Sagaria

by John Dahlgren

  Fattanillo roused himself from an abstraction in which he’d been lost for an hour or more. “Don’t be afraid of the voices you hear from near and far,” he said to the two venturers on the platform. “Keep in mind that they’re no more than thoughts; they can’t hurt you unless you let them take you over. But treat them with circumspection, nevertheless. Even if you keep them out of your minds, it’s possible that one of them might cling to you in the hope of being brought back here, when eventually you find the portal leading back to Sagaria. That could cause great harm.”

  “I’m not sure that reassures me much,” murmured Sir Tombin. “I wonder what we’re going to find on the other side of this, my old friend,” he added to Samzing.

  “Nothing we can’t cope with, Tombin,” Samzing replied. “I hope.”

  “Shadow Knights,” Perima repeated.

  “They must want Deicher to hear them,” mused Sagandran. “Otherwise, they’d float silently, like we saw them do in Wonderville. Do you think they’re trying to intimidate him?”

  Deicher didn’t seem to welcome the interruption. His peroration became disjointed and finally ground to a halt as he turned to welcome the newcomers.

  It seemed to Sagandran that in the Shadow World, only the Shadow Knights had any light of their own. Their bright silver suits shone as will-o’-the-wisps in the gloom, and their smiling faces were like reflections in a night-darkened window.

  “Praised be the Emperor of Darkness,” said the first of the three knights, his hand up before him.

  “Praised indeed,” said Deicher, affecting nonchalance. “What brings you here?”

  “The whelps you have with you.”

  “I can take care of them myself.”

  “Yes,” said the knight, his voice as easy as if this were a conversation in the market about which was the better cabbage, “but from now on, we shall take care of them for you. You have served Arkanamon well by bringing them into this realm, but—”

  “And I wish to deliver them into Arkanamon’s hands myself.”

  “What you wish is unimportant.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, of course we do, dark mage. You’re Deicher, faithful servant of evil. We do not recognize your authority over us. Our fealty is only to the Master of Shadows, Arkanamon himself.”

  Deicher seemed to grow in stature, inflated by wrath. “As is mine, and that is why I shall not surrender the boy to anyone other than our master.”

  “Then we have a disagreement, do we not?”

  Sagandran leaned toward Perima. “Wait here.”

  She looked at him, mystified, then nodded.

  Taking advantage of the continuing argument, which was conducted on the Shadow Knights’ side with a quiet courtesy that chilled to the bone, Sagandran rolled over onto his side and began to slither in serpent fashion toward the embers of the fire.

  “The brats will be safer with us,” insisted the Shadow Knight.

  “Nonsense!” bellowed Deicher. “Countless times you fools have had them in your clutches and you’ve let them slip away. Our master has told me of his fury at your incompetence. You have been almost as clumsy as that oafish worg, Bolster. Although even Bolster managed to capture them, albeit briefly, which is more than you people could.”

  “There were … circumstances,” said the Shadow Knight.

  Sagandran could hardly believe his good fortune. Deicher was clearly spoiling for a fight. It was always difficult to read the tempers of the Shadow Knights, but something in the way they had their hands close to the pommels of their swords suggested that they, too, were close to losing patience. He had nearly slithered to the fire, and not a glance had been directed his way.

  A sharp stone dug into his hip and he almost cried out in pain, but somehow he kept his lips sealed. Tears smeared his eyes, so that he could barely see the faltering glow of the embers. He pulled himself half-upright and turned his wrists toward the heat. This was going to be painful.

  “We have worked hard to find this boy,” said the leading Shadow Knight, his voice beginning to rise. All three of them had abandoned their relaxed poses and were now standing tensely, poised as if to leap on the wizard.

  Deicher sneered. “But your labors have been fruitless.”

  “Nonetheless, we deserve our share of the munificence of our master when the whelps are finally handed over to him. It is our decision that we shall be the ones to take the boy to Arkanamon.”

  “Your decision?” roared Deicher. “The decision of buffoons?”

  “Give him to us now and you will come to no harm.” It was no longer possible to ignore the undercurrent of stark menace in the Shadow Knight’s voice.

