“Wait,” Vittaro said. “So it was built by the ancients?”
“Indeed. The places like this city we are in now are special. They were built with a magic that keeps them strong and whole against the passage of time. This castle I found, it was special too. Where this city is built to stand, this castle was built to decay. I found the marks of treasure hunters upon the stones; many had found this castle before I did. Chisels and hammers had sought out hidden riches.”
“So you found the spear in a hiding place they missed?” Ramund asked.
Sigmeyer nodded. “In a way. While I explored the tower the storm continued to rage. The ground shook with the strikes of lightning as though the Warrior and the Hunter fought in the sky above. One of those bolts struck the tower and sheared a vast chunk of wall away, nearly spilling me into the bay. Once I regained my feet, I found that the fallen stone revealed a hole crafted deep in the center of the wall itself. A hidden compartment indeed, but there was no manner I could determine that anyone could have accessed this cache until the wall had been cloven away entirely. Within this hole stood the spear, wrapped in canvas that appeared as fresh and whole as a clean sail. It was not the only treasure within however. The canvas also protected a book and a parchment, each fresh and unmarred by time.”
“Preposterous!” Ramund slammed a hand down on the table. “You claim to be there at just such a time, at that exact moment, of the centuries that such a structure must have stood.”
“I have hidden both the parchment and the book,” Sigmeyer continued as if Ramund’s outburst had gone unheard. “The parchment is a note written in the Gifted One Hethal’s own hand. A note written to me, bearing my name.”
“You weave an impossible tale,” Ramund said, crossing his arms. “Can you produce this note? It is conveniently stashed somewhere, I take it.”
Sigmeyer shook his head. “It is precious to me and no other eyes but mine shall see it or the book. Hethal chose me. He looked into the future and found me. Many great people may have lived within its walls during its life, but that castle was built for me to find at exactly that time in the storm, and as I said, it was built to decay and for that cache to be exposed only in that storm. His note told me to bring the spear to Capistrael on this day and seek out a sorcerer who could uncover its lore and purpose. He also instructed me to read the book—keeping certain parts secret.”
Ramund took a deep breath. “Very well, what can you tell me of this book?”
“It is nothing less than the story of the Cataclysm and the rise of those Gifted Ones who would be all that prevented the complete loss of Vorallon’s existence. The Cataclysm was nearly the end of all things.”
“But can you tell me why is this forbidden? What is it that we are not supposed to know?”
“It is forbidden because it exposes a lie.”
“You have exposed countless lies while you have sat there.”
“Those lies do not change us, and they do not change who we are—they do not change the balance. This was not always true, however. What I have been able to piece together about the repopulating of Vorallon can change none of us now. Even my friend here can walk about as a being who is part of Vorallon, though that was not always so.” At Sigmeyer’s words, Vittaro ducked down deeper within his hood. “We needed the lies in those histories to believe that we all had a place here. At least until enough generations had passed for us all to become part of Vorallon.”
Ramund peered deep into the impenetrable darkness of Vittaro’s hood before returning his gaze to Sigmeyer. “Perhaps the same is true for the lie within this book you found?”
“Let me ask you this instead,” Sigmeyer said. “You will do no business with one who serves one of the darker gods. Who is it specifically? Are you afraid to name his name?”
“I am not afraid, but it is unwise to name the Lord of Vengeance.”
“And why is that?”
“To do so could draw his gaze upon me.”
“I am sure he and his brothers already look upon us,” Sigmeyer said with a chuckle. “I will name him; he is Lord Chreen. He is the Lord of Nefryt where the vile descend upon their death to have their spirits cleansed from their souls. He is brother to Lord Lorn and Lord Aran. Together they are the three Lords of Balance. He performs a function for the wellbeing of Vorallon, as do his brothers. He serves this world.”
“He is to be worshiped by only the most foul of men and creatures.” Ramund waved his hands as he spoke as though fending off an unseen thing. “His vengeance is death. He would slay us all and add us to his demon hordes.”
Sigmeyer leaned on his elbows. “You are unshakable in this belief?”
“What are you asking, northman?”
“I am telling you as much of the lie as I can. I can say no more.”
Ramund leaned back, silenced by Sigmeyer’s words. Finally he shook his head. “You have lied to me. I do not know how you did so with my enchantments in place, but you have lied. You tell me you serve no god and now you openly name the most vile of them all.”
“I did not lie,” Sigmeyer said in a level voice, though he balled his fist upon the table. “I serve the Gifted Ones who entrusted me with this spear. I serve those who defeated Dakkar so that Vorallon could live and we could exist. Did they in turn serve the gods? Most certainly. Lord Aran, Lord Lorn, and the Lady of Destiny placed their faith in those ancient men and women. What does that make me if those ancient ones in turn have placed their faith in me? They too placed their faith in you, sorcerer.”
Ramund narrowed his eyes. “Placed their faith in me how? What do you mean, northman?”
Sigmeyer gestured to the black cloth upon the table. “Is there another sorcerer in all of Vorallon who has a cloth such as this? Or one who could see so much of the lore of this spear through any other means as you have done today?”
