Read Guardians of the Lost Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
Guardians of the Lost (37 page)
“I remain in your keeping, Shield,” said the lady quietly. “From this moment forward, my life is in your hands.”
“You know, Lady Godelieve,” said the Shield, “that it would grieve me deeply to harm you.”
The lady made a seated bow.
“But it is a grief,” he added gently, “from which I would soon recover.”
“I would not cause you grief, my lord,” said Lady Godelieve, “on any account.”
The Keeper of the Keys appeared on the bank. Catching the Shield's eye, the Keeper made a gesture. The Lady Godelieve was quick to see this and rose to her feet, saying that as much as she was enjoying herself, she was certain the Shield had urgent matters to which he must attend. The Shield demurred, saying that he could gladly spend a month in the company of the lady and urged her to be seated. She insisted, however, and the Shield was at last forced to yield to her.
The bridge lowered. As the lady stepped upon it, the Shield came to escort her.
“I saw you admiring my birds,” he said. “They are quite rare. I had them imported from the south. It would please me greatly to present them to you as a gift, Lady Godelieve.”
“I thank your lordship very much,” said the Lady Godelieve, without a glance at the birds, “but I have no luck with living things. In my care, they would surely die.”
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The Lady Godelieve declined a polite invitation from the Shield's wife to spend the remainder of the day with her. Since the Shield's wife was intensely jealous of the beautiful Lady Godelieve, the wife bore the lady's refusal with only a faint murmur of protest required by good manners.
Alone at last, Lady Godelieve was free to return to her small guest house, one of many guest houses that stood on the palace grounds. She noted that another guest house, not far from her own, was now occupied. Servants carried jugs of hot water for the customary bath taken after a long journey, bowls of fresh fruits and other delicacies. The Lady Godelieve paused a moment in the shadow of a flowering hedge to see if the newly arrived guest would appear.
A woman stepped to the door, looked out. Lady Godelieve had never before seen or met Damra of House Gwyenoc, but she had no doubt that this was her.
Although Damra was a Dominion Lord, she was not given the title “Lord” or “Lady,” since elven Dominion Lords exist outside proper elven society. Dominion Lords are granted magical armor and are sometimes given the power to work magic. Magic is distrusted by the elves, its use in battle considered publicly to be dishonorable, its use anywhere else considered publicly to be suspect. Privately, the elves rely on magic, but they must be discreet when dealing with the powerful and mysterious elven wizards known as the Wyred.
When the elves were first given the opportunity over two hundred years earlier to create their own Dominion Lords through the magic of the elven portion of the Sovereign Stone, the elves were glad to have the ability to create knights who were blessed by the Father and Mother, capable of awesome power. At the same time, the elves were concerned as to how these knights would fit in the tight strictures of elven culture. The Dominion Lords were not Wyred and so did not fall in that category. They were not ordinary knights, however, and their ability to use magic at a whim gave many elves the horrors.
The Divine ruled that all elves who were granted the exalted honor of becoming Dominion Lords must make a sacrifice to attain that honor. This sacrifice was their position in elven society. Their property and houses would be forfeit to the lord of their House, who would find them a place to live. They could continue to collect revenue from those lands, but could keep only enough to live on. Any excess was given to the House to distribute to the poor. Unlike other elves, the Dominion Lords are free to travel without requesting permission of the head of their House. They can take no sides in any battle between the Houses, but must act as arbitrators and work to bring about peace.
These rules not only keep the Dominion Lords out of elven society but insure that such powerful knights do not become too powerful. Certainly the Father and Mother would choose only those people known for their loyalty and compassion, their courage and honor. Such knights are not likely to attempt to seize political power, but the elves are a cautious people and know that it never hurts to make sure.
All Dominion Lords wear a tabard to mark their exalted standing (and to brand them as different), the design of which dates back to the days of King Tamaros. The tabard features two blue griffins holding a golden disk. Damra wore such a tabard over the long flowing pants worn for travel. A wide sash encircled the lady's slim waist. She wore two swordsâone the weapon of a Dominion Lord and the other the ceremonial blade of her House. The gods had denoted Damra the Lord of the Raven. She wore that emblem on the back of her tabard.
