by Damien Black
‘Aye, I do,’ replied the high priest, unmoved. ‘I remember how His High Holiness Abelard and his so-called co-conspirators were condemned at the word of a man who had just recently stood trial himself for witchcraft and demonology. Oh, you Argolians turned the tables on the Temple nicely, that I’ll grant you!’
Now it was Horskram’s turn to rise from his seat, his face black with anger. ‘This is outrageous!’ he shouted at the Arch Perfect. ‘Grand Master Hannequin’s powers of divination had been attested to on scores of occasions ere that dreadful episode men call the Purge! The divination was carried out with all due process – I myself was a part of it. The truth is, Lorthar, that the True Temple’s perfecthood had long become seduced by the temptations of the Fallen One. For generations you have envied us our knowledge and piety, for our example shames you daily – we spend our lives in prayer and studying, learning the ways of men and angels, aye and demons too, that we may better abjure them for the sake of mortalkind! Whilst you and your ilk lavish yourselves with money squeezed from the poor faithful, and live in fine houses in the cities. The Temple is a disgrace to the Creed, and it has been for an age! When Sha’amiel possessed Abelard he was pushing at an open door!’
Holfaste had retreated into himself during Horskram’s tirade, which was perhaps going a step too far. Lorthar had turned purple with rage.
‘How dare you!’ he said in a strangled whisper. ‘You dare to criticise the Mother Temple, of which your Order is but a limb! Such contumely! Such blasphemy! This is typical of the Argolians, and how arrogant you have become! Would that we had burned you in the square, and not the other way around!’
‘Guard your tongue when addressing a true servant of Reus’ will!’ cried Lady Walsa in a voice as leathery as her skin. ‘Horskram has done more to advance the Palomedian cause in his lifetime than you and your priestly ilk have done in a century! I don’t recall the perfects coming to my aid when I lay possessed by devilspawn – it was an Argolian friar who saved me! And afterwards I learned that it had been noised about among the Temple that I was being justly punished by the Almighty for leading a wanton life!’
The Arch Perfect tried to interject but she would not let him. Adelko understood her fearsome reputation. ‘Oh, aye, I do not dispute that,’ she went on, ‘and ever since I have strived to change my ways, so that my soul is ne’er weakened again by venality and indulgence. But from whose example did I learn this? From Brother Horskram’s! What example do you set, Lorthar, with your rich furs, and your jewels, and your vain pomp? Look at you – you dress like an overweening merchant! Is it any wonder the Argolians look upon you and your like with such contempt?’
‘I will not be upbraided by a woman,’ replied Lorthar icily.
‘I’m a woman of royal blood, and I’ll upbraid you as much as I see fit,’ replied Lady Walsa in a voice thick with scorn. ‘Never mind this Sacristen – I should have you horsewhipped, you fraudulent popinjay!’
‘Enough!’ roared the King, rising to his feet in turn. ‘I did not convene this council so we could have a religious debate! Lorthar, you will henceforth refrain from using this unfortunate occasion as an excuse for indulging your prejudices against the Argolian Order – rant against it all you will under your own roof, but not under mine! And cousin Walsa – you will kindly refrain from taking the bait and pouring fuel on the fire!’
Turning to the Argolians he said in a gentler voice: ‘Holfaste and Horskram, please be seated and rest assured – no one was more against the travesty that was the Purge than I was, and fie on those Pangonians for ever allowing such a ridiculous trial to take place on their soil! I swear that such a thing will never happen on mine whilst I rule. Now, does anybody have any useful questions or observations?’
‘I... I do,’ said Adelko in a small voice. Horskram turned to look at him and scowled. ‘I thought I told you that you were here strictly as an observer,’ he hissed.
‘Yes well, as to that Brother Horskram,’ the King interjected. ‘Given that thus far you have spoken only to argue, I hold it time that someone else spoke up. I would hear what the youth has to say. Speak on, novice, your King commands it.’
‘Well,’ continued Adelko, blushing furiously. ‘It’s just that, we’ve heard all about the fragment that was stolen, and where it came from, but I’d like to know a bit more about the others. That is to say... their whereabouts and how they came to be there.’
