Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3)

by Thater, Glenn

  Tanch glanced over at Claradon for a moment.

  What was that? Is he a young lordling and the true master here? Does it matter, so long as they pay?

  Sinch nodded. He approves.

  Tanch pulled out a leathern purse from his belt. It jingled with the sounds of coins. He opened it.

  “Keep your money, wizard,” said Theta.

  What’s this?

  “This one is a mummer. She’ll take your money and send us on a wild goose chase. Best we be on our way.”

  What game is this?

  Tanch squirmed in his seat and looked mortified. He turned and glared at Theta. “I hope that my guard has not offended you, my lady. He’s naught but an uncouth barbarian that knows not his station. I assure you that I do not agree with his insulting remarks, and I will see that he regrets them.”

  I still have him.

  “He does, however, bring to mind some concerns.”

  Oh, smigits, where’s he going with this? “And what concerns are those?”

  “You will pardon me, Mistress, for saying so, but we haven’t chanced to meet before today. In truth, I know not if you are truly the famed seer, Azura, or some imposter who has taken her tower and her trappings. As we both agreed, these are dark times and things are not always as they seem.”

  Lies. They know who I am, they just don’t believe in my power.

  “I knew of your White Rose.”

  “You did indeed, my Lady, and that was most insightful, but mayhaps, just a guess.”

  Fine. Then proof I’ll give you.

  “Perhaps you require a small demonstration of my skills?”

  “That would be most appreciated, my lady, and would go a long way toward providing me the comfort I need to expend the monies you’ve requested.”

  Stinking wizard. “For this, my price goes back to five hundred silver stars.”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Tanch. “If you can convince me you speak true.”

  “I will do a reading of one of you.” She looked them each up and down. “You, doubter,” she said, pointing to Theta. “I will tell you things only you would know, then you will know my power. Agreed, Par Sinch?”

  Tanch looked back at Theta who offered no reaction. “Agreed.”

  Theta stepped forward. “Do your reading, woman, though I warn you—if your powers be true, you may not like what you see.”

  Is he a raper and a killer? I’ve seen such things before and don’t fear them. Little shocks or surprises me anymore. “Take a seat and hold out your hands.”

  Theta sat down, but paused before extending his hands. He grasped the cord of his ankh and lifted it off, over his head. He turned toward Claradon. “Hold this for me until we’re done.” Theta handed Claradon the ankh and extended his hands toward Azura, palms up.

  I must get this right.

  Azura grasped Theta’s hands and shuddered. Her head snapped back, eyes opened wide, though they saw nothing of the now. Her eyes rolled back in her head, only the whites exposed.

  A maelstrom of images, sounds, and emotions unlike any reading before flailed Azura’s mind, trampled her thoughts and shattered her defenses. She saw nothing through the blur and heard nothing but the din. She felt everything and nothing, lost in a vortex of madness.

  She struggled to manage the torrent, to control the flow before it destroyed her. If she didn’t master it in moments all sanity would be lost, and all that which made Azura an individual would be gone, forever, reducing her to a gibbering, drooling, mindless thing.

  Azura exerted all her discipline and all her will and regained some semblance of control. Gradually, the images slowed and cleared; the cacophony ebbed; the world came into focus. Azura became her subject, seeing through his eyes, hearing with his ears, and feeling his feelings. Not of the now, but of the past, long past. All her will bent on maintaining control and keeping the maelstrom that ever threatened her in check.

  She looked out Theta’s eyes and a feeling of power washed over her. A sense of incredible strength, and vast, unmatched knowledge. A feeling of durability, vitality, and near limitless energy. A feeling of age, a sense of eternity.

  She, no Theta, stood atop a smoking snowcapped mountain, then in a boat on a roiling sea, in a desert, on a field of ice, in a forest glen—but somehow, this was all the same place, all the very same spot on Midgaard—as if the world changed, but Theta remained. As if he had walked Midgaard forever through all its epochs and geological upheavals. As if he were always here, immortal, everlasting.

