“Welcome, my friend!” the fatherly figure called from his chair. “I am so pleased that you’ve agreed to join us.”
Because of the robed monarch’s inability to move, a heavy sculpted table had been brought in for the dinner. Decorated with filigree and lovingly carved by some expert hand, it likely cost as much as Kentril made in ten years—if he was lucky. Atop it, a golden cloth had been set, and on top of that, gleaming plates, pristine silverware, and tall, magnificent candelabras.
Three chairs had been placed at the table. Juris Khan himself could not be moved off the dais, but a smaller yet no less richly adorned table had been positioned near him. The larger table had been turned so that the lord of Ureh sat at its head.
Quov Tsin already sat on what would have been the left of their host, but Kentril saw no sign of Atanna. However, as he approached, she suddenly emerged from the side of the room, hand held out toward him.
He stared unashamedly at her, both because he could not see how he had missed her entrance and because nothing else in the richly decorated chamber could match the vision she presented.
Her billowing emerald gown complemented her lush, crimson tresses, which had been artfully draped down over her shoulders and breast. The sleeves stretched all the way to the backs of her hands and even fit over the three lower fingers of each, almost like a partial glove. Other than her hair, her shoulders were bare, and the gown itself plunged just enough to entice but not to flaunt her perfect form shamelessly.
He took the hand she offered and kissed the back. Atanna then took his hand in hers and led him to the table.
“You shall sit there, at the end,” she murmured. “I shall be on your left, very near.”
Kentril almost went to his appointed place, then recalled how polished officers acted in the presence of ladies of the court. He steered her toward her own chair, then held it out for her. Smiling prettily, Atanna accepted this gracious gesture.
“About time,” Tsin muttered as Kentril seated himself. Judging by the empty goblet in front of him, the Vizjerei had already had at least one cup of wine. He had come clad, of course, in the robes that he always wore. As a sorcerer, Tsin was not expected to dress in anything other than the garments of his calling, and, in truth, the rune-inscribed robes did not seem out of place here.
“You look splendid!” Juris Khan informed the captain. “Does he not look splendid, my dear?”
“Yes, Father.” Atanna blushed.
“A wise and portentous choice, daughter! Truly, Captain Dumon, the uniform is appropriate for you.”
“I thank you, my lord.” Kentril did not know what else to say.
“I’m so gratified that both of you could come on such short notice. I owe each of you much already, and it appears I’ll owe so much more before very long!”
“We are honored, Lord Khan,” Quov Tsin responded, raising his empty glass in salute. A liveried servant appeared from nowhere and filled it from a dark green bottle, which perhaps had been what the Vizjerei had desired all along.
Kentril nodded in appreciation of his host’s words, although he did not feel as if he had done so much to deserve the praise. Yes, he had helped set the Key to Light in place, but any strong arm could have done that. More to the point, it would be Tsin who would release Ureh’s ruler from Gregus Mazi’s curse. Captain Dumon could understand the sorcerer being given his due, but for himself, he felt grateful just to be able to sit near Atanna.
Snapping his fingers, Juris Khan had the first portion of their dinner brought out by several uniformed servants so similar in appearance that Kentril had to study each golden figure in turn in order to ascertain that they were not all identical. The servants treated him with as much honor as they did their master, which only further embarrassed him. He was a hired soldier, a man of rank only because he had survived when so many other brave but poor men had not.
As the dinner went on, the veteran fighter feasted on fruits and vegetables the likes of which he had never seen and thick, well-cooked meats dripping with their own juices. The wine he drank had such full flavor that Kentril had to take care for fear he would imbibe too much. Everything he tasted had been made to perfection. The dinner seemed more a dream than a reality.
Throughout it all, he also feasted on the glorious sight of Atanna, so much so that it was not until late into the meal that a question that had bothered him earlier came again to mind. He stared at what little remained of the contents of his plate, finally asking with the utmost caution, “My lord, where does all the food come from?”
