Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

The Shield’s mouth worked. He was shaking with fury, but he could say nothing, dared not say anything until he had thought this through. The officer reached down and grabbed hold of the soldier, dragged him to his feet.

  “You will tell your story to the Divine.”

  “It is my word against his,” the Shield stated.

  “There are other wounded here, who will corroborate his tale,” the officer said. He did not look at the Shield, but kept his eyes averted.

  The knights picked up the wounded and carried them off. The Shield was left alone, standing in the midst of the ruins of his plan, his arms crossed over his chest, his face once more the cold, stiff mask. He was, Damra could tell, still plotting.

  Damra had heard all she needed to know. Her worst suspicions were confirmed. She should go to the Divine, tell Cedar the truth of the matter. Her steps tended that direction, but her pace was slow and eventually she halted altogether.

  If she went to the Divine, she would have to hand over the Sovereign Stone. Silwyth’s words, his urgency kept coming to her. This enemy, this lord Dagnarus. I have seen the vastness of his armies. Their numbers are immense, his troops are devoted to him…The Divine is weak… If she went to the Divine, she would become ensnarled in a political web of accusations, counter-accusations, recriminations, possibly even civil war. The Shield had been dealt a terrible blow, but he was not dead. Wealthy, powerful, clever, he might yet rise above this.

  “Whatever else happens, I must take the pecwae and his companions to the Council of Dominion Lords. If I believe Silwyth, my husband waits for me at this place called Shadamehr’s Keep in Vinnengael. My destiny lies in that direction. There is nothing here for me.”

  Damra looked around, at the conniving and manipulating Shield, at the bodies of those he had murdered, at the black-armored evil lying in the wreckage of the reliquary.

  “Nothing now. Perhaps nothing ever.”

  Damra walked into the night.

  Left alone, Garwina of House Wyval pondered his situation. His was a dispassionate, calculating nature, not given to mental hand-wringing. He had suffered a reversal of fortune. That happened in life and thus the gods blessed the cat with the ability to twist her body in the air and land on her feet. Like the cat, Garwina twisted.

  The main problem, as he saw it, was this carcass of the strange creature of the Void. All else could be explained away, even the murders, for he had already provided himself with documents—innocent enough on the surface, but which could be altered here and there to implicate the Divine in an attempt to steal the Sovereign Stone.

  Keeping an eye on the carcass, Garwina walked over to investigate it. He was not a coward but, like all elves, he deeply distrusted magic. Elves find Void magic particularly loathsome, for its use is an affront to the gods, an abomination. If the Divine were able to prove that Garwina was conspiring with Void wizards, the Shield would indeed be ruined. He might be forced to request death in order to salvage his honor and that of his House.

  But what proof did the Divine have? Nothing except the word of some knights that they had seen such a creature, for the fools had departed without thinking to cart off the evidence. Garwina had only to get rid of this carcass and he would be able to claim that the knights were victims of an illusion created by the Dominion Lord. Garwina could see himself crawling out of the hole.

  The Shield crossed the stepping stones and came to stand on the platform. He stared down at the black-armored thing that lay unmoving at his feet. He did not know where it came from and could only assume that the Lady Godelieve had employed it to steal the Sovereign Stone. The fact that she should be in league with the Void did not surprise him. She was in league with humans. Not a great leap from one to the other.

  His stomach clenched and his skin crawled at the thought of touching the horrid object, but he had to haul away the black armor and the corpse inside it, bury it, burn it, somehow destroy it. Nerving himself to the dreadful task, Garwina grit his teeth and bent down to remove the helm, to get a look at the face.

  A black-armored hand raised up and seized hold of Garwina’s wrist.

  The Shield’s heart stopped. He could not breathe, he could not move. Stunned with terror, he stood staring as the Vrykyl rose to its feet. The creature retained a grip on the Shield’s arm, a grip so tight that he gasped in pain. And then his gasp changed to one of astonishment as the Vrykyl melted away, dissolved back into the Void. The Lady Godelieve stood on the platform beside him, her delicate hand clasping his wrist.

