What should have been the longest night of his life instead passed swiftly. Sandun saw, with his eyes closed, Kagne and the krasuth moving closer and closer. He rasped through his gag: “Renieth, you will be avenged!”
Here I am! Sandun shouted in his mind. Come! His anger still burned, even as the images of Renieth’s torture came crawling into his thoughts, and again he saw Renieth’s bloody face, the hot irons, the sharp blades, the blood running red onto the hard-packed dirt of the unwatered field.
The sky was beginning to light up in the east, behind him. His final day.
Kagne and the krasuth were so close now, and the presence on the hill was moving also, growing more vivid.
A mist gradually enfolded him; he felt drops of moisture collect on his fevered brow. Kagne was right next to him. He felt Kagne’s hand grip his hand. And then, as the fog became rapidly thicker, he felt Kagne cut through the iron chain that was locked to his wrists, first one and then the other. It was Basil’s knife, the stone cutter, that sliced through his bindings like butter. The other chains were cut, and Sandun set them down silently, all sound muffled by the fog and a swirling breeze.
With his hands free, he pulled the gag out of his mouth. “Give me Basil’s knife,” he whispered to Kagne.
Kagne held two things out to him: the stone cutter and the dragon-circle. Sandun took them both. He felt a growing flame of energy from the golden disk, and he placed it upon his neck as its power awoke.
“I’m going to kill Nilin—now,” Sandun said. There was no question in his voice. He stood up and flexed his arms and legs.
“We need to leave before the dawn breaks,” the krasuth whispered beside them, stepping through the mist, his dark robe covered in water droplets.
Sandun shook his head. “Nilin dies first.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sandun sprang forward, just as he had envisioned throughout the night, running straight at Nilin’s tent. The guard on the right side of the opening had no time to react before Sandun pushed Basil’s knife through his chest armor and into his heart. Whirling to face the other guard, Sandun chopped through the barbarian’s raised sword and then stabbed him in the throat.
Moving into the dark tent, he could see Skathris unmistakably in his mind; it was hanging from a post, but a heavy carpet was in his way. He tore the carpet down with ease, as though it were tied to the tent poles with tissue, and stood face-to-face with Nilin. Two naked women looked up from a pile of shadowed furs lying on the floor of the tent.
“What’s this? Who dares!” roared Nilin.
Sandun said not one word.
Summoning all his strength from wherever it came—from the dragon-circle, from the stone cutter, from the powerful presence that had brooded all night on the hill above the camp—Sandun drove the knife through Nilin’s hands and through his neck, cutting his head from his body. It was as though Sandun were Hurin reborn, with the strength of many men coursing through his veins. He did not relent; he felt no pity. He was vengeance made flesh. He was death incarnate. Blood spurted out of Nilin’s body like a black oil fountain. Sandun tasted it on his lips and in his mouth. The two women on the ground both shrieked in sharp terror.
Sandun took Skathris down from the tent post, tossing the scabbard aside. The blade’s glow filled the tent with yellow light. Kagne was standing at the entrance, holding a sword in one hand. Sandun handed the stone cutter back to him; it was covered in Nilin’s blood. He could tell from the sounds outside the tent that the screams from the two women had woken many Kitrans.
“Nilin Ulim is dead,” Sandun said. He kicked at the twitching body with his foot. “That’s all I wanted. I’m ready to die.”
“I think not,” Kagne replied. “You see, the True Master has come.”
Hearing the sound of metal chains clinking, Sandun turned and saw the two naked women scrambling as far away from him as possible, their eyes wide with fear. He saw they were chained by their ankles to the central post. Without much thought, he cut through the chains with two swift strikes from Skathris. The women fell silent when he did this, but the cries of alarm from the Kitrans were growing louder, as were the shouted questions.
