The Sword Of Midras Part 6

The Chamber of Souls was a large rotunda with an upper gallery supported by a colonnade. Below, accessed by the single stair, was a stone floor at the edge of which sat seven high-backed thrones. The gallery had been used in previous decades for witnesses to the proceedings of the Central Council, but since the departure of Evards mother, the council had not seen the need for any further general witness to their proceedings.

At the top of the stairs stood Doran Valsond, a member of the Central Circle. It was rumored that he was incapable of growing hair on his head at all. His appearance was skull-like with sunken hollows beneath prominent cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Those eyes, however, were of a most pale blue that was at once both startling and piercing.

News, my lord of the cabal, Evard replied. News that has come to me that you will find most profitable.

Evard, Valsond said, stepping softly down the narrow staircase that descended from the gallery into the round room. How could I decline?

Indeed. Evard nodded as the sorcerer came to stand before him. You could not.

I see that the rest of the cabal was not included, Valsond observed, glancing around at the empty chairs.

I thought our conversations were best kept between us, Evard replied.

Are we meeting here, Master Sorcerer, Valsond continued, because the words spoken in this chamber remain in this chamber?

The Chamber of Souls? Evard doubted with raised eyebrows. The names of every Obsidian Eye who had served and every member of the Central Circle who has ever served and died in our cause"betrayed or otherwise"are inscribed in these walls. Surely, the very name of this place would suggest that they are taking an interest in the results of their handwork.

The past does not concern me, Valsond said with a wave of his hand. The dead are gone. My thoughts are on the future, as should yours be also, my friend.

I a.s.sure you, my lord, my thoughts are very much on the future, Evard observed quietly. As in I prefer to have one"a future, I mean.

A most sensible att.i.tude, Valsond agreed. He stepped over toward his chair, the second from the right of the one designated for the Obsidian Eye, and sat down on it. You certainly are a man with a destiny.

Do you know that for a fact, my lord? Evard asked coolly.

If you are asking if I saw it in the Destiny Pool, you know that is not possible, Valsond replied. Only the Obsidian Eye may gaze into that artifact and be able to sort through all the pasts, presents, and futures that converge there. No, Im speaking of the man Evard Dirae, whose rightful place on this cabal has been denied him by those members whose jealous hearts have prevented him from attaining the greatness his family name deserves.

Those other members, you mean, Evard corrected.

Yes. Valsond sniffed. Precisely.

Evard nodded casually and stepped over to the chair opposite where Valsond was sitting. He ran his hand along the upper edge of the chair as he spoke. You are wrong about one thing, my lord: the past should concern you very much.

I fail to see why. The lord sorcerer chuckled.

Because very often the past is the gateway to the future, Evard countered. Take the Avatars, for example Avatars? Valsond laughed heartily. That old ghost story? Really, Evard, you surprise me.

Yes, my lord, that old ghost story, Evard continued. Its a lie, a fable, and a myth. But it is a story that is told and known in every city-state to which we have laid siege. Its sung around every refugee campfire, and its whispered among the slaves.

So what of it? Valsond leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands out before him. Let them believe that their nonsense heroes will return to save them.

But what if we were those heroes? Evard asked quietly.

Youre not making sense. Valsond sighed in a way that showed he was getting bored.

I know a man in the service of General Karpasic, Evard continued. I have just gotten word that during the siege of Midras, he discovered an artifact that, by all indications, is a sword once used by an Avatar.

Valsond gazed back at Evard for a moment with a questioning look. At last he responded. Youre out of your mind or he is or both of you are.

I am not trying to tell you that this blade he found is actually from an Avatar.

I should hope not!

But what does it matter, so long as our enemies think it is a relic from an Avatar? Evard concluded. If we, the Obsidian Empire, are the bearers of the Avatars might of old, who will stand against us?

But it is nonsense, Valsond said slowly.

And yet, what does it matter, Evard said quietly, so long as our enemies are foolish enough to believe it? A sword can slay a single soul a symbol can cause thousands of souls to lie down before us.

And by us, Valsond said, you mean you and me?

We are the only ones in this room, Evard said, slipping into the chair opposite Valsond. Send me to Hilt, and I can retrieve this souvenir for our use.

Hilt? Valsond snorted. Why Hilt?

My friend is with General Karpasics force and is currently being resupplied, Evard said, failing to mention that it had taken him considerable effort to arrange the army to be ordered there through other members of the cabal. Hilt is where he and this sword will be waiting for me.

CHAPTER.

8.

Treacherous Paths Within a few days march, the army under General Karpasics command had reached Kiln and, with barely a moments hesitation, had pa.s.sed it. The village proved to be a miserable collection of buildings cl.u.s.tered around a central stockade. The self-styled warlord within seemed almost eager to surrender the place to the protection of the Obsidian Army after word had come that Midras had fallen to the south. Kiln, however, was beneath the notice of General Karpasic; the place would have cost him more to secure it than he could gain through plundering it. So, in sad wonderment, the mighty warlord of Kiln was left to watch the great army pa.s.s by his town.

