Sagaria

by John Dahlgren

  “We did not bring this blight upon ourselves, sir,” the man pleaded. Both of his eyes were cloudy with cataracts. It was a wonder he still had any vision left.

  Suddenly Sagandran understood. The Shadow World has not always been like this. The realization exploded in his mind like a lightning bolt. Before the ascendancy of Arkanamon, or perhaps of Cleonthes before him, the Shadow World might have been no paradise – there wasn’t any way Sagandran could tell – but it hadn’t been the bleak, barren, lifeless, sun-forsaken realm he could see around him now. This was what evil and corruption did to a world, any world. It could happen to Sagaria and the Earthworld as easily and swiftly as it had to the Shadow World.

  The thought spurred his aching legs to new resolve. Why had he been concentrating so much on his own woes? The task ahead of him was simply stated, even if near-impossible to achieve. He must somehow escape from Deicher, destroying him if necessary, and saving Perima if he could. There was much more after that, of course, but, unless he overcame the immediate challenge, the rest was irrelevant. Focus on what’s in front of you, Sagandran, you ninny, he thought with a savagery that was, in part, self-contempt but, in larger part, a sort of exultant determination, a sense of anticipated triumph.

  I can do this, even though I don’t yet know how.

  At last, Deicher’s pace was slowing a little, as if he’d come to the conclusion thathe wouldn’t be able to shake off the importunings of the starved wood-gatherers. “Back off, you filthy pigs.” He spat in the nearest beggar’s outstretched palm.

  The man flinched. Nonetheless, he kept his voice even. “But, good sir—”

  “Can you not see these robes of mine? Do you not know what they mean?”

  “No, only that they’re fine warm robes to keep off the wind. Our wives and children could do with such robes as yours, good sir.” Something of a glint was coming to the man’s milky gaze. Sagandran wondered if perhaps he and his fellows were readier to resort to violence than they seemed.

  “He’ll give you nothing.” The unexpected voice was Perima’s. Everyone started, turning to stare at her. “He’s not enough of a human being to know how to give,” she continued, oblivious to the attention. “He’s the lowliest beast inhabiting the cesspit, but he’s built himself up with his delusions of grandeur until he thinks he’s something great and mighty. He’s the lord of slugs and leeches. You’re better than he is; you shouldn’t be wasting your breath on him. Leave him be before he wipes his slime on you.”

  The frail beggar’s eyes narrowed, then slowly he nodded, ceasing his sidelong gait.

  “And do not follow us,” Deicher shouted as if he’d scored some victory, “or I will cast a plague upon you. Yes, you and all your ‘little ones’ too.”

  “Thank you,” said the beggar to Perima as she drew away from him in Deicher’s wake. “Thank you for what you’ve said. If ever you need some friends, when things are better, if ever they do grow better …”

  His voice faded behind them.

  They finally came to a slow, half-hearted bend in the road.

  As they rounded it, Deicher spoke again. “Quite the she-cat, aren’t you?” His tone was almost conversational, but both Perima and Sagandran recognized the danger lurking there.

  “I spoke the truth,” said Perima simply.

  “The truth that’s obvious for all to see,” added Sagandran, his voice sounding rusty through long disuse. “Both of you, eh?” The black-robe seemed bitterly amused. “Two against one is hardly fair.”

  “Who said girls fight fair?” responded Perima darkly, taunting him.

  “I have the power to—”

  Sagandran interrupted. “Wasps have the power to give a painful sting, but that doesn’t give them nobility.”

  “Nobility? Ha! What’s that worth?”

  “Everything,” said Perima.

  Her single word choked off whatever it was that Deicher might have been about to say.

  He muttered to himself as they walked a further hundred yards or so. Then, “the boy’s life I must preserve until I’ve delivered him to my master, but you, girlbrat—”

  “My life depends on hers,” said Sagandran, surprised he’d not thought of this tactic before.

  “What do you mean?” said the wizard.