  The images shifted and churned, faster and faster again. Azura set her will against them and pulled them into check once more. She saw a woman that she loved grow old, sicken, and die almost within the blink of an eye, and her heart broke. All the people in all the lands began to age rapidly, so rapidly, and they grew sick, and weak, and died. They all died. But Theta remained; everlasting, ever strong, a warrior, a knight eternal.

  Guilt beyond imagining assaulted her; a sorrow beyond all sorrows rended her soul, and a loneliness without end engulfed her. Worst of all, the helplessness and the anger it stirred within her. An anger that ever threatened to erupt. A simmering need for vengeance. Nothing she could do could stop the suffering and the dying. Nothing.

  The images and sounds blurred and shifted again. A terrible sight came into focus. She stood now before a large portal, an unnatural gateway through which sprang and leaped and flew the very monsters of nightmare. There came dragons, black, red, winged and serpentine. Basilisks and bogart, demons and devils, hags and harpies, giants and djinn, minotaur and manticore, ghost, ghoul, and goblin, wight and warg, and countless more. All the monsters of legend, myth, and nightmare raced through that portal from Abaddon as she looked on.

  The scene clouded again, and a chorus of voices began to chant. Most voices were strangers, but some were familiar, some were those of friends. Traitor, traitor, traitor they chanted. Slayer they marked him. Rebel, widowmaker, bogeyman, devil, prince of lies they called him. Great Dragon they named him. Harbinger of Doom they boomed. Harbinger of doom, harbinger of doom, harbinger of doom they chanted over and over and over again. That title of infamy echoed in her mind, no his, without end and through all time. Azura felt herself falling, falling into a bottomless abyss with no hope, no help, no friends.

  Then before her, He stood. Azathoth. The ancient god himself, bathed in holy light. His arms outstretched to the sides, palms up, tears streaming down his kind and careworn face, the white of his beard lost in like-colored robes. He looked pained, wounded, suffering.

  “Why?” said Azathoth, his voice unsteady. “Why hath thee betrayed me, my son? Why doth thou forsake me? You who I loved more than all others, how can thee turn to darkness, to evil?”

  “Take my hand, Thetan. Take my hand and repent. Repent and all will be forgiven. All will be as it was.”

  Theta’s hands came into view. But they were not bare. They held a sword.

  Azathoth looked shocked, but then he seemed to grow and darken. His face became hard and terrible. “You have chosen the dark road, Thetan. Now your name will go down in infamy through all the ages. So must it be. Now feel my wrath and despair.”

  Theta bounded toward the god, so fast, faster than any man could move. But Azathoth was faster. His hand shot out and from it exploded a stream of blinding yellow fire that engulfed Theta.

  Azura felt herself falling and screaming. An indescribable pain that threatened to tear her very soul from her body.

  Azura’s face stung. She opened her eyes and Gorb stood over her. She was lying on the floor. Did he slap me? Such things helped end the spell when things went bad.

  The wizard knelt before her. He offered her something—a cup of water? She couldn’t focus enough to be sure, and pushed his hand away. Her vision was blurred; her ears rang; and her thoughts raced, unfocused. Memory stormed back to her. Harbinger of Doom! She started and arced up into a sitting position. She began shaking uncontrollably.

  It’s him. Dea
d gods, it’s him. The Harbinger of Doom. The lord of evil. Make them go away.

  “Get out!” screamed Azura. “They’ve gone to Jutenheim. The White Rose has sailed to Jutenheim. Now get out. Get out.”

  The soldiers turned and left. The wizard bent down beside her. “I’m sorry, dear Lady, we did not mean you harm.”

  Azura grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. She could feel Gorb beside her, tensed, ready to strike at her command. “He’s the prince of lies, wizard.”

  Tanch looked confused. “What?”

  “He’s not what he seems. He’s the bogeyman of legend. The Harbinger of Doom—it’s him, your man, it’s truly him.”

  Tanch stood up, a look of horror on his face.

  “He will be the death of you, wizard. Beware him. He will be the death of us all. Go now, go. Never return here. Get out! Get out!”

  Gorb stood, menacingly. Tanch fled the tower, Ob beside him.

