“You are right in that there are four Portals. I see that I will have to clear up some of your misconceptions. I do not know how these stories get started,” Evaristo muttered.
“King Tamaros was thirty-five years of age and already, by the grace of the gods, he had become High King, which means that he is king above many lesser kings. Not only that, but even then, young as he was, he was honored throughout Loerem as the greatest ruler Vinnengael has ever known.”
Gareth nodded to show that he was listening and paying close attention. Evaristo, pleased at the boy’s interest, proceeded, expanding warmly upon the subject, which was one of his favorites.
“Tamaros had managed to unite the kingdoms of the humans—the Dunkargans and the Nimrans—which had never been done before. He did this not through war, but through peaceful negotiation. He built roads and opened trade routes that benefited all. Seeing that the opening of roads and trade routes helped ally the previously warring kingdoms of humans, Tamaros determined that opening trade routes to the realms of the other races might help unite the continent.
“But the continent is vast. It takes a dwarf a year of hard traveling overland to reach Vinnengael from Saumel, the City of the Unhorsed. It takes the elves nearly as long and the way is dangerous for them, passing through human lands as they must. The orken and their ships must journey many weeks at sea, through perilous storms and chancy winds to reach Vinnengael. Thus few humans ever saw an elf or a dwarf or an ork, few came to know them, and therefore no one trusted them.
“Tamaros summoned the heads of the Orders of Magi and asked them to devise a means by which people could be magically transported from a central location in their individual homelands to Vinnengael. And send people from Vinnengael to visit the homelands of other races.
“The answer was, of course, the Portals. The idea came from the great magus Petra Petar, the Seneschal. It is his office that is responsible for the care and regulation of the land, for the growing of crops, the altering of weather, the building of roads. He and his people are much traveled, and he had also been thinking that easier means of transportation overland could be devised. He presented Tamaros his ideas on the Portals. Tamaros was pleased and ordered the magi to begin work to build them.
“The Portals were not created overnight, Gareth,” Evaristo said, and he looked off into the distance with a sigh. “The head of my Order—that of teaching—was involved in the work, as were the heads of all the Orders. I was one of her assistants—low-ranking, then, more dogsbody than anything else—and I worked sometimes far into the night, for it was our given task to research the old texts for clues on how such Portals might be created.”
“And how was that?” Gareth interrupted excitedly.
“Child, child,” Evaristo chided. He turned to the very last part of the book on mathematics, exhibited a problem whose myriad numbers covered two entire pages and lapped over onto a third. “Can you understand that equation?”
“No, Master,” said Gareth, looking daunted. He had advanced only as far as the six-times, having become mired in the vagaries of the sevens.
“The magic used to create the Portals is far, far more complex. I could not begin to explain it.”
“I’ll understand when I’m older,” Gareth said gloomily.
Evaristo smiled wryly. “We adults do say that a lot, don’t we? Well, how shall I put this? You have seen the drill the stonecutter uses to bore into the marble? Think of all the elemental magicks coming together, spinning round and round faster and faster until, like the stonecutter’s tool, they spin so fast that they bored right through solid matter, forming a hole in both the material part of the world and the temporal.”
“A hole,” said Gareth, musing. “But isn’t that the…the Void?” He lowered his voice, pronounced the awful word with a pleasantly satisfying feeling of dread.
“Hush, Gareth!” Evaristo frowned. “Do not speak that word lightly! Of course, it was not Void magic! As if the Revered Magi would countenance such a wicked thing. The Void destroys, it does not create. Now, where was I?” He looked exceedingly cross.
“You were telling me about the Dominion Lords, Master,” Gareth said meekly.
