Come Endless Darkness (7 page)

At that point Gord could no longer contain himself. "You've known all along?" he asked, anger overriding the excitement he felt.

Rexfelis showed little emotion, but his huge, dark eyes had a tinge of sadness as he replied. "Yes, Gord, I have known all along. I do not ask your forgiveness, for there is nothing to forgive. Perhaps you'll understand when you know more, perhaps not. Too many sought you — too many of such deadly power and fell purpose that not even all of us here, let alone simply me, could keep them from you had they fully understood just who and what you were... or are, rather."

"Just what is that?" Gord's voice was calm, but an inner glow coming from his gaze bespoke his rage and sadness at being kept uninformed for so long.

"The one foretold... the one foreordained to light the final battle."

The Catlord's last words curtailed Gord's rising fury, stopped it cold. "I am fated to fight... the
final
battle?" he asked.

"No, no, Rexfelis," the ancient priest, Nastan, said loudly in his cracked voice. "Not any of us can so order. We are mere predictors — searchers for clues is a better term, perhaps."

"Well, I don't care who ordered it, actually," Gord said harshly. "I have some say. And why this damned secrecy? If this has been foreordained, then who or what could prevent it? Why not tell all?"

Rexfelis spoke again. "Not so fast. What is foretold is this: Should you attain your maturity, manage to survive and not be polluted by evil, or made narrow by some rigid conceit, then you would be the one to bear the banner for us."

Gord started to open his mouth, but the Catlord silenced him with a stern look. "Mind you, prince, that I speak of no guarantees. Attend my words; let your ears hear. You alone can fight for us. None of those who espouse Law or Chaos must be allowed to prevail. Balance is the force that has a champion, one to carry the contest to Unrelenting Darkness.

"That much alone is foretold — the outcome of the battle is not prescribed. No hint is even given. Yet, your even being able to contest with the great enemy was sufficient to make the vile ones quail. You had to be protected — and kept ignorant so as not to reveal some clue unwittingly — until we could reveal this knowledge to you."

The years in miserable suffering, the horrors of that bastard Theobald and beggary, the whole course of my life..."

"Necessary — and generally secretly assisted for the better by our agents, or simply directed by your own mind, Gord. In fact, what you did, what you accomplished, what you are — all of that is your own doing."

"And just what does all of this mean?"

"Who can say? Not even the best of us is so great as to venture into such suppositions. Yet, prince, I think you yourself know the answer well enough. You see all sides of the question, judge, and act. Each year you grow, your perspective heightens, and the change is evident. You perceive the great conflict which now embroils all. It is a deadly game which will decide the fate of your world and ours too, whether of material sort or not."

Gord shook his head in denial. That is no game, and I am no pawn in it."

To some it is a game," Basiliv the Demiurge said gently. "It is a helpful analogy to use, though. The ones we contest with, even those we seek to aid, see it as such, you know."

"How can this be called a game? Lives being played with, lost.... It is monstrous!"

There is a prize at stake, Gord," Basiliv said in reply to the heated denial. "It is a contest. You have played the game of life and death often enough yourself, I think."

"It was for survival, and against those who knew full well the consequences of loss. Each was an able and skilled opponent, and I took only the lives of those who needed to die," Gord countered with less anger but iron determination filling his voice.

"Most arrogant and Judgmental!" This came in unison from the four who were the head of the Cabal, the strange Hierophants. "We object to your attitude, Gord. If you do not dismiss such thinking from yourself immediately, you will be an unfit champion." Though the four spoke at one time, they were of one mind and one voice so utterly that the words came from each of them simultaneously. The effect was eerie and rather unsettling, but Gord would not be dissuaded.

"I am not champion. I have no wish to play this game! Let the hells, the demons, all of you find some other pawn to push around!" Gord was ready to rise and leave, although he didn't know where he would go or what the reactions of these mighty ones of Balance would be when he tried to evacuate. At this juncture he no longer cared. It was just too much for a mortal spirit to bear.

Rexfelis stopped him, smiling gently. "You are right. You need not be a pawn. Do not 'play.' Those who seek evil, death, misery, enslavement for all who do not serve them willingly will gloat and be filled with glee at your decision, Gord. They have long sought to eliminate you from the contest. Your quitting will serve almost as well as your death, I think."

