“Damn,” said William. “It’s not on any maps I’ve seen.”
The sergeant smiled. “Lots of things don’t get put on the royal maps, Will. Best to always ask travelers when you can, or the lads who grew up in the area.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
“So, what then?”
“Then we don’t let him get away.” Will looked around. “Surprise is all we have going for us. They outnumber us, so if the fight goes badly, make for the river below.”
Hartag said, “The river? Are you daft, Will? Even if we could survive the fall, those rapids below will drown a man quicker than - ”
“No. If we start taking a beating, rally the men and head south. If he’s bound for Haldon Head, he will not follow. We’ll retreat to the portage we passed yesterday, and build rafts. We can get to Haldon Head before Bear if we use the river while he’s forced to rest his horses.”
“Ah,” said the sergeant. “So you weren’t suggesting we jump from that cliff over there?”
“Well, if it’s that or be killed . . .”
“Last resort, it is,” said Hartag.
William shaded his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings once again. “How soon?”
“Marie and the others should be in place now.”
“Pass orders. We form up and ride at a trot until I give the command, then charge the left.”
“Understood.”
William waited while the men formed up, and when everyone was in position, he took his place at the head of the column. Glancing at Sergeant Hartag, he half-whispered, “First time in my life I’m wishing Captain Treggar was here.”
Hartag laughed. While Treggar was an above-average officer, he had been a thorn in the side of every other bachelor officer at the garrison since before William’s arrival, and while he and William had come to a sort of understanding based on mutual respect, he was still a tough man to be around socially. The sergeant said, “Yes, despite his crust, he’s a man for a tight spot.”
“Well, as he’s not here, it’s my neck on the chopping block. Ride!”
The column moved forward at a trot. William felt his stomach tighten and forced himself to breathe slowly. As soon as he heard the twang of a bowstring or sharp clatter of metal upon metal, he knew he would lose his edginess and achieve a state of mental clarity that never failed to surprise him despite the many battles in which he had fought. In the course of a fight, chaos was the rule, and whatever plans he had made always evaporated during the first moment of contact with the enemy. Early on, William had discovered that in battle he could somehow sense how things were going and what needed to be done.
Despite his falling-out with his father over his choice to leave the community of magicians at Stardock and join the army, William knew this was his true calling, the craft for which he was particularly gifted. His horse snorted in excitement, and William sent the animal calming, reassuring thoughts. There were times when his singular ability to speak mentally to animals had its uses, he thought.
When William’s column reached the lowest portion of the road, the two decoy riders appeared above the crest. They made a show of riding a few yards over the crest, being “surprised,” and turning to flee.
William raised his arm and shouted, “Charge!”
But rather than follow the decoy riders up the hillside, the men turned and charged across the meadow. The meadow rose to a small flat area before quickly dropping off. As William had anticipated, about a dozen archers crouched on the grass, ready to rise up and fire at William’s men from behind.
Suddenly they had cavalry upon them and while a few got shots off, most were ridden down and killed before they could rally. William ordered his men to form a line, then reined in his horse.
The orders were simple. Stand until the enemy showed himself. As expected, Bear’s reaction didn’t deviate much from what William had predicted. A band of footmen raced from the trees and stood as if ready to charge. William did a quick head-count and saw that eighteen had been placed as bait. That meant over thirty men on horses were waiting just inside the woods. “Steady!” he commanded.
Bear’s men stood in line and when it was apparent they weren’t going to be charged, they started pounding their shields and taunting the Krondorians.
“Steady!” repeated William.
The two sides stood facing one another for long, tense minutes, and Hartag asked, “Should we raise the stakes, Will?”
“Do so,” instructed the young officer.
“Archers!” shouted Hartag, and a half-dozen Krondorians switched weapons. “Draw and fire at will; fire!” he commanded and the Krondorian archers let loose their arrows.