  Sagandran located a half-consumed branch that was still smoldering and gingerly lowered his wrists to either side of it, so that the red heat could come into contact with the rope stretched between.

  To his astonishment, the rope suddenly snapped when it was still an inch or two away from the ember. The loop around his neck fell away and vanished into the shadows.

  Of course! The rope behaves almost as if it had a mind of its own. Not “almost” – it does. It wants to be scorched no more than I do.

  His hands free, Sagandran shook them in front of him, still doubting the evidence of his senses, then he glanced over to where Perima sat watching him. Her wan face looked fearful, but she mustered a smile of encouragement. He beckoned her toward him, but she shook her head.

  Quite right. If the Shadow Knights or the sorcerer noticed her crawling this way then we’re both done for. Sagandran wormed away from the paltry light of the fire, into the protection of the deeper shadows. I must wait for my opportunity. Patience, Sagandran, patience.

  The third Shadow Knight, who’d been quiet all this time, spoke up. “Why are we wasting time with this bonehead? Why don’t we just kill him and take the prisoners with us?”

  “Because,” explained the first Shadow Knight carefully, “he’s not just any bonehead. He’s a magical bonehead. Besides, why use violence when persuasion may suffice?”

  From his seclusion in the darkness, Sagandran could see that the remaining Shadow Knight was using the distraction of this byplay to slip quietly to one side, his eyes constantly on Deicher. Treachery was thick in the air, but still the wizard seemed not to notice. More fool you, thought Sagandran.

  “Now,” said the leading Shadow Knight, “let me put my proposition to you one last time. We’re all reasonable men here, I trust, and surely we can settle this matter by discussion.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” remarked Deicher flatly. “The boy stays with me. You can take the girl if you like, and do as you wish with her. She’s of no further use to me.”

  “It’s not the girl we want,” persisted the Shadow Knight.

  Imitating the furtively moving Shadow Knight, Sagandran began to circle through the gloom toward Perima. He took as much care as he could in the darkness not to step on any twigs that might betray his presence, though he guessed that, by now, the other four were so absorbed in their argument that they wouldn’t notice if he let off a cannon.

  “I’m weary of this,” Deicher abruptly announced.

  The wizard swirled a hand in the air. Out of nowhere there appeared what looked like a cloud of tiny snowflakes. Sagandran expected them to float to the ground, but instead they remained in place, motionless. Deicher reached into the cloud with his other hand and scooped some of the glimmering material out of it.

  “Will you begone?” he asked the leading Shadow Knight. It was clearly a final warning.

  As swiftly as the cloud appeared, so did the swords of the two Shadow Knights facing Deicher. Sagandran saw the realization dawn on the wizard’s face that he no longer knew where the third one was.

  With a gesture of panic, Deicher hurled his handful of light at the nearest Shadow Knight.

  There was a flash that lit up the entire hillside as the knight’s armor caught fire, turning into a tall pillar of white flame.
Like burning magnesium in the science labs back at school, thought Sagandran, desperately trying to ignore the smell of roasting meat that billowed across the ground. The Shadow Knight who’d been struck had time for a single scream before the inferno consumed him entirely.

  Now Sagandran was in swift motion. This was no time for subtlety. He darted toward Perima. Seeing him coming, she swiveled around on her bottom so that her back was toward him, her wrists pulled as high as she could get them to make it easier for him to get at the knots.

  As he scampered toward her, Sagandran could see from the edge of his vision the second Shadow Knight moving in for the kill. Now Sagandran, too, had lost track of where the other one was. He hoped that the knight was nowhere near Perima and himself. He tripped on something unseen and went flying. Forcing himself to disregard the pain of the fall, he rolled and was scrambling back to his feet even before the roll had ended.

  The second Shadow Knight advanced warily on the wizard. Near him, the incandescent column that had, until a moment ago, been his companion toppled sideways in a shower of sparks. Some of the patchy black grass caught fire, but the flames rapidly went out.

