Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

  “Indeed I do,” muttered Ulaf. “All too well.”

  He hastened off across the stable yard, heading in the direction of an enormous castle that was known throughout the Vinnengaelean empire—sometimes with curses, sometimes with praise—as Shadamehr’s Keep.

  Built on the Imperial Escarpment that runs east of the Mehr Mountains, the original Keep had consisted of four walls, two towers and a gate. Constructed in the year 542, twenty years after the fall of Old Vinnengael and ten years after the founding of the city of New Vinnengael, the Keep stood at a strategic point in the northern part of the Vinnengaelean Empire, only about two hundred miles from the eastern end of the Tromek Portal.

  Even back then, the Shadamehrs were considered to be “eccentric.” The first Earl of Shadamehr had been an impoverished knight serving in the household of King Hegemon. Having nothing to give His Majesty except blood, Lord Shadamehr cheerfully shed that for His Majesty’s cause during the Battle of the Plains, the war started by the dwarves when they discovered that the humans intended to build their new capital on land claimed by the dwarves.

  Such was his heroism in battle—he saved the king’s life—that Lord Shadamehr was named Baron Shadamehr and given an earldom. Instead of choosing land around the proposed city, as everyone else was doing, the Baron declared that he had seen a site not far from the elven border to the north that looked to him to be an excellent place to build a castle. He was very nearly laughed out of court, for there was nothing to the north but elves and giants, and relations were not so good with either that any man would choose to willingly live near them.

  The king had tried to persuade Baron Shadamehr to accept an earldom that was more valuable, but the Baron persisted in his desire and, finally, the king gave in. Loading up several boats with men and supplies, the Baron traveled up the Arven, looking for a good place to build his Keep. He found it on a steep cliff about thirty miles from the headwaters of the Arven. The escarpment being highly defensible, the baron set about building his castle.

  A short time later, the elves announced that they had discovered a Portal through their lands, the eastern entrance of which Portal was within a day’s ride of the Vinnengaelean border. Relations between humans and elves improved markedly when elven merchants began to clamor that they wanted to take their goods into the wealthy city of New Vinnengael. The river provided easy access. The Baron established an outpost on the river and charged a modest fee to those passing through his lands. The merchants might have balked at this, but, in return, Baron Shadamehr took care that river travelers were not molested by giants, dwarves or other nuisances. He was known to be a man of honor, whose word was good on anything, and even the elves spoke of him with grudging respect.

  Certain envious barons, who watched the Earl grow wealthy almost overnight, said spitefully that Shadamehr must have known of the existence of the Portal in advance and that, if so, he should have told the king. Shadamehr would never say yea or nay to this, but since he always gave generously to the king whenever His Majesty was in need of funds, the king was not one to press the issue.

  The Shadamehrs continued their eccentric ways down through the ages, scandalizing the New Vinneng-aeleans with their outlandish mode of life. They married for love, not for money, for they had plenty of that. They raised healthy children who went out into the world and made names for themselves and were invariably loyal and loving to each other, disappointing those who had hoped to witness the family’s disintegration.

  The tolls they charged were modest. They were fair and open-handed in all their dealings.

  The current Baron of Shadamehr’s Keep had acted with an eccentricity that broke all previously held family records. A man known to everyone to be generous, brave, intelligent (some said too intelligent for his own good), and noble, he had been granted the very great honor of being permitted to take the tests to become a Dominion Lord. Shadamehr had taken the tests. He had passed them with ease, but for a few minor problems, dealing mainly with his tendency to speak a bit too lightly of the gods and to burst into laughter at solemn moments. He had been granted the right to undergo the Transfiguration. Everything was in preparation for the ceremony when, at the last moment, Shadamehr refused to take it, something no one had ever done in the glorious history of the Dominion Lords.

  Shadamehr had a blazing row with the Council of Dominion Lords and another blazing row with the king, during which the Baron was stripped of his Earldom and ordered to cede his lands to the crown. Shadamehr responded by seceding. He removed his lands from under Vinnengaelean control, declared himself to be an independent nation, and challenged anyone to try to take his Keep from him. He then departed in high dudgeon.

