The Last Praetorian (34 page)

It was a command and Tarion recognized the nature of it immediately. It assaulted his mind much more insidiously than the attack of the Idjar or dragonspell, but it was an assault, nonetheless. Still, Tarion turned to Alexandrus and said, “Excuse me; it seems I’m done shopping for the day.” He laid a handful of gold coins on the table. “Hold that parchment for me—I’ll be back for it.”

“Very well, Tarion,” Alexandrus said and he started to say something else, but a sharp glance from Rowena stopped him. She smiled coldly, took Tarion’s arm and walked him out of the shop.

#

When they were gone, Alexandrus shook his head and turned to Baer with a sigh. “I always told her that one day she’d run across her better,” he said. “Students never listen to their teachers until it’s too late. I hope she survives this lesson!”

Chapter 2
8:  Everything Changes

Tarion allowed Rowena to lead him through the streets to the academy. The school itself was a haphazard array of halls, courts, dormitories and towers; but at the center was the original keep, now well repaired. Rowena led him into the lower level of the keep that now served as the entry hall. There were many students and faculty present, but they parted to allow Rowena through. Not a single wizard or witch dared to ask her business; her presence was that dominant.

Rowena took Tarion down a long winding stair and led him through several passages before finally entering a catacomb. In answer to his obvious query, she laughed.

“I am taking you home, of course! Oh, don’t fret! This isn’t the first time you’ve gone forgetful on me. Adventuring has its dangers to be certain, but ever since your encounter with the Jin of Abakan, you’ve had this memory problem. Don’t worry, it always returns under my tender care!” She took out her wand and uttered a word of command. The tip began to glow, giving sufficient light for them to pass into the catacombs.

“This seems rather superfluous for a school.”

“You’ve said that before. It’s interesting that you should have the same observation almost every time we come through here.” She turned left and then right, passed down another stair and crossed a wide hall filled with tables, chairs and bookcases—dark and deserted. “These are the catacombs of the castle. They extend well beyond the walls and into the hillside. Come, we’re almost home.”

“We don’t live down here, certainly!”

“Of course not, our home is in Grosthammr, but my gate is here,” she said. At the far end of the hall was a locked door. She opened it and they entered a long straight corridor. Dripping brick lined the interior. There were torches set in brackets every twenty feet or so along the wall. With a simple wave of her wand, Rowena lit the torches.

The flickering red light showed many empty arches upon either side, but Rowena passed a score of them before taking a left hand door. It led into a small nondescript chamber easily illuminated by her wand. The walls were smooth and wet with moisture. Rowena approached the far wall and passed her hand over its surface. A dim door formed. She beckoned Tarion and he followed her through.

There was a rushing in Tarion’s ears and it took him a moment to realize it was the sea. He was in a gray stone room bright with the winter sun. Light streamed through the tall windows revealing a sparkling wind-whipped sea. Tarion walked to the windows and peered out. To the west was a broad delta. A small village nestled on the banks of a river emptying into the sea.

“Yes, it’s a pretty sight; it must be the more so for you getting to see it for the first time every few months,” Rowena sighed, motioning him to follow her.

Tarion smiled mirthlessly, not believing a word of it. There was nothing specific in his doubt, but Rowena was not a good actress and her explanation was far too convenient for his liking. That alone would have been enough to prod his suspicions, but considering his past few days, it wasn’t so great an intuitive leap.

“So what do you usually do when I have one of my spells?” he asked innocently,
looking around the room. He noted the door they came through. It had dozens of runes set about its stone trim. The rune for “T” was still glowing.

“I have any number of memory charms that usually work,” she answered evenly
, leading him on through the castle. “When it’s a particularly bad time, we have to use a time portal, a gate to the previous day. You lose the experiences of the former day, but that has yet to fail.”

“It is an interesting affliction,” he said, going over her form with an exacting eye and looking for clues to reveal her motives. Rowena was perhaps thirty, lithe in frame and handsome. She was not especially beautiful in face or carriage but that was largely because she didn’t present herself in that manner. An expression of concentration permanently knit her brow over a pair of hard blue eyes, as if she looked for secrets, not pleasure.
Her walk, while completely feminine, was aggressive and forceful. He could see himself admiring such a woman and respecting her, but, as far as attraction, there was no possibility whatsoever.

