The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  Chapter 1

  While it is true that we can force the dead to answer our questions, it is dangerous to use this power, especially when the corpse was a powerful tekson in life. . . .

  from Annals of Melbarth, Third Series, Early Lectures of the Hierarchs

  Guest Lecture by Headmaster Shigmar

  Atno 3524, “The Great Year,” Spring

  “You are late,” the hooded figure said, stepping out of the shadows. The voice was muffled; the eyes gleamed in the dim light.

  The two soldiers stopped, turning to face the now visible figure. “We had to wait until the barracks cleared,” one hissed, “you didn’t want us followed.”

  The hooded figure growled, but then fell silent for a moment; the two soldiers shifted restlessly. “No,” the hooded figure said, finally. “What report?”

  “All goes as planned,” the same replied. “The chosen are imprisoned, and the Headmaster discredited. The master,” the word caused him pain, but he went on, “went down about an hour ago to rape the witch. We subverted the right guards, so all is in readiness.”

  “Excellent,” the hooded figure replied, “the plan . . . ,” he began, but his voice trailed off. His body jerked to one side, as if he had been struck; he was suddenly encased in red light. The two soldiers stepped back, afraid of what was happening. After a few moments passed, the light went out, the hooded figure sighed and slumped onto the stone floor. The two soldiers made no move to help the hooded figure rise, waiting for him to recover on his own. The hooded figure climbed painfully to his feet, swaying where he stood. He took a moment to collect himself before speaking. “I have new orders from the Great Lord,” he said weakly. “The chosen have escaped and are hiding somewhere beneath the city. We must move up our plans and attack as soon as the hordes arrive.” He looked across the underground river and sewer of Shigmar. “Now, there is a mouse lurking nearby that we must capture. From him we can extract the location of and access to the others.” Grins widened on the two soldiers’ faces.

  Tevvy flitted from shadow to shadow, making not a sound. The hood covering his head and face fulfilled the double function of hiding his face from the dim magluku illuminating the passage and filtering out the stench of the sewers beneath Shigmar. The leather of his suit had been tanned and dyed to be non-reflective, so that with his eyes, hands, and feet blacked-out, only the gleam of his eyes could be seen in the dimly lit passages as he glided silently north. The silence of his movements contrasted the volume of his thoughts; his mind raced, and the wise, though dry, inner voice screamed warnings. He was a fool, the voice told him, over and over again, giving many sound reasons why he should abandon the sewers, Shigmar, and the group of wethem waiting for his report, hiding in a secret cavern beneath the sewers of Shigmar. He should climb down the rope he left tied just outside the sewer exit, a ruse to trick those who wished to catch the wethem waiting for him, make them think the wethem had left Shigmar, and never again let his shadow, or his feet, touch any part of the home of the kailum.

  He shook his head, trying to stop the thoughts that distracted him from his present purpose: to find out what those two soldiers were doing in the sewers. Both of the kailum had said that the soldiers, especially since they entered the sewers from their barracks rather than their guard tower, should not be in the sewers at this late hour. Tevvy reckoned that it must be three hours past midnight, although his reckoning was surely off, since they had spent at least an hour in the Chamber of Stasis, the cavern where the wethem waited, with the door closed. This meant, according to the maghi, Thal, that it was the same time outside the room, when he left, as it was when they entered. Tevvy did not pretend he understood the teka, or how it worked; he was not sure he even accepted that it did work; it was another reason to flee while he had the chance. The wise voice, reminding him of his grandmother, continued to remind him that he was a fool for accepting anything he had heard or seen since he had fallen in with the wethem, but the Voice had called them the chosen of the One. His father had told him something about it just before he left, speaking of the chosen, and the prophecy concerning them. He was not sure what it meant, other than a lot of trouble. There was the prophecy of the first kailu, Shigmar, that they said named him the “cunning mouse who penetrated all secrets.” He liked the sound of it, “cunning mouse,” and thinking about it made him smile.

  Run away! his grandmother’s voice shouted at him, run away while you have the chance! He jerked himself back to the present: the sewers and the two soldiers. If he continued like this, he would be caught and end up imprisoned, or worse. The wethem would then have to rescue him, and he could see the gloating smile of that wretched kortexi, who, he believed, still did not trust him; he would gloat and tell the others, See! Did I not warn you that the thief could not be trusted?

  Damn the kortexi! his grandmother’s voice shouted. Yes, he thought, he’d like to, but the others, even the females, liked and believed him, so that line of thinking was useless. But the wetham liked him, too, Klare and Marilee; they had both treated him very well, but one of them had gone back to Holvar with the kailu’s older brother, Delgart. Those two had been oddly deformed by the curse and sign they all wore: half of the sign had been written on each of their faces, so that if they stood cheek to cheek, one could see the whole sign. He had noticed that they were careful not to stand that way, as completing the sign caused them pain, and an angry red pulsing like he had seen in Klaybear’s hand and forehead on the night he had found Tevvy in the ditch. That had frightened him; he was sure he had been found by a villain. You should have run then. Perhaps, but he needed healing, and the kailum of Shigmar were the best, most trustworthy healers, and after all, his father had meant for him to join Myron’s apprentice, who had been the one to find him. Odd how these things worked out. He suddenly realized that he was standing at the center of crossing passages, unmoving and completely in the light. He jumped back and into the shadows.

