“He is mortal!” Tasgall stated. “He cut himself. The red blood flowed.”
“And did he permit you to heal his wound?”
“No. He said…” Tasgall paused.
“Of course, he didn’t. He didn’t let you heal him because you couldn’t. Dagnarus is the Lord of the Void, and, as such, he is tainted with Void. All the Earth magic in the world could not have healed him. If it is any comfort to you, Tasgall, I myself found Dagnarus to be quite charming, engaging, even sympathetic. We both know what he is, yet we both feel drawn to him. He is like one of the bitter potions the healers must mix with honey so that patients will swallow it. Except that he is poison.”
“And is this honey-coated poison meant for us?” Tasgall asked. He looked worn, suddenly, weary.
Rigiswald hesitated. “It is not so much the lies that trouble me, as it is the multitude of truths.”
Tasgall snorted, exasperated.
“I believe Dagnarus when he claims that this trap is a trap for the taan,”
Rigiswald said. “I believe him when he says that he will not turn against us and hand us over to those monsters. From my studies on Dagnarus and from what I saw of him yesterday, his dearest wish in this life is to be what his father was—the beloved and honored ruler of Vinnengael. He won’t accomplish that by betraying us to the taan.”
“That is how I read him,” said Tasgall. “But I have one more question for you: Why have the taan entered New Vinnengael at all? He promised to send away half his force and, from reports I received this morning, he has done so. Five thousand taan marched off to the south at first light. Why not just send them all away?”
“He wants us to view the taan in action. He wants us to see how vicious they are, how well they can fight. Yes, we may defeat them now, but the battle won’t be easy. He wants us to know that at any time he chooses, he can unleash this vicious dog and send it leaping for our throats.”
“That was my take, as well,” said Tasgall. “I will have to cram it down the throats of the heads of the Orders. Thank you for discussing the problem with me. I needed to be sure that I have made the right decision.”
“I am not certain that you have, Tasgall. I think we’d all be better off in a taan stewpot. But then, you don’t have much choice.”
“You say yourself that he has the good of Vinnengael at heart. It might not be such a bad thing to have a strong monarch for a change,” Tasgall returned testily. “One who is determined to raise Vinnengael in the world’s regard and restore her to her former place of glory.”
“On top of a charnel heap?” said Rigiswald.
Tasgall eyed the elder magus. “As you say, sir, I don’t have much choice.”
He left Rigiswald, glad for his advice, yet sorry he’d asked. Tasgall was put in mind of his dreams. Not the substance, for that continued to elude him, but the spirit that left him with a disquieting sense of defeat, loss, and impending doom.
The council meeting went as he’d expected. Tasgall presented Dagnarus’s proposal, stated that he was in favor of it, and then stepped back to wait for the breaking storm. The others were convinced that Dagnarus meant to destroy them, that by opening the gates to the taan they might as well be opening the gates to their own doom. Tasgall stood fixed and immovable in the midst of the howling winds that raged at him, ignoring the aspersions and recriminations that buffeted him, answering their arguments by restating his position over and over. He won by being the last man still standing. Over and over he asked if anyone had a better plan and, finally, they were forced to admit that none of them did.
By the end of the meeting, the Regent was suffering from heart palpitations and had to be assisted from the room. She was taken immediately to the House of the Hospitalers. Tasgall permitted the others to depart only after he’d received their sworn promises that each would assist him or at least not get in his way. The head of the Order of Hospitalers had the most to do, for the Houses of Healing would have to be made ready to receive large numbers of casualties.
The one upshot of the meeting that Tasgall found most disconcerting was the fact that the Inquisitor came out on Tasgall’s side. Tasgall had never liked the Inquisitor, not even when they were in school together. Tasgall guessed that the only reason the Inquisitor was siding with him now was so that the man would have the opportunity of insinuating himself into his meetings with Dagnarus. Tasgall had seen the Inquisitor and the Regent whispering together. He had no doubt that he was now suspect.
