by Houpt, David
Where are the children? Lian wondered. He hadn’t seen any outside, and all of the patrons appeared to be at least twenty years old.
Conversations were voiced in a thick, heavily glottal tongue. Lian couldn’t place it at all, though he spoke seven languages. The use of magic to learn the dialects of the surrounding lands, as well as Aesidhe, the elven tongue, was a privilege he’d possessed as the son of a king.
Tired of waiting, he reached out to touch the sleeve of the barmaid. She turned to him, not quite meeting his gaze. Instead, she looked at a point somewhere behind him, yet she didn’t pull away. Weird, he thought, feeling chilled anew, and not because of his injury.
He asked for food and drink in Dunshari, but got no response. He tried again in Aesidhe, which was commonly understood, at least in part, in most locales. Still, she didn’t seem to grasp his meaning.
Sighing, he removed a silver coin from his belt pouch, and placed it in her hand. She looked down at it, muttered something in her own tongue, and went through the doors that he assumed led to the kitchens. She returned shortly carrying a tray loaded with sausages, potatoes broiled in some sort of breading, and a tall ceramic pitcher filled with dark ale. She grabbed a glass from a wall rack as she approached, setting the tray on the table before him. Three large copper coins, about twice the weight he’d expected in return, were also sitting on the tray. He handed her one of them, and was rewarded with a slight smile, which faded as quickly as it had begun. She was hailed by another patron, and immediately she turned and smiled, swaying her hips suggestively in response to the man’s comment.
The village folk continued to ignore him, betraying no reaction to the presence of a stranger in their midst.
He shrugged, for there wasn’t anything to be done about it at the moment, and dug into the sausages and potatoes. The “breading” turned out to be primarily garlic, which Lian liked in principle. In these quantities, however, he found himself scraping most of it off. The sausages, too, were extremely spicy, and he was glad for the ale, which was thick, dark, and strong. The meal helped to alleviate his frozen, numbed feeling a little, though he still couldn’t feel his left shoulder at all.
***
Gem gave up on her efforts to rouse Lian. She could tell that he was alive, for his chest rose and fell, but his breathing was shallow and uneven. His skin had taken on the pallor of the dead, which she knew was normal for the victim of a wraith attack. His auburn hair appeared blood red against this pale coloration, and she hoped that he would survive.
The wraith had finished savoring its morsel, she could tell, so she hummed the note that allowed her to fly. The emerald in her pommel glowed green with the magic. She progressed from a single note into a chord, and the blue flames that she had summoned earlier returned.
“You’ll not have the rest of him, specter,” she exclaimed. Human mages were limited to a single voice; thus, they generally couldn’t talk while weaving magics. She didn’t suffer that limitation.
She heard the response in her mind, though it made no sound. You will not stop me, spirit of the sword. I am quick, and I hunger.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she replied and whirled her point in a circle about the prince. The blue flames she emitted sprang from the ground to the ceiling. Gem was thankful that the wraith had struck them in a hallway, for it would have been quite difficult to shield Lian in an open area, where the ceiling was far overhead.
The wraith hissed its displeasure. True, it could force its way through the flames, which weren’t as concentrated as they had been upon the blade itself. But in so doing, it would have to move slowly, and it was certain that the weapon would be capable of striking before it could cross the barrier.
In these circumstances, it would normally have moved through the floor or ceiling to get to its victim, but the stone of Firavon’s Tower was a barrier to its passage.
The spirit whirled around the flaming barrier several times, seeking a weak point, but found none. Wherever it turned, the sword point followed flawlessly, moving more quickly than the wraith had believed possible.
The wraith was by nature a greedy creature, and it did not want to lose its prize to another guardian, or worse, to the demonkind that had escaped their binding over the years. Therefore, it didn’t have unlimited time to wait for the sword spirit to weaken.
It hesitated for a moment, contemplating, then swooped around the corner. Gem wondered what it was planning, while she took the opportunity once again to attempt to rouse Lian.