  The king in his fury did send one force to try to take the Keep, but his knights and barons, many of whom were friends of Shadamehr, either refused outright to fight or did so half-heartedly. The battle was a dismal failure. The king decided that it would be prudent from then on to simply ignore Shadamehr and pretend he didn’t exist.

  Some said that after his own wrath cooled, Shadamehr felt badly about the way he’d acted. He did not feel badly about refusing to undergo the Transfiguration. He rarely spoke of it, but when he did, he always made it clear that he had no regrets. He felt badly about severing his ties with the people of New Vinnengael and it was then that he began to do what he could to make reparation, to try to increase the safety and security of his people.

  His interest in humanity began to extend to the rest of the world, to other races. He saw that the world could be a much better place if people would only learn to live together in peace. Most people thought this, or at least claimed to think it, but Shadamehr, with true eccentricity, decided that he would do something about it. He set about recruiting people of all races to help him attain this goal and whenever he heard rumors of war or discord, he sent in his agents to observe and report so that he might be able to do something to help defuse the situation. Sometimes he succeeded, other times he did not, but he never gave up hope.

  The Keep was now a rambling structure that sprawled over the cliff face, various Shadamehrs having built towers, erected walls and added wings with little regard for fashion or architectural design. One Baron had been fond of spires and there were lots of these, sticking up all over the place, adding an air of whimsy to the building. Another Baron had taken a fancy to flying buttresses, while a third had delighted in stained-glass windows. The Keep was always bustling with activity, with agents and friends coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

  Ulaf passed a group of orks gathered around their shaman, looking at him anxiously as he read the omens of some incident that had apparently just occurred, for more orks were coming at a run to hear the outcome. Ulaf glanced into the circle of large bodies, trying to see what was causing all the furor.

  The orks were staring in consternation at a cat that had a live mouse in her mouth. Orks are fond of cats. Orks consider cats lucky and woe betide anyone who harms a cat in the presence of an ork. Whether or not this cat with the mouse was a good omen or a bad one, Ulaf couldn’t tell. Ordinarily he would have stopped to ask, for he found orken superstitions highly diverting, but this day he had news of too much urgency to wait.

  He entered the south door that was one of six leading into the Keep’s main hall, an enormous chamber hung with tapestries and banners. A fire pit stood in the center. The ceiling was spanned by large beams, blackened from decades of smoke. The sun shining through the stained-glass windows made colorful splashes on the floor. The chamber echoed with the sound of raised voices and clashing steel. Several young knights practiced at swordplay in one corner, while a different group argued philosophy in another.

  Or perhaps, Ulaf thought, those with the swords are arguing philosophy. Skirting both groups, he nabbed a young squire, who was watching the combatants with envy, and asked if he had seen Lord Shadamehr.

  “I saw him go up the stairs with several large coils of rope,” the squire reported. He had to r
epeat himself twice before Ulaf could hear over the uproar.

  “What stairs?” Ulaf bawled, for there were as many staircases as there were entrances and each led to a different part of the castle.

  The squire pointed. Ulaf wound his way up a staircase that carried the climber to the hall’s third story. Having lived here off and on for five years, Ulaf could still get turned around. Reaching the top of the stairs, he searched the area, trying to regain his bearings and hoping to find Shadamehr.

  He saw no sign of his lord, but he did recognize where he was. This corridor led to the Baron’s private quarters. Several of his long-time friends had their sleeping rooms here, to be nearby in case they were needed.

  Shadamehr’s own bedchamber was at the end of this hallway. Cluttered with books and chests overflowing with all sorts of oddities he’d collected in his travels, the floor was strewn with his clothes, for he could never be bothered to take the time to put anything away and he refused to permit servants to go around “picking up after me.”

  Shadamehr was an energetic soul. Not much given to sleep and fond of study, he was known to beat upon someone’s door in the still, dead hours of the night if he thought the person might provide him with an answer to one of his endless questions.

