“I have met this one before.” Menos stepped back.
“If I had met you,” Stiger growled, becoming hot, “I am sure I would have remembered.” He had tired of the game Menos was playing.
“I agree,” Menos replied with a frosty look.
“Legate,” Garrack said quietly, almost reverently. “Noctalum are first race gods made, ancient beings, with much power. They honored and favored by gods.”
“Yes, we are an ancient people,” Menos said, with a distant look to his eyes. “So ancient that, at one time, we walked with the gods themselves, and strove to learn all they were willing to teach.”
“You knew the gods?” The question had burst out before Stiger could stop it.
“Human,” Menos said, casting Stiger a disdainful look, “your tiny brain cannot even begin to comprehend what we are, what we have done, and are yet capable of doing.”
“Perhaps it is his ancestor you recognize?” Braddock suggested, drawing Menos’s attention. “He is of the bloodline of Delvaris, the one the Oracle prophesized.”
Menos turned back to Stiger. He stepped closer and dropped his voice to a hissing whisper that only Stiger could hear. “Delvaris, yes . . . yes, I knew your ancestor, as I also know you.”
Menos abruptly stepped away, moving to the railing of the balcony, where he looked down upon the dragon. “You have seen Currose. She and her mate, Sian Tane, have guarded this World Gate for nearly two millennia.”
Wary of Menos, Stiger eyed the caretaker suspiciously. He was not sure what he was dealing with here and, as such, decided to remain silent. Stiger saw no harm in letting this drama play out. Then what Menos had revealed finally hit him. There were two dragons. He looked back over the railing. Where was the other one? There was a large closed metal door against the far wall of the cavern. It was big enough for a dragon to move through.
“Sian Tane is out hunting, while Currose provides the eternal watch,” Menos explained, as if he had read Stiger’s thoughts. Turning to look back at the group of visitors, his pale silver eyes sought out Stiger. “Together they guard this World Gate in fulfillment of the Compact between our races.”
So, Stiger thought with a quick glance over to Braddock, there are other races that are also part of the Compact.
“Below us lies the greatest of treasures. The World Gate is a pathway to both place and time. There are factions that would do anything to possess it.” With a long, thin, almost frail-looking hand, Menos gestured toward the two pillars around which Currose was entwined. “We must do everything within our power to prevent their ambitions from becoming reality.”
“If you mean to keep it sealed, then why not simply destroy it?” Stiger asked. “Would that not achieve the same purpose?”
“My people created the World Gates. We will not destroy them,” Menos snapped and then took a breath, as if calming himself. “Besides, the gods in their infinite wisdom have prohibited such an act.”
Stiger shifted slightly as he considered the caretaker’s words. If it had been left up to him, he would have found a way to destroy the infernal thing. Stiger had only the caretaker’s word on this. But what if Menos was right? Stiger was not of the mind to anger the gods, the ones he honored at least. He figured Castor was not too happy with him, but that did not much matter to Stiger. He had put his trust in the High Father’s hands and had faith that the great god would look out for him. It was as simple as that.
Stiger looked away from Menos and glanced down over the railing again at the World Gate. How would the High Father react if he took steps to destroy the Gate? What misfortune would be sent his way? Did he even risk thinking such thoughts? Did he dare test the High Father’s displeasure? Seven levels, he thought. How would you even go about destroying such a magical device? How would you get past the dragons?
Stiger’s mood soured. If the gods had prohibited destruction of the Gate, then it must be defended. He knew without a doubt that would involve him and his men. Then a thought occurred to him. By holding Castle Vrell, he was already defending the Gate.
“How does it work?” Stiger asked.
“A wizard is required to open the Gate,” said a harsh voice behind them, which was followed almost immediately by an unnatural giggle.
Ogg stepped through the doorway, the metal guard on the bottom of his staff clicking on the stone as he moved. Braddock’s nearest bodyguard took a step back from the beardless dwarf, a distasteful expression on his face. Ogg paid him no mind.
