The Eye of Charon

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Be calm, Telaria . . .”

  Her expression changed back to one of utter sympathy for him. Telaria put a hand to Nermesa’s cheek . . . then suddenly stood on her toes and kissed him soundly. Even despite the danger, Nermesa could not help but respond.

  When she pulled back, she whispered, “I had to make certain that you were real.” Then, more seriously, Orena’s sister continued, “I’m not going to leave you here. I’ll sneak you out with us!”

  Nermesa had considered that scenario but had decided it too risky for either of the women. He did not want Baron Sibelio to think them complicit with the knight. There was no doubt in Nermesa’s mind that the noble would consider both women expendable.

  “No, it must be the two of you alone, Telaria! I can’t allow you to be caught up in my mission!”

  “Nermesa—”

  He was adamant. “But when you do get back to the city . . . and only if you know that you’re safe . . . I ask you to send word to General Pallantides. Tell him what I’ve discovered and that he must come with the Black Dragons as soon as possible if he hopes to catch the baron.”

  “But that could take far too long! I thought you dead once, I will not have it happen again . . . and know that this time it’s true!”

  Seizing her firmly by the shoulders, Nermesa pressed his point. “We’ve spent enough time on this matter already, Telaria! Please do what I say . . . and warn the general that there are other threats than the force of arms awaiting him here.”

  “What do you mean?” Her wit proved quick, for, with a brief furrow of her brow, the lady-in-waiting frowned, and said, “I saw a man with Antonus, but only very briefly. Betavio said that his name was Caius. There was something I found uncomfortable about him. Is he—”

  Nermesa gritted his teeth. “Quickly! Do you know where Caius might be roomed?” If the knight could catch Set-Anubis off guard, then perhaps he could rid himself of the sorcerer before the villain could cast a spell or mesmerize him. “Nearby?”

  “No.” Telaria shuddered. “In the east wing. The fourth level, where Betavio and his Gundermen also keep their quarters when here.”

  It was not what Nermesa had hoped to hear, but at least he had some notion as to where Set-Anubis could be found. Betavio and his cohorts would surely still be busy late into the night. Nermesa thus had two choices. He could either attempt to hunt down the sorcerer or go for Antonus himself.

  Then, something that Set-Anubis in his bitterness had himself revealed made the captain’s choice for him. The Baron Sibelio had utter power over someone who should have been able to slay him a thousand times over with barely the flick of a finger. Yet, two such attempts had cost Set-Anubis a pair of those fingers and created in him a healthy fear of the noble.

  And all because the baron wielded a magic of his own . . . or rather, that of the Tear of Charon.

  Surely the emerald jewel set in his ring.

  “Telaria, do you know where the baron is now? Is he with Orena?” Nermesa prayed not, for that would make his task all the more daunting.

  To his good fortune, she replied, “Nay. My sister’s retired for the night, which is why I came back here. The baron apologized to her that he had to stay up and deal with matters of business.”

  Those matters likely had included the knight. “Did he say where he headed?”

  “I think his study. Yes, Betavio had brought him a note said to be sent by bird, and that was what made Antonus give his apologies, then immediately depart.” Without urging, Telaria described to him how to reach the study. It meant ascending to the next and highest level of the house, but also kept Nermesa from the vicinity of the sorcerer’s lair.

  “You saw this man, Caius, only that brief time earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  Nermesa would have to take the chance, then, that the sorcerer would be far from Antonus at this time. That gave him some hope. Some.

  He gave Telaria a hard look. “Will you do what I ask?”

  With some reluctance, the lady-in-waiting finally nodded.

  Satisfied, Nermesa listened at the door. Hearing nothing, he muttered, “Head straight to Orena, then. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect something amiss. You merely want to see your sister again.”

  “What of her servants?” Telaria suddenly piped up.

  The knight silently swore. “It would be wiser if it was only the two of you . . .” His concern lessened as a face formed in his mind. “And Morannus as your bodyguard. He’s Orena’s man. He can be trusted.”