Ramund leaned his head back and sighed. He remained silent for a moment before looking back at his guests. “I must answer no to both of your questions. This cloth has been in my family for generations, and I know of no other means that would yield such a clear accounting of that spear’s lore. But why was any of this even necessary? Hethal wrote you a note, why would he not have laid everything out before you if he foresaw your victory? Why lead you to my door instead?”
“Hethal’s gift holds great power, this he did explain. If he tells someone their future, then they may change it in untold ways, even if he tells them in a note over four centuries old. He circumvented that by leading me to you. Now you have told me everything I need to know, and the future is still safely immutable by my actions.”
“So he sought me out. In that distant past, he knew where I would be. He knew where this cloth would be. I have only just last night returned from a long sojourn to the sapphire towers of Nimya where the Council of Mages deliberate the nature of all things.”
Vittaro chuckled. “I wager you could bend their ears quite a bit after today.”
“You said earlier that I had mispronounced the name ‘Adawa’,” Ramund said, ignoring Vittaro. “I call the cloth what my father called it, and his father before.”
“Adwa-Ki was the matriarch of the Elves of the Keth Forest, a Gifted One whose touch alone would yield to her all the lore of a thing, even a person. I believe your cloth must be imbued with a bit of her power. Most likely through an enchantment of Lady Iris herself. They fought side by side in the great Cataclysm.”
“Can you at least tell me the nature of the Cataclysm? What did befall Vorallon?”
“You know that our universe is just one of many?”
“Yes. If I didn’t, learning the lore of your spear would have corrected that,” Ramund said. “Those dragons did not simply come from another world, they came from an entirely different universe.”
“Very good, and I can tell you that in many of those other universes are other worlds like Vorallon, worlds whose spirits have risen to sentience. This is a thing that the Old Gods rejoice in. Those worlds rise to sent
ience by their very adoration of the life which lives, loves, and battles upon their surface. If what I have learned of Vorallon and the extents to which the gods will go to insure his survival are true, this does not come about by chance. This life is carefully nourished and warded until such sentience arises, and afterward it is protected and guided even more fiercely.”
“The Lords of Balance are those wardens for Vorallon,” Ramund said.
“And for those other universes as well; each has their own Lords of Balance, raised up and placed there by the Old Gods. A system that insures the growth and continued life of each precious world, but on one of these worlds those Lords of Balance failed.”
“In what way did they fail? Did their world die or fall back into slumber as Vorallon nearly did?”
“No, neither of those things. It would have been a blessing if either had occurred. Those Lords of Balance gave their world everything he wanted. And in that way they failed for he wanted only war. He relished death and what comes afterward. Eventually he turned away from life entirely. This was a very old universe, and that world whose name was Dakkar let the stars wink out about him one by one, until only he remained. If any of the other worlds in his universe had been close to sentience, he had snuffed them out. The Lord Chreen of that world eventually slew his own brothers and launched a genocide among the beings that lived upon its surface, all at the command of his world, Dakkar. Those who died in this genocide did not ascend to Jaarda nor descend to Nefryt. Their spirits and flesh were consumed by Dakkar, reanimated into something twisted, neither living nor dead.”
“You speak of undeath,” Ramund said. “The living dead.”
Sigmeyer nodded. “The Cataclysm was Dakkar invading Vorallon. Many years before that he sent his one yet living servant to our universe to prepare the way. He sent Lord Chreen as his herald before our three Lords of Balance had yet risen, just as Vorallon burgeoned upon sentience. Eventually he was slain by the first godstone hero, Elena the Huntress-”
“The first what?” Ramund blurted.
“Yes, sorry, you would not know of the godstone heroes,” Sigmeyer said almost in apology. “They were very special, even among the Gifted Ones. Heroes chosen by the Lady of Destiny and given godstone forged by the ancient dwarves into weapons of destiny.”
“But what is this godstone?”
“As near as I can tell, it is the very substance of Vorallon’s spirit made solid. To appearances it is a dull silvery metal. Each such weapon was forged with a singular purpose, a destiny.”
“That sounds very much like your spear.”
Sigmeyer looked up at the head of his spear. “This is not godstone, yet it was indeed forged with a singular purpose.”
“Nay,” Ramund said. “You are right, the spearhead is forged from adamantite. The first of such metal I have ever beheld. If nothing else, you hold the wealth of an entire kingdom. But continue your tale, you were speaking of the death of this other Lord Chreen.”
“He was indeed slain, but not before he had drawn the substance of Dakkar’s spirit into our world and hidden it away.”
“Why? Why all this waiting and heralding?” Ramund asked. “What kept him from attacking immediately?”
Sigmeyer shook his head. “That the ancients did not know, though there were those among them who had the ability to find out. Personally I believe that the Old Gods themselves prevented such an inquiry. I feel however that the reason had to do with some difference between Dakkar’s universe and our own, something that could only transform over time until it met with the God of Undeath’s liking. The fortunate thing was that it gave the Old Gods the time they needed to create the means for his defeat.”
“So he did not succeed, yet the Cataclysm he created destroyed most of the life upon Vorallon?”