Sandun now felt a terrific power bearing down on him. The True Master, according to Kagne. He found it increasingly hard to think. The dragon-circle didn’t protect him from this power, but then it didn’t seem that the presence was deliberately trying to crush him; it was just massive in its own right. It felt like a mighty ocean swell, one that lifted you up high into the air with irresistible force before dashing you onto a shore.
“The True Master?” Sandun found it hard to talk clearly. “Time to meet him.”
Kagne nodded.
Outside the tent, the mist had vanished, and the early light of dawn turned the smoke from Kemeklos into a steel-gray pillar, big enough to hold up the sky. The Kitran camp had been stirred into life by the women’s shrieks, and armed Kitran warriors were converging on them from all directions. However, Sandun looked up and saw, descending slowly through the air, a man.
No, Sandun thought, this was beyond man. Like one of the gods from ancient legend come to life—the True Master! The True Master came to rest some ten feet above the ground, and his height was easily twice that of an ordinary man. The True Master wore a white exomis, and the belt around his waist was black metal with round white disks. His face and body looked as though they were made of gray marble instead of flesh. The True Master turned his gaze upon them with awful, deliberate speed. His eyes! They were like living lightning, impossible to look at, blinding. A noise came from the True Master, a crackling hum.
This was the presence Sandun had felt during the last few days and throughout the night. The True Master was a terrifying power, one that beat upon his mind like the ringing of gigantic bell, numbing, stunning. The krasuth was kneeling on the ground, his arms raised up in rapturous greeting. Sandun felt like copying the krasuth. What else did one do in the presence of a god?
Driven by rash courage, two Kitran warriors ran towards Nilin’s tent, waving spears. Perhaps they thought they could defend their horde’s leader, unaware that Sandun had already cut off Nilin’s head. The True Master lifted a finger, and the spears the warriors held exploded as lightning forked down, striking both. The True Master lifted a second finger, and again lightning appeared out of the sky, and the two Sogands were struck. Wordless, screaming, they fell to the ground, blackened, with their hair in flames. Sandun’s heart was filled with savage delight. He wished the whole Sogand army would attack the True Master and die in agony.
Sandun’s wish was granted in part as several more groups of Kitran warriors ran at Sandun and Kagne, yelling their war cries. The True Master killed them all with supreme unconcern—such was the incredible power of the lightning he wielded.
Looking at the True Master, Sandun felt a surge of awe fill his chest. No painting, no statue of stone could compare to the reality of a living god, come down from the sky to smite the followers of his most hated enemy. Sandun knew nothing about the True Master, but he felt a fervent desire to serve him, unconditionally and in any way possible. Before this moment, he’d thought he understood the attraction of power when he stood in the crowd outside the Great Temple in Seopolis and watched Pandion appear on the steps, newly crowned as king of Kelten. He had cheered and cheered until his throat was raw. That feeling was as a candle to the sun compared to the emotion that now sought to overthrow his fading powers of reason.
Kagne called out to the god, clearly, ardently: “Master, Nilin Ulim is dead. I beg you, take us from here. Teach us. Accept us.” He sank to the ground and held his hands up in the air, copying the krasuth.
The True Master’s head turned slowly from side to side. Another bolt of lightning blasted Nilin’s tent behind them, setting the twisted wreckage on fire. Sandun found himself on his knees, as bits of flaming cloth landed around him.
&nb
sp; The True Master spoke—or rather did not speak. His voice was in Sandun’s mind, much like Ghost Wolf’s, but far more complex, and…inhuman. The thoughts formed and coalesced out of jagged splinters of meaning and remembered sound.
Dead, his spirit flees + Into the netherworld ++ Yes.
No rest, no halting + Failure-shaped eagles ++ I will take you.
Pursued into empty lands + Talons outstretched ++ You will serve me.
The True Master majestically descended to the ground; gales gusting about his mighty form knocked the nearby tents down. Flags and bits of torn clothing flew up into the air like sheets of ash rising off coals in a fire. More lightning struck tents that were still standing. Amid the peals of thunder came screams of terror from all sides. No other Kitrans dared approach the angry god.
