Journey into the Void
Page 43
Reaching beneath her shirt and the leather, fur-lined vest she wore over it, the Captain of Captains drew out a silver chain from which hung suspended a jewel, smooth-sided, triangular in shape.
“You told us that the Sovereign Stone was inside Mount Sa ’Gra,” said Damra.
“I lied.” The Captain shrugged. “But there was a second full moon that month when I said it.”
“A lie told under the second full moon in the same month doesn’t count as a lie,” Shadamehr explained.
“Besides,” the Captain continued, her voice hardening, “there was a reason for the falsehood. We discovered that an evil creature, one we call a Soul-stealer, seeks our Sovereign Stone. He thinks it is in Mount Sa ’Gra. He searches for it there. Not here.” She thrust the stone back into her breast.
“What’s a Soul-stealer?” Wolfram asked, puzzled.
“A Vrykyl,” said Shadamehr. The mental waterwheel was turning very fast now. “Dagnarus sent one of his Vrykyl to take the form of an ork to try to steal their Stone.”
“But why spellbind and tie us up and make us prisoners?” Damra demanded. “Why bring us here to this cave?”
“I know the answer!” Shadamehr cried, wriggling in excitement, as pleased with himself as any brown-nosing schoolboy. “You had to drug us to separate us from Alise and Griffith. A very wise idea. I had that part figured out. The spellbinding took me a bit longer, but I’ve solved that, too. You had to keep us spellbound because the person who is behind this was afraid we would try to escape before he could meet us and explain it to us. Right so far?”
The Captain nodded. Summoning two orks, she told them to untie the captive’s bonds.
“You had to keep us tied up in the cave,” said Shadamehr, wincing and flexing his fingers as the circulation started to return to his hands, “because you were afraid that in our groggy condition, we would wander out and tumble into the Orken Gorge which is where we are. Right?”
“We had to secure the boat,” said the Captain.
“Of course you did!” said Shadamehr. “Which meant you had to leave us alone. And you treated our friend Wolfram here in such a rude fashion because the person behind this wants all four bearers of the Sovereign Stone to make this journey together. Am I right again?”
“But the dwarf said that he was stopped by a ‘shadow come to life,’” argued Damra, “and struck over the head ‘by the sun falling from the sky.’”
“And so I was,” Wolfram stated, still wrathful.
“I think I can answer that, too,” said Shadamehr. “There is your sun.”
He pointed to the orken Captain.
In response, she clasped hold of a medallion she wore on the same chain as the Sovereign Stone. Silver armor flowed over her body. A silver helm, in the form of a dolphin leaping from the waves, adorned her head. Standing in the sunlight in the cavern opening, the orken Dominion Lord did look very much like the sun come to Earth.
“And here is your shadow,” Shadamehr added.
An elf, clad all in black, slipped silently into the cavern. Coming to stand beside the ork, he bowed to the group.
“Silwyth,” said Damra, understanding at last.
“One night,” said the Captain, “as I was out for an afternoon’s fishing in my boat, a strange sleepiness overcame me. I dreamed that a human came to me. He said his name was Gareth, and he told me that I must take the orken portion of the Sovereign Stone to Old Vinnengael. The time had come for the oath-breakers to make good the vow that they had taken long ago.
“When I awoke, I went back to shore. I summoned the shamans and told them of my dream. I asked them to perform the omens to see if I should obey this human’s command. A strange thing happened. None had seen the like before. The omens were good and bad—both at the same time.
“What did it mean? What was I to do? Who could explain it? My shamans tried.” The Captain made a contemptuous gesture. “Those with the good omen said I must go or all would be lost. Those with the bad omen said I must not go, for if I did, all would be lost. The shamans actually came to blows over the matter.
“My great-grandfather was the Captain of Captains who received the Sovereign Stone from King Tamaros. He was the oath-breaker. The orks fell on hard times after that. My great-grandfather came to believe that he had brought bad luck to us because he broke the oath. Our sacred mountain has been taken from us. Many thousands of our people are enslaved. It is time to fulfill the oath and return the Stone. That was what I thought. Yet, what of the bad omens?
