Stardeep (8 page)

Gage shook his head.

“Would have surprised me if you had.” Kiril scrubbed away the wetness on her cheeks. “The Cerulean Sign is a rune of power created when things were not as they are today. Before men, or even elves walked the world, when the continents were divided differently than now, entities strange and powerful fought. When the future was a toss-up between sanity and abomination.”

“Sounds bad.”

“You can’t imagine. But the Cerulean Sign was forged to oppose creatures that oozed down from mad realms to colonize Abeir-Toril. To a large extent, those long-vanished defenders of the virgin world succeeded. Abominations, both godlike and inconsequential, were pushed back. Abeir was forgotten. Mortal races eventually inherited the earth.”

“Like you and me?”

“Right,” agreed Kiril. Her voice regained a little of its strength as she spoke.

“Who were these defenders?” wondered the thief.

“Unknown. Too much time since then. They were damn tough, though. Gods, probably, or whatever passed for gods

before people were around to call them divine.”

Gage let out his bteath, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if in disbelief. Kiril’s eyes narrowed.

“You want to hear this or not?” She tensed as if to stand.

“No, please—I apologize,” said the thief, leaning forward, suddenly conciliatoty. “I didn’t realize your story was going to have such… cosmic… size to it.”

Kiril said, “I need to say this. Believe it or don’t.”

“I do believe it, and I want you to go on—I saved your sword, didn’t I? I have a big intetest in this.”

The elf nodded. She leaned back in her seat and continued. “So, these vanished defenders and their Sign, while mostly effective, weren’t completely successful. Monstrosities slipped into the world, some openly, others less so. Most are hidden away, yet remain terrors to those who find them in the dark below the surface. You’ve heard of aboleths?”

“Aboleths are the abominations?”

“Yes—well, related to the originals. Far worse tried to openly colonize reality. They failed, yet they retain a foothold even after all these eons. There’s always a chance they’ll rise as one from their ancient strongholds. But that prospect is not unopposed. Once, I guarded against the possibility.”

“You did?”

“Blood, yes! Don’t sound so surprised. I told you I was not always as I seem now. Once I had a civil tongue.” Kiril laughed.

“I was a Keeper of the Cerulean Sign—one of a small group of guardians loyal to the ancient knowledge. We nurtured comprehension of the Sign, so that primeval aberrations are opposed whenever they stir.”

“And do they? Stir, I mean?”

“They do. Mostly by proxy—they send nightmares that insinuate dteams, hollow hearts, and madden minds. Sometimes, theif influence finds particularly susceptible,

“•but powerful mortals. If the seduction goes to completion, a priest of the old ones is born, a priest whose single self-proclaimed duty is to call the oldest abominations forth into the light of day. A priest pledged to call forth apocalypse. A twisted bastard who wants nothing more than to stand laughing amidst the ashes of reality.”

“Akadi’s tricky fingers!” exclaimed Gage.

Kiril nodded, agreeing with the man’s sentiment. She cleared her throat. “In a hidden realm where elves dwell, within the Yuirwood, a man succumbed to this vety seduction. He was branded the Traitor, and he was locked away in a dungeon forever. The name of that dungeon is Stardeep—”

Kiril paused, noting Gage’s sharp intake of breath. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when you’ve finished. Don’t inteirupt your story—the name sounded familiar, is all.”

“All right… so anyhow, up until ten years ago, I was a warden there—in Stardeep. So was Nangulis. We served together for five years in that role, but knew each other even before that.”

Gage cupped his chin in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. He asked, “What happened—did the Traitor get out? Is that why you’re… so sad and disillusioned?”

“Yes, he escaped. When he got out, he assumed a mantle of abominable power, becoming seemingly invincible. Things seemed bleak but Cynosure told us of one last fail-safe…”

“Cynosure?”

She frowned at the interruption and said, “Cynosure is a sentient idol whose mind lives throughout Stardeep. The idol commands embedded sorceries throughout the dungeon. For instance, he can teleport willing Keepers from place to place.”

“Really? That’s incredible… uh, sorry, never mind. You found a fail-safe, you said?”

“Nangulis and I, along with the mind of the fortress, called upon ancient Cerulean lore to fashion a weapon potent against all evil, a weapon whose righteousness would be especially effective against aberrations, as well as the Traitor who wielded their abilities.”

