“But you would manipulate me.” Aryx prepared himself to hurl the blade away. “I won’t be your puppet.”
You will not be.… By the Horned One himself, I will not usurp your freedom of choice.…
For the first time since the sword had started to talk to him, Aryx sensed fear on its part. Sargonnas had given it a command, and if it failed, it feared punishment.
The Chaos will not suffer this one to exist … Master. No need for a little sword when no world remains … Only if there is light and darkness can I survive.… Only then can I eat.…
Aryx tried not to think about what the Sword of Tears ate, pondering instead the rest of what it said. He believed the demon blade when it said it wanted Krynn to exist … and if that were the case, then it would behoove the enchanted artifact to work with him.
“All right.” The weary minotaur lowered the weapon. “I won’t toss you aside.”
A wise, wise decision.… The stone flared again.
Aryx suddenly raised it high once more. “But if I ever feel your foul presence in my thoughts again—”
Never! Never, my master … so I swear by the Horned One himself …
“You’d better not.” Aryx looked the blade over, admiring its craftsmanship despite its dark abilities. “You’d better not.”
Never.… The light in the green stone faded to nearly nothing.
By no means entirely trusting the Sword of Tears, the dusky gray minotaur nonetheless thrust the blade through his belt. At first opportunity, he would find a proper sheath, one that would hide some of the rich and much too enticing qualities of the artifact from other eyes. Aryx did not want others becoming overly interested in Sargonnas’s toy. He had been fortunate enough to break the sword’s hold, but others might not.
Delara gently touched his shoulder. “Aryx, are you all right?”
“No.” How could he be with this new responsibility? By passing on the sword to him, Sargonnas had once more forced Aryx into a situation that the warrior felt insufficient to face. “Not in the least.”
“That’s … that’s the Blessed One’s blade, isn’t it?” She almost reached out to it, but the green stone suddenly flared, causing her to quickly withdraw.
“The Sword of Tears,” Aryx returned, frowning at the mischievous artifact. “And whatever happens, don’t try to touch it again. It … has a taste for tricks.”
“I don’t even want to stand near it. Does it know what happened to Sargonnas?”
He touched the hilt. “Do you, demon?”
The sword remained silent. If it knew, it had no intention of telling. Perhaps Sargonnas had even been destroyed, and the sword dared not admit that. Aryx distrusted the artifact’s loyalties and knew that he would still have to be wary, especially if it came to using the weapon.
“It doesn’t answer,” he finally informed them. “Whether it knows or not, I can’t say.”
Seph bent over slightly to study it. “Does it really talk to you?”
“In my mind.” The drenched minotaur shook his head, sending cascades of water flying at his equally soaked companions. “We’ve got to get out of this damned rain! I need to think! I need time to … to breathe.…”
“But where can we go?” Seph asked, glancing around them. “The temple’s not exactly fit for occupation right now.”
Aryx blinked, not having considered that part of their situation. His belongings, and even some of Seph’s, had perished with Sargonnas’s sanctum. They could return to their clan house, but Orilg did not exactly favor Aryx at the moment.
“I could find some room for you at my clan, I think,” Delara offered, her eyes meeting Aryx’s. A breath later, she pulled her gaze away, amending, “Both of you, of course.”
The human must know … the sword suddenly interjected.
“Human?” Aryx ignored the other minotaurs’ perplexed looks.
He who wears the colors of the bison god, it explained, a touch of loathing in its tone as it mentioned the last words.
Rand. The sword wanted him to go to the cleric and tell him what had happened. Aryx saw sense in that, although he wished that someone other than the demon blade had brought it to his attention. Rand knew more about Sargonnas than anyone else, the minotaur suspected. “Change of plans,” he told the others. “We go to the humans’ headquarters. I need to see the cleric of Kiri-Jolith.”
They did not argue, for which Aryx felt grateful. Neither Seph nor Delara needed to be a part of this any longer, but both appeared prepared to follow him wherever he led. Seph, Aryx understood, since the two brothers were loyal to one another. Delara, on the other hand, presented more of a quandary, although he thought perhaps his growing feelings toward her mirrored her own.
