The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within

by J. L. Doty

  Durin had more than one market, and a lot of people busily going about their business. They paid no heed to Tarkiss and the Kulls, and as for Morgin, it would require a close examination to notice that his hands were tied to the saddle horn, that he was more than just another trail-weary soldier without sword or shield.

  When Morgin first spotted the wall he thought it might be Castle Decouix itself, but it was much too long to be the outer wall of a castle. Somewhere he’d heard Durin was a walled city, but he’d never truly understood what that meant until now.

  Once they passed beneath the wall the character of the city changed. The buildings behind the wall were all multistoried, and separated by narrow, cobblestoned streets. Again no one took notice of the prisoner among the Kulls.

  The length of the ride from the wall to the castle impressed Morgin with the size of the city, but Decouix impressed him even more. The castle loomed above everything at the center of the city. It stood alone, with a wide parade ground separating it from any other structure and surrounding it on all sides. There were two motes, one immediately beneath the wall, and another at the outer edge of the parade ground, separating the empty stretch of land from the city proper. Decouix would be difficult to take by force.

  For the moment a drawbridge had been lowered over each of the two motes, and the portcullis in the main castle gates had been raised. Tarkiss halted at the outer drawbridge, took Morgin’s reins himself, then spurred his horse into a slow walk. And as the hooves of Morgin’s horse pounded on the planks of the first bridge, he noticed movement on the battlements above the castle gate. Looking up he saw Valso standing there, staring down at him without expression. Something hovered near Valso’s head, then settled on his shoulder: the demon flying snake, Bayellgae.