  You’re headed for trouble, the voice told him. He was indeed, if he kept on like this; he needed to shut off his thinking. He looked carefully down each passage, searching for the soldiers’ tracks, hoping that he had not confused them by distractedly moving forward. He saw them directly ahead, still moving north through the sewers, heading to the northern parts of the city. He slipped silently across, passing a passage to his left, and then one to his right; the passage ahead became a bridge over the east branch of the main sewer. He approached the edge of the bridge carefully, stopping and listening for voices; he heard only the sound of water moving and dripping, echoing strangely in the confined stone space. He looked carefully around the corner to his left, toward the area where they had heard voices earlier. He saw the central point of the sewers, an area that was open and visible across the river, with stairs leading up and the river cascading down to the sewer level. He reckoned that about half-an-hour had passed since they had entered the sewers, forty-five minutes since the kortexi had gone berserk and killed Ghelvon, which meant he had barely fifteen minutes before the guard in the dungeon changed and the bodies were discovered. The alarm would follow, if it hadn’t already been raised, and the sewer would be filled with soldiers looking for the chosen.

  Escape is still possible: just go to the nearest sewer exit, the voice whispered to him. He could, and leave the chosen to their fate. It would be easy; he was sure he could pick the lock on the sewer grate, slip out, and wait by the city gates until they opened, then slip out with the rest of the merchants leaving. He could probably even get a job with one of them, scouting out the road ahead; it wouldn’t be a great deal of ghelwum, but it would be safer than staying here. That kortexi did not trust him; he would be trouble, always asking questions and accusing him of breaking the law. He’d probably turn him in, the first chance he got, and he, like all his order, had a rigid set of values that would get in the way of Tevvy’s work. One had to “bend the rules” in order to find out secrets; wretched kortexi! He would constantly get in the way! On the other han
d, if he went berserk like he did in the dungeon, he would be very useful in a fight; and that power of his sword to open instant doorways–that would be even more useful. Tevvy sighed, and he saw an image of his father, face filled with disappointment that his son and most gifted student had run away from the opportunity he had been given. He wondered what his father would say, if he told him that he was the one spoken of in the prophecy, at least that is what the voice they had heard said, a voice the others identified as the One. He sighed again, pulled his thoughts back, and silently cursed. He wondered how many of his precious minutes had been lost while he mused, when his mind registered a sudden, sharp pain, and then the passage whirled and went dark.

  “How long has it been?” Klaybear asked, looking up from the scroll he was reading.

  “Huh?” Thal replied, looking up from a different scroll, his face confused.

  Klaybear raised one eyebrow. “I asked, how long it has been?”

  “How long,” Thal began, brow wrinkled, “since . . . ?”

  “How long,” Klaybear said, trying to keep his voice level, “since Tevvy left?”

  Thal looked around, then looked back at the kailu sitting across the table from him. He then looked down at his scroll and rolled out what he had read. “At least an hour, maybe a little more.”

  “What are you reading that has so thoroughly occupied your mind?” the kailu asked.

  “A treatise on the fundamentals of teka,” Thal replied, “written by Melbarth. I’ve picked up several ideas that we have lost, subtleties of using teka that I’d like to try. And you?”

  “Shigmar’s narrative on how all things came to be,” Klaybear replied, “the creation of the universe.”

  “Melbarth has referenced the work several times already,” Thal said. “The powers we wield are directly related to the elements out of which each race was formed; as we were created from the elements of earth and water, the working of teka using these two elements comes easily to us, and we are capable of more intricate and more subtle works with these elements, either individually, or when mixed together. When using the element of air, our teka is more crude, more a release of raw energy, and we have less control over the teka, and so we must be very careful in its use. We can add the greater elements of fire or frost, or the powers of light and Void. . . .”

  Klaybear interrupted. “I only wanted to know how much time had passed, and should we begin to worry about the awemi,” he said. “I did not expect a discourse on the fundamentals of teka.”

  Thal was stunned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just got a little sidetracked when you asked me what I was reading. . . .”

  Klaybear laughed. “Yes, and you took that as an opportunity to discuss it.”

  Thal grinned sheepishly.

  “Should we go looking for Tevvy?” Klaybear asked.

  “I would just start retching,” Thal said, “if I went back out there.”

  Klaybear shrugged. “So I’ll go looking for him.”

  “Yes, and the first soldier who sees you would raise the alarm, grab you, and drag you straight to the headsman,” Thal noted wryly. “Besides, neither one of us has had much rest. . . .”

  Klaybear interrupted him again. “So we just sit here doing nothing?”

  “We need the others,” Thal said, looking first toward the room where Klare slept, and then toward the room where the kortexi lay. “Blakstar would have a better chance of taking care of himself, and Klare would draw less attention. . . .”

