Mystic Warrior

by Tracy Hickman

  Now satisfied that he was alone, Tragget looked about his chambers. They had been his home for many years. In many ways this wing of the Temple had been the only home he had ever really known. He considered it for a time. Here about him were all the things that he had thought important. The icons of Vasska stared back at him from the stone walls, their ornate carvings filled with shadows. His books that spoke of the orders of the Pir and the greatness of their cause lay next to the bed in a pile. Who, he thought, would read them when he was gone? Would they be put away by some other hand, or would they remain here, forsaken and moldering? Would they somehow miss his gentle hand and long to be opened and read with the interest he once had felt and now had pushed aside?

  Tragget was suddenly unsure. What was he doing? He was safe here, safe even from the insanity that was consuming his soul. What could possibly be so great a thing to induce him to leave his home, his mother, and everything that had been so important to him?

  He sat down on the edge of his bed. The thrill of the adventure had suddenly waned in him. The heart or the head, he thought. Am I running toward one or just away from the other?

  He gazed at the fireplace next to his bed. On either side of the hearth stood two iron dragons, more icons of Vasska, guardians over the now-cold fire. They represented the faith taught to him by his mother, the reason for his existence and his justification for every life he had seen taken in the greater cause of the Pir.

  Tears streamed down his face as he studied them. The iron faces of Vasska had been his most constant companions throughout his life, and he was planning to leave them.

  But then he saw other things in his mind. The Deep Magic welled up unbidden within him. He reached out toward the iron statues.

  The dragons began to move.

  Tragget wept but did not turn away. Choked sobs were wrenched from his throat, dragged unbidden through the half-smile on his lips. The power of the Deep Magic coursed through him, glorious and thrilling.

  The iron dragons spread their wings. They began to glow as their wings beat the air.

  Tragget’s tears flowed freely from his fever-bright eyes. The magic burned away his doubts. He laughed and sobbed at once, hysterical in his confusion of emotions. He could not leave the magic. It would never let him go. It was splendid and shameful but it was the truest thing he had ever experienced in his life.

  The iron dragons leaped into the air, flying high into the room . . .

  The eyes in the darkness spoke.

  “You have done well, my son!”

  Tragget turned quickly in shock and fear.

  The twisted forms of the iron dragons plummeted to the stone floor of the bedchamber, landing with a ringing clank.

  “Mother! I . . . It is . . . it is part of my investigations! You asked me . . . the Pentach asked . . . that I discover the false and deceptive powers of—”

  “Hush, my child.” Edana smiled as she stepped into the room. She wore breeches and a tunic of leather under her traveling cloak. Tragget recognized them as the flying gear she used each time she rode the back of Vasska, but to where? “There should be no secrets between us! There is a time when the darkness serves us well, but here, between a mother and her dutiful son, there should be a little truth at last, don’t you think? Perhaps we could start with you?” Her voice grew quiet and dangerous. “I’m sure there is something that you would like to tell me; something that is a secret that I do not yet know.”

  Tragget felt the blood drain from his face. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean! I’ve always tried to be honest with you . . .”

  “Tried, yes, I’m sure you have tried,” Edana said, stepping closer to her son, “as I have tried for many years to shield you, take care of you, and keep your little secret safe from so many others.”

  Tragget blinked. He could barely find his voice when he spoke. “My secret?”

  “Yes,” Edana continued. She stood looking down on Tragget where he sat on the edge of his bed. “Your secret. That you are one of the Elect, my son; that you are as mad as the rest of them.”

  Tragget could not control his shaking. “I . . . I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about!”

  “Oh, don’t disappoint me, son, not after all I’ve gone through for you—for both of us!” Edana’s voice was sharp-edged as she spoke. “I’ve known you were of the Elect for years now! How is it that you have always had special dispensation to be absent anytime the Eye of Vasska is passed? I’ve seen to that! Your position is uniquely suited to keep you from suspicion; who inquests the Inquisitor? I’ve seen to that, too. Oh, yes; your mother has watched over you, son, and now it is time for you to fulfill all the dreams your mother has had for you.”