“That and the planetary planes must be properly aligned,” Ogg explained. “For our world, this occurs every two thousand years. Once opened, the World Gate remains linked to its counterpart for the next two thousand years. When the connection is broken, well, the dimensional planes do not align properly again for another two thousand.” Ogg walked to the metal railing and glanced casually over before turning back to Stiger. “This World Gate leads to a world called Tanis. That world has a second Gate that leads to another world and that world then leads you to a place called Earth, where your people’s ancestral homeland, Rome, resides.”
“Rome?” Stiger was still having difficulty believing what Braddock had told him. He had always assumed that Rome was more myth and legend than reality. After all, no one knew where it was located, which made sense in a strange sort of way, especially if the legendary city was locked away on another world.
“Rome,” Ogg confirmed firmly, before turning to Menos and inclining his head slightly. “Menos, it is a pleasure to see you well.”
“Wizard.” Menos chuckled. “You are as impertinent as ever.”
“Would it be more appropriate if I were not?”
“Why must we keep the Gate closed?” Stiger had to know, suddenly feeling the urge and call of Rome. Seeing another world sounded interesting. Visiting Rome would be incredible. What wonders awaited such a traveler? Then again, what horrors awaited as well? Armies of the dark gods?
“There is a war,” Ogg said simply.
“A war unlike others,” Menos added with a tone of sadness.
“The gods themselves war,” Ogg continued after Menos fell silent. He looked over at the paladin with a flat look. “There are several factions, ours being the High Father’s. Instead of direct conflict amongst themselves, the gods use the peoples and races of entire worlds to do their fighting.”
“Should the gods clash directly,” Menos added, “it is believed that such a direct confrontation would prove the universe’s undoing.”
“Why?” Stiger asked. “Why do they fight?”
Ogg giggled. “There are those who believe the gods grew bored and entertain themselves in this way.”
“We do not know.” Braddock threw a disapproving frown in the wizard’s direction. “It could be as simple as good versus evil, but the gods are mysterious. Perhaps the paladin could add more?”
Stiger glanced over to Father Thomas, who looked a little hesitant.
“The High Father does not speak to us paladins directly,” Father Thomas began slowly. “It is more of a nudge or push here and there. What we have gathered and believe is that the gods are in a struggle for dominance. On this world, the majority follow the teachings of the High Father and his alignment. As such, our alignment primarily has dominion here.”
“On other worlds he does not have dominion then?” Stiger asked. “Is that what you are saying?”
“Tanis is one such world,” Ogg said. “Or it was nearly two thousand years ago.”
“Tanis was overrun,” Menos explained.
“The Horde,” Taha’Leeth whispered, drawing Stiger’s attention.
“Though the struggle had already reached here,” Menos continued, “your people, the dwarves, gnomes, elves, and others sought out this world as a place of refuge. To keep Istros from sharing the same fate as Tanis, the World Gate was sealed.”
Stiger was silent as
he considered this. Everything he had seen and learned over the last few weeks had tested his basic understanding of the world. His thoughts churned with the implications of what they were telling him.
“Why is this not common knowledge?” Stiger asked. “Why have I not heard of this before?”
“For some races, it is well-known,” Ogg said, his gaze flicking toward Eli. “For others, some things are best forgotten. Your race, for example, serves differing alignments and, as such, cannot always be trusted. Steps were taken to ensure knowledge of the World Gates was, over time, forgotten by your people.”
Stiger did not like the sound of that, though he knew from personal experience that what Ogg said was true. Some humans followed the dark gods. These were most definitely not part of the High Father’s alignment.
“Braddock mentioned that the other World Gate was destroyed.” Stiger changed the direction of his questioning. “I thought you said the gods prohibited that?”
“We believe it to be destroyed,” Ogg answered with a brief glance in Taha’Leeth’s direction before returning his eyes back to Stiger. “Even if it survived, that World Gate resides at the bottom of the Narrow Sea. Destroyed or not, it is inaccessible.”
