River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  “How is it that you found me?” Halsey managed, his voice still quavering a little.

  The mage shrugged.

  But there could be only one answer. “Skye . . .”

  Eldrich stared at the man, saying nothing.

  “And Erasmus was meant to lure us as well?”

  Eldrich continued to stare, his look of mild amusement not varying.

  “You have trapped me, can you not at least answer my questions before . . . before you do whatever it is you intend?”

  The two men regarded each other for a moment, and then Eldrich spoke. “Augury is a strange art—its subtleties almost impossible to teach. . . . Skye, you see, is my creature. I created him, in a way—created him to serve only one purpose. He was the grain of sand around which your vision formed.”

  Halsey was not even sure he understood. Eldrich had created Anna’s vision? Was that possible?

  The fire cracked, shooting sparks onto the floor, and the mage swept them, rather lazily, back into the coals with the toe of his boot. “After he appeared in your vision, I arranged to put Skye in danger. You, very gallantly, rescued him.” He tilted his head as though to say: “It was not so difficult.” “Though I will confess, I thought you might approach Erasmus first.” He stared hard at Halsey. “This young woman—your mage in waiting—she has gone down into the cave with the others?”

  Halsey said nothing, feeling like a belligerent child faced with an infinitely more powerful adult.

  Eldrich glanced down into the fire, as though considering what he might do with this wayward child.

  “I will confess to you,” he said, his manner so offhand he could have been addressing a friend, “until two years ago I was beginning to think my augury was false—that you did not exist—but I had a feeling. Intuition perhaps, and a mage should always trust his intuition.” He glanced up at Halsey. “And here you are.” He tried to force some triumph into this declaration, but it rang hollow, and he looked suddenly tired and sad, almost melancholic.

  Halsey said nothing, but sat and stared, aware that his threat had been hollow, knowing that Eldrich knew it, too. Anna . . . her impetuosity had been their undoing, though he knew she should not be blamed entirely. He had sanctioned many of her actions, however reluctantly. He shook his head. It was the oddest moment; his flash of fear had disappeared and now he felt only inevitability. He could not change what was to happen, but could only wait.

  “But why am I here?” Eldrich said suddenly. He looked at Halsey expectantly, as though the question were not merely rhetorical. “Do you have any idea what is to be found in that cave?”

  It was said one could not lie to a mage, and even Anna could usually discern truth from lie. “No, I haven’t.”

  Eldrich raised his eyebrows, a distinctly human response. “They search for nothing?”

  “They hope to find a chamber left by Teller’s people.”

  Eldrich’s face darkened at the mention of this name. He stared at Halsey for some time, his gaze unsettling. “I wish them luck,” he said finally.

  Halsey shook his head, suddenly finding his emotions. Angry at being toyed with. “I think I have little to add to this conversation. You trapped my brothers at the abbey. Trapped and murdered them.”

  “Me? I was not even born. Nor were you, I think. That is history, Mr. Halsey. And history is but memory—ever unreliable memory. . . .” The mage paused, staring at his captive, for that is what Halsey was, and he knew it.

  “Do you know what Medwar said about history? It is fiction without dialogue.” Eldrich smiled wanly.

  “What will you do with me?” Halsey asked, unwilling to listen to jests from his likely executioner.

  “To a large degree, that depends on you, Mr. Halsey.”

  “I will not betray my fellows. I have ways of averting that.”

  A smile pulled at the corners of Eldrich’s mouth. “I have no doubt that you do, but let me ask only that you hear me out, Mr. Halsey, for there is a tale I would tell you, and at the end . . . Well, I think we will have more to discuss when I have finished.”

  “You cannot win me over. Even a mage is not that persuasive.”

  “I ask only that you hear me out, Mr. Halsey. The story, I think, is more persuasive than I could ever be.” Eldrich rose from his seat and paced across the hearth, gazing down at the floor, seemingly unaware of the Tellerite.

  Flames, he does not fear me in the least, Halsey thought. Do we truly know so little of them?

  “It began with Lucklow in his middle years,” Eldrich said, his musical voice even more melancholy. “He was skilled at augury, much more so than I. Much more so than you, Mr. Halsey. . . .”

