Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

  Shadamehr spoke to the King, but in reality he was imparting his warning to Tasgall. The veteran soldier took note. He shifted his gaze directly to Shadamehr.

  As for the King, the child was dismayed. Apparently this wasn’t in the script, for he had no idea what to do or say. He looked again to the High Magus.

  Clovis’s iron eyes flickered, then hardened.

  “Flummery,” she said.

  Tasgall turned his head slightly, still keeping his eyes on his charges, but managing to regard her at the same time.

  “High Magus,” he said deferentially, “if this is true—”

  “It isn’t,” said Clovis coldly, cutting him off. “This miscreant is trying to distract us from our goal.” She advanced a step toward Shadamehr, held out her hand. “You will give me the two portions of the Sovereign Stone, the elven and the human.”

  Well, well, thought Shadamehr, how did you come to know about the Sovereign Stones, Most Revered High Magus? Through the blood knife?

  “I assure you, Madam,” he said aloud, “that the Sovereign Stones are the least of your worries.” He pointed northward. “If you will look out that window, you’ll see smoke on the horizon. I am willing to wager that the smoke is from the first of the outlying farms and villages being put to the torch—”

  Tasgall shifted his gaze to the window. A frown line appeared between his eyes and he looked back at Shadamehr as if he would very much like to have a private talk with him. Tasgall was under orders, however, and could not very well depart from them.

  “You are the enemy of the Empire, Baron Shadamehr,” Clovis thundered. “You and the elves who conspire together. Enough of these lies! I am the head of the Church. Hand over the Sovereign Stones to me now. Both the human stone—that is in the possession of this barbarian—and the elven stone, that this false Dominion Lord stole from Tromek.”

  Shadamehr blinked. “Excuse me. Do I understand that you are accusing this noble Dominion Lord of being a base thief? If you’ll allow me, Madam, I’ll translate for her—”

  Clovis clasped her hands in front of her robes, rocked back on her heels. “Damra of Gwyenoc is quite fluent in Elderspeak. Aren’t you, Dominion Lord? If not, I am capable of doing my own translating.” She shifted to Tomagi. “I am in contact with the Shield of the Divine. He sent an urgent messenger to inform the Temple that the Sovereign Stone was stolen in a bloody battle that left many of his men dead. He had reason to believe that the thief would come to New Vinnengael, there to try to deliver the Stone to the Council of Dominion Lords. As for the human part of the Stone, we know that it was discovered and that it was also en route to New Vinnengael. Do you deny this?”

  “I see no reason to dignify this interrogation with a response of any kind,” said Damra coolly.

  The High Magus began to chant and, lifting her finger, she pointed at Damra’s tabard. Clovis moved her finger in a circular motion, faster and faster, tightening the circle until finally she spread her hand and spoke the words, “True light.”

  A faint blue-white light shone from beneath the tabard. The light grew brighter and brighter, until its radiance dazzled the eyes. The image of the Sovereign Stone appeared, floating in front of Damra, who lifted her chin and stared unfazed at the Most Revered High Magus.

  The High Magus turned to Jessan, pointed her finger at him.

  “No,” Jessan said through clenched teeth. “Stop her!”

  “Easy, son,” said Shadamehr quietly. “She won’t hurt you. She can’t.”

  The High Magus chanted and waved her finger. Jessan stood with his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists.

  No light gleamed.

  “That’s torn it,” said Shadamehr softly. “She knows now that he’s a decoy.”

  He reached swiftly into his boot, drew a poniard. Jessan snatched the blood knife from his belt. Damra touched the medallion of the Dominion Lord. Silver armor flowed over her body. She spoke words in elven and her husband nodded in response. Griffith filled his lungs with air, took a step toward the war magus.

  “Guards to me!” the High Magus cried.

  “Guards to the King!” Tasgall bellowed, glaring at the High Magus. “Protect the King!”

  Seeing the barbarian draw a knife on the High Magus, the Royal Guards leapt to obey her. When they heard Tasgall countermand her order and shout for them to guard the King, they halted briefly, confused.