Sandun found he was on the inside of a whirling vortex of dust and crashing sound. A pungent odor came to him; it was like the smell of burning sparks pounded off white-hot iron.
Far from here + The temple stands ++ Come to me.
The wave breaks + Forego the earth ++ Learn and obey.
The sea churns + Embrace the air ++ You are mine.
Sandun and Kagne struggled to their feet, and together they walked, with increasing difficulty, to the massive feet of the True Master. The pressure, the buffeting winds that emanated from the True Master became more and more intense the closer they came. Sandun’s vision blurred, and he felt faint. An arm’s length away from the True Master, he became completely disoriented and then felt like he was falling. A sovereign force seized him around his chest, and he knew no more.
Sandun finally recovered his senses many hours later. It was as though he had suddenly woken up…which perhaps he had. He looked around; he was lying on a rectangular field of crushed stones in a mix of colors: gray and black and reddish brown. Sitting up, he saw that around the perimeter of the flattened field were many stone columns, spaced about fifteen feet apart and standing about twenty feet tall. It was nearly sunset; a few clouds were in the northern sky. To the southwest there was a precipitous mountain, made from a series of jagged peaks and spires of bare rock, reaching up a thousand feet or more. Lower hills, miles away, ringed about in every direction. The sun’s rays lit up the top of the high peak, but most of the spires were only illuminated by the light from the evening sky.
Around the temple—for that was definitely where he was—the landscape was a mad fantasy composed of enormous heaps of broken, sharp-edged rocks piled forty or fifty or even a hundred feet high. At first glance, all he saw was shattered pieces of rock, some black and shiny, some brown, and the rest in various shades of gray. In a trough between two huge ridges of broken stone there was an incongruous black hemisphere, smooth and glassy. It looked like black ice, but that didn’t seem possible as the air was warm.
Sandun noticed one small tree, and then another, and then a few more. They were pine trees, stunted but living, tenaciously fighting for life in this otherwise desolate landscape.
With pleasure, he noticed Skathris lying on the ground near him, and the stone cutter, and the gold dragon-circle alongside them. Sandun tried to remember what had happened between the morning and now, but all he could recall were sensations: being lifted, and frigid air rushing past his face. Nothing more. As he looked at Skathris, he reached out to it with his mind, but it felt different. Not so much diminished as dormant, suspended. The energy in this place was more potent by far than what was contained in his sword.
He became aware of Kagne, sitting motionless, cross-legged, and staring intently at the far end of the temple ground. Looking in the same direction, Sandun saw the True Master, also sitting cross legged, looking—no! Sandun couldn’t look at the True Master’s eyes. There was no sign of the krasuth, but Sandun felt confident he was safe, wherever he was.
The feeling of power from the True Master was very different, less dizzying, here at the temple than at Nilin’s camp. It was as though Sandun were inside the True Master’s power, not outside. Also, the fact that the True Master was nearly one hundred feet away apparently made it easier to think.
The thought suddenly struck him: Nilin Ulim was dead. Sandun had killed him. The Keltens had been avenged. Ashala had been avenged. He had gained his revenge. Sandun felt a surge of pride, and he breathed deeply.
When he looked up at the True Master for the second time, he felt the Master’s attention upon him. He heard the strange, inhuman thought-voice filling his mind. Here, in his temple, the True Master’s thoughts were clearer, less chaotic.
Awake now—welcome, Pathseeker + My temple before you stands.
Ell—you see me—the god of this land + Servants built for Ell.
You have been chosen—to serve me + After Ell created this place.
You will do my bidding + This is Ell’s place of power.
As you wield my magic + There are others like it elsewhere.
Controlling wind and rain + The power will sustain you.
Sandun mustered his thoughts and formed a question: “Do I have a choice?”
Now you have freedom and choice + Knowing you see but do not see all.
Leave this temple and walk away + Knowing you know only partial truth.
Follow a lonely road to cities of men + Knowing you could have had power!
