Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

  Raven nodded. He knew the man now. Raven continued on to the cook fire. He would see the officer in his own good time, which might mean after supper or next week.

  Raven was just finishing his meal and thinking he would go back to sleep again, when he became aware of a pair of black boots with the flowing white trousers worn by the Dunkargan military tucked into the tops standing in front of him. Squatting cross-legged on the ground, Raven looked up to see Commander Drossel looking down.

  “I have an important matter to discuss with you, Captain Ravenstrike.”

  Raven shrugged. He had finished eating, but he didn’t feel all that good. Still, he knew Dunkargans. Once they got an idea in their heads, they would never rest until they had acted on it. If Raven didn’t talk with the Dunkargan now, this commander would hound him and he would have no peace at all. Best to get it over with. Raven eased himself to his feet and accompanied the Dunkargan officer to the barracks.

  Finding a quiet room in the large blockhouse, Drossel took Raven inside. The room was empty except for a table and a couple of chairs. There were no windows, only openings in the top portion of the walls where blocks had been left out to provide for air circulation. Raven felt stifled the moment he entered, ill-at-ease.

  Commander Drossel pointed to a chair. Raven remained on his feet, knowing that to sit down was to prolong the stay. Drossel smiled and pointed to the chair again. To make his offer more palatable, the Dunkargan indicated a crockery pot and a couple of small crockery mugs on the table. Steam rose from the pot. An enticing aroma filled the room. Raven sniffed appreciatively.

  “We have a lot to discuss, Captain,” Drossel said, apologetically, as if he knew how Raven felt about being cooped up in this small room. “Coffee?”

  Not all the Trevenici liked the Dunkargan hot drink known as coffee, claiming that it smelled better than it tasted, but Raven happened to be one who did. He sat down in the chair and watched in approval as the commander poured the thick, syrupy black liquid into the small mug. The coffee was laced with honey, but it was still bitter to the taste. Raven took a very small sip, his eyes puckering at the bitterness. Once past that, he could enjoy the rich flavor of the roasted beans and the honey.

  “You are back from leave early,” Drossel commented, sipping at his own coffee.

  Raven shrugged, made no comment. That was his business, none of this officer’s.

  Drossel went on to remark, laughingly, that most soldiers had to be dragged back kicking and screaming from leave. Raven didn’t pay much attention. Dunkargans were known to waste breath on talk that said nothing. He sipped at his coffee. He had not drunk coffee for a long time. The beans were expensive and he had never learned the art of making the brew. Raven did not remember that coffee had this relaxing effect. The last time he had drunk some, he had felt jumpy and twitchy. This time, all his muscles seemed to go limp. His eyelids drooped. He had to concentrate to hear what the Dunkargan was saying.

  Drossel watched Raven intently, then came around to sit on the table, quite close to him.

  “You paid a visit to the Temple of the Magi last night, didn’t you, Captain?”

  Raven blinked at the man. Raven had no intention of answering and was astonished to hear his own voice doing just that. “I was there, yes. What of it?”

  “You handed over some armor you had found, I believe,” Drossel continued pleasantly. “Black armor. Very strange armor.”

  “Cursed,” Raven said. He didn’t want to talk about this. Talking about this armor was dangerous, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “Where did the armor come from, Captain?” Drossel asked, his voice losing the pleasant quality, sharpening. “You said you found it. Where did you find it?”

  Raven tried to get up to go, but he couldn’t walk properly, stumbled like a drunken man. Drossel steered Raven back to the chair and the questions started again. The same questions, over and over and over.

  Raven saw the armor, black and oily; he saw Jessan unwrapping the blanket, giving him the armor; he saw Ranessa lunging at him with her sharp nails like talons; he saw the dying knight Gustav; he saw Bashae running into camp, telling his story; he saw the dwarf, Wolfram, panting and frightened. Raven didn’t like the dwarf. He remembered that quite clearly. He saw all this at once and he knew he didn’t want to be talking about any of it, but his mouth plucked images from his brain and spewed them forth.

  Only sometimes, when the danger was so bad that he could barely stand it, was he able to stop the words, but that took an immense amount of effort on his part, effort that was painful and left him sweating and shivering.

