Journey into the Void (22 page)

“Aren't you?” said the Inquisitor coolly. “You seem very cozy with your new king. Very quick to laugh at his witty remarks and praise him to the skies.”

“I laughed because what he said was funny,” Tasgall growled. “As for praise, his plan of battle is a good one, and I told him so. I don't trust him, any more than you do. I made that clear in our meeting this morning, if you'd been listening. I thought I also made clear that now is not the time for the left hand to wonder what the right hand is doing. We're all in this together, or should be. What happened?”

The Inquisitor gazed out into nothing for long moments, then his overlarge eyes met Tasgall's.

“I cast a magic spell on him, one intended to disrupt Void magic.”

Tasgall was impressed. No slouch at magic himself, he'd had no clue that the Inquisitor had been spell-casting, and he'd been standing right beside him.

“With what intent?” Tasgall asked.

“Experimental,” said the Inquisitor. “If he is Lord of the Void, as history claims, I thought perhaps the spell might force him to reveal his true nature, expose him for what he is.”

“What your spell exposed was a very comely, intelligent, charming man,” returned Tasgall. “Either your spell failed, or perhaps he has been redeemed as he has claimed.”

“Balls!” the Inquisitor said, his tone sharp. “My spell did
not
fail. My spell struck a wall and shattered.”

“So what are you trying to say, Inquisitor?” Tasgall demanded, growing impatient at having to drag out every scrap of information. “Or not say, as the case may be.”

“The spell I cast was a Void spell,” the Inquisitor replied in chill tones. “The only way it could be countered was by another Void spell, a very powerful one. Think of that, Battle Magus, the next time you laugh at his jokes.”

“And what do you propose I do?” Tasgall demanded of the Inquisitor's back. “Do I allow the taan to come in and slit our throats? Do I cry: ‘Ha-ha, sir, the laugh is on you! We're all going to die out of spite.' Is that what you would have me do?”

The Inquisitor paused, turned slowly around. He spoke in low tones, his gaze abstracted, turned inward. “All my life, I have fought against the Void. I have done the gods' work. Good work, too, or so I believed. In order to do my work, I had to learn Void magic.” His brow furrowed. He shook his head. “You will not understand this, Tasgall, but I never saw the paradox in that. I never saw, until now, when I looked into his eyes, that I had become what I most loathe.

“As long as Dagnarus rules Vinnengael, Tasgall, so it will be with us all.” He shrugged. “Do whatever you think is needful. It won't matter. Not in the end. We lost this battle two hundred years ago.”

Tasgall fumed his way back to the meeting room. It was all very well for Rigiswald and the Inquisitor to be so blamed high-minded and speak so eloquently of martyrdom, but what would the twenty-five-year-old Vinnengaelean mother with three little children clinging to her skirts have to say on that subject? She would probably be pretty damned eloquent herself!

Rounding a corner, he very nearly collided with Dagnarus, who was coming from the other direction. A flotilla of courtiers sailed along after him, plying him with compliments and flatteries. Sighting Tasgall, Dagnarus made a leap at him, seized hold of him by the arm, and dragged him off for a private talk. The courtiers remained behind, bobbing in the
water, until such time as His Majesty should once more sail in their direction.

“Tasgall,” said Dagnarus, “I wanted to let you know that I'm sending young Prince Havis out of harm's way. For his own safety, of course, and to ensure that Vinnengael still has a king, just in case—the gods forbid—our plans go awry. The prince tells me his father has a hunting lodge in the Illanof Mountains. I think he will be safe there, don't you?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall, troubled. “There is the matter of the taan army—”

“I know the disposition of that army, Tasgall,” said Dagnarus, smiling. “They are massed along the river. None have ventured west. I will provide a safe route of travel for His Highness. He will have his own personal retainers with him, and as many men-at-arms as we can spare.”

“That will not be many, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall.

