The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books)

by Matthew Sprange

  The baron watched his wizard prepare himself, taking a bite out of a large pear as he waited.

  “As you instructed, I started to investigate what Vos was doing in the Anclas Territories, and why they had deemed it necessary to send the Preacher Divine,” Tellmore said.

  “I still think the duty is a punishment for our taking of Turnitia. It was, after all, his responsibility.”

  “Maybe,” said Tellmore doubtfully. “Maybe. Thing is, if the Anointed Lord wanted to punish him, she has all sorts of permanent ways of doing it. I thought this had the whiff of humiliation, mixed with a chance of redemption, if you see what I mean.”

  The baron nodded his understanding, prompting Tellmore to continue.

  “Your spies in the Territories had already determined that the Preacher Divine was looking for something, and that he was using the Illkey Prophecies to find it.”

  “Never really trusted those prophecies myself,” the baron said. “The source is suspect. I always thought they might have been written far more recently than has been supposed.”

  “That might well prove to be true,” Tellmore said, not wanting to contradict his patron directly. “But regardless of that, they may still hold some useful information – Vos certainly thinks so, and if they are interested...’

  “Then we should be too. Yes, I agree. I assume you have gained some knowledge of the prophecies yourself?”

  “Far more than Vos has. A benefit of the collected learnings of the Three Towers. More importantly, we hold certain key texts that we know Vos lacks – they are not even aware of the existence of these writings.”

  Tellmore took a moment to sift through his scattered notes until he seized the sheet he had completed just minutes before in his own chambers.

  “Specifically, the Preacher Divine lacks the Illuminated Scrolls of the Thirteenth Elven Dynasty. Luckily, I had the transcribed set in my own collection.”

  The baron raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Tellmore looked apologetic. “They are somewhat hard going, and their relevance has always been held in question – as has, indeed, the accuracy of the translations. There have been several made over the centuries, and each has their own proponent as to which is closest to the original text. I won’t bore you with the details, but the transcription I possess contains certain references to an Elven outpost – or maybe it’s a tomb, perhaps a village, things are not completely clear – that I recalled when I started reading the Illkey Prophecies once again.”

  Having stopped eating now, the baron leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me you discovered something.”

  “I must stress, interpretation of anything to do with the Old Races is subject to a wide margin of error at best.”

  The baron brushed the excuse aside. “You are among the best magical minds on the peninsula, Tellmore. That is why I brought you into my service. I am prepared to act upon your best guess, without thought of recrimination later.”

  “The Baron is too kind,” Tellmore said before taking a breath. He then smiled as he looked back up at his patron. “I believe I have discovered what the Preacher Divine is searching for, where it comes from and, more importantly, where it can be found.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, man!”

  “We have known for some time about an ancient Elven artefact known as the Guardian Starlight. It has been variously described by different sources as a small golden rod, a large crystal staff or a shield the size of a man but light enough to wield as though it were parchment. It was the Illkey Prophecies and the Thirteenth Dynasty that provided the connection I needed. They, with some other, minor texts, have convinced me that the Preacher Divine is searching for the Guardian Starlight, even if he does not know exactly what it is he is looking for.”

  “So, he is working blind?”

  “Not entirely. With the Illkey Prophecies alone, the Preacher Divine could find the resting place of the Guardian Starlight. Even if he does not know what he has found, he’ll know he has something of value, and if he manages to get it back to the Anointed Lord...’

  “Then she will no doubt apply every resource she has to discovering what it is they have found.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I have one question for you, Tellmore,” the baron said. “Has any of your great research explained what this Guardian Starlight actually does?”

  “My Lord Baron... umm... no. However, I do not need to impress upon you the potential power invested in artefacts of the Old Races.”

  “Indeed not. What I want to know is whether, this artefact in hand, you will be able to unlock its mysteries.”

  “I vow to work ceaselessly until I do. If my Lord Baron will aid me in acquiring this item, I will happily pass all benefits on to him, in exchange for the recognition of being the one who made the discovery.”

  “My dear Tellmore, you have a deal,” the baron smiled. He then brought a fist down hard on the table, causing the wizard to jump. “By God, this could not have happened at a better time. I knew bringing you on board would reap great rewards.”

  “My Lord Baron?”

  The baron waved the question away. “I’ll explain when you return from this expedition. You really do know where this thing lies?”

  “Well, Vos has a head start on us, but they lack the additional texts that have led me to this discovery. We have the chance to strike first.”

  “In that case, go now – grab whatever you think you will need. I’ll organise a contingent of men to go with you.”

  “Soldiers?”

  “The Preacher Divine would not have ventured into the Territories without military support, and I won’t have you facing him without a superior force. Besides, if you are going to be rooting around in elven ruins, you will also need men to dig, move rocks, whatever it is people do in ruins. I’ll assign Sir Renauld to lead the men, but I’ll make sure he understands you have overall command.”

  “You are generous in your support, Lord Baron,” Tellmore said bowing his head slightly.