The wraith returned, herding before it some of the skeletal and zombified pieces of once-men. It could drink the soul force of such things, although it would gain no sustenance. The animated dead, however, could sense the danger, and the animi possessed some sort of self-preservation instinct. The result of this was that the wraith could drive the animate pieces and direct them.
Shit, Gem exclaimed to herself, not bothering to verbalize it. She had known, of course, the easiest way to defeat her defense, yet had hoped that the wraith wasn’t cunning enough to derive it. She could maintain her flame shield for quite some time, but not while having to constantly replenish the energy after some creature burned up in it. She was not skilled enough at sorcery to simply destroy the wraith with magic.
She decided to risk a small power drain on a bluff. The chord she used was subdued, as were the flames that consumed the animate body parts. She could sense the last bit of animae fade away as the corpse parts burned to ash.
The wraith instinctively withdrew from the fire, but slowed its retreat when it realized that the blaze was mundane in nature, and therefore unable to harm it. It deduced, correctly, that if the sword were able to strike it directly, it would have, and so it departed to round up more zombies to sacrifice.
It’s only a matter of time, Gem thought. Gods, wake up my boy, and soon.
***
Lian was staring at his empty pitcher, and wondering how he’d managed to drink that much ale at one sitting, when one of the other chairs at his table was pulled back.
He startled, and his right hand instinctively moved to his shortsword. He tried to reach his crossbow with his left hand, but it didn’t obey him and the bow dangled out of reach. He was on his feet with sword at the ready before he fully registered the woman who was sitting before him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and he desperately clung to consciousness.
“Is that the way you greet all your women?” she asked in a deep, throaty voice. Her tone conveyed no fear or threat, instead amusement. She was tall, probably over six feet standing, with a dark complexion and black hair and eyes. She was not of the same race as the villagers, who ignored her, much as they ignored Lian.
She was attired in black leather, but with no semblance to the two guardsmen he’d seen earlier. On her, the supple leather clung like a second skin, revealing rather than concealing her magnificent figure. She was powerful, with clear muscular definition on her arms and legs. She wore gloves of black sharkskin, and her body was adorned with at least twenty knives of assorted varieties, and that included only the weaponry that Lian could see. She also wore a scarab of an unidentifiable grey metal over her left breast. For an instant, Lian imagined that the scarab, which was the figure of a beetle, moved on its own.
“Excuse me, if I’m a little jumpy,” Lian replied, eyeing her warily. His carelessness had cost him dearly with the wraith, and he wasn’t about to repeat his mistake. The barmaid, ignoring his drawn weapon, detoured around him as she calmly carried a tray toward another table.
“Perfectly understandable, Highness,” she replied, placing her hands flat on the table. “But you are tired and hurt, and I pose no threat to you.”
“You will have to forgive me if I cannot accept your word for that. Who are you, where am I, and how did I come to be here?” he asked, his tone remaining even and level. His father had taught him that demanding answers rarely met with success unless one was in an uncontested position of strength. Lian surmised that such a situation did not ap
ply here. The woman obviously recognized him, though he was positive he didn’t know her. He felt somehow that he should recognize her, however.
She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. She was beautiful, and something about her stirred half-forgotten memories, but he couldn’t quite pin them down. “In the south, I am called Dalgarin,” she replied, answering each question in turn. “You are in the lands of Fulnor. And it was I who brought you here, at least in spirit.”
He blinked hard, but quickly. She hadn’t moved. “Dalgarin? You are named for the goddess?”
She shook her head, smiling. “While many daughters are named for Asha or Vedelta, how common do you suppose my name would be?” She gestured calmly toward his seat, which lay overturned on the floor as a result of his rapid ascent.
“Sit down, Lian Evanson. Sit down, before you fall down,” she said calmly.
He carefully sheathed his blade one-handed, then stooped to right his chair, willing himself not to black out. “Am I dead?” he asked as he warily sat down.
