Guardians of the Lost (42 page)

The guard bowed low. His remaining men took up positions around the reliquary, facing the cedar grove, their swords drawn.

The Lady Godelieve walked around the rim of the illusory floor, looking closely at the edge of the stonework until she came to a certain point. Here, grasping the skirt of her robe that was stained with blood, she set her foot cautiously upon the smooth, mirrored surface. Finding safe purchase, she took another step and another and another, gliding across the mirrored surface as gracefully as a skater glides across shimmering ice. She reached the cage safely.

She would not have the seven keys, but bars of steel and gold would not stop a Vrykyl who had blasted her way through a forest. Still, Damra expected that the cage would cause the Vrykyl some difficulty, impede her way, if only for a moment. Damra stared in astonishment to see the Vrykyl slide her hand right through the bars, as if the cage did not exist.

Lady Godelieve lifted her head, looked up at the Sovereign Stone that hung above her. She gazed at it a moment, then knelt down upon the floor of the cage and reached for the reflection of the Sovereign Stone that glittered beneath her feet.

Only then did Damra see through the illusion. The Sovereign Stone did not hang suspended from the top of the cage. The Sovereign Stone was placed on a pedestal that thrust up from the bottom of the mirrored floor. The reflection was the reality, the reality the reflection. So powerful was the illusion that even when Damra understood how it worked, her eyes were still fooled and she had to struggle to reconcile what she saw with what her mind knew to be the truth.

Damra glanced at Silwyth. The aged elf stared intently at the Vrykyl, his expression fixed, unwavering.

“Was the living woman truly this beautiful?” Damra asked. Like the illusion, she was trying to reconcile what she saw with her eyes to what she knew with her mind.

“More so,” he answered softly. “This is but a memory of her beauty.”

A bitter memory, Damra thought, and turned her attention back to the Vrykyl.

The Lady Godelieve knelt on the floor of the cage. Reaching down with both hands, she plucked the crystal globe containing the Sovereign Stone from its pedestal. She gazed at the Stone for long moments. She did not smile. Her expression was one of quiet, complacent triumph.

“Now!” breathed Silwyth. “Take the guards, Damra. The Lady Valura is my responsibility.”

Damra was about to argue that he could not possibly face down a Vrykyl, but then she saw the stooped body straighten. The hobbling gait changed to a swift run. Skilled, strong hands wielded the cane that had become a weapon. Silwyth was a blur of movement, a shadow darting across the bloody grass. One of the Shield's guards caught sight of him. The guard's shout alerted the others. The six began to converge on Silwyth.

Damra's silver armor shone with a holy radiance as she strode forth to do battle. The guards shifted their attention from Silwyth, who was little more than a dark blur, to this gleaming apparition, who seemed to come on them as a vengeful god. They stared at her in awe, as one thunderstruck.

Damra was quick to take advantage of their amazement. “As you have been the betrayer, so you are betrayed,” she shouted. “You have been duped by a creature of the Void. Yield to me and I will spare your lives.”

“I know her,” a guard snarled. “Damra of Gwyenoc. This very night, the Shield deemed her a traitor to the realm. Her life is forfeit.”

He was already holding his sword, and now he drew from his belt a dagger. All the Shield's warriors were expert in the use of two-handed fighting and these were among his most skilled soldiers. Five of them turned to seize her. A sixth chased after Silwyth.

Damra was armed only with a short sword that was more ceremonial than useful. She had a more potent weapon. Damra had her Raven magic and the raven is known to be a bird of tricks.

Suddenly the Shield's guards found themselves facing three Dominion
Lords. Two illusions of Damra sprang up on either side of the guards, flanking them. The sixth guard, who was about to lay hands on Silwyth, heard a voice in his ear.

“Help me! I need your help!”

The voice was the melodious voice of the Lady Godelieve, or so the man thought. He halted, looked around, only to find that the Lady Godelieve's attention was fixed on the Dominion Lord, her beautiful face contorted in a scowl. He realized he'd been duped, but when he searched for his prey, the aged elf was nowhere to be found.

Damra deftly shifted position so that the elven guard attacked one of her illusions. His slashing sword blow whistled through the air, the momentum of his swing carrying him off balance. Damra caught him from behind, struck him a blow that drove him face first into the ground.