Rowena took him several levels below the gate. The rooms were well furnished, even elegant in an unsettling manner, but the last chamber they entered was strictly utilitarian. It was a large hall with a high ceiling supported by enormous timbers. Along the walls were shelf upon shelf of books and scrolls, instruments, bottles and everything else a well-to-do witch would have in her workroom. Tarion counted half a dozen cauldrons going at once. Each one had its own table with the requisite books, ingredients and scrolls for the particular activity.

“You keep yourself busy it seems,” Tarion mentioned. “How was it again that you heard I was in Trondheim?”

She gave him a sour glance, as if this were not the first time she had to deal with these suspicions. “Gaurnothax was the big clue,
luv and not much mystery there. You know many other adventurers who go about strangling dragons?”

“Is that what I do?”

“That’s what you’ve always done, luv, in every incarnation I know about.”

“Every incarnation, what on Midgard do you mean by that?”

She gave him an almost human glance, as if she were amused—Tarion couldn’t tell whether she was amused with her own skill or his predicament.

“Luv, you’ve been through Limbo so many times Lord Death has given up on you.” She pulled a scroll out of its niche. The scroll rack itself was a wonder of organization and very telling of Rowena and her motives. Each of the hundreds of parchments was set in a shelf beneath the rune of a particular spell, incantation or charm. “You’ve worked for Gods
, Kings, Praetorians, farmers, ladies—even a certain Destructor. You’ve made more gold than you could possibly spend, done deeds that draw the envy of the Gods and absconded with some curious things that you should never have been privy to; this is the result of one of the lesser items. Now where is that new scroll I made? Ah, here it is.”

For some of the spells there were dozens of scrolls ready-made, as if it were an oft-used recipe, but the scroll Rowena pulled for Tarion was the only one of its kind and there were no spaces for more.

“Have a seat, luv, over there in the comfy chair. This should only take a moment and we’ll have you back to your old self again.”

Tarion followed her directions, but only out of curiosity. With the pathological organization of the room, it was impossible that Rowena should have to look for her scroll—especially one she used so often. He was still more interested than concerned. He couldn’t identify the reason for his calm and passive manner. Was it confidence or something more subtle and less wholesome? He relaxed and allowed his senses to search for nothing in particular—except anything peculiar.

He noticed that the droning of the sea was still in his ears, yet they were now far beyond the sounds of wave and wind. It washed upon his mind like the soothing beat of the sea swell rhythmically caressing his psyche. The sound was like a wisp of fog, but once he knew it was there, he could seize it and dissect the words. There they were faint and hard to hear, but he caught them, nonetheless: “Follow me, trust me, believe in me and obey me.” She repeated them over and over again under her breath and even between the words of her conversation, so that he was never without them. Their intent was plain even if her purpose was not. Tarion smiled, stretching out in the chair; he was happy to have found something that made his suspicions tangible.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I believe so,” he said.

“Good. Empty your mind and listen to my words.”

Tarion closed his eyes, supremely aware of all about him. She began the incantation. It was short but extraordinarily complicated, as if there were many twists and turns to it. Her voice rose and fell with the power of her spell. It struck him as very strange for a simple memory charm. He felt a great wave of energy rushing toward him and to his mind’s eye, he saw himself standing on the walls of a mighty fortress—the fortress of his will. In the distance, across a green alpine landscape, a mighty wall of water swept toward his bastion. He watched with fascination as the tsunami broke upon his walls and swept around his fortress. The water sucked at the foundations of his will. It probed for any weakness, but there were no breeches in his defenses. The only noticeable affect was the swirling of the air around him; it tried to suck him over the walls. That gave away the intent of the attack. It was subtle and not what he expected. In actuality, Rowena had already accomplished what she wished. He looked out to the flood beyond his walls and saw a vortex form. Slowly it approached his walls.

Tarion’s eyes snapped open and he saw the gate forming in front of him—black like oil, with flames licking at the borders—just the same as Loki’s gate. Tendrils of flame already surrounded him, holding him, pulling him toward the gate. The chair scraped across the floor. He sprang up and out of the way. The chair disappeared into the vortex. Rowena glared at him and turned the portal toward him.