Six of Bear’s men fell. By the time the bowmen had nocked and drawn their second set of arrows, the remaining twelve mercenaries had turned and were in full flight. They reached the trees and vanished into the gloom. The bowmen let loose, but there were no targets on the other side by the time the arrows struck.
“Shoulder those bows!” commanded Hartag.
The bowmen did as ordered, then drew swords and hefted their shields.
Silence fell. Bear and his men waited for the Krondorians to charge; but William was determined they would fight in the open.
“What now?” asked one soldier nearby as they waited.
Hartag said, “We see who scratches their ass first, my boy.”
William sat and wondered how long they’d have to wait.
Kendaric stood on the reef at Widow’s Point, looking at the mast of the ship Solon had previously identified. He said, “Keep an eye out for any more of those creatures who tried to stop us last time.”
James pulled his sword and said, “Get on with it.”
Kendaric tried his spell again, and again it failed. He turned and said in frustration, “Nothing. Something still blocks it.”
Jazhara shrugged. “As we suspected it would. Hilda told us that the Vampire Lord was not the ultimate evil.”
“Time is short. We need to find that cave,” suggested Solon.
They returned to the beach behind the reef and found the cave with surprising ease. It was shallow, only a dozen yards deep, and the morning light from outside cut through the gloom. At the rear of the cave they found a pattern of stones. James pressed on one, experimentally, and it moved. He listened. There was no sound.
“It’s not mechanical,” said James.
“Which means it’s magic,” said Jazhara.
“And that means I don’t know how to pick this lock.”
“What next?” asked Kendaric.
“We have the hand and the artifact,” said Solon.
James unshouldered his backpack and took out the talisman and the vampire hand. He wrapped the ringers of the dead hand around the charm and raised it to the portal. He tried a half-dozen combinations of pressure and patterns, and finally put it down.
“Hilda didn’t tell us everything,” James observed as he replaced the items in his backpack.
“But she did tell us to return,” Jazhara reminded him.
“Let’s go ask her,” said James. He reshouldered his pack and stood up.
The walk up to the top of the point took less than a half-hour. Hilda was waiting for them when they reached the hut. “Got the vampire, did you?” she asked.
“Yes,” said James. “How did you know?”
“It didn’t take magic, boy. If you hadn’t gotten him, he’d have gotten you and you wouldn’t be standing here.” She turned and said, “Come in and listen.”
They followed, and once inside the old woman said, “Give me the hand.”
James opened his backpack and gave her the creature’s hand. She took a large iron skillet from a hook above the fire and placed the vampire’s hand in it. Thrusting it into the flames, she said, “This is the unpleasant part.”
The flesh of the creature’s hand shriveled and blackened, then a putrid blue flame sprang up around it. In a few moments, only blackened bones remained.
“Can you tell us something of what we face?” asked Jazhara.
Hilda looked grim. “That is why I didn’t tell you about the need to reduce the creature’s hand to ash. That is why I didn’t give you the pattern of the lock.” She looked from face to face. “You are about to face a great evil and I had to know you are worthy. Your defeat of the Vampire Lord shows that you have the necessary determination and bravery. But you face a far worse foe.
“For many years I’ve known the Black Pearl Temple was under the cliffs. I have never been able to see inside, except by my arts. And what little of that I can see is evil beyond imagining.”
“What ‘great evil’ do you speak of?” asked Solon.
“Where to start?” asked Hilda rhetorically. “The sailors who’ve died offshore, and there have been many, have never known true rest. Instead, their souls are enslaved to whatever dark power rules in the temple. I can feel its presence, like a great eye. It was closed for years, but now it is open and it is watching this area.”
James thought about the battle at Sethanon, when the false prophet of the moredhel, Murmandamus, captured the dying energy of his servants to fuel his attempt to seize the Lifestone under Sethanon. “So we can assume that this plan - whatever it is,” he added quickly, so as not to inadvertently mention the recovery of the Tear to Hilda, “has been underway for a great deal of time.”