Evaristo’s face cleared. “Yes, so I was. That is a much more suitable topic for discussion. King Tamaros, for his part, was beginning to see that the creation of the Portals had the potential to bring about peace and also, at the same time, the potential for war on a very drastic scale. The elves were already suspicious of our motives. They became convinced that the only reason the Portals were being built was so that the humans could sweep in and take control of elven lands. Tamaros spent two years in negotiations, trying to persuade the Divine that the Portals would be used only for peaceful purposes. He promised that each of the races could put guards and guard gates on their ends of the Portals. He promised that no human should come through without first obtaining permission from the Keeper of the Portals.
“All these things he promised, but how was he to make certain that his promises were kept? Already, hundreds of people were clamoring for permission to use the Portals, and they had not yet even been built. King Tamaros knew that while some of these people had honorable intentions, many others were scoundrels and crooks. How was our King to guarantee that those who entered the Portals would observe our laws, once they were beyond our control?
“As always, when confronted with a problem, King Tamaros turned to the gods. He left his palace, entered the Temple, there to fast and pray. He stayed in the Temple for nine days and nine nights, sleeping on the stone floor of a small cell, eating nothing, drinking only water. I was privileged to be one of those attending him at that time,” said Evaristo.
“I can still see him, dressed in plain robes, robes plainer than those of the lowest novice, for he was not one of the magi and would never pretend otherwise. His long hair fell unbound over his shoulders. His chin was unshaven, which was unusual for him, and his beard was flaxen and shimmered in the candlelight. The fasting had not left him gaunt, but had brought out the fine bone structure of his face. I placed the water jug I had brought on the floor beside him. I spoke to him and asked if there was anything I could do for him.
“He did not see me or hear me, and I knew he walked with the gods. I withdrew in silence. The next day, Tamaros left the Temple and revealed the will of the gods.
“Ten humans would be chosen to travel through the Portals. These ten would be our ambassadors to other races. They would live among the other races and learn their ways. They would be responsible for any others who entered the Portals and watch over those who came and went after them.”
“The Dominion Lords,” Gareth cried, in sudden understanding.
“Yes, and those duties were their first,” said Evaristo. “Since that time, their power has grown, as has their responsibility. King Tamaros searched the human kingdoms for those most worthy of this honor. He set high standards for the Dominion Lords—the person must be well educated; must be able to speak at least two other languages besides his or her own; must be trained in combat, in order to defend the weak; must be skilled in diplomacy; must be caring and compassionate, strong and courageous.
“When finally ten candidates were chosen, King Tamaros presented them to the gods. It was then, for the first time, the Transfiguration—the Miracle of the Armor—occurred, and King Tamaros was given to know that his choices were wise and pleased the gods.”
“I’ll get to see the Transfiguration, won’t I, Evaristo?” Gareth asked eagerly, not as much interested in the religious aspects of the ceremony as he was in the spectacle.
“Please the gods, you will see it,” Evaristo replied somberly, with a note of rebuke. “This is a very serious ceremony, Gareth, and one that is not to be undertaken with a light heart. The Transfiguration takes its toll on the mind and the body. One candidate did not survive, but fell down dead upon the altar. The armor and her body had fused as one and could not be separated.”
“Did that mean the
gods didn’t like her, Master?” Gareth asked.
“At first, some thought that was the reason. But then the Revered High Magus pointed out that the gods had given the lady the blessed armor. The ruling was made that the lady’s spirit had accepted the gods’ gift, but her mortal body was not strong enough to bear it. She was buried where she fell, before the altar. All candidates since then kneel upon her resting place and she is always in their prayers and their thoughts. Some term her the Eleventh Dominion Lord, the Lord of Ghosts.”
Gareth was owl-eyed with wonder and sick with worry. “That won’t happen to Helmos, will it, Revered Magus?”
“We pray to the gods that it does not,” Evaristo answered solemnly, then, seeing the boy was pale and unhappy, the tutor added more cheerfully, “Helmos is young and strong and eminently worthy. He will spend a week in the Temple preparing himself for the ordeal, performing what are known as the Seven Preparations. He will be fine.”