‘And what use would that be?’ asked Sir Wolmar haughtily. ‘There were four fragments. One was in our country and has been stolen. What need is there to know of the others? I find myself agreeing with his High Holiness – these Argolians thirst for too much knowledge, methinks.’
‘Yes, you would say that,’ sneered Sir Tarlquist. ‘You’ve mistrusted the friars since first we laid eyes on them.’
‘Aye, and has that mistrust proved ill founded?’ Wolmar shot back. ‘They brought a demon on our garrison at Staerkvit, or have you forgotten that?’
‘Perhaps you also blame our yeomanry for bringing Thule’s robber knights down on their backs,’ said Sir Torgun mildly. ‘Nay, I think the young monk’s question is a wise one – we should know the full context of the problem we are dealing with.’
‘I agree with Sir Torgun,’ said Princess Hjala, smiling coolly at the knight. ‘Let us hear more of this Headstone and its history.’
‘Aye, let us have more of it then,’ said the King decisively. ‘Horskram, if you will.’
The adept nodded, pointedly ignoring Lorthar’s burning stare.
‘Of the other three fragments, one was kept on the Island Realms as I have already said. As far as I am aware it is still there now, guarded closely by the descendants of Caedmon the Far-Sighted. It was he who first called together the Westerling clans and druidic synod to deal with the Headstone fragments seven centuries ago.’
‘Let it stay there!’ interjected Lorthar sharply. ‘Such a wicked thing belongs in a benighted far-flung land, where devils are worshipped openly by pagan sorcerers!’
‘For once I agree with his High Holiness,’ said Holfaste drily. ‘No need to alert the distant clans of that forgotten realm, surely? And it’s said they rarely welcome visitors from outside in any case.’
‘As to that,’ replied Horskram. ‘We shall no doubt decide presently. But for now let me tell the council of the third fragment, which was taken up by an island chieftain that the Westerling Chronicles name Corann. It had already been resolved that one piece should be borne north, to Olav Iron-Hand of whom I have already spoken. The remainder it was decreed should be taken east and south respectively. So Corann agreed to take the third fragment across the ocean to Thraxia, whose lands had been settled for long centuries by exiled Westerling tribes after the Wars of Kith and Kin.
‘Taking ship with a stout vanguard of his most trusted warriors, Corann reached Thraxia without incident. But before long, the chronicles say, he found himself embroiled in a messy war between two mainland chieftains, Cadwyn and Curulyn. The former lord promised to take the shard from him in return for his military assistance against the latter. Corann agreed to do this for the sake of his sworn mission. During the ensuing conflict, which Cadwyn won thanks to his unexpected ally’s aid, many of Corann’s men were killed. After the battle Cadwyn sent Corann on to his great fortress in the Forest of Roarkil, in the Thraxian province of Umbria.
‘Cadwyn sent an escort of his own troops with Corann and his surviving men, but on his orders they murdered the remaining Islanders in the depths of the woods; for having learned of the rich treasures brought by Corann to use as possible leverage on his errand, Cadwyn had resolved to kill him and take his spoil for himself. From this foul deed Cadwyn became ever known as The Treacherous, and even among fellow mainlanders he was thereafter called the False Friend. But of the wars of revenge that followed, and of his justly deserved death at the hand of Caedmon in the Battle of Cullingan Fields, other tales tell.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure they do,’ sneered Lortha
r. ‘Is this to be a useful story, or another chance for the Argolians to show off their knowledge?’ Holfaste stared at the high priest and shook his head despairingly, but Horskram ignored him and continued.
‘Repairing to Roarkil Fortress, Cadwyn now fancied himself ultimately victorious, for he had the stone, Corann’s treasure, and conquest of his neighbour’s lands. But before long his victory proved a pyrrhic one, as the shades of the men he had so foully murdered returned to haunt the forest and beset his castle every night. After forty days, by which time the ghosts of Corann and his soldiers had driven many of their killers including Cadwyn’s son Druca to madness with their banshee wailings, the murderous chieftain could bear no more. Taking the remainder of his retinue with him, he fled Roarkil forever, abandoning it to the spirits of the men he had slain. With it he left the fragment of the Headstone, on the counsel of his mistress, Adretica the Prophetess, a sorceress of some repute whose witcheries had helped him divine Corann’s fortune in the first place.