“The struggle of the gods still continues elsewhere?” Stiger asked.
“We believe that to be true,” Ogg said, a tiny maniacal giggle escaping his lips. “The struggle has lasted many millennia, and there is direct evidence that it continues.”
“Castor is part of another alignment then?” Stiger asked with a snap of the fingers, recalling the corruption of Captain Aveeno and the battle with the dark god’s minion in Castle Vrell.
“That is correct,” Menos answered. “When the World Gate was sealed, some of Castor’s followers were stranded here, including those of the lesser races.”
“Orcs and goblins are on Castor’s side?” Stiger’s brow furrowed as he considered this.
“Some undoubtedly are,” Father Thomas answered. “To some degree, the gods allow free choice.”
“You knew about the Gate,” Stiger accused Father Thomas, rounding on the paladin. “Yet you said nothing.”
“Though I knew of it, I did not know of its location. It was moved and has been lost for close to two thousand years. My order has been looking for it for a very long time. So, apparently, are the Cyphan.”
“Then the Cyphan are of Castor’s alignment too?”
“No,” Taha’Leeth spoke up. “They are of Valloor’s alignment and in competition to Castor, as they also compete with the High Father.”
“Valloor?” Stiger asked. Valloor was the primary god that those of the Cyphan Confederacy worshipped. Valloor was considered a neutral god. There was even a temple honoring him in Mal’Zeel. The empire honored most gods, with the exception of the dark and evil ones.
“We may not have seen the last of Castor,” Ogg said with another giggle. Stiger chilled at that statement. The last thing he wanted was to encounter another minion of the Twisted One.
“Then we need to be on our guard,” Father Thomas said. “Castor works by infecting the minds of the weak and susceptible.”
“So the High Father wants the Gate to remain closed?” Stiger asked Father Thomas.
“That, my son,” Father Thomas said carefully, “is not so clear.”
“What do you mean?” Ogg’s gaze shifted to the paladin. “The Gate must remain closed or the Last War will come here, again.”
“Will it?” Father Thomas looked over at Menos.
“Two thousand years have passed since the World Gate was last opened,” Menos said. “There is no telling what now lies on the other side.”
“We know what is waiting there,” Ogg snapped irritably.
“Do we?” Menos challenged.
“The High Father’s alignment could now rule on Tanis,” Father Thomas said. “A great deal of time has passed.”
“It would seem,” Stiger suggested, following the back and forth, “that if Castor and Valloor are interested in opening the Gate, then that might not be the case.”
“We do not know that they desire to open the World Gate,” said Menos. “They may wish to prevent such an event from coming to pass. At the appointed time, a choice will have to be made. Whoever has control of both the Key and World Gate will make that choice.”
“The Key?”
“Long ago your emperor was entrusted with the Key that unlocks the World Gate,” Menos explained. “At the time, it was believed that by keeping the two apart the world would be safer. With hindsight, I wonder if perhaps we made a mistake.”
Stiger paled at this, thinking of the emperor. The Cyphan were after the Key. It was why they had invaded the empire, for both the Key and Gate. Or perhaps they were just interested in the Key to prevent the Gate from being opened. Stiger knew that, with the condition of the southern legions, anything could have happened. Should they be defeated, there was not much standing in the way of the heart of the empire. He looked down at the stone floor and ground his teeth in frustration. Here he was stuck in Vrell, penned inside a valley, when perhaps the real struggle that needed fighting was at the heart of the empire. He knew without a doubt the emperor was in danger, and worse, there was no one to warn him.
“Do not worry,” Braddock said, misunderstanding Stiger’s thoughts. “We will take the war to the Cyphan soon enough. Together we will make them pay.”
“Let us descend and see the World Gate,” Ogg suggested abruptly.
“Yes.” Menos turned toward the stairs, intent upon leading the way. “It is also time you saw a dragon up close.”
