Tragget and I now stand under the blood-red sun. The light burns and blinds us. This time, however, it is I who reach out and pluck the sun from the sky.
“How did you know to do that?” Tragget speaks with awe in his voice.
“It is hard to explain. I look at the thing here in this dream and somehow within myself I just know. This is what you are looking for,” I say, cutting the sun in two and handing the black pit of it to Tragget. “There is much that I can tell you; much more we both could learn. Still, this is where I started. I suppose it is where you may start, too.”
BOOK OF GALEN BRONZE CANTICLES, TOME IV, FOLIO 1, LEAVES 53-55
The ancient tower of Mnumanthas rose above the trees, framed by the Ghnemoth Peaks beyond it to the south. Galen’s heart felt light as they approached through the deep woods. They were at last near the end of their troubled journey.
It was a welcome sight to Galen. He and his two companions had cautiously passed the Empress Road three days before. Their path led through the forest of Mnumath, a wilderness long since abandoned by men. According to Maddoc, the only settlement beyond Mnumath was the Pir outpost of Waystead at the farthest tip of the Rheshathei Range. Beyond that the lands of the Pir ended, and Enlund and the Forsaken Mountains—the domains of Panas and Satinka—began.
Rhea had had difficulty leaving the Empress Road behind and had expressed her displeasure in no uncertain terms. While they were relatively close to civilized lands, there was the occasional opportunity to find sustenance from the castoffs of trade and travel. Now, far from any settlements, their supplies continued to dwindle and the deep forest of Mnumath offered little hope for forage. Galen, however, set aside her concerns; Tragget would join them in Mnumanthas. He would bring food, clothing, supplies for their journey, and, most important of all, his dear Berkita.
Galen ran lightly down a gully and dashed up the opposite side. He still could not see the base of the ruins through the trees and underbrush, despite being able to see the tower itself through the canopy of fall leaves. He lay his hand on his sword hilt, peering eagerly through the trees, hoping for a glimpse of their goal.
“Galen! Wait!” Rhea called after him. She was struggling with Maddoc on the far side of the gully. Her husband had grown more recalcitrant over the last two days. Today he was nearly impossible.
“I think you should leave them here,” S’shnickt said. “We should scout ahead and make sure it is safe!”
“That’s a good idea,” Galen agreed, “but we don’t want to get too far ahead of them. I’m not sure I could find them again in this undergrowth.”
“Well, at the very least you should draw me out of the scabbard and brandish me as you advance,” the sword huffed. “You are woefully unprepared for the dangers ahead and would live longer if you exercised a little caution.”
“You are always telling me to draw and brandish you,” Galen said in mock derision. “I rather think you like being threatening.”
“It isn’t a question of threatening,” S’shnickt countered, “although I do enjoy a good dramatic pose now and then. I just think a little more caution could prolong the periods I experience between different owners. Just when I get them trained, they usually die on me. It’s rather discouraging.”
Rhea struggled up the slope next to Galen, Maddoc leaning heavily on her arm. He was pale today, his eyes unfocused. Rhea was breathing hard.
“Galen, we need to stop and rest. Just for a little while.”
“Well, I understand. Just sit down here,” Galen replied anxiously. “I think I see a brighter space up ahead—not too far. Perhaps it’s a clearing. I’ll go take a look.”
“Galen,” Rhea said through her labored breathing as she collapsed to the ground. “Don’t go too far. Please.”
Galen smiled. “I won’t. I’ll be right back.”
He waved and trotted off into the woods, moving smoothly through the underbrush with a carefree air. The sunlight fell on him in dappled patches through the autumn leaves above. Their fellows who had fallen before lay as a golden brown carpet under his feet. He could smell the rich aroma of fall in the air and it lifted his spirits as he walked, bubbling over into a nameless tune that he whistled.
Suddenly, he stopped.
A thin column of smoke curled into the sky next to the tower. Galen realized that he could smell it now on the breeze. It looked to be coming from a clearing just a few dozen feet ahead of him.