With some effort, they retrieved the horses. Their timing proved fortuitous, too, for the first of the clerics began filtering back toward the ruined temple. Others also dared to return, as curious as they were wary.
“They’ll probably use this as an excuse to build a bigger and better one,” Aryx muttered as he joined Delara atop her mount. “That is, if they ever have the chance.”
She turned, her face so very near that their muzzles almost touched. “They’ll have the chance … if only because of you.”
Before Aryx could gather his wits for a reply, she turned away, urging the massive horse forward. The rain continued to come down hard, thunder and lightning still accenting the storm. Fortunately, the weather also kept the streets more or less deserted. They passed a band of knights on horseback and a few hardy warriors clearly on their way to important destinations, but not many other travelers.
Already well worn from the earlier ride, their own animals moved slower than before, but soon the banners of the Knights of Takhisis came into sight. Aryx noted that, despite the humans’ vaunted superiority, their flags hung just as limp in the oppressive rain. Some had even been torn off by the earlier winds. Curiously, the humans he saw nearby moved about unconcerned, as if they did not know what had happened to the temple.
At the gate, they paused before four cloaked but still sodden guards who looked them over with bitterness. Aryx thought that they might give the trio difficulties, but to his surprise, they let the minotaurs pass on to the stables. Thanking the absent gods for small favors, Aryx and his companions soon left the two bedraggled animals munching hay under a warm roof and went in search of the blond human.
“Could it be they do not know what happened?” Delara asked, incredulous. “None of them acts as if anything happened in the city center! Could they not have heard?”
“It certainly seems like it,” Aryx returned. “The storm must have slowed the news, but it still seems odd. Perhaps Lord Broedius has other things on his mind.” The knight commander seemed to have everything on his mind except the safety and security of the minotaur homeland. The very thought rankled Aryx, stirring up once more his displeasure of the Knights of Takhisis in general.
A courier charged past them as they entered the commandeered clan house. Seph was nearly shoved against the wall by the armored figure. Aryx’s brother snorted and reached for his axe, but Aryx quickly stopped him. Their ordeal had set all their tempers on edge, and he didn’t want the others to get in trouble because he had dragged them to Lord Broedius’s stronghold.
“Keep a cool head, Seph. Any of them would be eager for an excuse to lock us away … or worse. We can’t afford that.”
The light brown minotaur glanced back at the door through which the courier had vanished, but acquiesced. “I’m sorry, Aryx.”
I only hope that we can find Rand before I do something wrong, the older brother thought, knowing that he had been but a second behind Seph in attempting to chase down the arrogant knight. Curiously, only a slight touch in his mind by the Sword of Tears had awakened him to the danger of giving in to his temper. The sinister artifact had actually saved them from possible disaster.
Few torches or oil lamps lit the long halls, giving the knighthood’s sanctum an oppressive feel
during the horrendous storm. Now and then a cold-eyed guard watched them pass, but none ever spoke. Aryx refused to ask for the cleric’s whereabouts, hoping instead that they might run across him.
That they eventually did … in a sense. Recalling some vague mention by the cleric about where he was quartered, Aryx led the others down a long, dark corridor that was surprisingly unguarded. He had just begun to wonder whether he was leading them down a dead end when Carnelia emerged from the shadows ahead.
In contrast to the many times he had seen her before, the warrior woman had this once discarded her armor. Instead, she came clad in a black and quite feminine gown belted at the waist and cut low in front. Much to Aryx’s surprise. Carnelia’s dark hair cascaded down past her shoulders, something he would not have thought possible, considering the helmet she generally wore.
She looked as stunned as he when they came across one another. To her credit, she gave him a stiff but courteous nod. “Out of the storm, eh, bull? A wise move this night.”
“You, too, I see.” After a moment’s hesitation, Aryx added, “I come seeking Rand. Do you know where I might find him?”