That made Gord sink back down and stare at the Catlord. "Better, better," Rexfelis said softly. "Long have you played unwittingly, without our direction, although our other active forces in the game supported you when they could. Then you took part at the direction of Balance, but without full knowledge of what was involved. Even should you choose to leave now, Gord, I think that too would simply be part of the play. You, like us, cannot escape by simply wishing to."

Gord could do little but shrug. "Then I am no champion at all. I am a piece which wanders aimlessly about, doing nothing of significance and unable to direct my course. Let one of you powerful beings serve as the banner-bearer. Who amongst you all is not more puissant than I?"

"Fairly put, young Gord," a slow and heavy voice said. All in the chamber were completely still at the sound, and Gord looked over to the place where the words had come from. "Yet there is a bit of each of us to go with you, and then you will be both less and more than any of us," the being continued.

That meant nothing to him, but Gord was unsettled by what he saw. Nothingness and yet something occupied a place in the hall, and none of the other occupants of the place were near the space. "I am at a disadvantage... Lord of... Nothingness? I cannot see you, nor do I know your title or realm."

"I am All and Nothing, prince. You were not far from the mark. It is sufficient to say that in my own limited way I am part of Balance in that I contest with life and death, chaos and order. Normally I would not take part in any struggle, for in the end I will triumph over all that way.

"However," the measured, plodding voice spoke on, "the advent of Tharizdun has forced me to assist the Lords of Neutrality. Thus a portion of my essence will be yours to call upon, should you step forward and serve willingly."

Advent? So the terrible force of total evil
was
advancing. That knowledge had a great effect upon the young thief, and Gord forgot to ask just what the so-called 'All and Nothing' was. Instead he turned to the Master of All Cats. "Explain more of this to me, please," he asked simply, settling back in his chair for the first time since he had been thrust into this assemblage.

Rexfelis proceeded to tell him about the emerging struggle that put Balance into so exposed a position in the very center of all. With occasional interjections from the great personages and virtual deities in the chamber, the Catlord related how he and the others had sought to confound the machinations of devils and demons without recourse to a particular champion. Although they, as the sovereigns of Neutrality, knew that there was a prophecy regarding such a singular figure, even they could not be certain, so they had played on while keeping careful guard over the one who might one day be needed — by all the multiverse, not just by Balance. Gord's parents had been, together, a minor force in the game, and they had been betrayed into vulnerability by pieces of their own color. Sadly, they had been eliminated and yet thus fulfilled a part of the foretelling, for behind them remained a tiny spark of potential.

"Amidst the webs of magic and energy, Gord, even that mote could have been discerned by our foes — your foes, of course, as well as ours," said Rexfelis. "Alone we could not have hidden your spark of possibility, but still the evil ones could not seem to locate you. Another hand was involved."

After a few questions, the narration continued as before. Rexfelis and Lord Donal spoke of how they had seen Gord become an able young beggar and thief, occasionally protected, always observed, but never interfered with. "When you left the city, prince, and set off with the Rhennee, you suddenly entered the field as a pawn," Lord Donal noted. "You were not played — you placed yourself upon the board!"

After noting that Gord's successes, as well as his failures, not only moved him around the area of the contest but also made his relative strength change, just as an advancing pawn becomes more threatening to the opposing force, Rexfelis explained that Gord himself promoted his worth to above that of a mere foot soldier. "By continually winning over evil adversaries, and by not just staying well away from their influence but becoming more and more firmly convinced to uphold your ever-strengthening beliefs in freedom and choice, you grew from an inconsequential if well-placed pawn into a multi-powered piece."

Shadowking and the Demiurge added their own comments then, and Gord was amazed still more. He turned to the person introduced to him earlier as the Master of Swords. "Blademaster, you assisted me?"

"Even so skilled a thief as you, one whose gymnastic feats are of the highest sort, does not acquire weapons skill — or such weapons as you have possessed, Gord, without a bit of help, shall we say," the Master of Swords confirmed in his quick manner. His thin lips smiling, the Lord of All Blades added, "And I shall do so again if you will."