Angry now, Tarion came after her.

“Where is it you were trying to send me, Rowena?”

The witch looked indecisive. She could not control the gate and face Tarion at the same time. Tarion’s advance settled the matter. She let go of the gate and it stopped, hanging there in the acrid air, pulsing with light and shadow. Her wand moved with a speed too swift for the eye to follow and pulses of color flashed before Tarion’s eyes.

Tarion rushed through the cloud. Hungry tentacles of electricity reached out for him, but his flesh tingled where she intended it should burn and he burst through with no ill effect. Rowena was difficult to see through the cloud, but he saw her all the same. He leapt after her and clutched at her robes. She gave a cry as he grabbed a handful of cloth and she shouted a command: “Draconis Incinerus!”

Rowena was gone and in her place was the intimidating form of a red dragon. It seemed terribly real, or so she intended it to look. Yet to Tarion’s trained eyes, the dragon, although perfect to the last detail, was slightly transparent.

Beneath the façade, Rowena was still visible in her mortal shape, miming the actions of her perceived beast. She opened her
finely made lips, as if to breathe and the dragon breathed. Knowing the illusion for what it was, Tarion strode forward and ignored the flames. She bit at him. As her dragon’s head rushed down upon him, Tarion reached up and caught the jaws in mid gape. He held them fast and Rowena came to a sudden halt.

Tarion twisted the dragon’s head around and threw a brawny arm around its neck and Rowena followed. To Tarion, her dragon had no more strength than the woman did. Presently, he had both of them firmly in his grasp. He squeezed her throat enough to make his intentions as translucent as her beast. The image of the dragon withered and in the crook of his arm, he had a very angry but very helpless woman.

“You have but one chance to save yourself, Rowena. Now tell me: where was it you were trying to send me and why? Answer me!”

Rowena’s unladylike curse was her only response.

“Why is it you creatures are so blasted stubborn?” he said roughly, lifting Rowena up and hurling her through the gate. The portal flared briefly and he saw Rowena on the other side. Instead of rising, she took a knee and bowed her head in submission. The massive darkness of the Destructor loomed over her.

Tarion and the Destructor appraised each other for a moment and the shadow said, “Praetorian, you are beginning to pass the bounds of amusement!”

“Amusement,” Tarion exclaimed. In a mixture of tedious frustration and sudden illumination, he dared ask the Destructor a question. “Is that all we are to you; are we nothing more than amusement?”

Naugrathur crossed his mighty arms over his deep chest. His eyes narrowed to slits of smoldering flame, ready to burst in a sudden explosion of fury, but somehow curious at the same time. “What is it Praetorian, what is it you wish to know?”

“I wish to know why, Dread Lord!” he asked sternly. “Why you, the most powerful being in the multiverse bring so much strife to the world, when your unsurpassed wisdom and knowledge could raise the world to splendorous heights? Why do you deal so much death and suffering, when you could do so much good?”

The Destructor bowed his head and clasped his hands behind his back. He began to pace, glancing every few moments at the Praetorian. “I expected that question sooner from you, but then my expectations for you have always been high! You wish the answer, truly?”

“Yes.”

The Destructor stopped and looked down on Tarion. “Then you do not think my actions are due to innate and impersonal evil?”

“Of course not!” Tarion replied sternly. “You were Tyr—Tyr—the selfless God who taught humanity honor.” He shook his head with consternation. “I cannot reconcile Tyr with the Destructor!”

“You impress me yet again Praetorian,” the Destructor replied, renewing his pacing. “Therefore, I say your boldness requires an answer.
” He stopped and faced the Praetorian. His eyes flared brightly and he said, “Chaos, Tarion, that is your answer—chaos! Whatever evil I may have done through my aggression or alliances it is insignificant to the evil done by chaos! How many wars, famines or catastrophes has freewill caused in the history of the world? How many have come to grief? The number is beyond reckoning. I alone have the power to make chaos into order, all-knowing, all-encompassing order. Is it just that a man in Roma has food while a man in Trondheim does not? Is it just that a child in the west grows up in ruins and a child in the east learns his letters? Chaos destroys the equality that is demanded by justice.”