  After they were gone, Gorb lifted Azura into her chair. Her vision cleared, though a strange ringing still filled her head.

  Gorb looks frightened. I’ve never seen him frightened before. The way he’s staring at me; how odd. Dirkben and Rimel have the same look. Why?

  Azura looked up and saw her reflection in the tall mirror across the room. Her long auburn locks now ran gray from root to end. She put her hands to head and grabbed at her hair in disbelief. My hair, my face!

  “No!” Azura screamed. “No, no, no!”

  ***

  The group walked quickly through Azura’s courtyard.

  “What happened?” asked Artol. “We heard a woman’s scream. Another minute and that door would’ve been splinters.”

  “The seer went bonkers and booted us,” said Ob.

  Tanch came up beside Theta as they made their way onto the street. His face was flushed and his voice harsh. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing,” said Theta.

  “Tell that to her hair,” said Ob. He turned to Artol. “It went white before our eyes. Mr. Fancy Pant’s doing. Maybe we should introduce her to Slaayde.”

  Artol looked shocked. “What?”

  “Nothing?” said Tanch. “It didn’t look like nothing to me. She is a wizard of the Order, not an enemy. What did you do? I demand to know.”

  Theta ignored him, never slowing his pace.

  “Answer me,” said Tanch.

  “Your back seems better today,” said Theta. “Put your teeth together and it may stay that way.”

  “Enough,” said Claradon. “We can discuss this back at the ship. We got what we came for and that’s what’s important.”

  XII

  FREEDOM SQUARE

  “Can I do any less?”

  —Angle Theta

  “Some commotion up ahead in Freedom Square,” said Ob. “That’s where the main slave market was.”

  “Freedom Square?” said Dolan. “Why call it that if slaves were sold there?”

  “Don’t know,” said Ob. “Never made no sense to me.”

  “Because evil oft denies its nature and pretends to be good,” said Theta.

  Tanch looked to Theta, searching his face.

  “They never even called it slavery. They named it workhood or some such. Who did they think they were fooling?” said Ob.

  “None but themselves,” said Claradon.

  “No,” said Theta. “They fooled many, for many are fools.”

  Ob turned to Claradon. “Shall we see what’s what? Just a few blocks out of our way.”

  “Alright,” said Claradon. “But let’s be quick.”

  The avenue opened up into a large square where many streets intersected. A noisy crowd was gathered. Men were up on the large, raised, wood platform upon which untold slaves had been exhibited and sold. For generations, the pirate lords of Tragoss Mor raided villages and cities and islands up and down the coast for hundreds, even thousands of miles, taking what booty they could and capturing people for slaves. They brought them all there, for sale in Freedom Square to the highest bidder. Any land that had no trade treaty with Tragoss and that paid no tribute to them lived in fear of their attacks.

  That day, dozens of Thothian monks stood on and around the slave platform. One spoke into a speaking-trumpet soon after the group entered the square.

  “Come forward, citizens,” said the monk. “We have rare goods for auction today.” He gestured to his fellows and they opened the rear door of a large covered wagon beside the platform. The monks pulled out several people, their heads covered in hoods; their hands tied before them. Two were adults, a short male with a slight build, and a curvaceous female; the rest, mere children, little more than babes. The monks dragged the prisoners up onto the slave platform and lined them up for all to see.

  Murmurings spread through the crowd.

  “What’s this?” shouted one man. “The freedom market was closed.”

  “Workhood is no more,” shouted another.

  “No,” shouted several more citizens. Soon the whole crowd took up the chant, “No. No. No.”

  The lead monk, one Del Koth, a tall, thick man of bushy beard and yellowed teeth, motioned the people to silence.

  “Don’t be alarmed, good citizens,” said Del Koth. “The freedom market is closed and will remain so. No man will ever be sold here again.” He paused, took the measure of the crowd, and let them settle.

  “But these creatures,” gesturing toward the prisoners, “are not men.” He turned to his fellows. “Remove their hoods.”

  The monks ripped the hoods from the two taller prisoners. Each had a strange greenish tinge to their skin and large, distinctive, pointy ears.