  The next thing Raven knew, he was being carried from the room by two soldiers, who grunted under his dead weight. They dumped him in his tent, muttering about drunken barbarians who couldn’t hold their liquor. He lay on ground that seemed to be constantly falling out from underneath him, stared up at the tent poles that writhed and twined in his blurred vision, and he did not sleep so much as pass out.

  Drossel went to the Temple of the Magi to report his findings.

  Shakur knew the moment he looked at the black armor brought in by the Trevenici that the armor was Svetlana’s. But how had her armor come to be in the possession of a Trevenici? What had happened to the Dominion Lord and, most important, what had become of the Sovereign Stone?

  Now, after speaking to Drossel, Shakur had answers. He did not have all the answers—curse the stubbornness of the Trevenici—but he had enough.

  Taking out the blood knife, Shakur placed his hand upon it and sent his thoughts to his master. The link was quickly connected. Dagnarus had been waiting eagerly to hear from Shakur.

  Having positioned his forces to attack Dunkar, the Lord of the Void had departed, traveling northward. He was currently in the mountains of Nimorea, not far from Tromek, the elven nation. Neither the Nimoreans nor the elves were aware that an immense force of fierce warriors from another part of the world threatened their lands. Dagnarus held his taan on a tight leash. They marched at night, keeping under cover, using the magic of the Void to conceal their movements. Another taan army lurked outside the capital city of Dunkar and still a third was hidden in the wilderness of Karnu. Dagnarus was now poised to begin the conquest of Loerem.

  “What news?” Daganarus’s thoughts thrummed through Shakur’s veins like the warm blood that no longer circulated in his decayed body. “Where is Svetlana? Have you recovered the Stone?”

  “Svetlana is dead, my lord,” Shakur said bluntly.

  “Dead?” Dagnarus repeated, his anger burning. He had never reacted well to bad news. “What do you mean, dead? She is a Vrykyl. She is already dead!”

  “Then she is deader,” Shakur returned wryly. “She died by the hand of the cursed Dominion Lord. I have seen what was left of her, my lord. I know. Her armor was brought in by a Trevenici warrior.”

  “And where is the Stone?”

  “I do not know for certain, my lord. It wasn’t with her. But I have made inquiries and I have some ideas. One of our agents has questioned the Trevenici.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The man was reluctant to speak, my lord. He resisted the truth potion, but we managed to learn a great deal. The Dominion Lord killed Svetlana, but not before she managed to fatally wound him. The Trevenici found the knight. He was dying. He had with him the Sovereign Stone—”

  “Did the Trevenici tell you that? Did he see the Stone?”

  “No, my lord. The Dominion Lord would never reveal such a treasure to a pack of barbarians. We know from Svetlana that the Dominion Lord was in possession of the Stone. According to the Trevenici, the man was desperate to complete some quest before he died. What else could that quest be but to take the Stone to New Vinnengael?”

  “That makes sense,” Dagnarus conceded. “What else did you find out?”

  “The knight died. He was buried with great honor in the village. Now here is the interesting part, my lord. After his death, a dwarf, who was wit
h the knight and may have even been a traveling companion, departed the village. At the same time, another group also left the village. We do not know much about this second group, for every time our agent pressed the Trevenici, he grew agitated and resisted the agent’s probings. Our agent assumes that someone in this group is close to the Trevenici and that he is protecting them.”

  “The agent found out nothing more from this Trevenici?” Dagnarus demanded angrily. “Question him again. Don’t use some fool potion. He has the information I need. Tear him into little pieces until you find it!”

  “He is Trevenici, my lord. He would reveal nothing under torture,” said Shakur with finality. “His disappearance would start the other Trevenici asking questions. They would search for him, perhaps alert those in his village…If I might suggest a different course of action, my lord?”

  “Very well, Shakur. You are a cunning bastard. What do you propose?”