Five
Marcus peered over the balcony to the cavern floor below as the others began to make their way down the stairs. He had hung back, observing and listening as Stiger spoke with Menos. He bit his lip at the sight of the sleeping dragon and just shook his head. This was something that in all of his wildest dreams he had never expected to see.
I’ve come a long way, Marcus reflected, his eyes running over the massive creature below. A hand came to rest upon his shoulder and he turned to see Eli.
“Stay up here,” Eli advised, giving a friendly squeeze before letting go. “I gave you permission to come because I felt you needed to see what is here.”
“I will stay out of trouble, sir.” Marcus was relieved he was not going down to see the dragon. He was just fine with watching from a distance.
“I know you will,” Eli said with a funny look before turning and joining the others. There was almost a regretful expression in Eli’s eyes as the elf turned away.
Marcus watched Eli go, wondering what was wrong. Ever since they had entered the mountain, the elves had been a little out of sorts, almost as if it pained them to be underground. He could sympathize with them. Marcus enjoyed the wide open spaces aboveground to those below. Despite the grandeur of the dwarven labor, Marcus could not help but feel that life belowground was drab in comparison to that above.
At this, his thoughts turned to himself. He was no longer a simple company scout. He wasn’t even the same person he had been just a few months earlier. Eli had been a big part of that change, for which Marcus was very grateful.
Marcus was now a ranger, or so Taha’Leeth had named him. It meant a great deal to him. Eli had assured Marcus that when they returned to the empire, he would be offered an opportunity to join the emperor’s ranger corps or, if he wished, spend some time with the elves. Though Eli had not tried to influence him, it seemed to Marcus that the lieutenant was more desirous that he elect the latter option. Marcus wondered what it would be like to live amongst Eli’s people. Just being offered the chance was a tremendous honor.
Since his return to Castle Vrell, one of the elves had taken pains to be with him at all times. They had tried to make it not too terribly obvious, but Marcus had noticed just the same. It was almost as if they were watching out for hi
m, like a parent does a young child. They had also worked to keep him busy. Marcus considered that they were trying to keep his spirits up and off of the ordeal he had just been through. After all, he had just lost most of his fellow scouts and friends to the Cyphan.
Whatever their motivation, he was grateful for their attention. It had proven more than a simple distraction. All four had each spent some time testing him to learn the full extent of his abilities. There had also been some instruction on improving his deep meditation technique, which was designed to help him better understand the world around him. This was somewhat different than listening to the forest, and they had encouraged him to meditate whenever the opportunity presented itself.
And so, Marcus found himself alone on the balcony. Even Braddock’s guard had gone down to the cavern floor. At first, he was tempted to watch, but then changed his mind. He considered working on his meditation technique, then decided against it. He had brought his pack with him. Pulling out his camp blanket, he selected an isolated spot on the balcony that was off to the side and would not be in the way of anyone who walked by. He carefully set the blanket on the floor and then sat down upon it, leaning his back against the cool stone wall of the cavern. Though the cavern was warmer, the stone was still cold to the touch. Everything under the mountain seemed to be either cool or wet or a combination of both.
Marcus closed his eyes. Ever since their return to Castle Vrell, he had been having difficulty, sleeping fitfully. He supposed he was still tired from the weeks of constant action. Deep down, he understood that losing most of the other scouts of the 85th had taken its toll on him. Davis and Todd were the only ones left. Perhaps it was the loss of so many friends . . . Marcus tried to relax, at first intent upon taking a nap. In the legions, you learned to sleep when you could. Before he drifted off, a thought occurred to him. He wondered . . .
Marcus sat up straight, eyes closed. He controlled his breathing and focused. If he had been in the forest, he would have opened himself up, listening to the living woods around him. It had felt natural and relaxing. Under the mountain, he attempted the same deep state, taking in the sounds and smells around him, reaching outward with his mind to feel . . . to touch . . . was there anything there?
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 9