A brief smile escaped her. Carnelia smothered it before answering. “As a matter fact, if you continue down this hall to the very end, you’ll find his quarters. My uncle thought it better if Rand remained more … distant … from his men.”
Understandable. Broedius probably assumed the cleric would attempt to corrupt his officers with the word of Kiri-Jolith. Of course, such corruption apparently did not worry the knight commander’s niece. “I thank you for your assistance.”
Carnelia merely nodded, then stepped past the minotaurs as if they no longer existed. Aryx glanced back at her retreating form, trying to understand the female. He wished Rand good luck with Carnelia, hoping the cleric’s god would watch over his servant. Rand would need all the help he could get if the female knight desired him.
They followed Carnelia’s directions, arriving but a minute or two later at the door to Rand’s chambers. Aryx felt an urge to burst in but forced himself to knock. The cleric had so far proven the only human friend he had, and Aryx couldn’t afford to offend him.
“Carnelia?” Rand called out in response to Aryx’s knock. The door opened, and the cleric, looking slightly disheveled, peered at his visitors. “Aryx!”
“Forgive us for disturbing you at this hour, but—”
“No! No, your timing is perfect, Aryx!” Rand stepped aside. “Come in! I’ve been wondering about you! I felt some kind of a disturbance earlier.”
“Cleric, the Temple of Sargonnas is in ruins.”
The human’s expression froze. “The temple?”
“You’ve heard nothing, then?”
“I have been … ensconced here for some time.”
From the slight tinge of red in Rand’s face, Aryx suspected that the blond human had not been ensconced alone. He wondered how much influence Rand had with Carnelia and if he dared at times to make use of that influence.
The cleric of Kiri-Jolith ushered them inside, closing the door tightly behind them. Rand’s quarters were simple and very likely unchanged from what they had been when this had served as one of the clan elder’s apartments. Small oil lamps near each corner of the room illuminated a carved wooden desk near the right side, a spartan bed, unmade, at the far wall, and a weapon rack along the left. The rack had been emptied save for the cleric’s staff and mace.
In the center of the room, Rand had made one significant change. The wooden floor had been cleared, and in the center had been traced, very lightly, a pattern that Aryx finally realized was a representation of the stars that made up the constellation of the bison god. Just enough room existed in the center for the cleric to sit or kneel during prayer. A small urn sat near the pattern, along with a few items no doubt needed by one of Rand’s rank during rituals.
“Forgive my makeshift temple. Lord Broedius does not care for the word of my patron to be spread among his men … although I must admit I believe I have made some inroads with a few of them.” There were few chairs, but he offered what seating he could. Seph and Delara sat, but Aryx, too keyed up, remained standing. Seeing that the minotaur would refuse any further offer, the cleric sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed on. “Tell me what happened, Aryx … everything.”
“I’ll tell you everything, human, but I also have something to show you.” The gray minotaur drew forth the enchanted blade.
“Kiri-Jolith, protect us from this foul evil!” the cleric uttered, leaping to his feet and seizing hold of the medallion hanging from his neck. “Aryx! Do you know what that is?”
He probably knew better than Rand. “The Sword of Tears, it calls itself. Sargonnas’s sword.”
The demon blade glistened brightly despite the limited illumination of Rand’s chamber. The green stone flared especially brilliantly in the presence of the cleric. However, Rand, after his initial shock, confronted the Sword of Tears with determination. He held the medallion before him as he moved closer. “Play no games with me, spawn of the Abyss! I know your master and I know his desire! You will do nothing while I am near, understand? Think not that Sargonnas is the only god who has power over you, demon!”
To Aryx’s surprise, the glow around the sword faded. He felt the presence within retreat, as if Rand’s words had struck true. For the first time, the warrior found himself truly impressed by the human’s skills. True, Rand had saved his life, but since then Aryx had seen little of the cleric’s abilities. Yet any who could confront the sinister artifact and even command it had to wield great power.
