“We were discussing love,” the Shield said, turning back to his guest. “A destructive force, as I was saying—” He paused, alarmed. “My lady, are you ill?”
“No, no,” Lady Godelieve said, but the words were inaudible, came from lips so stiff she could barely move them.
“You do not look well. I will have the bridge lowered at once.” The Shield was on his feet. “Some wine…a honey posset…”
“Please, do not trouble yourself on my account, my lord.” The Lady Godelieve reached out her hand, rested her cool fingers on his arm. “A sudden indisposition, nothing more. I am quite recovered. Let us continue with our business.”
“If you are certain…” The Shield regarded her worriedly.
The lady assured him that she was and the Shield returned to his seat. He still had doubts, for she was extremely pale and he could plainly see marks upon her palm where she had driven her nails into her flesh. He did not question her further, however. One’s health is a private matter among elves. Unlike humans, who delight in relating gruesome accounts of their latest gout attacks and the agonies suffered during a ruptured appendix, elves make no mention of illness in public and very little in private. The human greeting: “How are you?” is offensive to elves, who would never dream of questioning one another on something so personal. No matter how worried he might be about his companion, the Shield was bound by the dictates of politeness to continue on as if nothing had occurred.
“The Dominion Lords are not an issue,” said the Shield. “Lady Damra will come around to my way of thinking. She will have no choice.”
The Lady Godelieve looked as if she might have doubts on that score, but she said nothing, moved on to the next point—the attack on the Tromek Portal.
“The forces of King Dagnarus are in position along the Nimorean border,” Lady Godelieve reported. “He keeps the taan in hiding, of course. When he receives word that the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone is in safe-keeping and out of the hands of the Divine, King Dagnarus will launch the attack against the Portal. You will see to it that he wins.”
“Of course. How goes the war with Karnu?” the Shield asked. “Has the Karnuan Portal fallen yet?”
The Lady Godelieve frowned. Displeased, she favored the Shield with a cold glance. “The war with Karnu progresses slowly, but it progresses.”
The Shield responded with polite wishes for the king’s success, though privately he doubted if Karnu would fall. The Karnuan military was one of the best trained, best equipped forces on Loerem. The Shield’s spies reported that King Dagnarus’s war against Karnu was bogged down, that Dagnarus had badly underestimated the Karnuans’ resolve and tenacity. The siege of the Karnu capital of Dalon ’Ren had been repulsed and Dagnarus had suffered heavy losses when a force from the neighboring city of Karfa ’Len had marched to the aid of the capital. Caught between hammer and anvil, the taan had been forced to retreat. The siege of the Karnuan Portal continued, but the Portal had yet to fall.
“Will King Dagnarus be sending reinforcements to Karnu?” asked the Shield. “I ask only because it seems to me that he is spreading his armies thin. I want to make certain that this attack on New Vinnengael will succeed. You can understand my concern, Lady Godelieve.”
“Quite, my lord,” she returned. “King Dagnarus believes that the numbers of his forces in Karnu are more than sufficient to achieve victory. That being said, once Dagnarus controls Vinnengael, he will be able to attack Karnu from the east, as well as the west. If Karnu falls now, or Karnu falls later, Karnu will still fall.”
So, thought the Shield to himself, Dagnarus will not be sending in reinforcements. His troops in Karnu must make do with what they have. He wondered idly if those taan commanders knew that they were being flung to the wolves. Since he had heard that the taan monsters gloried in death in battle, perhaps they did not care.
“The Tromek Portal will fall. I will see to that,” said the Shield. “In return, King Dagnarus pledges that he will move his troops straight through the Portal, that he will enter and exit our lands in the space of twenty-four hours and that he will relinquish control of the Portal once he has made use of it.”
The lady found this talk of war boring. As she listened to the Shield, her gaze rested upon a pair of regal, white birds known as egrets. A mated pair, they strolled together through the crystal waters of the lake, their long, graceful legs lifting slowly and deliberately, their white head plumage fluttering in the wind. One, the male, spotted a fish. His head darted into the water, snagged it. Bringing it up, he presented it to his mate, who accepted it with delicate grace and gulped it down whole.
