Sagaria

by John Dahlgren

  He supposed he ought to feel complimented. “Ow,” was what he said.

  “Look at Flip,” she said.

  Sagandran did so. Flip seemed to be much as normal.

  “Do you think Flip is a small person?”

  “Well …”

  How could he answer this without causing his little friend to go into paroxysms of fury or, even worse, into sulks and paranoid depression? Then Sagandran saw the answer. The truth.

  “No, of course he’s not. He’s a being the same size as you or me, maybe even bigger. It’s just that he comes in a small package.”

  “You’re beginning to get the hang of this,” she commented wryly.

  “So I can see you, Sir Tombin, Samzing, Flip, whoever, because of the strength of our souls?”

  Perima pushed a length of hair back behind her ear that had slowly uncurled from the tangle it had become. “And the Shadow Knights too. Good or evil, it’s not the nature of the soul, it’s the amount of it there is present in the person. Those peasants we saw by the roadside yesterday. You remember them? The ones Deicher sneered at? They still had some of their vitality left. Arkanamon hadn’t managed to drive it all out of them, but he’d robbed them of most of it. That was why looking at them was so odd, so unsettling. Remember?”

  Sagandran did. The wood gatherers had seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges when he’d tried to gaze at them directly, as if they weren’t completely real.

  “How is it we weren’t constantly bumping into the townsfolk last night? If they were invisible to us, well, we should have been tripping over them in all directions. Were they scurrying out of our way the whole time? They could see us even if we couldn’t see them.”

  Perima sighed. “I already said, Sagandran. Do pay a bit more attention, there’s a good boy. It’s not that we can’t see the people who’ve been robbed of their souls,” she continued. “It’s that we can’t sense them at all. We can walk right through them; we probably did hundreds of times last night.”

  She paused as if the words had suddenly been stolen from her lips and shuddered. So did Sagandran. Walking right through people wasn’t especially pleasant to think about. It was as if those people had invaded him – invaded him completely.

  “But,” said Perima after a long moment, “Cheireanna knows they’re there. She can sense them, and because she can, we can.”

  Sagandran had the sudden urge to see if Cheireanna would walk back into the City of Fear with him so he could see this for himself, see the busy streets, see the people. He shook his head. It was a silly idea. He could instantly think of a dozen things that could go wrong with such an expedition. Best to put it out of his mind.

  “It’s going to take me a while to get used to this idea,” he said slowly.

  “Well, don’t let it take you too long,” said Perima tartly. She cupped a hand to her ear. “Listen. There’s somebody coming.”

  The somebody in question, Memo reported a moment later, was Sir Tombin, returning astride Snowmane. The two small companions, Memo and Flip, had been deputed to stand watch around the barn. Sir Tombin had reasoned that being so tiny, they were unlikely to be noticed from a distance by anyone approaching. Flip had rapidly become bored with the exercise, and had persuaded the memorizer that one guard at a time was all that was needed. For his part, Memo was perfectly happy with the new arrangement; it bolstered his sense of his own importance.

  Having tethered Snowmane to a broken timber, Sir Tombin came into the barn looking both excited and apprehensive. He’d thrown off his Shadow Knight helmet at last. It was good to see that familiar broad green face again, Sagandran thought.

  “I rode more or less at random to begin with,” explained Sir Tombin, sitting down with a crash, “and I finally came across another roadway. This one winds away from here toward the mountains. Obviously, I followed it to see where it might go. It coiled around the flank of one of the foothills, and suddenly before me I saw a huge gorge with a castle at its head.”

  “A castle,” said Sagandran. “Could it be the castle? Remember, Renada told us she thought Arkanamon had made his base in the palace of the ancestral masters of the Shadow World.”

  “I think it must be,” replied Sir Tombin somberly. “It is adorned with banners showing the head of a predatory bird with a screaming baby in its beak. It is an image I find hard to shake from my mind.”

  Memo spoke rapidly in the fluid old speech to Cheireanna, and she nodded emphatically.

