Mystic Warrior

by Tracy Hickman

  Nothing more I can do? The Inquisitor looked up into Galen’s face. The head or the heart? He was the fool . . . and now the horror would go on.

  “No!” Tragget jumped up with a cry, his hands cupped in front of him. Orange bolts of searing flame leaped from his hands. They smashed into Galen, exploding against his chest and lifting him off the ground.

  Galen tumbled backward through the air, falling chest-first into the ground. Tragget marched purposefully toward him, the deadly bolts forming quickly and roaring through the air into his opponent.

  “It is my destiny, Galen,” Tragget raged through eyes blurred with tears. “You cannot have it . . . you cannot take it from us! Your magic and dreams and powers . . . what has it gotten me? Where has it led me? You did this to me . . . to her!”

  The bolts were not finding their mark, but still Tragget pressed forward, his voice edged with violence. “I’ve got your wife! I’ve got your dreams! I’ll take it all . . . for everything you’ve taken from me!”

  Something was in his way. Tragget blinked to clear his vision, and only then saw them.

  The Circle. They had rushed forward, gathering between Tragget and Galen. Each of them presented their sword hilt first . . . and Tragget’s bolts could no longer reach the object of his hatred.

  Galen stood up among them. His gaze locked with Tragget’s pain-filled eyes.

  “I am not your fool, Galen! I will fulfill my destiny, and not you nor any of your clan will survive to stop me.”

  Tragget turned and strode back to where his mother lay. Removing his robe, he wrapped it as carefully around her as he could and picked up what remained of her pain-racked body. She screamed once in his arms and then fell gratefully silent.

  “I will hunt you, Galen,” Tragget shouted.

  “South,” said the dwarf. “While still we can!”

  The Circle moved off warily down the slope. When they deemed themselves safe enough, they turned and ran toward the wild lands to the south.

  Tragget continued to yell after them from the hilltop.

  “It is my destiny, not yours! Mine! . . . And I will hunt you until the end of time!”

  49

  Destiny

  Dwynwyn stood on the walls of Kien Werren. Aislynn was at her side with her face buried in Dwynwyn’s shoulder. Below them on the plain stood their army of shadow faeries; nine thousand warriors prepared to march into battle in the service of Queen Tatyana.

  “They frighten me,” Aislynn said.

  “I should think they will frighten Lord Phaeon more,” said Xian as he stepped up on the battlement to join them. “This is certainly a development, or—how would you say it?—a new truth that none of his generals have anticipated.”

  “Is our nightrunner prepared?” Dwynwyn asked without comment.

  “Yes, indeed it is,” Xian said easily, “and you may depart at your leisure.”

  “We have no leisure,” Dwynwyn replied. “We will depart at once.”

  “I expected as much.” Xian crossed his arms. “You will forward my regrets to your Queen Tatyana over the taking of this tower, along with my vow to give it up at once.”

  “As I said I would,” Dwynwyn replied.

  Xian nodded. “As well as my desire to negotiate an alliance at Her Majesty’s earliest opportunity?”

  Dwynwyn arched a questioning eyebrow at the Kyree master.

  Xian shrugged and smirked. “I like to back a winner. Besides, you said yourself we have a lot to learn from each other. Perhaps we Kyree could even teach you faeries a new truth or two, eh?”

  “If you are ever admitted to the queen’s audience,” Dwynwyn returned, “I should very much like to be there. It would be an event worth experiencing. In the meanwhile, I suggest that you pull back your forces well to the northeast. I would not want to find you here when I return with this Shadow Army.”

  “Nor would I want to be here when you did.” Xian smiled. “Farewell, Dwynwyn. I trust we shall meet again.”

  Dwynwyn gave no reply. She pulled Aislynn around under her arm and led her down to the nightrunner. The eighteen largest shadow faeries lifted the craft and propelled it over the wall. In moments they were drifting over the great army below. As they passed the front lines, the army began to move as one.

  Nine thousand warriors floated into the night. They would fulfill Dwynwyn’s promise of a new truth.