  “Yes, what do you mean, Sagandran?” For the first time since they arrived in the Shadow World, Perima was giving him her attention.

  “If you kill her, I’ll take my own life.” An empty threat, thought Sagandran, because the fate of the three worlds is even more important than Perima’s life, however I might feel about it, but Deicher is not to know that.

  “How?”

  “It’s easy enough to find ways.”

  Deicher seemed to ponder that for a few moments.

  “I could throw a spell over you to stop you harming yourself!” The wizard then seemed angry that his voice had betrayed him, and turned the threat into a slightly petulant question.

  “Could you? That’d be benevolent magic, would it not, whatever your intent? Are you still capable, Deicher, of performing good magic? Especially here? Or has your service to Arkanamon taken that ability away from you?”

  “I’ve no need to prove myself to you.”

  Sagandran looked at Perima and conjured up a grin from somewhere. She smiled merrily back at him. It was a trivial point they were scoring over their captor, but the first crack in a dam was always trivial too.

  “The next time beggars demand food,” said Deicher, “I can think of two fine fat food supplies I could give them.”

  Sagandran had the feeling that the wizard’s attempt at intimidation was sounding a bit weak, even to himself.

  “Fat?” spat Perima. Her grin still held though. “That’s not fat,” she added sotto voce, mainly to herself. “It’s womanly curves.”

  Sagandran felt his own smile broadening. There was hope for them yet. “Torment him with politeness,” he murmured, signaling with his eyes that she should cool down. “Civility is the best revenge.”

  She laughed, and Deicher turned to look at them suspiciously.

  “Tired?” said Sagandran brightly to the wizard. “If you need a rest we could—”

  Deicher cut him off with a snort and a yank on the rope.

  The road began to climb more steeply. In the distance, they could see black cliffs that looked as if they’d been carved out of coal. Sagandran realized he’d been wrong earlier in thinking that the fields to either side of the roadway were empty. Clumps of blackened stalks sprouted here and there. Perhaps they had once been crops. Among them, he saw the leached white bones of some domesticated animal he couldn’t identify from its skeleton. At one time there must have been agriculture here – agriculture of a sort, anyway. As he’d surmised earlier, the Shadow World had not always been so hostile to life.

  “Hey, Deicher,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s your master going to do when this world dies out completely? Who’s he going to rule then?”

  “Sagaria,” said Deicher promptly, “and then the Earthworld.”

  “And when he’s run out of worlds to ruin?”

  “Then he will rule all.”

  The finality of Deicher’s words daunted Sagandran somewhat, but he was careful not to let it show in his voice.

  “But there’ll be nothing left. Without food and light, everything will be dead.”

  “The true minion of the Shadow Master requires neither food nor light, just the blaze of the Shadow Master’s glory.”

  There didn’t seem to be much Sagandran could say to that, so he fell silent again.

  The black-robe came to a halt at last. The road climbed to the apex of a ridge, and below them they could see, in the half-light, a barren valley chiseled by the blackness of a dried-out river valley. It seemed to be entirely desolate, but then Sagandran saw a blurry darkness that he guessed must be some kind of settlement, crouching next to the bank of the dead river like a black-weeded widow mourning her
spouse.

  “We can pause here,” said Deicher, as if picking up an unheard conversation. “Sit.”

  They obeyed gratefully and a moment later he followed suit. He studied them coldly then reached inside his robe and pulled out a small stone flask.

  “Here,” he said to Perima, proffering it. “You go first. Drink.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” she said, recoiling.

  The black-robe smiled mirthlessly. “I haven’t brought you all this way to poison you. The potion will stave off your hunger and give you strength. I want to keep you on your feet. If you collapsed, girl, I could simply leave you where you lay, whatever your would-be knight in shining armor might threaten, but if he drops in his tracks I don’t want to have to carry him. Understand? So drink up, both of you.”

  Perima shrugged. “Okay.” She opened her mouth obediently.

