“Thank the gods!” said Ulaf fervently. “But, my lord, we need to think about what is to be done now. If Dagnarus’s taan army is not here, they soon will be. We don’t want to be caught in a besieged city.” Knowing his lord’s unpredictability, Ulaf thought it best to add, “Do we?”
“No, we don’t,” said Shadamehr emphatically. His mind was working once again. He felt strong enough to swim, even against that dark tide that had been trying to suck him under. “There’s an ork ship waiting for us in the harbor. I sent the elven Dominion Lord and her husband there already. The orks have orders to wait until dawn before they sail. I’ll take Alise and the Trevinici and the Grandmother with me on board the ship. Meanwhile you and the others will travel overland, carry messages to the Dominion Lords, tell them what has happened and that we will meet them in the city of Krammes. The Imperial Cavalry School is there. We have the human part of the Sovereign Stone. That must count for something. We can raise an army and return to take back New Vinnengael from the Lord of the Void.”
“You think the city will fall, then?”
“Yes,” said Shadamehr shortly.
“How will I find the Dominion Lords? I know one of them, Lord Randall, but—”
“Rigiswald knows them all. He’s in the Temple, reading up on the Sovereign Stone. He’s probably still there. You know how he is when he has his nose in a book. Take him with you.”
“Now, really, Shadamehr. I think I’d rather travel with a Vrykyl!” Ulaf protested earnestly. “That old man is the most cantankerous old man who ever lived. He has a tongue that could fell small trees.”
“Then you’ll never want for firewood,” said Shadamehr soothingly. “I’m sorry, dear boy, but Rigiswald is the only one who can help you in this. He knows the Dominion Lords and where they’re likely to be found.”
“Very well,” said Ulaf gloomily. “I’ll go round up the others. You do remember that there is a curfew, don’t you, my lord?”
“That’s why the gods invented sewer systems,” said Shadamehr. “That’s my travel route. What about you?”
“I’ll never get Rigiswald down a sewer, and you know it. There’s a gatekeeper who owes me a favor,” Ulaf added with a wink. “Take care of yourself and Alise, my lord. I’ll take care of the others, including Rigiswald.”
“Excellent. Now go ask that good woman for some blankets. I’ll want to wrap Alise up warmly.” As Shadamehr glanced into the tavern’s main room, his expression softened. “You’ll need a shroud for the body, too. I am taking them home.”
“Bashae is my responsibility,” Jessan said tersely. “Bashae and the Grandmother.”
Shadamehr and Ulaf exchanged startled glances. Neither of them had heard the warrior come up behind them.
“They could travel with me and the rest of our people, my lord,” Ulaf offered. “My comrades and I are traveling east,” he said to Jessan. “As my lord says, the road may be dangerous. We could use another sword. Will you come?”
Jessan’s expression darkened distrustfully.
“I have ample proof of your valor, Jessan,” Ulaf added. “We may be walking straight into the arms of the taan. In that case, I can think of no one else I’d rather have at my side.”
Satisfied, Jessan nodded. “Then I will come with you, if the Grandmother agrees.”
Ulaf persuaded the distraught Maudie, who could not look upon Bashae’s body without succumbing to tears, to pull herself together and bring him warm blankets in which to wrap Alise.
“I’m worried about what to do with Maudie,” Shadamehr said, accompanying Ulaf to the door. “This city will be besieged or worse in a day or two.”
“She’s safer here than she would be anywhere else,” said Ulaf practically. “Tell her to invite her brawniest customers to help her defend her property.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Shadamehr. “I should be doing something, anything, to help. Instead, I’m running away.”
“You have the Sovereign Stone,” Ulaf reminded him. “You need to think of that. I’ve told Jessan and the Grandmother to be ready to leave by morning. Farewell, my lord. A good journey to you.”
“And you,” said Shadamehr, shaking his friend’s hand. “With luck, the city guards are still preoccupied with the fracas at the Tubby Tabby. You should be able to reach the Temple without being stopped. Give Rigiswald my best when you see him.”