  The Shield pulled away from her, came perilously close to falling into the pit.

  “You are dead! You had to be! Your head…” He could not finish.

  “You are right. I am dead. I have been dead for over two hundred years. So wise are you, Silwyth. Yet you made a mistake. You did not strike to the heart.” Her voice dropped. “Not as Dagnarus did, when he made me what I am…”

  “What are you?” the Shield cried in terror.

  The Lady Godelieve regarded him with disdain. “A force beyond your understanding. A powerful force. One that can help you.” She took a step toward him.

  Garwina saw her beauty but he also saw the hideous visage beneath the illusion. He saw the smooth skin and rotting flesh. He saw the high-planed cheekbones and the bleached bones of the skull. He saw the lovely eyes and empty sockets. He saw the curved, sensual lips part over the grin of the corpse. The Shield was horrified and, at the same time, intrigued. She was right. This was power. Immense power. And it had attached itself to him.

  He repressed a shudder.

  “What do you want of me?” he asked.

  “Help me recover the Sovereign Stone,” she answered.

  Damra knew where to find Arim. He would be staying in the home of the Nimorean ambassador. Damra avoided the main house, slipped around to the guest quarters, located behind the main dwelling. A light burned in the window of one of the small houses, a signal Arim had left for Damra, in case she needed to find them. She knocked softly on the door and was immediately answered.

  She whispered her name and added, “Let no one approach.”

  Arim opened the door, looked out. He held his sword in his hand.

  “Something has happened,” Damra said. “We must leave at once. Wake the others. Make haste!”

  Arim wasted no time on questions. He disappeared into the darkness, leaving Damra to keep uneasy watch. Since Arim had told his companions to sleep in their clothes and they had few belongings, they took time only to gather up the twenty-seven turquoise stones the Grandmother had insisted on placing around them and which must be taken up one by one and counted over twice, no matter what the gravity of the situation. This done, they departed quickly and quietly.

  Damra feared that they would badger her with questions, but none of them said a word. Pleased and grateful, she led them across country toward the city of Glymrae.

  As they walked, she told Arim what had occurred. He listened in silence, amazed and disturbed. When Damra mentioned Silwyth of House Kinnoth, Arim frowned and shook his head. “I would not trust him.”

  “I thought so myself,” Damra said. “But to see him, to hear him. Everything he foretold happened as he said it would happen.”

  Arim made no further argument. He was not an elf and had no right to criticize that which he did not understand. He was amazed almost beyond belief when Damra told him she had acquired the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone and what she intended to do with it. He sympathized when she spoke of her worry for her husband, said nothing when she related that Griffith was supposed to be safe in Shadamehr’s Keep. No need to remind her that this information came from an elf of a disgraced House, an unreliable source. The way she spoke indicated that though she wanted desperately to believe Silwyth, she was realist enough to know that he may have been saying this for his own purposes.

  “What do you know of this Shadamehr?” she asked.

  “Not much,” Arim admitted. “Only that he is a Dominion Lord who is not a Dom
inion Lord. He passed the Tests,” he said by way of explanation, “but he refused to undergo the Transfiguration.”

  Damra frowned. “I don’t like that. It is dishonorable, if nothing else. An insult to the gods. Is the man a coward, then, that he could not go through with it?”

  “I have heard the man termed many things: thief, rogue, outlaw, among others not so kind, but I have never heard anyone accuse him of cowardice. He is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, as the humans are fond of saying. His Keep is located near the eastern end of the Tromek Portal. If Griffith were to escape the Shield’s Wyred, that would be a good place for him to go. Shadamehr has a reputation for welcoming people of all races and nationalities to his banner.”

  “Then I am resolved,” Damra said. “We are close to the western entrance of the Portal. That is the fastest route to take to reach New Vinnengael and the Council of Dominion Lords. We will go there.”