Galen smiled with relief. “It must be Tragget. He’s here early!”
“You know, a little caution never killed anyone,” the sword yelped, “but the lack of it has done in men a lot better than you!”
“If you don’t keep quiet,” Galen said happily as he plunged forward toward the clearing, “I’ll be forced to toss you back in my sack and you’ll miss everything.”
“Oh, as though I’ve missed much thus far,” the sword complained. “Tromping around the woods and hills. Picking berries. Where’s a good fight when you need one?”
Galen broke through the trees at the edge of the clearing. Several stone walls stood at varying heights before him. One low foundation carved a large circle through the small clearing, vanishing in places before reemerging and continuing in its arc through the glade. A gentle autumn breeze stirred the tall grasses.
Galen saw the campfire; a ring of carefully placed stones rimmed the fire itself, while the dried grasses and brush surrounding it had been cleared away to a safe distance. Its smoke drifted up, carried on the breeze up around the abandoned tower that pierced the sky above him. He could smell the burning wood.
There was no one in sight.
Galen drew his sword.
“It’s about time!” S’shnickt sniffed.
Carefully approaching the fire, Galen knelt down to examine it closer. The ground around the ring of stones was hard-packed and he could not discern any footprints.
“Where are you?” Galen muttered as he looked about him. “You’re here somewhere, but where?”
Carefully, he stood up and started backing toward the woods. The quiet of the ruins in the afternoon unnerved him. Most of all, he wished he were out of the open and back in the protection of the forest.
The long moments passed, undisturbed except by his own shallow breathing. At last, after many glances about him, his back reached the woods. Galen turned to run. He had to get back to Rhea and Maddoc, had to—
“Galen! Behind you!” his sword yelped.
He turned, but not soon enough. The heavy body slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and driving him down onto the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs from the impact and his sword bounded from his hand. He gasped for breath as a thick hand closed around his throat. His vision blurred. He was dimly aware of something sitting on him, a rock raised up to strike him.
“Prisoner mine yer be!” the deep, enraged voice yelled. “Speak yer name and business er dead you be er is!”
Galen blinked furiously, struggling to catch his breath. All he could utter were gulping sounds.
“Speak say I!” The thick hand gripped Galen’s throat all the tighter.
“Cephas!” Galen managed to squeak out.
The dwarf relaxed his grip. “How know yer Cephas name er?”
Galen chuckled through his coughing as he struggled for air. “It’s me, you old dwarf forger! Galen!”
“Galen! True er is? Yer no smell like Galen . . .”
“Maybe not,” Galen coughed. “But you sure smell like Cephas!”
“Galen!” the dwarf howled, huge tears welling from under his bandages. Cephas threw himself down on the supine human, wrapping his massive arms around him and squeezing the air out of him again as he sobbed uncontrollably.
Galen nearly passed out.
“Good er is!” Cephas bellowed. “Lord Tragget spoke Galen at Mnumanthas er is! True he were! True er is!”
The fire blazed at the center of their celebration. Rhea was astonished at what an amazing host the dwarf turned out to
be. Somehow this blind little stump of a man had brought down a deer and found an amazing amount of late fruits, wild vegetables, and berries for a feast. Now, in the dark of the evening, they warmed themselves next to the fire, their appetites satisfied for the first time in days. Even Maddoc had much improved under the influence of Cephas’s hearty meal.
The light of the fire reflected off the remains of the broken walls that lay about them, most of which had nearly been reclaimed by nature and time. In the blaze’s warm light, the evening passed pleasantly. They talked of home, of the journeys of Cephas and Berkita as they chased Galen across both water and land until they were brought to the Temple of Vasska and before Lord Tragget. It was on the subject of Tragget that they settled at last.
“One has to wonder what his game is,” Rhea said as she contemplated her answers in the flames of the campfire. “He obviously wants to develop more than just an understanding of the Deep Magic. He wants to master it as well. He claims that it is the one thing the Dragonkings fear. If so, why would a member of the Pir Drakonis want to master such power?”