  “Mother,” Tragget said meekly. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do.”

  “Do? You are supposed to stand up and fulfill your destiny!” Edana snapped. “You are supposed to take this strange power and subjugate the dragons as fate intends! We need no longer serve them; they should serve us! The Pentach only suspects that this power exists; they know nothing of you! Together we can become a saving force for all the Pir! Think of it! Your destiny has been written in the dreamsmoke of Vasska himself! Now you’ve learned the power from that fool Galen, it is time to finish him and his companions before they challenge you.”

  “Challenge me?” Tragget yelped. “They are no threat! All they want is to go back to their homes and live out their lives in peace!”

  The back of Edana’s gloved hand stung Tragget’s cheek. “Live their lives in peace? With power like this? How long do you think it would be before they were no longer satisfied with just living their lives in peace? How long before they showed up at the gates of the Temple with their own trained Elect, mystics intent on bringing down the greatness of the Pir! We alone must possess this magic or we will spend the rest of our days watching our backs!”

  Tragget slumped before her. “Yes, Mother.”

  Edana considered him for a moment, and then looked down at her hands, tugging at her gloves as she spoke. “I’ve known for days now of your little trip to Mnumanthas. I watched you each night, read your dreams and listened to your murmured words as you slept. Galen and his companions have been traveling for days toward that old ruin—and so have my cadre of the Aboth-Sek.”

  Edana looked up. Tragget sat broken before her. “Now tell me, and consider your answer well, my child.”

  The head or the heart, he thought.

  “You were going somewhere tonight. Where were you going tonight?”

  The head or the heart?

  Tragget spoke his words to the floor. “I was going to find Galen. I was . . . I was going to bring him back.”

  “Good child! Bright child!” Edana took his wet face in both her gloved hands, turning it up toward her. “You are the destiny of the Pir, my son. I have seen it! You no longer need the fool. We shall see that he and his friends are cared for as destiny intended.”

  Tragget heard the scream of the dragon high above the Temple. Vasska was awake and abroad in the night.

  “You will keep your promise to go to Mnumanthas,” Edana continued through a terrible smile, “and you won’t need the caravan. I have a much quicker means of travel.”

  Berkita stood at the balcony.

  She clutched the short message that had been delivered to her as she looked out into the night. The Southern Steppes were dim to her sight but she looked anyway. It was there she would be traveling. It was there her Galen awaited her.

  She wore her traveling cloak. Such things as she had were packed in a sack and laid carefully by the door. Tragget would come to collect her and then the nightmare would end. She would be on her way to Galen and they would be on their way home once more. Perhaps then the sickness that she had felt for weeks now would be at an end, too.

  She gazed into the night, waiting for the knock at the door.

  I stand once more on the shores of Mirren Bay. It is painful for me to see it again as I contemplate what is so
far from me. My little village, however, has been replaced with a great city of glass and lace. It is too beautiful for me to look upon. I walk away from it on the shoreline toward the east.

  The winged woman floats above the sands of the shore over a blue, heatless flame. The stones that I had given her lie in a circle about her feet. It is well, for there are a dozen demons screaming in a rage about her. They wish to destroy her but the stones keep them all at bay.

  The demons, however, are clever. They cannot pass the circle of stones but they can touch them. They are rolling them closer and closer to the winged woman, hoping that they will reach her when the circle is small enough.

  I reach for my sword. S’shnickt is in my hand and I charge the demons on the shore. I leap inside the circle, wondering for a moment why it would let me pass and not the demons. The winged woman grasps my hand, plunging my sword into the blue flame, where it glows with a strange aura. As each demon approaches, I strike from inside the circle. Before my blade can connect, however, the blue flame leaps from it, crashing into the demons. The flame explodes against the demons and their arms fly from their sockets, their heads topple to the ground, their bowels fall out from their stomachs. Each collapses in a gruesome stain on the sands.

