“Who chose me?” The thought popped out before Stiger could think of a better way to phrase the question.
“Why, your god, of course.” Menos stepped over to Stiger’s growing pile of split wood. He picked up the axe, examined it for a moment and then returned it to its place on the stump and then looked back up at Stiger. “The one you call the High Father, the one your ancestors from Earth named Jupiter. It was he who bound the soul of the betrayer, a dwarven wizard named Rarokan, to the sword. It was Rarokan who set everything in motion and forced the gods down their destructive path.”
Stiger could not resist a look down at the sword, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable with it being so close to his person. He wanted nothing more than to shed himself of it.
Menos noticed Stiger’s discomfort. “Yes, he is in there and has been trapped for more than an age.”
“A wizard is in my sword?”
“He isn’t just any wizard,” Menos continued. “Rarokan was a High Master, one of a handful of the most powerful of wizards. The High Masters not only have the ability to move through space, but time as well. Not even the noctalum were granted that ability, which is why we created the World Gates.” Menos paused, sucking in a breath. “A High Master wields incredible power, the extent of which wizards like Thoggle can only dream of and guess at.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Why?” Menos arched an eyebrow. “Knowledge is power. For you to have a chance against a mind such as Rarokan, you must first understand what you face. It is this understanding that I have come to share. I fear a great many lives may depend upon it.”
“Speak on.” Stiger rubbed his jaw, not wanting to hear more, but at the same time he knew he must. He gave a nod for Menos to continue. “I am listening.”
“Rarokan, as I have said, was once one of the most powerful wizards in existence. To attain such power, one first needs terrible ambition. Once attained, there is a terrible temptation to use the power in ways it was not meant to be used.” Menos took a step closer to Stiger, silver eyes intense. “Rarokan thought he knew better than the gods and meddled where he ought not. As punishment, his soul was torn from his body and imprisoned within an instrument that brings death—something he can still inflict upon others but will never know himself. It is a horrendous price to pay for one’s ambitions, but I’m led to understand that he knew in advance the cost of his folly and went ahead regardless.”
“What did he do?”
“Like you, I have revealed perhaps too much,” Menos admitted. “Only know that his actions were base enough for both the High Father and another to hand him a punishment far worse than death and eternal damnation.”
Stiger once again glanced down at his sword, almost as if seeing it for the first time. It was strange to think there was a soul bound up within the hard metal. And yet deep down, for some reason it seemed he had always known. The sword in a way was alive.
“Rarokan’s mind and soul are trapped within that blade,” Menos continued. “Be warned, he is no less dangerous than he was prior to his imprisonment. The wizard, though confined and limited, is still powerful, almost beyond imagining. Just as before, he feeds off of the souls of others and in turn spends their energy. Though he can no longer cast spells, he has the ability and power to reach beyond the sword itself, including into your mind.”
Stiger remained silent as he considered the other’s words. He liked none of what he was hearing.
“As he stole the souls of countless beings to amass his power,” Menos said, “so too will he try to claim yours. Thoggle desired I not reveal this next part to you, as he feels it is far too early for such things.” Menos closed his eyes. “I cannot penetrate your mind. However, judging by the anger I sense radiating from your aura, Rarokan has already begun his conquest.” The noctalum opened his eyes and looked deeply into Stiger’s. “So . . . in the end it seems I was quite correct to come to you and offer fair warning.”
Stiger was horrified. He closed his eyes and thought of the sword. In his mind he asked, Is this true?
Yes, came the reply, you are mine and I am yours. Together we are one weapon. Together we can change things. Together we can become stronger than the gods.
Stiger opened his eyes and stumbled back a step, in shock.
“He tells you truth, I see,” Menos said, eyes narrowing. “Doesn’t he?”
Stiger gave a reluctant nod.
“It is no less than I would expect, for all deception begins with a little truth,” Menos said. “You must not let him dictate your destiny. Take control before it becomes too late.”
“How do I stop him? He is a wizard and I am just a man.”
“If I am not mistaken, you are a fighter,” Menos said. “Isn’t that correct?”
Stiger gave another nod.
“Then fight him you must, with all the strength you can muster. You have been chosen by your god.” Menos paused and then added, “As was he. Yet you are the one meant to use him, not the other way around. Bend Rarokan to your will, for destiny has been laid upon you and is yours to dictate. The gods have given you freedom in this, and with it comes a power all its own. You can master it, and make your will matter.”
The answer was not what Stiger had been looking for. It didn’t tell him how to do what Menos suggested. He had a sense—or, more accurately, a fear—that the sword was listening to every word the noctalum was saying.
I listen through your ears, the sword confirmed, sounding almost amused. I see through your eyes. We are one. We are the same.
“I won’t use it,” Stiger said, unslinging the sword and setting it down on the wood pile. “I won’t ever touch it again.”
Stiger thought he heard the distant echoes of a mad laugh, cackling with amusement, but was unsure.
“Carry the blade with you or not, it matters little.” Menos gave him a sad look. “You were inextricably linked the moment you shared power. The bond is secure and permanent. He is as much a part of you now as you are of him.”