“Nor will many be required. The prince will be in no danger. I guarantee it. Now, let us return to our work. I am much impressed with your battle magi, Tasgall. I think we are off to an excellent start, don't you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall.

T
HE VRYKYL, VALURA, ANNOUNCED TO THE TAAN THAT DAGNARUS
had conquered the city of New Vinnengael single-handedly, that its people had declared him to be their god. She proclaimed that the taan would celebrate this occasion with a god day.

Although the taan were again disappointed that there would be no fighting this day, they did not grumble, as they had on previous days. They had been promised that on the morrow they would enter this city and take what they wanted.

The taan loved nothing better than a god day. There would be storytelling and strong food, washed down with copious quantities of topaxi. The highlight of the day would be the kdah-klks—ritual fights between tribal members that had once been used to determine leadership of the tribe, but which were now used to test the skill and courage of young warriors and to enable older warriors to advance in rank.

To mark this Day of Triumph, calaths would be pitted against calaths. This meant that entire battle groups would fight each other, with valuable gifts of weapons and armor going to the winners. The taan were elated.

“You must fight well,” the kyl-sarnz told them, “for the xkes of the city will be witness to your prowess.”

Valura pointed to the city walls, as she said this, where the taan could see the humans lined up on the battlements, staring across the river at the taan encampment. The taan jeered at them and clashed their weapons.

Her task done, as Dagnarus had commanded, Valura handed over the responsibility for making the arrangements for the god day to the members of the Black Veil, an elite group of taan shamans. Valura was under orders to return to Tromek, the elven kingdom, to support the Shield in his battle against the Divine. She was being sent away, and she knew she would never be allowed to return.

Valura wanted to be with Dagnarus. She wanted to share his victory, to be with him when he gained the prize for which he'd worked and fought and sacrificed so much for so long. She wanted to be present to see him crowned King of Vinnengael. She begged to be allowed to attend the coronation, to take her place among the Vinnengaeleans, to assume the guise of the beautiful and enchanting elf woman he had once loved.

Dagnarus refused her pleas. The time was not right, he told her. She would come to New Vinnengael, but not now. When the Shield came to Vinnengael to hand over to Dagnarus the rulership of the Tromek nation, Valura could come with him. At that time, Dagnarus would be glad to welcome her to his court.

Valura knew he was lying to her. She knew, even if he didn't know himself.

“I will never be permitted to enter New Vinnengael. My presence would ruin the day for him. Everyone else in the world would see the illusion of a beautiful elven woman, with skin that is petal-soft and lips that are rose-hued and almond eyes of wondrous brilliance. When he looks at me, he sees the fleshless skull, the empty eye sockets, the rictus grin. I am a constant reproach to him. I gave up my soul to be with him, and now he loathes the very sight of me. Every time he looks at me, he sees the truth of what he is—the Lord of the Void.”

Dagnarus no longer wanted to be Lord of the Void. He wanted to be King of Vinnengael. He did not want her love, which was dark and tainted with evil. He wanted the love of the living, he wanted their adoration. Banish her, and he would banish that part of his life.

So he trusted. So he hoped. But his trust was misplaced, for it was in himself. His hopes were doomed, for hope also depended on himself. For the time being, he was pleased with this shiny new toy. He was content to play gently with it, lest he break it. But, over time, the toy would grow shabby, the paint would peel, and the wheels would keep falling off. The toy would disappoint him, no longer fulfill his voracious ambition. He
would tire of it. He would toss it aside and seek out another and yet another after that.

Woe betide those who put their faith and trust in him, such as these pitiful taan, such as she. He drank their blood and stole their souls and gave nothing in return.

She summoned her mount, a beast known as an equis, a demon horse, spawned of the Void. Seating herself on its back, she grasped the reins, but she did not immediately give the command to leave. She took a moment to look at the taan, feasting and cavorting and capering about their fires, making gleefully ready to celebrate their god's victory. She looked at the walls of New Vinnengael, lined with soldiers, making grimly ready to defend their city and their new king.