  “I expect you to succeed. Or, in the very least, to ensure our friend the Preacher Divine fails. This artefact could prove to be a great boon to me, but having it in the hands of Vos would be a far greater failing than neither of us possessing it. Do you understand, Tellmore?”

  “As you wish it.”

  “Good. Now, go, prepare yourself. You leave at dawn.”

  THE SKY WAS just beginning to lighten, though the sun had yet to break cover from the huge mass of Kerberos. The five towers cast deep shadows across the courtyard of the Citadel, hiding the hundred-odd horsemen that assembled into tight squadrons.

  “Lord Tellmore, it is an honour to serve you.”

  Tellmore rubbed his eyes then shook his head to clear his mind. After preparations for the day’s journey, he had managed to snatch but an hour’s rest, and his body cried out for more. He was not used to such early hours and he struggled to focus on the armoured knight in front of him.

  “Just Tellmore, I am no lord,” he said. “You are Sir Renauld?”

  “At your service,” the knight said. Renauld was a young man, far younger than Tellmore had anticipated, barely into his twenties. The wizard restrained his immediate impulse to ask how many military expeditions he had led before this one.

  “You will have a full company of my men-at-arms accompanying you into the Anclas Territories,” Renauld continued. “All equally capable on foot as in the saddle.”

  Renauld, Tellmore saw, wore the heavy half-plate that was currently in vogue among de Sousse’s knights, with shining breastplate, half-helm, vambraces and greaves. A green tabard bearing a pair of crossed black axes, presumably Renauld’s own family heraldry, hung over the armour, and the colours and design were repeated on the shields and tabards of the assembled horsemen who awaited them in the courtyard. Each was dressed from head to foot in chainmail and carried a long spear in one hand. Large swords were scabbarded at their belts.

  Despite himself and his normal disda
in for martial prowess, Tellmore found himself impressed.

  “What have you been told of our mission, Sir Renauld?”

  The knight gave him a rueful smile. “That we are to escort you into the Anclas Territories, to obey your orders to the letter, and to guard your person and possessions with our lives.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Nothing.”

  Tellmore considered this for a moment. “Is that the sort of mission you enjoy performing?”

  With a sigh, Renauld glanced quickly over his shoulder to ensure none of his men were in earshot.

  “Just tell me this. Is this mission important to our baron?”

  “I can assure you, it could be absolutely vital to all of Pontaine.”

  Renauld nodded thoughtfully. “In that case, you may rest assured that we will serve you to the letter, and consider it honourable to do so.”

  “You have my thanks,” Tellmore said. “And Renauld – it is not my intention to keep you in the dark. The more you know, the better you may serve the baron, whatever he might think. I’ll tell you what I can as we ride, but please don’t think I am being evasive if I don’t know everything yet myself.”

  He noticed that Renauld was giving him an odd look, but Tellmore could not guess whether this was because he was being more truthful than Renauld’s superiors had been in the past, or whether he had just breached a major part of knightly etiquette. It was a question that would remain unanswered for now as one of Renauld’s men-at-arms trotted up towards them, his every footstep matched with a chinking of the rings in his armour.

  “My Lord, the men are ready,” he said, saluting with his fist. “We can leave at your command.”

  Renauld turned to Tellmore. “We have chosen a good horse for you. Just give us the word.”

  Tellmore glanced once more up at the sky as the first rays of the sun began to streak across the thinning clouds above.

  “Sir Renauld, the word is given. Let us go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LOOKING DOWN INTO the shallow valley, Tellmore grew increasingly confident. One by one, the pieces fell together.

  On the other side of the valley, a small hump that broke the smooth outline of the rolling hills betrayed the presence of a millennia-old ruin. The untrained eye might have skipped past it altogether, or simply ascribed it to some whim of the Creator when shaping the hills, but Tellmore had seen such markers before and he was sure it was the resting place of a long-forgotten outpost of the Old Races – elf-built, to be exact.

  The notes he had compiled over the years used this as a way marker to point towards an even grander settlement of the elves, one that he was now sure had once nestled within the valley below. Ancient stone markers, now worn away by wind and rain, had been followed, the placement of human villages charted on maps copied from fragile texts and compared to the estimated locations of the ir Old Race counterparts. The valley itself had been carved by a river now long since dried up, and a detachment of Renauld’s men-at-arms had followed its course north, looking for it to divide in a fork, as the Illuminated Scrolls had promised it would. A day later, the soldiers had returned with the good news. The river bed had indeed forked, confirming that they were in the right place.

  Taking a deep breath, Tellmore allowed himself a smile. Somewhere below him lay the Guardian Starlight. All he had to do was take it.

  That would be an effort in itself, Tellmore was under no illusions, but he hungered for the real work that would begin soon after. The work and study that would see him unlock the secrets of the elven artefact and thus elevate himself to become one of the mightiest and most learned wizards in Vos or Pontaine.

  It was worth a little effort.

  “Is this the place then, Magister?” Renauld asked.

  “I believe, Sir Renauld, that we have arrived.”

  The knight looked around at the surrounding hills.

  “I don’t like the look of the land,” he said. “Far too enclosed to defend properly.”