“You carry the cursed sword …” Rand muttered, a changed person now. “Tell me quickly all that occurred, Aryx, for I fear that we have very little time left to us!”
Aryx related, as carefully but swiftly as he could, the details of the horrific storm, the terrible lightning and its precise strikes against the temple, the inferno in the sky, and the final fury when the winds took up both building and people into the crimson maw. Belatedly he added the tale of his struggle on the beach and, in the end, his confrontation with the sword.
“And it told you to come to me? Of course.” Rand paced back and forth, shaking his head. “I have heard none of this. Oh, I knew the storm raged, and I sensed something out there, but to be truthful, I have sensed something out there since we arrived. I knew, though, that Sargonnas—despite your opinion, Aryx—protected the islands from intrusion. At least, he did before this.”
“But what happens now, cleric? What happens now that the temple and Sargonnas have vanished?”
“That is the question foremost in my mind, followed closely by why Lord Broedius seems not to have heard about the destruction in the center of the capital.” Rand smoothed his robe. “Come with me, all of you! If Broedius knows nothing about this, then he should hear your words, even if I am obliged to tie him to his chair!”
Startled somewhat by the normally placid man’s tone, the minotaurs reacted slowly. Rand threw open the door and marched down the hall, Aryx and the others racing to catch up to him. That the cleric saw the situation so serious further stirred up Aryx. Were they already too late to stop the events set into motion?
“Broedius!” the tall robed figure roared as he charged the doors to the knight commander’s chambers. The two sentries guarding it moved forward to meet him, but a glance from Rand sent both flat against the walls, where they struggled futilely against invisible bonds. Aryx bit back a gasp, for the first time hoping he never got on the human’s bad side.
The doors flung open before Rand, who marched in without pause. A roomful of startled and not at all friendly knights clad for battle greeted them, knights who immediately drew their weapons and shielded their commander. Only one, Carnelia, seemed hesitant. She must have gone directly to her quarters after leaving the cleric and clad herself for this meeting. With her eyes, she clearly tried to plead with Rand to leave now before he did or said anything wrong.
“Stand aside,” B
roedius quietly commanded his faithful. The broad-shouldered warrior’s gaze flickered to his niece, then returned to Rand. “What do you want, cleric?”
“Just now, these minotaurs related to me horrifying news from the center of the city.”
The ebony eyes narrowed. “Yes … the temple of Sargonnas is no more, ripped from the ground by a storm of no natural origin. They should have reported such news to me first, but I excuse them this time.”
Rand and the minotaurs were taken aback. “You know already?” the cleric blurted. “You know?”
“Of course. In every war, a network of information-gathering must be established early. I’ve known since the first bolts struck.”
“And you told me nothing?”
Some of the reserve dwindled from Broedius’s face. “I’ve better things to do than keep you informed, servant of Kiri-Jolith. Your god can keep you informed”—his eyes again flickered briefly toward Carnelia—“or others.”
“But—”
“You’ve wasted enough of my time, cleric!” Broedius snarled. “I’ve far more important matters to deal with, matters of which the disappearance of a fickle god are only the tip!”
“What could be more important than the Blessed One’s vanishing?” demanded Delara. She would have said more, but Aryx quickly quieted her.
Despite her height, Broedius stared down at her, his thick mustache twitching. He eyed the minotaurs, fixing his gaze at last on Aryx. “You might know, Aryx. What might concern me more? Could it be the disappearance, and very likely the death, of another patrol? Could it be the fact that an officer of mine has gained a confession from one of your clan concerning treachery against the knighthood?”
“What?” Now it was Aryx who had to be restrained. The young warrior cast about, seeking who would create such a lie. He knew that none of his people had been a part in the deaths. “What confession? Who brings forth such madness, such lies?”
“No lies, I assure you,” an officer in back smoothly replied. One of the other knights stepped out of his way, revealing to Aryx the sly face of Subcommander Drejjen. Drejjen’s eyes fairly blazed with triumph. “You’ll find all in order, I assure you …”
Reavers of the Blood Sea Page 17
