Guardian

by P B Hughes

  Jude’s heartbeat quickened.

  “August 13: I have scoured my religious texts, and yet I’ve found nothing regarding the stone. Still, I do not doubt its significance given its position of prominence within the temple. I will have more information back at the University.”

  The black stone, Jude wondered. Could it be the same black stone that Judge Marriott gave to me? He bit his lip in concentration and continued reading.

  “August 19: I have spent nearly a week in the temple, and have not heard another whisper. While studying a collection of strange scrolls in a chamber beneath the temple, I became so engrossed that I forgot myself. When I finally climbed to the surface courtyard, the moon was high above. I cursed my carelessness, but was quickly mollified. In the moonlight, I found a collection of symbols written on the wall, glistening beautifully. I cleared the surrounding brush to let in more light, only to reveal an entire wall of many hieroglyphics. Only a handful were known to me: the symbols for blood, fire, and crown.”

  “August 21: My last day. What a time I’ve had! Surely, this is the ancient temple of the Cythes—proof that the legends are true. Now, I will be the envy of all my compatriots at Brightcastle Hall rather than a subject of their derision. How I wish I could stay a few days more. But my ship leaves harbor in a fortnight. It will take me thirteen days to arrive back at the coast, and I have given myself one day for delays.

  On the following pages, I have mapped the temple’s whereabouts in great detail. Also, I have included copious notes regarding the murals and treasures therein.”

  Jude noticed that several pages were torn from the book. He clinched his fist in frustration, dragged his thumb down the tear, and continued to read the entry on the next unmarred page. Compared to the previous handwriting, this was scribbled and erratic.

  “September 30: It calls to me, night and day. But I know not to whom the voice belongs—this frozen voice that promises so much. I fear it, yet as much as I fear it, I desire to follow its commands. For I know I will surely go mad should I not obey.”

  Roth’s last entry read: “November 2: The ancient teachings are true—all of them. This darkness that rivals the primal energy—it is the Nosfertu, the power of that wicked race. I go to find the source; I go to find my Master. Delia will show me the way.”

  Nosfertu.

  The word seemed to rise off the page and hover. Finally, he had found something—the energy of the Cythes, the power from which they fashioned their grisly weapons.

  And now the voices in his head had a name.

  “There you are!” a voice sang behind him.

  Jude snapped the diary shut in a puff of dust and spun around in his chair.

  It was Boquietus Bubbs, standing at the top of the stairs. How the man knew about the secret attic, Jude did not know.

  Bubbs studied Jude beneath a sagging brow and then shuffled forward. “All of campus is in a tizzy looking for you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Your friend, Daniel.”

  “He told you about the attic?” Jude asked, feeling betrayed.

  “He told me you were at the library. I couldn’t find you anywhere in the halls. I was about to leave when I had an inkling that you’d be among the forbidden texts. I’ve learned to trust my inklings. This place is off-limits, you know.”

  “I found it on my own,” said Jude, determined to protect the librarian. “I didn’t know it was off-limits.”

  “Resourceful,” Bubbs replied. The man’s sly smile told he knew it was a lie. He sauntered next to Jude. “I hear you come here every morning before sunrise, even on weekends. I thought that after your impressive little spat with the Cythe last night, you’d be resting.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Also, it’s the last chance I’ll get to use the library before leaving.”

  “Very good, lad. I always say that knowledge begins at the library.” Bubbs read the title of the diary and frowned. “Ancient Cults & Religious Artifacts,” he muttered. “The book itself is an ancient artifact, I’d wager.”

  Jude placed a protective hand on the cover of the diary.

  Bubbs cleared his throat. “We may have to find you more practical literature to read when you return from your journey.”

  “I take it you’re still sending me?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

  “I was the target of last night’s attack. I assumed you’d place me under lock and key for my own protection.”

  “Pish posh! It’s the Cythes that need protection from us Miraclists. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re still the most powerful beings on the planet. We defeated them once, and we’ll do it again.”

  “And what if they’re more powerful than before?”

  “You made short work of that woman.”

  “She’s not a Cythe. And it was no easy task.”

