A Hero Born

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “That is the mystery, Warlord.” Kit sighed heavily. “The creature ran upright, and it ran on all fours. It did some very intelligent things to elude us, and it did some very stupid things to put us back on the track. Aside from changes made to put us on a false trail or to make travel easier, it always angled south.” Kit plucked at his service tunic. “We tracked it to within a league of the capital here before we lost it.”

  The implications of what Kit had related made me swallow hard as 1 considered them. 1 saw three possible solutions to his problem. The first was that some sort of strange Chaos creature—one that had not been seen in Tarris or Menal before—had wandered from its normal range and found itself being hounded south. The second, which was really a variation of the first, was that a small band of Chademons had managed to anticipate the annexation of Tarris and had hidden themselves in the province when it was reclaimed. They stayed quiet and only now decided to make trouble. It was even possible that Chademons born within the Ward Walls would be able to pass freely through them as anything else born on this side could do.

  While that second conclusion was quite nasty in and of itself, it paled by comparison to the third. That one, quite simply, was impossible by everything 1 knew of the Ward Walls, but I realized that was painfully little. Simply stated, a Chaos demon, apparently of the Black Shadows tribe, had managed to pass through the Ward Walls. Of course, the most terrifying thing about that was that if one could do it, others could as well. This was, then, the worst-case scenario, and I thought it would be foolish not to give it some weight, no matter that 1 knew that it was impossible.

  1 shivered. “Could a Chaos demon have made it through the Ward Walls?”

  “Not possible.” Kit crossed his arms over his chest. “Even Audin should have taught you that such a thing is impossible.”

  The Warlord smiled. “I think impossible is too strong a word to use here, Lieutenant. Impossible really means that no one has found a means for doing something up to this point in time. As powerful as the Ward Walls are, they are just magick. Whenever a spell is worked, a counterspell can destroy it. The Ward Walls are strong because of the number of Warders we have maintaining them, and because of the complexity of the weaving. That does not mean they cannot be breached.”

  Kit’s face darkened. “How?”

  “I’m not a Warder, Lieutenant, so 1 don’t know if 1 can give you a full answer to that question.” Drustorn shook his head. “As an example, though, we know there were many magickal items of great power lost when Chaos overswept the world, and only a fraction of them have been recovered. There are undoubtedly also countless sorcerers’ strongholds that were likewise subsumed, and we have no idea of what or even who might lurk in them. Of the most powerful of wizards— the Twelve who formed the Seal of Reality—nothing has been heard since the time of the Shattering, so this might be their doing.”

  I frowned. “But if magick was used to breach the Ward Walls, wouldn’t someone have felt the taint of the magick? If Kit’s friend Taci has a spell that allows her to detect such things, I can’t imagine that the sorcerers tasked with maintaining the walls wouldn’t use a similar spell to monitor assaults against the walls.”

  “That’s a good point, Locke, but it could have been non-Chaos magick that created the hole.”

  I nodded to the Warlord. “Or it might not have been magick at all.”

  “Meaning?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Perhaps there is something in Chaos that absorbs magick the way a bandage absorbs blood. If it soaked off enough strength from the walls, something might be able to make it through from the other side.”

  My cousin shook his head. “1 don’t think I like that idea.”

  “Nor do I, but we are speculating well beyond anything we can support with the evidence you have brought us, Lieutenant. What we do know from it is that a fairly lethal creature of Chaotic origin is close to Herakopolis. This is not something that can be taken lightly.”

  The Warlord looked toward me, then flipped the dagger around and extended the hilt in my direction. “So tell me, Lachlan, how did you recognize this as being of Bfiarasfiadi manufacture?”

  I accepted the weapon and tested it for weight and balance point as I had been instructed by Audin. The heavy hilt felt good in my hand, and I had no fear of it twisting in my grip. The cross hilt felt solid enough to be used for parrying, and a line of stars twisted along its edge for decoration. The wide blade had been crafted with a long, slender diamond in cross section to strengthen it down the center. A third of the way down on the lower edge, and halfway back on the upper a wicked hook had been cut down and into the blade. The knife, when thrust in and rotated even slightly, would pull and slice on retraction, making the wound virtually untreatable without magick.