  “That,” said the memorizer portentously, “is the heraldic insignia of the lord who rules this world with his iron cruelty.

  Sagandran looked at his hand. It was shaking. Perhaps not enough for anyone else to notice, but the trembling was clearly visible to him.

  They were getting close.

  “Phew,” said Perima. “Thank all the kind fortunes that it is always so cold in the Shadow World. I’m not sure I could go much farther if this were a summer day in Sagaria.”

  Sagandran agreed with her, but said nothing. Out of deference to his age, Samzing had been the one who’d ridden Snowmane while the others went on foot until a little while ago, the trail they’d been following had become too narrow for riding to be safe. Since then the wizard had been tramping uphill with the rest of them, grumbling the whole time in an indecipherable monotone. What made it all slightly alarming was that when Samzing grumbled, sparks quite literally flew.

  Sir Tombin soon guided them to the road he’d discovered, and at first the journey had not been arduous. As the path wound between more of those dreary lifeless fields, the only difficulty they’d had to contend with was boredom. Sagandran never thought it would be possible to feel bored when Perima’s hand was in his, but both of them had started yawning as they walked. Flip half-heartedly tried to get everyone to join in singing some long-winded Mishmashian ballad or other, but no one else had known the tune. Soon Sir Tombin advised him that it might be better if they kept their peace, just in case any Shadow Knights might hear them coming.

  After a long while, the road became narrower and the flanking drystone fences petered out. Sagandran guessed the land on either side of them had once been moor rather than cultivated fields – before evil had blasted the vegetation. Without them really noticing the transition, what had for so long been an amble became a climb. Then, for the past half-hour or so it had been more of a scramble, the road becoming a steep pathway that, as often as not, could barely be discerned among the scattered scree of the hillside.

  Now they rounded a bulge in the mountain. Before them, through the perpetual gloom of the Shadow World, they could see the gorge, just as Sir Tombin had described it. What he had not prepared them for was the vastness of the castle that loomed at its far end. Sagandran had thought the palace of Queen Mirabella in Spectram was huge, but this edifice dwarfed it. With its many outlying wings and its sprawl, it made Sagandran think of a monstrous dark spider waiting broodingly for prey to fly into its web.

  Was he the prey it expected? Was the spider anticipating watching him struggle in its deceptive gossamer trap?

  The others were relaxing. Perima and Cheireanna were sitting among the rocks, amiably leaning against each other, while Samzing seemed to have nodded off, his hat pulled down over his eyes. But Sagandran couldn’t find a way to ease his tension. Sir Tombin had gone on a little ahead to scout out the terrain, Flip chattering on his shoulder, and Sagandran wished he’d asked to accompany them. Anything rather than being stuck here with nothing to do except be frightened by the mighty stronghold.

  At last, Sir Tombin reappeared from between two great rocks.

  “The road seems deserted,” he announced. His voice was more subdued than usual, as if he, like Sagandran, found the sight of the castle intimidating. The Frogly Knight looked up at the featureless sky. “Hard to tell in this world,” he continued, “but it’s my guess that what passes for an afternoon here is now halfway through its course. We’d best be pressing on. Ahem. That means you too, Samzing.”

 
; The wizard’s mood had improved a little. “Right you are, my old potato.”

  On the far side of the hill, the way became even sketchier than it had been before, and Sagandran gave up trying to see where it was leading, instead relying on Sir Tombin as their guide. Soon they lost sight of the gorge and, mercifully, its dominating stronghold as the path took a course that appeared to have been cut for it through solid black rock. Tall cliffs of what looked like crystal-spangled coal, riven by a giant’s ax blow, towered on both sides. Far above, the sky was a rivulet of dirty milk. As they picked their way through the loose rocks, the noise of their progress echoed back at them, as if mocking their efforts. Soon, even Perima and Flip gave up their usual running commentary; the echoes of their own voices had the same effect on them as stuffily forbidding governesses.

