Journey into the Void

by Margaret Weis

  The darkness was complete, yet Ulaf could see someone inside it. Black armor gleamed with a dark iridescence, like a crow’s wing.

  “Kyl-sarnz!” cried the taan. “Kyl-sarnz.”

  “A Vrykyl!” breathed Jessan, his voice catching in his throat.

  “Shakur,” thought Ulaf, slumping back against the tree. “And here I was thinking so smugly that other powers were at work against the Void. He’s come for the Sovereign Stone, of course.”

  He looked for the dwarven child, but she was not where he’d last seen her.

  “She is here,” said the Grandmother softly revealing the child crouched beside her. “She is with me. She came to me when I sang.”

  “You have the Sovereign Stone,” said the Vrykyl, his hollow voice echoing as if it came from a deep and empty well. “Your god, Dagnarus, will be pleased. You there, slave. Translate my words.”

  The half-taan did as he was told, repeated Shakur’s words to the taan in their language.

  The taan cast glances at each other. The taan who had lost his stones spoke a word of command. He said something to Shakur, gestured for the half-taan to translate.

  “My master, Tash-ket, says to tell the kyl-sarnz that Dagnarus is not our god. Dagnarus is an imposter who will lead the taan to ruin. We serve K’let. We serve the old gods.”

  “And K’let says that you serve him well,” said a taan, walking into the camp.

  This taan looked different from the others. He was older, much older, and his white skin glimmered eerily in the darkness. He spoke the language of the taan, but his voice was cold and hard and empty as that of Shakur’s. The half-taan translated the words.

  “K’let says that we will be rewarded. K’let says that you are old and decrepit, Shakur, and that he has no honor in fighting you. He bids you crawl back to your master—”

  Shakur gave a growl of contempt and turned to face K’let. The Void grew and expanded, its darkness immense, consuming. Ulaf felt himself start to slip into the emptiness. A touch on his arms and a gruff whisper in his ear jolted back him back to his senses.

  “Don’t move,” came the whisper, tickling Ulaf’s ear. He could hear and feel the blade of a knife sawing through the ropes. “Be ready.”

  “To do what?” Ulaf asked softly.

  “Fight, if you’ve a mind,” the whisper answered. “Run if you don’t.”

  Ulaf freed his hands of the ropes, moving slowly and carefully so as not to draw the attention of the taan. He cast a glance over his shoulder, saw a dwarf with a knife in his hand slipping through the darkness, heading over to Jessan.

  “Good to see you again, lad,” said the dwarf, cutting the ropes.

  “Wolfram?” Jessan tried to twist around to stare.

  “Face forward, you daft Trevinici!” Wolfram hissed irritably. “Don’t give me away.”

  Jessan did as he was told. He glanced at Ulaf, to see if he had an explanation.

  Ulaf shook his head. He was concentrating on his spell. He didn’t know what the dwarf had in mind, but he was ready.

  Wolfram dared not try to reach the Grandmother and the child, who were out in the open. He hovered in the trees near them, watched them closely.

  “Dwarf!” Ulaf whispered urgently. “How many are with you?”

  “One other,” said Wolfram.

  Ulaf’s heart sank. He’d been hoping for an army, and even that might not be enough to halt two Vrykyl, who were still facing each other.

  “Don’t threaten me with Dagnarus, Shakur,” K’let was saying. “He can’t touch me. And that should tell you something, Shakur. You could be free of him, as I am free. Don’t pretend you haven’t dreamed of that day. I know your thoughts, Shakur. I’ve felt them through the Blood-knife. I know how much you hate him—”

  Blazing light split the darkness of the Void. Vrykyl and taan and prisoners stared upward in astonishment to see the tops of the fir trees burst into flame. The fire flashed off glittering red scales. A dragon’s enormous wings fanned the flames. Her two dark eyes glared down at them. The firelight shone on her sharp fangs and sparkled in her mane.

  Ulaf had a momentary glimpse of something rushing past him. He thought it was Wolfram, but if so, it was Wolfram encased in shining silver.

  He grabbed hold of the Grandmother and the dwarven child. Plucking them off the ground, Wolfram tucked one under each arm, turned, and fled back into the shadows of the trees. Ulaf began his spell-casting. Jessan cast off his bonds and surged out to do battle.