  “Easy or not, you’re still going on this mission. We need a display of strength. Greavus and the rebel Irachnians must know we’re still in control; that we still have our Guardians protecting us.” Bubbs nodded at the diary. “Now, you’ll have to place your studies to the side. We have more important matters to discuss.”

  “It seems that what’s important varies between persons,” said Jude. He tucked the diary inside his cloak and stood.

  “The Empire’s interests always come first, even over education. For it is only in times of peace that luxuries like education can be afforded. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Jude replied, though privately he thought, I will allow nothing to impede my learning. The world may burn; I shall continue to read.

  Bubbs pulled Jude’s chair out and sat down, resting his elbows on the table. “We’ve got our best men investigating last night’s attack. It’s being treated as an assassination attempt. The devils are back for more Miraclist blood, it seems. The Captain of the Guard has beefed up security around Brightcastle Hall and is launching a full investigation. Hopefully, he’ll capture them before they escape the city.”

  “He won’t,” Jude said matter-of-factly. “Only Miraclists can stand against a Cythe’s power; and few are the Miraclists who can. If the chief does locate them, they’ll just kill him.”

  Bubbs shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. “I wanted to meet with you before you began your journey. You are the leader, and this is your first diplomatic mission, so I have some instructions for you. First—” he took out an envelope with a bright red seal from his pocket and flicked it with his finger “—concerns this. I’m sending a confidential letter with Ambassador Sweeny to present to Oldguard. It is vital that it arrives unopened.”

  “I won’t be the one carrying it,” said Jude. “So it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  Bubbs scratched the end of his nose and stuck the letter back inside his pocket. “Yes, well, I just wanted to warn you that reading confidential government mail can land you in prison. Just protocol, you know. Secondly, remember your mission: you’re simply to escort Sweeny to Irachnia. Upon arrival, he will meet with Oldguard while you, Daniel, and Ari wait outside the city.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous for Sweeny to go in alone?” pressed Jude. “We don’t know if the Irachnians are hostile.”

  “Ah,” sighed Bubbs. “The inquisitive mind is always brimming with questions. Don’t worry—we’re sending our best cadet as Sweeny’s bodyguard. He will escort Sweeny to Oldguard’s tower. Once you and the other Guardians arrive at the city, rest assured, a few of my colleagues will find you. They will give you further instructions. But remember—under no circumstances are you to accompany Ambassador Sweeny to the tower. That is his mission and his alone. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jude didn’t like the fact that information was being withheld, but he acquiesced. “Quite clear,” he said.

  “Last thing you must know: Ambassador Sweeny is a man with a good deal of pride. If you insult him he’ll do his best to make your life miserable. He’s an archduke, you know. He’s used t
o a pampered life and expects total submission. But don’t let him get under your skin; you’re the leader of this mission, not him. Just get him to Saragosa and everything will be fine.”

  “I’ve dealt with egotistical men before,” said Jude.

  “Good! Now, repeat what I’ve told you. I want to make sure everything stuck.”

  Jude glared at the man, annoyed by the redundancy. “Make sure Ambassador Sweeny gets to Saragosa. Upon arrival, separate from the Ambassador and wait until your colleagues find us with further instructions.”

  “You forgot one thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Don’t open the letter.”

  Jude looked out the window. The first rays of light were peeking over the horizon. “Don’t open the letter,” he repeated.

  Bubbs smiled. “Excellent. Now, you’d best be off, my boy. The others are already packing.”

  Chapter 8

  Daniel leaned against the doorframe of the outer stables—a spacious collection of structures built directly into the wall outside the city gate. It was here that Shade, his raven-black gryphon, was housed. Daniel paid her visits almost daily to continue their training in aerial combat. Now she lay at his feet as he gazed into the perfectly clear stone set in his silver locket. It was second nature to him, to stare into the stone when lost in thought. And now he was transfixed as questions from the night before plagued his mind.

  Lady Lugat—in league with the Cythes? How many more of them lurk among us? What does she want with Jude? He glanced over to his friend. Jude was sitting with his back against the wall, his forest green hood pulled up over his ears. He had dark rings beneath his eyes from a night of no sleep, and had been silent since arriving at the outer stables. Daniel wished they could talk, if only for a minute or two—just to lighten the air. Last night had been an utter nightmare. For Jude, doubly so. But there was no time for discussion, not with the buzz of the morning travel preparations.