Fine. Let them suspect him of being drawn into the Void. Upon becoming a battle magus, he had sworn an oath to the gods to defend Vinnengael and its people with his life. He would do as he had vowed, though he made enemies of his fellows.
Though his very heart misgave him.
Tasgall brought his battle magi to the palace at the appointed hour. There were fifty in all, a number that included some of the most powerful magi then living. All were highly trained, highly skilled. Most were veterans, having fought the Karnuans at Delak ’Vir and the dwarves on numerous occasions, for the dwarves constantly raided Vinnengaelean territory. Most wielded both Earth and Fire magic, which was the preferred weapon of battle magi because of its extremely destructive nature.
Tasgall was proud of his people. His men and women met Dagnarus with cool detachment and a professional demeanor. They had a job to do, and, whatever their thoughts and feelings about Dagnarus and this sudden shift in power, they kept those thoughts to themselves. As Tasgall had foreseen, the Inquisitor asked politely to be permitted to sit in on the meeting. The asking was a formality. Tasgall could not deny him. His only hope was that the Inquisitor had enough care for the people of New Vinnengael not to do anything that might put them in danger. Knowing the Inquisitor’s fanatic adherence to duty, his hope was a faint one.
Dagnarus was in an excellent humor and why not? He had achieved his dearest wish, at long last. He came to greet the magi all personally. He insisted on shaking hands with each and every one of them, asked their names, then escorted them to the meeting room himself. All this he did with a regal air, remaining friendly, but keeping his distance, managing to be at once both king and comrade.
Tasgall could see his magi warming to the man, and he could not blame them. He had to work very hard not to fall under Dagnarus’s spell—a spell that had nothing to do with magic.
Dagnarus led them to a meeting room furnished with a round table on which was spread a detailed map of the city. The magi stared at the map in amazement, for none had ever seen anything like it.
“I had a team of mapmakers work on it all night,” said Dagnarus. “I knew we would need it, you see. Pure folly to go into battle not knowing the terrain. Is it accurate? Can any of you find fault with it?”
He appeared anxious for the commendation and was pleased as a child by their praise.
“Thank you. Or rather, thank your mapmakers. Excellent fellows, every one of them. I sent them home with a bag of silver tams each. Now”—Dagnarus rubbed his hands—“down to business.” He leaned over the map. “The taan will enter here—”
Dagnarus continued talking, pointing to various locales as he explained his plan. The magi focused on his discussion, intent upon the map. Suddenly Dagnarus lifted his eyes, looked straight at the Inquisitor. The king continued to talk, never missing a word, and Tasgall was perhaps the only one who noticed, with the exception of the Inquisitor. His bony face did not change expression. He did not flinch or move. Yet some word passed between the two, of that Tasgall was certain.
Dagnarus smiled slightly, then lowered his eyes to the map. He proceeded with his plan. The Inquisitor stood in silence, his emotions unreadable, except that a muscle twitched in the man’s jaw, his hands clenched, knuckles whitened. Tasgall would have given a bag of silver tams himself to know what had occurred. He would ask, of course, but the Inquisitor might not be inclined to answer. By the look of it, whatever had happened between them had not gone the Inquisitor’s way.
The discussion and
development of the battle plan went on for another two hours without a break. Dagnarus had many good ideas, but some that weren’t so good, arising mainly from an imperfect knowledge of the capabilities of a battle magus. He was willing to listen, quick to understand, asked intelligent questions, and glad to give way to superior knowledge.
At the end of two hours, he called a break. He ordered the servants to prepare food and drink for his guests in the dining hall, after which they would resume their discussion. He was pleased with the way the plan was shaping up, had no doubt that they would be victorious on the morrow. He was sorry to hear that the Inquisitor would not be with them during the upcoming sessions, but knew that duty called. The king led the way to the dining hall, conferring with several of the battle magi as they walked.
Tasgall excused himself and managed to catch up with the Inquisitor before the man exited the palace. He fell into step beside him.
“What happened back there, Inquisitor?” Tasgall asked.
“Nothing happened,” said the Inquisitor.