The illusions of herself were incredibly realistic, mimicking her in every way. One of the guards knew the moment his sword hit nothing solid that he battled air. He whirled about, saw Damra and an illusion of Damra and wasted a moment trying to figure out which was which. Damra's foot slammed into his chest, sent him flying backward. Hearing harsh breathing behind her, she recovered from her kick, turned, swinging her sword. Her blade sliced beneath the guard's armor at the waist and into his rib cage. Crying out in pain, he doubled over. She struck him on the jaw with the hilt of her sword, knocking him unconscious.

Turning swiftly to find other foes, she saw that one had fled; probably gone to fetch reinforcements. Another stood watching her warily, his eyes darting from one Damra to another, trying to make up his mind which to attack.

She searched for Silwyth, saw that he had reached the reliquary. He started to cross the illusory floor. Damra held her breath, expecting to see him plummet into the pit, but he had no difficulty. He crossed in the same place, in the same manner as had the Lady Godelieve. He crept up on the Vrykyl, who had her back turned. Valura kept watch on the Dominion Lord. The Vrykyl did not see Silwyth or hear him approaching.

Silwyth did not see one of the Shield's guards creeping up behind
him. The guard knew the secret route, crossed the illusory floor with ease. Sword raised, he stood poised to stab the aged elf in the back.

“Silwyth!” Damra warned him. “Behind you!”

Silwyth turned, jabbed with the iron-shod heel of the cane to strike the guard in his midriff, below the breastplate. The guard lost his balance and tumbled, with a shriek, into the pit.

Valura heard danger behind her. Turning to face it, she took on the fearful image of the Vrykyl.

Damra could not worry about the Vrykyl or about Silwyth. Her shout effectively ended the illusion. The remaining guard moved warily to attack her.

“Must you rely on magic, Dominion Lord? Fight with honor,” he jeered.

“You are one to talk of honor,” Damra returned with scorn. “How many of the Divine's soldiers did you stab in the back?”

“The Shield proclaimed them traitors,” the guard said angrily, defensively. “Traitors have no honor, as you yourself have proven.”

“Look at the Sovereign Stone,” Damra told him. “Witness the honor of the Shield.”

“Another trick!” the guard snarled, but he was clearly shaken, unnerved. He had done his duty, obeyed orders, but he hadn't liked this night's treachery. He began to doubt.

Damra lowered her weapon, stepped back. “Look,” she urged.

The guard held his weapons ready. He shifted his gaze, intending to glance swiftly at the Stone and then return to battle. He saw the Vrykyl, its dark armor absorbing the silver light of the mirrored floor, as if seeking to destroy the light from the heavens.

“Ancestors save us,” he gasped, staring. “What evil has come upon us?”

“The perfidy of the Shield made manifest,” Damra told him.

Calling upon the wings of the Raven, Damra lifted her arms and soared into the air. Hovering in front of the amazed guard, Damra kicked him in the teeth, smashed her foot into his face. He went over backward, blood spurting from his nose and mouth. Damra settled back to the ground.

“Those with honor I fight with honor,” she told him, then turned to see how Silwyth fared.

 

Valura had not heard the fighting, she had not heard the shouting of the Shield's guards or the screams of the dying. She cared nothing about these mortals. They were as insects to her and whether they lived or they died was of no consequence. Her attention had been focused on the Sovereign Stone to the exclusion of all else. She held the crystal globe in her hands, stared, mesmerized, at the sparkling jewel inside.

“I have the Stone, my lord!” she cried.

Dagnarus's elation, his triumph, his pleasure surged through her, bringing back memories of long ago, when it had been her flesh that had given him pleasure, when his love had brought her joy. The memories were bitter now, filled with pain, and yet she kept fast hold of them, for they were the last connection to what she had once been. She had been about to smash the crystal globe, seize hold of the Stone, when she heard Damra's warning shout.

“Silwyth! Behind you!”

Silwyth! The name was part of Valura's most painful memories. Silwyth, Dagnarus's chamberlain, had connived at their illicit meetings. He had carried notes back and forth, brought her gifts from her lover. Silwyth had helped to deceive her deluded husband. Silwyth, who loved her for what she had been and pitied her for what she became.

