“Whatever name I had, my lord, I have long since forgotten. I am just the Keeper now, it is who I am, and all that I will be until I pass back into the dust.”
“And your apprentice, what name does he go by?”
“Apprentice is the only name for him that I can recall, but my memory is not what it once was.”
“I am Stev Keevis Arkguardt, son of Stev Terzan of the Emerald Forest,” said the young elf.
“Stev is the elven title for an arch-mage,” whispered Sevare in Frem’s ear.
“You are young for a Stev,” said Ginalli.
“Those of the blood are older than we look to you Volsungs.”
“Of the blood?” whispered Frem.
“That’s how elves refer to themselves,” said Sevare.
“My lord, tell me truly now whether or not you serve the great lord, the one true god, Azathoth.”
“I do.”
“Only one of the flesh of Azathoth could grasp the Orb in his bare hand and survive the heavenly fire. How did you this?”
“I am Azathoth’s son.”
The elf’s grin widened still. “The son of the lord, himself? I see in your eyes and in your heart that it be true; indeed, it must be true. Your glorious coming was foretold in the ancient scrolls of Cumbria. I know them well, I do. You are he of golden eye and lordly bearing of which Cumbria speaks, though she was rather vague on the timing of your arrival. Glory be to Azathoth that I have lived to see this day.”
“Pardon my directness, but I must ask you now, will you use the Orb as it was meant to be used? Will you use it to open the holy portal to the paradise of Nifleheim? Will you beseech the lord to travel back to Midgaard with all his divine hosts, so that we might worship before him as in olden days?”
“That is my plan.”
“You swear this?”
“I do.”
The old elf studied Korrgonn carefully, staring deep into his golden eyes. Then he smiled and nodded his head. “The Orb can only be used at one of the Lord’s ancient temples, those consecrated in bygone days by the Lord’s holy Arkons. Your journey will be long and grievous hard no matter to which temple you head. The minions of evil will haunt your every step, and seek to stop you with all their infernal power. Are you prepared to face these trials?”
“I am, and I will.”
“Then the Orb is rightfully yours and yours alone. Use it well and wisely, my lord. My labors are now complete. It’s strange, but I never thought to speak those words; I never thought this day would truly come—for Apprentice maybe, or one of those that follow him, but not for me.”
“You have done well, Keeper,” said Korrgonn. “Your long and loyal service is at an end; you may rest now and when your time comes, take your rightful place in Nifleheim where you will be rewarded beyond imagining for your faith and loyalty.”
“Thank you,” he said, tears welling in his ancient eyes. “I imagine you are anxious to be off, my lord, but can I offer you and yours a meal and wine before you depart? The tunnels are long and the stairs are steep; rest here a brief while, if you will.”
“We will,” said Korrgonn, “but only for a short while.”
The Keeper led the group beyond the hidden door and into a wondrous cavern. The high ceilings were covered with glowing lichen that lit the place half as bright as day. The Keeper proudly showed them his vast laboratory, filled with table after table cluttered with glass jars of all shapes and sizes, each filled with smoking and bubbling elixirs. There was row upon row of crystal vials filled with powders and strange colored liquids. All manner of wizard wares haunted the place, though all were labeled in some ancient elven script unknown to any of Korrgonn’s party.
The Keeper led them to his trophy room. There were displayed the remnants of many of the ill-fated thieves the Keeper spoke of. There were racks of weapons, spears and swords, axe and hammer, some ancient and archaic, others far newer. Displays of dented armor, shattered helms, and mangled shields were scattered about the hall. Here and there, a full-bodied skeleton hung from hooks, and there and there a great display of skulls, all carefully arranged, displayed not in a gory manner, but more like a macabre museum exhibit.
The cavern included a well-appointed library where Korrgonn and the wizards lingered, leafing through musty old tomes called the books of Dyzan, Eibon, Iod, and Thesselak, before joining the others for a meal of fresh vegetables grown in the cavern under the strange lichen light, and clean, pure water extracted from a well.