Elves honor the raven as being a bird of majesty and quick intelligence, fearless and proud. Supposedly this Damra was the embodiment of these characteristics. Lady Godelieve had no way of knowing that, but she did think to herself that perhaps the title had been inspired by the fact that Damra rather resembled a raven. She was not a beauty. She had her family's strong nose and piercing black eyes. Her shoulders were square and she walked with a man's gaitâtaking firm long strides, as opposed to the shorter, more graceful steps expected of well-born elven women.
Leaving her house, Damra passed quite close to where Lady Godelieve stood hidden amidst the flowers, allowing the Lady Godelieve a good look at the rebellious Dominion Lord.
The woman did not appear so rebellious at the moment. Pale and care-worn, she cast a fleeting glance back at the guest house and sighed softly, giving the Lady Godelieve the impression that Damra wanted to be alone with her thoughts, wanted to escape the bustle and confusion of servants falling all over themselves to see to her comfort. The Lady Godelieve waited until the Dominion Lord was out of sight, then entered her own guest house.
She dismissed the servants, saying that she was going to pray and consult with her Honored Ancestor. Assured that no one would dare interrupt her now, Lady Godelieve closed the shutters on the windows and latched the door.
Safely alone, certain of not being interrupted (for the visit with the Honored Ancestor is a sacred ritual), the Lady Godelieve reached into the folds of the sash she wore and drew forth a knife made of smooth bone. Once the knife had been white and glistening.
Now it was starting to yellow. The tip was stained black with blood.
Holding the knife, she softly caressed it. What appeared to be a black, viscous liquid oozed out of every pore in her skin. The drops of the liquid flowed together so that for an instant it seemed as if the lady's body glistened with black oil. The armor changed form, hardened so that it was stronger than the strongest steel made by the famed dwarven smiths.
Holding the knife in her hand, the Vrykyl knelt.
“My lord,” she said.
“Valura!”
Dagnarus's response was immediate. She sensed his impatience, his eagerness, although such emotions did not normally register through the blood knife. She felt them because she knew him, knew him well, knew him and loved him. After two hundred years, she loved him still. More's the pity.
Valura had sacrificed everything for him, given him everything, her body, her honor, her soul. For him, she had murdered the innocent, would continue to murder them, for they fed her needs. She was his creation. He had made her into this evil thing that could find no rest, know no peace. She could not blame him. She had made the choice to accept the Void. When she had known that her death was upon her, she had begged him to transform her into a Vrykyl so that they could be together always. He drank her blood. She gave him her life essence. Theirs was an unholy marriage, not blessed by the gods, but cursed by them. The two were bound by the Void.
And in that moment they were joined, she lost him.
Dagnarus needed her. He relied on her. Of that she was certain. Next to Shakur, the eldest of his Vrykyl, Valura was the most powerful. Of them all, including Shakur, Valura was the most loyal to Dagnarus. He who had once loved her now hated her. Every time he looked at her, Valura saw the loathing in his eyes. He loathed her, but the true secret loathing was for himself and what he had become. Yet he could not stop himself. His ambition, fed by the Void, fueled the Void.
“Is everything arranged?” he demanded.
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “The downfall of the Divine is assured. The Shield is everything you could want him to beâgreedy, ambitious, with an inflated opinion of his own cleverness. He is clay to mold in your hands.”
“What of that Dominion Lord, the one who threatens to thwart the Shield's plans?”
“Damra of Gwyenoc has been nullified, my lord. The Shield has taken her husband hostage. If she wants him back alive, she will keep silent.”
“This sounds flimsy,” Dagnarus said. “What assurance do we have that she will cooperate?”
“She has the great misfortune to love her husband, my lord,” said Valura, softly repeating the Shield's words. “Through what I can only assume to be the machinations of the Void, Damra of Gwyenoc is here within the Shield's household. I could find a more permanent solution⦔
“Yes, do that. But be subtle. Don't rouse suspicions.”
“Rest easy, my lord. You may rely on me.”
“I know I can.” Dagnarus's voice was grim, ironic. “When do you take possession of the Sovereign Stone?”
“Tonight, my lord.”
“Bring it straight to me. The human portion is found. The elven portion in my hands. It is all finally starting to come together, Valura. The dwarven Stone has been located and I have dispatched the Vrykyl after it. Shakur and Jedash are closing in on the human part. I lack only the orken, but I know where it is. I am close! So very close.”