Each of those present assured the young man that he had done some small thing to assist him. Then Rexfelis spoke again. "Now, Gord, you are Prince of Panthers. That acknowledged status bestows but little additional power upon you, for you are already a knight in service to Balance. As a willing champion, however, you will command those spaces adjacent to you as well; thus will you be equipped to the best of our ability to face the Ultimate Foe."

"What choice have I?" Gord said finally. "Whether willing or willy-nilly, it would seem I am fated. I have no love for our foes, no commonality with those who oppose them. Balance is my only understanding. To accept conviction of its purpose, then, is but to admit what I am."

There are shades and tints, intensity and pallor, even in the whole of Neutrality, Gord," Lord Hewd told him. "Whatever the exact ethos may be, all of us recognize that in order to have our liberty to remain as we are, and for all others to do likewise, the Ultimate Darkness must not be allowed to prevail."

"Am I not proof of the different shades and tints?" Gord asked rhetorically.

"No," said the slow voice of the nothingness that seemed to All a whole corner of the hall, "but my presence with Balance is."

Before more could be said, the four Hierophants arose and in unison placed their mark upon Gord. The sensation for him was like a burning wave washing over his body, and the young thief nearly fainted. Then each of the others there likewise gave some touch or sign as their gift. Energy shot through Gord's body, made his nerves tingle, his brain float. So much power, so many diverse agencies! He was glad Indeed to be sitting when it occurred.

"Basiliv and I will escort you from here, prince," the Catlord said when the last of the Lords of Balance had finished placing their tokens of power with him. "I have more to say, for above all my own aegis is over you. The Demiurge too has instructions."

* * *

"Now I will begin at the beginning," the Master of Cats said when the three of them were alone in a small library that served as Rexfelis's personal study. "You are the offspring of my seventh son, the ninth of my great-grandchildren to attain status above that which was theirs by birthright. With the acceptance just given by the Lords of Balance, none of my own, not any of the scions of the other houses, dare to contest you."

"What do you mean?" Gord asked. This was all too confusing still.

"Each of the Nine Houses vies for supremacy with the others. Each would have its own become king. I cannot interfere... much, anyway, else I would be no Lord of Catkind. But your own father had no such aspirations. He knew of the prophecy and above all sought to see it come true. He and your mother were the deadliest foes of Tharizdun and his servitors."

"What was my mother's name? My father's?"

"Of course. Forgive me, Gord. The pressures of this time made me remiss. Your mother was called Ataleena. She had second sight and could have been a great wizardess. She had violet eyes, you know — perhaps from her distant elvish blood. Your father was named Karal, and he loved your mother more than Just about anything in the planes. It was she who convinced him to desert the confines of this place, Gord, and to fight the enemy elsewhere. I don't think I forgave her for that until I first met you...." Rexfelis said half to himself. Then, recapturing his train of thought, he went on.

"Ataleena knew of the prophecy regarding Tharizdun's return from her mother, who had learned it from her own mother, and so on. All of those women were seeresses. Good folk. Karal named you after his wife's house. Your mother was Ataleena Carona, and your given name is Carl — was, I must say. Despite its humble origin, Gord is now your name, and one which has power. You must keep it. Does Prince Gord Carl Quapardus suit you?"

After a minute came the reply. The name Gord is what I am accustomed to. It seems sufficient."

"So it shall be for the time. I'll be brief about the rest," Rexfelis said softly. "Others of your kin betrayed both your father and mother. Too late the traitors repented. Your parents were slain by agents of evil, directed by one of its most terrible minions." When Gord's face started to darken with anger, the Catlord waved him to settle him down and hurried on. "I brought much sorrow upon those responsible, and they paid dearly, as much from their own guilt as from any punishment of mine. Not one of the perpetrators survives now," he added with sorrow for the act of betrayal, not for loss or mourning. The malign ones rejoiced at first, but then discovered that they had not fully completed their mission. Despite their best, or worst, efforts, not the greatest of devils or vilest of netherlords could quite discover whom they sought. Even now I think they do not know, but that will soon change!"