The lady watched the two birds a moment longer, then said, “King Dagnarus makes that pledge, my lord. Knowing that it is natural for two people who have never met face-to-face to hold doubts, I offer myself as hostage to the king’s good faith. I will remain in Glymrae, in your keeping. Should King Dagnarus break his sworn word, you have leave to vent your wrath upon me.”
“Then I have no more doubts,” said the Shield with courtly gallantry. “For I well know that King Dagnarus will never risk harm to such a beautiful lady, one whom he must hold in his highest esteem and regard.”
The Lady Godelieve murmured her gratitude for the compliment and expressed her unworthiness. All the while she spoke, she did not look at him, but kept her gaze on the egrets.
“That leaves only the Sovereign Stone,” said the Shield and with these words he won back the lady’s attention. In this, she was vitally interested. “You run a great risk. I must own that I am reluctant to expose you to such danger.”
“I do not make light of the danger, my lord, but I think you overestimate it. Our plan is a sound one. And,” she added humbly, “should something go wrong, I am easily denounced. I am expendable.”
“If you are determined—”
“I am, my lord. All is planned. It is too late to back out now.”
The Shield yielded with a good grace, as he’d intended to do all along. “Very well. When the theft of the Sovereign Stone is discovered, I will send messengers throughout the realm, proclaiming that the gods themselves have given us this sign that they have turned their backs upon the Divine. You have arranged for a place of safe-keeping for the Stone?”
“Oh, yes,” said the lady with calm composure. “On that you may rest assured.”
The Shield regarded her long and hard. Much as he would like to ignore them, the words of his Honored Ancestor returned to him. Dagnarus is an abomination, a thing of evil. And this is the creature with whom you would ally yourself. The Shield admired the beauty of the Lady Godelieve, but he was not some moon-struck youth, to fall prey to the throbbing of his private parts and abandon common sense. The Shield was a tall man, counted thin even among the slender elves. His body ran to muscle and bone and ambition, as the saying went. He had a wife, taken by the customary elven practice of arranged marriage. The two of them had collaborated to produce the requisite number of children and, beyond that and appearing together at public functions, they had little to do with each other. He kept no mistresses, knowing that they could pose a danger to him. He measured everything in his life by one tape—his quest for political power—and he used that tape to take the measure of the Lady Godelieve.
“I remain in your keeping, Shield,” said the lady quietly. “From this moment forward, my life is in your hands.”
“You know, Lady Godelieve,” said the Shield, “that it would grieve me deeply to harm you.”
The lady made a seated bow.
“But it is a grief,” he added gently, “from which I would soon recover.”
“I would not cause you grief, my lord,” said Lady Godelieve, “on any account.”
The Keeper of the Keys appeared on the bank. Catching the Shield’s eye, the Keeper made a gesture. The Lady Godelieve was quick to see this and rose to her feet, saying that as much as she was enjoying herself, she was certain the Shield had urgent matters to which he must attend. The Shield
demurred, saying that he could gladly spend a month in the company of the lady and urged her to be seated. She insisted, however, and the Shield was at last forced to yield to her.
The bridge lowered. As the lady stepped upon it, the Shield came to escort her.
“I saw you admiring my birds,” he said. “They are quite rare. I had them imported from the south. It would please me greatly to present them to you as a gift, Lady Godelieve.”
“I thank your lordship very much,” said the Lady Godelieve, without a glance at the birds, “but I have no luck with living things. In my care, they would surely die.”
The Lady Godelieve declined a polite invitation from the Shield’s wife to spend the remainder of the day with her. Since the Shield’s wife was intensely jealous of the beautiful Lady Godelieve, the wife bore the lady’s refusal with only a faint murmur of protest required by good manners.
