Journey into the Void (18 page)

“Let us see your proof, sir,” the Regent said, with cold dignity.

Rigiswald sighed deeply and sat back in his chair, arms folded and his head bowed.

“I call upon the monk from Dragon Mountain,” said Dagnarus.

The Regent looked startled, but, after a moment's discomfiture, she drew herself up. “I don't see—”

“Please, Regent,” said Dagnarus gently. “You asked for proof.”

The monk, whom everyone had forgotten, rose to his feet and tottered forward to stand between his gigantic, silent bodyguards. He made a bobbing bow to the assembly, then regarded Dagnarus with an interested, scholarly air.

“Reverend sir,” said Dagnarus in tones of immeasurable respect, “I am aware—as are we all—that the monks of Dragon Mountain do not make history, they observe history.”

The monk bobbed his hairless, tattoo-covered head to indicate that such was true.

“I ask you, Reverend Monk, to bear witness to an historical fact. Am I in truth what I claim to be? Am I Dagnarus, second son of King Tamaros, born to him and his lawful wife, Queen Emillia, daughter of Olaf, King of Dunkarga, in the year 501?”

The monk clasped his hands together, made another bobbing bow. “You are that Dagnarus,” he said.

He spoke without emotion, his words clipped and precise. Everyone was stunned by what he'd said, shocked and amazed, but not a single person in that room doubted him.

“Then there is evil at work here!” proclaimed the Regent, in a strangled voice. “The evil of the Void.”

Too late, Clovis, said Rigiswald to himself, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. You opened the barn door, and now the horse is careening merrily down the hill.

“As to that, Regent,” said the monk with yet another bob of his head, “I can make no comment, for I have no information pertaining to that subject.”

“All know he was made Lord of the Void,” the Regent continued, casting the monk a furious glance, which did not discommode the monk in the least. “Let this Dagnarus deny that, if he will. Let him deny that if he
is
Dagnarus, son of Tamaros, his life has been extended by evil means!”

“I do deny it,” stated Dagnarus calmly. “I will tell my story, since you ask it. If His Majesty will hear it.” He made humble obeisance to the young king.

“We will gladly hear your story, sir,” said Havis, his childish voice sounding clear and bell-like in the shocked silence.

“Your Majesty, I most strongly protest—” the Regent began.

“Please relate it to us,” Havis went on, refusing even to look at the Regent, much less heed her sputterings. “I ask you all, gentlemen and ladies, to give Prince Dagnarus your full attention.”

That was unnecessary. No one was looking anywhere else. The roof could have sailed off the hall, thought Rigiswald, and no one would have noticed.

“It is true that I was made Lord of the Void,” said Dagnarus forthrightly. “The fault was mine. I sought to cheat the gods, and I was punished for it. For years, the Void twisted my heart and shadowed my thinking, led me to question the wisdom of the gods who had made my
elder brother king. I could not bear to see him ascend the throne of my beloved Vinnengael. I was her true king—by courage, by valor, by wit, by everything except the accident of my birth. I sought to remove my brother by force. I attacked the city of my birth and, in my wild rage, brought about its destruction.”

Dagnarus sent a flashing glance around the assembly. “I did not kill my brother, as history reports. Helmos was slain by Gareth, a Void sorcerer who sought to purchase my loyalty by killing the king. I did not wish Helmos's death. I grieved over him and promised the gods that if I were spared, I would make reparation for my fault and be a true king of Vinnengael. I slew Gareth, but I was too late. The forces of Void magic that he had let loose could not be controlled. They clashed with the magic of the gods and tore out the heart of Vinnengael.

“I should have died in the ruins of Old Vinnengael, died beside the body of my brother. I wanted to die there beside him, for—at that moment—I saw the enormity of my crimes. I did not die, however. The gods were not yet finished with me. They reached down their hands and plucked me from that city and cast me into the wilderness. Broken in body and shattered in spirit, I came to know that the gods had not abandoned me, that they believed that I could yet be saved, for I held in my hands the Sovereign Stone.