  Sagandran was glad when they got to the end of the long cleft, and could once more see a little of what was around them – even if that included the castle.

  The road finally came to an end at a stickily oozing river of black water. A few hundred yards to either side, the cliffs rose again in an ominous wall. On the far bank, the crags came right down to the water’s edge.

  “There’s no way out of here but back the way we came,” said Sagandran, his voice sounding alien in his ears. It had been some hours since he’d last used it. “Either that, or swimming across the, er, river over there.”

  He needn’t say more. Everyone else was looking forlornly at the water as well. Sagandran was sure he wasn’t alone in thinking he’d rather die slowly at the vicious hands of the Shadow Knights than plunge into this river.

  “Maybe not,” said Perima. “Look. Over there.”

  Sagandran looked, but could see nothing except more cliff face.

  “Can’t you see?” After a moment, she began to walk along the edge of the water, and for want of anything better to do they straggled along behind her.

  Then Sagandran could see it too. There was a wedge of even greater darkness sundering the wall of the cliff ahead of them.

  “Do you think it’s a tunnel?” he said, puffing as he caught up with Perima.

  “It must be. Even here in the Shadow World, people don’t make roads that don’t lead anywhere. That’s got to be the way we go from here.”

  “You’re right,” said Sir Tombin from behind them, his voice beginning to sound a bit more cheerful again.

  They came to an untidy halt and peered into the great fissure in the rock. It wasn’t as narrow as it looked from the distance, but it was still far from spacious. It was perhaps five or six feet across at ground level, tapering upward to a point some ten feet or so overhead. Not a ray of light pierced its stygian darkness.

  “Are you sure there’s not another way?” chirped Flip nervously. “This doesn’t look exactly inviting, does it? Perhaps swimming in the river wouldn’t be so bad after all? What do you think, Sir Tombin? You understand a river when you see one.”

  “Harrumph!” said the Frogly Knight loudly, settling that particular line of argument.

  “What about Snowmane?” Perima’s voice was anxious.

  Sir Tombin nodded. “I see what you mean. We can’t risk taking him in there. There’s no guarantee we’d ever be able to get him back out again. He’d be better off if we left him here.”

  “I’ll stay here with him.” Turning, Sagandran saw the resolution on Perima’s face.

  “No, you won’t,” said Sir Tombin.

  Sagandran expected her to argue further but, after giving Sir Tombin a long stare during which many unspoken words seemed to pass between them, she lowered her gaze in acquiescence.

  There were farewells to be said to the horse. Sagandran, Samzing, Memo and Sir Tombin restricted themselves to a few gruff syllables, but Perima and Flip felt it necessary to indulge in protracted histrionics. So, unexpectedly, did Cheireanna. If anything, Sagandran thought, she was the most distressed of all to be leaving the stallion behind. Perhaps it was because she’d never come across such an animal before. He seemed to hold some sort of magical goodness she was reluctant to see snatched back out of her life. It was difficult for Sagandran to do more than guess, because he could comprehend not one word of her tearful adieu to the horse. Snowmane, however, seemed to be as fluent in Tamshadi as he was in any other human tongue, because he lowered his head solemnly and nuzzled her hand.

  “We must go now,” said Sir Tombin after a while, looking up for the thousandth time at the drab sky. He slung one of Snowmane’s saddle bags over his shoulder. “Memo, tell her we must go. Oh, and tell her Snowmane’s a prince among horses, that he leads a charmed life, that nothing untoward will happen to him, that one way or another we’ll be seeing him again soon. Tell her anything so long as it persuades her to unwrap her arms from around his neck.”

  “Do you mean all that?” said Perima, giving him a tear-filled glance.

  Sir Tombin was just about to say something else when he changed his mind. “Yes, I do. Queen Mirabella saw the magic in him as well, you may be sure.”

  “As do I,” asserted Samzing, cottoning on. When he thought Perima wasn’t looking at him, he rolled his eyes.

