by Ulff Lehmann
“No one is to leave, sir,” young Bolrain said, and received a smack to the head, administered by his brother. “Oh, now I get it!” he exclaimed a moment later.
“The brothers will be outside the city,” Janed Kaltairr decided. “We girls will spread the word.”
“I’ll draw up the order, and get you two,” he pointed at the men, “out of the city.”
“When?” old Bolrain asked.
“Now. You’ll get horses and will observe both roads. When you see anyone, notify the other. Are there more folks you can trust?”
“Aye,” Odrain said.
“Good, gather them. There need be more outside to pursue the traitors.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now get going. The order will be with you shortly,” Kildanor said as he withdrew parchment, ink, and quill from a drawer. He was already busy writing when the door had barely closed behind them.
It was shortly afterwards that he again stood before warden Kaltairr. He handed her the missive, and was off again. The woman was capable enough, and Nerran had recruited her. This made him even more confident of the mission’s success. Cumaill might not like the way he handled business, but if it produced results there would hardly be any argument against it.
Satisfied, he headed for the dungeon. Maybe he could discern what Drangar Ralgon’s purpose was.
When the evening gong rang across the city, Kildanor headed back up the stairs into the Palace’s main corridor. All his attempts to reach out to Ralgon had led to nothing. The man kept banging his head against the wall, muttering nonsense. He was at his wits’ end, nothing he said or did mattered to the man.
The witch didn’t help, either. All through the afternoon she had tried to advise him in the matter, from four cells away. Wizards should be dead, were all dead until this woman had blasted onto the scene. Cumaill wanted to use her as a weapon! Had it been his decision, he would have ended the Wizardess’ life with a quick slash through the throat.
Maybe Caretaker Gail could help. After all she was much more progressive than Braigh. Also, with the younger man gone, he had no other choice. He rather relied on some firebrand Kalduuhnean priestess of Eanaigh than on any of the others. Then again, what choice did he have? Fullon of Trannagh’s church was no healer. The Chosen scoffed at the notion of a priest of the God of Trade and Politics trying to heal anything but his own pockets or a bad deal. The Upholders of Lliania were in Justice, not the Healing business. The Deathmasks… aside from burying the deceased, no one knew what their duty was.
Gail it was then.
As he walked toward the chapel the Caretaker now occupied, he wondered how to find out what the plan was, once Nerran and the other Riders returned. He wasn’t sure asking her was such a wise idea. Maybe it was best to let things play out. Then again, maybe the priestess was worried about how the local Eanaighists would react to her being the replacement of Braigh. Maybe it was better to keep her occupied with the mystery that was Drangar Ralgon. From what Nerran had said the man was renowned, and the guardsmen had told him he was a formidable fighter. Or had been a formidable fighter, rather.
There was also the hideous murder to consider. During the time spent observing Ralgon, he was now filled with doubt about his initial assumption Ralgon was a herald of Lesganagh. Why would the Lord of Sun and War send such a wreck to do his bidding? From the look of him, Ralgon had tried to kill himself. Some scars looked fresher than the others his body bore, and so he guessed Ralgon had slit his wrists at least once after the deed.
While down in the dungeon, Kildanor had taken the time to review the Cherkont Street slaughter. It was strange that the notes and reports and the men’s recollections did not match entirely. The watchmen who had been friends with Ralgon claimed he never drank alcohol, yet there had been two glasses and an empty, shattered wine bottle at the scene of the crime. Also, it seemed Ralgon had fled his house seeming in full capacity of his senses. He had committed the crime, and yet had tried to kill himself. It didn’t make sense.
Further, he had come back from the dead, his wounds healed, and Braigh was certain some divine presence had shielded Ralgon from something. The Wizardess Ealisaid had confirmed this. There was more to this story than he or anyone else could discern and what was this demonology business in the Shadowpeaks? Why had five men, who had so conveniently burst into flame, tried to sacrifice Ralgon?