  A change in goblin leadership is so common a thing that it rarely occasions much comment from those who toil in the service of the kingdom. It is primarily a function of knowing which name one is supposed to curse. It certainly would do no good to complain about someone who had been assassinated or tossed out of power; one had to be up on who did the assassinating or the tossing.

  This time, however, there was a difference that had everyone talking. Even before they knew the name of the new Dong, they knew about his first royal decree. It seemed foolish and stupid and a general inconvenience to everyone in the goblin realm, giving them cause to complain for weeks on end.

  The burning of books was banned—and all books were to be brought to the new Dong at once.

  Galen stood at the top of a hill and gazed to the north as the sun set on the day. He had done the same every day for a month since they escaped the Enlund Plain and found refuge in the wooded foothills to the south. It had become almost a ritual for him of remembrance, regret, and resolve.

  Behind him, the Circle was together for their evening meal in a meadow among the thick trees. Galen and his followers found it far easier to pool their resources than to try to make do on their own. The mystic power—this “magic”—was also proving to be a useful tool in their survival, although not always one on which they could count. It remained a rather chancy proposition to use the magic; it was still nearly as much of a mystery to them as to anyone else. Still, they were exploring it as best they could with what little free time they could find in their day. Survival was a full-time proposition.

  But at the end of the day, Galen always took the time to slip away and claim a moment for himself. He then considered his fate and wondered how it had brought him to this strange and terrible place. Thoughts of home were painful still, but he knew with terrible certainty that he could never go back. He had caused the death of the High Priestess of the Pir Vasska; his name was no doubt notorious throughout the Dragonback and spoken with either anger or loathing. He longed for Berkita but knew that he would most likely never see her again. That life, it seemed to him, had ended indeed.

  So what was there left, Cephas had said to him, but to go forward? Perhaps, as Rhea had said, this was his true destiny all along. If so, then its price was too high. He should have known, he supposed, for the magic itself had tried to tell him back in the beginning, in the dream he had on his last night with his beloved wife.

  The river drags me backward. I roll among the water spirits, their voices laughing as they scurry about me. My body merges with the river and now I am clear as the stream, flowing with it, pulled helplessly down its course. Resigned to my fate, I am transformed. A spirit of the water myself now, I cascade over the crest of the falls. The water spirits leap about excited and triumphant. I tumble through the air and water, smashing against the rocks and exploding into a thousand drops of blood. Each drop is my shattered self, diffusing among the waters of the river and the foam of the water spirits. The crimson waters rush outward into the bay. I am scattered farther and farther apart—thinner and thinner until there is no more left of me to gather up. Nothing left of me to be me. Lost forever among the waters of the bay, lost forever to my home now dark under the smoke of the dragon . . .

  BOOK OF GALEN

  BRONZE CANTICLES, TOME IV, FOLIO 1, LEAF 4

  Thrice upon a time . . .

  A man accepted a destiny that was larger than himself

  A winged woman found strength in a new truth

  And a small thing rose to greatness.

  Thrice upon a time . . .

  An ancient lie would
be laid bare . . .

  A precarious alliance would be forged in the sky . . .

  And the power of magic would corrupt the innocent . . .

  But that is another tale . . .

  Song of the Worlds

  Bronze Canticles, Tome I, Folio 1, Leaf 29

  THE END OF PART ONE

  Appendix A

  Translation

  The Bronze Canticles as we know them today—or, more properly, the Tales of the Bronze Canticles—is not the original. It is a compilation from texts that are believed to date from 436 F.A. to 30 E.A. (457 D.R. through 923 D.R.). However, most scholars believe that the compilation itself was made sometime around 225 E.A., long after the events had taken place and certainly well outside the direct knowledge of the compiler.