Gareth always said his prayers at night, for Nanny had told him the story of a boy who did not and who had been eaten by bears. But he usually recited them in haste so that he did not have to kneel long on the cold stone floor. That night, Gareth added Helmos to his prayers and emphasized to the gods most specifically that they were to take good care of him.
Gareth did not mention his newfound hero to Dagnarus. He did not discuss Helmos with Dagnarus at all, unless the prince brought up the subject, which he did only rarely. Instinct or childish intuition or simply the fact that Gareth had come to know Dagnarus well during these past few months gave the whipping boy to know that he was supposed to have only one hero, and that hero was Dagnarus.
Crown Prince, Lord of Ghosts
Evaristo was not overly sorry to lose Dagnarus as a pupil. At first, the tutor had been worried, even frightened, that he might be in trouble with not only the royal family but his own superiors for failing in his assigned task. But as time passed, and no one said a word of fault or blame, Evaristo relaxed and gave himself to the enjoyment of teaching the one pupil he had left—Gareth.
When his superiors required him to report on his progress, Evaristo was honest about his failure. He did, however, take care to lay the blame on the prince’s chamberlain, Silwyth. It was the tutor’s considered opinion that the elf was responsible for the prince’s truancy. Evaristo stated that the elf was not a suitable mentor for the young prince; the tutor advised that the elf be removed from his post.
He discussed the matter with his wife, the next morning, as he was preparing to depart for the castle.
“Was that wise, my dear?” asked his wife. “Was that prudent? The King himself made the decision to place this elf in that position.”
“I am playing politics,” Evaristo replied. “You should see the Librarian’s face when I mention a word against Silwyth. The woman loses so much color that you’d think her throat had been cut. The situation is very delicate. There has been a shift in power among the elves. I am not clear as to details—elven politics are always so murky and bloody, one doesn’t want to hear about them for fear of ruining one’s dinner. But as I understand it, the previous Shield of the Divine, who had ruled for only about a hundred years, was deposed by the current Shield, presumably because the former Shield approved the creation of the Portal leading from Vinnengael to Kar-Khitai. The former Shield requested death and his request was granted—”
“How very dreadful!” exclaimed his wife.
“I told you, my dear, elven politics.” Evaristo sighed. “At any rate, the current Shield is now threatening to shut down the elves’ side of the Portal. Ambassadors are shuttling to and fro between the King and the Shield. Of course, it’s all about trade concessions. The elves have no intention of closing their side of the Portal. They’re objecting to the tariff charged for elven merchants to bring their goods to market. That’s all it is.”
“This poor elf lost his life over a tariff?” the wife asked, dismayed.
“No, no. That was just part of it. It had something to do with the ancestral advisor—the family ghost, you know. The current Shield’s ancestral advisor advised him to challenge the former Shield or something like that.”
“Ghosts acting as advisors, my dear?” His wife was growing increasingly bewildered.
Evaristo smiled fondly at his wife. “I see that I shall have to teach you a complete course in elven ways and mores, my dear. Every elven household is quite dependent on its resident ghost. But I am late for my lessons with Gareth. What a sweet child he is, docile and sensitive. He will make an excellent magus. I almost wish he was not quite as good friends with the prince. Still, Gareth is young yet, and Dagnarus’s influence over him will undoubtedly lessen with time. I am pleased beyond measure that Gareth admires Helmos. A far more suitable role model.”
“I am sure he is, but what has this to do with the chamberlain?”
Evaristo did not hear. He was heading out the door. His wife pursued him.
“We were talking of Silwyth,” she said, gently prodding.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, my dear, I was distracted.” Evaristo halted, reached for his hood. An icy sleet of a freakish spring cold snap was falling. “The King does not want to offend the elves in any way, shape, or form, and thus Silwyth’s reign as chamberlain is assured, despite the fact that he encourages the young prince to escape the classroom and hang about with the soldiers.” Evaristo gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “No one dares breathe a word against the elf, and, therefore, no one dares blame me for failing in my duties to the prince, for if they do, I will say in public what I have hitherto been saying in private.”