  Morannus would protect the two with his life, and from what Nermesa knew of the other Gunderman’s skills with a sword, even Betavio would prove no match. That both were from the same land would mean nothing to either; Gundermen fought Gundermen when in the pay of others.

  Telaria still stood there, eyes on him. Nermesa guided her to the entrance. “Ride swiftly but safely . . . please.”

  “Nermesa, is there no other way?”

  In answer, he opened the door just enough for her to exit.

  With no one in the hall, Nermesa allowed himself to monitor Telaria’s progress until she was out of sight. He understood that Orena’s chambers were not very far. Nermesa was also thankful that Telaria—long accustomed to having had to fend for herself as a child—had not been accompanied to her own rooms by two or three servants. The contrast between the sisters was ever stark. Orena likely would have come to a room filled with subordinates awaiting her every whim.

  But only Morannus could be allowed to accompany them. Too many bodies would slow the journey or even bring it to an untimely end, which could not be allowed. He trusted Telaria and her sister to see to the safety of any servants the baroness deemed loyal to her, not to her husband.

  Only when Telaria was long gone did Nermesa finally slip out into the hall. Whatever happened to him, it would be worth it not only if he protected the king and Aquilonia from danger, but also—and in some ways, more—her. If he had thought that he could have gotten her and Orena out himself, Nermesa would have done so, but if even one guard spotted them with the knight, it would be as if Nermesa had himself slain the two.

  Many of the oil lamps in the hall had been doused for the night, but enough remained lit to illuminate his path. The stairs needed to reach Baron Sibelio’s study led Nermesa in the opposite direction from where Telaria had headed, for which he was grateful.

  That there were no guards here did not surprise him in the least. In his own domain, Antonus Sibelio likely believed that he had nothing to fear. From the torchlight that Nermesa had seen outside Telaria’s window, the grounds were patrolled by scores of ready men. It would take an army to breach the estate house and that only after a daunting struggle with the defenders.

  General Pallantides would provide that army, supposing that Telaria managed to reach him.

  And by then, Nermesa would either have Antonus a prisoner or dead . . . or he himself would surely be slain.

  At the banister, the knight carefully peered down. At the bottom, he noted two guards, but both men seemed to be paying attention only to the area in front of them, not the floors above. A quick glance to the next level gave Nermesa only a limited view, but one that revealed no sentries up there. Nermesa cautiously started up, aware that there might be men at the door to the study or even some within the room itself.

  Each step felt like a full flight, so long did it seem to take Nermesa just to lift his foot to the next one. By the time he could at last see above the floor ahead, his heart pounded like a thousand stampeding horses. Yet not once did his sword arm quiver; nor did he hesitate. He had sworn to serve Aquilonia and the throne in whatever manner possible, and if it meant his life to put an end to the treachery of the baron, then so be it.

  As with the level below, the corridor was only dimly lit. That proved fortunate for him, for near the end and stationed at what had to be Baron Sibelio’s study, were two grim-faced Gundermen.

  Nermesa backed down a step so as not to be seen. He had hop
ed that the guards would not be Gundermen, but nothing could be done to change that. What mattered was getting past them and reaching their master.

  Sheathing his sword, the Aquilonian abruptly strode up the rest of the steps and walked confidently toward the pair. They immediately straightened—but otherwise did not react. Nermesa did not wear the livery of House Sibelio, but, then, neither had some of those men working on the caravan. More important, neither of the guards were men he recognized, and so he hoped that they would, in turn, not recognize him.

  Still, he was only halfway to the Gundermen when one drew his weapon and growled, “What’re you doing here? No one disturbs the baron now . . .”

  “There’s something we found in the wagons that he needs to know about,” returned Bolontes’ son, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “I was told to make certain that he hears of it or it’ll be my head.”

  “It’ll be your head if you don’t stop where you are! What’s this news? Tell me, and I’ll relay it to him!”