‘And there it lay for another two centuries, for none dared to approach Roarkil anymore. None that is, until a party of adventurers, drawn by rumours of the treasures left behind by Cadwyn in his haste, dared to enter its precinct and plunder it. Though more than one of them was left broken in body and mind by this effort, the survivors managed to bear away the fragment of the Headstone, little knowing what artefact they had obtained, for by this time the tale of Søren had passed into legend.’
‘You mention Roarkil Forest again,’ interrupted Lorthar while Horskram paused for breath. ‘How very interesting that your failed attempt to rid the world of this Andragorix whom you suspect of being behind your demonic pursuer took place in the very same haunted tower... Did you really try to kill him, I wonder? Or are you in fact in league with him?’
The perfect was staring at Horskram now with an expression that Adelko supposed was meant to be cunning. To him it looked positively malignant. The King intervened before Horskram could respond.
‘Your High Holiness, I believe I have made myself clear on this matter already! I would respectfully ask that you desist from casting base aspersions on the learned friar’s character and piety, or by the Almighty that we both serve, I’ll have you ejected from this council!’
That seemed to pacify the Arch Perfect, though he looked from the King to Horskram with eyes that smouldered.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ said Horskram humbly, before continuing.
‘What happened immediately after is not firmly established and can be only vaguely gleaned, from second-hand testimonies and ill-verified accounts, but it was generally believed that the curse which brought so much misery upon Olav Iron-Hand and his descendants visited itself on the plunderers of the third fragment. Before long the surviving adventurers were driven to fractious dissent, and having borne the stone across the Malarok Passes of the Hyrkrainians and into the southern lowlands of Northalde, they soon fell to quarrelling over what to do with it. Venturing into the depths of the Argael Forest, it would appear that the hapless freebooters finally succumbed to madness and slew each other. The fragment must have lain, forgotten by all, for generations afterwards, until it was discovered by a travelling merchant called Manfried of Wernost.’
Horskram went on to recount how the fragment was taken from among the skeletal remains of the freebooters by Manfried and sold to Alaric the Prescient, a black magician of ill repute whose dastardly practices finally drove his more godly neighbours to overthrow him.
‘The fragment was found by Alaric’s slayer, Lord Ludvic Stone-Cursed, who took it back with him to his seat at Graukolos, where it has been kept ever since,’ the monk finished.
‘And we cannot be sure it is still safe there,’ added Holfaste. ‘For the Wheel of St Albared no longer protects it. That means it could be stolen just as the fragment in our keeping was – if the holy prayers of our Order were not enough to prevent a blasphemous devil from stealing it, I don’t see how a castle of knights will do any good!’
‘No indeed,’ replied Horskram. ‘That is why we must go to Graukolos as soon as this war is over and warn - ’
‘Let me save you the journey,’ interrupted the King. ‘For the fragment at Graukolos has already been stolen.’
The council turned as one to look at their liege. ‘Your Majesty, how do you know this?’ asked Horskram, aghast.
The King sighed and frowned deeply. ‘The day before you arrived at the palace, I received a messenger from the Eorl of Dulsinor in Vorstlund, telling me so.’
‘But, Your Majesty, why did you not tell me as soon as you knew my business?’ Horskram demanded, quite forgetting his place.
‘Let me remind you, master monk, that as King it is my business to tell my subjects what I want them to hear when I want them to hear it,’ replied Freidheim scowling. ‘But to answer your question, I didn’t want you gallivanting off on your own before this council was held, which I knew there was a chance of you doing once you learned another fragment had been taken.’