  The journey across the parade ground took an eternity under Valso’s gaze. And just before they passed beneath the outer wall of Decouix Tarkiss raised Morgin’s reins triumphantly above his head and waved them at Valso. Valso nodded, but still he showed no expression, and then Morgin’s horse stepped into the shadow beneath the wall and he could no longer see the prince of Decouix.

  ~~~

  Still, they did not treat him badly. They assigned him a suite of rooms high up in the castle, servants to cater to his needs, and several suits of fine and expensive clothing. They bathed him carefully, threw away the tattered and grimy rags he’d been wearing on the trail, shaved off his beard and cut his hair. And standing there in one of his rooms with his servants about him, no one would guess he was nothing less than a prince of the House of Elhiyne. But outside every window or door, and even on the balconies that opened off the bedroom and sitting room, there stood at least two heavily armed Kulls.

  Late in his first afternoon in Decouix the servants dressed him for dinner, then with an escort of six Kulls they led him down several flights of stairs and through the corridors of Decouix. He was hopelessly lost, though that didn’t appear to be their intention. They halted just outside a large room with high vaulted ceilings and filled with elegantly dressed courtiers. Morgin heard them talking in low tones, carrying on a dozen conversations with an occasional laugh.

  The servants indicated he should enter the room, and when he did all there looked his way, and a silence as thick as honey descended. Morgin looked back, noticed the Kulls had not followed him into the room, guessed one or two waited discretely behind every exit.

  Tarkiss stepped out of the crowd, greeted Morgin pleasantly. “Lord AethonLaw,” he said. “You look much better.” He held a goblet of wine in one hand, and with the other he flagged down a servant with a tray full of similar goblets. He took one and handed it to Morgin. “Drink and enjoy yourself, AethonLaw. Lord Valso is celebrating tonight.”

  Morgin took the goblet of wine. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

  Tarkiss turned a patronizing smile on Morgin. “Need you ask?”

  Morgin didn’t want to talk to Tarkiss, and he felt no obligation to be more than minimally polite, so he turned away from the young Rastanna, sipped on his wine and stepped through the crowd.

  Slowly the buzz of idle conversation returned, as if out of politeness they were all trying to avoid staring at him. But he caught the surreptitious looks and silent glances, and he knew he was a curiosity. He had no destination in mind as he walked through the crowd, so he moved slowly and let the crowd part before him.

  A pretty, young girl stepped in front of him and forced him to halt. She threw her skirts out and curtsied in a very formal way. “Lord AethonLaw.”

  Morgin bowed. “You have the advantage of me.”

  She rose and stood facing him. “I am Xenya et Vodah, of the House of Vodah.”

  Morgin revised his opinion of her. She was young, but she was a strong and proud woman. She stood her ground before him without flinching. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  She smiled with a bit of mischief in her eyes. “I’m not sure. You’re a curiosity to me.”

  “I do believe I’m a curiosity to everyone here.”

  “Well of course you are. You singlehandedly defeated an army that outnumbered you twelve to one.”

  Morgin shook his head. “The odds weren’t that extreme. And besides, I used both hands.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “And you have a sense of humor too.” She looked about unhappily at the people around them. “That’s a refreshing change from my kinsmen who cower under the Decouix yoke.”

  “Xenya!” an older woman hissed nearby, and stepped forward to grab the young woman by the arm. “Watch your tongue.”

  “Oh come now, mother,” Xenya said. “The only reason Valso likes me about is because of my sharp tongue. In fact, I do believe . . .”

  Morgin stopped paying attention, for deep within his soul he sensed something within the castle that sent a shiver up his spine and raised the hackles on the back of his neck. And it drew closer with each heartbeat, something evil beyond imagining, something old beyond life itself. He sensed a chasm of power opening before him, a depth of magic so vast it threatened to overwhelm him. Thankfully, it did not sense him, not as anything more than a simple human being, not as something that could sense its true nature.

  A set of large, double doors opened at one end of the room. Silence again descended upon them all as the crowd parted to reveal Valso standing in the doorway with a woman on each arm. Haleen, his mad sister, hung on his left arm almost desperately, while on his right stood an older version of Valso. Looking into the long, gracious lines of her face Morgin understood then where the Decouix prince had gotten his beauty.

  The crowd parted, forming a long aisle from Valso to Morgin. Valso walked toward him accompanied by the two women, nodding politely to one side or another. When he reached Morgin the silence grew almost oppressive, and Morgin noted that even the brash, young Xenya had withdrawn.

  “Well, Elhiyne,” Valso said. His voice held no triumph, none of the bluster or bragging Morgin expected. “We’ve finally come to this, eh?”

  “Is it final?” Morgin asked.

  “Of course it is. Surely you realize I have to kill you, even if only because these people expect it of me. Though I don’t have to kill you right away, do I?” He looked at the older woman on his right arm. “But I’m ignoring the amenities. May I present my mother, the Lady Merriketh esk et Decouix.”

  Morgin bowed politely. “I’m honored.”

  The woman said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge him, looked through him with a stare that could have put icicles on the gates of the ninth hell.

  “And of course you know my sister Haleen,” Valso continued, looking at the younger woman. She in turn looked at Morgin, and her chin quivered for a moment as if she had something to say. But before she could do so Valso said, “Let us adjourn to dinner. Come, Elhiyne. You’ll sit beside me tonight.”

  Valso and Morgin and the crowd moved to a long and narrow banquet hall containing an equally long and narrow table. Valso sat at its head, with Morgin on his left
, Ladies Merriketh and Haleen on his right, and Tarkiss immediately beneath them in the order of seating, a place of honor for the young Rastanna.

  Valso treated Morgin like an honored guest. There were no confrontations, no threats, no further mention of his fate. Young Xenya wisely kept her mouth shut while Tarkiss told of the hunt and the chase, and finally Morgin’s capture, though Tarkiss told it more as an interesting story, with little bravado and no innuendo.

  Morgin noticed a hint of tension between the Lady Merriketh and her son, almost as if she too feared Valso. He also noted a certain bitterness in her, a marked lack of joy. But throughout the evening his thoughts kept returning to that vast chasm of power hidden within Valso’s soul.

  Morgin gave up trying to understand these things. Given time, understanding would come, if he lived long enough.

  ~~~

  Surrounded by an escort of six Kulls, Morgin wondered at their destination as they led him deep into the bowels of Decouix. They’d come for him in late afternoon, and told him only, “You are to come with us.”