  There has long been some confusion regarding the work. The Bronze Canticles themselves were a magical relic long sought after by the Mystics of Aerbon as the key to their understanding of the ancient craft. The Tales of the Bronze Canticles, on the other hand, were based not on the Canticles themselves but on the events surrounding the rise of the Mystic Dynasty and their quest to achieve the knowledge of the ancient Bronze Canticles, as well as their relationship to the faery and goblin realms and the Binding of the Worlds. Over time, events have overshadowed the Bronze Canticles themselves, while the tales of that terrible and tragic time remain.

  Less is known about the compiler, who is usually referred to simply as the Chronicler. What little we know comes from the clues of the text itself. He (or she) is thought by most scholars to be human, quite probably a descendant of the Mystics from the Southern Crescent along the Sea of Rhamas. Most of the dates listed in the Canticles appear to have been adjusted to favor the Rhamas Empire dating system, which was later adopted for use by the human Mystics. Further, the text itself has a distinctly human bias to it both in its language and its selection of texts. The language of the text has a distinctive Lehman Coast flavor, yet is written in a Qelaran script unknown in Uthara. The identity of the Chronicler has spawned numerous debates. The text, however, makes no direct reference to this mysterious person. All we have is inference and our own imagination.

  Original Translation Problems

  The Chronicler faced daunting problems in compiling the texts. It is evident that he or she drew not only from human sources, but also translated extensively from both faery stories and goblin transcripts.

  Of these, the faery stories are perhaps the most suspect, as explained in the marginalia of the Chronicler (included in this edition). Faery thought is so markedly different from human construction as to be difficult for humans to comprehend. Indeed, prior to the Second Epoch, faeries had no stories among themselves as humans would understand the concept. Faery stories evolved later out of the need to communicate in terms to which humans could relate. As such, there could be no contemporary recorded accounts of events as depicted during the First Epoch of the Binding. Famadorian texts, however, were apparently most helpful in drawing a more familiar framework to the events of the First Epoch as it related to the faeries.

  Goblin transcripts were taken from their oral histories and are nearly as suspect as those from the faery realms. Goblins’ basic outlook belies anything but an empirical reality. As such, truth for them is entirely subjective and regularly altered to suit the purposes of the moment. The Chronicler was well aware of this and assures us (again in his marginalia) that the account in this text is a compilation of a number of different transcripts concerning concurrent events. As such, it is perhaps the best hope for any sense of objectivity concerning goblin events—something of a consensus view of reality from numerous (and admittedly self-serving) observers.

  Human and dwarf texts from the early ages of the Mystics are also suspect, though less so than the first two sources mentioned above. The Chronicler’s own human bias, as we have noted, is evident in the selection of texts. However, numerous contemporary sources were extant, and the Chronicler goes to great pains to assure us of their veracity.

  Translation Issues in This Edition

  In translating this work from the original Gerandian, we are acutely aware of the inadequacy of language. Words in translation are often only the shadow of the original intent of any text, and more so here, as we present essentially a translation of a Gerandian translation compiled from various other language sources.

  Nevertheless, we have tried to be true to the Chronicler’s noted intent: to “convey the essence of what was in words that resonate truth in the mind of man.”

  Appendix B

  Pir Drakonis

  The Pir Drakonis was the center of thought, worship, justice, might, and government in all the land of Hrunard and throughout the Dragonback.

  The origins of the Pir Drakonis church—its rituals, liturgy, and practices—lay obscured in the smoke of the fallen Rhamas Empire.

  According to the church liturgy, the seven divine dragons—Vasska, Ulruk, Jekard, Panas, Whithril, Ormakh, and Satinka—descended from the heavens in order to stop humankind from utterly destroying their creation. Their advent marked a new era for humanity—Drakonis Regiva—in which all people would come to understand the divinity of the dragons and their own humble place in the celestial spheres.

  The opening of this new age came when each of the dragons sought out and discovered humans who held within themselves “the gift.” This “gift” was no less than the ability to read and interpret the smoke emanating from the nostrils of the dragons as they slept. Such chosen individuals were then patiently instructed in the complexities of dragon speech and brought into service of the divine dragons as interpreters and prophets of the smoke.