Horskram was unplacated. ‘But this is a loss of vital time, Your Majesty! This cannot be mere coincidence – now we know for sure that somebody is trying to reunite the Headstone! Hannequin must be warned, we must send word to the Islanders too - ’
‘If the Islanders are as vigilant and enthralled by the powers of the Other Side as they say, they will be well prepared enough,’ replied the King dismissively. ‘And in case you haven’t noticed, the kingdom’s at war, by both land and sea. You won’t be able to travel any further until it’s resolved, so there’s no use in your hurrying off. Your mission is bound up with the fortunes of this war, whether you like it or not. In any case, I believe you told me only a few days ago that your quest will be severely compromised without the help that you detoured to Strongholm to seek in the first place – there was no chance of your getting that without this council, so I thought it might as well wait until now.’
Horskram sat back, mollified if not entirely pleased. ‘And what details did this messenger give – can you tell me that much, Your Majesty?’
‘Very few, I’m afraid. All he seemed to know was that it had been spirited away during a feast to celebrate the Eorl’s daughter’s nuptials. Half the castle was drunk when the fragment was stolen by the sounds of it, which is typical of Vorstlending folk. Some supernatural agent, talk of burrowing under a crypt where they’d kept the cursed thing all those years. Something tells me his liege didn’t want to part with too many… specifics. Given everything I’ve just heard here, I’m beginning to see why.’
Horskram scowled and shook his head in frustration.
‘What of the fourth and final fragment?’ asked Princess Hjala. ‘I would like to hear more about that as well – where is it being kept? Presumably we will have to alert its keepers too.’
‘We would if we knew where or who they are,’ replied Holfaste. ‘Alas, the location of the fourth fragment has been a mystery ever since it was taken from the Island Realms by the boy Cael some seven centuries ago.’
‘Cael? Who is he?’ asked the princess.
‘Few have heard of him,’ said Horskram, resuming the story. ‘The Westerling Chronicles tell how after the All Meet of Islanders had decided what to do with the first three fragments they fell into a quandary over what to do with the fourth and final piece. West was their home, while the north and east would take their agents swiftly into familiar countries – but in sailing south one could as soon reach the Other Side as another earthly land. The assembled worthies pondered long upon the matter, the chronicles say, until the stars began to sparkle in the night skies and a chill wind swept the high place they had chosen for their meeting.’
This time Lorthar restrained himself to a roll of the eyes. Though he disliked the vindictive perfect, Adelko had to wonder whether now really was the time for Horskram’s storytelling theatrics.
‘Presently a youth spoke up,’ continued the adept, oblivious. ‘His name was Cael, and he was not a high-born chieftain or a grea
t warrior, but a humble shipwright’s son who had taken holy orders a few years before, and been assigned to one of the druids present, whom the chronicles name Maponus.
‘And the chronicles tell us he offered to take the fourth piece and bear it to the Sassanian lands of the Far South. “For I have read much of those lands when my master was not present,” he said, “and the Library of Kell near Skulla’s eastern shores holds many a scroll and tome detailing the lands of the Known World.” Hearing this Caedmon is said to have asked Cael why he should speak out of turn so.’
Horskram couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Adelko as he said this. The meaning wasn’t lost on him, and he felt himself blushing again as his mentor continued his tale.
‘“I humbly apologise if I have offended, my lord,” the youth is said to have replied. “My name is Cael, and I’m naught of a great warrior nor a leader of men but I do know something of the Sassanian lands from my studies, and thanks to my father I also know how to sail a boat as well as any here, if I may be so bold. These stones, you say, must be scattered to the Four Winds, and kept as far apart as can be, for the good of the world. Well, I can think of naught further to the south than the realms of Sassania, where it is written that the deserts stretch for endless leagues and the people bow down before One God and admit no other. Let me take the fourth fragment, and with the good grace of the Moon Goddess I’ll bear it to some far and distant place where none will ever find it.”
‘So impressed were the assembled worthies by Cael’s impassioned outburst that no one spoke for a short time. But at first the chieftains were reluctant to let the youth go, for he had only seen seventeen summers.
‘“Tis too few for such a challenge,” Caedmon is said to have told him. “You would be waylaid as soon as your boat hit land, assuming you survived such a perilous sea journey, for the leagues lie long and the waves count rolls without number until one reaches the lands of the hot South. But even then, what of the customs there do you know? Do you even speak their language?”