She shook her head. “No, not yet. But you are very close to death, which is why I can appear to you in this manner. I don’t do this very often, as you might imagine.”
He had been considering that very thought, for direct manifestation was rare, even to loyal disciples of a specific deity. He’d never really given much thought to Dalgarin, the Southron goddess of vengeance, nor her more commonly worshipped aspects of Nashir and K’vas.
“I intend no offense, Lady, but I’m not even a follower,” he said, turning the statement into a question.
“No, you’re not,” she replied, her hands still on the table top. “But you have been wronged, you and your family, and when you gain a moment’s respite from pursuers, your thoughts will turn to me. You are embroiled in a struggle which has maintained my attention for many years. Your present circumstances have granted us an opportunity to talk, and I would like to offer you a choice.”
Lian swallowed hard. Gods rarely personally involved themselves in the affairs of mortalkind, for they followed rules that prevented casual interaction. Lian hadn’t paid much attention to priestly matters, but even so, he had heard of the Great Compact between the gods.
“A choice, Lady?” he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know. In those infrequent occasions when the gods did become personally involved, it typically resulted in a great deal of suffering for the chosen mortals.
She nodded again. “Yes. You have discovered who betrayed your family, have you not?”
He wasn’t certain why she was asking him this question, since she was the goddess, but he nodded.
“If you manage to escape him and his supporters, you will no doubt wish to avenge the murders of your family. Vengeance is my area of influence, and the reason I have chosen to appear to you. Your weapon is currently guarding your physical body from the wraith and its minions, but she cannot maintain her protection for long. You are fated to regain consciousness before the wraith consumes you, so my bringing you here doesn’t change anything, so long as I return you before Gem’s defenses fall.
“I offer you a choice, Lian: vengeance or justice,” she said, grabbing a pitcher of ale and a glass off the passing maid’s tray. The barmaid stopped abruptly, studied her tray in amazement, then cursed and returned to the kitchens muttering.
The goddess poured ale for herself and refilled Lian’s glass, then sat back in her chair, propping her booted feet on the table.
“I don’t understand,” said Lian, leaving his glass untouched for the moment. “Why must I choose one over the other?”
As he studied the deity appearing in woman’s form before him, he found the depth of her eyes disconcerting. Dalgarin was said to have been a mortal woman not long ago, and had risen by unknown means to the status of goddess. The religion of her devotees was certainly recent, having emerged as a sect only forty or fifty years ago.
She sighed. “Let me be more explicit. In time, you will grow to despise your uncle and his people, Lian. You will want them dead. You will want vengeance for what they have done.
“I’m only bending the rules a little by telling you this, for you would have learned it soon enough. Your entire family is dead, Your Highness; you are the last survivor,” she said matter-of-factly. Lian was amazed at his own impassiveness as she confirmed his suspicions about his family’s fate.
“I am here to offer you the opportunity to become an agent of mine if you so choose. My order will educate you, lend assistance to you, and conceal you from your uncle until you are prepared to return and unleash your retribution against him. With devotion and effort, you could become quite powerful in my service, I believe powerful enough to succeed.
“But I advise you that although you may well achieve vengeance as my agent, you will not attain justice,” she said, observing him closely, sipping slowly from her glass.
Lian’s heartbeat was suddenly deafening. As an Agent of Vengeance, a direct servitor of Dalgarin, or as his people knew her, Nashir, he would be provided with the opportunity to make his uncle pay for his betrayal.
“How would killing him fail to serve justice?” Lian asked, thinking quickly. He added, “Also, why don’t I hate him right now?” He was sure that he should be consumed with rage, and in such a state, he would never refuse such an offer from Vengeance Herself.
“Allow me to answer your second question first, Highness,” she replied. “The reason for your lack of emotion is that you are separated from your material body, and most of your feelings are products of the physical self. In this ethereal state, your bile cannot rise in anger, nor can your bowels loosen in fear. It’s why you aren’t drunk even though you’ve had a full pitcher of Fulnor’s rather strong ale.”