Kiril ran her hand down Angul’s sheath. “But the creation of such an effective weapon was not possible without sacrifice. To create the weapon, we required the willing contribution of a living, purified soul. All the goodly, just, righteous aspects of a soul, which would be tfansformed and manifested as a physical object. Over this, Nangulis and I fought, but time was short, our plight desperate. I know not how he convinced me; it would happen differently now if I had it to do over. But in the end, the Blade Cerulean was forged, and Nangulis, what remained of him, emerged from the process as unyielding steel.”

“Incredible.”

“And so I took up this new weapon, untested, its essence vibrating with he who I couldn’t yet believe was gone. I took up Nangulis, renamed Angul, and with him, battled the Traitor to a standstill, though his vile tricks nearly killed me. We beat him, battered him, schooled him in the ways of Righteousness… and returned the dung-eating bastard to the nadir of the Well, Stardeep’s most secure prison.”

“If you overcame the Traitor, why didn’t you just kill him? Seems like a lot of trouble to keep him alive.”

“If it were only that simple, Stardeep wouldn’t have been built in the first place.”

“Oh? Some sort of elf law against killing your own?”

Kiril snorted and shook her head. She said, “His death would be a clarion call to the very creatures we do not wish disturbed. Left to his own devices, he would have induced them to rise. Killed, his flaring, dissipating essence would signal the first day of a renewed colonization. The Traitor is

more abomination than man; he’s their highest high priest. So we keep him safe.”

“He doesn’t try to starve himself to death down there?”

“When he signed his soul over to the Abolethic Sovereignty, his mortal needs were erased. He cannot die merely through neglect.”

Gage blinked. “I need a drink.” He stood, walked to the doot, and yelled into the hubbub of the common room, “Two ales!”

A drink sounded like a first-class idea to Kiril, too. She remained silent until the flagons wete delivered, and Gage refrained from plying her with more questions until they’d both had a chance to sample the brew. Not especially good. She took another swallow. She needed it if she was going to tell Gage the whole story to its awful conclusion.

Gage said, “You must really miss him. Nangulis, as he was, I mean.” He waved at the sword on the table.

“You still don’t know it all,” Kiril declared, then she fell silent again.

Gage waited her out.

Finally, the elf continued. “You’ve held Angul. So you know the ovetwhelming nature of his personality. When you wield the Blade Cerulean, remaining in possession of your own thoughts is difficult. Everything seems decided already, and Angul believes himself the final arbiter. Frankly, I can’t believe you resisted running through everyone in that bar. Angul would see them all as dissolute wastrels crying out for his special loving attention.”

“Only because I made a deal with it—him—before I picked him up. The second time, anyway. The fitst time, he ignited one of my gauntlets.” Gage raised his left hand, red and blistered, and flexed it. Pain flitted across his face.

“He’s that way, now,” sighed Kiril. “Punishing. He doesn’t like that I’ve discovered ways to tempet his influence. He

wants total control—he believes such is his right. But I wasn’t always so resourceful. Nor did I see a need to be. Angul seduced me to his will by being in some ways identical to Nangulis.”

Gage nodded. “I sensed he was trying to take over my mind.”

“After the Traitor was remanded back to Stardeep’s most secure dungeon cell, I stayed as the Keeper as I had been, now wielding Angul. I spent most days in constant contact with the blade, so I could mingle with his sense of certainty, what I thought was his glorious revealed knowledge. His absolute distinction between good and evil. While I was out on patrol one day, that distinction fell on the wrong side of the dividing line.”

When Kiril’s pause threatened to become a full stop, the thief asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean Angul decided that a group of unruly children who had wandered too neat Stardeep, when they should have known better, were no longer worth tolerating. Before that day was over, while wielding Angul, I…”

An oft-thumbed memory swept up from the abyss of Kiril’s soul, as it sometimes did when her defenses were most fragile. In her mind’s eye, she saw she was dressed as a Keeper of Stardeep; her mail was black, trimmed with silver thread. In her hands, Angul burned, shedding the warm certainty of the truth. A promise soon to be shatteted forever. She began to tell Gage about the worst day of her life.