  Sagandran’s breathing sounded like thunder in his ears as he bent over Perima and struggled with the knots. Both youngsters yelped as the rope delivered stinging retaliation. Deicher didn’t seem to have used any logic while tying the knots. They were just haphazard tangles that Sagandran found almost impossible to decipher in the darkness. He was reduced to simply pulling at anything that stuck out of the twisting fist of rope.

  The Shadow Knight sprang at Deicher, sword whistling through the air like a scythe. There was another flash of flame and the knight shrieked in agony, but not before his blade had hacked into the wizard’s right arm, just below the shoulder. Deicher’s own scream joined the death wail of his blazing attacker, and the necromancer dropped to his knees clutching at the terrible wound. Spraying blood hissed on the flames of the dying man.

  “I will plunge you into those flames,” muttered Sagandran to the jumble of cord. The metal bracelet Fariam had given him got in the way of his efforts, and he wished he’d simply stowed it away in a pocket rather than put it on his wrist.

  The rope responded. The knots sprang apart.

  Perima, stunned by the sudden release, didn’t move her wrists for a second or two, as if suspecting that there might still be invisible ropes holding them in place. Then she lowered her hands, brought them round in front of her, and rubbed them together.

  “I itch,” she complained.

  Sagandran said nothing.

  “Oh, and thanks, Sagandran. Okay, now is our chance to make a run for it.” She tugged at his sleeve. “Sagandran,” she hissed, “what’s the matter? We’ve got to escape now. This is our chance!”

  Still, Sagandran stood frozen. The furious battle and the horror of it kept him staring transfixed at the violence.

  The last Shadow Knight was keeping his distance from Deicher, even though the sorcerer seemed to have no attention to spare from mourning his arm. Darting a look toward Deicher, Sagandran found himself almost feeling pity for the man. His face was contorted with anguish, and blood was pumping thickly over the fingers of the hand with which he tried to staunch the flow from his wound.

  Almost feeling pity. Not quite. Sagandran had never before actively wished for someone to die, and even less so had he wanted to watch their dying. He was somewhat ashamed to discover those feelings inside him now.

  The Shadow Knight slowly crept forward. His extended sword appeared to be on fire, just like the armor of his companions. He was clearly prepared to risk nothing before mounting his assault on the wizard.

  Deicher looked up and saw him.

  “I’m not dead yet,” the wizard growled.

  “But soon you will be,” said the Shadow Knight, his voice making Sagandran think of a viper moving through long reeds.

  “I’ve swatted two of your kind like the annoying mosquitoes you Shadow Knights are,” said the wizard. “Even though my body is injured, I still have all my magical strength. If you take any account of your life, you’ll flee this place before I strike you down.”

  “Two dead,” hissed the Shadow Knight lazily. “That means Arkanamon will have only me to bestow his gratitude on for delivering the boy. It seems like a good bargain.”

  Deicher raised himself and reached for the much depleted white cloud. It bobbed toward him obediently.

  The Shadow Knight saw his intention and leaped forward. As he did, he pulled a dagger from his waist and hurled it through the air. Deicher flinched away reflexively, a movement that spared his life. With a savage-sounding chunkk the blade, aimed for his heart, sank to the hilt in the flesh of his side. The Shadow Knight cursed and Deicher let out another cry of distress and fury.

  Perima was on her feet. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” she muttered urgently to Sagandran, who was mesmerized by the unfolding spectacle in front of them. “Let’s make ourselves scarce.” She tugged at his arm. “Or do you want me to give you a hard slap? There’s nothing more to see here.”

  Sagandran, blinking suddenly, realized what a fool he’d been for watching the battle. What time he’d wasted. He turned to follow her, but not before he saw Deicher clumsily throw his fistful of glitter at the Shadow Knight rushing toward him. The assailant twisted aside from the stream of lightness but it followed him, coiling in the air to strike at his back. There was another of those death-dealing crescendos of brilliance. The blazing Shadow Knight hurled his sword and it steepled end over end, a white lance of flame, to land with a smack on the ground.