“I don’t like this, Evaristo,” said his wife, detaining him with a loving hand. “All know that elves will resort to anything—poison, a knife in the back. No job is worth that, even if it is in the royal court. Tell the Librarian you want to be reassigned.”
“Thank you for your care, beloved. Unfortunately, no job pays so well as this one. Besides, I am in no danger.” Evaristo smiled wryly. “Silwyth has won. His influence over the prince is assured. I am not a threat. And, as it is, no one is thinking of anything else except Helmos’s Transfiguration.”
“You did remember to bespeak good seats for us, didn’t you, my dear?” his wife asked anxiously.
“I did.” Evaristo lingered, putting off going outside as long as possible. “Did I tell you that Helmos invited the child Gareth to attend the feast? What a generous, noble man our crown prince is! Gareth is so excited the only way I could get him to study at all yesterday was to have him read the Histories of the Dominion Lords. That calmed him down, I can tell you. Hard to believe that a topic so interesting could be written so as to put one to sleep. But that’s Septimus Grubb for you. Ah, well, I must be off.”
Throwing his hood over his head, Evaristo braved the storm, slipping and sliding periously on the slick cobblestones.
Gareth was not the only person excited about the upcoming ritual. A Dominion Lord had not been chosen for twenty-five years. Those who had witnessed the last ceremony were suddenly in great demand for their recollections and spoke of little else. Court seamstresses and tailors were working by lamplight to answer the need for fine new clothing. The city itself was to be dressed for the occasion. Dignitaries and guests were traveling to Vinnengael from all parts of the world, including one of the monks from the Monastery of the Keepers of Time on Dragon Mountain.
Buildings were being painted and repaired, streets swept, flowers planted. Shops were to close for the Day of Transfiguration; the taverns, too, though not without a fight between the Innkeepers Guild and the Lord Mayor of Vinnengael. The innkeepers maintained that all their guests would be thirsty after a hard day of cheering and hand-clapping and wanted the taverns open. The Lord Mayor replied that it would be difficult enough to control the excitement of the populace without half the populace being sozzled. The innkeepers at last agreed to close, on the condition that they be allowed to add an additional halfpenny tax to the cost of each room to make up the loss an
d that they be allowed to open an hour early the following day.
Everyone in Vinnengael was caught up in a pleasant and excited bustle with the exception of the Revered Magi. As Evaristo had tried to impress upon Gareth, the Transfiguration of a Dominion Lord is a sacred and solemn ceremony, one that they take extremely seriously. The day after his feast, Helmos would enter the Temple of the Magi to begin the Seven Preparations. At that time, the Temple would be closed to outsiders, the only exception being the Hall of the Healers.
The other Dominion Lords would accompany Helmos to the Temple, where he would be tested, questioned, and judged on his performance of the seven rituals. If at any point any one of the other Dominion Lords found fault with the candidate, he or she could bring the concerns to King Tamaros, who would review the candidacy. The other Dominion Lords were said to be well pleased with Helmos. There was no thought of contesting his nomination; no one feared that he would fail.
Evaristo refused to answer Gareth’s questions concerning the Seven Preparations themselves, saying that these were sacred to the magi and secret and that the boy would learn about them when and if he was found suitable for acceptance into their exalted ranks.
There were only five Dominion Lords at the time of Helmos’s nomination. The Lord of Strength, Lord of Courage, Lord of Knowledge, Lord of Honor, and Lord of Justice. Those ranks that were vacant were Lord of Chivalry, Lord of Gallantry, Lord of Diplomacy, Lord of Thought, and Lord of Beasts.
“Each of the Dominion Lords is gifted magically by the gods, a gift that will enhance the performance of the lord’s duties,” said Evaristo, after he had made Gareth memorize all ten duties and the names of those who had been so honored.
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