  The room belonging to Shadamehr’s seneschal, the long-suffering Rodney, was on this floor. Ulaf peered in through the open door, but Rodney of the Keep, as he was known, was not in his room, nor did Ulaf really expect him to be. Responsible for handling the vast estate and all that went with it, Rodney rarely saw the interior of his bedroom. It was often joked that there must be two or three of Rodney, for he was always to be found exactly where he was supposed to be, whenever anyone wanted him.

  Two of the other rooms on the floor were occupied by members of the Revered Order of Magi. One room belonged to Rigiswald, who had been Shadamehr’s tutor when he was young and was now his adviser and counselor. A dapper and polished old man with a neatly clipped, very black beard of which he was vain and which most believed he dyed, the sharp-tongued old man was the most feared person in the establishment. Ulaf hoped to goodness Shadamehr wasn’t keeping company with his tutor, for then Ulaf would have to interrupt them, and while he had faced down many a monster during his travels through Loerem, he dreaded few things more in this world than a tongue-lashing from Rigiswald.

  The mage’s door was open. Ulaf peeped cautiously inside. The dour old man reclined in a chair near the fire with a goblet of wine in one hand and a book in the other. He was alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ulaf crept past.

  The other room belonged to Alise, another member of the Revered Order of Magi and a long-time friend of Lord Shadamehr’s. If Rigiswald was the most feared person in the household, Alise was the most loved. Almost every man who came into Lord Shadamehr’s service found themselves dreaming of her fiery red hair and her vibrant green eyes. Shadamehr was not married and neither was Alise. There was much speculation about whether or not they were lovers and money had changed hands on the matter. No one had yet won or lost the bet, for if they were lovers, they were incredibly discreet. Ulaf tended to think they weren’t, for he sometimes saw Alise look at Shadamehr with something in her eyes that was loving and at the same time not.

  Ulaf concluded that Shadamehr must have come to visit Alise, for none of the other rooms in this wing was currently occupied. Alise’s door was closed, however.

  Wondering if the rumors were true, not wanting to disturb them if they happened to be together, Ulaf put his ear to the door. He didn’t hear anything. He hesitated, but the news was really extremely important. Ulaf started to knock.

  A strong hand clapped over Ulaf’s mouth. A strong arm collared him and hauled him bodily across the hall, dragged him into the shadow of an enormous granite column.

  “Don’t say a word!” a voice spoke harshly in his ear, then added, “Promise?”

  Ulaf couldn’t speak, for the hand clamped shut his mouth, but he nodded. The hand slowly released its grip. Ulaf turned, glowering.

  “You damn near gave me heart failure!”

  Shadamehr raised a finger, pressed it against Ulaf’s lips. “Shh! You promised.” He pointed across the hall. “Watch!”

  “My lord, I’ve been searching for you everywhere. I have urgent—”

  Shadamehr shook his head. “Not now. Watch!” he intoned.

  They heard the sound of footsteps, the gentle swish of a hem-line on the floor, a woman’s voice singing softly to herself an old folk tune.

  Shadamehr’s eyes glistened. He pulled Ulaf deeper into the shadows. “Keep your eyes on the door!” he breathed into Ulaf’s ear.

  Fuming, but knowing that the best way to accomplish his mission was to humor his lord, Ulaf did as he was told.

  Alise walked to her door. Raising her hand, she spoke several words intended to remove the magic spell that kept the door locked. Then she stopped.

  “That’s odd,” she said to herself. “I must have forgotten to cast the spell this morning.”

  Shrugging, she raised the black lever, pushed gently on the door and then halted with a gasp.

  She stood staring in shocked amazement as every piece of furniture in her room moved rapidly away from her. Tables, couches, chairs, her desk, an ornate floor-standing candelabra went sliding and slithering over the floor, racing across the room in a mad dash that ended with all the furniture jammed up against an open window on the far wall.

  Alise’s face flushed as red as her hair. Clenching her fists, she shouted in a furious voice, “Shadamehr!”

  His lordship collapsed with laughter onto the floor, where he lay kicking his heels, rolling back and forth, prostrate with mirth.