“Yes, my lord.”
And what then, my lord? Valura asked him silently. When you have the Sovereign Stone, when it is yours, what then? Will it fill the emptiness inside you? Or will it be consumed by the darkness that has consumed everything else?
She was appalled to find herself thinking such things and banished the thoughts immediately, fearing he would read them through the blood knife. Dagnarus was too elated, too rapt in his
own anticipated triumph to pay her any attention, however. Waiting a moment longer, to see if he had any further instructions, she realized that he had gone.
Valura rose from her kneeling position. The armor vanished, replaced by the illusion of what she had once beenâan elven woman, beautiful and alluring.
The Lady Godelieve, loved of the god, went to find out from one of the spies she had planted in the household the time and location of the meeting between the Shield and Damra of House Gwyenoc.
D
amra's meeting with the Shield was scheduled for the time that is known as Idyllic Time, the hour before sunset. The timing was, itself, an insult, for that hour is the time when everyone is supposed to be relaxing after the rigors of the day. It is a time for the taking of light wine, walking in the gardens, admiring the sunset. Since the evening meal is always served with the lighting of the candles, this meant that the Shield had, in essence, imposed a time limit on their meeting.
Damra was under no illusions. She knew from the moment she read the Shield's effusive poem that her husband was being held hostage. Griffith had been missing for many months and, at first, Damra had not been overly concerned. As one of the Wyred for House Gwyenoc, Griffith often undertook secret missions for his lord. But although he could not speak of where he was or what he was doing, he could still communicate with her, sending her, by means of the Wyred, letters filled with his love for her. Through the same means, she could send letters to him, writing of her devotion and providing him with the latest court gossip.
When his letters stopped coming, she knew immediately that
something was wrong. She was desperate enough to attempt to communicate with the Wyred directly, a feat that was not easy, even for a Dominion Lord. As the saying goes, the Wyred are smoke and moon shadow. She had no luck: the Wyred seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth as far as she was concerned. She was growing frantic when the Shield's missive arrived.
House Gwyenoc had long sided with the Divine in his struggle for power against the Shield. Cedar of House Trovale was a progressive, a forward thinker. He saw the elven economy stagnating. He wanted to open elven lands to human, orken and dwarven traders. Faced with a growing population that was causing the walls of many elven cities to bulge and consuming more food than the land could deliver, the Divine wanted to encourage elves to migrate, to travel, to seek work in other nations.
The Shield and those who supported him were adamant in their refusal to even consider such an idea. They claimed much of elven culture would be lost by mingling with foreigners. Humansâa boisterous, loud, vulgar and disruptive peopleâwould bring their evil ways into elven lands, rape their women and carry off their children into their frantic, fast-paced world.
The Divine knew to his sorrow that some of the dire events his detractors predicted might well come to pass, although he hoped that by limiting the numbers of foreigners through visas and other legal documents he could control those who entered his country. But if nothing was done, he could see a time when his country would fall in upon itself, like a house built with rotten timbers. One year of drought, of poor harvest, would bring famine and plague.
Why did the Shield not see the danger himself? Cedar had first thought that the Shield was simply oblivious to their peril or in denial, but Cedar was becoming more and more certain that the Shield knew disaster lay ahead and was cold-bloodedly planning to use such disaster to further his own ends. He began to see that Garwina was capable of sacrificing thousands of innocents to increase his own power.
Damra was a close friend of Cedar of Trovale and shared his suspicions concerning the Shield, one reason she had actively opposed
Garwina in every move he made. She had expected him to retaliate, but had naively imagined that his anger would fall upon her. She had been prepared for that. She had not been prepared for him to strike her husband.
As she waited for her audience, she wondered bleakly what she would do, what she would say. He was clever, she had to give the Shield credit for that much. He had caught her in a web as transparent as gossamer and strong as steel. If she denounced him, he would claim innocence, and, since she had no proof, it was his word against hers. Because her husband was one of the Wyred, he was outside the laws of elven society and not even the head of House Gwyenoc (her husband's elder brother) could lift a finger to save him.