  After the wizard had given her a small draft, he moved over to Sagandran.

  “Open.”

  Sagandran reluctantly parted his lips and the cold neck of the flask was thrust none too gently between them. An acrid taste filled his mouth, and it was all he could do not to spit the brew out. He forced himself to swallow it. If he and Perima were going to get free of this monster, they would need all the strength they could get, whatever its source. Sure enough, the pain soon began to ebb from his legs. His stomach felt pleasantly full.

  Keeping his eyes constantly on them, the wizard gathered some of the dead branches lying around and began to build a fire.

  “You were right,” whispered Perima, huddling nearer to Sagandran. It was good, here in this devastated place, to have her so close to him. “If he’d still been capable of good magic, he could have used it to fill our bellies and restore us. He’s lost the power for anything but evil magic.”

  “Does he have any magic left at all?” said Sagandran equally quietly. “We don’t know.”

  Perima shivered and her gaze flickered toward where the wizard was concentrating on the stack of wood he’d gathered. “I’d not like to gamble my life on that,” she said thoughtfully. “But it would be a sort of poetic justice if he’s thrown away everything the Elemental Orders gave him and ended up with nothing at all. Oh, I would so like that to be the case.”

  Sagandran shared the warmth of the idea with her for a moment or two, then forced himself to relinquish it. “Have you got any ideas for getting us out of this mess?”

  “No. You?”

  “Not really. Just – well, I’m certain that I can do it.”

  “I?”

  “We. You know that, Perima.” He crossed two fingers behind his back. He couldn’t tell her about the decision he’d made back along the road, on the choice between her life and the three worlds.

  “If it comes to a choice between my life and the three worlds,” said Perima smoothly, “you know what you have to do, don’t you, Sagandran?”

  Her eyes were earnest.

  He gave a long, surrendering sigh. “Yes.”

  Her mouth quirked. “I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way. Of course, you do realize I feel utterly bereft, betrayed by the callous, heartless, no-good cur who stole my tender, maidenly love? If I didn’t have my hands tied behind my back right now, I’d very probably slap your face.”

  Her jokes weren’t cheering him up the way they were obviously intended to. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes as he looked at her face. She had a gray smudge of what looked like ash across the bridge of her nose.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, tra-la,” she added lightly. “Now, put a brave countenance on, Sagandran. Things could very easily be worse. Well, not very easily. Even so, I think they’re just about to be. I have a hunch that we’re soon going to be having the worst picnic in human history.”

  How could she be so blithe? They’d been talking about the possibility of her own death. Where did her bravado come from?

  She chuckled. “Ever been a girl at a royal court?”

  He stared at her, trying to fathom her meaning.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Look, have you noticed something strange?”

  “What is there to notice that’s not strange in this dump?”

  “Yes, but you remember how Renada was warning us about the region we’d go through before we got here?”

  “Oh. Yes. I’d not thought of it.” The stern-faced wizard had told them that they’d encounter a transitional zone where unused ideas might attempt to seize onto their minds. If that had happened, Sagandran had detected no sign of it. On the other hand, how would one know if stray thoughts from elsewhere were infiltrating one’s mind?

  Perima nodded when he said this to her. “I think we’d know, all right. I’d not be able to tell if my own thoughts had been infected, but I’d soon see a difference in you, and vice versa, I should hope. We must promise to tell each other if that happens, not be all polite with each other.”

  “Promise?” said Sagandran automatically. “Of course I do, but I think if it was going to happen it would have by now. I think Deicher somehow bypassed that zone. Remember, from the moment he dragged us through the gateway we were subject to the power of Arkanamon. I suspect that here in the Shadow World, Arkanamon can do pretty much whatever he likes.”

  “It’s not going to be so easy for the others to follow us,” ruminated Perima.

  “If they follow us. They might not be able to.”

  The two lapsed into silence, remembering the seemingly impenetrable barrier that Deicher had erected around them. The portal had been within that barrier as well. Samzing and Fariam had said that here was no magical way to break it down without risking untold damage to the fabric of the three worlds.

