Journey into the Void (19 page)

“But we aren't finished,” Tasgall protested.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Rigiswald. “You just don't know it yet.”

Paying no attention to Tasgall, who called stridently after him, Rigiswald left the palace and walked alone through the sodden, gray streets of New Vinnengael.

R
IGISWALD ATE A CHEERLESS DINNER ALONE. THE HOUR FOR
sunset drew near, although one could tell only by a gradual deepening of the grayness. The sun could not be seen for the heavy clouds that dragged curtains of rain over the city.

Of course, word spread. The barons and knights retired to a tavern to discuss the matter and, although they took a private room, their raised voices could be heard by everyone who crowded inside the tavern in search of news. The head of the Association of Merchants' Guilds summoned his members to an emergency session. They met in the Guild Hall—an enormous, imposing building of dark timber and whitewashed walls located at the end of a street known as Guild Hall Row. Horse holders and carriage drivers crowded into the doorway to hear the proceedings, passing on what they heard to the guards who were supposed to be patrolling the streets.

Rigiswald stood on the steps of the Temple, watching the large crowds beginning to gather in front of the palace. All thought of curfew was abandoned. The city guards, who should have been keeping people off the streets, were among those pressing against the wrought-iron fence that encircled the palace grounds, craning their necks to get a view of the man who claimed to be the long-dead son of long-dead King Tamaros.

The barons and knights came out of their meeting to find their way back to the palace blocked. The moment the crowd became aware of their presence, they clamored for news. Eventually, finding that they
could not enter the palace otherwise, the barons hastily chose one of their number to speak. Someone rolled forth a large dray used by one of the local breweries for hauling kegs. The spokesman climbed into the wagon; the crowd was hushed, attentive.

The baron began by relating everything that Dagnarus had said. The baron's recounting was accurate, as far as it went. He was sympathetic to Dagnarus, that much was clear, and he soon had the crowd on his side. There were emphatic nods in many places and a rousing cheer when he came to the part “Vinnengaelean soldiers are the bravest, the best, the most loyal soldiers in the world!” for there were many in the crowd who had served in the city militia and who, even now, had friends and relatives standing duty on the walls.

When he spoke of the young king, his voice softened, and the crowd murmured in sympathy, particularly the women.

“But as much as we love our young king,” the baron proclaimed, “he
is
young—only a child. He will not be of age to rule for many years. Meanwhile, we all know who is the true power behind the throne.”

He cast a grim glance at the Temple. The crowd followed his gaze, and a low rumble, like a growl, swept the multitude.

“Hypocrites,” Rigiswald told them from his vantage point in the Temple. “There is not a one of you who has not run bleating to the Church at some time in your life. You want to be healed, you want magic to lift the stones that build your homes, you want to be protected. Yes, we've made mistakes, the gods help us. But you're about to make the biggest mistake of your lives.”

“We support Prince Dagnarus!” cried the baron.

The crowd let out a cheer that shook the ground and sent the pigeons flapping skyward in alarm. The barons and knights climbed into the wagon and were escorted by the crowd in a grand procession to the gates.

Rigiswald, disgusted, turned on his heel and went back inside the Temple. There he found some of the novitiates and acolytes huddled together in the foyer, listening with wide eyes and shocked expressions.

“Is it true, Revered Brother?” asked a young woman with a snub nose who wasn't in awe of anyone, let alone an elderly master. “Are they truly siding with the Lord of the Void?”

“Go back to your studies,” Rigiswald advised her. “You will have need of them.”

Outside, he could hear the crowd shouting: “Dagnarus! Dagnarus!” Someone scrounged up a kettledrum, and they began chanting the name to its rhythmic beat, separating the name into three parts with the drum in between.

“Dag-nar-us!” Boom. “Dag-nar-us.” Boom.

“Well, that should make him feel at home,” Rigiswald reflected as he went back to his room in the dortour. “He'll think he's back among his savages.”

Once in his room, he slammed shut the door, to block out the noise, and bolted it. The resulting silence was soothing, gave him a chance to think. He pondered what to do. He intended to report to Shadamehr, but should he make his report now or wait until the matter of Dagnarus was final? Rigiswald decided that there was no hurry. The baron was out in the middle of the ocean somewhere, hopefully sailing as fast and as far away from New Vinnengael as possible. As for Dagnarus, his coronation was a given, as far as Rigiswald was concerned. He was curious to know how their new king planned to rid himself of ten thousand slavering monsters thirsting for Vinnengaelean blood though.