Shadamehr returned to find that the Grandmother had swathed Alise snugly in a blanket, folding it around her and tucking in the ends as a mother swaddles a newborn babe. Alise slept soundly through the entire procedure. The hard time came, the time for farewells.
Jessan knelt beside Bashae, keeping silent vigil over the body of his friend. The Grandmother sat staring into the flames of the fire that danced and rollicked without heed or care.
Shadamehr rested his hand on Jessan’s shoulder. The young man rose to his feet, and the two moved away, toward the back of the room.
“Ulaf told me of the battle. He told me that you attacked the Vrykyl at peril of your own life. No one doubts you did everything you could to save your friend. You have nothing to regret.”
“I have nothing to regret,” said Jessan simply. “Bashae died a warrior’s death. He will be greatly honored by my people. To blame myself for his death would be to take away his victory. I will miss him,” he added more gently, “for he was my friend, but that is my loss, and I must deal with it.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Shadamehr murmured. He started to bid the young warrior a safe journey, then remembered in time that one did not wish that for a Trevinici.
“May you fight many battles,” said Shadamehr. “And be victorious over your foes.”
“I wish the same for you, my lord,” said Jessan.
Shadamehr winced. “I’m not keen on the fighting part,” he admitted. “But I’ll take the victory over the foes portion of that wish.”
He walked back to say good-bye to the Grandmother. He had grown very fond of her in their brief time together, and he was going to miss her. He touched her gently upon the shoulder.
“Grandmother, I came to tell you good-bye and to say how truly sorry I am for your loss. I will always honor Bashae as one of the bravest people I have ever known. If we all come out of this alive, I will make the story of his courage and loyalty known to the world.”
The Grandmother looked up, the flames seeming still to flicker in her eyes, the smoke of the fire dimming them. “So long as you keep his story here,” she said, placing her hand over her heart, “that is all I ask. The rest of the world would not care much about it, except perhaps as a curiosity.”
She fumbled about her skirts and her pouches, searching for something, and eventually brought out a turquoise. Eyeing it expertly, to make certain it was free of flaws, she pressed the stone into Shadamehr’s hand. The gift was a valuable one, for the pecwae believe the turquoise to have special powers of protection. He knew she used them for protection herself, and he didn’t want to rob her of it.
“Grandmother, I thank you, but I can’t accept this—”
“Yes, you can,” she said. She gave an emphatic nod toward the fire. “I’ve seen where you are bound. You’re going to need it.”
Shadamehr looked down at the turquoise, sky-blue, streaked with silver. It might come in handy, after all. Secreting the stone in the knapsack that held the Sovereign Stone, he bent down and kissed the Grandmother on her wrinkled cheek.
“Thank you, Grandmother. Have a safe journey.”
“I would wish the same for you,” she stated, shaking her head, “but it would be wasted.”
Very probably, Shadamehr thought.
Lifting Alise, wrapped warmly in the folds of the blanket, he slung the knapsack over one shoulder and Alise’s inert body over the other. Clasping her by her legs, he felt extremely grateful that she was comatose, for, had she been awake, she would have protested loudly and indignantly at being hauled about like a sack of flour.
Shada
mehr accepted Maudie’s offer of a dark lantern. Keeping the lantern’s shutter closed, blocking off the light, he opened the door to the inn and peered out into the night. He estimated that he had about three hours until dawn. The street was empty. A fiery glow lit the sky not far away. The Tubby Tabby was still ablaze. Most of the patrols would be concentrated in that area, trying to put out the blaze.
Calling a soft, final farewell, Shadamehr took firm hold of Alise and the knapsack containing the Sovereign Stone and slipped into the darkness.
STANDING IN FRONT OF THE CROW AND RING, ULAF COULD SEE the fiery orange glow lighting the sky like a premature dawn, except that this glow meant sunset for the Tubby Tabby. The city guardsmen and magi would be fighting this magically induced blaze all night, effectively clearing the streets of patrols. Ulaf remained cautious, keeping to the shadows and staying clear of bright pools of light, for the Temple of the Magi was located near the Royal Palace, and the Imperial Cavalry would most certainly be out in full force. Ulaf ran down back roads and dashed up alleys, approaching the Temple from the rear. If caught, he had his story ready and would probably not be in any trouble, but he didn’t have time to waste arguing with dunderhead cavalry officers.