Sigmeyer shook his head again. “His blight, for that is what his spirit was, did destroy the life of Ousenar, across the narrow Vestral Sea from Erenar. The greatest loss of life was carried out before the blight struck however, carried out by the newly risen Lord Lorn.”
“Impossible,” Ramund began but Sigmeyer silenced him with a slap of his hand upon the table.
“He did what the Old Gods bade him do. Never forget that the charge of the Lords of Balance is the life of Vorallon, above the lives of any of us. To insure that Vorallon would endure, the souls of many had to be preserved from the Blight of Undeath, for were it to strike them, even with the slightest touch, those people would not die. They would have been consumed by Dakkar, their souls and spirits lost forever—never to be reborn in time. By reaping those he could beforehand, Lord Lorn preserved their precious souls in the realms of Jaarda and Nefryt.”
Ramund swallowed hard. “Could such a thing happen again? Dakkar was defeated and destroyed, wasn’t he?”
“He was defeated, and driven back to his own universe, but not destroyed. The very reason we know of undeath to this day, and have the misfortune to stumble upon the undead from time to time, is because some of his blight, Dakkar’s spirit, still remains in our universe, like a disease of rot that could not be completely cut out of a limb.”
Sigmeyer fell silent, his hands caressing the haft of the spear.
“Is that everything you can tell me?” Ramund asked.
Sigmeyer looked up at the sorcerer. “Nay, there is one more thing. The creatures of Dakkar’s world, those who fought endless wars for his desires, they were not men like you or I.”
“What were they?”
“They were dragons. Great dragons whose life spans spanned many thousands of years. And the world was very old at the time of Dakkar’s change to undeath. Those dragons, over their many eons of war, had become unstoppable forces of destruction. When Dakkar’s Lord Chreen came to Vorallon he did so in his natural form, that of an enormous black dragon that the ancient Zuxrans named Kamunki.”
“Enormous he may have been, but this Elena the Huntress slew him,” Vittaro said.
“Aye,” Sigmeyer said with a slow nod. “She did, but she was a godstone hero, with a spear of godstone destined to pierce Kamunki’s black heart. She was also a Gifted One who could outrun even the fastest deer of her ancient forest. Lastly, in killing the great beast, she herself was slain, dragged down into the pit that his blood melted into the floor of his lair.”
Vittaro shook his head. “You are no Gifted One.”
“No, but I was chosen to wield this spear.” Sigmeyer turned his gaze upon Ramund. “I am to wield this spear against Ferdahl, am I not?”
“Yes,” Ramund replied. “So says the lore of the weapon, but this Ferdahl, northman; it is time I shared what the lore has told me of him. He is a great beast of golden scales who, more than four thousand years ago, measured fully four hundred feet in length. Ferdahl lead the opposing faction of dragons whom the survivors, those who aided in the forging of this weapon, fled from when the Lady of Destiny brought them hither to this world. He breathes fire, as do all his kin. You will die if you face this beast, taking all your secrets with you.”
Sigmeyer squared his shoulders. “I will defeat him. Hethal chose me for this task, of all men. Would he not have looked upon my battle with Ferdahl and seen my success before constructing that castle, or even having this spear crafted? How will I find this Ferdahl? Does the lore tell you?”
“You can’t be serious,” Vittaro said. “This thing is over four hundred feet long. That is like ten of your sloops set end to end.”
“How do I find him, sorcerer?” Sigmeyer pressed.
“You may have changed my life today, northman, but you have also sealed your fate,” Ramund said. “The magic of this spear is such that it will draw the dragon to you. You see, Ferdahl swore vengeance upon his foes, and though a universe now separates them his gift was such that he would find a way here if any could. Yes, the dragons are Gifted Ones as well. Those who aided in crafting the spear have given unto it much of their essence, while they themselves remain hidden. It is that essence which Ferdahl will track down. It will l
ead him directly to you. It is also most likely that he has given himself up entirely to this Dakkar and been made into creature of undeath.”
“You have to find these hidden dragons, Sigmeyer,” Vittaro urged. “Tell them it was a mistake. Make them face this Ferdahl instead of sacrificing yourself.”
“Oh I intend to find them,” Sigmeyer said. “Just as I have tracked down every race who now lives upon Vorallon, but whether I find them before or after Ferdahl finds me, I shall still face him and defeat him.”
“Well then, you’re a fool if you think I’m going to share in your journey any further beyond today, my friend,” Vittaro said.
“Am I? The dragon may kill me, but I will most certainly destroy him. Hethal has foreseen it. He would only have entrusted this task to one who would succeed. Do you have any idea what a corpse of such a beast, even just one of his golden scales, would be worth? As well he will have this spear that is worth an entire kingdom’s wealth buried in his heart. No, my friend, I think I can count on you to stay quite near me. In this battle, I am a sure bet.”
“You may need an edge.”
“Which I am sure you can give me, my friend.”
Ramund stood. “Is my role in this done? Is there no more to Hethal’s note?”
“There is more,” Sigmeyer said. “It tells me where next to go, and when I should be there, but it does not say I should do any of this alone. Your role, sorcerer Ramund, is only finished if you wish it to be.”
Ramund crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “You do know more. How much more has Hethal shared with you?”
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