  The Drakonis Pripha, or First Dragon Voice, convened secretly in 172 D.R. This council of Dragon Voices brought together for the first time the priests and priestesses who acted as voice for the dragons of Hramra. With the ascendancy of the divine dragons Whithril and Ulruk, the Drakonis Pripha renamed itself the Pentach, or the Five.

  Doctrines

  The first known formal doctrines of the Pir were the Rules of Five, which were established primarily as the five major points to be remembered at all times by the Dragon-Talkers. These formal doctrines were later practiced and taught only to the Pentach.

  The doctrines of the Pir center on the four major aspects of Vasska. All other aspects (known as the minor, or lesser, aspects) sprang from these four central concepts. Each aspect was divided into two major divisions, known as left aspect and right aspect. Right aspect was that which encompassed the greater Pir as a theocratic organization and deals with church government and the conduct of the general organization. The left aspects were those which related to the individual members of the Pir and their obligations under the doctrines of the church.

  Defend (Outer Knowledge)

  “The Enemy hides in the night: The Breath of Vasska is bright.”

  The aspect of defend encompassed how the Pir related to the ideas, philosophies, arguments, and sophistries of those outside the Pir. The center of this aspect was rooted in the idea that because the Pir were led by Vasska—a divine being—their understanding of the universe was the correct one. Therefore, as they had the only true view of the universe, all other ideas that were found in the world might only be judged on the merit of how closely they adhered to the doctrines of Vasska. Ideas that were not in accordance with the doctrines of the church were deemed heretical and evidence of evil or dark-heartedness.

  Right aspect. It may have seemed paradoxical to those outside the religion of the Dragonkings, therefore, to note that the Pir maintained a very active system of ambassadors and spies who were tasked to gather as much information from the world outside the Pir as possible. The objective was to “shine the light of Vasska’s hot breath” on those ideas and either promote them or destroy them depending on how “correct” they were with doctrine.

  Left aspect. The individual was responsible for banishing all thought or knowledge that was not in accordance with the aspects of Vasska. Ignor
ance was fine but vanished as soon as a petitioner heard something new. Should any concept, thought, or knowledge that was new come to the attention of any member of the Pir, and its status regarding doctrine be unknown, it was the petitioner’s duty to bring such ideas before the local priest and any member of the Pir Inquisitas in order to ascertain its standing with the church.

  One might readily understand, therefore, how the question of what exactly was doctrine became paramount among the Pir clergy and membership alike. This question, of course, fell firmly within the province of the fourth aspect.

  Conquer (Outer Strength)

  “Death judges all: The Claw of Vasska is sharp.”

  Physical strength manifested itself in both left and right aspects of conquer.

  Right aspect. Military strength was a core belief of the Pir Drakonis. The rightness of the cause of Vasska and the protection of the Pir dictated not only a strong military but also the active use of the military in enforcing the rightness of the Pir on her enemies—enemies being defined as anyone who professes thought outside the doctrine of the Pir.

  Left aspect. Just as individuals were responsible for the purity of the doctrine under the first aspect, so, too, were they responsible for exerting the physical might of the Pir whenever called to do so.

  The doctrine of death itself, as established by the fourth aspect, was either a glorious affirmation of one’s faith or the ultimate in condemnation. Those who died with hearts that affirmed the second aspect may use their deeds to purchase from torment relatives or loved ones who failed the Pir in death and whose souls were in torment. There were numerous other degrees of fate that awaited those who died without knowledge of the aspects of Vasska, each of them chilling and terrible. The enemies of Vasska who never knew the greatness of his aspects and truth fell deep into the ground below into the belly of the world, where they were forever being digested by the world but never consumed. Those who died failing Vasska in their appointed task (who are defeated in battle or died before fulfilling a quest, for example) suffered an even worse fate: they were sent to dwell among the spirits of Vasska’s enemies, who would torture them even as they themselves were tortured. This was because their crime was greater: for they knew the aspects of Vasska and yet their faith turned away.