His pity. She had seen his pity every time she had looked into his eyes and she hated him for it, even after all these years. She could endure Dagnarus's loathing of the thing she had become, though it hurt her as nothing, not even the pain of dying, had hurt her. She could not endure Silwyth's pity.

Valura's gaze shifted from the Sovereign Stone in her hands to the aged elf. Silwyth stood behind her, balanced precariously on the stone steps that led across the illusory floor.

Lady Godelieve disappeared, the illusion forgotten, abandoned. In its place stood the Vrykyl.

Armor darker than the darkest depths of her hatred flowed over
Valura's skeletal body. Needle-sharp spikes jutted from her bony hands and from her shoulders. The hideous helm with its ravenous face of ever-hungry death covered her skull, lent eyes of fire to the empty sockets.

Silwyth was ancient, decrepit, the face wrinkled and wizened almost past recognition. But she knew him, knew it was Silwyth. She saw the pity in his eyes.

Valura flung the crystal globe to the platform on which she stood. The globe shattered. Amidst sharp, jagged shards of crystal, the Sovereign Stone lay gleaming at her feet. She paid no attention to the Stone; the prize was hers for the claiming. Drawing her sword, she sprang at Silwyth.

Valura brought her weapon down with a swift motion that should have cleaved her foe in twain. The sword blade struck the stones with such force that sparks flew, the rock cracked. The blade missed Silwyth, who now stood behind her.

A blow from Silwyth's staff struck Valura in the small of her back, nearly knocked her from the platform.

“Too long have you haunted me, dogged my steps,” she cried, turning to end his life.

Blinded by her fury, she swiped at him with the sword. He evaded the blow with astonishing agility. She came at him. Savage blows drove him backward. His bare feet crunched on the shards of the broken crystal. Blood flowed.

“I have been aware of you, Silwyth,” Valura said to him, pressing her advantage. “You have tracked me, trying to thwart my plans.” She slashed at him again, drove him back another step. “Now you have a choice, old wretch. Die on my sword or die on the iron spikes below.”

“You mistake me, Lady Valura,” Silwyth said and his voice was soft with pity, curse him for that a million, million times. “I have sought you all these years in order to give you a gift.”

“What is that?” she cried, swiping at him again.

He ducked beneath the whistling blow. Seizing hold of a long, sharp shard of crystal, Silwyth stabbed Valura in the stomach.

“Death.”

The shard of crystal penetrated the armor of the Vrykyl, drove deep into the body that had long ago rotted away. The wound from the magical crystal that had been blessed by the Father and Mother severed the ties of the Void that bound Valura to this life. Screaming in fury and terror, she dropped her sword and clutched at the shard with both hands. She tried to drag it out.

“Accept my gift, Lady Valura,” Silwyth urged her, his voice filled with pain, her pain, shared. “Let this tortured life that is no life slip away from beneath your fingers. Find rest and solace at last.”

Darkness started to seep over Valura. She felt herself sink beneath it, as a person sinks beneath sweet sleep. The end of pain, the end of misery, the end of guilt, the end of…love.

The Sovereign Stone sparkled at her feet. Dagnarus's voice came to her.

“Valura? Do you have the Stone for me?”

With a shuddering cry, Valura yanked the crystal shard from her body. She lunged at Silwyth.

Spreading his arms, he took a step backward and fell into the pit.

She was glad. She listened for his death scream that would be sweet music. The scream did not come. He died in silence. Never mind. He was gone, would trouble her no more. The power of the Void began to mend her hideous wound. She reached for the Sovereign Stone.

She could not touch it. Valura tried to bring her hand close to the Stone, but an aura of magic shoved her hand away. Thwarted, she called upon the power of the Void and reached again for the Sovereign Stone. The magical aura surrounding the Stone shattered. Triumphant, Valura seized hold of the Stone.

The anger of the gods surged through her. A jolt of white-hot agony filled the Void within her, caused it to swell and burst apart. Bereft of her magic, Valura collapsed on the platform.

The Sovereign Stone rolled from her hand, came to rest upon the shards of broken crystal.

 

Damra hastened to the edge of the reliquary, thinking to intervene in the battle between the ancient, decrepit old elf and the
powerful Vrykyl. Once there, she halted, amazed to see Silwyth dodge the Vrykyl's deadly, cleaving stroke, then leap into the air, twisting his thin body, to land behind her. He struck her in the back with his staff.