“Perhaps Tragget challenges this dragon-god?” Cephas grumped. “Dragonkings’ defeat means Pir triumph as humans er is!”
“I can’t say that I wouldn’t welcome the loss of the Dragonkings,” Rhea said absently, “but to put such power in the hands of the Pir—in the hands of the Lord Inquisitor no less—I’m not entirely comfortable with that thought either.”
“Rhea, I thought you were one of the Pir,” Galen said with surprising seriousness. “Your ancestors honored the Dragonkings and now they are beyond the Veil of Sighs. You talk about challenging the gods themselves. You risk not only your spirit in the next life but theirs as well.”
Rhea gaped at him. “After all they have done to you—all they’ve taken from you—you still believe?”
“Tragget says it was all a mistake and they’ll make it right by me.”
“Tragget.” Rhea shook her head. “I never want to meet the man.”
“I, for one, will be glad to see him,” Galen said, as he leaned back against a foundation stone and stretched. “We’ve been studying this . . . this Deep Magic or whatever it is nearly every night. He’s made some good progress. I think he’s getting what he wants.”
“Is he,” Rhea mused. “What about you, Galen? Are you getting what you want?”
“Absolutely,” Galen replied. “I get to go home.”
“Get home?” Maddoc scoffed. “Oh, we can’t go home, can we, Rhea? None of us can.”
Rhea looked away.
“What does he mean, Rhea?” Galen asked suspiciously. “What is he talking about?”
Rhea looked back at him, their eyes locked. “Galen, we cannot go home. Not Maddoc, not me . . . and certainly not you. Not ever.”
Galen crossed his arms over his chest. “No . . . I’m going back. That’s all I care about. That’s the only reason I’m doing this! Look, Tragget promised me—”
“Galen,” Rhea said with slight impatience, “that is just not possible—no matter what Tragget promises! You may be able to return to the Dragonback. You may even get letters or papers from Tragget that say nice things about you and that your Election was all some mistake, but no matter what, you will never go back to the life you had. The Pir know that you are one of the Elect. Everyone in your village saw your Election. Did you think they would just forget about it when you returned?”
“They are my friends . . . my family!” Galen protested. “They wouldn’t . . . they couldn’t . . .”
“All of them, Galen? I’ve thought about this a long time and it’s time you thought about it, too.” Rhea pressed on mercilessly. “I’ve been trying to find a way home every moment of the day for over six years. Who will you be when you get back? Everyone in that village has lost someone to the Election, and you are the first one who has returned; the first one who knows their fate. What do you tell them? That their sons, daughters, husbands, and wives have been sent to their deaths for centuries? Who will come to your shop then, Galen? Would every one of them believe you over the Pir . . . the very religion that forms the foundation of their beliefs, their life, and their civilization? Who would come to your shop then, Galen?”
“I won’t tell them,” Galen said with determination.
“So you won’t tell them, you’ll lie to them and perpetuate the lie that the Pir have been telling them for centuries,” Rhea responded vehemently. “Maybe you won’t tell them and maybe they won’t ask—but you will know. More than that, the Pir will know that you know. With all Tragget’s promises and all his papers of retraction, nothing can take back the fact that you know. Tragget may be the most powerful man among the Pir Inquisitas, but he is only one man. The Inquisitas will not abide the thought that someone still breathes in the world that knows this secret. If any of us stop running just long enough . . . well, they wouldn’t wait for the formality of the Election to take our lives!”
“Listen to Rhea,” Cephas rumbled sadly. “Rhea speaks truth er is. Cephas knows. Cephas wanders the face of Aerbon . . . a blind dwarf under the light of men. Why? Because no one can go back to a lost home. Truth er is.”
“Then what are we doing this for?” Galen cried.
“We are doing this because we must!” Rhea said sharply. “We are doing this for your lost wife and for my lost child and for my husband who is here but is lost nevertheless. We’re doing this for whatever home lies ahead of us. I don’t know where this road is taking us. Maybe we don’t get to choose the road. Maybe the road chooses us.”