  Shade nipped at Daniel’s leather belt, pulling him from his trance.

  “Not yet, girl,” he said. “They aren’t ready.”

  Daniel had was already packed. He had arrived early to practice with Shade. Now, he was forced to wait on his companions as they bustled about the stables.

  “It’s foolishness, I tell you,” said Gregory as he heaved his saddle across his tawny horse’s back. “We’ve got Cythes crawling all across the country, and yet they’re still sending us—a bunch of kids—on a diplomatic mission. I say they send someone more experienced. What if we’re ambushed?”

  The gangly, bulbous-eyed Gizzard scurried beneath the horse and adjusted one of the saddlebags.

  “It’s not an issue of having experience, Gregory,” said Ari, climbing onto her own white horse. “It’s an issue of gaining experience. We are meant to observe, listen, and learn.”

  “Think of it as a training exercise,” Nera chimed in.

  “That’s all well and good,” Gregory replied. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Nahash and Lady Lugat could attack at any time. And then what are we supposed to do?”

  “Defeat them,” said Ari, resolutely.

  Gregory rolled his eyes. “You and Chancellor Bubbs live in a dream world, Ari.” He adopted a mocking tone, imitating Bubbs’ voice: “Guardians are the strongest weapons the Empire has; if a Cythe attacks, well, bully for them!” He scoffed derisively. “Bubbs acts like we’re invincible. He forgets that Nahash has lived for—I don’t know…thousands of years. He’s like the king of the Cythes. Could probably kill any of us with ease.”

  “There is a reason that he and Lady Lugat retreated last night,” Jelani inserted. “They understand that there is real danger in a battle with us. I do not believe an ambush is coming, nor do I believe the attack last night was an attempt on any Miraclist life. I believe they were after something else. Or…maybe they are after someone.” Jelani looked directly at Jude, who was now rummaging through a crate in the corner.

  Sensing his stare, Jude glanced back at Jelani with a cold glare of his own, but said nothing in reply.

  “Come now, Jelani” said Ari, mustering to Jude’s defense. “They’re not after anyone in particular. They have made their agenda clear: murder all Miraclists.”

  “I suppose if I’m worried about Cythes,” said Gregory, looking between Jelani and Jude, “I should be glad I’m not heading south. But at this point, I don’t know what’s worse—goblins or Cythes. I mean, if the goblins aren’t at war with us then, fine. But what happens if they are? They’ll slit our throats where we stand.”

  “They will try to slit our throats,” said Jelani. “And if they do we will crush them.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not give them the opportunity,” said Gregory. “The way I see it, it’s best to get out of goblin territory as quick as we can, first sign that things aren’t right.”

  “They can’t attack you without a declaration of war,” said Ari. “It is against the Ceasefire.”

  “Well you’ll forgive me if I don’t expect them to abide by our laws.” Gregory climbed up onto his horse. He frowned as his feet searched in vain for his stirrups. “Gizzard, be a good man and adjust my stirrups, will you?”

  Gizzard grunted and promptly fit them to the correct length.

  “The goblin tribes may or may not respect our laws,” said Nera as she mounted her palomino horse. “It doesn’t really matter. We aren’t being sent to throw legal papers in their faces, we’re being sent because they fear us. We have power they don’t understand.” She flicked her reins and trotted next to Daniel.

  “Power they don’t possess,” Jude added. “There is no record of a goblin using primal energy, nor is there record of them assaulting an envoy of Miraclists sent on a diplomatic mission.” He headed to his horse and mounted with ease.

  “Right,” said Nera, smiling at him. “So we’ve got nothing to worry about. Like I said, they’re afraid of us.”

  Gregory reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a carrot. “Yeah, well there wasn’t any record of Cythes being alive either.” He took a bite. “But I guess things change, now, don’t they?”

  At that, Jude frowned and spurred his horse through the open stable doors.

  “Do not fret, Gregory,” said Jelani as he climbed up onto his own massive steed. “You just stay behind me for the duration of the journey and I will protect you.”

  Gregory wagged his carrot at Jelani. “I’m no coward; I don’t need protecting.”