  Tash-ket was the first to recover from the shock. He grabbed hold of a spear and aimed it at the fleeing dwarf. Ulaf cast his spell. The ground lurched beneath Tash-ket’s feet. He flung his spear, but his aim was off and it sailed into the darkness. The taan lost his balance, and Jessan was on him. Grabbing hold of the taan’s head by the hair, Jessan jerked the head backward, snapping the neck.

  Tash-ket’s body went limp.

  Another taan, wielding a stone-headed club, leapt at Jessan. He tried to scramble out of the way, but he slipped. The taan raised the club over him.

  A fiery blast from the dragon turned the taan into a blazing torch. Screaming horribly, he took off running, panic-stricken, into the woods. Flames trailed behind him, and it was not long before his screams ended.

  Jessan ran out of the smoke, his body glistening with sweat and stained with streaks of soot and blood.

  “Where are the Vrykyl?” he demanded tensely. He brandished a taan weapon he had grabbed. “Did you see them? Where did they go?”

  Ulaf shook his head. Coughing, he covered his mouth with his sleeve. His eyes burned and stung. He peered back into the flaming trees, into the darkness made deeper by the light of the dragon’s magical fire. Taan bodies lay on the ground, but there was no sign of the Vrykyl.

  “I don’t know,” said Ulaf.

  WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF SEAGULLS AND VARIOUS OTHER BIRDS and beasts, Wolfram and Ranessa had tracked the taan who had taken the Sovereign Stone from Saumel across Vinnengael, had finally caught up with them on the outskirts of the town of Mardurar.

  Ranessa had urged rushing in and slaying all of them at once. Wolfram had reminded her curtly that they didn’t want to slay them all. There was the safety of the dwarven child to consider. He had scouted the taan camp, hoping to find a time when they all slept, so that he might sneak in and make away with the child. But the taan were never negligent about setting the watch, and no taan ever fell asleep at his post.

  He had tried to think of some way to rescue the child, but the taan watched her and the Sovereign Stone day and night. Despite being a Dominion Lord and possessing magical powers and wondrous armor, Wolfram had no thought of attacking the taan by himself. The gods may bless the weapon, but they can’t guide the hand that wields it, and Wolfram had never received any training as a warrior. He had only a rudimentary knowledge of fighting, just enough to be able to extricate himself from a brawl. He had only to look at the taan, see their strength and their prowess with their weapons—for they practiced daily—to know that he could never hope to fight all of them. He could always unleash Ranessa on them, but he could not do that and guarantee that any of them, himself included, would come out alive.

  He had fretted and fumed. He had just gone to sleep after another disheartening day of spying on the taan, when he suddenly sat upright, certain he’d heard someone talking to him.

  “Go to the taan camp!”

  Wolfram glanced over at Ranessa. He had insisted that she remain in human form, so as not to alert either the taan or the residents of Mardurar to the fact that a dragon was hanging about. Wrapped up in a bearskin, she was sound asleep.

  “Probably I dreamed it,” he told himself.

  He tried to go back to sleep, but he could still hear the words quite clearly. He got up, walked over, and roused a resentful Ranessa.

  “You’re a fool,” she told him, but she went with him to the camp.

  They skulked about the shadows of the trees.

  “They�
�ve got prisoners!” Wolfram said. He had the feeling that the Trevinici looked familiar. He squinted, stared into the firelight, and he gave a great gasp.

  Ranessa punched him in the arm. “Shut up! They’ll hear you!”

  “Look! Look there!” he said to Ranessa, actually reaching out and shaking her to emphasize his amazement. “That Trevinici man. Get your hair out of your eyes and tell me I’m not seeing things.”

  “I do think I know him,” she said, but she sounded doubtful.

  “He’s Jessan!” Wolfram hissed, scandalized. “Your nephew.”

  “My nephew.” She paused, then said softly, “I had forgotten him. They all seem so far away. I wonder what he’s doing here?”

  “Never mind about that now. Here’s our chance,” said Wolfram, rubbing his hands. “I’ll run and cut their bonds—”

  “Does your plan include Vrykyl?” Ranessa asked, her voice hardening. “Because one just walked into the camp. No, wait. Now there are two Vrykyl. One is disguised as a taan, but I can see through him.”