Tsin glanced at him as if having just heard an unruly child interrupt. Juris Khan, however, not only took his question in stride, but made it sound so very wise. “Yes, well you should ask. You wonder, no doubt, because I’ve indicated that although we were trapped between Heaven and the mortal plane, we were aware of our fate. In some ways, time did indeed pass, but in others, it did not. Even I can’t fully explain it, I’m sorry to say. We only knew that years went by in the true world, but we did not age, we did not much sleep, and, most important, we did not hunger at all.”
“Not at all?” Kentril uttered with some surprise.
“Well, perhaps we did . . . but only for our salvation. And as we did not age, so, too, did our food not age. Thus, we are still plentifully stocked and shall be for some time.” Atanna’s father smiled benevolently at both guests. “And by then, I hope our situation will be already much improved.”
Kentril nodded, grateful for the answer but inwardly still embarrassed for having asked it in the first place.
“My lord,” piped up the Vizjerei, “during the time you were explaining the obvious to the captain here, some further considerations formulated in my head.”
Khan found much interest in this. “Considerations dealing with my condition?”
“Aye. I will definitely have need of your daughter’s abilities as well as your own, just as I earlier proposed. You see . . .”
As Tsin began a lengthy and, for the mundane captain, incomprehensible explanation, Kentril gladly returned his attention to his hostess. Atanna noticed him gazing at her again and smiled over the goblet she had just started raising to her lips.
Eyes and mind on the heavenly view before him, Captain Dumon grew careless with the knife and fork he had been using. The blade slipped from the bit of meat he had been carving and jabbed the side of the hand that had been holding the other utensil.
Drops of blood splattered on the dish.
Pain shot through Kentril.
The lavish, brightly lit chamber became a chamber of horrors instead.
Blood—fresh blood—seemed to flow over tarnished, scratched walls, and the ceiling, which now existed only as a jagged hole, revealed a sky as turbulent and tortured as the rest of his surroundings. Crimson and black clouds did battle, monstrous bolts of lightning marking where they collided. Swirling maelstroms formed, seeming ready to swallow the bleeding world below.
Bones that looked suspiciously human lay scattered everywhere upon the stained and cracked floor, and something not a rat scurried over one before disappearing into a small fissure running along the side of the room. A fierce wind coursed through, howling as it went. An intense heat that somehow still chilled Kentril to his very soul swept along in its wake.
Moans and cries suddenly assailed his ears. He rose at last from the rotting table, seeing on the broken, dust-ridden plate before him not the freshly cooked meal he had been eating, but instead a moldy, maggot-infested piece of greenish meat.
The moans and cries continued to increase in intensity, so much so that the captain had to cover his ears. He stumbled back, falling against one wall—and only then finding the source of the mournful pleas.
From each of the walls, hundreds of mouths began to cry out for help. Those nearest him seemed to scream the loudest. Pulling away in horror, Kentril stumbled back to the table . . . and into, of all things, a very annoyed Quov Tsin.
“What do you think you’re doing, cre
tin? You’re making a fool of yourself in front of our host!” The Vizjerei pointed in the direction of the dais.
But when Kentril looked there, he did not see the good and fatherly Juris Khan. The chair remained fixed in place, true, and of all things it looked most untouched by the horrors around, but in it did not sit the lord of Ureh.
Before Captain Dumon’s fearful eyes arose—
“Kentril! Speak to me! It’s Atanna! Kentril!”
And as if it had all been a dream, the grand chamber immediately became whole and bright and alive once more.
Atanna held his bleeding hand tight, her eyes wide and concerned. Staring into those eyes gave the mercenary something on which to focus, to use as an anchor for his suddenly questionable sanity.
“Captain Dumon, are you unwell?”
With great reluctance, Kentril looked to Juris Khan. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the robed, masterful monarch standing tall, absolute concern written over the elderly visage. Gone was the image of—of what? Kentril could not even recall exactly what he had seen, only that it had been like nothing he had ever come across in all his life. The sheer act of trying to remember even the slightest image caused him to shiver.