Alone at last, Lady Godelieve was free to return to her small guest house, one of many guest houses that stood on the palace grounds. She noted that another guest house, not far from her own, was now occupied. Servants carried jugs of hot water for the customary bath taken after a long journey, bowls of fresh fruits and other delicacies. The Lady Godelieve paused a moment in the shadow of a flowering hedge to see if the newly arrived guest would appear.
A woman stepped to the door, looked out. Lady Godelieve had never before seen or met Damra of House Gwyenoc, but she had no doubt that this was her.
Although Damra was a Dominion Lord, she was not given the title “Lord” or “Lady,” since elven Dominion Lords exist outside proper elven society. Dominion Lords are granted magical armor and are sometimes given the power to work magic. Magic is distrusted by the elves, its use in battle considered publicly to be dishonorable, its use anywhere else considered publicly to be suspect. Privately, the elves rely on magic, but they must be discreet when dealing with the powerful and mysterious elven wizards known as the Wyred.
When the elves were first given the opportunity over two hundred years earlier to create their own Dominion Lords through the magic of the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone, the elves were glad to have the ability to create knights who were blessed by the Father and Mother, capable of awesome power. At the same time, the elves were concerned as to how these knights would fit in the tight strictures of elven culture. The Dominion Lords were not Wyred and so did not fall in that category. They were not ordinary knights, however, and their ability to use magic at a whim gave many elves the horrors.
The Divine ruled that all elves who were granted the exalted honor of becoming Dominion Lords must make a sacrifice to attain that honor. This sacrifice was their position in elven society. Their property and houses would be forfeit to the lord of their House, who would find them a place to live. They could continue to collect revenue from those lands, but could keep only enough to live on. Any excess was given to the House to distribute to the poor. Unlike other elves, the Dominion Lords are free to travel without requesting permission of the head of their House. They can take no sides in any battle between the Houses, but must act as arbitrators and work to bring about peace.
These rules not only keep the Dominion Lords out of elven society but insure that such powerful knights do not become too powerful. Certainly the Father and Mother would choose only those people known for their loyalty and compassion, their courage and honor. Such knights are not likely to attempt to seize political power, but the elves are a cautious people and know that it never hurts to make sure.
All Dominion Lords wear a tabard to mark their exalted standing (and to brand them as different), the design of which dates back to the days of King Tamaros. The tabard features two blue griffins holding a golden disk. Damra wore such a tabard over the long flowing pants worn for travel. A wide sash encircled the lady’s slim waist. She wore two swords—one the weapon of a Dominion Lord and the other the ceremonial blade of her House. The gods had denoted Damra the Lord of the Raven. She wore that emblem on the back of her tabard.
Elves honor the raven as being a bird of majesty and quick intelligence, fearless and proud. Supposedly this Damra was the embodiment of these characteristics. Lady Godelieve had no way of knowing that, but she did think to herself that perhaps the title had been inspired by the fact that Damra rather resembled a raven. She was not a beauty. She had her family’s strong nose and piercing black eyes. Her shoulders were square and she walked with a man’s gait—taking firm long strides, as opposed to the shorter, more graceful steps expected of well-born elven women.
Leaving her house, Damra passed quite close to where Lady Godelieve stood hidden amidst the flowers, allowing the Lady Godelieve a good look at the rebellious Dominion Lord.
The woman did not appear so rebellious at the moment. Pale and care-worn, she cast a fleeting glance back at the guest house and sighed softly, giving the Lady Godelieve the impression that Damra wanted to be alone with her thoughts, wanted to escape the bustle and confusion of servants falling all over themselves to see to her comfort. The Lady Godelieve waited until the Dominion Lord was out of sight, then entered her own guest house.
She dismissed the servants, saying that she was going to pray and consult with her Honored Ancestor. Assured that no one would dare interrupt her now, Lady Godelieve closed the shutters on the windows and latched the door.
