“Accuracy is rare? I thought accuracy was critical?”
“Good heavens your majesty, what on earth gave you that idea? It is the ability to convince others that your information is accurate which is critical. People who think that diplomacy is based on facts tend to push governments towards war. There must be something very satisfying for them in presenting lots of numbers on what ‘we’ have and ‘they’ have. It is the only situation in which they feel that they understand what is going on perhaps? Personally, I try to keep such people out of the department.”
Silas looked closely at Fasal, trying to detect any signs that the chief diplomat was mocking him and saw nothing but genuine concern.
“I see. For all I know Fasal we may need such thinkers in the near future but I would prefer if we didn’t, so please be swift.”
“Of course, your Highness.”
Fasal gave a small smile.
As Silas turned and made for the door, Fasal again bent his head over his paperwork. From the doorway Silas looked back at him angrily.
The anger quickly disappeared as his brain caught up with the situation. There could only be one reason Fasal was being so apathetic.
“You sent the order before I arrived here, didn’t you?”
Fasal didn’t even bother to look up from his paperwork as he answered.
“Yes, indeed your majesty. And may I congratulate you on the alacrity with which you came to that conclusion.”
He paused to correct a mistake in the report.
“Your predecessor would have simply yelled profanity in such a situation.”
Silas had to marvel at Fasal’s foresight and composure. The diplomat finally looked up from his work.
“It would be a very poor service we offered if we could not anticipate your needs in our own area of expertise.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Morning light over the turrets of the smoke citadel always seemed cold and pale, perhaps because the sun remained hidden behind the mountains for so long before showing itself.
Whilst many frightening places seem mundane in sunlight, the Citadel did not. It gave off the sense that it swallowed light and warmth from the world around it. In general, Demeron liked this aspect of the stronghold. Being a creature of the caverns, he preferred the dark and cold but today the overall aura seemed to be adding so his sense of foreboding.
It had been a terrible night. The slaves had escaped without a trace, he had not killed the elf, the elf had not killed the kitchen master who had rather sensibly left the event at arm’s length, and now the kitchen master could be smug because the escape would no longer be considered his failure but Demeron’s.
Demeron took consolation from the knowledge that when he had last left Gorhoth it had been on a very positive note. Furthermore, the elf was a worthy adversary. Surely Gorhoth would understand this.
Demeron was still some distance from the Citadel gates when a single horn blasted a note from the walls. The veil shimmered unpleasantly as something passed through. He watched as a company of armoured Minotaur troops marched forth. Behind them followed the somewhat small shadowy figure of Gorhoth. The entire scene was unsettling and Demeron decided to remain where he was and wait. A number of theories rushed through his head.
Perhaps they were coming to execute him for his failure? No, he thought, Gorhoth did not need anything but his own powers for that. Maybe he had decided to deal with the elf himself? Even Gorhoth would take precautions for that. Then again, he probably wouldn’t spend his time hunting for the elf. Wasn’t that what Demeron had been sent to do?
The troops drew closer. Demeron straightened himself importantly and clenched his fists but the soldiers simply passed him without breaking their step. None of them made a sound. Gorhoth, on the other hand, strode straight up to Demeron, his appearance more ghost like than normal in the subdued sunlight.
“Ah, Demeron you have made good time. I expected to find you still on the mountain slopes. Excellent.”
Demeron was completely thrown off guard and unsure if he could relax yet. Of all the greetings he had expected, this had not even occurred to him. Gorhoth seemed pleased.
“My Lord,” he bowed low, “I sought to deliver my report as soon as possible and explain that -”
“That an elf is helping the humans escape, that you tried to hunt him down and you are certain that it is the guardian Arnorial, yes yes.”
Gorhoth had cut across Demeron impatiently and with an air of distracted excitement in his voice.
“I already know. I have said it before, you are a valuable asset to me and I wish I had more like you. That you are still here and alive is higher praise than your newfound Hartiani friend could have offered you.”
Demeron’s head had just enough time to process the thought, Seressa reported directly to Gorhoth? Gorhoth continued to speak.
“Since you are still alive I have more important matters to address and require your personal aid in them. A company of Minotaurs will be posted at the mine for future security. They are under instruction to simply kill slaves if the elf appears. If elves have one weakness it is compassion. He will not dare attempt more escapes if it means certain death to so-called innocent lives. Come my friend, we have more important matters to discuss. Let us return to my quarters.”
Gorhoth didn’t say another word until they had sat themselves at the great planning table in what was effectively a war room off the side of the throne chamber. The only real difference was that Gorhoth didn’t plan his war with other generals or ask for their opinions. This room was only used privately by Gorhoth. Maps and countless parchment pieces formed an almost complete blanket over the tables. The primary source of light was an enormous fire at one end of the room and it flickered slightly with the change of air as the two creatures entered. Sound seemed to die amidst all of the parchment and books which lined the shelves, which were simply cut outs of stone in the walls.
The planning table was situated in front of the fire. Although there were rarely any visitors here, there were a number of impressive chairs. Demeron carefully repositioned one so that he was sitting across from his master.