  Again, the kailu interrupted. “I’m not sending her out alone.”

  “I’m not suggesting it,” Thal replied, “but they are both asleep, and we are unrested.”

  “Don’t you know some orthek that would clean the air? or prevent you from being sick?”

  “Those are issues of health,” Thal replied, “so, wouldn’t they be more in your realm than mine?”

  Klaybear shrugged. “Perhaps, but it is beyond my present ability; I hate sitting here doing nothing, just waiting.”

  “Our studying these ancient manuscripts is not nothing,” Thal countered; “it is the best use of our time,” he stopped, suddenly realizing the answer. He leapt out of his chair, knocking it over.

  “Quiet!” the kailu hissed. “Are you trying to wake them up?”

  “Sorry,” Thal said, stooping to right his chair. “I just remembered that time is at our fingertips.”

  “Huh?” Klaybear replied, confused.

  “The awemi is late returning from his spying and misdirection. We need the kortexi and your wife to go look for him, and they both need to finish resting before they could go looking for Tevvy. Since he is outside this room. . . .”

  “We close the door,” Klaybear continued, “freezing the awemi where he is while giving Blakstar and Klare the time they need to rest,” he finished. “Is it safe?”

  Thal shrugged. “It should be for a few hours, anyway,” Thal noted, “long enough for them to rest.” The maghi smiled. “And it gives us the time to study more of these texts,” he added, then stood and moved down the hallway to close the door.

  Mistress Storga shook her head. “I cannot understand, Headmaster, how you can still defend your apprentice after seeing all this,” she said, waving her arm over the devastation in the dungeon guards’ common room. “Master Ghelvon and his apprentice killed, the contingent of soldiers manning the dungeon all killed, your apprentice and the others escaped, set free by the two soldiers on duty: how can you still believe they are not agents of Gar?”

  “Ghelvon’s neck was crushed,” Master Ghreis noted, “the renegade kortexi is certainly strong enough to have killed him.”

  “But there was no mark on his apprentice,” Myron said, “and his heart lying on the floor nearby: how could any of them manage that? And what about the room no one had ever seen? How did they create that?”

  Master Wegex shrugged. “They were obviously deeper into the evil of Gar than we would have thought.”

  Avril shook his head. “You are not thinking,” he noted, “how could they have deceived all of their masters? If there had been even a hint that they had become corrupted, we would have known.”

  “Perhaps,” Myron said, “or perhaps not.”

  Avril looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “We had a traitor among us that no one recognized,” Myron replied.

  Storga laughed. “Yes, your apprentice, Headmaster. How can you deny the evidence?”

  “I think, Storga,” Myron began, “it is you who are denying the evidence, although it is right in front of you.”

  Storga snorted; Ghreis shook his head, but Wegex was outraged. “How dare you accuse us of ‘denying the evidence’ when you will not admit the possibility that you could have been wrong about your apprentice?”

  “The chosen did not kill anyone in this room, or on this level of the school,” Myron said. “Look just at this room,” Myron pointed to the corpses, moving his arm in a circle. “Look at the way they are all circled around their captain, who lies at the center, his sword arm burned, as if he had. . . .”

  Mistress Storga interrupted. “There is a way to answer this question.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Master Ghreis asked.

  She spoke hesitantly. “We could use aneksaro,” she whispered.

  The others looked at her suddenly. Only Avril spoke.

  “That is dangerous teka,” Avril said, “and we are one master short.”

  Myron looked around. “That teka must be used soon after death, so we do not have the time to raise someone to master.”

  “We are strong enough,” Storga said.

  “We have a quorum,” Wegex added.

  “Then let us vote,” Myron said. “All in favor, raise your right arm.”

  Storga and Wegex raised their arms immediately; Ghreis followed. Avril took and held Myron’s eye for a moment before speaking.

  “I am opposed to this action,” Avril said, still looking at Myron.

  “Do yo
u doubt our strength?” Storga asked, still holding up her arm with the others.

  Avril shook his head and turned his eyes on Storga. “I do not doubt our strength; I feel there is a threat close by, one that we have not recognized, one that is waiting for its moment.”

  “Yes,” Myron agreed, “there is some threat nearby.”

  “The only threat nearby,” Storga said, “is your escaped apprentice, and the others you name the ‘chosen.’”

  “Do we use aneksaro?” Ghreis asked.

  “It will give us a clear answer,” Wegex said.

  Avril again looked at Myron. After a moment, Avril raised his arm very slowly. Myron sighed. “Very well,” the Headmaster said, “form a circle around the corpse.”

  Myron stood at the head of the fallen captain, Avril at his feet; Wegex and Ghreis stood on his right side; Storga on his left; all planted the heel of each staff sharply against the stone floor. A circle of green fire flared to life on the floor around the corpse from the heel of each staff. When the circle completed itself, a shimmering green dome of transparent light covered and encircled the corpse. Myron spoke the word of power, “mortiswera,” then asked the question, “How did you die?”