“Perplexed over what to do, I went out again in my boat, hoping to find the human in my dream. While I was waiting to fall asleep, I passed the time fishing. I caught nothing. That was very strange, for I am always lucky with my fishing. I began to fear that the gods had turned their backs on me. I cast out my net one last time and that time I caught something.”
The Captain pointed. She pointed at Silwyth. “I caught an elf.”
“I don’t believe it,” Damra muttered. “Not even of him.”
“But don’t you see how clever this is?” Shadamehr murmured.
“Oh, he is very clever,” Damra returned.
“The stories of Dunner tell about this one,” said Wolfram, joining their conversation. “Silwyth the Serpent, Dunner called him. He claimed it was this Silwyth who lured the young prince to ruin.”
“He’s watching us,” Damra warned. “Look at his expression. Smug, knowing. As if he could hear every word we were saying about him.”
It was hard to find any expression amidst the etchings of time that crisscrossed the elf’s leathery skin. His dark eyes were on them, and they glittered with what might have been smugness or might have been amusement or might have even been malice. It was hard to tell.
“You still don’t trust him?” asked Shadamehr.
“I don’t know,” Damra replied, troubled. “I just don’t know.”
The Captain halted her tale, eyed them grimly, waiting for them to be silent.
“Sorry,” said Shadamehr in meek tones. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on.”
“The elf came up with my net, dripping water,” the Captain continued. “He said that the gods had sent him and that he came about the Sovereign Stone. I told him about the two differing omens, and he was able to explain them.”
“I’ll bet he was,” said Damra.
Shadamehr nudged her to be silent.
“The omens meant that taking the Sovereign Stone to Old Vinnengael would be both good for the orks and bad. But that the good outweighed the bad. Which was right,” the Captain added. “The shaman with the good omen decked the shaman with the bad one. I decided to take the Stone to Old Vinnengael and fulfill my great-grandfather’s oath.
“The elf told me that I should travel up the Darkstream River. I planned to do that, but the sons-of-hop-toads in Krammes refused to give my ship passage—”
“And so you attacked them!” said Shadamehr.
“I did, indeed,” said the Captain, her face brightening as she remembered the battle. “Then Kal-Gah came along and told me of his passengers and that they were humans and elves fleeing this Lord Dagnarus in New Vinnengael. The elf had told me that humans and elves and dwarves would all be making the same journey and that it would be wise if we traveled together. When I heard what Kal-Gah had to say, I consulted the omens, and they were good. I found out that you were the bearers of the Sovereign Stone, and I decided to bring you along with me.
“I didn’t know about the dwarf,” the Captain added, with a nod for Wolfram. “The elf came to me this morning and told me that he needed my help in fetching the last part of the Sovereign Stone. He said that it was being carried by a dwarven Dominion Lord and that only another Dominion Lord could persuade him. That was how you came to be here, dwarf.”
Wolfram rubbed his bruised head. “You call that knock persuasion?”
“I didn’t have time for a discussion,” said the Captain imperturbably. “The river rage was coming.”
“I saw the river rage once,” said Shadamehr. “A magnificent sight. Unless you’re a boat that happens to be caught in it. The water boils and churns as the river rushes headlong to the sea. Twice a day, though, the rage calms, as the tidewaters neutralize the flow. At that time, the river is navigable. Which means we are stuck here until the water settles down again,” said Shadamehr. “What is everyone thinking?”
“That Griffith should be with me,” stated Damra, accusingly.
“He is not a Dominion Lord,” said Silwyth calmly. “Old Vinnengael would mean his death.”
Damra looked at him. Then she glanced at Shadamehr. Then looked away.
Shadamehr, for once, had nothing to say.
Uneasy silence fell, then Wolfram spoke, his voice so low that they could barely hear him over the crashing water.