The Keeper of the Keys led Damra to the Blue Grotto. The location was another insult. Located a far distance from the palace, the Blue Grotto was where the Shield met with elves of the upper middle class: burghers, minor government functionaries, and the like. The Grotto was no place for a private conversation. Although the shallow cavern with its mass of lilies and its bubbling springfed fountain was a holy site, believed to have been created by the elven spirits known as the bywca, it was surrounded by tall hedges of holly and thickly planted pine trees, a perfect hiding place for any number of spies, most notably the Shield's own. If he needed witnesses to the content of their “private” meeting, he could always trot them outâservants who “just happened to be passing by.”
Damra's greatest flaw was her temper and the Shield knew it, for she had failed that particular test in her trial to become a Dominion Lord, a trial he had helped judge. She was grateful to the gods for overlooking her flaw and granting her the honor despite it and she worked and prayed daily to overcome it. The Shield used these humiliations to try to provoke her and she was determined that in this, at least, he would not succeed.
The Shield was in attendance, but his back was turnedâa terrible insultâunder the pretense of admiring his lilies. Damra clenched her hand tightly around the hilt of her sword, so tightly that the hilt inflicted marks on her skin that would not fade for
hours afterward. One of the Shield's bodyguards, who were never far from him, stepped forward.
“I must ask you to relinquish your weapons when in the Shield's house, Damra of Gwyenoc,” said the guard.
Damra stared at him. “I am a Dominion Lord. I am exempt from such rules. The Divine does not require Dominion Lords to yield up their weapons.” She cast a scathing glance at the Shield's back. “Why does his servant?”
That was nothing more than the truth. The Shield of the Divine was considered to serve the Divine and was required to swear an oath of fealty and homage on a yearly basis. Still, the Shield did not like to hear himself referred to as such. The jab told. He turned and favored her with a cold look.
“A man who wields influence and power must of necessity make enemies, Damra of Gwyenoc,” said the Shield. “I envy the Divine his feeling of security.”
“Don't give in. Don't let him do this to you,” Damra said to herself.
She conjured up the image of her husband, his warm eyes, his gentle smile. The Wyred are taught to be soft-spoken, self-effacing, taught to be neither seen nor heard. Griffith must have possessed such characteristics from birth, so naturally did they come to him. He was the perfect complement to her. He was the silent falling snow that could douse her crackling fire. The fear of losing him twisted her heart. Nothing else mattered, certainly not her pride.
She removed both swords and handed them over in silence to the guard, who took them with a bow and backed out of their presence.
“I came in response to your letter, my lord,” said Damra, adding impatiently, “You will forgive me if I dispense with the customary pleasantries about the weather and the fragrance of your garden. You may forgo praising my ancestors and exclaiming over my beauty. Our time is short and, as you may imagine, this matter is of paramount importance to me. You implied in your letter to me that you had news of my husband.”
The Shield turned from perusing his lilies to gesture to a chair. Damra had no choice but to be seated. The Shield remained standing,
looking down at her, placing her at a disadvantage. Fury roiled in her stomach. Keeping it in check made her physically ill.
“You are known to be blunt and forthrightâcharacteristics I happen to admire. I also know that you consider me an enemy, Damra of Gwyenoc,” the Shield added in sorrowful tones. “I am grieved by this. We do not agree on certain political matters, but show me two people who ever do? I would like you to think of me as your friend and that is why, when I heard that you were concerned over your husband's mysterious disappearance, I went to great trouble and no inconsiderable expense to discover what I could about him.”
You mean you went to a lot of trouble and expense to capture him, you ruthless bastard, Damra thought but did not say. Not trusting herself to reply, she merely nodded her head once, abruptly, to indicate she was listening.
“Where your husband was and what he was doing, even I cannot say, for the Wyred never divulge their secrets. He is with my Wyred now, Damra. Your husband is among friends.”
The Father and Mother help him, Damra prayed in despair. The Wyred are trained to their art in one central, secret location. They are raised together from childhood, but then each is sent to serve his or her own House. Their loyalties to the House come first. Griffith had often opposed the Wyred of the Shield's House. He was no more among friends than she was now, no matter how much the duplicitous Shield tried to convince her otherwise.
She watched the Shield warily, trying to figure out the man's game. He had gone out of his way to insult her. He was playing at being her friend. Naked steel in one hand, a turtle-dove in the other.