“Oh, yes, it did. I saw the exchange. Whatever it was, I need to know. Listen to me,” Tasgall added in exasperation, grabbing hold of the man’s sleeve and forcing him to halt and face him. “I am not the enemy.”
“Aren’t you?” said the Inquisitor coolly. “You seem very cozy with your new king. Very quick to laugh at his witty remarks and praise him to the skies.”
“I laughed because what he said was funny,” Tasgall growled. “As for praise, his plan of battle is a good one, and I told him so. I don’t trust him, any more than you do. I made that clear in our meeting this morning, if you’d been listening. I thought I also made clear that now is not the time for the left hand to wonder what the right hand is doing. We’re all in this together, or should be. What happened?”
The Inquisitor gazed out into nothing for long moments, then his overlarge eyes met Tasgall’s.
“I cast a magic spell on him, one intended to disrupt Void magic.”
Tasgall was impressed. No slouch at magic himself, he’d had no clue that the Inquisitor had been spell-casting, and he’d been standing right beside him.
“With what intent?” Tasgall asked.
“Experimental,” said the Inquisitor. “If he is Lord of the Void, as history claims, I thought perhaps the spell might force him to reveal his true nature, expose him for what he is.”
“What your spell exposed was a very comely, intelligent, charming man,” returned Tasgall. “Either your spell failed, or perhaps he has been redeemed as he has claimed.”
“Balls!” the Inquisitor said, his tone sharp. “My spell did not fail. My spell struck a wall and shattered.”
“So what are you trying to say, Inquisitor?” Tasgall demanded, growing impatient at having to drag out every scrap of information. “Or not say, as the case may be.”
“The spell I cast was a Void spell,” the Inquisitor replied in chill tones. “The only way it could be countered was by another Void spell, a very powerful one. Think of that, Battle Magus, the next time you laugh at his jokes.”
“And what do you propose I do?” Tasgall demanded of the Inquisitor’s back. “Do I allow the taan to come in and slit our throats? Do I cry: ‘Ha-ha, sir, the laugh is on you! We’re all going to die out of spite.’ Is that what you would have me do?”
The Inquisitor paused, turned slowly around. He spoke in low tones, his gaze abstracted, turned inward. “All my life, I have fought against the Void. I have done the gods’ work. Good work, too, or so I believed. In order to do my work, I had to learn Void magic.” His brow furrowed. He shook his head. “You will not understand this, Tasgall, but I never saw the paradox in that. I never saw, until now, when I looked into his eyes, that I had become what I most loathe.
“As long as Dagnarus rules Vinnengael, Tasgall, so it will be with us all.” He shrugged. “Do whatever you think is needful. It won’t matter. Not in the end. We lost this battle two hundred years ago.”
Tasgall fumed his way back to the meeting room. It was all very well for Rigiswald and the Inquisitor to be so blamed high-minded and speak so eloquently of martyrdom, but what would the twenty-five-year-old Vinnengaelean mother with three little children clinging to her skirts have to say on that subject? She would probably be pretty damned eloquent herself!
Rounding a corner, he very nearly collided with Dagnarus, who was coming from the other direction. A flotilla of courtiers sailed along after him, plying him with compliments and flatteries. Sighting Tasgall, Dagnarus made a leap at him, seized hold of him by the arm, and dragged him off for a private talk. The courtiers remained behind, bobbing in the water, until such time as His Majesty should once more sail in their direction.
“Tasgall,” said Dagnarus, “I wanted to let you know that I’m sending young Prince Havis out of harm’s way. For his own safety, of course, and to ensure that Vinnengael still has a king, just in case—the gods forbid—our plans go awry. The prince tells me his father has a hunting lodge in the Illanof Mountains. I think he will be safe there, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall, troubled. “There is the matter of the taan army—”
“I know the disposition of that army, Tasgall,” said Dagnarus, smiling. “They are massed along the river. None have ventured west. I will provide a safe route of travel for His Highness. He will have his own personal retainers with him, and as many men-at-arms as we can spare.”
“That will not be many, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall.