“I was patrolling beyond Staideep, in the daylight world, looking for spies on the perimeter…”

The swordswoman walked beneath a dark pine canopy. The burning sword she held aloft illuminated het path, as if she were an avenging angel. And wasn’t she? Her cause was just and good. Her blood was fired with Angul’s conviction,

‘her mind focused with his clarity, and her heart hardened with his faith. Nothing could stand in their way, and while she gripped the burning blade, fear was an emotion unknown to her, and mote; an emotion reviled.

Prowlers camped near the Causeway Gate. Too near. If the Causeway emerged from the interstitial mists that cloaked it, the intruders would see Stardeep’s main entrance. Considering the recent escape attempt by the prisoner, the encampment’s sudden appearance was too suspicious to let pass. After the sacrifices made to ensure the Traitor’s continued captivity, Kiril was determined not to take any chances. Angul, new to her hands, agreed emphatically.

Sneaks and cutpurses coddled fear, and used it to inform their bloodless deceits; retreats, and ambushes. Worry was fear’s watchword, and it nudged and pushed the timid into the grave just as surely, if not as quickly, as a fearless attack that failed to win the day. At worst, the eulogy of the warrior who bravely fell in conflict would be remembered for centuries, whereas those whose fear preserved them would die unremembered in cold beds, alone.

Not that death was likely with a magical blade of Angul’s strength in her keeping. Joined, hilt to hand, she and Angul would be together forever. After all, the blade’s power made certain little could permanently harm her flesh.

Kiril spied the camp. Two hide tents, finely cured, with subtle sigils cut into the surface. The interlopers were apparently not ores or the other coarse peoples. No, these must be wood elves who ranged yet in Aglarond. They should know better than to camp so close to the megaliths! It was part of the compact established when the Yuir elves first moved out of Aglarond and into their artificial realm. Had the remnant elves forgotten?

Ignorance is no excuse, Angul imparted to her conscious mind, their presence is in violation of the compact of Yuireshanyaar.

“Yes,” she breathed, “of course.” The intruders must be induced to leave. Immediately.

Kiril moved to within five of so paces of the tents. She saw no movement, despite the warning her blade’s light provided.

“Come out and be judged!” she bawled in Elvish.

Whispers broke from the tents, and a moment later, four or five lithe forms emerged. As she’d guessed, wood elves, or half-elves most likely, members of trie degraded fey race that remained behind after the Yuir departed. She hadn’t guessed these would be children, or nearly so.

The oldest, a youth of no more than fourteen or fifteen suns, stepped forward. His hair was strung with garlands, his torso inked with patterns of leaves and acorns. He responded in the same language. “We are on a quest, and mean no harm. We—”

“You have broken the compact,” interrupted Kiril. “Why?”

“We…” the youth’s initial confidence began to collapse in the face of her asperity. “… We seek to discover a truth. Our seer spoke of a prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

“About the megaliths. She said the Yuirwood’s ‘salvation or destruction lies beyond stony bounds of the ancient rings.’ “

Kiril frowned. She’d never liked prophets. The riddles they spoke were too easily decoded in a manner convenient to the interpreter. And true prophets irked her more; she had a visceral distaste for the concept of predestination.

“Who is this prophetess?” demanded Kiril. If some hoary old tribal shaman was able to determine which among the hundreds of stone circles in the Yuirwood opened onto Stardeep, well, that was a real security hazard.

Instead of answering directly, the boy said, “We came here to see if the words she spoke were true. Who are you?” The last was asked with a tremulous waver, as Kiril’s stony expression hardened into a scowl.

“Your judge,” she responded. “And I judge you’ve overstayed your welcome. Be gone.”

They have disregarded the treaty upon which the realm of Sildeyuir was born, and on which the security of Stardeep depends.

Kiril’s sword spoke the truth. It saw past all distractions to the heart of the matter, she was learning. She lowered the tip of the sword to point at the interlopers. The boy’s companions shrank away.

Not the boy. He held his ground, screwed up his courage once more, and said, “You are not of the tribes, are you? I see you are a full-blood elf, but not of these woods, or even those far to the north. Have you come from behind the menhir circle? Is it true star elves roam thete, in a realm apart?”