“The gods had granted me the power to save the blessed Stone from the destruction of Vinnengael. I held it in my hands—wet with my murdered brother's blood—and I wept. I begged the gods' forgiveness. I promised I would redeem myself. Then and there I renounced the Void. The gods required tests of my loyalty, however. They took the Sovereign Stone from me and gave it into the hands of a monster that nearly killed me. When I recovered, I found myself in another world, a world of terrible creatures of the Void. A race of savages, the taan were little better than animals when I found them. They would have slain me, but I managed—with the help of the gods—to overcome their suspicions and their hatred. I gained their respect and came to be a leader among them.

“Time lost all meaning for me while I was in the land of the taan. I worked hard to civilize them and train them with one thought in mind—to return to my own world and do what I could to make amends. In order to achieve that, I prayed to the gods that they would extend my life.
The gods granted me my wish, and thus you see me here before you today, the same age as I was when I was exiled from all that I loved.

“During my years of exile, I saw Vinnengael fall in men's esteem. I saw her held up to derision, saw her despised and ridiculed. I saw the Church grow in power, saw the monarchy become weak and ineffectual, her nobles ground down beneath the heel of the clergy.”

Some low-voiced mutterings of agreement came from the barons.

“I saw her military dwindle, its numbers decline, morale plummet,” Dagnarus continued. “Thus, when Karnu attacked Vinnengaeleans at the city now named Delak 'Vir, the Vinnengaelean army was defeated, forced to retreat in shame. Worse than that, Vinnengael did not act to take back the Portal the Karnuans stole from us.

“Years go by, and Karnuans walk our soil with impunity. They demand fees from us to use what was once our Portal. They sneer at us and call us cowards. Are the Vinnengaelean soldiers cowards?” He looked directly at several members of the Imperial Cavalry, whose faces were flushed.

“No!” Dagnarus said, biting off the words. “Vinnengaelean soldiers are the bravest, the best, the most loyal soldiers in the world.”

He was interrupted by shouts of angry agreement.

Dagnarus raised his voice. “I should know. I led them into battle myself on many occasions. But even the bravest soldiers need training, they need money, they need the best in weaponry and armor. More than that”—he paused—“they need respect.”

Several of the knights cheered. The soldiers lifted their heads. Their eyes gleamed, their hands clenched into fists. Some nodded emphatically, while others exclaimed “yes!” and nearly all cast dour glances at the Regent and the other Church officials.

How clever, Rigiswald thought, admiring in spite of himself. How very clever.

“Yes, I came back to Loerem with an army!” Dagnarus cried. “An army that has conquered Dunkar and brought it low! An army that has taken on Karnu and will soon conquer that proud land.” He pointed directly at the knights. “Because of my assault on their homeland, the Karnuans have been forced to pull back many of their troops from Delak Vir. If you attack them now, they cannot withstand your might. You will recapture your Portal and with it regain the respect that is your due.”

Cheers met each of his statements.

Dagnarus paused again, then said, quietly, “I give you Dunkarga, its wealth, its people. I give you Karnu, its wealth, its people. I give these to Vinnengael as my gift. With these two great nations now under her control, Vinnengael becomes the most powerful nation in Loerem, more powerful than she was under the rule of my father, King Tamaros, the gods assoil him.”

Dagnarus held out his hands, as though he held those countries within them. “Take them. They are yours. All I ask is that you grant me what is mine by right. Make me king. Or rather, emperor. For Vinnengael will become the greatest empire in the history of Loerem.”

No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe. The Regent blinked at him, dazed. Of all the demands he could have made, she had not expected this one. The Inquisitor's face was impassive, he gave nothing away. Grim and glowering, Tasgall looked often at Rigiswald, trying to meet his eye. Rigiswald refused to answer that mute appeal. Tasgall was too late. This had gone too far.

Like all successful liars, Dagnarus had cunningly based his falsehoods and half-truths on a few solid facts. He had grown up amid palace intrigue. His Vrykyl must have told him of the growing enmity between the Church and the barons and the military. For too long, the complacency of the Church had beamed like strong sunshine on a frozen, snow-packed mountain of problems. It had taken but a single shout to start the snow to sliding, and now no one could halt the coming avalanche.