“Well, I don’t want it!” Galen spat the words with disdain. “What kind of a life is this? Nightmares and visions! Dreams made real! Mystic power straight out of a dead Rhamasian nursery story! It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, and it has taken everything from me that I love. I’ve spent days in that strange place helping Tragget for no other reason than to get my life back, and now you tell me its knowledge is the very thing that will keep me from going home? I hate it with all my heart! I hate it, Berkita!”
“I’m Rhea,” she said quietly.
Galen caught his breath.
Rhea sighed. “Galen, wake up! You’re heartsick for your past and the lovely life you had? Well, get over it, Galen, because it’s gone! It’s just gone! All our yesterdays are as dead as the Mad Emperors of Rhamas! This is who you are—one of the Elect chosen by who-knows-what to receive this gift, this strange, powerful gift. You didn’t choose the magic, the magic chose you, and now that is your life!”
Galen stood, quivering with rage. “You’re wrong, Rhea! I’m going home. Tragget will be here with Berkita in just a few days. When he comes, I’m taking my wife home and leaving this mystical curse behind me forever!”
“Don’t you see, Galen?” Rhea said, forcing her voice into a steady calm. “You can’t go home. This is who you are. You’re trying to run away from yourself—from who you really are. No man can run that fast or that far.”
41
Heretics
Gendrik!” Tragget shouted through the door. “Where are you?”
“I am right here, Master,” the torusk master said quickly, his head peering around the door frame. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Gendrik’s eyes went wide. “My lord, what happened to your rooms?”
Tragget chuckled to himself. Gendrik had been to his private chambers before at whatever odd times his assistance was required. Each time, no matter the hour of the day or the shortness of his notice, these rooms had always been in impeccable order. Now, however, the room into which Gendrik peeked was in complete disarray. Although several traveling cases had already been removed by porters, the discarded dross remained where it had been hastily tossed.
What’s more, Tragget did not care a whit.
Tragget smiled. “Nothing to worry about, Gendrik. I’m sorry; I guess I’m just anxious to get going.”
“I can’t imagine why, Master,” Gendrik said distractedly. “I’ve seen an odd trail now and then in my
life, Lord, but this one is the strangest of all. An entire caravan outfitted while hidden inside a trade warehouse! The trade guild master was so upset I wondered if even your great name would be enough to buy his silence.”
“He agreed to it.” They always agree to it, Tragget thought.
“All of the torusks loaded down while still in their stalls. It ain’t natural, they’ll be gettin’ skittish for sure!”
“They won’t be there long, Gendrik. We are leaving directly,” Tragget said, examining a set of heavy bound books. They were the Pir Inquisitas Desment—the books that spelled out the faith of the Pir and the godhood of the Dragonkings. He pushed them aside. He would not need them where he was going.
The heart or the head, he thought. Magic comes from the heart . . . no wonder the Emperors were mad!
“Yes, my lord,” Gendrik said, his head still bobbing comically at the side of the doorway. It looked like it was disembodied and nodding on a string. “I’d feel much better about this trip, though, my lord, if I knew where we were going. I mean, it’s hard to pack a caravan when you don’t know the destination or the road or how long it will take to get there.”
“Don’t question me, Gendrik,” Tragget said without looking back. “I’ll let you know once we are under way. Now get back to your torusks and keep them calm until we can get there. I’ve got just a few last things to address.”
Gendrik’s eyebrow rose. “Who else is coming?”
“Do as you are told, Gendrik!” Tragget snapped. “I’ve known men who have been hung by their own tongue for less.”
The torusk master swallowed before he answered. “Yes, Lord Inquisitor! At once!”
Tragget listened for a few moments to the retreating footfalls as Gendrik ran back down the corridor. Gendrik had served him well over the years; a skilled man who knew when to be discreet. The Inquisitor had used him more than once for delicate journeys that were best completed without anyone else knowing they had ever taken place. He was a good man—a bit weak-willed, perhaps, but a good servant. Tragget actually felt sorry for what he was about to do to him.
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