And how would Dagnarus deal with the Church? He couldn't hope to find support there. Or could he?

“He will,” Rigiswald decided, lying down on his bed, worn out by the rigors of the day. “He'll win them over, and those he doesn't he'll remove. If I were you, Clovis, I'd watch my back.”

The thought occurred to Rigiswald, as he was drifting off, that he had better watch his own back. He'd been foolish to mention the Vrykyl. Dagnarus had been none too pleased, and there had been a look in his eye that jolted Rigiswald out of his slumber when he recalled it. He fumbled about his robes, drew out his vial of earth, tossed some beneath the door, and muttered a few words of magic.

The warding spell would not stop the Lord of the Void, but Dagnarus could hardly be expected to come deal with an annoying old man himself, and it might stop one of his minions. Either that, or give Rigiswald time to defend himself.

Keeping hold of the vial, Rigiswald rolled over and went to sleep.

 

Prince Dagnarus did not leave the palace. He was escorted to a private chamber, where he was furnished with food and wine. Since he
dined on the Void, Dagnarus had no need of sustenance, and, in fact, the sight of food sickened him. But he had learned over the years to pretend to eat for the benefit of those watching, learned to force down a few mouthfuls, shoving the food around on his plate, sharing delicacies with his guests. He could drink, and he did drink, often to excess.

Wine closed the staring, accusing eyes of Gareth and Shakur and all the rest of those he'd murdered. Wine made the foul Vrykyl Valura—the woman he had once loved, the woman he now loathed almost as much as he loathed himself—beautiful again. Wine gave him the patience to put up with Shakur, kept him from slaying a servant who was rapidly growing to be more trouble than he was worth. Wine gave Dagnarus the ability to stomach the taan, a deadly weapon he himself had forged, a weapon he despised and had recently begun to think might come to be pointed at his own throat.

Dagnarus did not drink deeply this evening. He needed his wits about him. Looking back over his performance that day, he was pleased with it. He was particularly impressed with his decision—formed in the moment—to destroy the taan. Once he was Emperor of Vinnengael, he would have no need for such a large military force. He would send half to retake the Portal at Delak 'Vir, then ship those taan back through the Portal to continue the fight in Karnu—a fight that was going badly, but one he had not yet lost.

All was proceeding according to plan. He had won over the barons, the knights, and the military. He had not won over the Church, nor would he ever, but he could deal with that. He had been planning to have his Vrykyl replace certain key people—the Regent, for one. But he'd been forced to abandon that idea as too dangerous. The battle magi knew of the Vrykyl; they'd actually managed to slay the inept Jedash. Dagnarus blamed Shakur for that lapse. The battle magi would be on their guard against them and, much as Dagnarus hated the Church, he had a healthy respect for the brains and abilities of her magi.

“I will dispense with the Regent's services,” Dagnarus decided, pouring himself another goblet of the excellent wine that came direct from the royal cellars. “I will make her a nonentity. Too bad she cannot meet with an accident, but that would look suspicious. The key is to win over the battle magi. Once I have them on my side, they will keep the heads of the Orders in check. The most dangerous to me is that blasted Inquisitor, always sniffing about in search of Void magic.”

Dagnarus turned the goblet in his hand, stared into the ruby depths. “I will see to it that his Order is disbanded. That should be easy enough. No one trusts them. I'll wager that most in the Temple will be happy to see them gone. As to the battle magi, they are warriors, and I understand warriors. We understand each other. They will help me destroy the taan and, after that, there will be no question of their loyalty to me.”

That decided, he sent the servants away and spent the remainder of his time pacing the room and thinking. He heard the cheers of the crowd outside, heard them chanting his name, and he smiled. He ignored Shakur, who wanted to speak to him through the Blood-knife. Shakur's impertinent question about the king destroying those loyal to him had angered Dagnarus, and he intended to make his anger felt. Let Shakur stew a bit, reflect on the fact that he hung suspended over the Void by a rope thin as a hair, a rope Dagnarus could sever at whim. Dagnarus shut out Shakur's whinings and pleadings and concentrated on more pleasant prospects—his plans for the future, both long-range and short.