“What about that army of fiends?” the Regent demanded suddenly. “What will you do with them? We heard what happened to Dunkar. We heard how its women were carried off, its children were butchered. Will the same happen to our people? Even if we agree to your terms, which, at the moment, we do not, I do not think it likely that those savages of yours will give up and go back meekly to their homeland.”

Dagnarus was ready with his answer. “Half my forces I will send to Delak 'Vir to fight the Karnuans and regain our Portal. The rest, as King of Vinnengael, I will destroy.”

“Will you destroy troops who are loyal to you?”

The question came from the young king, and he sounded disapproving.

Rigiswald saw Dagnarus's eyes flicker with a dangerous light. Bowing
to the king, to acknowledge his question, Dagnarus replied, “The farmer does not speak of loyalty when he butchers pigs, Your Majesty. The taan are not men. They are animals. They have been well fed, well treated by me. If I demand their lives, it is no more than what they owe me in return.”

Dagnarus turned to the assembly. “I do not require that you give me an immediate answer. I will withdraw for a short time to give you a chance to consider my proposition. When the sun sets, I will return for your answer. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” said some of the barons loudly.

The Regent exchanged glances with the Inquisitor and with Tasgall.

“We need far more time than that,” stated the Regent.

“I don't see why,” said Dagnarus with a charming smile. “You either accept my proposal or refuse it. Until sunset.” He made his obeisance and was about to withdraw when Rigiswald, impelled by some inner demon, spoke up, “And what of the Vrykyl, Your Highness?”

Dagnarus turned, his cloak falling around him in graceful folds. His expression was one of baffled confusion.

“I beg your pardon, old gentleman?”

“The Vrykyl,” said Rigiswald. Clasping his hands behind him, he rose to his feet. “Foul and undead creatures of the Void created by the one who wields the Dagger of the Vrykyl. I am certain you must have heard of them.”

“From my nursemaid when I was little,” said Dagnarus, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “I know nothing more of them, I assure you, sir.”

“One was slain last night in the city,” stated Tasgall. He might have added more, but Dagnarus interrupted him.

“If that be true, and such evil creatures do walk the earth, then all the more reason Vinnengael needs a strong king to protect her. Until sunset.”

Dagnarus departed. Such was his majestic demeanor that those who had been guarding him looked to Tasgall to see if they should continue. He gave them a furious glance, and they hastened out after Dagnarus. Rigiswald bet that they would not try to blindfold him this time.

Havis III, at a stern glance from the Regent, slid off his throne and, taking time to adjust the crown, which had slipped over one eye, stepped with carefully taught dignity off the dais. Halfway across the room, he stopped and faced the assembly.

“I think he should be king,” said Havis.

The adults glanced at each other, discomfited, embarrassed. Some looked pitying.

“Your Majesty!” The Regent came bustling over. “You have no idea what you are saying.”

“I do,” said Havis. He pointed to the monk from Dragon Mountain. “This man said Dagnarus was the true king. All know the gods hold the monks sacred. He wouldn't lie, would he, Madam?”

The Regent blanched, nonplussed. “No, Your Majesty,” she finally said.

“I will pray to the gods,” said Havis III. “I will ask them for their counsel. But I think I know what I must do, and that is to abdicate”—he brought out this hard word after a struggle—“in favor of my cousin, Prince Dagnarus.”

He left the room, walking between his guards with the childish dignity that was so becoming and so utterly and heartbreakingly convincing.

When he was gone, the hubbub of voices rose. The barons took their leave, and with them went the soldiers and knights. The head of the Association of Merchants' Guilds left in haste, jowls quivering, presumably to report back to his fellow merchants. Courtiers and functionaries fluttered about like gaily colored birds, prepared to fly to whatever hand held the food. The Regent gathered the heads of the Orders around her, like so many chickens. They all looked stunned, as though they'd been struck by falling debris. Tasgall started to join them, then changed his mind.

Rigiswald picked up the book he had been reading. Tucking it under one arm, he walked toward the door.

“I need to speak to you. Where are you going?” Tasgall demanded.

“To my dinner,” said Rigiswald.