Kildanor was still pondering this problem when he rounded a corner and saw Caretaker Gail talking to a servant. He halted and overheard the last sentence the priestess said, “You will tell them once I give the word, understood?” The man nodded, held his hand out, and received a coin. Then he turned and hurried off.
Pretending to have just arrived, he headed toward her. “Just the Caretaker I’m looking for.”
Gail Caslin turned and greeted him with a quick bob of the head. “Sunsword, a fair evening to you.”
“And to you as well,” he replied.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, taking hold of his left arm and steering him into the chapel.
He matched her pace and when they stood before the small shrine dedicated to Eanaigh triumphant, he stopped. “I assume you heard about the new prisoner?”
“The resurrected mercenary?”
Her statement surprised him. “Mercenary?”
“You’re talking about Drangar Ralgon, I assume.”
“Aye,” he replied. “You know of him?”
“You obviously don't frequent the dives my comrades and I go to, Sunsword,” Caslin stated. She winked at him. “Good for you. As to your question, yes, I know of him. Was pretty much a bastard on the battlefield. Talk was he favored a decent slaughter.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What?”
The priestess shook her head. “Let me put it this way, I never talked to anyone who fought directly against him.”
That did not match what Ralgon’s former friends had said. According to them, he was a quiet, gentle, yet determined man. Her statement was far more in line with the Cherkont murder. “Did he ever leave anyone piecemeal?” he wondered.
Caslin frowned. “Not that I know of, why?”
He retold the events of one week ago, and concluded with, “Have you ever seen our new prisoner?”
The Caretaker declined, and he continued, “His wounds are fully closed, he refuses to eat. And …” He paused.
“And what, Sunsword?”
“You best see for yourself,” Kildanor replied. This time it was his turn to lead her.
The two walked down the stairs and into the guardroom. “Have you ever cured madmen?” he finally asked.
“Sometimes,” she replied, but she sensed his doubt.
“Good,” he said as he unlocked the heavy door and grabbed a lantern.
They walked down the corridor and stopped before the cell holding Drangar Ralgon.
Kildanor was by now used to the smell emanating from the confined place; the Caretaker clearly wasn’t. She crinkled her nose. Then she saw the man sitting on his bunk. Ralgon’s eyes were open but he seemed not to see his surroundings. Every few moments he slammed his head against the wall, and muttered something.
She looked at him in askance. “What is he saying?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, I listened to him for quite a while but never actually heard what the words were.”
“He says ‘What do you want from me?’ and ‘Leave me alone’,” a voice from another cell further down the corridor supplied. The Wizardess!
Before he could stop her, Caretaker Gail walked to the bars that held back the witch Ealisaid. Away from the stench of Ralgon’s cell, she took a deep breath before she addressed the woman. “Is there anything else?”
The sorceress replied, “I’ve listened to it for almost an entire day, but most of the time he just screams.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” Caslin asked.
Kildanor walked to the priestess. “This prisoner, milady, is dangerous.”
“
Oh, really now?” the Caretaker said.
“She killed a score of people.”
Gail scrutinized the witch. “Had to be very fragile people.”
“She is a Wizardess. Her kind can't be trusted!” Kildanor snapped. Was it only he who understood the danger?
“Funny, Chosen, my brethren in your local temple say the same about you,” she replied with wink. “Now, if you want my help, you will have to let me do it my way, understood?”
For a moment, he just stared at her. She was definitely from a different stock than Braigh. Her argument was flawless and left him only one thing to say, “Proceed.”
“Thank you,” the Caretaker beamed at him. Then, turning to Ealisaid, she asked, “Now, what else can you tell me?”
“I’ve seen madmen before, but this man’s lunacy is different,” the Wizardess said.
“How so?”
“Well,” she began, “I’ve looked at him twice in spiritform. The first time, before he came back to life, he was present in both worlds. Dead in both, but his body grabbed me when I approached his… spiritform, if that is the right word for it. Whatever shielded him then isn't protecting him now. That much I can tell you.”