  “We know the location of his village. I will send my mercenaries in company with a bahk to the village with orders to obtain what information they can from the villagers. With its uncanny ability to sniff out magic, the bahk will be useful in discovering the Stone if it remains in the village—”

  “You will not find it in the village,” Dagnarus returned with finality. “The Stone has been sent on. It moves in the world. I sense it, feel it, taste it…How could I not, Shakur? For two hundred years, this shard of rock, this bauble, this jewel has been the object of my dearest desire. I paid for it with my blood. The Stone is stained with my blood. In my dreams, I see it. I reach out to seize it…and it slips away. The Stone travels north, Shakur. The Stone travels north…and it travels south.”

  Shakur had to work very hard to keep his thoughts in check, but apparently he failed, for Dagnarus came back to say, “You think me mad…”

  “Not so, my lord,” Shakur thought hastily, scrambling, “Suppose this knight found a way to split the Stone? Two hundred years ago, it was split into four separate parts. Could it not be further divided?”

  “No! Impossible!” Dagnarus was firm. “I saw the Stone. I handled it. The Stone was meant to be split into four separate sections. Five, if you count the Void. But no more. Not the sharpest sword blessed with the strongest magic could cut it.”

  “And yet, it appears that the impossible has happened, my lord,” Shakur observed.

  “Has it? I wonder. Consider this: The Dominion Lord is sick, dying, desperate. But he is also smart and clever. Clever enough to find the Sovereign Stone, clever enough to defeat and kill one of my Vrykyl. In order to send on the Stone, he cannot count on finding people who are as clever or wise or smart as himself. Svetlana accomplished that much at least. She brought about the death of the one man who might have bested us. She forced the Dominion Lord to pass the Stone to those weaker and more vulnerable. The Dominion Lord would do his best to ensure the Stone’s safety. But he can no longer watch over it, guard it.

  “What would he do? He would do what I would do myself. When I send a messenger to the general of my armies, I do not tell the messenger the nature of the message he carries. Thus if he is captured, he cannot reveal what he does not know. If I were sending the Sovereign Stone to the Council of Dominion Lords in New Vinnengael, I would not tell the one carrying the Stone the nature of what he has in his possession. I would tell him he carries something of value, but no mention of how valuable. And do you know what else I would do, Shakur?”

  “You would send out a decoy, my lord.”

  “Exactly. I know that Vrykyl are searching for the Stone. I fear that they may have the ability to sense its powerful magic. I send out a decoy…”

  “But the Stone cannot be split or duplicated—”

  “That is true. We know, however, that the Vinneng-aeleans continue to create Dominion Lords from the residual magical power left behind in the setting that they found on Helmos’s body. Let us assume that the Stone was housed in some case or had been hung on a chain—”

  “Of course, my lord! That is the answer. The knight sent out two parties. One with the Stone and the other carrying something that is meant to draw off pursuit. One messenger is the dwarf. The other, the group the Trevenici was so loath to talk about.”

  “I like your idea, Shakur. Find that Trevenici village. See to the matter personally, don’t leave it to mercenaries. Question the inhabitants and if they have the least knowledge about the Sovereign Stone, drag it from them. That done, kill all of them. Destroy any man, woman or child who ever saw the Dominion Lord or who knows anything at all about the Sovereign Stone. I do not want other Dominion Lords hearing of its recovery and setting off in search of it.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Shakur was uneasy and his uneasiness was impossible to hide.

  Dagnarus was quick to take note. “What is it, Shakur?”

  “I regret to report that the brother who interviewed the Trevenici when he arrived here with the armor has disappeared. As I told you, I had taken steps to insure that the meddlesome Brother Ulaf did not return alive to New Vinnengael with word of Void-cursed armor. Jedash hid in ambush along the road, but Brother Ulaf did not appear. Sometime later, the cook discovered a cast-off robe that was identified as belonging to Brother Ulaf. No one saw him after the encounter with the Trevenici at the gate. His bed was not slept in. He apparently fled during the night.”

  Dagnarus’s anger could be painful if he chose, for he held absolute control over the Vrykyl through the Dagger of the Vrykyl. It seemed to Shakur that he was never free of the Dagger, that he still felt the blade in his back, the burning pain that stole his life and gave this horrid nonexistence in return. When Dagnarus was angry, the Dagger twisted and the pain was excruciating.

  Shakur waited, but the pain did not come.