“Poor bastards,” she said with cool pity, then she turned her mount's head north, toward Tromek.

 

Dagnarus meant to frighten and intimidate the people of New Vinnengael into obedience by having the taan perform what might be described as military maneuvers, and he succeeded. The soldiers on the wall watched in shocked amazement to see the taan rush eagerly into battle, shouting and screaming with joy, fighting each other with a ferocity that left many lying on grass stained red with blood. And this was only practice.

Dagnarus also meant to weaken the taan, wear them out, reduce their numbers and dull their will to fight, and he succeeded in that as well. By nightfall, most of the warriors were either dead tired or just plain dead.

The taan slept well that night, in their tents or in the arms of Lokmirr, goddess of battle. The only Vinnengaeleans who slept were babes too young to know fear and those who tried to drown fear with brandywine. Fortunately, the latter were few in number, for Dagnarus had placed the city under King's Edict. One of its provisions was to close all the taverns and inns and brewery houses until the end of the current crisis.

Battle magi, civilian volunteers, and the military worked through the night to make everything ready by the morrow. People were evacuated from businesses and houses located near the main gate, moved to safer ground. They put up barricades blocking off all the major streets, overturning drays and wagons in the middle of the roads, tossing on furniture, wooden chests, ale barrels, even removing heavy wooden doors from their hinges and adding them to the growing pile.

Clothiers contributed bolts of cloth to the Hospitalers, to be turned into bandages. Extra beds were set up in the hospital. Those patients who were not in critical condition were sent home to make room for the anticipated casualties.

Soldiers and archers moved into the empty houses and shops, to take up their hiding places and get what sleep they could before morning. Novitiates climbed onto the roofs, making necessary preparations for the battle magi, bringing with them stores of candles, to be used by those casting Fire magic, hauling up waterskins and food to help them keep up their strength.

The work was accomplished by moonlight or torchlight, with as little noise and commotion as possible, for the taan must not suspect that anything untoward was happening in the city. Dagnarus ordered all the sewers blocked off, their entrances flooded with river water, in order to halt any taan who might take it into their heads to enter the city by that route.

Dagnarus came out to inspect the work and more than one good citizen was startled that evening to find his new king working alongside him, cheerfully bending his back beneath sacks of flour or lending his strength to help in overturning a wagon. Confident, cheerful, exuberant, Dagnarus lifted the hearts of all who came in contact with him.

Rigiswald roamed the streets, observing the preparations, and as he watched and listened to Dagnarus, the elderly magus grudgingly marveled and grudgingly admired.

Rigiswald walked away pensive and sorrowful. He had never known any man so well suited by nature to be king. Had he been born the eldest son, Dagnarus might this moment be slumbering peacefully in death, honored and revered as a good and wise monarch. Truly, the most tragic words in all the languages of all the races were: “what might have been.”

 

Several hours after midnight, most of the preparations were ready. Dagnarus made a show of going to his bed. Then, cloaked in the Void, he left New Vinnengael, slipping out of the palace by one of the several secret tunnels that had been built in order to protect the king during an attack or popular uprising. He had a horse waiting for him, and he rode to a prearranged site north of the city.

Dagnarus went over his plans in his mind as he rode, searching for some flaw he might have missed.

He had rid himself of Valura and Shakur, who were both embarrassments to him.

As for the Vinnengaeleans, he was pleased with them, for the most part. Oh, there were some who were dangerous and would have to be removed—that gimlet-eyed Inquisitor, for one. The fact that the fellow was skilled in Void magic would make removing him a bit more difficult, but not even the most skilled wizard could protect himself from a fall from a horse or an unfortunate tumble down a flight of stairs. Then there was that shrewd-looking old gentleman who had so disconcerted Dagnarus by asking about the Vrykyl. Dagnarus had endeavored to find out who he was, but none of the courtiers seemed to know. He had meant to ask Tasgall, but had forgotten about the matter in their discussions yesterday. After this battle was over, he would find out who this old gentleman was and determine whether or not he should be concerned about him.