  “The King, damn your eyes!” Tasgall shouted.

  The guards obeyed. Shifting their attention to the King, they tried to reach the child, who was on the other side of the room, standing by the desk, his eyes wide and filled with terror. The guards halted, their way blocked by—unbelievably—three Dominion Lords.

  The three Dominion Lords looked like Damra and fought like Damra. The guards knew in their heads that two of these were illusion, but they also knew that the third wasn’t. The third was real and so was her weapon. Even as one of the guards endeavored to slip past what he thought was an illusion, Damra’s sword pierced his shoulder. The man gasped in pain, blood spurted from the wound. The power of the mind is potent. The wound looked real and it felt real. Blood flowed down his arm. It was all he could do to keep his grip on his sword.

  Shadamehr jumped in front of the King. “Don’t be afraid, Your Majesty,” he said swiftly to the child. “We’re here to help you escape.”

  He turned to face two members of the Royal bodyguard, who advanced on him, their swords drawn. Shadamehr blocked the cutting stroke of one with his poniard. He kicked the man in the groin and, when he doubled over, gave him a clip on the ear with his fist. The second guard leapt at Shadamehr, swinging his sword. His mouth and eyes opened wide in astonishment. He gave a gasp. The sword fell from his hand. He slumped to the floor. Jessan stood over him, a blood-stained knife in his hand and a smile on his lips.

  Shadamehr cast a quick glance around the room. The Dominion Lord and her illusions held their own. Not being certain which was Damra and which wasn’t, he left that battle to the three of them.

  Catching hold of Jessan’s arm, Shadamehr gripped it tightly and shouted at him. “Cover me! I’m going to grab the King!”

  He didn’t know if Jessan understood him or not. The young man’s eyes were pale and intent as those of a wolf seeking prey. Shadamehr couldn’t take time to worry about it. He turned back to the child.

  Tasgall had his spell ready to cast, but his attention had been distracted from his magic by his need to protect the King. He launched his magic, but he was just a few heartbeats too late.

  Griffith breathed out all the air in his lungs. A cloud of noxious green gas flowed over Tasgall, enveloped him.

  Tasgall’s body froze, motionless. His mouth was wide open, but no sound came out. He could not move his hands or his feet or his head. Paralyzed, Tasgall dropped to the floor. He lay there, helpless, his torso twitching and jerking as he fought to try to free himself of the debilitating spell.

  The paralyze spell is not meant to kill but to incapacitate, to give the spellcaster time to move on to round two. The spell would start to wear off in a few seconds, and then Griffith’s enemy would be up and dangerous. Griffith moved in to take his enemy out for the duration of the battle. As he did so, he spared a glance for his wife.

  Damra fought the guards with her usual spirit and skill, but another enemy, a more potent enemy than any Royal Guard, sneaked up on her from behind. High Magus Clovis was calling on the magic of the earth to halt the Dominion Lord.

  “Damra! Look out!” Griffith shouted.

  Damra smashed her mailed fist in her opponent’s face, sent him reeling and turned around to face this new threat. Damra believed the High Magus to be a Vrykyl. Against a Vrykyl, Damra would need more than her powers of illusion. Her eyes went to the candle that had been placed upon the desk for the convenience of the battle magus. Other magi could utilize Fire magic, as well. Damra jumped forward, ran her hand through the flame of the candle, and called upon the gods to grant her the power of fir
e.

  A ripple of Earth magic caused the floor to buckle beneath Damra’s feet. She fought to keep her balance, but the magic was too potent. The Earth magic yanked the floor out from underneath her and she pitched forward to fall on her hands and knees. She felt a twinge in her wrist, a bone break. Pain shot up her arm and her fingers went numb. She dropped her sword, unable to wield it. Her magic slipped away from her.

  Griffith saw his wife in trouble. He also saw the spell he’d cast on the war magus start to wear off. No time to do this right. Bounding to Tasgall’s side, Griffith leaned over the human and spit into his face.