“Do you know what I enjoy most about this part of my garden, Damra of Gwyenoc?” the Shield asked. He made a significant pause, then said, “The babbling of the running water. It says nothing, yet I find the sound most soothing.”
Damra understood. Either hand she chose, she lost and he won. If he provoked her into rage, he would claim she had threatened his life. He could have her arrested, escorted in ignominy and shame
from his House (not even the Divine would be able to publicly forgive her that transgression). If she accepted the turtle-dove of silence in exchange for her husband's life, she forfeited not only her pride, but also her honor and her dearly cherished beliefs. Her defection would seriously weaken the Divine. Cedar would understand that she'd had no choice, but he would lose respect for her and she would lose the trust and esteem of a man she much admired.
Damra knew the torment of the prisoner on the rack, whose joints are pulled farther apart with every twist of the screw. The knowledge of what she should do bound her to the torture device and the knowledge of what she wanted to do turned the wheel. Griffith would want her to remain loyal to the Divine, though it would cost him his life. If she bought his freedom, he would be disappointed and she could not bear to lose his trust.
Yet, how she could go on without himâher steadfast friend, her most trusted advisor, her heart, her soul? Better she should dieâ
“Keeper? Why do you disturb us?” The Shield sounded startled, his tone was tense.
Damra had been staring unseeing into the flowing water, so wrenched by pain that she had not noticed the Keeper of the Keys approaching them. This must truly be an emergency, for no conversation with the Shield was ever interrupted.
“Forgive me for the intrusion, my lord,” said the Keeper with his lowest bow, “but visitors have arrived in search of Damra of Gwyenoc. A Nimorean, accompanied by two pecwae and a barbarian human, carry a message to her from one who has recently gone to join his ancestors. The message to her is this man's dying request, my lord.”
Damra was startled. She could think of no one she knew who would make a dying request of her, certainly not through such bizarre messengers. Her first thought was that this was another of the Shield's tricks and she shot a glance at him.
The Shield looked neither smug nor cunning, however. He was clearly displeased at the interruption and why not? He'd been certain of victory and now the moment had fled. He glowered at the
Keeper. The Keeper cast his master a glance of apology. Among elves, the last request of the dying is considered sacrosanct and must be acted upon with the utmost reverence and respect. The moment the Keeper heard that the dead wanted to speak to her, he had been duty bound to find Damra and impart this news to her, just as she was duty bound to go meet with these people.
Whoever they are, the gods themselves must have sent them, Damra realized. She was not free of the rack, but her tormentors had left to go take tea. By turning over the hour glass, the sands of time are rearranged, those grains on the bottom end up on the top. Hopefully, with some breathing space, she could find the answer she so desperately sought.
She bowed her regrets. The Shield had no choice but to accept them. The guards returned her swords and Damra departed, accompanying the Keeper outside the palace grounds to the very first gardenâthe tradesman's gardenâfor even though they carried the request of the dead, such outré visitors would never be allowed anywhere near the Shield's palace.
The Shield cursed the Father and Mother, as Damra had blessed them. Garwina had had her where he wanted her and she had managed to escape him. On reflection, however, he grew calmer. Flutter as she might, she could not free herself of the web. She would meet his terms. He'd seen the suffering in her eyes. She would never sacrifice her husband.
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“Pecwaeâ¦Trevenici⦔ Valura murmured to herself.
The lovely Lady Godelieve had been abandoned. Taking the form of an underling gardener she had killed in anticipation of just such a need, Valura had been eavesdropping on the Shield's meeting with the Dominion Lord. Kneeling in the dirt, pretending to pluck out the weeds growing beneath the bougainvillea, she was a person of no consequence, no significance, invisible to the eyes of most in the Shield's household.
Valura kept the illusion of the gardener and made her way to the first garden. She took the servants' route, for it would never do for her to be seen on the main walkway. The guards took notice of her,
for the lowliest servant might be a hidden assassin. They made a routine search for weapons, but found nothing. The magic of the Void kept the blood knife invisible to prying eyes. Having taken the short route, Valura reached the garden well in advance of Damra and the Keeper.
Valura dropped to her knees behind a low stone wall and peered cautiously up over the edge. Spying the four waiting visitors, she placed her hand upon the blood knife.