  “I imagine this was considered a safe area by the original architects. Perhaps an outpost up there kept watch for invaders, whoever they might have been.”

  He indicated the hilltop ruin, and then started wondering just what might have challenged the power of the Old Races that they might even need a fort, tower or keep. Did they fight among themselves, the way Vos and Pontaine had done throughout their history? Nothing in the ancient texts suggested that the Old Races were fractured in any way. Even the separate nation states of the dwarfs and elves kept the peace. Well, until their last days, at any rate.

  “Unfortunately, elves were not required to take our needs into account when they built their civilisation.”

  Renauld nodded. True to his word, Tellmore had told the knight what little he could about their expedition, but Renauld had glazed over at the more intricate and technical details of the artefact they were looking for, and did not seem to believe much else about the Old Races and their history. Tellmore could not overly blame him ,for the man, while clearly educated, had not been introduced to the wonders of the Old Races and, like most others, considered them little more than fairy tales. The wizard had seen this reaction before. Even when confronted by direct evidence of the existence of elf and dwarf, many people would simply shrug and go on about their daily lives. Okay, so once, long ago, elves and dwarfs ran the world and they built pretty towers. So what?

  “With your permission, I’ll want to scatter scouts on long-ranged patrols,” Renauld said. “If you are right about a Vos force in the area, I don’t want us to be surprised.”

  “I’ll leave military matters to you, Sir Renauld. That is your field of expertise, as this artefact is mine. All I ask is that you do not allow them to interfere with my work.”

  Renauld coughed, as if a little embarrassed, and that caused Tellmore to look back at him.

  “Yes, about that,” said the knight. “Once you are sure exactly where we will be digging, I’ll be wanting to build a perimeter fence.”

  Tellmore frowned. “That will take labour away from the digging, and there will be enough of that.”

  “If it were completely down to me, Magister, I would insist on adding a ditch in front of the fencing,” Renauld said, holding up a hand in surrender at Tellmore’s look of alarm.

  “We don’t know what Vos will do if they discover our location, and we have to assume they will. Let me rotate men in scout duty – they will accept the manual labour a lot easier if they can get regular breaks from it – and let me build that fence. I assure you, speaking as a military man, you will be thankful I insisted on that at least if we face an attack.”

  Sighing, Tellmore relented. There was no sense in finding the location of the Guardian Starlight if he simply had to hand it over to the enemies of the baron soon after.

  “I can make things easier, Magister,” Renauld said. “I’ll get that fence built in no time but I’ll assign a few men directly to you, so you can at least make a start on your own work. Then, as the defences near completion, I’ll send more and more hands to you. By the end of the week, you’ll have all the manpower you need, I am sure.”

  Tellmore nodded, appreciating the gesture Renauld was trying to make. He had been in the company of knights before, and had usually found them bullish. This Renauld was different, perhaps because of his younger years. Tellmore rather got the impression that the knight was trying hard not only to succeed in the baron’s mission but do so without stampeding and riding roughshod over someone another knight might have simply assumed was a courtier. Despite himself, Tellmore found himself beginning to like the young knight.

  “In that case, Sir Renauld, I would like to make an immediate start,” said Tellmore. “Assign your men to duties as you will, but I would be thankful for a handful to help me set up my tent and tools. Then, I can finally begin work.”

  “As the Magister wishes.”

  ALONE IN HIS tent, Tellmore supported his head in his hands as he stared down at the notes that cov
ered the surface of the small desk. More were piled up in discarded stacks behind him, the results of his fruitless labours.

  For three weeks he had been stuck in a makeshift fort he was now coming to despise. Three weeks spent in initial elation at getting to grips with the mysteries of the Old Races but quickly giving in to frustration as those same mysteries proved to become more and more impenetrable. After the first week, it had rained near constantly, his tent had flooded twice, and Tellmore was cold, wet, and getting angrier by the day at his inability to find the Guardian Starlight.

  He might have consoled himself with what little good news there had been. Renauld had fulfilled his promise to complete the defences around the now exposed elven ruins by the end of the first week and turned most of his men over to Tellmore for the hard labour of shifting earth away from millennia-old foundations. The knight had remained in a good mood, apparently enjoying the change of pace his assignment was allowing him, and that simply grated on Tellmore’s nerves all the greater.

  The scouts Renauld had deployed had spied an armed force to the north some days ago, but it had continued east without breaking step. Everyone in the camp guessed this was the Vos army sent to recover the artefact they sought, and they took heart not only in the enemy heading in the wrong direction but also that the force was reported to be much smaller than theirs and consisting only of cavalry – not much use against the five-foot-high fence they had erected around the ruins.

  Tellmore knew he should be thankful for the small mercies but he had found himself stymied almost as soon as the first pale grey rocks of the elven settlement were exposed to the cold, and wet, light of day.

  He still did not know whether they were standing on top of a village, outpost, castle, or some weird elven meeting point. The layout of the foundations they had so far discovered defied easy analysis. The men-at-arms would dig hard at his instruction, at first as eager as Tellmore to discover what lay down some mud and rock filled passageway that had lain dormant for countless centuries.