Khan’s daughter brought a goblet to his mouth. “Drink this, my darling.”
For her and her alone he drank it. The wine calmed him, pushed away all but the vestiges of his nightmare.
Atanna led him back to his chair. As he sat, Kentril mumbled, “I’m sorry . . . sorry, everyone.”
“There is no need for one who is ill to apologize,” Khan kindly remarked.
One hand still on the captain’s shoulder, Atanna said, “I think I know what happened, Father. We walked in the garden earlier, and something bit him.”
“I see. Yes, the jungle insects sometimes make their way here, and some are said to carry disease that causes delusions and more. One must’ve bitten you, Captain Dumon.”
Having fought in many vile lands, where weather and wildlife made a more fearsome foe than the opposing soldiers, Kentril could well believe their conclusions. Yet the monstrous clarity of his hallucination still stuck with the fighter. What within him could dredge up such horrors? As a man who had seen and shed blood, he had dreamt about the dark side of war, but never had his imagination created such a picture.
Still, Atanna’s explanation would also give reason for his earlier episode in the city. Had that been the first sign of the sickness? He had assumed that Zorea or the other woman had drugged him, but such a drug should have worn off by now.
Lord Khan seated himself again. “Well, whatever the cause, I am sure that under my daughter’s ministrations, you will recover fine. I want you to be able to accept my gifts with full clarity of mind so that I may not force upon you anything you do not wish.”
“Gifts?”
“Aye, good captain—although if you accept, you’ll be captain no more.” The robed figure leaned toward his two guests. “In the struggle against Gregus Mazi, lives were lost. Important ones. Good ones. Good friends. A vacuum thus exists in Ureh, and if we’re to become part of the mortal world again, that vacuum must be filled. You two can help in that.”
Kentril felt Atanna’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, and when he looked up, she gave him an expression of pride and pleasure.
“Master Tsin, you and I’ve already discussed this in part, so you have some advantage over Captain Dumon. Nonetheless, the decision is no less a significant one for you, and so I state my offer again, with more conciseness this time. All those who wielded and governed the magic arts of my kingdom have perished save my daughter and myself. I ask of you if you will bring honor again to that which Gregus tainted. I ask you to take up the mantle of royal sorcerer, the magical knowledge of my realm yours if you will sit ever at my left hand.”
The Vizjerei rose slowly, a satisfied smile across his wrinkled countenance. Kentril could only imagine the spellcaster’s pleasure. He had more than gained long-term access to the books and scrolls of the library; for all practical purposes, Juris Khan had given the diminutive figure everything the Vizjerei could have wanted.
“My Lord Khan,” Quov Tsin graciously replied, “nothing would please me more.”
“I am gratified.” Now the stately monarch turned toward Kentril, who felt his stomach tie in knots. “Captain Kentril Dumon, through your efforts to help us and the recommendations of one who has come to know you better than I, I’ve learned of a man of ability, determination, honor, and loyalty. I can think of no better qualities in a soldier—nay, in a leader!” Khan steepled his fingers. “We are an old realm in a new world, one you know much better. There’s need for such a man as you to guide us, to protect us from elements that may desire our downfall in this different time. I need you as a commander of my warriors, a protector of my people, a general, as that uniform calls for.”
Despite his recent spell, Kentril pushed himself back to his feet. “My gracious Lord Khan—”
But his host politely cut him off. “And in Ureh, you should know that such a rank comes hand in hand with a title. The commander of our defenders is not only a soldier but a prince of the land as well.”
He left the captain momentarily speechless. Atanna, her hand now on his arm, squeezed tightly.
“And as a member of the nobility, all rights therein are yours. You will be granted an estate, be able to raise servants of your own, marry other members of nobility—”
At the last, Atanna’s hand squeezed particularly tightly. When Kentril briefly let his gaze fly to her, he saw the answer for why Juris Khan would especially offer him this wondrous posting. Despite their liaison so far, the soldier had always known inside that he truly had no hope for a lasting love. Atanna was a princess, born and raised to marry someone equal to or higher than her lofty station. Kings, sultans, emperors, and princes could have easily asked for her hand, but not a lowly officer.