He had suspected that his near-emotionless condition had something to do with the unearthly state into which he had been drawn. “And justice, Lady?” he asked, attempting to be polite yet refusing to be diverted from his question. It was another lesson that his Machiavellian tutor had taught him, not to allow a skilled conversationalist to distract him from his subject.
She smiled. “Well, should you become my agent, or even my priest if that honor attracts you, I can help you a great deal. My priestly orders are small, and my followers are few in number, which grants me some latitude to intervene on their behalf.
“But if you choose to be my agent, Lian Evanson, you cannot be a king,” she explained. “I must always be of primary importance, not Dunshor.” He found her gaze unnerving, for her eyes were not those of a human being, although they had appeared so at first glance. They were infinitely deeper.
“So my people suffer the annihilation of the entire family line, and there will be no king?” he asked.
“No. Someone will be king, Highness. You may be allowed to contribute to his selection. Furthermore, you may even gain the support of the majority of the nobles for your choice,” she broke off, not finishing the thought.
Lian picked up where she left off, falling naturally into the statement-and-reply teaching mode that Elowyn had used. “But there will be those who are unhappy with the choice, and will always maintain that their candidate had the better claim. They’ll eventually revolt, maybe with the support of a bordering nation, and the result will be civil war.”
She nodded approvingly. “You impress me, Highness. Yes. The most probable outcome will be that your people will in the end be conquered by one of your neighbors, and eventually all that was Dunshor will fade from memory.
“So you will have vengeance, but your people will not have justice. You are now the ruler, and as such you have to ask yourself what comes first: your desire, or their needs.”
“I can see only one alternative, Lady,” he said after a short consideration. “I’d be betraying my family’s memory and honor if I choose you. Um, no offense, goddess.” For a moment, he looked like the scared child that he was.
She sighed and smiled. “I am not offended, young prince. In fact, though I would have welcomed you into my pr
iesthood, I am glad you have declined. Remember always that I never said that you cannot still have your revenge, Highness. You’ve simply chosen to make it secondary to restoring your throne,” she said.
He nodded, finally drinking some of the second round of ale. It was very good. “A question, Lady?”
She raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“Why did you bring me here to this land?” he asked. It still made no sense to him.
“Ah,” she said, her intense eyes glinting slightly with amusement. “I knew you’d be cold, so I picked somewhere warm.” Her eyes seemed to expand, as his surroundings darkened. “Fare thee well, Prince Lian. I wish you good fortune on your journey.”
He tried to respond, but his voice made no sound. The darkness of her eyes surrounded him, and then all was black.
***
Gem’s powers were strained to their limit. The wraith had begun driving the spectral rats into the barrier she was maintaining, and she could sense other entities approaching, attracted to the conflict. When her energy was depleted and her charge was killed, it wouldn’t finish her, for she was protected from the Undead within her body of alloyed lashthirin and steel.
But Lian would be dead, and she would be stranded in the Tower until a brave explorer found and appropriated her. She had no doubt that one of Rishak’s men would be the person to do so, and her fate would be sealed.
Her relief nearly provoked a fatal hesitation when she sensed Lian’s returning consciousness. Lian! she shouted mentally. Lian, wake up now! We’re almost out of time! I can’t protect you much longer.
He replied, mental tone clear and unwavering despite his recent ordeal, I’m awake, Gem, but blind and deaf. Can you sustain the wards for a little longer?
Possibly, or maybe I can enable you to see through my senses. It won’t be sight like you’re used to, but . . .
No, I can’t stand yet; everything is still numb. It’ll fade in a bit, don’t worry, he replied, confident that he was right.
She mentally shook her head, hoping that he was correct in his assumption. The wraith hadn’t yet sensed Lian’s return to consciousness, and was occupied with coercing a pair of the rats into the blue flames. These two had witnessed their predecessors’ demise, and were therefore striving to evade the specter.