  “But if what Silwyth said is true,” Arim argued, “an enemy force under the leadership of the Lord of the Void has slipped unseen through Nimorea and crossed the border into elven lands with orders to seize the Portal. We may be walking into the cat’s mouth.” He quoted from an elven child’s tale in which the cunning cat convinces the foolish mouse that the cat’s mouth is the mouse’s safe home.

  “Wyred also guard the Portal’s entrance—”

  “And they are also of the Shield’s House,” Arim pointed out.

  “Yet, they are Wyred. They will be appalled to hear about the Shield dealing with a creature of the Void. If I can convince them, they will turn from the Shield. They would never be a part of such treachery.”

  Arim shook his head. “Who can say but that they are the ones who advised him to do this? I do not think you should count upon their assistance, Damra.”

  “I must count upon something,” Damra said briskly. “If not the Wyred, then the Father and Mother. The Portal is the quickest way to reach New Vinnengael and the Council of Dominion Lords. They must be apprised immediately of this dire situation. We cannot afford to waste three months in overland travel.”

  “There are the hippogriffs—” he began.

  Damra cut him off. “I’ve already thought of that. We can make use of hippogriffs to fly us the short distance to the Portal, but they do not like making journeys much longer than that, for they do not want to be away from their young. Even if we were able to convince them to travel as far as Shadamehr’s Keep, they would not prove to be much faster than horses, for they can fly for only a few hours each day while carrying a rider before they are required to rest.”

  “You know these creatures,” Arim said. “I do not.”

  “Ah, Arim.” Damra sighed. “I am trying hard not to let myself be influenced by the knowledge that Griffith may be at this Keep, although from what little you tell me of this Shadamehr, I think I am almost more worried than I was before. At least the Wyred are elven. I understand them. I will never understand humans, present company excepted, dear friend. I need Griffith’s help and his wisdom. The burden of this responsibility is almost too heavy to bear.”

  She cast a glance back at their companions. In addition to feeling responsible for the lives of these people, Damra carried with her the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone. Not since its gifting from the gods had two portions been in such close proximity.

  Not since the gifting had two been in such danger. The Trevenici carried with him the blood knife and although he was careful not to draw blood with it, the Vrykyl could be using it to track them. Damra had tried to think of some way to rid themselves of the blood knife, but since she knew next to nothing of Void magic, she feared she might do more harm than good. Griffith would know. Griffith would advise her. She longed to believe that Silwyth was telling her the truth.

  “What are they talking about?” Bashae asked Jessan, the two of them trudging along several paces behind Arim and Damra.

  “I don’t know,” he replied moodily. “I can understand only one word out of ten.”

  “They’re speaking Elderspeak, aren’t they?” Bashae sounded unsure. “Not elven?”

  “They’re talking Elderspeak, but the way the elf pronounces the words she might as well be using a foreign tongue.”

  “I like to hear her,” said Bashae. “I always thought Elderspeak sounded like someone smashing rocks, but she makes it sound like birds singing. Almost like Twithil. Do you know where we’re going?”

  They hiked across rolling grasslands, following Damra, who had an objective in mind, judging by the firmness and rapidity of her steps. The Grandmother was hard pressed to keep up and occasionally lagged behind. She refused to complain, for that might slow their pace and the agate eyes saw danger everywhere. Jessan was forced to fall back now and then, take hold of her arm, and support her steps.

  “Something about a stables,” Jessan replied. Although by his expression, he was exasperated with her, his touch was invariably gentle and patient. “A good thing,” he added pointedly. “We need horses.”

  “Yes, we do,” said the Grandmother. “For I know you young ones have trouble keeping up with me.”

  Dawn was breaking when they came in sight of the highway that led into the capital city of Glymrae. Such a highway in human lands would have been paved, for humans use Earth magic to create their highways and maintain them. The elves, who are given to Air magic, disdain paved roads, considering them an insult to nature. Their highways are hard-packed dirt with plantings of trees, hedges and rosebushes along either side. Not only do the trees and hedges provide beauty for the traveler, they also have a strategic advantage in that any enemy army using the road to speed his march is subject to ambush from defenders hidden in the foliage.