She must have sensed Kildanor’s resentment, because her next words were addressed directly to him, “Yes, I walked about in spiritform again, to see what is wrong with him. He’s still there in both worlds, but he is bound to the spirit realm. I can only see that something is holding him, not what.”
He scrutinized the Wizardess and wondered whether this woman had also lost her mind. His knowledge of magic and spirits was lacking; a Chosen had better things to do than worry about spells. Next to him, Gail’s brow was creased in deep thought. He wondered what the priestess was pondering. There was enough in the Caretaker’s life to occupy her mind, but it seemed as if Ealisaid’s words had triggered something. “What do you think?” he finally asked.
Her eyes lost their faraway look and focused on him. “Maybe we can follow the lady Ealisaid into the spiritworld.”
Kildanor cocked an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
“Aye,” she said. “I’ve read about spiritform, and it is possible for a traveler to take along… passengers, for lack of a better term.”
“To what end?” He didn’t like this idea of following a Phoenix Wizard, of all people, on a journey to the realm of spirits. During the best of times, trust came hard to him, and to put his faith into a woman who belonged to an old enemy was something that caused severe apprehension.
“You could see what I see, for one,” Ealisaid answered in Caslin’s stead. Obviously, her line of reasoning went the same as the Caretaker’s.
“Aye,” Gail added. “And we might be able to free the poor soul from whatever is holding his mind prisoner.”
“Why should we do that?” He was skeptical. “The man is, in all likelihood, a murderer.”
Now it was Caslin’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “It was you who wanted the Lesganaghists’ rituals performed, if I remember correctly. Had you known what the man was, would you have denied him this last honor?”
Astonished Kildanor looked at her. He thought for a moment, considered the facts, and then nodded. “I don’t think so, aye. He’s a follower of Lesganagh.”
Mischief twinkled in the priestess’s eyes. “And isn’t it possible that this Drangar Ralgon was sent back for some purpose?”
Now she was proposing the same idea he had already toyed with. Maybe Lesganagh had healed him. “Possibly so, but I don’t trust her.” He pointed at the Wizardess.
“How many times must I tell you that I destroyed the buildings by accident?” Ealisaid snapped. “I thought your world was a prank! I’ve done all you asked of me!”
“You are a Phoenix Wizard!” The statement alone should have won the argument.
Caretaker Gail intervened. “And you’re the Chosen of a banned deity; you two have something in common. Besides, if that bag of bones over there was sent back for a reason, don’t you think you should do all in your power to help?”
Kildanor raised his hands in defeat. Gods, how he hated being outthought. “Damn you, woman! Must you fling logic back at me?”
“The sun burns and nourishes, does it not?” Caslin asked, blowing him a kiss.
“Aye,” he grudgingly acknowledged.
Ealisaid cleared her throat, and he turned from Gail’s enticing face to look at her. “You are forgetting one thing,” she stated. “First, I still have to agree. And second, I have heard of such things as you,” she pointed at Gail, “mentioned. But I have no idea how to perform such a thing.”
“Then,” Kildanor said, “you should start thinking about it. Even if Ralgon serves no greater purpose, having a lucid murderer in court is better than one who shits and pisses himself during trial.”
CHAPTER 44
Ealisaid didn’t know what to do. Her teachings had never gone as far as taking others with her into the spiritworld. The Chosen and the Caretaker had given her a task, and figuring out that problem was better than sitting in a cell hearing the ramblings of a madman and the thumping of his head against the wall.
Where should she begin? How should she begin? In the past—again the mere reminder made her fight back despair—she would have asked one of her teachers. Now she was master and had to teach herself.
She began with the facts, with what she knew of the spiritworld. Using this knowledge as a starting point, she considered movement and the connection between spiritform and body. Transportation spells were more complex, but they should be based on the same principle, since one teleported with one’s clothes. The spiritform usually was also dressed, which implied that taking along clothes was, essentially, a subconscious act. Now the only thing to do was test her theory, turn conscious thought to the matter of taking additional items along into the spiritworld.