  Deeper and deeper into Decouix they led him, and he thought it quite possible Valso would now have him thrown into a dungeon. But the halls down which they led him had not the dank and musty smell of a dungeon, were in fact quite clean and well kept. And then he felt the pull of power at the edge of his senses, and he understood they were approaching something quite unique.

  At the end of a long hall the Kulls halted before an open portal. Then they parted and waited silently for him to pass between them through the portal. He hesitated, for he sensed an enormous amount power beyond the portal, so like, but at the same time so unlike, that in the sanctum at Elhiyne.

  “Come, Elhiyne,” Valso called from beyond the portal. “You have nothing to fear from Decouix power, at least as long as I choose that you need not fear it. Come forth, now, or I’ll have you dragged in here.”

  Morgin stepped forward hesitantly, realizing the Kulls had brought him to the Decouix sanctum. The power within pulled at him, and like the power at Elhiyne it demanded he take it up, allow it to enter his soul. When he stepped through the portal his stomach knotted up and he staggered under the onslaught.

  “Yes, Elhiyne, the Decouix power is a fearful thing, is it not?”

  Morgin pressed his back to the wall inside the sanctum, struggled to breathe, took in deep gulping breaths. Valso laughed; the prince thought him cowed by the Decouix power, assaulted by it, fearful of it, when in fact it wanted him to wield it just as the Elhiyne power had. He didn’t understand why the Decouix power, accumulated in this room for centuries, called to him like a servant to its master. And without understanding more he dare not trust anything about it.

  Valso gripped him by his arm and led him out through the portal as one might lead a child, and once in the hall beyond, the oppressive and stifling nature of the power waned. Morgin leaned against a wall and fought to control his breathing.

  “Yes, Elhiyne, I knew you would find Decouix power a frightening thing. No doubt, even terrifying to one such as you.”