  “Elves,” shouted the crowd.

  “Yes, citizens,” shouted Del Koth. “Elves, wicked, wicked elves.” He smiled in triumph. “The very servants of evil.”

  “Wood elves,” said Ob quietly. “Half-blood at best; probably three-fourth’s volsung.”

  The monks pulled the hoods from the children, though children they were not. Each had a beard, a bulbous nose, and large ears. Adults all. Some were middle aged, some older—far from children despite their diminutive heights.

  Ob’s mouth dropped open in shock, then his expression turned into a snarl and his hand went to his axe.

  “Imps,” yelled the crowd.

  “Yes, citizens, imps. Greedy, evil, imps.” He surveyed the crowd; his smile grew.

  Theta grabbed Ob’s arm. “Stay your hand. There are too many of them.”

  Tanch looked in alarm at Ob and Dolan, their features all too resembled the prisoners. “We must be off.”

  “Far too long have we suffered these sub-human creatures amongst us,” boomed Del Koth. “Imps hoard their wealth and share with none. Too long have they cheated us, and plotted and schemed against us. Too long have they held what should belong to us, what is rightfully ours. Too long have they acted as if they are our betters. They’re not. They’re little more than animals. They are creatures of evil and darkness and dirt. Enemies of our dear lord, Thoth, source of all good and light. We will suffer them in our midst no longer. No longer. No longer,” he boomed, his fist upraised.

  “No longer,” came a shout from the crowd. Then another and another and still more. “They’re all no good,” shouted one woman.

  “Kill the scum,” shouted one man.

  “And these,” boomed the monk, pointing to the elves. “These fell creatures of legend still skulk in the dark woodlands and the sinister places where no goodly man would ever tread. You have all heard the stories of their fell deeds. They steal our children in the night or leave them dead in their cribs. They murder innocent travelers who have lost their way. We will suffer these atrocities no longer. No longer, I say. Now they will serve us. Now they will do our bidding.”

  Scattered cheers went up through the crowd from many parts of the square. Others booed and shouted, “No,” but the monk’s supporters outnumbered and out-shouted his critics and he smiled his yellow smile.

  “W
ho will bid ten silver stars for this imp?” said Del Koth, pointing to the smallest in the line.

  “I will,” shouted someone.”

  “No,” yelled several others.

  “Stop this madness,” shouted a tall, red-cloaked man near the slave platform. “Workhood is outlawed. Do not do this.”

  Theta and the group waded through the crowd toward the nearest side street leading in the general direction of the harbor. Dolan pulled his collar up to hide his ears as best he could. Ob, jaw clenched in anger, tried to stay hidden between his comrades.

  “Imp,” shouted a man that they passed. He grabbed at Ob. “Imp!”

  “He’s my servant, you fool,” said Tanch. “Unhand him or my men will cut you down.”

  Artol shoved the man aside. He went down cursing.

  The scene in the square rapidly turned into a riot as those that supported the monks and those against yelled and cursed each other. Soon after the group turned down an alley, they heard a clash of blades from the square. A melee had broken out. Many had joined in.

  Theta stopped in his tracks at the fore of the group. Ob drew his axe and turned about. Artol grabbed Ob, to hold him back.

  “We can’t leave them to be sold like cattle,” said Ob, “or slaughtered where they stand.”

  “We’ve no time for this,” said Tanch. “It’s not our fight. We have a mission. We’ve got to get back to the ship or we’ll never catch The Rose, and Sir Jude will be lost.”

  The sound of steel clashing in the square and the twang and whoosh of arrows filled the air.

  “There are men fighting to free them,” said Ob, his face reddened. “Can we do any less? Can we?”

  Claradon looked to Theta. “What do we do?”

  Theta’s eyes were closed, his expression grim.

  “Lord Theta,” said Claradon. “What should we do?”

  Theta spoke slowly, seemingly to himself. “Can I do any less?” He spun back toward the others. He drew his falchion and pulled his shield from his shoulder.

  “Theta, there are too many monks, you said so yourself, and more will surely come,” said Tanch. “Only a fool would interfere in this. What’re you going to do?”