  Sagandran followed Perima as she stumbled ahead of him down from the ridge’s crest. The trouble was, there was nowhere to hide. The slope was bare except for the occasional tuft of etiolated black grass. Away from the flames of the three dead Shadow Knights, there was only the meager moonlight to guide the way. There might as well have been no light at all, as his eyes were still struggling to recover from being dazzled by Deicher’s incendiary spells.

  Perima fell and Sagandran, unable to stop himself in time, tripped over her and fell on top of her. The impact of his body drove the breath out of her in a whoop. Groggily, he pulled himself up and reached down to help her rise, but she was in no condition to take his hand.

  There was a bawl from above them. “Where do you think you’re going, whelps?”

  Looking up the hill, Sagandran could see Deicher tottering there, a darker shape against the sky, his robes billowing around him. The wizard plucked the dagger out of his side and tossed it away. With his other hand, he held his wounded shoulder.

  “You saw what happened to those stupid soldiers,” yelled the sorcerer. “I could do the same to you.”

  “But you need me,” Sagandran shouted back at him. “You need me alive to take to the Shadow Master.”

  His voice contorted by agony, Deicher replied, “But – I – don’t – need – her.”

  Abandoning his wound, he raised his good arm high above his head. For a moment, Sagandran thought that a second sun had suddenly appeared in the sky, only this one was as bright as a sun should be. Then he realized that the ball of radiance lighting up the whole hillside was not in the sky at all, but in the wizard’s cupped hand. Reflexively, Sagandran moved to shield Perima from it.

  With an attempted swagger that almost threw him off balance, the wizard cast the brilliant globe at the two cowering fugitives. In his own suffering, he was obviously no longer concerned whether Sagandran lived or died. Perhaps he realized that for all his magic, death must inevitably be close.

  “No!” screamed Sagandran, putting up his hand in a doomed attempt to ward off the streaking magical sphere.

  A flood of something surged through his body. He felt as if every last cell was being sucked dry. The something poured out of him in a single, intense bolt. The onrushing ball disintegrated. A million sparks flew in every direction, as if seeking to become the stars that the skies of the Shadow World had not know
n. Sagandran was pitched forward onto his hands and knees, drained of energy.

  The wall of something smacked into the wizard like a mighty but invisible hand, swiping him clear of the ground. His robes a turbulent tempest surrounding him, he was thrown high into the air and outward over the chasm of the valley, his cry of torment diminishing as his struggling body receded into the emptiness. Then he erupted with a flare ten times as bright as when the ball had exploded. The pulse of light seemed to pound at Sagandran’s head and shoulders, beating him back and down. An instant later, the shockwave hit him, sending him hurtling head over heels down the slope, Perima scrabbling at the earth in his wake.

  Sagandran’s head hit something hard.

  There was a fountain of flashing turbulence and his consciousness was filled with the blackest darkness he’d seen since coming to the Shadow World.

  CHAPTER 2

  JELLO PUDDING

  hispers. Sounds that couldn’t quite be heard. The rustling of a rainbow in the sky. The flow of moonlight reflected on the surface of a tranquil lake. The footsteps of death. The noise that ice makes. The song of a summer breeze. The differing cool musics of spiderwebs, of clouds, of haze. The flutter of the soft hairs on the inside of the arm. The harmony of starlight. A million soft touches, gone before they were felt, as if the fingers making them had no more substance than a dream. The indistinguishably faint scent of yearning. The warm taste of triumph, the acid taste of failure.

  The companions could see nothing around them, yet their senses were telling them myriad things. Samzing and Sir Tombin were walking on an invisible path with Snowmane between them. In every direction extended nothing but a vast, black space.

  Emptiness.

  Flip, his head projecting from Samzing’s pocket, looked around him with an interest that slowly turned to disappointment when he saw that there was just blackness. “I wonder what’s holding this road up?” he asked at last.

  “Don’t speak without purpose,” cautioned the wizard, “and especially don’t ask that question. Remember all the warnings we were given. We’re in a realm of consciousness now. Those things you sense, they’re thoughts, ideas. Focus your mind only on what is absolutely essential until we’re clear of this place. Anything can happen here, anything.”