  Deicher chose this moment to begin an oration obviously aimed at impressing his captives.

  “Soon,” he declared to the silent valley, “the last of the jewels will be in its rightful place with the other two, and all three of them in the possession of my great master. When that day comes, he will be the undisputed ruler of the three worlds, with myself ruling at his side. At last, the darkness will engulf us all in its beautiful veil …”

  Sagandran tuned the man’s self-aggrandizing drivel out.

  Perima curled her lip. “He’s as nutty as a belfry,” she pronounced.

  “Definitely got bats in the fruitcake,” agreed Sagandran.

  “Maybe it’s fruitcakes in the belfry, I meant,” Perima conceded.

  They giggled. Deicher, mid-orotundity, gave them a venomous glance, then returned his attentions to the dead valley, which couldn’t answer back.

  He sounds like the villain in a James Bond movie, thought Sagandran. But how could I ever explain that to Perima? Every time he forgot that they came from two entirely separate worlds, something would remind him again. Would it ever be something he could learn completely to disregard?

  Deicher continued hectoring the landscape for what seemed like hours. Sagandran and Perima ran out of things to say to each other after a while and simply huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, wishing that their arms were free so they could hold each other closer. The sky slowly went from dark to darker; Sagandran guessed this was as much of an indication as there ever was in the Shadow World that day was turning into night. The moon rose with miserable uncertainty.

  “Can you remember when he last stopped for breath?” Perima whispered to Sagandran.

  “Sh. Listen.”

  There was the sound of tramping feet and metal clanking from somewhere downslope behind them. Twisting around, the two could soon make out the pale glint of moonlight on armor.

  “Shadow Knights,” hissed Perima. “Three of them, I think.”

  At first, there was nothing the companions could do but wait.

  “Now that Deicher has gone,” explained Fariam unhappily, “the shielding spell he cast will slowly wither away, without his presence to reinforce it. But until it does so of its own accord, there is nothing we can do to hurry the process.”

  Sir Tombin looked
to his old friend Samzing for confirmation. Samzing nodded.

  “We must be able to do something,” insisted Flip.

  “No such luck, little companion,” said Samzing, looking down at him. “Perhaps you would like to introduce us more formally to your new friend?”

  The introductions passed a little time, and for that everybody was grateful. Then it was back to trying not to concentrate on how slowly the hands on the clock seemed to be moving.

  At last there was a shift in the atmosphere in the chamber, as if the air had adopted a different taste.

  “I think …” said Renada.

  “I think you’re right,” Fariam confirmed. “The shield is weakening.”

  A few moments later, there was a very gentle sound, rather like the cork being forced from the neck of a wine bottle, and everybody suddenly found that they were breathing more easily.

  “Time to leave,” cried Sir Tombin, grabbing Snowmane’s reins. His face wore a broad beam of satisfaction.

  Renada looked concerned. “Deicher has a good start and it’s possible that he knows exactly where he’s going. How are you’re going to find him and the young people?”

  Samzing gave a grim smile. “Even a wizard leaves a trail of some kind, no matter how well he thinks he’s covered his tracks. We’ll find him, don’t you worry. Remember, I was once more adept at the magical arts than Deicher could ever hope to be. Sir Tombin’s right though. We ought to get moving without delay. The longer we wait, the cooler the trail will get.”

  Fariam looked at him for a taut moment, then bowed his head slightly in respect. “Then all I have to say is, may the good forces of the three worlds guard you on your way and aid you in the fulfillment of your quest.”

  Samzing picked up Flip in one hand and Memo in the other, and deposited the two small creatures in separate pockets of his voluminous robe. Then he and Sir Tombin, who was leading a docile Snowmane, stepped onto the platform in front of the portal. The crystal on top of the portal seemed to recognize them, for the frequency of its flashes increased once more, until the light seemed almost continuous.