  So could Wolfram, now that she pointed it out. He had been so hopeful and now he could have flung himself facefirst into a snowbank and wept.

  “We can do it,” said Ranessa. She turned to him and smiled. “You can do it. You’re a Dominion Lord. And I am a dragon.”

  Before he could argue, she was gone, racing off into the darkness. Wolfram gripped his knife and slipped into the camp. He cut loose the Vinnengaelean and Jessan, then slipped quickly back into the shadows to await his opportunity to rescue the child.

  He heard Ranessa circling above in the darkness. He had come to know the sounds of her, the flap of the wings through the cold, still air. He heard her draw in a deep breath, then let it out with a whoosh.

  The treetops burst into flame. Grasping hold of his medallion, Wolfram said a prayer, and the silver armor of the Dominion Lord slid reassuringly over his body. Wolfram dashed into the taan camp. He grabbed hold of the Grandmother and Fenella. Ignoring the Grandmother’s indignant screech and her wail about some stick, Wolfram tucked the pecwae under one arm and Fenella under the other and dashed into the woods.

  WOLFRAM HEARD THE DRAGON’S ROARING AND THE CRACKLING of the blazing trees, the screams of a dying taan, and Jessan’s war whoop. Wolfram ignored them all, continued running.

  The moon, shining bright on the snow, lit their way. Unaccustomed to running and carrying a heavy load, Wolfram was growing tired, his hold on the pecwae and the dwarf child weakening. He had just decided that they were far enough from the camp for safety when he suddenly went blind, as blind as if his eyes had been gouged out. Not only was he blind, he was deaf and dumb and had lost the use of his limbs. He could not see because had no eyes. He could not run, because he had no feet. He had no hands to fight or to a keep hold on anything, including his very life. He tried hard to grasp it, but his fingers started to slip, and he felt himself falling into a vast emptiness.

  A hand caught hold of him. A hand gloved in silver. The hand drew him back from the Void. Radiant in her gleaming armor, Gilda stood over him. She raised her shield and, by its light, Wolfram looked up to see the Vrykyl. The creature was armored in the Void and wore a helm that was made in the hideous likeness of the taan that they had been following.

  Gilda stood over her fallen brother, holding her shield so that it protected both of them. The Vrykyl drew a strange-looking weapon, a huge sword with a serrated edge. He leapt at her, swinging the sword.

  The blade struck the shield. The Vrykyl gave a snarling cry and dropped his weapon. He fell back, wringing his hands. Picking up the sword, he glared at her, glared at the shield.

  Wolfram found purchase with his hands. Clinging to life, he pulled himself up over the chasm of the Void. He staggered to his feet, went to stand beside his sister.

  The Vrykyl seemed to be trying to figure a way around this shining creature of heaven. Raising his sword, he made another rush. He didn’t strike the shield. He smote it with his hand and knocked it out of his way. He aimed a blow at Wolfram.

  “Foul creature of the Void!” Ranessa cried out from the darkness. “He’s my dwarf! You will not harm him!”

  The dragon breathed out a huge gout of flame. Catching the fiery ball in her talon, she flung the blazing orb at the Vrykyl.

  The fire rippled over the black armor of the Void. K’let absorbed the blaze harmlessly, sucked the flame into the Void, where it flickered and went out. Lifting his helm, the taan Vrykyl gazed up in wonder at the dragon.

  “Your kind are not native to the world of the taan,” he cried out, though none of them could understand him. “I would like to stay and fight you, for my honor and for yours. But I must decline your offer of battle. A cohort of mine is around here somewhere, and it would be just like Shakur to attack me from behind.”

  K’let glanced back at the dwarf and the shining creature of heaven who guarded him.

  “As for the Sovereign Stone, I’ll know where to find it.”

  K’let slid into the Void himself, became the darkness, became the emptiness.

  “Where did it go?” Wolfram demanded, twisting his head in a panic to see. “I can’t find it. Is it behind us?”

  “The Vrykyl is gone for the moment,” Gilda answered. “But so long as the Sovereign Stone is in the world, he remains a threat. Wolfram, you must take the Stone to Old Vinnengael.”

  “Old Vinnengael?” Wolfram repeated, stunned. “Why? No, don’t go, Gilda! Tell me!”

  “Wolfram!”