After their repast, the Keeper showed them a true wonder. At the far end of the cavern, the Keeper had a magnificent little stone quarry and workshop. But the wonder was not the beautiful marble and veined granite that was quarried there and cut into stone tiles and stone doors for the cavern complex, it was the stone mason himself. Besides the Keeper and his apprentice, the mason was the only creature that lived within the cavern complex, if lived could be applied to him at all.
“This is Mason,” said the Keeper. “A creation of mine in my younger days.” Mason looked to be living stone, shaped like a very tall, very broad man, down to the eyes, nose, and mouth, though he had no skin or hair—only hard, cold, gray stone.
“A golem of stone,” said Korrgonn.
“Indeed, my lord,” said the Keeper. “I learned the craft to make him from some old book, but I’ve forgotten which.”
“Impressive,” said Ginalli. “A lost art. I’ve only heard of such creatures in legend. Until now, I thought them no more than fancy.”
“As you see, he is real enough. I made him several thousand years back, I think,” said the Keeper. “Mason keeps up the place, repairing anything that needs repairing, replacing the tiles and doors when they’re broken, and cleaning up the messes that need cleaning.” Even now, Mason labored over a stone slab, measuring and cutting it to the size of a door, no doubt to replace the one the group had earlier broken down. “And he’s handy in a fight too; his hammer is deadly, as have found more than a few intruders.”
“No need, no need, Mason,” said the Keeper. “Your labors are done, as are mine.” Mason looked up; his stony features took on a look of surprise. “No sense replacing any doors now, as there is nothing left to guard. The lord’s son has come for the holy Orb and has it now. We’re quite through here, quite through.” Mason put down his tools and looked confused, lost.
“Through?” he said in a deep gravelly voice.
“It talks?” said Sevare.
“Of course,” said the Keeper, “any amateur wizard can make a mute golem, but one that talks, that is a rare thing that requires a bit of skill.”
“Now, Apprentice, gather your things, including the choice books from the library, for you will not be returning here. I have one last task for you.”
Stev Keevis looked surprised. “What task, Keeper?”
“You shall journey with Lord Korrgonn and aid him in opening the holy portal. Mason shall go with you.” He turned to Korrgonn. “With your permission, of course, my lord.”
“We will accept their help gladly,” said Korrgonn.
Keevis dashed off and the group made their way back to the strange chamber that had housed the Orb, a slow trek due to the snail-paced shuffling of the Keeper. By the time they stood before the dais in the orb chamber, Keevis rejoined them carrying a large pack over his shoulder, another in hand, and wearing a traveling cloak. Mason now wore a thick hooded cloak that concealed his true nature, and a large pack was slung over his shoulder, a huge hammer hung from his belt.
“Well, now, Apprentice, Mason, step up here so I need not shout,” though every word of the Keeper was something of a shout. “No wizard has ever had as accomplished an apprentice as you, my boy. I am proud of you, both as a wizard and as an elf.”
“Mason, you old blockhead, you’ve been loyal and tireless, and not much trouble at all. I thank you for all your toils these many years.”
“I expect that you both will serve Lord Korrgonn as you have served me. When your quest is comp
leted, so too will be your obligation and you may pursue your own course thereafter. Have you the tomes of spells? The tokens and the potions?”
“Yes, Keeper,” said Keevis.
“Good. Fare thee well, and remember all that I have taught you.”
“That I will, Keeper,” said Keevis, his voice crackling with sorrow.
“And I,” said Mason.
The Keeper and Keevis shook hands and embraced. Even Mason extended his stony hand and shook the Keeper’s hand, though the old elf winced from the golem’s strength.
The Keeper turned back to Korrgonn. “One last boon, my lord, before you depart. My time on Midgaard is at an end at last. Touch me upon my shoulder, so that I might feel your divine essence before I leave this life.”
Korrgonn nodded his agreement.