  Staring at the knife 1 tried to answer Drustorn’s question. “I am not certain, sir. I know that Audin, my grandfather and Bladesmaster, mentioned the Black Shadows frequently as I grew up. The stories of Cardew likewise emphasized his hatred for Kothvir, their leader. As I saw this dagger closely resembled those on the wall, 1 must have assumed it was of Bfiarasfiadi origin. It was a snap judgment, made in haste. Was I wrong?”

  “I suspect if I asked either of you to name Chademon tribes you’d start with the Black Shadows, so even a guess would have brought that answer. In this case you were correct.” Drustorn walked over to the wall and pulled the other two Bfiarasfiadi daggers from the wall. “You are aware these are special?”

  Kit and I both nodded. “They are vindictxvara—my uncle Cardew brought them back from Chaos.”

  “Right,” I added. “They both have images of my father on them. They were meant to kill him.”

  “True enough, but there is something more here. The shape of the cross hilts and the way the star pattern is worked along the edges indicate these knives were fashioned for a Chademon who was a member of Kothvir’s brood.”

  I looked down at the blade I held and saw the pattern of stars repeated. “It’s the same with this one. Perhaps the man Kit found murdered had ridden with the Valiant Lancers on an expedition with our fathers. He could have gotten it then.”

  “That’s likely the answer, Locke.” The Warlord’s eyes narrowed. “If it isn’t, however, the magnitude of our problem has grown. On the off chance we are dealing with a Chaos demon who has actually found a way to breach the Ward Walls, its pedigree means it is far more dangerous than we might otherwise dare to believe.”

  I

  Looked up at the Warlord. “Is it true that Kothvir killed my father?”

  Drustorn, seeming more shadow than man in the lamp’s dim light, shrugged. “1 do not know for certain, but he tried many times to kill Cardew.” He returned the daggers to their brackets on the wall. “His attempts were not very successful, but his intent remained constant. I’ve heard it said Kothvir forged a vindictxvara with which he intended finally to kill Cardew.”

  “Do you know why Kothvir hated Cardew so?” In growing up I had heard many stories to explain their animosity, from bawdy ballads to absurd metaphysics. None of them satisfied me—hatred that deep and unrelenting had to be born out of something more than some clever slight or trick.

  Drustorn laughed for the first time in my company, and I found I liked the warm, rich sound. “Mind you, I

  I I I

  did not learn this until well after your father had disappeared, but it seems to fit to me. The Sunbird knows Cardew gave Kothvir plenty of reasons to want him dead. The Valiant Lancers were a formidable group of Chaos Riders, and they took special delight in attacking the Bfiarashadi. Wherever Kothvir went to pursue his dream of conquering all of Chaos—and subsequently destroying the Empire—your fathers and their troops arrived to harry and attack him.”

  I frowned. “The Chaos demons war amongst themselves?”

  “Of course. They have little more love for each other than they have for us. Chaos is a very difficult place to live, so expanding into a neighbor’s territory and taking hi
s resources makes life that much easier. There are battles between Chaos demons all the time, and this is the key to what angered Kothvir.”

  The Warlord pressed his hands together. “Somehow Cardew managed to engineer a truce with Fialchar that kept Lord Disaster from attacking your father’s troops while they were on campaign in Chaos. Kothvir’s dream of uniting all the Chademons included destroying Lord Disaster, so this truce served Fialchar as well as it served your father. Kothvir knew he would never succeed in his own plans until your father was eliminated, and years of frustration made him bitter and furious.”

  “Does Lord Disaster rule Chaos?”

  “No, Locke, though I suspect he would have a different answer for that question. He certainly considers it his realm.” Kit drummed his fingers on the side table. “Politics in Chaos is only slightly more organized than it is here in the Empire. Lord Disaster has, however, reserved the right to destroy the Empire, and he tends to act to thwart the ambitions of anyone who would rob him of his claim.”

