A blow from Silwyth’s staff struck Valura in the small of her back, nearly knocked her from the platform.
“Too long have you haunted me, dogged my steps,” she cried, turning to end his life.
Blinded by her fury, she swiped at him with the sword. He evaded the blow with astonishing agility. She came at him. Savage blows drove him backward. His bare feet crunched on the shards of the broken crystal. Blood flowed.
“I have been aware of you, Silwyth,” Valura said to him, pressing her advantage. “You have tracked me, trying to thwart my plans.” She slashed at him again, drove him back another step. “Now you have a choice, old wretch. Die on my sword or die on the iron spikes below.”
“You mistake me, Lady Valura,” Silwyth said and his voice was soft with pity, curse him for that a million, million times. “I have sought you all these years in order to give you a gift.”
“What is that?” she cried, swiping at him again.
He ducked beneath the whistling blow. Seizing hold of a long, sharp shard of crystal, Silwyth stabbed Valura in the stomach.
“Death.”
The shard of crystal penetrated the armor of the Vrykyl, drove deep into the body that had long ago rotted away. The wound from the magical crystal that had been blessed by the Father and Mother severed the ties of the Void that bound Valura to this life. Screaming in fury and terror, she dropped her sword and clutched at the shard with both hands. She tried to drag it out.
“Accept my gift, Lady Valura,” Silwyth urged her, his voice filled with pain, her pain, shared. “Let this tortured life that is no life slip away from beneath your fingers. Find rest and solace at last.”
Darkness started to seep over Valura. She felt herself sink beneath it, as a person sinks beneath sweet sleep. The end of pain, the end of misery, the end of guilt, the end of…love.
The Sovereign Stone sparkled at her feet. Dagnarus’s voice came to her.
“Valura? Do you have the Stone for me?”
With a shuddering cry, Valura yanked the crystal shard from her body. She lunged at Silwyth.
Spreading his arms, he took a step backward and fell into the pit.
She was glad. She listened for his death scream that would be sweet music. The scream did not come. He died in silence. Never mind. He was gone, would trouble her no more. The power of the Void began to mend her hideous wound. She reached for the Sovereign Stone.
She could not touch it. Valura tried to bring her hand close to the Stone, but an aura of magic shoved her hand away. Thwarted, she called upon the power of the Void and reached again for the Sovereign Stone. The magical aura surrounding the Stone shattered. Triumphant, Valura seized hold of the Stone.
The anger of the gods surged through her. A jolt of white-hot agony filled the Void within her, caused it to swell and burst apart. Bereft of her magic, Valura collapsed on the platform.
The Sovereign Stone rolled from her hand, came to rest upon the shards of broken crystal.
Damra hastened to the edge of the reliquary, thinking to intervene in the battle between the ancient, decrepit old elf and the powerful Vrykyl. Once there, she halted, amazed to see Silwyth dodge the Vrykyl’s deadly, cleaving stroke, then leap into the air, twisting his thin body, to land behind her. He struck her in the back with his staff.
Damra could slay the Vrykyl from behind, but she had to first cross the illusory floor and she did not know the route.
“Winds of truth!” she cried, extending her hands. “Blow away the mists of deceit!”
The summoned magic caused the illusions that surrounded the Sovereign Stone to vanish before her eyes. The pool disappeared. Six round stone steps led to the platform on which the Vrykyl stood. Looking down into the pit, she saw the razor-sharp iron spikes imbedded into the floor. The body of one of the Divine’s guards lay impaled on the spikes. His dead mouth remained open in a scream. The spikes protruded from his breast, his gut, his thighs and his arms. Blood covered the bottom of the pit.
Damra’s stomach clenched at the thought of the horrible death the man had suffered. Concentrating on her footing, she had just managed to jump to the first of the six stones when Silwyth plunged the shard of glass into the Vrykyl.
The creature’s scream froze Damra’s heart, held her immobilized, balanced precariously on the stone. She saw Silwyth speaking to the Vrykyl. His words were soft, she could not hear what he was saying. The next moment, the Vrykyl wrenched the shard of glass free and dove at Silwyth.
