by Tracey Alley
Dark One does not know. Now he also has the aid of Shallendara. The elven witch truly does seem to possess the power to read minds, as well as being able to see the future and control people’s thoughts and emotions. I confess freely, it frightens me,” Malachi said quietly, “I know of no way, magically or otherwise, that can deflect the tremendous mental powers that the elven witch undoubtedly possesses. Obviously she knew enough to convince The Dark One to plant a spy within your ranks, and as I say I also know beyond doubt that whoever the spy is, they attempted to communicate with The Dark One.”
“Attempted?” Darzan asked quickly, “What do you mean attempted?”
“My friend within the palace was able to intercept the message before it reached The Dark One. As a result all that he currently knows is that Nikolai and Sir Patrick are together once again. For whatever reasons The Dark One, and Shallendara, views the two of them being together as a significant threat to their plans. The rest of the information was, thankfully, ignored in the heat of The Dark One’s anger over that revelation. I was able to destroy the parchment myself.”
“Was the information important?” Slade asked when it became obvious that the dark-skilled wizard would not continue.
“I’m not sure but it may have been. I hope you will understand if I choose not to reveal any more than that.”
“I understand,” Slade began, “but it does not make things very easy for us. We have to work together. Already we have vast differences of personality, opinion, very little trust and now we are told that one of us is a spy. Are you absolutely certain Malachi?”
“Unfortunately yes. I wish I could ease your burden, for I have a strong feeling, coming from Thoth I am certain, that this group has an important role to play in the events to come and, as you said, working together is critical. But one of you is not what they seem to be. Furthermore I will offer this warning; The Dark One employs only the very best.”
Slade raised his eyebrows and looked around the table only to see each of the others doing the exact same thing. Slade knew that every one of them, except for the spy of course, would be looking at the others, trying to determine who among them was not what they seemed, who was a spy. Without a word being spoken Slade knew it was limited to only a few people. Slade felt fairly certain of Nikolai, Trunk, Tares and Lara. He was less sure of Wulfstan, his father’s bodyguard, or Roulibard of whom they knew virtually nothing, or even the beautiful Darzan. Any one of them could have been the spy. For that matter given how long Malachi had served The Dark One as a spy for his father, Slade thought, how could he even eliminate Tares or Lara? How ironic that the only ones Slade felt he could be completely certain of were the monstrous Trunk and the necromancer of Bhaal.
They all sat there in silence for a long moment, until Slade finally pushed himself away from the table and stood, slightly unsteadily from the weight of his exhaustion.
“There’s little point in staying up any longer, or in dwelling on what we cannot change at the moment. Until I have proof, one way or the other, I intend to treat each and every one of you as a friend and ally. I’d ask you to do the same with each other, but I realize that’s probably impossible for some of you. For now, let’s just try to work together. You said before there were beds upstairs Malachi?” Slade asked turning to the dark-skinned mage who nodded in reply, “Then I’m going to try and get some sleep. As I understand it we have only a few hours before the ship will be ready to leave.”
Without another word Slade turned and walked away, hearing the others doing the same behind him. As he walked up the shabby stairs Slade’s heart felt heavy, how was it possible that he had gotten himself caught up in this mess? The very reason he had left court in the first place was because he had no interest in politics, intrigue and scheming. Yet here he was surrounded by those very things. There was an old Kemet proverb that stated ‘if a man tries to run from himself he will meet himself coming’, something Slade had never understood before this day. Slade lay on the lumpy straw mattress without even bothering to take off his boots and said a quick prayer to Suelta before falling into a restless sleep.
The Dreamer
This far below ground there was no natural light, no warmth, no sound. The subterranean cell was tiny, containing only a rough stone bench that served as a cold, hard bed and in the corner a large, milky crystal standing nearly five feet tall.
Lying on the stone bed was a man, ordinarily a ruggedly handsome man but now his face was flushed with fever and his once muscular frame was wasted from near starvation. There was only one door into the cell; a door used very, very infrequently. As the man lay tossing in fevered sleep the door opened silently admitting two people, making the tiny cell even more crowded.
“How long has he been feverish?” The woman’s voice retained some of the musical lilt common to the elvish people but long years immersed in dark and unclean things had robbed Shallendara’s voice, as it had her looks, of most of their beauty.
“Several ten-days My Lady, the healers have had no effect,” answered the strange creature by her side.
The creature was a thing of nightmares, tall and thin with an overlarge round head, marked by tentacles resembling the legs of an octopus growing out of it. It had enormous oval eyes of jet black surrounded by white, without any visible pupils and a gaping maw for a mouth. Whether it was male or female was impossible to tell. It wore elaborate, heavily embroidered wizards robes and multi-colored crystals adorned its long thin fingers.
“This is unacceptable. He is unable to answer any of my questions while his brain is addled with fever,” Shallendara did not raise her voice yet her anger was unmistakable.
“True,” the creature replied, showing no signs of fear at Shallendara’s displeasure.
“I wonder. If I did not know better I would say that this illness has been deliberately sent to thwart me.”
“My Lady, surely you know such is impossible.”
“Is it? The gods themselves would surely stop me if they could, and by now they must have realized what it is that I seek.”
“And if they have?” The creature, still watching the fevered man, shrugged in apparent indifference.
“Just because we are no longer dependant upon the gods does not mean that we should underestimate their power. Until I have the answers I seek the gods have powers at their disposal I do not possess.”
The creature did not answer. It merely moved past the elven witch towards the man lying on the stone pallet. Gently laying one long finger on the man’s perspiring brow the creature tilted its ungainly head to one side, as if listening to a distant conversation.
“He dreams of his son,” the creature said eventually.
“His son who now sides with us. His son who believes, in his complete and utter arrogance that I will hand him the keys to conquer The Kingdoms. Arrogant and ambitious men are always easy to manipulate,” Shallendara said with a harsh laugh.
“Not Ulrich. His other son, the one called Slade.”
“He is of no consequence,” Shallendara said with a dismissive shrug, “if he is not already dead then he certainly soon will be. I am sure that The Dark One can be relied upon in that small matter.”
“Then I am afraid I can tell you nothing else My Lady. The fever is too great.”
“Then send for more healers,” Shallendara said after a long pause, “I must have the information and only he possesses it.”
“Are you certain My Lady? There are no others?”
“None. He holds one part of the puzzle. The great dragon, if I can find whoever that is, holds the other. The texts are absolutely certain on that point. But there is little to be gained in my seeking out the Dragon Clans until I have the information Erich possesses, I have to be able to negotiate from a position of strength. He must be cured of this fever.”
“I shall do what I can My Lady,” the creature answered, “but I believe that to cure him we may have to send for a cleric.”
“Naturally My Lady,” the creature said with a low sweeping bow.
Before leaving the room the creature again laid a finger on Erich’s brow, pausing as images flashed into his mind from Erich’s feverish dreams. Again and again came the image of the young princeling turned druid, Slade, yet behind him was something else, someone else. The creature could not see clearly who else occupied High King Erich’s fevered thoughts but whoever it was held a position of supreme importance to the sick king.
A position, the creature knew, of even greater importance than his son Slade, for Erich’s mind was still trying to protect the identity of this ‘other’. As broken and damaged as Erich’s mind undoubtedly was, nevertheless it was managing to do so. This was something the creature found very, very curious.
The End
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