  “Well put, Lieutenant.” Drustorn moved back into the lamp’s circle of light. “Fialchar probably would rule Chaos, but attending to all the little details of such a realm would bore him. The fact that the Ward Walls preserve the Empire from Chaos is his focus. Anything he can do to crush the Empire is his goal, and he has enough power to take serious steps in that direction.”

  1 shivered, then blushed. “I’m sorry, but Fialchar is someone I learned to fear as a child.”

  “Many mothers frighten their children with him, but that’s because they do not realize how potentially dangerous he is.” Drustorn smiled. “From what I understand—and 1 was very young when Cardew and Driscoll led the Valiant Lancers—Cardew’s truce with Fialchar kept Lord Disaster’s plotting to a minimum. Those were good days in the Empire.”

  1 nodded. “On the road Roarke, one of the caravan guards, mentioned a prophecy about my father and Kothuir. What was that?”

  “There is a great Chademon book of prophecy, known as the Chronicles of Farscry. In it was foretold Kothvir’s killing at Cardew’s hands. I don’t know the exact details of the prophecy, primarily because we only know of the Chronicles from relatively unreliable sources. At least this is the explanation that 1 was given by the Lord of Shadows when I inquired about the matter.”

  As Gam Drustorn was the master of all the Imperial Armies and Navies, so the Lord of Shadows oversaw the action of all spies, counterspies and constabularies in the Empire. Something in the way the Warlord made his statement told me that bit of information had probably come from a Black Churcher, and undoubtedly had been verified by magick or torture.

  Drustorn looked at Kit. “Lieutenant, I commend you and your people for chasing after this thing. I will expect a full written report by tomorrow, and I will want the dagger turned over to some of the court Mages for analysis.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Kit stood and gave Drustorn a salute that he returned crisply. Kit accepted the knife from my hands. “I will keep the knife in my room here tonight, then I will give it to the Mages tomorrow.”

  “Very good.” The man looked at me, and I shivered under his opalescent stare. “I am impressed with your quick thinking in confronting us here, and your analysis of the situation, Lachlan. From what 1 have heard of your father, you would make him proud.”

  That put a smile on my face. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, I would suggest we return to the ballroom. If anyone asks, 1 think we can say 1 inquired about seeing the collection of weapons your father had accumulated while in Chaos, if that seems believable?” Both Kit and I nodded in agreement, so the Warlord smiled. “Excellent. Shall we go?”

  Kit went to his room both to hide the dagger and change into some more festive clothing. I kept trying to think of something really intelligent to say to Gam Drustorn, but I felt there was little or nothing a villager from Garik could offer that would interest the Imperial Warlord. As my grandfather had often reminded me, ‘tis better to be silent and thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt, so I said nothing as we marched back downstairs to the party.

  At the entrance to the ballroom, the Warlord clasped my forearm. “You have been most kind in showing me the weapons your father collected in Chaos. I apologize for taking you away from your guests for such selfish reasons.”

  “You are most welcome, sir. My father would be proud of your interest in his handiwork.” I smiled up at him and tried to keep my face open and honest, despite our conspiracy. I looked about to see if anyone was watching us or listening closely, but no one seemed to take any interest in us at all.

  Drustorn nodded, broke his grip, then vanished into the crowd. Part of me wanted to follow him just so others could see us together and know he saw me as something more than a provincial youth, but doing just that was what everyone would expect from a provincial youth. To earn the trust he had already displayed in me, 1 had to tamp down the elation 1 felt and carry on as if nothing special at all were going on.

  That was not easily done. Upstairs I had seen evidence of an event that was potentially shattering for every man, woman, and child in the Empire. As surely as we believed the sun would rise in the morning we believed the Ward Walls could hold back Chaos. Without that assurance no one would ever feel safe. There could be no peace of mind because an attack could come at any time, day or night, winter or summer. In that one moment when vigilance flagged, everyone would know they had doomed themselves.