Out of the myriad questions buzzing inside, Sandun picked the one that seemed the most important. “What do you want?”
One more question—then you must decide + Your friend has chosen to follow.
Growth and change is what I seek + He will plumb the mysteries.
For Man and Sogand struggle + He will walk in shadows and secret light.
Kingdoms clash, and the new is discovered + He will know joy in his sacrifice.
One last question? Crazy. Impossible. And yet he had to take this seriously. When a god speaks to you, you don’t argue, and you don’t play the fool. Sandun knew the old legends: keep a humble attitude and follow the rules, and you might survive. What was the one question that could make him say no? It came to him very rapidly. He mulled it over for a minute but found there was nothing better. It wasn’t that he wanted to say no—quite the opposite. He yearned to say yes.
“Do you serve Naktam?”
No + Naktam does not now exist ++ Stars have changed since.
Ell does not serve + Even when he did, Ell did not ++ What was done, evil
The future is unwritten + You must make your choice! ++ Forbidden to all.
Listen now + Your friend takes the first step ++ A path you can walk.
There was a slight difference in what Sandun heard in his mind; he felt, or rather he knew, that Ell’s thoughts were no longer directed to him, nor was he expected to answer. He was a spectator.
Kagne stood and walked resolutely up to Ell, no looking back, no hesitation. While he walked, Ell spoke:
Laughing wolf, accept my power + Accept my word.
From now till the end + You are mine.
From now till the end + You obey.
You walk in shadow + Yet you see the light.
Your life is mine + To spend as Ell deems right.
As Kagne came closer to Ell, Sandun could see less of his friend and more of the hidden lights that were inside him. Kagne reached up with both hands and said, “I will follow.” Then Ell bent down. Perhaps their foreheads touched, but Kagne was nearly invisible, standing so close to Ell. There was a sudden change to Kagne’s inner lights, and a new color blossomed: a color from Ell. After three or four heartbeats, Kagne dropped his arms and then turned and made his way back to where Sandun was sitting. He seemed disoriented, and his face, which came more clearly into view the farther he moved away from Ell, had an expression of puzzlement or wonder on it.
Pathseeker, now is the moment + Gain knowledge or turn away.
Stand and pledge your life + Gain wisdom or turn away.<
br />
Serve me as your only master + Gain power or turn away.
Before Sandun could respond, there was a dramatic disturbance, as another vital force was suddenly revealed. He felt it, Kagne felt it, and Ell felt it. The True Master sprang to his feet, and sparks flew from Ell’s head and hands, making a noise like a swarm of bees.
Ell spoke, but not to him or to Kagne. To someone else. There was an intense focus from Ell. No more shifting voices, just a single train of thought.
But soft, who comes to disturb my initiation ceremony?
What uninvited guest arrives at my door, like a bat or a mole?
Stay, Ajh! Ell knows you now. What urgent need brings you here
At such an unwelcome hour?
Sandun turned to see the glowing figure of a woman stepping between two pillars close to where he and Kagne stood. Woman was an inaccurate description. She was an unearthly beauty, a perfection beyond human form or art. The goddess wore little more than a strophion that covered her breasts and a perizom around her hips. A necklace around her supple neck seemed to be made of stars: small white jewels set on a pitch-black band. In the evening light, her body was the color of rose gold. She moved like a dancer, with a smooth, hypnotic sway to her body and hips. She glanced briefly at the Piksie sword and knife and the dragon-circle as she passed by them. Her eyes passed over Kagne but lingered on Sandun. As with Ell, her eyes were impossible to look at as the sun itself. Sandun had to avert his gaze from her face and instead take in the perfection of her form.
Then she spoke, and her thought-voice was so different from Ell’s it was astonishing. Listening to the goddess was like listening to the world’s finest lute, being played by a master musician. In comparison, Ell’s thought-voice was like listening to eight different instruments tuning but never reaching the same note.
The Fire Sword Page 49