Stiger glanced down at the sword in mounting horror. He understood the truth in the noctalum’s words. The bond with the sword was permanent. There was no way to sever it.
“No,” Menos said, “there is nothing you can do to cut the link, except perhaps die. In such an event, his purpose would end as well, but he would continue throughout all eternity, adrift with his failure or success, depending upon how you look on it.” The noctalum paused, eyes sliding to the sword. “Still, in balance, Rarokan’s heinous acts and self-sacrifice, if you can call it that, now give our cause hope when before there was none.”
“Hope?” Stiger asked. All he felt was despair. The gods were once again turning his world upside down.
“There is a summit coming between the dwarves and orcs,” Menos said, abruptly switching subjects, as if the previous one was now of little concern to him. “I will not be attending, for I loathe orcs with all of my being. I have sworn to kill each and every one with a black heart I set my sight upon.”
Stiger blinked as the noctalum’s train of thought shifted. He gave a slight shake of his head and looked at Menos, comprehending what had just been said. He could not think of a more ridiculous idea.
“They are coming to take the valley,” Stiger stated with certainty. “I’ve told Thoggle this.”
“I know,” Menos said, “though Thoggle has not told me. I can sense Castor’s minion at work, its power growing as well as the will of its followers. With each passing day, Castor’s strength is increasing upon this world. Where before it was but a footprint, now it is the entire foot.”
“So why even bother with a summit? What can be accomplished?”
“There has long been a peace between dwarves, humans, and the orcs in this area,” Menos said. “I understand there is some optimism on both sides that they can avoid the war that is coming. It was not the dwarves, but the orc king who requested the summit.”
“King?”
“Yes,” Menos said. “
I am told his name is Therik and he rules over all of the tribes, a first for one of his kind. He apparently has some honor, though I personally find that difficult to believe.”
“I see,” Stiger said. “And he thinks he can stop what’s to come?”
“Brogan, thane of the dwarves, certainly hopes so,” Menos said. “We fast approach the time when the Last War shall return. Thoggle knows this, but I think he desires to believe otherwise, or at least to delay things a little longer.”
“Why tell me all this?” Stiger said.
“Beyond my giving you fair warning?”
“Yes.”
“I had hoped by coming here you would reveal something of my future,” Menos said. “Though you have told me little, you confirmed much that I had speculated on. I thank you for that and consider our meeting having borne some fruit.”
Menos paused again and sucked in another deep breath.
“Before I take my leave, I have something else to share with you,” Menos said, almost as afterthought. “Thoggle has cast a web upon you.”
“A web? What is that?”
“It is a spell specifically tailored to your being,” Menos explained. “He spun it after you arrived here. To your kind and others, you shall appear as if you were Delvaris himself and not as you really are. You will look and sound the same to yourself, but for others who knew you not before the spell was weaved . . . you shall be Delvaris, almost as if the man had been reborn.”
Stiger sucked in a breath. “Why would he do that?”
“Why indeed?”
“Sarai?” Stiger glanced toward the house. “She sees me as I am, then?”
“It would seem so.”
“With my coming here and the death of Delvaris, Thoggle told me emphatically the future has changed,” Stiger said. “So did . . . the other wizard, now that I think on it.”
“Did he?” Menos seemed interested. “Did they indeed?”
“Thoggle called me a paradox,” Stiger said. “Or maybe it was that I had caused one. I am not sure.”
Menos was silent for several moments, clearly thinking on what Stiger had said. “You may be, and you might not be.”
“That’s a bit cryptic,” Stiger said. “I was hoping for something a little more helpful.”
“Thoggle is a Master of his order,” Menos said. “He is not a High Master and does not see time in such a manner as his betters do. Like Thoggle, noctalum have a limited vision of both the past, present, future, and the flow of the in-between. Perhaps the future you came from is still there, remaining linear and untouched, not bent, twisted, or altered beyond recognition. It is possible that all that happens in this time was meant to be, and for you is both your past and rightful future. Or it could be something altogether different.”
Stiger felt a sudden surge of hope for the first time since he had arrived in this time. Maybe he hadn’t failed after all? Then something occurred to him and his thoughts darkened once again.
“The sword showed me a vision.” Intrigued by Menos’s line of thought, Stiger fully threw caution to the wind. “It showed me Delvaris fighting and dying on a battlefield. That didn’t happen. As you well know, he died before the World Gate.”
“Interesting.” Menos was silent for several heartbeats. “Since it was Thoggle who convinced Brogan to attend this summit, and especially considering the casting of the web, it seems the wizard has a plan. I will have to ponder on your words and will speak with the wizard. I might be able to provide additional counsel before Thoggle decides to tamper with my memory.”
“He can do that?” Stiger said, surprised.
“Not without my willing participation,” Menos admitted. “But I will allow him to do so, if I believe it will permit the future to play out as it was meant to. That is . . . if he can convince me it will. If not, then I shall intervene in a way only the noctalum can.”
Stiger rubbed his jaw. He thought intensely on what Menos had just said. It was clear that, as suggested, Thoggle had plans for him. Why else make him appear as Delvaris? The hope continued to grow. A great heavy weight began to lift off his back.