  Morgin dare not tell him he wanted to take up that power as much as it longed for him to do so.

  ~~~

  The next morning the servants woke Morgin early, bathed and dressed him for breakfast, which, like dinner, was a moderately formal affair in the sophisticated atmosphere of House Decouix. Then Valso, accompanied by Bayellgae and an entourage of about twenty, and escorted by two twelves of Kulls, took Morgin on a tour of the city of Durin.

  Durin was by far the largest city he had ever seen, making Anistigh seem like a small, backwater place. But they saw so much in so little time Morgin’s memories of Durin were a blur of sights and sounds. And then there was Valso himself: suave, sophisticated, handsome, concealing the malicious and hateful side of his nature for some reason, allowing Morgin an extended glimpse of a charming and entertaining man. It put Morgin on edge, constantly wondering when the true Valso would emerge, for there was no doubt he would show himself, and probably to Morgin’s detriment.

  The next morning the servants again woke Morgin early and bathed and dressed him for breakfast. That morning, however, Valso held court, and Morgin watched him arbitrate disputes among his vassals, though Valso’s style was to impose his own will by fiat upon each situation, often without listening to all sides of a dispute, sometimes without listening to any side. And he ordered two deaths that morning, though not for criminal acts, but rather for some arbitrary and unclear reasons of his own.

  That afternoon they strolled about the edge of a large practice yard inside the castle walls. Soldiers and Kulls in small and large groups filled the yard, often in pairs practicing their sword skills. Occasionally Valso would stop to observe two contestants for a short time, and perhaps to comment, even to interrupt them with some short instruction.

  “Tell me, Elhiyne,” Valso said, after they’d finished observing two Kulls cutting away at one another in a rather brutal and rough form of practice. Valso turned and began strolling along the periphery, looking for another pair of contestants. “What did you think of my court this morning?”

  Tarkiss, walking beside Valso, looked at Morgin and smiled, and Morgin wondered of this was a trick question of some sort. He glanced down at the young Vodah woman Xenya, but her face showed no hint of how he should answer. He tried to play it safe. “It was efficient.”

  “Yes,” Valso said proudly. “It was.”

  Morgin had to ask one question. “However, I don’t understand why you ordered the deaths of those two men.”

  “Oh that,” Valso said. He looked up in the air and cried, “Snake.”

  Bayellgae alighted on his shoulder, its head weaving from side to side. “Massster. How may I ssserve?”

  “The Elhiyne wants to know about the deaths I ordered today.”

  The little demon turned its eyes on Morgin. “Death isss alwaysss a lesssson, Lord Mortal.”

  “Right you are, snake,” Valso said, looking fondly upon the little monster.

  Valso turned to Morgin. “I always order a few deaths. And if there’s nothing that comes before me to warrant a death, then I find something. It keeps them guessing, and it reminds them I rule at my pleasure.”

  Valso had spoken in such an offhand manner, Morgin wondered if he was being humorous in some sophisticated way. But when Morgin glanced at Xenya and saw her eyes flash fearfully, he knew the truth of Valso’s words.

  Valso stopped and turned to face Morgin squarely. “Tell me something else, Elhiyne. You are my guest here. Is there anything you lack?”

  Morgin shrugged. “The obvious: my freedom.”

  “Why you have freedom of a sort. Certainly more freedom than any peasant.”

  Morgin shook his head. “A peasant doesn’t have Kulls at every turn in his path to stop him.”

  Valso frowned. “But you’re mistaken. My halfmen won’t hinder you. You have the freedom of the castle, to go where you will, to open any door not bared, and my halfmen have orders to allow you to pass if that is the case. Is there anything else you lack, within reason, of course?”

  “Of course,” Morgin said bitterly. He looked out over the practice yard at the soldiers sweating in the sun, at the few noblemen among them exercising their sword arms. “Exercise,” he said as the thought came to him. “I would enjoy the chance to swing a sword, to practice, to sweat a little in the sun. Surely, one lone Elhiyne with a sword would stand little chance of escaping in broad daylight with so many guards about.”

  Valso looked at him for a moment suspiciously, but, standing next to him, Tarkiss said, “Perhaps Lord AethonLaw would like to give us a demonstration of his legendary swordsmanship. I’m told you are quite the duelist.”

  Morgin shook his head. “All I want is to stretch my muscles a bit. I’m no duelist. In fact I’m quite poor at it.”

  “Come now,” Tarkiss said, and the forced politeness of the past days gave way to mockery. “I’m told you’ve killed many of our Kulls.”

&n
bsp; Morgin sensed a trap of some kind, and he wanted to avoid it at almost any cost. “Just a few, and that was in combat. No rules. Not even the kind you live by in practice; just survival. Each man fighting for his life. It’s not the kind of thing one can demonstrate.”

  Valso looked at Morgin and nodded thoughtfully, then seemed to come to a decision. “I see no reason why you can’t, as you say, stretch your muscles a bit.” He looked out across the practice yard and called loudly, “Salya.”

  A Kull lieutenant turned away from his charges and casually crossed the distance to the prince. “Your Highness.”

  “Lord AethonLaw needs some exercise. Choose one of your men—a good fighter, but not the best, and about the same size as AethonLaw. And get Lord AethonLaw a sword.”

  Surprised, Morgin said, “But it’s not necessary this instant.”

  Valso looked at him and smiled. “Oh, but it is. You desire it, you shall have it.” He looked back at the Kull. “Do it. Now!”

  The Kull barked out orders, sent one of his halfmen running across the yard to a rack of old arms. The halfman scooped up a dozen blades, ran back across the yard and dumped them at Morgin’s feet with a loud clatter. By that time Salya had chosen Morgin’s opponent: an average looking Kull, meaning he forever looked mean and angry and hateful. He was stripped to the waist, with a sheen of sweat already covering his skin, and a cascade of straight, shoulder length hair. He looked bored by the prospect of exercising with Morgin.

  Valso looked at the Kull, then at Morgin. “I do so want to see you at your best.”

  He turned to Bayellgae. “What do you think, snake. Can we arrange to see real combat demonstrated here?”

  Morgin shook his head and frowned. “That’s not possible.”