  Forty

  Walky rode up behind the cab of the carriage as though he were a footman. He had an unerring sense for the times when his master needed to be left alone, and this was one of them. He looked around at the night. Moonlight found its way through the trees in splashes highlighting a world drained of color. There were no coach lamps flickering fitfully, for the carriage of a mage did not require them. Driver and team traveled unerringly to their destination on even the blackest of nights.

  Walky had served the mage for a very long time now, over seventy years, and he had never seen Lord Eldrich so troubled as he had been these last weeks. This constant reversion to augury was one sign, but to Walky there were others as well.

  The mage revealed almost nothing of his thoughts, let alone his concerns, but Walky hadn’t remained in his service for so long without reason. He was sensitive to his master’s moods, and Eldrich’s mood was dark and very troubled.

  This entire affair was unsettling. Eldrich had returned from his encounter with the old man who followed Teller, and shut himself up alone for twelve hours. Walky had heard him pacing, back and forth across the room—forth and back like a caged wolf.

  And now there was this young woman and her companions who had gone down into the cave, to perform all manner of mischief, no doubt.

  The cave itself was a matter of the greatest concern, or, more precisely, what was hidden there. And then there was Erasmus. Even though Walky knew that he was still alive, he grieved for his former student all the same.

  The knowledge that all of this was necessary hardly made it easier to bear, but it was all the comfort he had.

  We all die, he thought. Even the mage will pass through eventually.

  The carriage rocked to one side, and Walky took hold quickly. He saw a bird glide through a shaft of moonlight, making no more noise than a passing cloud—or a mage. An owl, Walky realized. Eldrich’s great wolf howled somewhere out in the darkness—an unmistakable if not a common sound, for the beast was usually as silent as its master. Perhaps it howled the despair the master felt. Walky did not know. Nor would he likely ever know. He served the mage, and one did not ask questions of a mage.

  The driver brought up his team, and as Walky peered into the darkness, he realized that the lane had ended. He climbed down from his perch, not nearly as quickly as he once had, and opened the door, lowering the carriage steps.

  Lord Eldrich did not emerge, and Walky stood patiently by, never thinking to speak. The driver readied two saddle horses that had been tethered behind, and when he spoke softly to Walky to let him know the mounts were ready, the springs of the carriage rocked, and Eldrich stepped out. Without a word, he mounted a horse, and with the help of the driver his servant did the same.

  Walky was almost sure they were on a path, though he could not see it. On occasion, when the need arose, the mage cast a spell over him that allowed him to see in the darkness. Owl sight, the mage called it, though Walky suspected that this was Eldrich’s idea of humor. In any case, owl sight seemed to bathe the world in soft starlight. There was only the slightest shade of color to even the brightest objects, but even so one could see perfectly. Tonight, of course, Walky did not have to see. H
e could follow the mage, who could see perfectly, he was sure—and it would never occur to Eldrich to give his servant sight merely out of consideration. The mage did not think in such terms.

  Walky, of course, didn’t feel the slightest resentment over this. When he needed to see in the darkness, he was given sight. When he needed to know, he was informed. It was the life he had chosen, and he could not even imagine another.

  Erasmus would never have been able to adapt to it, even if that had been the reason he’d come to live with Eldrich. No, Erasmus had questioned everything, and resented anyone who kept knowledge from him. From what the old man could tell, that had not changed.

  Walky wondered if this was one of the reasons that Erasmus was where he was this night. But, no, even the mage couldn’t be so petty. After all, Erasmus had been only a boy in those days. He could hardly be blamed for his actions, he had been so young.

  Leaves brushed across his face, and he bent down quickly.

  Ahead of him, Eldrich emerged into an area of moonlight so that Walky could see his slightly bent form almost clearly. The mage, with his head bowed, riding through a wood by night. There was an image to frighten children, and for good reason. Eldrich did not care much for men, at any age.

  Although Walky had long ago accustomed himself to following blindly wherever his master led, whatever he did, this night the servant felt a vague uneasiness growing in him. What was it they did this night? Had it to do with some larger purpose? And if so, what?

  They were somewhere above the great cave into which Erasmus had disappeared, Walky was sure. Erasmus and the others—the followers of Teller. He began to feel nausea creeping over him.

  Walky knew that Eldrich would act without the slightest compassion toward those who opposed him, but Erasmus was in this same cave, had helped draw the followers of Teller there, in fact.