“Assuredly,” said Hilda. She stood and moved over to her chest, opened it and retrieved an artifact. “But the eye didn’t know that it was being watched.” She held out a long, slender object, a wand or stick seemingly fashioned from frosty crystal. “I dared used this but once, and I have put it away since in anticipation of this moment. I caution you, what you see may be disturbing.”
She waved the object in the air and intoned a spell, and suddenly a rift appeared in the air before them, black, but somehow with the suggestion of color within. Then an image sprang to life, and they could see the interior of a cavern. An ornate mirror hung on a stone wall. They could see a figure approaching, reflected in the mirror before them, and Jazhara and Solon both muttered quiet oaths. The figure was one James had seen before, or rather its like, a long-dead priest or magician, animated by the black arts. He had faced such a one as this under the ancient abandoned Keshian fortress in the south of the Kingdom months before, and knew that there was a link between what had been discovered there and what was occurring now.
The figure waved a bony hand and the image of a man appeared in the mirror. The man was hawk-beaked, with eyes that seemed to possess a burning black fire. His pate was bald, and he let his long gray hair flow down around his shoulders. He wore clothing of nondescript fashion, looking as much like a merchant as anything else. Then they heard the voice of the undead magician.
‘They come,“ he said.
The man in the mirror asked, “Is the guildsman with them?”
“As planned. They will be sacrificed at dawn. Do you have the amulet?”
“No,” answered the man. “My pawn still has it.”
The undead creature said, “You held it, but it was the voice of our god that filled it with power. It has chosen another, just as it chose you over me.”
The man in the mirror evidenced irritation at that comment. “But he is not worthy of the power.”
“Nevertheless, without the amulet, we cannot proceed.”
“I will find him. And when I do . . .”
Suddenly the image shifted and there upon the rocks of Widow’s Point a gathering of creatures from the lowest depths of hell stood arrayed. James could barely resist the urge to speak, for he recognized some of these creatures, but others were even more fearsome and powerful. Finally, he whispered, “Who is that?”
Hilda said, “A mage of most puissant and dark powers, boy. I know not his name, but I know his handiwork, and he is allied with forces even darker than those you see in the image. Watch and learn.”
The man turned to face the assembled creatures, and James’s eyes widened as he saw his own body lying on the rocks, his chest torn open as if by a great hand. Nearby lay Solon and Jazhara. Still alive but bound like a calf to the slaughter, Kendaric struggled against his ropes. A massive amulet with a blood-red ruby hung from a chain around the man’s neck. And in one hand he held a long blade of black. In the other he held a huge stone of ice blue. Solon whispered, “The Tear!”
With a single motion, the magician knelt and cut into Kendaric’s chest, then plunged his hand into the cavity and ripped out Kendaric’s heart. Holding the still-beating organ, he dripped blood over the Tear as the magician turned to show it to the demons. The Tear’s color changed from ice blue to blood red and the throng shouted in triumph. Suddenly, the picture vanished.
Hilda said, “Don’t let these visions overwhelm you.”
Kendaric sounded on the edge of hysteria. “But they’re going to kill me! Us!”
Hilda said, “They’re going to try, boy. But the future is not set in stone. And evil is most adept at seeing what it wants to see. That’s its weakness. It doesn’t anticipate the possibility of failure. And now you do; and more, you know the price of your failure.”
“Then these visions . . . ?” asked Jazhara.
“Serve as a warning. You now know more about your enemy, and what he plans, than he does about you. He knows you seek to recover the Tear of the Gods - ”
Solon’s hand dropped to his warhammer. “How do you know this, woman?”
Hilda waved her hand dismissively. “You are not the only ones who know how the universe plays, Ishapian. I was old before your grandmother was born and if the gods are kind, I’ll live until your grandchildren die. But if I do not, I will have been a servant of good in my own way, and that contents me. Perhaps it is my fate only to be here to teach you, and after you succeed or fail, I will end my days. I do not know. But I do know that should you fail, I will not be alone in meeting a terrible ending.