  He opened his eyes.

  Ranessa, in human form, knelt at his side.

  “Wolfram! Wake up! Are you hurt?” She began to pummel him, apparently with the intention of assisting him to regain consciousness.

  “If I wasn’t, I am now,” Wolfram stated, shoving her fists away. He sat up. “Where is Gilda? Where did she go? I have to ask her something. Gilda?” he called out. “Gilda, I don’t understand.”

  The moonlight shone down among the fir trees. The dwarven child, Fenella, sat near him, holding fast to the hand of Grandmother Pecwae. The Sovereign Stone shone brightly in the pale, cold light.

  “Dunner,” said Fenella. “I’m glad you found me.”

  Reaching around her neck, she removed the chain on which hung the Sovereign Stone and held it out to him.

  “I kept this for you, Dunner,” she said shyly.

  Wolfram made a swipe at his eyes, cleared his throat. He hesitated a moment, then took the Sovereign Stone, on its braided horsehair thong, and held it fast.

  “I’m not Dunner,” he said, embarrassed. “My name is Wolfram. I’m trying to follow in Dunner’s footsteps and not doing such a great job. But I will take this, and I thank you for guarding it so well. Dunner would have been proud of you.”

  Fenella smiled, pleased. She did not venture to come near him, but stayed close to Grandmother Pecwae.

  The Grandmother frowned at Wolfram, regarded him with deep suspicion. Reaching out a bony finger, she poked at his armor.

  “Did you steal that?” she demanded.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me Wolfram?” Ranessa demanded shrilly. “I saved you from the Vrykyl. That’s the second time I’ve had to do that by the way.”

  “Ranessa,” said Grandmother Pecwae, “I see you found yourself.”

  Ranessa was ready with a pert reply, but she looked into the old woman’s eyes and changed her mind.

  “I shed my skin,” she said, confused.

  “Good,” said the Grandmother. “I always knew it was too tight.”

  Wolfram gazed down at the Sovereign Stone in his hands, watched it splinter the moonlight.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Ranessa in warning tones.

  Wolfram stood up, put himself in front of Fenella and the Grandmother, and faced the darkness.

  THE DARKNESS COALESCED INTO THE VINNENGALEAN AND JESSAN. Wolfram heaved a great sigh.

  “The Vrykyl may still be around,” said Ulaf. “We should leave here immediately. We’re all i
n danger—”

  “Aunt Ranessa?” Jessan exclaimed, thunderstruck. “Is that you? What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Nephew,” said Ranessa coolly. “Did you bring me a present?”

  Wolfram stared into the Sovereign Stone, into its bright, pure, clean heart. He hung the Stone around his neck. The Stone melded with the silver armor and vanished. He knew the Stone was with him, though. He could feel its weight on his soul.

  Gilda stood beside him.

  “Old Vinnengael,” she said.

  Wolfram nodded.

  They heeded Ulaf’s advice and left the forest. They returned to the highway, only to find that their horses had bolted and were nowhere in sight. The litter carrying Bashae’s body lay off to one side. Jessan said it had fallen off when the horses fled but the Grandmother said, no, the gods had kept hold of it. By the looks of the road—the churned-up earth and muddy snow—a large group of horsemen had ridden this way.

  “Klendist. I missed them,” Ulaf said glumly. He kicked at a pile of dirty snow with his boot. “Damn it, who said the Void wasn’t at work around here?”

  “You did, as I recall,” said Jessan, smiling. “They left a trail that a blind ogre could follow. Their tracks will lead you to the Portal.”

  “From what I’ve heard of this Klendist, he’ll take care to cover his tracks,” Ulaf returned morosely. “Still, it’s the only thing left to do.” He glanced around, his frustration growing. “I suppose I must walk, for I see no sign of our horses.”

  “The taan frightened them, but they did not run far,” said the Grandmother. Putting her fingers to her lips, she gave a piercing whistle. Then, lifting her voice, she called out something in Twithil.

  “What is she saying?” Ulaf asked.

  “She has told the horses that the danger is gone and that it is safe to return,” Jessan replied.

  “Will it work?”

  Jessan pointed.

  The horses came trotting down the road, coming from opposite directions. They went straight to Grandmother Pecwae, nuzzling her and nibbling playfully at her hair.