The Keeper closed his eyes. “From dust I came, and to dust I return,” he said as Korrgonn placed a hand on his shoulder. A peacefulness came over the Keeper’s old face, a look of contentment and relief, and then before the eyes of all, the Keeper’s flesh turned to gray and dissolved to dust from the head down, all in the merest of moments. A heap of old clothes and rusty armor was all that remained. A breeze came up out of nowhere and blew the Keeper’s ashes up and away, though the piles of ash about the floor remained untouched.
XI
AZURA THE SEER
“Beware him. He’s the Prince of Lies.
He will be the death of us all.”
—Azura the Seer
At some sixty feet in height and more twenty-five feet in diameter, Azura’s rough-hewn stone tower dwarfed its neighbors. Painted a bright blue, it stood at the center of a cobblestone square ringed by low stone walls. A gardener tended the flowers that adorned the square’s carved stone planters while a servant swept the pavement clean. Two guards flanked the tower’s door.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said one guard at the group’s approach. “How may I help you?”
“Good day,” said Tanch. “We come seeking an audience with Mistress Azura.
The guard looked the group over.
“All of you?”
“These are but my bodyguards and servants. Pay them no heed.”
“Of course, sir. May I please have your name and occupation?”
“I am Sinch, the spice merchant. I trust you’ve heard of me.”
“Of course, sir, and welcome. Please remain here a moment and I will see if the seer is available to meet with you.”
The second guard remained outside. He looked uncomfortable as he sized up the large men that stood with Tanch. He kept a nervous hand on the hilt of his sword, but looked ready to run at the first sign of trouble. In a few minutes, the first guard returned.
“Merchant Sinch, the seer will see you now. I regret, the rules of the house permit no more than four visitors at a time, regardless of their station. The remainder of your party must remain in the courtyard.”
“Very well,” said Tanch. “You and you, remain here,” pointing to Dolan and Artol. “And don’t make a nuisance of yourselves.”
The guard showed Tanch and the others through the outer door and into an entry hall that served as both cloakroom and guard post. The second guard joined them, and closed and barred the outer door. An inner door now opened, revealing a dimly lit chamber of incense, tapestries and hanging beads.
Azura sat at a wood table facing the group as they entered. Youthful, shapely and striking, her auburn hair fell thick and wavy about her shoulders. Beside her stood a barbarian of the southern islands, shirtless but adorned with tattoos across his barrel chest and bulging arms. A giant—taller than Theta, dark of skin, bald of pate, and past four hundred pounds.
Azura’s hands rested on the table before her. A large sphere of blue crystal sat in a carved wooden holder on the table before her. A flickering candle beside it caused light to dance within the crystal, creating strange shapes and an eerie glow. Nearby, a deck of tarot cards, careworn but ornate. Tapestries adorned all the walls and silks draped the ceiling. Candles burned here and there, but the room was intentionally dim.
***
A wizard, a gnome, and soldiers, finely clothed—just as Rimel said. They can pay.
“Greetings, Mistress Azura,” said Tanch as he reverently bowed. Tanch raised his staff up and thumped it down lightly on the wood floor. “Forgive my small deception to your guard. As you no doubt can discern, I am no spice merchant.”
“Indeed, you are not, Par—”
Tanch smiled. “I am Par Sinch Malaban of The Blue Tower. My retainers,” gesturing toward the others, “are a sordid lot of little consequence.”
“And two more of your men remain in the courtyard.”
Tanch nodded.
“So many bodyguards, Par Sinch. You must have many enemies.” And much coin to pay all these.
“Alas, bodyguards are a necessity in these dark times,” said Tanch. “A wizard’s welcome is all too thin in some lands, Tragoss among them.”
“Too true, Par Sinch. It’s my good fortune that the Thothians don’t look down on seers as they do on wizards. Nonetheless, as you see, I keep my own bodyguards as well, both seen and unseen.” She paused, letting the last words sink in. “Please now, sit and be comfortable.”
Tanch took a seat at the table. The others remained standing.