Ulaf anticipated no difficulty in entering the Temple itself, even in the middle of a most unsettled night. He was a member of the Ninth Order, an Order dedicated to the study of the magical Portals that permitted swift travel from one part of Loerem to another. Of all the Orders of the Church, the Ninth Order was the least respected.
Two hundred years ago, wise and powerful magi had come together to create the four Portals. Centered in Old Vinnengael, the Portals went into the lands of the Tromek elves, the orks, and the dwarves, carrying merchants and their wares, goods and information back and forth. The fourth Portal purportedly communicated directly with the gods. When Dagnarus launched his attack on Old Vinnengael, he and his sorcerer, Gareth, used powerful Void magicks to defeat the city’s defenders. The use of these powerful magicks, combined with the magicks cast by the city’s defenders, caused such a disruption in the elemental magic that it blew apart, leveling much of the city and shattering the Portals.
Originally, it was thought that the Portals had been totally destroyed, for none could be found around Old Vinnengael. The Church created the Ninth Order with the intent to try to re-create the magic of the Portals. Their attempts proved futile. The secrets of the creation of the Portals had been destroyed in the blast. The magi worked for years, but were unable even to come close to re-creating the spells. They prayed to the gods, but their prayers went unanswered. The gods, it seemed, wanted no more Portals leading to heaven.
Much to the chagrin of the Church, reports began to come in that Portals were being discovered in various places around the continent, including a major Portal in the elven lands and another in the land of the Vinnengaelean’s bitter enemy, the Karnuans. The Church realized that the Portals had not been destroyed. Dislodged, unmoored, the shattered Portals had drifted off to other locations.
The Church had been on the verge of disbanding the useless Ninth Order, but instead determined that it might have some value after all. Its members were sent out across the continent to find and map the errant Portals.
Centuries later, the members of the Ninth Order persisted in their task. Underfunded and ridiculed, members of the Ninth Order traveled extensively throughout Loerem to confirm, verify, and map every reported Portal.
Thus, Ulaf found this a very convenient Order to join. As a member of the Ninth Order, he was able to travel freely, come and go as he pleased. No one cared enough to ask where he’d been or was at all interested in hearing reports about his journeys. So long as he submitted a map with a new Portal every now and then, they were happy.
Matters might have different had he asked the Church for money. Since Shadamehr always funded Ulaf’s travels, such requests were unnecessary. He passed himself off as independently wealthy, dedicating his own time and money to this venture. Church officials considered Ulaf obsessed, probably deranged, but harmless.
The Temple of the Magi was not, as its name suggested, a single building. The Temple was the main building, a magnificent structure of marble with stained-glass rose windows and elegant spires designed to sweep men’s thoughts upward to heaven. This building housed the Hall of Worship, containing the altars to the gods. The hall was open to the public day and night, with priests on duty at all hours. In this building were also the offices of high Church officials.
The other major buildings in the complex included the university, with its dortours, classrooms, and a library that was famous throughout the continent; and the Houses of Healing, run by the Order of Hospitalers. Surrounded by gardens, the Houses of Healing were long, low, and airy buildings, with enormous windows to admit the sunlight, which was believed to be conducive to health.
Ulaf went immediately to the university building, a cylindrical structure supported by flying buttresses that extended from four freestanding towers. A veritable warren of convoluted corridors, the building’s interior was dark and windowless, designed to keep the minds of students focused on their studies, not gazing out into the world beyond. Because of the powerful and possibly dangerous texts housed within its walls, the university was not open to the public and was surrounded by a wall through which a single gate provided entrance and egress. The gate was closed at sunset. All entering after that had to pass through—or attempt to pass through—a small wicket located to one side of the main gate.