  Spotting him, Alise pounced, nearly knocking down Ulaf in her attempts to seize hold of her lord. “How dare you? How dare you? Look at the mess—”

  “Stop this infernal row!” Rigiswald shouted and slammed his door shut with a boom.

  Still laughing, Shadamehr fended off Alise’s pummeling and managed to regain his feet. “One of my better ones, don’t you think? Come along!” Seizing hold of Alise with one hand and Ulaf with the other, he dragged them into Alise’s room. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “My lord,” Ulaf tried again, carried along not so much by physical force as by the force of his lord’s enthusiasm, “I have urgent news—”

  “Yes, yes, someone always has urgent news. But this,” Shadamehr pointed proudly. “This is really important. Do you see how I did it? I tied a length of rope to every stick of furniture in the room and then attached all the ropes to that great rock down there.” Shadamehr hauled them bodily across the room to where the furniture stood in a jumbled heap, a veritable cobweb of rope tied around the legs. “Then I attached a last piece of rope to the door. When the door is opened, the weight falls and hauls all the furniture with it. I call it, ‘The Vanishing Room.’ Wonderful, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think!” Alise stated, glowering, though an astute observer might have seen her lips twitch with suppressed laughter. “Who’s going to clean up the mess?”

  “Oh, I will,” said Shadamehr. “Ulaf will help me, won’t you?”

  Ulaf stared helplessly at his exasperating lord, who had once been described as “a human male of middle years with a nose like a hawk’s beak, a chin like an ax-blade, eyes blue as the skies above New Vinnengael and a long, black mustache of which he is very proud and is constantly smoothing or twirling.” Shadamehr stood twirling that very mustache.

  “My lord, will you please listen to what I have to tell you?” Ulaf said desperately.

  “If it’s about the elves evacuating the eastern end of the Tromek Portal because some sort of great thundering army of monsters is supposed to come crashing through it, I’ve already heard,” Shadamehr said, patting Ulaf on the shoulder. “But thanks for coming to tell me.” He continued to gaze around with pride at his handiwork. “You should have seen your face, Alise.”

  “You should see yours with
the marks of my fingernails in it,” she returned calmly.

  “You know about the army?” Ulaf demanded. “What are we going to do?”

  “Can’t tell yet,” Shadamehr said, dabbing at the scratches with the lace cuff of his shirt sleeve. “Not enough information. As Rigiswald says, it is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment. You’ll just end up having to revise your plans and then you’ve wasted all that time.”

  “Instead of spending all that time tying ropes to the legs of furniture,” Ulaf growled.

  “It was funny, admit it,” said Shadamehr, nudging Ulaf in the ribs.

  Voices called out from down below.

  “My lord, there’s a large rock dangling at the end of a rope—”

  “My lord, an elven Dominion Lord has arrived. She came through the Portal and she—”

  “Ah,” said Shadamehr with a sigh. “Now we will have our evidence.”

  He put his arm around Ulaf’s shoulder. “Let’s go hear about this army of monsters. By the way,” Shadamehr added, eyeing Ulaf critically, “your tonsure’s growing out quite nicely.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Ulaf. He gave up. “The Vanishing Room. It was funny, my lord.”

  “One of my best,” said Shadamehr.

  The elves believe that in the afterlife there is a prison house where those souls who have committed some terrible crime during their lifetime are sent for punishment. The souls are kept in the prison house, for they must not be permitted to return and wield influence over the living. The prison house of the souls is said to be a place of chaos and madness, for the souls are constantly trying to free themselves. Noble warriors, who have died honorable deaths, may choose to spend their eternal lives standing guard over these souls.

  Upon first entering Shadamehr’s Keep, Damra felt as if she had entered that same prison house, for everywhere she looked there was chaos and madness.

  Elven households are tranquil, serene. Twenty elves may live in one small dwelling place, but the visitor would never be aware of it, for the elves know how to move silently and speak softly, make themselves unobtrusive. In this castle, noise erupted around Damra. Every single person had his mouth open, shouting and hallooing, exclaiming and questioning. Twenty people made noise enough for forty.