  “Of course you don’t,” said Ari. “This will be a standard mission. Everything will be fine. We’ll be there and back again before spring classes start. Now, let’s get a move on. Daniel, are you ready?”

  Daniel looked over his shoulder at Ari, who he thought looked remarkably regal with her white fur cap and coat.

  “All set,” he replied, guiding Shade outside.

  The rest of them followed, trotting out onto the grassy lawn. Chancellor Bubbs, Mordecai, Ambassador Sweeny, and Sir Weston were waiting for them atop their own steeds. Sir Weston looked ready for travel, armor gleaming, head covered in a studded helmet. Sweeny, however, looked more like the head of a circus parade, wearing violet robes with puffed sleeves and a plumed hat to match. Several ornately decorated bags fat with supplies swelled atop his miserable-looking horse. His long cheeks were pink with cold and he wore a politician’s grin, though he hardly looked prepared for any sort of long journey.

  Gregory snorted and leaned over to Daniel. “Your guide looks like a basket of plums.”

  “Salutations!” greeted Sir Weston with a tremendous wave of his hand. “It warms my heart to go on an adventure with such seasoned and admirable warriors. And Goodly Gizzard, it is always a pleasure to see my old friend.”

  Gizzard peered out from the stable entrance and took a little bow.

  “Hello, Sir Weston,” Ari replied, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Ah, fair maiden, it is my only regret that I will not be traversing wi
th you and Masters Jude and Daniel.”

  “Likewise.”

  “A-hem,” said Bubbs as he readied himself. “Jude, come here my lad.”

  Jude flicked his reins and trotted next to Bubbs. Daniel noted that the old man had a small wooden box in his lap.

  The old man placed a hand on Jude’s shoulder and adopted a lavish tone. “Jude, Alpha of the Guardians, I hereby designate you as leader of the journey southward. All of your companions, regardless of title, will answer to you. So it is said.” He slapped Jude on the back. “So it shall be.”

  Behind him, Sweeny’s eyes grew wide with outrage. “But Sir,” he exclaimed, “surely you mean he’s only in charge of the younger members of our band, while I remain the head.”

  Bubbs rolled his eyes. He turned to the man with a sardonic smile. “No, Ambassador Sweeny, this journey is Jude’s. You will not be the head. This time, you will be the tail.”

  Gregory laughed openly, and Nera stifled a giggle.

  Sweeny’s face flushed and his brow furrowed. “I fail to see the comedy!” he huffed. “I am by far the most senior member of our group. To answer to a mere child is beyond degrading.”

  “Don’t question me, Sweeny,” Bubbs replied, waving him off. “Your job is to deliver the message to Oldguard. You’re nothing but a glorified messenger boy. Now, not another word.”

  Sweeny gaped at him like a snubbed guppy, his lower lip quivering.

  Jude remained unfazed by Bubbs’ announcement. He stared on with a gaze as hard as stone. Mordecai grunted and looked away; it was obvious he disapproved of Bubbs’ decision.

  “As far as those of you heading north are concerned,” Bubbs continued, “your job is simple: secure information. Find out if the goblins of the Iron Cliffs have sided with Greavus. If they haven’t, perfect. Your job is done.” He opened the box in his lap and held up a beautifully decorated golden torch. “You will leave them with this very special gift.” He turned it over, scrutinizing the crown on top. “Wars have been fought over the Kordara Torch. Some say it was used by the Cythe’s high priest to light their sacrificial fires. Others claim it’s the torch that miraculously ignited for Empress Vashti so that she could escape the blooddrinker’s catacombs. We may never know the truth. But a fact remains that it once belonged to the goblins. They believe it gives victory in battle to its owner.” His eyes widened with amusement. “Funny how we stole it after defeating them in the Battle of Misty Lake, don’t you think? I daresay, returning it to Chief Korophant will be enough to keep him on our side.” His eyes left the torch and scanned the Guardians. “Of course, this isn’t the real Kordara Torch. We’d never let such a splendid artifact fall into the hands of savages. This is a replica. A replica with a delightful secret.” He smiled wickedly, pulled a small key from the box, and held it up for all to see. “If the goblins should prove hostile, this…torch will serve its true function.” He slid it into a keyhole on the top of the crown and twisted. A loud ticking sound filled the air.