“Until tonight, I would not have believed such a thing as the White truly existed. Yet here you sit thus avowing, so I should assume that the four of you are mad, claiming as you do to be in the service of something that does not exist outside of myth. However, nothing I’ve seen in Hirea indicates irrationality, nor in you, my father.
“So I am forced to assume that the White is real and that the world is not what I have been told it is.”
Aruke sat back positively beaming with pride. He glanced at Father Juwon who said, “You reasoned that well, young Valko. Assume the White is real. What do you suppose it is?”
Valko shook his head. “I doubt I can even guess.”
“Guess,” commanded his father.
“The White is not a being,” Valko began slowly. “Or there would have been more…believable stories. Witnesses, testimonies, and the like. It would have to be immortal, for the legend has existed for centuries. I have never once heard of anyone who even knew anyone who had seen a manifestation of the White, so it cannot be a person or a being.”
Father Juwon nodded with approval.
“So,” continued Valko, “it must be something abstract.” He looked at the four men. “Perhaps a society, like the Sadharin or the Scourge.”
Aruke nodded. “It is, but it is more.” He looked at Hirea.
Hirea said, “I’ve watched you, young Valko, and I’ve seen you kill, yet you take no pleasure in it.”
Valko shrugged and said, “I…no. I do not. I feel…”
“What do you feel?” asked Denob.
Valko said, “I feel a sense of…waste. Even when I become enraged, or feel the hunger to spill blood, when it’s over I feel…an emptiness.” He looked at his father. “The young warrior I fought on my day of testing, Lord Kesko’s son…I have seen those who would not stand against him victorious in the training arena. It was chance that had him face me. Had he faced another, he would be serving his house and the Sadharin this very day. There is no advantage, but chance, and chance…it evens out eventually, doesn’t it?”
Father Juwon nodded. “It does. We lose many fine young warriors to mere chance, and keep lesser warriors alive.”
“It is a waste,” Valko repeated.
“It is wrong,” said Aruke. “If you can come to understand this thing, then I am content to die this night.”
“Why should you wish to die tonight?” asked Valko. “Why should either of us die? Is it because of this…secret you carry? I can scarcely believe it, but if you say the White is who you serve, then I will serve with you. You have much to teach me, Father, and there will be many years before I take your head.”
“No, you must take my head tonight.”
“But why?”
“So that when dawn comes, you will be Lord of the Camareen. You must install your mother as ruling female of this house and begin to sire sons. Your mother will pick those females who will give you strong, well-connected sons.
“And you must come to understand many things that I cannot teach you. Your mother must; for a time of change is soon upon us, and you must remain for many years the Lord of the Camareen, and come to fully understand your fate.”
“What is my fate?” asked Valko. “That I must hear this and…believe it?”
“Your mother will tell you all, and she will be here within two days,” said Aruke. “But before I go, I reserve the pleasure of telling you what you must know.
“You build an alliance unlike any seen since the Days of Forging, and you or your heir must take that alliance and ride across the Star Bridge to Omadrabar, and there you must do a thing that has never been done in the history of the Dasati.
“You must take the head of the TeKarana. You must destroy the Empire of the Twelve Worlds and save the Dasati from the Dark One.”
SIXTEEN
LORD
Aruke made ready to die.
Valko again voiced his objection. “This is wasteful, and unnecessary.”
“You are young,” said Father Juwon. “You are powerful, talented, and perceptive beyond your years, but you are inexperienced.”
Kneeling before his son, Aruke said, “Listen to them. Father Juwon will remain here, as your ‘spiritual advisor,’ and Hirea and Denob will visit regularly. Others will make themselves known to you.
“But it is to your mother you must look first, and then to Father Juwon, for they will be your heart and mind until you have matured to fulfill your destiny, my son. You must be the ruling lord of the Camareen, not any man’s son. It is vital that you rise quickly, and that all recognize you, for a great struggle is coming, and you must be ready when it arrives. Your mother will be a fine mistress of this castle—it is to my everlasting sorrow she was never here long during my tenure as ruler; she taught me more than I imagined possible to learn from a female, and I regret that I will not see her again. And with a prelate as powerful as Father Juwon acting as your personal adviser, you will begin with great prestige and influence.
“They will guide you, keep you safe from those who will seek to crush you, and shield you from those who wish to pull you down from below.”
He looked at Father Juwon, and nodded. “I am ready.”
Father Juwon looked at his old friend, then at Valko, who saw a sheen of wetness in the Deathpriest’s eyes. An open display of weakness from a Deathpriest? This, as much as anything he had heard, proved that what he had been told was true, or that it was at least the truth as these men knew it.
The High Priest of the Western Lands said, “We are so far from the light, we who serve the White, that we do not even have a name for the One we seek to worship. Somewhere lost in time that being lived, and somewhere we pray goodness abides, until such time as the way is made to return it to our lost people. But we still wish for our brother that being’s mercy and know that this sacrifice is all that can be asked of any man.” He looked at Valko. “Make it swift, and with honor and respect.”