  A few minutes later, Sagandran looked back from the inside of the tunnel and saw Snowmane gazing after them. What little light there was from the sky fell in an aura around the great silver-white stallion’s head and shoulders, and for a moment, Sagandran was reminded of pictures he’d seen of unicorns. Maybe Sir Tombin and Samzing had been speaking truer words than they knew. Maybe Snowmane really was magical. If only the stallion’s shoulders and flanks had not been so disfigured by those grievous scars he might have been an alabastrine Greek statue of the enchanted horse, Pegasus. As if he knew what Sagandran was thinking, the horse nodded to him, then turned and began making his way off back along the side of the squalid river.

  The tunnel took a sharp bend, and Sagandran could see nothing more of the outside world.

  “Wait a moment,” said Sir Tombin out of the complete blackness. “We won’t be able to go on if we can’t see anything at all, you know.”

  “Samzing,” interrupted Flip, “don’t you have some spell you could use to bring light?”

  “No,” responded the wizard sadly. “The old writings warned of this and I’ve tested it for myself. The only magics I can perform in this world are the aggressive or malicious spells. The ones intended to bring about good simply don’t work,” he finished lamely.

  “I was going to say,” resumed Sir Tombin a little testily, “that I’ve had an idea.”

  Despite his foreboding, Sagandran grinned. He had the sudden image of an idea appearing like a light bulb above Sir Tombin’s head and illuminating the darkness around them.

  A second later, the Frogly Knight’s idea was revealed as he drew Xaraxeer the Lightbringer, from its scabbard and held it over his head. The honed blade shone brightly golden, chasing the shadows away.

  Even with the sword’s light, they found that they had to proceed cautiously. The walls of the tunnel, slick with moisture, were highly irregular, and frequent sharp-edged projections of rock seemed intent on snagging their limbs as they edged past. There were long black stalactites to dodge as well. The footing consisted of slaty flat stones tumbled upon each other, which caused them to slide unless they were stepped on with care. Once or twice, the companions heard scuttling noises in the distance, as if rat-like creatures eked out some form of survival here, hidden from the world. At those times, Perima clung tightly to Sagandran’s arm; once or twice, to his guilty gratified surprise, Cheireanna did the same to his other arm. The peasant girl didn’t smell as good as Perima, but beneath the thick coating of filth, her thin face was pretty in its own way.

  If only the guys at school could see me now, he thought. Especially Webster O’Malley and those two goons of his. Me, the despised Sagandran Sacks, walking along with a gorgeous babe on each arm.

  His grin soon faded. The louts who’d terrorized him back in the Earthworld, wherever that was from here, would li
kely never see him again. What made him think of them at a time like this? He could have been turning his thoughts toward Mom, Dad or Grandpa Melwin.

  Grandpa Melwin. It was because of Grandpa Melwin he was here, in this distant hell. Saving the three worlds from doom was a bit of an abstraction, however much he knew the reality of it, but saving Grandpa Melwin from his cruel captors was something close to Sagandran’s heart.

  There was a new resolve in his movements as he concentrated on taking his next step.

  The tunnel was becoming broader. We could probably have brought Snowmane with us after all, thought Sagandran ruefully. Then he realized that, in fact, they didn’t have much more space to negotiate their way. The stalactites hanging from the tunnel’s roof were now disproportionately thicker and longer, often extending almost to the floor, and sometimes they were matched by uprearing stalagmites. Perhaps whoever had first discovered this passage through the mountain had deliberately left them that way to inhibit people from coming through here on horseback, or even at any speed on foot. It was as good a natural method as any of defending whatever was at the other end from organized attack.

  Eventually, the companions came to a place where the tunnel abruptly debouched into a large, echoing chamber. Even the light of Xaraxeer wasn’t sufficient to brighten the interior of this vast bubble in the rock. As far as Sagandran could tell, while Sir Tombin swung the weapon around in the hope of seeing as much as possible, it was roughly egg-shaped. The ceiling was a dome above them. Little streams of poisonous-looking water ran down the walls here and there.