  Nermesa silently cursed. He would get no farther than he was. He used his sword hand to scratch his arm, gradually working it down toward the sheath. “There was a body in one of the wagons,” he explained. As he expected, hearing of such a find made both guards focus strictly on his face. Their attention was now on his story. “One of the drivers! His eyes were staring and his expression—”

  Nermesa drew his sword and lunged for the nearest man.

  To their credit, the Gundermen recovered more swiftly than most would have. Yet, that was not soon enough for the first to parry Nermesa’s blade. The knight’s expert lunge caught the lead Gunderman along the side of his neck, drawing a red line.

  As the first guard clutched his bleeding neck, the second moved to take Nermesa. The Aquilonian met his blade. The swords flashed again and again as the two did battle.

  The first Gunderman, his gait unsteady, sought to come at Nermesa from the side, but Nermesa shoved the weaving fighter back. The wounded guard fell hard against the door.

  At that moment, Nermesa’s other opponent shouted, “Alarm! Assassin in the house! Alarm—”

  His cry cut off as the knight plunged his blade through a gap in the other’s armor. The Gunderman spun around and fell to the floor with a clatter.

  The remaining guard struggled to rise, but he had lost too much blood. Nermesa mercifully finished him off, then barged through the door.

  As he had expected, someone attacked him from the side. It was not, however, the baron, but rather Betavio. Fortunately, the Gunderman overreached the ducking knight. Nermesa slammed into his foe, shoving Betavio against the nearest wall and driving the air from his body. The Gunderman let out a gasp and slumped to the floor.

  Nermesa immediately whirled around—and found the tip of the sword given to him by King Conan poised at his throat.

  “I really do admire you, Nermesa,” Baron Antonus Sibelio remarked over the hilt of the knight’s weapon. “You have a determination and resilience that would serve me well when I am king of Aquilonia . . .”

  “Aquilonia already has a king,” growled the Black Dragon. “And his name is Conan.”

  “A wretched barbarian from Cimmeria of all places!” The sword did not budge in the least. “You, from one of the eldest and grandest Houses of the realm, should be able to appreciate how low that is.”

  “Not as low as King Namedides . . . and certainly nowhere near as foul.”

  The baron frowned. “At least he was Aquilonian. That makes all the difference.” With the sword, he gestured to the right, away from the door. “Please stand by that wall . . . after you drop that weapon, naturally.”

  Releasing the sword, Nermesa moved to where the other noble had indicated. He eyed Antonus with such venom that the baron finally laughed.

  “Such hatred! If only it could be fueled in a more proper direction . . .” He paused as they both heard shouts from some distance away. “Ah, they seem to have finally noticed your escape. Someone will be punished severely for this great oversight, I promise you that, Nermesa. In my own home!”

  “One’s own sanctum can often be the most dangerous place for him.”

  “Too true, which is the only reason you still live. You know much about the inner workings of the palace . . . and how best to get around the guards and other defenses.”

  Now it was Nermesa who laughed. “So that you can more easily take the king while he sleeps? Others have tried that and died quickly, Antonus! Besides, you can do nothing to make me give you such information. No torture will release those secrets from me!”

  The Baron Sibelio studied him for several seconds before nodding. “I do believe that. But I never intended torture to gain what I need. I wouldn’t trust the information that you finally spat out through broken teeth and a shredded tongue. No, I’d be likely to send my assassin right into the quarters of the Black Dragons, not the king’s chambers.”

  The baron rubbed his chin thoughtfully and as he did, Nermesa noted the emerald. Recalling how Antonus had used it in the tent, Bolontes’ son sneered, “And will you use that in a feeble attempt to seize control of my mind again?”

  “This? No, the Tear of Charon is not for the likes of you; you made that abundantly clear the last time. This is useful for weak, petty men such as Lord Dekalatos or Count Stafano, useful pawns enabling me to deteriorate further relations not only between the Corinthian city-states, but with Aquilonia’s present ruler as well.”