  Looking ahead, they could see numerous red tiled roofs shining in the early morning sun. Flags fluttered in the air. Damra called a halt.

  “The castle you see before you is the fortress of the Divine. I am going there to acquire mounts for our journey to the Portal. I leave you in the care of Arim. He will tell you what has happened and what our plans are. I will not be gone long. Remain in hiding until you hear my signal.”

  She looked to Arim as she said this last. He nodded and, with a smile that was meant to be reassuring, Damra departed.

  The group left the road, followed Arim’s lead to a grove of trees. Here they sat down to rest. The Grandmother planted her stick in the soft ground, then cast a sharp glance at Arim.

  “Tell us what happened to the Dominion Lord,” she said. “Something went wrong, didn’t it? That is why she came to us in the night.”

  “I am afraid so,” said Arim, and he gave a concise account of all that Damra had told him.

  “So we each have a part of the Sovereign Stone,” Bashae said, when Arim was finished. The pecwae’s voice was soft with awe and pride. “A Dominion Lord and me.”

  “I should clear out,” Jessan said resolutely. “I am putting all of you in danger.”

  “Damra did consider that, Jessan,” said Arim, reaching up his hand to detain the young man, who appeared ready to rush off that moment. “She considered leaving you behind. I tell you this because I do not want you to think we are making a foolish sacrifice in taking you with us. Will you listen to her reasoning?”

  Jessan appeared irresolute, then he squatted back down. “I will listen. But I am not convinced. Every time I close my eyes, I see the red eyes, searching for me. It will be only a matter of time before they see me.”

  “If we left you on your own, without protection—”

  Jessan stirred at this, but he kept silent.

  “—the Vrykyl would almost certainly capture you. As it is, he knows only that you have the bone knife. He does not know about the rest of us, who we are, what we carry. If he did get hold of you, he would force you to tell him everything you know.

  “I do not insult you when I say this, Jessan,” Arim added, seeing Jessan’s face flush. “I know that you are brave. Only a man of courage would offer to face this monstrous creature alo
ne. But you would not be able to help yourself. The Vrykyl would slay you with the blood knife and then take over your body, your knowledge, your memories. He would use your body to find us and, disguised as you, he could come upon us and catch us unaware. Thus, Damra judges that we are safer together than apart. Do you find her reasoning sound?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” said Jessan. He was relieved, yet at the same time, disappointed.

  The thought of leaving Bashae and the Grandmother in the care of others, striking out on his own, free and independent, seemed very attractive when considered in the light of day. A warrior from a race of warriors, he was not fool enough to think he could fight the Vrykyl. Yet he did think well enough of his woodland abilities to believe that he could keep out of the Vrykyl’s way, at least until he found the means to destroy the knife.

  Those were his daylight thoughts. At night, seeing those red eyes staring at him from the darkness of his dreams, he was glad to have his friends around him. He was even thankful for the twenty-seven turquoise stones.

  Jessan lay down on the ground, stared up into the treetops and dreamed of home. The Grandmother dozed. Arim kept watch, as did the stick. Bashae sat holding the knapsack close to him, thinking of the heavy responsibility that was his. He wished that Lord Gustav had been truthful with him, and felt sad that the knight had not trusted him enough to tell him what he carried.

  But then, Bashae asked himself, would I have trusted a total stranger with something this important? I didn’t trust Arim enough to tell him.

  “I understand, Sir Knight,” Bashae said softly to the dead man’s soul. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Bashae then wondered if he was glad to know the truth or if he would rather not. He decided that he was glad Damra had been honest with him. He could make better decisions now. He looked back at the Bashae who had gone on this journey with such a light heart and that Bashae was a stranger. That brought to mind another question.

  Edging over to the Grandmother, Bashae shook her by the shoulder.