  I recalled nights back on the farm, nights I would recite the rhyme against evil my aunt had taught me. On those nights I was afraid of shrieking winds and moon-born shadows dancing across walls. I was afraid of phantoms and eventually outgrew such night terrors. If 1 had known the Ward Walls could be circumvented, however, I would have always been on edge, ever fearful, and that would have worn me down to nothing.

  But, I reminded myself, there is no proof the Ward Walls have failed. Until we have such proof, even suggesting such a thing would cause such turmoil that people would panic.

  I realized that one possible explanation for what Kit saw was an elaborate charade staged by the Black Churchers to make someone believe the Ward Walls had fallen. The resulting panic would serve their cause well. They could convince people to join them and avoid retribution when the Chaos demons destroyed the Empire. They might even become strong enough to overthrow the Emperor and deliver the Empire to Kothvir’s brood without a fight.

  1 decided the chances of that happening were probably slender, but I decided to tell Kit about my idea so he could include it in his report. I almost headed back up to Kit’s room at that moment to tell him, but changed my mind when I realized that leaving again might be viewed suspiciously. Attempting to appear as if nothing at all out of the ordinary were happening around me, 1 smiled and made my way back into the grand ballroom.

  A quartet of musicians with stringed instruments had begun playing in the northeast corner of the room. From the direction they faced, and the way some of the spectators kept looking toward the opposite side of the room, I assumed I would find my grandmother seated there. The couples dancing in the middle of the floor would have cut off her view of the musicians, but I had no doubt that lames would have arranged some way for Grandmother to communicate her desires for music to the players.

  As stealthfully as I imagined Kit tracking through the snow after the Chaos creature, I cut through the crowd and made my way in the general direction of my grandmother. 1 found Evadne surrounded by her friends. They were laughing to themselves and pointing out individuals in the crowd who, I assumed, had committed some hideous social error. To me everyone seemed horridly overdressed—myself most emphatically included —and I was sure the conversations had more exaggeration in them than claims made in a bazaar on market day.

  Back near the wall, hovering close enough if needed, I saw Marija. She smiled, and, needing little more encouragement than that, I walked over to her. “The musicians are good, are they not?”

  “That they are. Ma
ster Lachlan.” She watched the dancers for a moment, her brown eyes flicking after their movements, then she sharpened her gaze and turned it on me. “So, Master Lachlan, why are you not on the floor, giving some poor girl the thrill of a lifetime?”

  I blinked my eyes once, then frowned. “First of all, I am Locke. Lachlan is a name that gets used when someone is inclined to be formal, or I am being disciplined.”

  “Well then, Master Locke, why aren’t you dancing?” Her voice took on a playful tone. “You seemed quite taken with Xoayya earlier. I heard you promise her a dance.”

  “Me, taken with Xoayya? No.” I shook my head. “Besides, she told me I was going to dance with her, I didn’t ask her to dance. I don’t intend to dance with anyone.”

  “And break the hearts of all the girls you met tonight?”

  I looked around to see if she was speaking to someone else, but I was the only person around. “1 do not have a clue as to what you are talking about. I’m not breaking anyone’s heart.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised?” Her grin became wolfish. “You’re still not getting this, are you?”

  “Not even close. Is this some sort of Herak joke?”

  “No, but 1 thought it obvious enough that even a Garikman could get it.” Marija sighed wistfully. “Mistress Evadne is quite wealthy, and both of her sons were quite famous before they were lost in Chaos. Her grandsons, the two 1 have met anyway, are most handsome and would be quite a catch for any of the poorer noble houses of the Empire. Any of the young women to whom you were introduced this evening would love to have you ask them to dance. Their parents would be overjoyed with the idea.”

  I looked at the women on or surrounding the floor. I did remember quite a few young women being introduced to me in the receiving line, but I had forgotten their names as quickly as the echoes of them faded from my ears. While many of the girls were very pretty, and wore wonderful gowns that accentuated their beauty, I found something missing.