  Has that been his purpose all along? Walky wondered. Poor child. Poor sad child . . . Better to have burned.

  Forty-One

  “Erasmus!” Hayes rubbed his eyes as though he might wipe away the image of his friend. Surely he could not be here.

  Kehler turned quickly on Hayes, the accusation clear.

  “I—I left a note for Erasmus in case we didn’t return. I thought our friends might like to know where we’d perished.”

  “And it was a wise precaution,” Clarendon said, almost crossly. Then he waved his hand about the chamber. “But what in this round world have you found?”

  Kehler didn’t look quite as furious as Hayes expected. In fact, he looked almost relieved to see the others.

  “We aren’t quite sure, Mr. Clarendon,” Kehler said. “It is what Baumgere sought, or so I surmise, but beyond that I cannot say. The mark above the door seems to be Teller’s, but that is about the only token we recognize.”

  “And even there you are mistaken,” Clarendon said. “For the blossoms over the door were not vale roses. They were not roses at all.” He stared at the sculptures above the font, his eyes darting here and there and then back again.

  Hayes caught Erasmus’ eye. “Do you have any idea what this place might be?”

  Erasmus looked down, shaking his head. “I think only Eldrich might have that answer, Hayes.” He looked up. “I assume you’ve seen no sign of Deacon Rose?”

  “Deacon Rose!?” Kehler said.

  Erasmus nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid he learned of our expedition into the cave and, suspecting our purpose, confronted us at the entrance. We thought it better to bring him, and keep him under our eye, than let him wander free, but he slipped away and got ahead of us at the pool. Now we don’t know where he’s gotten to.”

  Kehler slumped down on the stair of the terrace, suddenly limp with resignation. Twice he raised his hands and tried to speak but couldn’t manage to find words. Finally he said; “But that is why I kept this so secret. Rose is a Farrellite ‘inquisitor.’ A priest trained to deal with matters that have to do with the arts of the mages. Men just like him burned the Tellerites who were discovered within the church—burned them for heresy. You cannot imagine how powerful he is. And his dedication is beyond all. The church will do anything to see that the arts do not live beyond the years of the last mage. They believe, once Eldrich is gone, that the church will rise again—and they will have no practitioners of the arts to deprive them of their rightful place. This man, Rose, he is more than just a fanatic. He would burn for eternity before he would fail in his duty. He would sacrifice any number of innocent people.” Kehler looked up at Erasmus, his face drawn with exhaustion and fear. “I cannot think what he will do to me if ever he finds me,” he said, losing his voice suddenly. “I can’t think.”

  “He believes you are a follower of Teller,” Clarendon said, watching the young man’s reaction carefully.

  Kehler’s hands flew up as though they were on strings. “I am undone,” he said.

  “Can we not simply stand guard at the mouth of the passage?” Hayes asked. “No one could pass through there without us knowing.”

  “And then what will we do?” Kehler asked, his voice filled with accusation.

  “I don’t know, Kehler, for I cannot begin to imagine what this man can do to us. Can we simply keep him from exiting the tunnel? After all, a man in that passage is hardly at an advantage.”

  “You don’t understand. Deacon Rose has been trained in the arts of the mages,” Kehler said.

  “No, he is trained in the lesser arts only,” Erasmus said emphatically. Everyone turned to him, a bit surprised. “The church has long had some knowledge of the lesser arts. They can detect certain things—people who practice the arts for instance, or have a talent for them. They have practiced augury with partial success. Perhaps they can even protect themselves from the charms of a person who has some small knowledge of the arts—but that is all. The mages would never have allowed the priests to retain more power than that. I’m sure this priest is every bit as fanatical as you say, Kehler, but he is not nearly so powerful as you think. Fear, I suspect, is his greatest weapon.”

  “How do you know?” Kehler asked, still utterly despondent.

  “Because I did learn a few things in my time with Eldrich. We must be wary of the priest, certainly, but here are four of us and only one of him. He cannot overpower us.” Erasmus looked around him, shaking his head in disbelief and wonder at what they’d found.

  “What do you make of this, Erasmus?” Hayes asked, placing a hand on Kehler’s shoulder. He felt a bit guilty about Erasmus’ arrival, but he was also greatly relieved.