The majority of this desk was covered in truly ancient looking pages filled with runes he had never even seen before. What caught his eye was the fresh set of notes, on top of the old pages, in the modern script used by Gorhoth. They were unmistakably his own recent writings.
“We face an intriguing challenge,” Gorhoth began, “one which, if overcome, could represent almost infinite possibilities.”
Demeron waited patiently. Gorhoth had a way of making a listener know whether they were expected to respond or stay silent. This time it was definitely the latter.
“You were right to follow the girl. She is of far greater interest than her mother and much, much more susceptible to manipulation. Even I, with all my power could not find the Elf’s presence amongst the sea of human dreams and creations in this new world. She has hidden herself ingeniously. Her daughter’s abilities on the other hand make her stand out like a shining beacon when she is focused enough to use them. And they are incredible abilities indeed.
Nevertheless, she is protected. Whilst one can follow the ripples that her power creates, the source is always utterly hidden. The Arbiters shield her presence in the dream plane so as to make her invisible most of the time. As we have seen from your efforts, these defences can be broken but doing so in the dream plane is unwise. The Arbiters will not hesitate to use force again to stop an attack. No, we need to break the girl in the physical plane, make her willingly open herself up to our influence so that we can control her actions by controlling her beliefs.”
Demeron had to cut in now, wise or not. What Gorhoth was suggesting seemed utterly impossible on a number of levels.
“Lord, even if we had access to this new world, how could we hope to make her willingly do our bidding?”
“That my good Demeron, you may leave to me. It is not our primary focus at present. However, you have tou
ched on the pressing matter: Gaining physical access to the girl.”
Demeron nodded slowly to show his acceptance of what was being said.
“Initially I considered possible ways to enter the world. There were a number of factors to consider here. Firstly, I will not deny, I do not know how it is possible. Clearly it can be done. Szekeres and the Elf maiden were able to cross worlds. Their daughter, I believe, was born there. Their secret must be discovered if we are to take this path. The second factor to consider is how this new world would limit our abilities. We know that magic cannot be controlled there. In fact, it almost appears as though magic does not exist, or at least not in a form that we can perceive. The world is governed by completely different laws to our own. This would immediately put us at a disadvantage. Knowledge is power and we do not have much knowledge about this world. Thirdly, there is the problem of our physical appearance. So far as I can tell, the only humanoid creatures on this new world are humans themselves. We could not remain unnoticed if we entered. In fact, without the ability to use magic we could be in grave danger. You will agree then that it does not make sense to enter the world.”
“I agree, my Lord. What then, is the plan to get at the girl? I have tried on a number of occasions but human puppets are simply not effective.”
“An excellent question. To answer it I have needed to research both the rules of this new world as well as ancient literature I compiled on the dreamwalkers and their… gift.”
The air around Gorhoth seemed to darken a little with this last word and a hint of envy mixed with lust could be detected. Gorhoth carried on.
“Do you know, Demeron, what the limitations of dreamwalkers are?”
This was a difficult question for him to answer. He had certainly never studied the elven powers and what he had seen of it had seemed dauntingly limitless. Yet they had never successfully managed to destroy Gorhoth. Not even a combination of their best dreamwalkers, magicians and warriors had achieved that. As such he had to reason that their abilities must indeed be restricted in some way.
“I am not sure, Lord. I have only concluded that it must be limited in some way.”
Gorhoth seemed to have expected this response because he answered with barely a second’s pause.
“Indeed, it is! No one knows the exact reasons why but of one thing we can be certain. They cannot truly break the laws which bind the world together. Many of these rules can be bent and twisted to a point that appears as though a rule has in fact been overcome but they are never broken. One must simply know what it is they are looking for. This is perhaps the most important point of information we have regarding dreamwalkers.
Another interesting point is that they cannot use the dreamplane to revive the dead or affect the life essence of a sentient being directly. I say life essence because whilst this is a form of magic in Otthon, it is clearly something else on this… earth. In short, this means that dreamwalkers cannot simply cause someone to die via dreamwalking. This will also be important information when hunting for the girl.
This brings me to the rules of this planet. My research has only been cursory but it would appear that logic is the key to restrictions and rules of this earth. We will need to consider how best to use this information.”
“My Lord, is this so different from our world? Logic is the basis of understanding and control here as well.”
“You misunderstand me Demeron. I meant that logic is almost the restriction itself! Through the dogmatic application of logic, assumed rules are made real where previously they had not existed at all. To be logical is safe and secure, a foundation on which one can build. But it restricts much that humans do in their world. This is what we shall take advantage of. The girl is, fortunately, of some maturity. If we were dealing with a human child our task would be much more difficult. They think more creatively you see. Are you starting to see how the plan will function?”
Demeron furrowed his brow in concentration as he tried to fathom Gorhoth’s as yet unclarified idea. He noticed a satisfied glow in Gorhoth’s eyes and decided that it would make no difference whether he understood at this point or not.