  In my victory, I see Tragget. He stands on the shore. “Tragget!” I call out. “I’ve something new for us!”

  He turns and starts walking away.

  I do not understand. He has always been so eager to join me before.

  “Tragget!” I start running down the shore after him. The world is getting darker as I run. “Tragget! Wait!”

  BOOK OF GALEN BRONZE CANTICLES, TOME IV, FOLIO 1, LEAVES 56-57

  Galen woke with a start

  “Galen! Wait! Don’t move!”

  It was Rhea’s voice. He was still confused. He tried to sit up but felt the immediate bite of several swords’ tips at his throat. He lay back slowly.

  “She is quite right, Galen. It would be best if you did not do anything at all.”

  He knew that voice from the Election, a voice that still haunted him . . . Priestess Edana! His mind raced. How had she found them?

  Tragget!

  “Where are the others?” Galen asked quietly. He could not see the hooded faces of the Aboths about him, all holding their swords ready to strike.

  “Oh, they are waiting for you . . . you and this woman both, in fact,” Edana said softly. Her face glowed in the light of their campfire. “The dwarf gave us a little trouble but he is none the worse for the exchange. I wish the same could be said for two of my Aboths.”

  “Sorry,” Galen responded. “We weren’t expecting to entertain guests.”

  “Ah, how droll.” The High Priestess smiled.

  “Why wake us at all?” Galen asked, despair seeping into him like the cold from the ground he rested on. “Why not just kill us as we slept?”

  “Murder?” Edana replied. “It is a sin against all the faithful to murder one of our own, no matter how tempting. No, I’ve come to thank you for your great service to the Pir, Galen. You have secured our rule for generations to come.”

  Galen’s eyes swept over the swords ready to slit his throat. “You have an odd way of showing your appreciation.”

  “Then may I introduce someone else who would like to show their appreciation?” Edana said. She turned from him, her voice changing as she uttered strange and terrible sounds.

  Fear descended over Galen.

  From the darkness, the great shape emerged. It towered behind Edana. Even the Aboths quickly backed away from the massive shadow. The leathery wings unfolded in the light of the campfire, dimmed by their great height. The massive chest hove into view, its scales glistening. Atop the long curve of the scaled neck, the head bent down from the darkness of the night. It alone was fully ten feet tall from its bladed lower jaw to its horned ridges. Its dull, lifeless eyes—at least two hands high—swiveled forward to gaze through Galen. Then the terrible maw opened, and Galen saw the double rows of razor teeth, the long tearing fangs top and bottom, and the shredding gullet, all inviting him with the stench of death.

  Rhea started screaming.

  The dragon’s chest drew a great breath, then the colossal beast roared. It was a sound unlike any Galen had ever heard or dreamt of. The sound shook stones loose from the ancient foundations around them. It ran through his bones and into his head. It seemed never to end.

  A dead silence followed.

  “Vasska thanks you personally for your service in his great war.” Edana smiled thinly as she spoke, though Galen could barely hear her words. “While necessarily delayed, it is, after all, time that you die in glorious battle—and the sooner the better!”

  FOLIO III

  The Mystics

  42

  Pieces in Play

  Dwynwyn woke to a pounding headache. She pushed herself up from the bed. The coverlet was soft and warm. The bed beneath it was inviting. It seemed to pull at her, begging her to collapse once more into its welcoming folds. She fought the desire to give in, however, to its opulence. The waking world around her seemed treacherous, and she felt the need to face it with open eyes.