  Erasmus did not answer, but turned in a slow circle. “It is a miracle that such a thing exists. And even more so that you found it.” He shook his head again. “What lies through the doorway?”

  “A crypt, or so it seems; and something you should see.”

  Erasmus and Clarendon mounted the steps onto the terrace, slowing to look at the font and the sculpture above before going on toward the chamber’s end.

  Inside the doorway they stopped, Kehler and Hayes hanging back, watching their friend’s response. Clarendon reached out and touched the supine figure of the knight, resting his hand there as though it were the grave of a friend he had finally come to visit.

  “Who was this?” Clarendon asked softly, his voice oddly filled with emotion.

  But Erasmus shook his head. “Look at the arms on the breastplate. These are not Teller’s signs.”

  “No, but who has been honored so?”

  “Landor,” Erasmus said, though the word came out reluctantly. His three companions stared at him, the question unspoken.

  Erasmus pointed at the text on the wall behind the crypt. “I have seen that name before . . . in a book in the house of Eldrich.”

  “But who was Landor?”

  “The first, perhaps the most powerful of the mages, or so say the myths. I don’t know more than that.” Erasmus turned to the
sculpted face of the woman, gasping in wonder. Perhaps, like Hayes and Kehler, he felt that he should know her. Reluctantly he turned away and crossed behind the crypt to examine the text, his jaw tight, but his eyes glistening as though tears tried to form.

  When he came to the end wall, Erasmus stopped so abruptly that Clarendon, who followed, was almost knocked off his feet.

  “Blood and flames,” Erasmus breathed, and said nothing more.

  Clarendon stared at the face and then up at Erasmus. “But it is you, Erasmus,” he said, stepping back quickly, as though he should not stand too close to this man. His eyes darted back and forth, from the face in stone to Erasmus.

  “Is it me?” Erasmus asked, his tone a little desperate, as though asking to be reassured that it could not be. “Is it?”

  * * *

  * * *

  They sat on the steps of the raised terrace in the perpetual starlight of the chamber, eating some of the food that Kehler and Hayes had brought through the tiny passage.

  The conversation was quiet, punctuated by long pauses as they contemplated the meaning of what they’d found.

  “Erasmus?” Hayes said. “It seems that you can read—some of this, at least. Will you not give us some idea of what is written here?”

  Erasmus looked up at his young friend, and then turned his gaze to the writing on the wall. For a moment he said nothing, and Hayes was almost certain he would again deny having any knowledge.

  “The language,” Erasmus said, his voice quiet and solemn, as though he were in a place of worship, “is one of the root languages of Farr and Entonne. It is called Darian, in that tongue. Scholars today have small fragments of it, though these have never been translated. I cannot read it fluently, and most of what is written here is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I could read the name ‘Landor,’ which was inscribed in the crypt.” He glanced back toward the chamber where his likeness was carved. “The text begins in that corner and runs right to left for the first line, then left to right, and so on, back and forth, I don’t know the first word, though it would appear to be the word or name of this chamber. The first line appears to say, ‘. . . was built to mark,’ or perhaps it is, ‘to solemnize the meeting of the two worlds, Tearalan and Darr.’ Do you see the circles opposite us? Each is marked with a name. The one most central is Tearalan, the circle next to the right is Darr. The first word of the next sentence is Landor. Perhaps, ‘Landor discovered this gateway in . . .’ I think it is a date, but I cannot tell you what it might be. ‘Honor and high praise to the great mage who opened the way. Let his name be remembered always. Let his . . .’ perhaps ‘praise.’ ‘Let his praises be sung by all who come after.’” For a moment he fell silent, his eyes scanning the script. “It appears to be a history. Seven mages passed through the gate, Landor and six who followed him. ‘The land was fair, and they named it . . .’ It is a form of Landor—perhaps ‘Landoria’ would be our equivalent. ‘The tide followed them, sweeping through the land, and the arts grew in strength as the tide rose.’ I know only two words of the next line. . . . I cannot make sense of it. Then, ‘The King’s Blood was spread upon the earth, and took root and blossomed. Thus ended the first years of the . . .’ More words I do not know.” For a few moments he said nothing at all. “I have forgotten so much. There are words I think I should know, but they escape me. It would seem that this chamber was built as a monument to Landor and to the others who were his followers or supporters. It marks the place where these first mages arrived.”