  “As to this missing brother”—Dagnarus gave a mental shrug—“he saw the Vrykyl armor. Perhaps he even touched it. He was terrified and so he fled.”

  “It is a possibility,” said Shakur, not convinced and unable to suppress his doubts, no matter how much it might cost him. “But I do not think so, my lord. He claimed to be a Vinnengaelean and so I thought nothing of the fact that he was unusually stupid and thick-headed. But now I wonder if that was just an act.”

  “Bah! Even if he was not what he appeared, what did he find out? He saw some Void-tainted armor. Nothing more. He may tell all the world, if he likes, but the information will do them little good.”

  “Still, my lord—”

  “Do not argue with me, Shakur,” Dagnarus warned. “My dearest wish has been granted. I am in a good mood and therefore willing to overlook this lapse on your part.”

  Shakur bowed. “What are your plans now, my lord?”

  “Taking the Stone’s discovery as a sign, I wait no longer. This night, I will send orders to proceed with two of the three planned assaults. Tomorrow, my troops will launch attacks against Dunkar and the Karnuan Portal.”

  Shakur was astonished. “Is all prepared? Are your armies in place?”

  “As to Karnu, I will attack with the troops I have there now. The Karnuans have sent most of their army through the Portal to the opposite end at Delek ’Vir to protect against a Vinnengaelean attack. Once I hold the western end of their Portal, they will not be able to send these troops back. When Dunkar falls, the troops in that city will sail across the Edam Nar and attack Karnu’s capital Dalon ’Ren from the sea, while another army attacks overland. Not my original plan, but one that will work, since the downfall of Dunkarga is assured.”

  Dagnarus sensed his vassal’s disapproval. “It is assured, isn’t it, Shakur?”

  “All is in place, my lord. You have only to say the word. But how does starting the war of conquest now help with the recovery of the Sovereign Stone?”

  “The Stone must reach the Council of Dominion Lords in New Vinnengael. Its bearers could travel overland, but the way is fraught with danger and it would take them six months of hard journeying at least, perhaps longer. The Dominion Lord would have impressed on his
bearers the need for speed. He would have told them to take one of the magical Portals that leads to New Vinnengael, thus cutting the journey’s time from six months to a few weeks. The closest Portals are the Karnuan Portal and the elven Portal. I will capture the one at Karnu. If the bearers try to enter there, we will take them.”

  “And what of the elven Portal, my lord?”

  “I am not ready to attack Tromek yet. The situation here is too delicate. The Lady Valura works at acquiring the elven portion of the Stone, and I dare not do anything to upset her plans. I am here, however, and if the Stone goes to elven lands, I will know it. Whichever way the Stone travels, the bearers will find their way blocked. I suppose you can leave your post at the Temple without occasioning too much comment?”

  “The start of the war will give me an excuse to absence myself, my lord. In the guise of the High Magus, I will tell the king that I am leaving Dunkar, traveling to the Temple of the Magi in New Vinnengael, where I hope to put a stop to this great evil. No one will question my departure, nor will they question the fact that the High Magus never returns.”

  “There will probably be few left alive to question,” Dagnarus said, with another shrug.

  Ravenstrike woke from his drugged sleep with the nagging, uneasy feeling that something had gone horribly wrong for him in the night. He remembered an officer talking to him and asking him questions, questions that Raven had not wanted to answer, but which he had ended up answering. Sitting up on his mat, he clutched his aching head and tried to recall the events of the previous night. The memories slid out of his grasp as if they were coated with the oily ooze of the black armor. He had been poisoned. The poison had made him say what he did not want to say.

  He was able to remember disjointed words and sometimes the fragment of a sentence and these were enough to disturb him deeply. Because of the poison, he had placed the tribe in danger. He had to return to the tribe immediately to warn his people of their peril.

  What that peril might be, he did not know and could not say, but that did not matter. Unlike city humans, the Trevenici are accustomed to relying on their instincts and to acting immediately on those instincts without stopping to try to rationalize or define them. Thus city humans marvel to see a Trevenici duck in time to save himself from the thrown spear, although he could not possibly have seen the spear coming. If asked to explain this, the Trevenici will have no answer, except to say that if city people would leave their walls they might smell something besides their own stench.