His long-range plans were very long-range. Dagnarus's ambition did not stop with Vinnengael. The Shield of the Divine was under his control; the elven nation was practically his for the asking. All that was left was finally to subdue Karnu, then go after the orks and the dwarves and, once they were conquered—which they would be, when he had control of all four parts of the Sovereign Stone—he would rule over all of Loerem. Since his life span was extended every time he used the Dagger of the Vrykyl to steal another's life, Dagnarus planned to rule Loerem for a very long time indeed.

All he required was the Sovereign Stone. Too long it had eluded him. He saw the gods at work, but that did not daunt him. Dagnarus wanted the Stone, had wanted it for two centuries, and he intended to have it. He'd devised a means of thwarting the gods. Even now his agents were working to bring the Stone into his grasp.

Prince Dagnarus returned to the Hall of Past Glories at the hour of sunset, which, with the overcast skies, was almost dark as midnight. He was greeted by barons and knights, merchants and the military, who formed a double line through which he walked, welcomed by their applause. The representatives of the Church stood huddled together, off to one side, surrounded by armed guards. The wizened old monk from Dragon Mountain was present, dwarfed by the enormous Omarah. The
young king, looking sullen and pouty, sat upon his throne and kicked at the legs with his feet.

Dagnarus grinned inwardly at the sight. “So, Shakur,” he said mentally, his hand clasping the Dagger of the Vrykyl that he wore concealed beneath his flowing cloak, “what has been going on?”

Shakur sounded aggrieved. “I tried to speak to you earlier, my lord—”

“You are speaking to me now, and we don't have much time.” Dagnarus moved slowly along the line, bowing to the left and the right, stopping occasionally to shake someone's hand or receive someone's blessing.

“There was a frightful row, my lord,” Shakur reported. “The barons and the military and the merchants side with you. They have never liked the power the Church has wielded, and they see this as a way to overthrow them. The Regent argued, as you might expect, that you were a liar, a foul creation of the Void, who will drag them all into the Void. She was hooted down and, after much shouting, the barons eventually ordered that the Church officials be forcibly expelled from the palace. It seemed for a moment as if there was going to be a fight, but the battle magus Tasgall intervened. He said that so long as he breathed, the day would not come when Vinnengaeleans shed the blood of Vinnengaeleans, especially with an enemy at their gates. He asked for time alone with his fellow Church members.

“They spoke together in private for about an hour; the result was that they agreed to accept you as ruler of Vinnengael, on condition that you fulfill your promise to get rid of the taan who threaten the city. In truth, there was not much else they could do, not without starting a civil war. I am certain they are plotting against you, my lord.”

“Of course they are, Shakur.” Dagnarus had very nearly reached the end of the line, was drawing close to the dais.

“They could be removed…”

“No, Shakur, I intend to use honey on these flies.”

Dagnarus reached the dais. He stood in front of little Havis, who returned his lord's smile with innocent charm and dead, empty eyes.

“One question, my lord, before we commence this charade,” said Shakur. “What is to become of me? I cannot remain a child locked up in this prison forever.”

“I rather like you as a child, Shakur,” said Dagnarus playfully. “We
could have such fun together, you and I—play stickball and king-of-the-mountain.”

“My lord—” Shakur was seething.

“Come now, Shakur,” Dagnarus said, “give us a ‘cousinly' kiss.”

Bending his knee, Dagnarus knelt before Havis, who rose from his throne. Walking forward, the king gave Dagnarus a kiss on the cheek.

The resulting cheers thundered up and down the corridor and could be heard by the waiting populace outside, who joined in lustily, though they had no idea what they were cheering.

“Well, my lord?” Shakur demanded dourly, as Dagnarus straightened to his full height.

“Don't worry, Shakur,” said Dagnarus. “I will see to it that you are set free. I have need of you elsewhere, in fact.”

“Very good, my lord,” said Shakur.

Havis reached out his hand, took hold of Dagnarus's hand, and turned so that they faced the multitude. The boy raised his voice.