“I am not sure my Master. I would guess that the girl will create her own limits?”
Gorhoth did not have eyebrows. His form was too undefined for that but Demeron was sure that if he did have any, they would be raised right now.
“That,” his master replied, “is a very accurate and concise summary.”
Demeron had stumbled onto the idea more by luck than genuine understanding.
“Yes indeed. The girl will create her own logical barriers and as a result will not knowingly be able to break them. She is, however, rapidly developing an understanding of dreamwalking and its possibilities. This will open up certain unique opportunities.”
“What kind of possibilities?”
“The possibility for example, for her to travel between the worlds.”
“Master? Are you certain of this? We do not even know ourselves how it is done. We-”
“Are limited by our own rationality Demeron. Yes, she will find a way. We need only make her believe that crossing between the worlds is the only way to escape a trap.”
Demeron was still doubtful that the girl was capable of such a feat but he liked the concept of the plan. What better way to lead her into a trap than making her believe that she was escaping one. She would dedicate every second to finding a way to fulfil their plan without even knowing it. A smile started to break out across his face. Gorhoth continued.
“Which brings me to the crux of this meeting. I need your help to lay the trap. Young and inexperienced as she is, the girl is well protected and it will not be easy to force her hand as we have discussed. I would welcome your ideas on the matter.”
Demeron wondered to himself how many times before Gorhoth had welcomed another person’s ideas. He eventually settled for, ‘only when Gorhoth didn’t actually need them’, and was resultantly surprised by the answer to his following question, “Surely you have a better plan than I could conceive Lord?”
“Not at all young Minotaur. I have spent my years hunting very different enemies. The entire Minotaur race has dedicated its history to the subjugation of humans. Who could be better equipped for the task than you?”
The discussion carried on for a very long time as the two menacing beings plotted and schemed, weighing up the strengths and weaknesses of various ideas. The fireplace should have long since burned out, yet it carried on burning fiercely all the while, an unnatural reflection of the power that controlled it. Occasionally creatures would enter the room, bowing low before quickly delivering messages to Gorhoth and then leaving. Demeron was the target of many envious looks from the lowly officers who dreamed of being so high in Gorhoth’s trust. Demeron paid them absolutely no attention.
The majority of the day had passed by the time he and Gorhoth had agreed on their plan and he was dismissed.
He made his way steadily back through the black corridors towards his own quarters. The walls seemed to swirl more vigorously where he passed, as if the air that he moved was enough to affect them. All was strangely quiet. Normally troops or slaves would be bustling through on errands or patrol. He could still hear the faint but unmistakable tapping of human smiths from the armoury, though the direction of the source was elusive after having passed through a number of walls.
Demeron noticed these things passively but his mind was still filled with the upcoming task he faced. He was grateful that Gorhoth had not insisted on starting immediately. He was exhausted. He had been deprived of food and sleep for two full days now, not to mention water.
He ordered a soldier to deliver a substantial serve of food to his room before making his own way there. The soldier did not waste time.
Demeron had not been stretched on his stone shelf for more than a few minutes before three human slaves entered, laden with plates full of meat. They struggled with the weight of them due to their starved physique and Demeron chuckl
ed inside at the cruel irony of the situation. He enjoyed the meal all the more for it before settling down again for some much-needed sleep.
The sleep was not as rejuvenating as hoped. His conscious mind had not had much time to consider his recent encounter with his nemesis but his unconscious mind replayed the fight over and over in his dreams before changing to an even worse memory.
His daughter lay bleeding and lifeless on the ground beside him, then he awoke, alone in the dark, bathed in sweat.
Demeron may not have enjoyed much restful sleep but his nightmares had rekindled a burning hatred which provided every bit as much energy. He swung his legs over the shelf, gave his tunic a tug to fix the way it was sitting, then made his way purposefully back to the throne room. The girl was no relation to Arnorial, he knew that, but he had convinced himself that catching her and fulfilling Gorhoth’s plan would be a bitter blow to the elf once he found out. After all, Arnorial had been a close companion of the girl’s mother. The idea of using the Elf’s daughter against Arnorial had a very satisfying feel to it.
When he finally reached the chamber, the doorway would not open for him. He was certain Gorhoth had said to meet at this precise time and place. Why then had he barred the throne room? Demeron decided after his previous experience with the place being sealed that he would not venture to get in again. Instead he waited patiently, and was not waiting long. Only a few minutes had passed when suddenly a hole appeared in the wall, expanding rapidly into an archway which revealed a terrifying image. Gorhoth was standing waiting for the archway to open to its full extent and the more of him that was revealed, the clearer it was that the archway would need to be fully open to accommodate his passing. His form had swelled to towering proportions. More disturbingly, dark expansive wings were protruding from his back, stretching out like a black enveloping cloud. It seemed to Demeron that an aura of power could literally be felt emanating from him. As Gorhoth strode up to Demeron the excitement and lust in his eyes could be seen.
Bridge Between the Worlds (Dreamwalker Book 1) Page 37