  Tasgall screamed. Covering his eyes with his hands, he rolled on the floor, kicking his feet and legs in agony. The pain was intense. His eyeballs seemed to be melting in his head. Blinded, he could do nothing, was more helpless than the child he was supposed to protect.

  Griffith turned to his wife, intending to cast his magic on the High Magus. Unfortunately, the young King stood between them. Griffith was forced to halt his spell-casting, for the spell had the potential for harm and he did not want to hurt the child. Ethical and moral considerations aside, nothing would play into the Shield’s hands more than a member of the Divine’s faction killing the young King of Vinnengael.

  Seeing that the High Magus was distracted by her fight with Damra, Shadamehr swooped in and grabbed hold of the King.

  “I will not harm you, Your Majesty,” Shadamehr said swiftly and earnestly, lifting the child in his arms. “I am your loyal subject. I will remove you to a place of safety—”

  The High Magus cried out in fury. Searing pain glanced along Shadamehr’s ribs, a pain that flashed swiftly, a pain he forgot in the sudden, riveting shock that drove all coherent thought and sensation from his mind.

  Gasping, Shadamehr let loose his hold on the child. The King tumbled to the floor. Still staring at the child, Shadamehr stepped backward and collided with Jessan, who had obeyed Shadamehr’s order to cover his back.

  Jessan caught hold of Shadamehr, held onto him until the man could steady himself. Griffith had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that the young King had dropped to the floor and was safely out of harm’s way. Griffith breathed the cloud of paralyzing gas onto the High Magus.

  Clovis tumbled to the floor, lay there alongside the stunned child. The magic of the High Magus ceased. The floor quit shaking. Griffith helped his wife to stand.

  “Shadamehr, are you hurt?” Jessan demanded, alarmed. The baron’s cocky jauntiness had evaporated. He was white to the lips.

  “We have to get out of here,” Shadamehr said, struggling to breathe. He pressed his hand to his side. “The door. Run for it.”

  Damra looked at him, looked to her husband for an answer, but he could only shake his head. This was no time to bring the issue before a committee for a vote.

  They ran toward the door, halted at the sound of shouts and running feet slamming down the hall.

  “No good,” said Shadamehr. He looked swiftly around for another way out. His gaze fixed on the crystal window.

  “I think some magic would come in handy about now.”

  Damra guessed what he had in mind and looked to her husband.

  “The High Magus will be paralyzed for only a minute,” Griffith warned.

  “I can deal with her,” said Damra.

  Lightning blazed in a blue-red arc over her head. She seized hold of the lightning. The bolt twisted and twined like a whip in her hand, crackled when she struck it against the floor.

  “Take care of them, Griffith.” Damra gave him a fond smile. “And yourself.”

  “No!” Jessan shouted, realizing suddenly what Shadamehr meant to do. Jessan struggled, tried to fight free. “You are mad! It’s like jumping off the top of a cliff! I’ll take my chances fighting—”

  “Griffith!” Shadamehr shouted. “We’re leaving!”

  “There is a chance the spell might not work, my lord,” Griffith shouted.

  “Oh, balls!” Shadamehr said angrily. He clasped his arms around Jessan with a grip like an iron band.

  Giving a roar, Shadamehr lunged shoulder-first through the window, five stories above the ground.

  Alise paced back and forth in front of the palace, waiting and watching for Shadamehr. Alternately fuming at him and worrying over him, it occurred to her that she had spent much of her twenty-eight years waiting and watching for Shadamehr.

  The daughter of a goldsmith, Alise had been born to privilege and wealth. She had been expected to earn her position by marrying one of the sons of her father’s business partner or some impoverished nobleman looking for funds to maintain his estate. A good many men, both old and young, merchant class and noble, were quite willing to take the goldsmith’s beautiful red-haired daughter off his hands—until Alise made the mistake of opening her mouth, as her mother said in exasperation.