  The curved room was sparsely furnished. Aislynn lay quietly on one of the two large and ornately shaped beds, her beautiful wings curled protectively around her. The princess trembled occasionally where she lay in fitful sleep. The oval entrance to the room was flanked by columns coaxed into a pattern that reminded Dwynwyn of climbing roses. The exit itself, however, was closed with a series of roughly hewn wooden planks banded together with iron. It was an abomination of a door, offensive for its obvious violence against the wood. The long curve of the outer wall was a brilliant alabaster shaped into delicate curves resembling waves near the shore. These arched over a wide window. There, a window seat was fitted to a low balustrade which protruded out in a gentle bow into the sky beyond. Yet even this idyllic perch was ruined by long, thick bands of iron only inches apart that spanned the opening from top to bottom.

  The room was a luxurious cage and the prisoners had a visitor.

  “Ah, my guests awaken at last,” Xian said dryly.

  “Where are we?” Dwynwyn asked, her hand rubbing her forehead in a desperate and partially successful attempt to subdue the pain.

  “You are in the tower rooms of . . . what did you people call this place?” Xian considered for a moment. The Kyree master was leaning against the wall near the columns, his wings neatly folded behind his back. “Oh, yes, Kien Werren Keep. I have had these rooms remodeled just for you. What do you think of it?”

  “Confining,” Dwynwyn responded at once.

  Xian smiled. “Excellent. I knew you would appreciate it.”

  “I don’t remember coming to this room,” Dwynwyn said as she closed her eyes for a moment. She was disoriented and needed time to get her mind in order.

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” Xian replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were unconscious at the time. Apparently your little trick last night worked too well. It kept us from harming you, to be sure, but it apparently wouldn’t allow any of life’s breath to come in either. You were quite entertaining toward the end, just before you passed out and collapsed to the floor. You said the strangest things.”

  “What did I say?” Dwynwyn asked, a chill edge to her voice.

  Xian raised an eyebrow. “It was unimportant. Perhaps I will tell you about it some other time.” He stood away from the wall in an easy move. His hands clasped behind his back. “You understand that, don’t you, Seeker. What does that mean, ‘Seeker’? Is that your title or rank or some designation of function?”

  Dwynwyn stared back at him. With his pinched face and hideously deformed abomination of wings, he was repulsive to her. She would not allow herself to tell him anything.

  “What does a Seeker do?” Xian asked, shaking his head for emphasis.

  Dwynwyn kept her silence.

  “I see this is pointless.” Xian shrugged, turning toward the blocked do
orway. “I should have had you both dispatched while you were unconscious!”

  “Why didn’t you?” Dwynwyn asked suddenly.

  Xian stopped and considered her for a moment before he answered. “Because it pleased me not to.”

  “That is a lie,” she replied.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment. “Excuse me?”

  “You did not spare us simply on a whim,” Dwynwyn said. “What I have seen of the master of the Kyree would not support such an assertion.”

  “You are wrong, faery,” Xian replied through a thin smile. “I do many things of my own pleasure.”

  “I believe that you kill of your own pleasure,” Dwynwyn said factually, “but you would not refrain from killing without a reason.”

  “You know nothing of my reasons,” Xian said quietly. “You know nothing of my people or our pain. Until you understand those, Dwynwyn of Qestardis, it is you who are lying.” He again turned his dark face toward the door. “Guard! Open the door! These mongrels no longer amuse me!”

  Aislynn awoke with a start. Seeing Xian, the princess caught her breath, pushing herself backward until she cowered against the headboard.

  A metallic rasping sound shivered through the door, then it swung wide. Xian strode toward the open portal.

  “Wait!” Dwynwyn said.

  Xian half turned in the door. “What is it, bug?”

  “You are correct; there is much about you that we do not know,” Dwynwyn said quickly, her mind racing. There were so many questions she needed answered. The Kyree were a complete mystery to her and, so far as she knew, to any of the faery. They seemed to be in the service of the Famadorian cause and yet vehemently denied having anything to do with the Famadorians. Qestardis was threatened by the Famadorians from the north and by Lord Phaeon from the southwest. What was this unknown threat from the southeast? She had to know. “For instance, do you play games?”