The Lord of the Camareen presented his sword hilt first to his son and Valko took it from him. He took a deep breath, and then in one swift motion he brought it down in a slashing blow, cleanly severing his father’s head from his shoulders.
Orange blood fountained up in a spurting arc as Aruke’s head rolled across the floor and his body crumpled. Valko stood over his father’s body, generations of Dasati breeding causing a feeling of triumph to rise up in him. He was now Lord of the Camareen! He was now…then another feeling intruded: a dark, cold sensation in the pit of the stomach, far more chilling than the mere sense of wastefulness he had felt before when seeing someone needlessly die. It was a lonely thing, a dull ache of the heart, and he had no name for it. He looked at Juwon with a silent question in his eyes.
“It is called sorrow,” said the Deathpriest. “What you are feeling in your heart is called sorrow.”
Valko felt moisture gather in his eyes, and a cold grip seized his heart. He looked at the three remaining men in the room and said, “Surely this cannot be what you seek to serve?” His voice was thick with unfamiliar emotions.
“It is,” said Hirea, also betraying sadness at seeing his old friend dead. “Dying for a noble cause doesn’t lessen the loss, my young friend. Your father was my oldest companion and the only brother of the heart I have known. I will think of him every day for the rest of my life.”
A single tear ran down Valko’s cheek. “I cannot welcome this,” he said.
Father Juwon put his hand on the young lord’s shoulder. “You must. It is what will save you. And it will save our people. I know it is a great deal to understand, but in time you will. Just know that the most difficult task is now behind you.”
Looking down at the body of the man he barely knew, Valko said, “Why do I feel such…sorrow? I…he was a stranger.”
“He was your father,” said Denob. “In ages gone by he would have loved you as your mother has.”
“Can that be?”
“It is what we fight for,” said Juwon. “Now, let us go forth
and announce to the household that you are the Lord of the Camareen, then send word to the courts of the Sadharin and the Karana. Then make this house ready for your mother, for she is sorely needed here, my young friend.”
Valko let his father’s sword fall from his fingers. Staring at the headless corpse, he nodded. Yes, more than anyone, his mother was needed here.
In the distance the sounds of heavy siege engines being hauled over a ridge by mules echoed through the woodlands. Teamsters cracked whips and shouted at the fractious animals who labored to get their burdens up a trail never intended for such use.
The wagon containing the six young knights of Roldem jostled and shook as it seemed to hit every rock, fallen branch, and rut in the trail, ensuring that the passengers were completely road-sore and bruised by the time they arrived. They had taken a fast cutter from Roldem to the inland port of Olasko Gateway. From there they had gone by riverboat up to the town of Far Reaches, which nestled in a triangle of land formed by the confluence of two rivers, the Lor and the Aran, which formed the borders between the Duchy of Olasko, the Principality of Aranor, and the disputed lands to the south, which were claimed by no fewer than six different nations. To say the area was a trouble spot was an understatement, and since Kaspar’s overthrow a few years earlier, things had become even more unsettled.
“Here you go, young officers,” said the driver, a cheerful little man named Alby, who puffed furiously and constantly on a pipe filled with the cheapest, most foul-smelling tabac. The cheerful teamster also had the annoying habit of talking all the time and not listening to a thing that was said by the boys, including two orders by Prince Grandy to stop smoking the tabac. To the best of their ability to judge, the boys concluded minutes after the ordeal began that Alby must be as deaf as a tree stump.
Barely able to move, they managed to get out of the wagon, and when all six stood firmly on the ground, Jommy said, “Thanks for the ride.”
Without looking back, Alby said, “You’re more than welcome, young sir.”
Grandy said, “You can hear?”
“Of course I can, young sir. Why did you think otherwise?”
“Because I ordered you to cease smoking that foul weed hours ago.”
The old man looked back and grinned. “And I’m supposed to listen to a pup knight-lieutenant? This army’s run by generals and sergeants, young sir. Best you learn that straightaway. Have a good day.” He flicked the reins and his horses moved along, leaving six bruised and annoyed young officers standing before the command tent.
Looking at the guard, Servan said, “We’re to report to General Bertrand.”
“Sir,” said the guard, disappearing into the large command tent.
In a moment a familiar face appeared between the tent flaps as Kaspar of Olasko stuck his head outside to see who the new officers were. He smiled and said, “Wait a minute, lads.”
“Kaspar,” said Tad.
“You know him?” asked Godfrey.
“That’s the former Duke Kaspar of Olasko,” said Zane. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“I expect we’ll find out soon enough,” said Servan.
As Servan predicted, a short time later Kaspar came out of the command tent in the company of a burly older man wearing a dirty, bloodstained tabard with the royal crest of Roldem on it. His hair was disheveled and matted, as if he had recently removed his helmet. He looked at the six boys and said, “Gentlemen, welcome to the war.”
The boys saluted as they had been instructed, and it was Grandy who spoke first. “How can we serve, General?”
General Bertrand smiled, his black beard parting to show even white teeth. “Just don’t get yourself killed, Highness, for a start. I have no idea why your father approved this notion to put you in harm’s way, but if you’re here to serve, then serve you will.