  Quick-witted and sharp-tongued, Alise found books far more to her liking than men. The Church was insistent that all children in New Vinnengael receive at least rudimentary schooling and so Alise had been taught to read and write. The Church had an ulterior motive in this. By issuing laws that all children attend Church-run schools, the magi were able to find out which children were gifted in magic. They immediately noticed Alise’s intelligence and magical power, and when she was of age, the Church began courting her as assiduously as the young nobles, albeit for a different purpose. They hoped to persuade her to enter the Revered Sisterhood.

  Alise enjoyed her studies. The arcane art came naturally to her. She did not really want to become a magi, though, for she found the disciplined life of the Church too restrictive. Still, comparing that life to the boring life of a devoted wife, Alise decided that, all in all, the life of the magus did have its advantages. Over the tearful and vociferous objections of her parents, Alise entered the Church.

  Once there, she was forever in trouble. She was caught sneaking out to go dancing, caught raiding the buttery, caught wearing pretty clothes in public, instead of the drab brown robes. Her glib tongue and her skill in magic saved her from being tossed out on her ear. One of her teachers, an irascible magus called Rigiswald, concluded that the girl was not really a troublemaker. She was bored. She needed a challenge and he was prepared to give her one. He recommended to his superiors that she be one of the chosen few permitted to study Void magic.

  The Church had preached for centuries that Void magic was evil. The Church prohibited the unregulated study of Void magic. Unauthorized practitioners (usually hedge-wizards) were hunted down and either “persuaded” to discontinue the use of Void magic or face imprisonment or death. The Church did recognize (although not publicly) that Void magic had its place in the universe. Thus they permitted and encouraged a certain few of their own to study it, if for no other reason than that they could recognize it when they saw it and know how to deal with it.

  Alise’s teachers scoffed at the notion of the lovely young girl agreeing to work with Void magic, the casting of which takes its toll on the body. All elemental magic requires the use of an element to work the spell. A Fire magus must have access to flame, a Water magus must use water. The Void magus sacrifices a bit of his own life essence to work his magic. Void magic weakens a magus physically during spell-casting, pustules and sores appear on his flesh. Her teachers said that Alise was far too vain to do anything that would mar her rose-petal complexion.

  Rigiswald knew Alise better than they. The idea of studying forbidden magic intrigued her. She did not like the magic of the Void, but she found it challenging, in a repulsive way, and she soon became adept at its use.

  Observing her skill, the Church recommended that she join the Inquisition, those members of the Church who actively seek out Void magic practioners and bring them to justice. Because the Inquisition works in secret and in shadow, searching for heretics both within the Church and without, they are the most feared of all the Orders. Alise refused to have anything to do with them.

  The Church insisted that she join or
face retribution, for she was now a skilled practitioner of forbidden magic. Rigiswald helped her to escape and smuggled her safely out of New Vinnengael. He sent her to seek help from his friend, Baron Shadamehr.

  When she’d first met Shadamehr, she’d thought him arrogant and silly and insufferable. She now added reckless and infuriating to the list, as well as brave and compassionate. She refused to acknowledge the last two, however, just as she refused to let herself fall in love with him. He could never take anything seriously, including love, and she knew she would end up deeply hurt. Meanwhile, they were good friends and comrades, except during those times when she hated and detested him. This was one of those times.

  Before arriving at the Palace, Alise had slipped unseen into the Bibliotheca, avoided the Temple magi. (She was considered by the Church to be a rogue magus, and there was a warrant out for her arrest, but that is another story.) Finding Rigiswald among piles of books, she had warned him that the pecwae were lost in the city and that Shadamehr had been hauled off a prisoner to the Palace.

  Grumbling at being interrupted, Rigiswald had asked tersely what else was new and had gone back to his reading.

  Alise left the Bibliotheca to take up watch outside the palace. Fortunately for her, the large crowd that was almost always in attendance to gawk at the guards and stare through the iron bars was present this afternoon. Alise could loiter about herself and not attract undue attention. She kept her ears open for the sound of the penny whistles, but heard nothing and assumed that the pecwae had yet to be discovered. She paced back and forth, too restless to sit. For awhile, she tried to occupy her time by counting the columns, but she was too worried to concentrate and soon left off.