“You honor me with this audience. I regret that I had not the opportunity to forewarn you of my visit.”
“No regrets are necessary. Wizards in good standing with the Tower of the Arcane are always welcome guests to my tower, if not to my city.”
Tanch smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Mistress.”
A true smile? Is he one of Pipkorn’s or the Vizier’s or some other’s?
“I understand that the Tower has undergone much upheaval in recent months.”
“Indeed.”
I can’t read him. Where are his loyalties?
Azura peered into the depths of her crystal ball for a few moments. “You’ve journeyed to parts foreign to escape those that would mean you harm.”
Tanch smiled. “I support what is best for the Order, as is my duty.”
He won’t reveal himself. Try another approach.
Azura passed her hands over the crystal sphere and gazed into it. She looked up.
“You’ve come seeking my wisdom, my knowledge. You seek the answer to a question of grave import.”
He smiles, unimpressed. He’s no fool.
“Your knowledge, wisdom, and mastery of the art of divination are known far and wide and much admired even within the Tower of the Arcane.”
“Known, perhaps,” said Azura. “Admired, no, not at all. But I thank you for your flattery.”
The older soldier is studying the room. Dead gods, he looks dangerous. Why are they here? Do they mean me harm? Could even Gorb protect me against them?
“Tell me now, Par Sinch of the Blue Tower, what knowledge do you seek?”
“We search for a ship,” said Tanch.
“Hmm,” she nodded. I can work with that.
Each time, before making a pronouncement Azura caressed the crystal sphere and gazed into it. She looked back up before she spoke so that she could see her guests’ reactions.
“A sailing vessel, out of Lomion,” said Azura.
“Yes.”
“And why do you seek her?”
“There is a man on board that is a traitor to the Order. We’re tasked with bringing him to justice.”
Enforcers or bounty hunters. But whose? Pipkorn’s or the League’s, or someone else’s? “I see,” said Azura. These men are dangerous. “What name does this man go by?”
“Par Otto, of the Red Tower.”
I don’t know that name. A lie?
“When did this ship reach Tragoss Mor?”
“Within the last two days or so.”
Azura gazed deeply into the crystal ball, caressing it over and over. The White Rose—it must be. They’re in with Pipkorn or Harringgold—enem
ies of the League. Good thing that I paid for that information about The Rose. Always someone willing to pay for secrets. Must be sure.
“The ship this man sailed on is no longer in Tragoss Mor,” said Azura.
Still can’t read the wizard. The young bodyguard nodded, I think.
She looked back at the sphere for a moment, and then back at Tanch.
“The man you seek is still aboard her, and no one can tell you where she has sailed.” The gnome looks surprised. I’m right. I have them. Azura made a show of gazing close and long into the sphere. Now for the hook.
“The ship you seek is called The White Rose.”
Tanch raised his eyebrows, despite himself.
I was right!
“Impressive.”
“And you seek knowledge of where this White Rose is sailing?”
Tanch nodded. “Yes.”
They’re mine. How much should I ask for? “I believe that my powers can divine this information for you—but the task is difficult and draining. I’m afraid that the cost must be high.”
Tanch furrowed his brow.
He will pay.
Azura returned her gaze to the crystal. If I ask for too much, what will they do? Try to kill me? That would be foolish, that would gain them nothing but a battle with my guards. Gorb is at my side, so strong—and Dirkben and Rimel. But Dirkben is a useless coward. Both warriors and the gnome are casing the room. Are they thieves? Assassins? I must tread carefully.
“Five hundred silver stars is my price.” Fifty times what I paid for the information.
No reaction from Sinch. He’s holding back.
“A high price indeed for such a small piece of information,” said Tanch. “A piece of information that would put the Order in your debt.”
I must lower the price to appease him. “The divination is difficult. I know nothing of the ship or its crew, save what little the crystal’s mists have only now revealed to me. It will take much power and concentration and I will need to expend valuable herbs and powders. For the Order though, I will do this thing for four hundred silver, no less.”
Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) Page 16