Perhaps there was still a chance to set things right, to restore the future to what it had been. Or maybe it had never been altered, and the past, as Menos had said, was playing out as it was supposed to. Stiger didn’t know for sure. This was all incredibly confusing to consider. There was just so much he didn’t understand or couldn’t be certain of. He gazed at the farmhouse and suddenly felt a wash of sadness mixed with extreme reluctance roll over him. Menos followed his eyes.
“I was told that Thoggle is on his way to see me, along with Father Thomas and the senior tribune of the legion,” Stiger said. “I suspect they will desire me at this summit.”
“That is possible,” Menos said. “As wielder of Rarokan, and with the mark of destiny, you are an expected central figure in events to come.”
“I want nothing to do with this summit, or what is going to happen when the orcs come out of the mountains,” Stiger said. “I have had enough suffering. For the first time in my life, I am truly content. I wish to set my burden aside.”
“Happiness, contentment, suffering,” Menos said, drawing Stiger’s gaze back. “Destiny has its stamp upon you, as it has been placed upon your line ever since Rarokan meddled. No, you cannot put the burden aside, for the gods are not yet finished with you. Even I can sense that.” Menos fell silent for a prolonged moment. “You can choose to do nothing, resist their will—it is your right. But by doing so, you may not find the continued happiness or the contentment that you so desire. Instead you may find yourself suffering worse than you could have ever imagined. You must choose, one way or the other. Nothing is guaranteed, as nothing is certain. Though your kind is short-lived, life should have taught you that by now.”
“I may very well choose to do nothing then,” Stiger said.
“As I have said, that is your right.”
The two fell silent for several moments.
“I have had enough dealing with evil gods, minions, and orcs.” Stiger glared at Menos.
“Whether you take up the challenge or not is up to you, but I am afraid the other side will still see you as a threat to be countered.”
“That was why I was attacked two days ago?” Stiger said, rubbing his chin and looking in the direction of Bowman’s Pond. “They wanted to eliminate me . . . to remove the threat to their plans. Isn’t that right?”
When Menos did not answer, Stiger looked over to find the noctalum gone. He glanced around and saw no one. It was as if Menos had vanished into thin air. The dwarves were still kneeling and had not risen. Dog had placed his head between his paws and gone to sleep. Stiger felt himself frown in irritation. Why couldn’t things ever be simple?
Now, the sword hissed in his mind, you just begin to understand . . .
Chapter Seven
Crack! The piece of wood split neatly and satisfyingly in two. Stiger reached for the next piece, while shooting an annoyed glance at the nearest of his guards. Once he had begun splitting the logs, the dwarves had resumed their positions.
Crack! Another piece split.
He had been at it for at least an hour and had worked up a good sweat. Stiger wiped his brow with the back of his arm to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Stiger’s old sergeant from Seventh Company, Tiro, had introduced him to wood splitting as a way to work out some frustration. Stiger wished he had Tiro around to talk to, or even Eli. His friend would have some comforting, wise advice. Tiro would provide the gruff kind.
So, he said silently to the sword, I am stuck with you.
Nothing.
I know you’re in there. Speak to me. Are you as vile as the noctalum made you out to be?
Irritated that the sword did not immediately answer, Stiger started to reach for another piece.
I am Rarokan, High Master of the Blue, the sword responded with a suddenness and intensity that caused Stiger to almost drop the piece of wood he had picked up. He took a ca
lming breath and placed it on the chopping stump. Stiger hefted the axe as the sword continued, I fight the ilk of the dark gods.
“So, you aren’t evil, then?” Stiger almost laughed. The nearest dwarf looked over at him with a question in his eyes. Stiger realized he had said the last aloud.
Some would consider me so. Without all of the facts, they ignorantly judge me.
So, Stiger said, tell me, then.
I fight the gathering darkness that is even now sweeping over all things. Long have I planned. Long have I waited. It is nearly time for action. It is nearly time for the tide to be rolled back.
That did not answer my question.
The sword remained stubbornly silent. Stiger split another piece of wood.
Why me? he asked the sword.
Why not?
Stiger felt himself frown at the cheeky response. He resumed his splitting, working his way through a dozen more pieces.
Why me? Stiger asked again. Why would the gods choose me? Why not someone else?
Stiger wondered if it would answer his question or avoid it. More of the puzzle had been filled in, but there was just so much he did not know.
I traveled the pathways of time, searching world after world. I looked and looked, until at last I was ready to give up. Then I discovered a clue that led me to an unexpected place. It was one that should have been obvious from the start. So, following the clue, I willingly broke the Covenant, one of the key rules for my kind, and searched humanity’s cradle world, Earth. It was there I found what I was looking for, what I needed.
And what was that? Stiger thought back.
There is strength in your line, latent power in your blood that makes you and those who came before you and those who will come after suitable. No matter what the noctalum says, the gods did not select you. I chose you.
Stiger split several more pieces. He knew that he should feel proud that he had been chosen, but he felt more conflicted about it than anything else. The truth was he did not fully understand what it all meant, but what he got was that he was somehow special and the gods had taken notice.
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