“Nor will many be required. The prince will be in no danger. I guarantee it. Now, let us return to our work. I am much impressed with your battle magi, Tasgall. I think we are off to an excellent start, don’t you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall.
THE VRYKYL, VALURA, ANNOUNCED TO THE TAAN THAT DAGNARUS had conquered the city of New Vinnengael single-handedly, that its people had declared him to be their god. She proclaimed that the taan would celebrate this occasion with a god day.
Although the taan were again disappointed that there would be no fighting this day, they did not grumble, as they had on previous days. They had been promised that on the morrow they would enter this city and take what they wanted.
The taan loved nothing better than a god day. There would be storytelling and strong food, washed down with copious quantities of topaxi. The highlight of the day would be the kdah-klks—ritual fights between tribal members that had once been used to determine leadership of the tribe, but which were now used to test the skill and courage of young warriors and to enable older warriors to advance in rank.
To mark this Day of Triumph, calaths would be pitted against calaths. This meant that entire battle groups would fight each other, with valuable gifts of weapons and armor going to the winners. The taan were elated.
“You must fight well,” the kyl-sarnz told them, “for the xkes of the city will be witness to your prowess.”
Valura pointed to the city walls, as she said this, where the taan could see the humans lined up on the battlements, staring across the river at the taan encampment. The taan jeered at them and clashed their weapons.
Her task done, as Dagnarus had commanded, Valura handed over the responsibility for making the arrangements for the god day to the members of the Black Veil, an elite group of taan shamans. Valura was under orders to return to Tromek, the elven kingdom, to support the Shield in his battle against the Divine. She was being sent away, and she knew she would never be allowed to return.
Valura wanted to be with Dagnarus. She wanted to share his victory, to be with him when he gained the prize for which he’d worked and fought and sacrificed so much for so long. She wanted to be present to see him crowned King of Vinnengael. She begged to be allowed to attend the coronation, to take her place among the Vinnengaeleans, to assume the guise of the beautiful and enchanting elf woman he had once loved.
Dagnarus refused her pleas. The time was not right, he told her. She would come to New Vinnenga
el, but not now. When the Shield came to Vinnengael to hand over to Dagnarus the rulership of the Tromek nation, Valura could come with him. At that time, Dagnarus would be glad to welcome her to his court.
Valura knew he was lying to her. She knew, even if he didn’t know himself.
“I will never be permitted to enter New Vinnengael. My presence would ruin the day for him. Everyone else in the world would see the illusion of a beautiful elven woman, with skin that is petal-soft and lips that are rose-hued and almond eyes of wondrous brilliance. When he looks at me, he sees the fleshless skull, the empty eye sockets, the rictus grin. I am a constant reproach to him. I gave up my soul to be with him, and now he loathes the very sight of me. Every time he looks at me, he sees the truth of what he is—the Lord of the Void.”
Dagnarus no longer wanted to be Lord of the Void. He wanted to be King of Vinnengael. He did not want her love, which was dark and tainted with evil. He wanted the love of the living, he wanted their adoration. Banish her, and he would banish that part of his life.
So he trusted. So he hoped. But his trust was misplaced, for it was in himself. His hopes were doomed, for hope also depended on himself. For the time being, he was pleased with this shiny new toy. He was content to play gently with it, lest he break it. But, over time, the toy would grow shabby, the paint would peel, and the wheels would keep falling off. The toy would disappoint him, no longer fulfill his voracious ambition. He would tire of it. He would toss it aside and seek out another and yet another after that.
Woe betide those who put their faith and trust in him, such as these pitiful taan, such as she. He drank their blood and stole their souls and gave nothing in return.
She summoned her mount, a beast known as an equis, a demon horse, spawned of the Void. Seating herself on its back, she grasped the reins, but she did not immediately give the command to leave. She took a moment to look at the taan, feasting and cavorting and capering about their fires, making gleefully ready to celebrate their god’s victory. She looked at the walls of New Vinnengael, lined with soldiers, making grimly ready to defend their city and their new king.
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