Damra watched, horror-stricken, to see him step calmly from the platform. As the Vrykyl reached down to pick up the Sovereign Stone, Damra leapt to the next stone. She must reach the platform, battle the Vrykyl where there was room to maneuver.
The anger of the gods that came when the Vrykyl tried to seize the Stone manifested itself in a blast of white fire that shattered the stillness of the night with a tremendous boom. Damra averted her face from the blinding light. Her magical armor shielded her from the force of the hot, fierce wind that blew across the reliquary. When the wind died away and the light faded, Damra looked to see the Vrykyl lying on the platform, her body still and unmoving. The Sovereign Stone lay gleaming on the platform, near the edge.
Damra crossed the stepping stones. Reaching the platform, she drew her sword, held it poised above the Vrykyl. The creature did not stir. Damra circled around the black-armored figure and very nearly stepped on a bloody hand that clung to the platform.
“Help me,” Silwyth gasped, reaching up another blood-stained hand.
Damra grasped hold, pulled Silwyth up over the edge of the platform.
“Why aren’t you dead?” she demanded.
“A question many have asked,” he replied with a half smile.
Bending down, he spoke to the Vrykyl.
“Lady Valura,” Silwyth said in a voice so soft that Damra did not hear it so much as feel it touch her soul. “You were cruelly wronged by so many, myself among them. I ask you to forgive me.”
The Vrykyl did not move. Sighing, Silwyth rose to his feet and took a step backward. Damra lifted her sword, brought it down upon the Vrykyl’s neck, severed the head from the body. The helm rolled a slight distance from the trunk. Damra nerved herself to peer inside. Nothing, only darkness. Turning from the loathsome creature, she saw Silwyth’s hand extended. In his palm rested the Sovereign Stone.
“Take the Stone, Damra of Gwyenoc,” he said. “You have the elven part, the pecwae has the human. The gods have brought the two together.”
“I cannot take this,” Damra protested, aghast. “The Divine is the only one who may own the Sovereign Stone.”
“No one may own it. No mortal,” said Silwyth. “Listen to me, for we do not have much time. The Shield has been alerted that his plan has failed. He and his guards are on their way and we both should be gone before they arrive.”
“I’m listening,” said Damra reluctantly.
“The gods told King Tamaros when he was given the Stone that mankind was not yet wise enough to understand its use. He ignored their warning and sent the four parts of the Stone out into the world. There was murder done then over the Stone and murder done now.” Silwyth gestured to the bodies of the soldiers that lay around them. “The Stone is drenched in blood.”
Damra shook her head, unconvinced. “Without the Sovereign Stone, we lose the power to create Dominion Lords—”
“Take the Stones to the Council of Dominion Lords. Let them decide what to do with it,” Silwyth urged, holding out the portion of the Sovereign Stone to her. “The power of Lord Dagnarus grows daily. I know, for I have seen the vastness of his armies. Their numbers are immense, his troops are devoted to him, for they believe he is a god. Ten thousand troops does he plan to send against New Vinnengael alone. Terrifying warriors, the taan are fierce in battle, for they are told that there is no greater glory than to lay down their lives for him. Already, these ten thousand troops march on the western gate of the Tromek Portal.”
“The Portal will hold—�
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“The Portal will fall. The Shield has promised Dagnarus access.”
“The fool!” Damra said bitterly.
“The two parts of the Sovereign Stone must not remain in elven lands, Damra,” Silwyth said earnestly. “The Divine is too weak to protect them.”
“But what of my husband? I cannot leave him to die when it is in my power to free him. No, I will not—”
“Your husband is already freed,” said Silwyth. “By my hand. He has been smuggled safely out of Tromek lands. He waits for you at a place in northern New Vinnengael called Shadamehr’s Keep.”
Damra stared. “I don’t believe it. You said yourself I could use this information to free my husband. Yet you claim he is already free…”
“And so you did use it, Damra of Gwyenoc,” Silwyth said, smiling.