Syenna returned from a scouting sortie ahead of the advance. She pointed out to Karpasic a less-traveled road that led to the northwest. It departed from the main trade routes that followed the Shimano River to the northeast in the direction of Port Crucible before intersecting with the east-west trade routes. Following the main roads meant that the army would have to take a circular route to its objective. Syenna a.s.sured him that the less-traveled road would more closely follow the roots of the Blackblade Mountains with an easy ford across the River Cascade, and thereby saving them nearly a weeks march in getting to Hilt.

The perpetual storm above the Blackblade range appeared on the horizon a full day before the peaks themselves were evident. Dark and roiling, the black clouds rose so high into the air that the tops seemed to flatten against the dome of the sky. They seemed like an angry, living thing with sporadic pulses of lightning beating somewhere deep within.

By the next day, the saw-toothed peaks of the Blackblade Mountains themselves were evident. The enormous, towering granite showed the same slanting thrust from north to south. This was violence on an unspeakable scale, where the rock had been torn up out of the ground into a dark and forbidding wall, five thousand feet above the prairie floor.

Syenna had been proven correct. The wide ford at the River Cascade was easily traversed, and within another day they had rejoined the western caravan route.

All they had to do was follow it west into the forbidden canyon of Hilt.

Well, Jester, have you ever seen the like of it? Aren grinned as he rode alongside the teamster on the wagon.

Never have, and I hope to say, I never will, replied the red-faced man, though his eyes were filled with wonder.

The towering walls of the winding, narrow canyon, which moments before seemed so close as to fall upon them, suddenly opened up into a mountain bowl nearly a mile wide. General Karpasics army was already organizing into its encampment, but it was the site on the north side of the narrow valley that had captured their eyes.

Set back into the bow of a branching box canyon was an enormous construction site. A succession of terraces carved from the rock itself gave the impression of looking at the bow of a boat from inside. The method was ingenious, for as each terrace was being excavated, its stone was removed in blocks for construction of additional walls, battlements, and structures. Each terrace provided another level of defense, for Aren could see there was only one road leading to the top: a set of switchbacks on the left-side terraces that were not only exposed to the defensive fire from the levels above, but to archery, ballista, and magical fire from the levels on the opposite wall of the box canyon. A channel cut down through the right-side terraces, where a succession of waterfalls cascaded between sluice gates at each level and emptied into the meadow below. Undoubtedly, those sluice gates could be raised as needed to flood the approaches of each level as Aren perceived a slant in each terrace from east to west. Each terrace ended both on the east and west corners of the canyon in magnificent sheer columns of solid rock, nearly two hundred feet high. The top of the westernmost column was still shrouded in scaffolding, but part of it had been removed on the east, exposing the shaped likeness of an Obsidian warrior. When completed, they would face each other, looking down on any who dared approach.

Atop the uppermost terrace, the carved, stone framework of the great gate rose to an arched peak. On its left, the shorter side, a magnificent curtain wall had been completed nearly twenty feet in height with crenellated battlements along its crest. To the gateways right, the much longer side of the wall, the scaffolding was still in place, as it was far from complete. Beyond the scaffolding stood the keep itself, its lower section carved directly out of the granite mountain face. The keep, too, was almost entirely obscured by scaffolding and its a.s.sociated ramps, as the upper portions were being laid by stonemasons at an unprecedented height. Numerous other buildings, some completed and others still being built, were grouped around the base of the keep beyond the defensive wall.

Aren hoped he would have a chance to speak with the master mason. What he could see only hinted at the glorious magnificence the structure might achieve. He would love to know and appreciate what the final, intended form would be. Nothing on this scale had been attempted since the Fall, and he suddenly felt great pride at being part of making it happen.

Then, as he looked closer, he could see the movement along the scaffolding, the quarries at each level, and the ramps up to them. Dark figures that moved in streams like ants, only he knew that they were not ants. These were slaves, pressed into service as the Obsidians added the conquered regions of the Drachvald.

It is the price of progress, he thought to himself even as he frowned.

Why do they call it Hilt? Jester asked.

I asked Syenna that just the other day, Aren replied. She told me that before the Fall, there was a great battle between the G.o.ds of Man and the Avatars. It raged all across the face of the world. One of the Avatars saw that they could not win and so, rather than fight the G.o.ds, he plunged his blade into the world, desiring to kill the thing that the G.o.ds loved most; their creation. The edge of the sword tore through the fertile lands of the world, opening a great and terrible wound. It was here, then, that the G.o.ds in their wrath stopped the Avatar and cast him back into the abyss from which he came. But the damage had been done, and the G.o.ds, in their wisdom, left the hilt of the blade exposed until such time as some legendary hero from some other nonsense legend were to come along and heal the world. Thats what that southernmost peak is supposed to be: the hilt.