  “A man died because of it . . .”

  “Many men have and will, and all those lives are a necessity for this to come to fruition.” Antonus shifted to the side, enabling Nermesa at last to see the baron’s study. Much of it resembled his father’s own study—a long, oak writing table with intricately carved legs and scrollwork at the edges, row upon row of shelves filled with parchments, books, and documents no doubt pertaining to holdings of House Sibelio, and so on. There were two towering, arched windows that the knight considered briefly for escape. Standing oil lamps in each corner of the room lit the chamber. On the left side—

  Nermesa’s gaze froze. On the left side—and set almost as if part of a shrine—a larger-than-life-size statue of Baron Antonus Sibelio struck a heroic—nay, majestic—pose akin to those of the heroes of old. In his outstretched hand, the statue wielded a scepter with a flared end and cradled in the crook of his other arm was a crown with jutting points.

  The baron as ruler of Aquilonia. The audacity of having had such a figure carved before the fact did not escape Nermesa. The statue wore armor akin to that of the Black Dragons save that on the breastplate was etched the Sibelio crest. The artisan had also skillfully painted the statue so that it looked almost lifelike.

  “On the day of my ascension,” the baron remarked, “it will be set up in the great square of Tarantia, for all to see and marvel at. The first of many!”

  “The death of King Conan will not necessarily make you monarch. There would be many to contest such a thing.”

  His captor shook his head. “I thought better of you than that! I’ve planned long and hard for this, and there are many in places of influence and authority who owe me a great deal. They would sell their daughters to my men, so great a hold do I have upon them, Nermesa! The Tear helped with many, seducing them into deals that they would later regret, while others fell victim to the sorcerer’s spells.”

  “You would seek the throne through foul witchery?”

  “Through whatever way necessary. It will be for the good of all Aquilonia. The people already wonder at the king’s abilities! Unable to stop most of the caravan attacks and at odds with our neighboring realms, he threatens to bring us to war and ruination. When he is dead, and I have salvaged the situation by artful diplomacy—”

  “Secret negotiations with ambitious conspirators such as Ambassador Zoran to divide up the lands among yourselves!” blurted the knight.

  Antonus smiled in admiration. “There is the Nermesa Klandes I expected! Yes, Zoran and other
s like him in Ophir, several of the Corinthian city-states—especially Sarta—and Kush, to name a few . . . all with notions of grandeur that I fueled! They will become kings for a time . . . and then vassals to the emperor of the known world! I will bring about a realm such as not seen since Acheron and Atlantis!”

  “Apt choices to compare yourself with, especially Acheron.”

  A groan from near the door alerted them to Betavio’s awakening. The Gunderman rubbed his head, then his stomach. His eyes burned with malice when they focused on Nermesa.

  “I’ve changed my mind about his value,” snapped Betavio to his master. “Run him through.”

  The Baron Sibelio frowned. “Remember your place! I make the decisions here.”

  The Gunderman lowered his head. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me. It’s just that this one—”

  “Is every bit the capable soldier I told you that he was.” Antonus lowered his blade. “But, in the end, he is only a soldier, alas. If he was something of a visionary, he would see that I am the future of Aquilonia . . . of all lands.”

  “All lands . . .” agreed Betavio with much less enthusiasm. He had likely heard such speeches a thousand times before.

  “Go out and alert the guards that the situation is in hand and that—”

  There was a noise from without and a feminine voice raised high. A moment later, the door burst open.

  Nermesa’s heart nearly stopped when he saw who it was who first stepped through. Another Gunderman, but the last one that he had expected.

  Morannus . . . and in his trail, her imperious manner worthy of a goddess, came Orena.

  The knight swallowed back the name he wanted to blurt out, the name of the only one not present.

  What had happened to Telaria?

  Orena’s gaze fixed not on her husband, but rather Nermesa. Her eyes briefly flashed, whether from shock, hatred, or some other emotion, he could not say.

  “It is true, then. You do live.”