The porter at the small wicket was startled, wary, and highly suspicious of a brother demanding entry at this ungodly hour, especially a brother wandering the streets in violation of curfew. Ulaf had only to show his credentials and explain his mission for the porter to shake his head in resignation and remove the magical spell that guarded the door.
Ulaf was given a choice of using his own magic to cast light or taking a lantern. He thankfully accepted the lantern. He’d spent four years studying here and could have walked the maze of halls in his sleep. He went first to the kitchen. He washed his face and hands, splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten and was thankful to find the bread and cheese left out for those who might be up late studying. Ulaf devoured a loaf of bread on the spot, cut himself a large wedge of cheese, and filled his pockets with apples. Munching the cheese, he made his way to the dortour, where lived the students and the Revered Brethren who worked in the Temple and its environs.
Ulaf noted that there was more activity than normal in the Temple at this late hour. Revered Brethren strode purposefully through the halls, their expressions grim and preoccupied. Loitering in a hallway, Ulaf waited until he saw a brother leave his room. Ulaf slipped into the room (few doors were ever locked in the Temple), dressed himself in clean robes, transferred his apples to a leather scrip, then set off in pursuit of Rigiswald. Ulaf made a bundle of his dirty clothing and deposited it in the receptacle set aside for those novitiates whose duties included laundry.
The library occupied an entire wing of the building, housing the most extensive collection of books on the continent. Here were thousands of books on magic, including books on the theory of magic, the religion of magic, and the practical uses of magic as practiced by every race under the sun. The library also contained books on a wide variety of other subjects ranging from books describing the rigging for a sailing vessel to manuals detailing the proper care for a horse with colic or the fine art of embroidering tapestries or how to prepare pickled swan’s tongues.
The library never closed. Dwarven stone-lights—rocks magically enhanced to give off a warm, soft light—allowed scholars to pursue their researches far into the night. Access to the library was strictly regulated. Any of the Revered Brethren in good standing could obtain access simply by exhibiting credentials. Novitiates were permitted inside if they were accompanied by a tutor or if they had a letter from their tutor, then they were restricted to certain areas. Magi of oth
er races were welcome, provided they came with references from the Church attesting to the fact that they used magic responsibly and that they were serious in their pursuit of knowledge. The king and the Dominion Lords were also permitted access to the library, the only laypeople to be so honored.
At this late hour, the library would ordinarily be a quiet, sleepy place. Ulaf was therefore startled to find that this night, the library bustled with activity.
“What’s going on?” he asked a brother, who had nearly run him down in his haste.
The brother glanced at him askance, but seeing that Ulaf was wearing the robes of a Revered Brethren and thinking that perhaps he owed him some apology for nearly knocking him over, the brother deigned to respond.
“We’ve been ordered to move the most valuable books in the collection to a safe location,” said the magus in a low voice.
“So the rumors of war are true,” said Ulaf.
“You didn’t hear that from me, Brother,” said the magus grimly, and left upon his urgent errand.
That explained the battle magi standing guard in the halls, watching as the members of the Order of Scribes carried heavy wooden boxes filled with valuable books and scrolls to a protected location. Most of these valuable texts were the rare and ancient books that dated back to the time of the founding of Vinnengael many hundreds of years ago. Some, however, would be books that were considered dangerous, books on forbidden magicks that should not fall into the wrong hands.
A battle magus eyed Ulaf darkly, as he entered the library, and he was glad he’d thought to change his clothes and wash away all traces of the fight at the Tubby Tabby. Keeping his eyes lowered, he meekly entered the library and went straight to the head librarian. Ulaf presented his credentials, chalked his name on the board, and went in search of Rigiswald.
He found the irascible old man in a state of indignation, arguing (in whispers) with one of the Scribes, who appeared to be trying to wrest a book from him. Ulaf hung back, not wanting to get involved. He moved into Rigiswald’s line of sight, made a motion with his hand, hoping to attract the elderly magus’s attention. Rigiswald saw him and glared, but otherwise didn’t take any notice of him. Ulaf sighed deeply and collapsed into a chair. He must have immediately fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was shaking him. He looked up to see Rigiswald, looking down.
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