“How can I trust you?” she demanded, frustrated and angry.
“I give you the Sovereign Stone,” said Silwyth.
Damra hesitated, but there really wasn’t much choice. She could not leave the Stone here, nor could she leave the Stone in the hands of Silwyth of House Kinnoth.
“Very well,” she said.
Silwyth rested the Sovereign Stone gently on her palm. The Stone was sticky with his blood and no longer sparkled in the light.
“I ask one boon of you, Damra of Gwyenoc. Tell the Divine of what I have done this night. I ask no pardon for myself,” Silwyth said. “I ask it for my family, for the young whose lives are ruined before they begin, for the old who die without dignity. Restore House Kinnoth to honor.”
“If all you have said proves to be true, I will do so,” was the best Damra could promise.
Apparently that was good enough, for Silwyth bowed and turned to depart. Before he left, he pointed.
The lights of flaring torches lit the darkness. The emblem of the Shield gleamed on the banners of the Shield’s soldiers.
Concerned about Silwyth, Damra glanced around, but could not find him. She shrugged, dismissed him. He had proven adept at taking care of himself. She had other concerns.
Damra concealed the Sovereign Stone beneath the breastplate of her armor. She was still not certain of her ultimate decision. She required more information. Had the Shield truly sought to steal the Stone? Had he been in league with the creature of darkness? Damra retraced her steps across the stones, then crept into the guardian grove and waited to see what would happen.
The Shield’s personal bodyguard arrived on the scene first, to make certain that the Shield would not be exposed to any danger. The knights stared with unfeigned amazement at the gruesome sight and Damra concluded they had not been in on the plot. The first to notice the magic had been dispelled cried out that the Sovereign Stone was missing. Several started toward the reliquary on the run, but their officer brought them up short.
He ordered them to make certain the area was secure, to check to see if they could help the wounded, and to try to find someone among the wounded who could explain what had happened. The knights fanned out and Damra crept back farther into the shadows. She had cloaked the magic of her armor in the black plumage of the raven and she did not fear being seen, but there was always the possibility someone might bump into her.
The Vrykyl lay unmoving on the platform. The officer cast a single, piercing glance at the black-armored creature. He was obviously curious, but he was the cautious sort, as he must be with the life of the Shield in his hands. The Vrykyl was not moving and he was not about to send his men near it until he was certain that there were not more of the same lurking about. The knights searched the forest, but did not find Damra or anyone else. Posting guards in a ring around the perimeter, one returned to the officer to report that all was secure.
The guard Damra had kicked in the teeth sat up, holding his hand over his broken nose. The officer knelt beside the man, asked him what had happened. Mumbling through blood, spitting out teeth, the guard made some reply.
“He says he will speak only to the Shield,” said the officer. He rose to his feet, surveyed the area. “One of you return to the barracks where the Shield waits. He was warned by the ancestors that something like this might happen. Tell him what you have seen and ask if he will come.”
The officer eyed the Vrykyl and looked about at the bodies of the soldiers of the Divine. Walking over to one, he placed his hand on the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. He shook his head and his expression darkened.
“Warning from his ancestors,” Damra muttered below her breath. “How convenient. But did they warn him of the Vrykyl?”
The officer walked over to the reliquary. He peered into the bottom, saw the body in the pit. Drawing his sword, he walked across the stepping stones and warily approached the Vrykyl. His men were silent, watchful. The night was so quiet that Damra could hear clearly the officer’s boots crunch on the broken crystal and the sharp intake of his breath as he drew near the Vrykyl, which had the appearance of some sort of monstrous insect lying dead on its back. He reached out his hand to touch the armor, perhaps to see if the creature was still alive.
His fingers brushed the surface. He snatched back his hand and he wiped his fingers on the silk tunic he wore beneath his armor. He searched the platform, even stared into the pit in an effort to find the Sovereign Stone. When he could not find it, he looked again at the black-armored figure and kicked it with the toe of his boot to determine if perhaps the Vrykyl might be still holding it. Unable to locate the Stone, the officer walked back across the stepping stones. He continued to wipe his hand on his tunic.