“It has to be something that I’m not really attached to,” Ealisaid said aloud to convince herself of the idea. Back during her schooling her peers had sniggered at her mumblings until she had forced herself not to speak her thoughts out loud. Here in the dungeon, with the exception of Drangar Ralgon who didn’t mind one way or another, she was alone.
She looked along the two yards of wall on each side of her and saw a cup she must have forgotten after one of her meals. “This should do.”
She retrieved the mug, sat on the straw and concentrated to enter the spiritworld. With the container. What seemed easy in theory was more difficult in execution. It felt as if she was pulled into every direction at once. Now that she focused on what to take with her, she became aware of everything on her body. The action of taking along the cup forced her to think of every piece of clothing she wore; Ealisaid realized that forcing her subconscious thoughts into conscious action was not the way to proceed.
“I don’t think about walking, I just walk,” she muttered, deep in thought. “I picture the destination and I just walk there. I don’t worry about lifting first one and then the other foot.” She stood, raking both hands through her hair. “I don’t think about breathing, I just breathe.”
Maybe she approached the problem wrong. If walking and breathing, and the gods knew what else, was second nature to man or beast, then each creature should know how to do it. The spiritform, as she had reminded the Baron Duasonh so aptly, wasn’t magic. Anyone could do it! Provided they received training. To take Kildanor and Caretaker Gail along they would have to learn the basics. She had to teach them. She called for the guard and asked for both.
She didn’t have to wait long. The Baron accompanied the pair. In the dungeon’s gloom she found this Duasonh’s likeness to his ancestor even more remarkable. Every time she saw him the resemblance reminded her how much she had lost, but there was also a tinge of relief. She was glad not to have been part of the war, which had destroyed her world.
Duasonh briefly halted at Ralgon’s cell, took in the miserable sight, shook his head in disgust, and then moved on.
“What nonsense is this?
” the Baron asked when he stood next to the others.
“No nonsense, Lord Baron,” she replied. “Chosen Kildanor and the priestess Caslin want to investigate what has happened to Ralgon. I assume they told you of my discovery.”
“That they did,” Duasonh said. “It seems these two have set their mind to it. Not that there aren’t more important things than figuring out what ails a madman.”
“Have you found a way to take us along?” Kildanor cut in.
“In a way.”
The Caretaker frowned. “What do you mean ‘in a way’?”
“I can help you follow me, anything else is as of now beyond me,” she replied. She was annoyed at her own limitations, but there was nothing she could do.
“No magic?” Duasonh asked.
“No magic, milord,” Ealisaid said. “I explained, or rather tried to explain it before. This isn’t magic, unless you say dreams are magic also.” The look she gave the nobleman would have been condescending in different surroundings; here in this cell she guessed it was rather silly.
“Very well. Proceed.” He looked at the Chosen and the Caretaker. “This is your hobby horse, don’t take it too far, there’s much that needs be discussed.” Duasonh turned away and hurried down the corridor, muttering to himself.
“Poor chap,” Kildanor laughed. “The letters have all his attention. He called some lore men to make sense of them.”
“Lore men? What letters?” the priestess asked.
“I procured several letters from the Chanastardhians. Turns out some of the stuff is gibberish. He thinks it’s code.”
“A cipher?” Caslin sounded astonished.
“Aye! I suggested he get some scribes and maybe a priest of Traghnalach.”
“Lore men?” The priestess smirked.
“Aye, lore men.”
“I can guide you, but it is you who have to do the work here,” Ealisaid interrupted the pair’s banter. “I tried, but to perform what you want of me I need more time, a commodity we don’t have.”
“What do you need of us?” Caslin asked.
“You know how to meditate, I assume?” Everything hinged upon how the answer would be. If one of them knew, she could take that person with her, she hoped. If neither knew the attempt was doomed to fail.