“Kaspar of Olasko is acting as a consultant on this march, as he is very familiar with the surrounding countryside.”
Kaspar said, “I used to hunt around here.”
“Sir,” asked Tad. “What are we to do?”
“Why, you are to observe, and learn,” said the General. “And eventually, to lead. But for now, I need to know who among you is the fastest runner?”
None of the boys felt particularly swift after the long ride in the bouncing wagon, but without hesitation both Jommy and Godfrey said, “Tad.”
The General nodded, and handed a rolled-up parchment to Tad. “Up that trail and over that ridge, past where we’re pulling up our siege engines, you’ll find a company of infantry under the command of a Captain Beloit. Give these to him and wait for his reply. Now off with you.”
Tad hesitated for an instant, then saluted, and ran off.
Kaspar said, “The rest of you come with me.”
When they were a short distance from the command tent, Kaspar stopped and said, “We’re at the end of routing some infantry from Bardac’s who thought they’d raid down here and maybe even carve out a little private barony. As long as you follow orders, you should be safe, but don’t assume for a moment there’s not danger behind those trees.” He looked at Grandy. “Especially you, young prince.” He shook his head. “Last time I saw you I think you were cutting teeth.”
Grandy tried to look serious, but failed.
Kaspar said, “Stay close to the command tent until I get the General to assign you to whichever companies need a raw lieutenant who has no idea what he’s doing, and then we’ll send you along.” He looked around, as if anticipating danger. “Those dogs from Bardac’s do have a company of light cavalry out there somewhere, and we have no idea where, so stay alert, because if those bastards show up, it’s going to become very busy around here very suddenly.” He noticed they weren’t carrying weapons. “Whose notion was it to order you six into combat without weapons?”
They all exchanged glances, and Jommy said, “Father Elias said we’d be given what we needed when we left the university. I guess he neglected that part of things.”
Kaspar shouted to a nearby guardsman. “Take these young officers to the quartermaster’s wagon!” To the five remaining boys he said, “Each of you get a sword and an officer’s breast plate. If they’ve got riding boots your size, trade in those gentleman’s dainties you’re wearing; if they don’t, you’ll have to make do with those. Some horses are being brought up from the remounts and should be here before sundown. You can each get yourself a ride then.”
The boys tried a collection of awkward salutes, and Kaspar had to restrain himself from laughing. After they were on their way down the hill to the provisioner’s wagon, Kaspar groaned to himself, “Pug, what are you thinking?”
Miranda could barely contain herself. “What is your father thinking?” she demanded of Caleb.
Her younger son sat on a divan in his parents’ private quarters in the villa on Sorcerer’s Island, and held up his hands in surrender. “I’ve never been good at anticipating the reasons why either of you do the things you do, Mother.”
Miranda paced. “I’ve got a dead Talnoy in the halls of the Assembly, and we think there’s a rogue rift somewhere on the planet that the most powerful magicians on two worlds can’t seem to find. Your foster children are off with Kaspar playing soldier, and your father is…somewhere.”
Caleb said, “What would you like me to do?”
Miranda heaved a sigh and sat. “Just…listen.”
“I can do that,” said her son with a rueful smile. He knew how frantic his mother became when his father was out of reach. She didn’t mind most of the things he went off to do, no matter the danger, as long as he could be contacted. It gave her the sense of reassurance that she seemed to need.
“Would it do any good to point out that Father is probably the most able man on two worlds to be where he is?”
“But there’s so much back here that could use his attention,” she said, knowing as she said it that it was a petty complaint. “And on Kelewan.”
“Like finding Leso Varen?”
<
br /> She nodded. “He’s learned from his past mistakes, apparently. There’s not been even the faintest whiff of his evil magic that anyone, Great One or Lesser Path, can detect. Fortunately, the Tsurani abhorrence for necromancy should make it easy enough to find him should he start murdering people for their life force.”
“Unless he’s decided to take another tack.”
“Such as?”
“If he’s duplicated his ruse in Kesh, and has insinuated himself within a high-ranking family, or even the imperial family, he could cause a great deal of harm that way.”
Miranda said, “Let him try. Since the reforms of the last two emperors, the Game of the Council is about as deadly as a tussle between two underweight kittens. There hasn’t been a political murder in ten years, and no outright armed conflict between clans or families in fifteen. It’s become more sedate over there than it is here.”
“Still,” said Caleb, “it might be the thing for you to return to Kelewan and turn your abilities to finding Varen. You’ve not encountered him—”
“I was on the Island when he struck!” she reminded her son.
“And I was about to say, ‘except for that one time on the Island, but that makes you more likely to recognize him than anyone on Kelewan.’”
“I could have been standing next to him, Caleb, and not known him. There may be some…quality of magic he uses that your father would recognize, but as for having any sense of him while standing and talking…”
“Perhaps there’s another way.”
“What?”
“Ask around. Look for things that might give you a hint, such as who has been absent from the Assembly at odd times.”
“There are over four hundred members of the Assembly,” Miranda reminded her son. “Accounting for the comings and goings of men who are used to having their every whim obeyed without question may prove a little difficult.”
Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga Page 23