Now her father had eradicated that one impediment with a single gesture.
“—and so forth,” finished Juris Khan. He smiled as a father would smile at his son . . . perhaps a foreshadowing of events. “What say you, good captain?”
What could Kentril say? Only a fool or a madman could refuse, and despite his recent episodes, he did not feel himself either of those. “I-I am honored to accept, my lord.”
“Then all that I’ve offered is most definitely yours. You and Master Tsin have made me very happy! Master Tsin assures me of complete success in freeing me, and if that holds true, three days hence, as marked by the sun seen beyond our borders, I shall before the entire court officially acknowledge your new stations.” Khan nearly fell back into his chair, as if both physically and emotionally exhausted by his grand gesture. “You’ve the gratitude of all Ureh . . . but the gratitude of my humble self the most.”
Atanna returned to her seat, and she blushed even more whenever her eyes and Kentril’s met. The talk began to turn again to Quov Tsin’s plan to free Lord Khan from his chair, eventually even drawing Atanna in because of her necessary role. Left alone now, Captain Dumon turned to his own thoughts.
And those thoughts concerned his subterfuge. Even after all Juris Khan had granted him, after all Atanna had promised him with her eyes and lips, he had said nothing concerning the possibility that Gregus Mazi still lived and might yet turn his black arts again on them. At this moment, Kentril knew, Zayl crept about the palace, seeking behind the backs of their hosts the plans of its design. True, the pair had only the best of intentions in mind, but still the captain felt as if each second he failed to speak he betrayed Atanna and her father further.
Despite his regrets, though, Kentril chose to say nothing. If Zayl proved to be wrong, no harm would be done. Yet if the necromancer had divined correctly, there would be only him and Kentril to deal with the threat. Khan could do nothing while so impaired, and not for a moment would Captain Dumon even consider letting Atanna face the corrupted spellcaster. Tsin already had too much with which to deal. No, if Gregus Mazi
did indeed live, Kentril would have to see to it himself that the corrupted sorcerer paid the ultimate price for his past crimes.
Atanna caught his gaze once more. She smiled and blushed, completely ignorant of the darkening thoughts behind the captain’s own smile. No, no matter what happened, Gregus Mazi could not be allowed ever again to touch her . . . not even if it cost Kentril Dumon his own life in the process.
TWELVE
Zayl met him some hours after the dinner, the necromancer’s expression giving no sense of success or failure as he slipped into the captain’s chambers. Only when Zayl had held up his ivory dagger and turned one complete circle did the pale figure finally announce the results of his search. “An easier task than I had anticipated. Clearly marked and filed in the library among other papers. In his own abode, our host apparently did not think he had to be cautious about such information.”
“No,” responded Kentril somewhat bitterly. “He probably believes that he can trust everyone.”
Zayl presented to him a tracing of the chart someone had made showing how to reach the caverns beneath and what routes the system of tunnels took. “You can see that it is good we have this. The system is complex, almost mazelike. One could get lost down there and never find the way back.”
“Where do you think Mazi might be?”
“That is something I shall try to divine just before we depart, captain. I did not leave the sorcerer’s former sanctum empty-handed. I have a few more samples of his hair. I will try to use them to find his location. It may not be exact, but should be enough for me to hazard an expert guess.”
Kentril tried not to think of the two of them wandering through the caverns seeking the insidious spellcaster. “Will he be able to detect what you’re doing?”
“There is always the chance of that, but I have taken the utmost precaution each time and will do so again. The methods of my kind are much more subtle than those likely learned by such as Mazi or Tsin. That has been in great part for the sake of simple survival, for we know how most others view us. We have even learned by necessity how to move among other practitioners of the magic arts without them ever knowing we were present. You may rest assured, Gregus Mazi will not notice.”
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