Safely alone, certain of not being interrupted (for the visit with the Honored Ancestor is a sacred ritual), the Lady Godelieve reached into the folds of the sash she wore and drew forth a knife made of smooth bone. Once the knife had been white and glistening. Now it was starting to yellow. The tip was stained black with blood.
Holding the knife, she softly caressed it. What appeared to be a black, viscous liquid oozed out of every pore in her skin. The drops of the liquid flowed together so that for an instant it seemed as if the lady’s body glistened with black oil. The armor changed form, hardened so that it was stronger than the strongest steel made by the famed dwarven smiths.
Holding the knife in her hand, the Vrykyl knelt.
“My lord,” she said.
“Valura!”
Dagnarus’s response was immediate. She sensed his impatience, his eagerness, although such emotions did not normally register through the blood knife. She felt them because she knew him, knew him well, knew him and loved him. After two hundred years, she loved him still. More’s the pity.
Valura had sacrificed everything for him, given him everything, her body, her honor, her soul. For him, she had murdered the innocent, would continue to murder them, for they fed her needs. She was his creation. He had made her into this evil thing that could find no rest, know no peace. She could not blame him. She had made the choice to accept the Void. When she had known that her death was upon her, she had begged him to transform her into a Vrykyl so that they could be together always. He drank her blood. She gave him her life essence. Theirs was an unholy marriage, not blessed by the gods, but cursed by them. The two were bound by the Void.
And in that moment they were joined, she lost him.
Dagnarus needed her. He relied on her. Of that she was certain. Next to Shakur, the eldest of his Vrykyl, Valura was the most powerful. Of them all, including Shakur, Valura was the most loyal to Dagnarus. He who had once loved her now hated her. Every time he looked at her, Valura saw the loathing in his eyes. He loathed her, but the true secret loathing was for himself and what he had become. Yet he could not stop himself. His ambition, fed by the Void, fueled the Void.
“Is everything arranged?” he demanded.
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “The downfall of the Divine is assured. The Shield is everything you could want him to be—greedy, ambitious, with an inflated opinion of his own cleverness. He is clay to mold in your hands.”
“What of that Dominion Lord, the one who threatens to thwart the Shield’s plans?”
“Damra of Gwyenoc has been nullified, my lord. The Shield has taken her husband hostage. If she wants him back alive, she will keep silent.”
“This sounds flimsy,” Dagnarus said. “What assurance do we have that she will cooperate?”
“She has the great misfortune to love her husband, my lord,” said Valura, softly repeating the Shield’s words. “Through what I can only assume to be the machinations of the Void, Damra of Gwyenoc is here within the Shield’s household. I could find a more permanent solution…”
“Yes, do that. But be subtle. Don’t rouse suspicions.”
“Rest easy, my lord. You may rely on me.”
“I know I can.” Dagnarus’s voice was grim, ironic. “When do you take possession of the Sovereign Stone?”
“Tonight, my lord.”
“Bring it straight to me. The human portion is found. The elven portion in my hands. It is all finally starting to come together, Valura. The dwarven Stone has been located and I have dispatched the Vrykyl after it. Shakur and Jedash are closing in on the human part. I lack only the orken, but I know where it is. I am close! So very close.”
“Yes, my lord.”
And what then, my lord? Valura asked him silently. When you have the Sovereign Stone, when it is yours, what then? Will it fill the emptiness inside you? Or will it be consumed by the darkness that has consumed everything else?
She was appalled to find herself thinking such things and banished the thoughts immediately, fearing he would read them through the blood knife. Dagnarus was too elated, too rapt in his own anticipated triumph to pay her any attention, however. Waiting a moment longer, to see if he had any further instructions, she realized that he had gone.
Valura rose from her kneeling position. The armor vanished, replaced by the illusion of what she had once been—an elven woman, beautiful and alluring.
The Lady Godelieve, loved of the god, went to find out from one of the spies she had planted in the household the time and location of the meeting between the Shield and Damra of House Gwyenoc.
Guardians of the Lost Page 39