“Your Vinnengalean friend said it was a trap.”
“What?” Shadamehr asked, his head jerking up. “My friend? Do you mean Ulaf?”
“That’s why he wanted to find you,” said Wolfram. “He said that he overheard the Vrykyl talking to a mercenary. The Vrykyl said that Dagnarus is setting a trap for the bearers of the Sovereign Stone, a trap in Old Vinnengael.”
“Yet you were headed there anyway,” said Shadamehr.
“The person who told me to take the Stone there would never lead me into a trap,” said Wolfram firmly.
“But it is a trap,” said Silwyth. “A trap within a trap within a trap. The hunter tethers the goat to lure the lion. The lion stalks the hunter. The hungry dragon watches them all.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re the goat?” Shadamehr said beneath his breath.
“Were you planning to tell us this?” Damra demanded.
“You already knew, Damra of Gwyenoc,” said Silwyth. “You didn’t need me to tell you.”
Outside, the sound of the churning water began to diminish.
The Captain listened, then rose to her feet. “The river rage has nearly run its course. We must be on our way before it starts again. Those who are going to Old Vinnengael, meet me at the water’s edge.”
Walking out of the cavern, she began bellowing orders to her crew.
Wolfram rose, cast a defiant glance at the others.
“I’m going. If I have to go alone, I’m going.”
He stalked out of the cavern.
Damra stood up.
“I will go,” she said. “You are right, Silwyth. I have known all along it was a trap. So sings the minstrel about the faithless lover, ‘She has my trust, whom I have never trusted.’”
“May the Father and Mother walk with you, Damra of Gwyenoc,” said Silwyth.
“I would say the same prayer for you, Silwyth of House Kinnoth,” said Damra gravely, “but I do not know if that would be a blessing or a curse.”
She walked out of the cave.
“I’ll go,” said Shadamehr, slapping his knees and standing up. “I’ve got nothing better to do—”
He halted, staring. Only a moment before, Silwyth had been sitting calmly on a boulder. Now he stood in front of the cavern’s entrance, his staff held before him horizontally, so that the way was barred.
“Here, now. What’s the meaning of this?” Shadamehr asked playfully.
“You may not go, Baron Shadamehr,” said Silwyth. “You are not a Dominion Lord.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Shadamehr bit off the words. He regarded the elf in exasperation. “I have the human portion of the Sovereign Stone. If I don’t go, who will?”
Silwyth shook his head. “You do not have the sanction of the gods. You do not have the blessed armor. Without that, you will not withstand the perils of Old Vinnengael. You will die, and the doom of the mission will be assured.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Ride back to New Vinnengael and ask Dagnarus to make me a Dominion Lord? Should I do that before or after he has me assassinated? I’ve made it this far in my life without the benefit of the gods’ blessing,” Shadamehr went on, his anger rising. “I’ve fought bahk and dragons, trolls and giants, klobbers and blueroots and Void-spawn and I have overcome them all—”
“All but one,” said Silwyth.
“And what is that one?” Shadamehr challenged.
“You know your foe,” said Silwyth. “You have met him in the lists many times, and always he has defeated you.”
Shadamehr stood glowering, his jaunty mockery gone.
“Think of your comrades,” said Silwyth, glancing over his shoulder at the other Dominion Lords. “They will do what they can to protect you, but at great cost to themselves and to the mission.”
“I don’t want their help,” said Shadamehr shortly. “I don’t need it.”
Silwyth smiled. “Your foe is here now, if you would care to do battle.”
“The Void take you!” said Shadamehr.
Knocking aside the elf’s staff, he stalked out of the cavern.
LEAVING THE CAVE, SHADAMEHR DID NOT LOOK AT THE DOMINION Lords. He turned his back on them to climb up the rocks and boulders that lay at the foot of the steep gorge through which ran the Darkstream River.
“He is a good man with a good heart,” said Damra to Silwyth, both watching Shadamehr as he slipped and stumbled among the rocks. “Once I faulted him for refusing to become a Dominion Lord. I thought him a coward or perhaps one who wanted only to make a mockery of us. Now I have come to know him, and I understand his reasons.”