Apparently the Shield had not remained in the barracks, but had followed on the heels of his guards, for he arrived far sooner than expected. Garwina was calm. He had his story prepared. He looked about sternly and was about to demand what had occurred, when he saw the Vrykyl.
Garwina was adept at concealing his true feelings. His was a face of clay that, once molded, would retain its shape indefinitely. At the sight of the black-armored creature, lying in the ruins of the shattered globe, the face cracked. The Shield’s eyes widened, his jaw went slack. He stared, confounded.
“What…what is that?” he gargled.
“I do not know, my lord,” said the knight officer. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
At the dire tone of the officer’s voice, the Shield looked at him sharply. All his knights wore grim expressions, stood regarding him with lowering brows. His gaze flicked from them to the dead soldiers to the wounded soldier to the reliquary. Damra could almost see the Shield’s mind working.
“Isn’t it apparent?” he said, his eyes flashing in anger at their suspicions. “The warning I was given was true. This was an attempt by the Divine to steal the Sovereign Stone. He sent that foul creature”—the Shield gestured to the Vrykyl—“to seize it. Our soldiers tried to halt them.”
“What I see is that the soldiers of the Divine were stabbed in the back,” said the officer. “Bring that man.”
Two knights hauled the soldier with the broken nose before the Shield.
“Tell us what happened,” the officer commanded.
The man looked up at the Shield and went down on his knees, prostrated himself. “I failed in my duty. I request death, my lord!” the man cried.
The Shield drew his sword, quite happy to comply with the request, but the officer stepped in between the two of them.
“First you will speak the truth,” the officer said to the soldier. “The position you held was a sacred one. You swore fealty to the Shield, to the Divine and to the Tromek nation. If you have broken that oath, your soul will go to the prison house of the dead, your family will be disgraced, dishonored for the next seven generations. Speak the truth and you may yet redeem your vow, save yourself and your family.” The knight officer glanced at the Shield. “I am certain your lord will command you to be truthful.”
The Shield tried to speak, but his face muscles were so stiff that his words were incomprehensible. The wounded man slid a glance at his lord, but saw nothing to hel
p him. He began to speak.
“We were told that the Divine was plotting to steal the Sovereign Stone. We were ordered to slay his soldiers, before they killed us. We wondered at this, for they gave us no sign that they meant any treachery. They talked and laughed with us as always. They were our friends…” The man paused, his voice hardened. “We obeyed our orders, but it was hard. I had known Glath for many, many years. His son married my daughter. Yet, my duty was to my lord. I stabbed Glath in the back. My soul will always remember the look of shock on his face, that I had betrayed him. He died, cursing me.”
The man hung his head. “I feared, then, that I was the one who had been betrayed. I did not want to admit it until the Dominion Lord came and—”
“Dominion Lord!” the Shield exclaimed. “What Dominion Lord?”
“I know her by sight, my lord,” said the soldier. “I have seen her here in company with the Divine. But I do not know her name.”
“I do,” the Shield said, grinding his teeth.
“Continue,” said the officer with a baleful glance at the Shield.
“We were told that a lady would come to take the Sovereign Stone to safety. She arrived and then she disappeared and that thing”—the officer pointed to the Vrykyl—“took her place. I don’t know what happened after that, for the Dominion Lord struck me and I was unconscious for a short time. A blast awoke me. I saw the Dominion Lord standing over that creature and with her was an old man and then they were both gone.”
“Did the Dominion Lord have the Sovereign Stone?” the Shield demanded.
“I…don’t know, my lord,” said the wretched man.
“She must have,” said the Shield. He turned back to the officer. “There, you see? The Divine sent his agent to steal the Stone.”
“It sounds to me more likely the Divine sent his agent to save it,” said the officer. “The Dominion Lords are blessed by the gods. This thing”—he pointed at the Vrykyl—“is a creature of the Void.”
Guardians of the Lost Page 45