The G.o.ds, you say? Jester said, gaping at the captain.

Yes, Aren replied, nodding seriously.

They both burst into laughter.

Well, thats what she said! Aren grinned as he shook his head.

Jester closed one eye as he considered the peak. It dont look like no hilt to me.

Its a legend, Jester. Aren chuckled. How much sense do you really expect it to make?

About as much sense as anything else in this army. Jester sighed. If you dont mind my saying so, Captain, I dont have much use for legends. They dont put food on my table, they dont cure my wife of the plague, and they dont give me a minutes more peace for myself.

Your wife, Aren said, looking askance at the teamster. Shes had the plague for about, oh, what now, eight months?

Aye, that she has, Jester moaned, shaking his head.

And you sent her extra coins from your compensation every month in order to help pay for an Obsidian healer?

Aye, Captain, every month.

Eight months That seems like an awfully long time to have the plague, doesnt it?

That it is, Captain"Jester nodded with conviction"and proud I am that shes put up with it this long. And, say, speaking of companions, where is your creepy little friend?

Monk? I have sent him to watch over my possessions, Aren replied. Sometimes things go missing off the wagons.

Never! The teamster bl.u.s.tered. If their owners are too casual with their valuable and useful items, whose fault is that?

Aren smiled and was about to say something when the teamster interrupted him again.

Captain! Isnt that your scout friend?

Syenna was approaching quickly down the length of the caravan column, waving her hand. She drew up alongside Aren, her words coming in a rush and slightly out of breath. Captain Bennis, I bring the compliments of General Karpasic And what does the general want this time? Aren asked.

What he wants is to reinstate you to the command staff, the scout said quickly. You are hereby relieved of your responsibilities to the caravan and are ordered to report at once to the general for rea.s.signment.

Now that sounds official, Aren replied, his eyes narrowing.

I just bring the message, Captain, Syenna said. Follow me, and Ill take you to him.

Very well, Aren said, and nodded.

Syenna turned her horse back toward the base of the Hilt fortress.

So, Captain, Jester said with a gap-toothed grin, is this a good thing?

Ill let you know, Aren said as he spurred his horse to follow Syenna.

The generals command tent was located near the pool at the base of the fortress. This was unquestionably a beautiful spot, although the construction work of the fortress was ongoing, and the occasional crack of chisel against rock fell down upon it from above. Aren wondered if the general had hastily chosen the spot without regard to how it might affect his sleep.

Aren glanced down at himself. He was still wearing his makeshift armor and his dusty tunic. There was no help for it; while he knew that the general would disapprove of the captains appearance, his equipment was still loaded somewhere in the caravan wagons. Syenna was already gesturing him into the folds of the tent. With a sigh, he patted off as much of the dust as he quickly could and stepped into the tent.

My dear Captain Bennis, the general gushed from his elevated throne, his thick arms open wide in a welcoming gesture. It has been too long since we have had the pleasure of your company!

Aren almost took a step back. He had seen this in the general before. Karpasic could be cruel, vengeful, and duplicitous with others but afterward, when he found it would be to his benefit to be on good terms with them, he would simply treat them as though nothing had ever been amiss between them. It was a strange, twisted trick of his mind. Somehow the evils he had done to others were twisted into evils they had done to him. Those, in turn, he could forgive magnanimously and thereby turn his cruelty into benevolence. He would then forgive himself and require those whom he had harmed to forget.

Aren knew that the general was at his most dangerous when he was appearing benevolent.

Yes, sire, Aren replied with a slight bow. It has, indeed, been too long.

Aren glanced around him. Most of the command staff was present, wearing their ubiquitous Obsidian armor. Halik was among them, doing his best to avoid eye contact. Syenna stood near the door, her arms folded in front of her.

I see you have managed to retain your prize, Karpasic said, his eyes falling to the hilt of Arens sword.

A prize, sire, that remains in your service, Aren said carefully.

I confess it would be difficult to determine just in whose service you are in, given your present state of dress, Karpasic responded, the edges of his smile taking the more vicious aspect.

My deepest apologies, sire, Aren said quickly with another slight bow. The caravan wagons have not yet had the opportunity to unload the"

It is no matter, Captain, Karpasic said with a dismissive wave of his hand. You have been relieved of your responsibility to the caravan. An opportunity has presented itself for you to demonstrate your service to the Obsidian Cause. What do you know of the Nightshade Pa.s.s?

I know we are in it, Aren answered. It is the only pa.s.sage through the Blackblade Mountains between the Midmaer Plain and the lands of South Paladis.

Quite correct, Captain. Karpasic nodded. There are no known pa.s.sages to the north even beyond Port Crucible"

And the h.e.l.lfire Rift to the south extends as far as the Storm Sea, Aren interrupted. That is why the Obsidian command is building this fortress; it controls the only invasion route between Midmaer and"