“Always remember, visions are potent magic, but even the best of visions is only an illusion, a reflection of possibilities. You still can change your future. And you must!” She rose. “Now go, for time is short and there is much you must do. That creature you saw is called a liche in the old tongue. He is alive by the most powerful and blackest arts. He will lead you to whatever it is that prevents you from raising the ship. You must find him, destroy him, and end the plague that causes sailors to be entombed in their drowned vessels, servants of darkness to walk the night, and old women to have bad dreams. And you must do so before the other appears, for he is even more dangerous, I judge, and for him to have that amulet . . . well, you saw what he plans.”
Hilda stood and walked over to the now-cool skillet. “Brother Solon, the talisman, if you please.”
Solon took the pouch from inside his tunic. At Hilda’s instruction, he held open the sack as the old woman positioned a small silver funnel over the pouch’s mouth and poured the ashen remains of the vampire hand into the bag. Taking the pouch from Solon, Hilda retied the strings, murmured a brief incantation, and shook the bag before handing it back to the monk.
“Now,” she said, “you have the key to the temple. To use it, you must make the following pattern at the rock-face door.” She traced a pattern in the air, a simple weaving of four movements. “Then the door should open.”
Jazhara said, “Please show us again.”
Hilda repeated the pattern and James and Jazhara both nodded.
Jazhara took the old woman’s hand. “You are truly amazing. You are a storehouse of wisdom.” She glanced around. “When I first entered this place, I was astonished by your knowledge of medicinal and magical herbs and plants. Now I see you have much more to offer. I will return when we are done and tell you of Stardock. It would profit the world for you to join the community there and share your wisdom.”
The old woman smiled, but there was a shadow of doubt in her eyes. “Firs
t return, girl. Then we’ll talk.”
Jazhara nodded and then followed the others outside.
The old woman watched them retreat. When they had at last vanished into the trees, she moved back to the fire, for she felt a chill, in spite of the warmth of the sun.
“Now!” William shouted, pointing to the tree-line. As one, his men spurred on their horses and charged the riders who were thundering out of the woods. It had taken nearly an hour for Bear to run out of patience and now William felt he had a chance, since they were fighting on open ground. He might be outnumbered, but he knew his men were better armed and trained. As the Krondorians charged across the road, William prayed silently that his eight raiders at the rear of Bear’s men were distracting them enough to divide their forces.
“Keep the line! Watch your flanks!” shouted Sergeant Hartag, and the Krondorians pointed their swords, keeping their bucklers ready to block, their reins lashing the necks of their mounts, as they urged their horses on.
William’s world turned to a blur of images. As it always did in combat, he found his attention focused on one thing and one thing only: the man before him. A rider came in, rising up in his stirrups, his sword high to come down hard at William’s head or shoulders.
In a fluid motion, William leaned to the right, raised his left arm above his head, and let his buckler deflect the blow, while his own short-sword slashed at the rider’s right leg. The man cried out and then William was past him.
William didn’t know if the man had kept his seat or fallen, and he didn’t look to see. For in front of him another rider was charging toward him, and in an instant the first rider was forgotten. This man came in from William’s left side, giving the young officer an easy block, but making a counter-strike with the short-sword difficult. For an instant, William appreciated the Keshian’s use of the scimitar, with its long curved blade, or even the Eastern Kingdoms’ saber for fighting on horseback. A longer, lighter blade would serve better now.
William let the thought slip away as he timed his response. At the last instant, he ducked under the blow, instead of blocking it, and wheeled his horse about, then spurred it on after the rider who had just passed. The man was bearing down on a dismounted Krondorian soldier when William overtook him. A single blow from behind and the man was unseated, tumbling hard to the ground and rolling to his death at the hands of the soldier he had been attempting to ride down just seconds before.
Krondor Tear of the Gods Page 27