forests, and there will always be fools to use it. Our dragons will have their dainties, though far less often. We will aid you, when you remove these creatures from the land. Afterward, if some of your people wish to stay in Koremon, we will not disturb them… though they must not disturb us, or shoot at our dragons.”

“Some will wish to stay,” I said. “But I shall go on, till I find the three.”

“Then you will wish to see what you hunt,” Arastap said. He pointed at the window again. “Our vision goes to the border of their place… no farther, for their power holds it back. Here is the path you will take.”

The window’s view seemed to move, swift as a bird, across the forest of Koremon land. The sun flashed on snow peaks ahead.

The view seemed to follow a traced path, gray against the green of grass, another such road as we had followed in Koremon. At times, traces of paving were visible, as the road wound up and through a mountain pass. Over a tumbling brook, there were the remnants of a stone bridge, and the road was cut into the edges of cliffs here and there.

“Who built that road?” I asked.

“Oh, that was long ago,” Arastap said.
“Even before we ourselves began, when this island rock was only part of a greater land.
This is the oldest of worlds, Prince of Dorada. Many folk were here before you. Many rose from savagery, pranced awhile in the sun, and fell again to darkness.”

Now the road in the window-image fell downward along a rocky slope and through a second high pass. And there, the image slowed, and stopped its movement, the pass framed in it, and the valley that lay beyond was visible, dimly and distantly.

It was like a vision of the place that some believe in as a place of torture after death.

A pall of greasy smoke drifted in the air, almost as high as the surrounding mountains. It seemed to be very cold; a thin snow fell, misting the view, and lay gray instead of white on the road ahead. Below, on the valley floor, there was a gleam of water, possibly a river, but there was no greenery near it. Instead, a mass of monstrous buildings, jumbled together like bricks, stood centered in the valley. And around this structure the earth lay bare and empty, except for two or three paths across this desert.

The buildings themselves were angular and ugly, all of a blackish color like river mud; it was too far to see if they possessed any windows at all, but even at such a distance their ugliness was plain enough. Here and there smoke poured out, as though they were on fire; but it seemed to be only a great chimney. The whole place was almost as large as a small city, from the look of it, but there was no look of a city of men about it.

Nearby, on the blackened earth, a queer thread of some glittering stuff lay, stretching like a road toward the farther hills and disappearing into them. As I studied this, a thing that seemed at first to be a black caterpillar of enormous size came running along the shining thread. I peered harder, and saw that the caterpillar was a line of huge carts, following the metal lines as if guided thereby, and apparently tied to each other. This procession vanished into a door of the building.

I could see tiny specks on a path, which might be human forms, walking somewhere on some unknown errand. Periodically, blue lights flashed above the building, like mast-top lightning; but there was no other sign of
who
or what lived there.

“This is what we see, now,” Arastap said. “They know of us, and block our vision. And I think they know we hate them, and why. When they first came… wait, I will show you a recorded image of this.”

The valley faded, and changed. Now, it was only an empty, snow-veiled valley, with an icy stream meandering through it. The view moved, and faces appeared. First, men dressed in furs, dragging burdens of sledges; then other men, driving the first.

The image drew closer still, to the face of one man; a tall man, shaven on chin and head, carrying a long black staff. His rock-hard face was the face of one who rules, and ruthlessly, a face of power and evil. Yet, at the same time, there was a queer weakness about it; the quick lower lip had a look of petulance and anger.