“He does not even understand his reasons,” countered Silwyth, his gaze fixed on the solitary figure. “And there are not so many men of good heart in this world that I would lose one for lack of trying.”
“You truly believe he would perish?” Damra asked.
“I know he would perish, Damra of Gwyenoc,” Silwyth replied.
“I have heard many rumors of the perils to be found in Old Vinnengael. But that is all they are—rumors. Have you been there?”
“I have,” said Silwyth.
“And you survived,” she returned coolly. “Yet you are not a Dominion Lord.”
“I survived because I knew them,” said Silwyth softly. “And they knew me.”
“Who knew you?” Damra wondered, puzzled.
“The dead,” Silwyth replied.
Chilled, Damra stared at him. “Void magic?”
“All manner of magicks swirl about the ruins of that once proud city,” Silwyth said. “You must be prepared for them, or they will drag you down to death and worse. The gods’ blessing is your lifeline; it will keep you afloat.”
“Will you be coming with us?” she asked abruptly.
“I will meet you there,” Silwyth replied. “This news the dwarf brought about a trap troubles me. I must see what Shakur is up to. And so, farewell, Damra of Gwyenoc, until we meet again.”
“Tell me this, Silwyth,” Damra said, halting him. “If we bring the four parts of the Sovereign Stone into the Portal of the Gods, will all this end? Will our homeland be safe?”
“Ask the orks,” said Silwyth with a sly smile. “They have seen the omens.”
Damra turned to look down at river’s edge, where the orks had gathered around the boat. They were in deep discussion, some gesturing up the river, others shaking their heads and pointing back down.
“Silwyth—” Damra turned back, only to find that he had gone.
She made a halfhearted search, not truly expecting to find him among the jumble of boulders and the scrub trees that clung perilously to the sides of the gorge. She thought of his dire warnings, of the peril of her people. The gloom of her dark musings threatened to overwhelm her. From below came the voices of the orks raised in argument. Above her, Shadamehr sat alone on a large outcropping of rock, tossing pebbles down the side of the cliff.
Damra began to climb.
“Would you like some company?” Damra asked.
Shadamehr squinted up at her, shading his eyes from the westering sun. “If by company, you mean yours, yes, I would be grateful.” He tossed a handful of pebbles down the cliffside, watched them go bounding and clattering among the rocks. “The company I’ve been keeping is abysmal.”
“And what company would that be?” Damra asked, smiling.
He slid to one side to make room for her. She sat down next to him, picked up a handful of pebbles, and began to toss them one at a time down at the water.
“My foe,” he said with a rueful smile. “The foe I cannot defeat.”
He flung the pebbles away from him with a curse and sat with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed.
“Alise nearly died trying to save my life when the Vrykyl stabbed me,” he said, his voice muffled. “Did you know that?”
“No,” said Damra. “Neither of you ever spoke of it.”
“I wouldn’t now,” said Shadamehr, a shiver raising the hair on his arms, “except that it has something to do with what I’ve been thinking. When I regained consciousness, I saw her lying half-dead next to me, her face and body a mass of oozing sores from the Void. She had saved me—unworthy beast that I am—and I couldn’t do anything to save her. Just like I couldn’t do anything to save Bashae. I told myself then that if I’d been a Dominion Lord, both of them would be alive and well. None of this would have happened.”
“It is folly to think like that,” Damra said gravely. “If you had taken the path of a Dominion Lord, who knows where it would have led you? Perhaps far from where you were needed.”
“Perhaps,” Shadamehr said, though he sounded dubious. “Anyway, that’s what I believed—that I should have been a Dominion Lord. I thought I had missed the chance. I regretted it, certainly, but—”
“But…” Damra said, gently prodding.
“But apparently not enough.” He didn’t look at her. He stared, frowning, down at his boots.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m being given another chance.”