As for the taan, Dagnarus hated losing five thousand troops but it could not be helped. Their deaths would not be wasted. Their blood would anoint him king. And, in truth, he was doing them all a favor. A taan's dearest wish was to die in battle. He was going to see to it that five thousand of those wishes were granted.

“Just as my wish has been granted,” he said to himself with a grin.

He could not really believe it. He had worked for over two hundred years for this day, and, finally, it was about to dawn. He would be crowned King of Vinnengael.

There was just one problem, one annoying fly who had landed in his precious ointment, one flaw in the otherwise flawless jewel.

K'let.

Once Dagnarus had blessed the day he'd met K'let. Now he rued it. Of all the people Dagnarus had known throughout his life, K'let came the closest to being considered a true friend. K'let was a taan, but Dagnarus had always possessed the ability to understand the taan, probably because he was a warrior himself. He and K'let had much in common: both were ambitious, both ruthless in obtaining what they wanted, both courageous and skillful warriors.

Dagnarus had made one mistake in dealing with the albino taan. He had underestimated K'let and overestimated himself. K'let was no longer merely an embarrassment like Shakur. The rebellious taan Vrykyl had become a danger. Many thousand taan were now on Vinnengaelean soil.
Thus far, most were loyal to Dagnarus, but if K'let were to succeed in uniting them—as he was attempting to do—they could be a very serious threat.

Arriving at the meeting place, Dagnarus found Klendist, the leader of the mercenaries, awaiting him.

Dagnarus had recruited Klendist, a former bandit and sometime guerrilla leader who had been making a good living raiding towns along the Vinnengael-Tromek border. Klendist brought about eight hundred men with him, all seasoned veterans, some of them war wizards.

Klendist was a taciturn man, short in stature, on the wrong side of fifty, tough, and sinewy. He feared nothing this side of the Void and not much beyond. He greeted the Lord of the Void, as Dagnarus came riding through the darkness, with a curt nod and a broad grin.

Dismissing his bodyguard, Klendist waited for orders.

“Where are your men?” Dagnarus asked.

“Over that hill,” Klendist replied with a jerk of his thumb.

Dagnarus glanced in that direction. The night was still and silent.

“You won't see them or hear them, my lord,” Klendist added. “But they're there, all the same.”

“I take it you left the taan camp without rousing any suspicion.”

“You don't see the gigs or hear them, either, do you, my lord? We slipped out of camp quietly, as you ordered. Some of their pickets were awake, but we told the gigs we'd lost our stomach for fighting and that we were heading back home.”

“They believed you?”

“Of course. The gigs think all humans are cowards. What are your orders, sir?”

“You will ride west to a city called Mardurar, located in the central part of Vinnengael—”

“I know it.”

“Good. Once there, you will meet up with Shakur.”

“Where?”

“He will find you,” said Dagnarus.

Klendist shrugged. “And after that?”

“He'll have further orders for you. You will obey him as you would obey me. I can't give you specifics because the situation is fluid. It changes moment by moment. I can tell you this much. Some of the taan have rebelled
against me and struck out on their own. Their leader is a taan Vrykyl. I want them destroyed.”

“I trust that Shakur will deal with the Vrykyl,” Klendist said, frowning.

“Yes,” said Dagnarus, smiling to himself in the darkness. “Shakur will deal with K'let.”

If all went as Dagnarus hoped, he would be freed of two problems. He fully intended that a battle between the two powerful Vrykyl would end in the destruction of both.

“You have only to fight the taan, Klendist.”

“We look forward to that, my lord. We've seen what the gigs do to our women. As it is, I've had trouble keeping my boys from slitting some gig throat.”

Dagnarus thought it amusing that Klendist, who had committed more rapes and other brutal acts of abuse against females in his blood-soaked career than he could probably count, should suddenly become the sworn avenger of womankind. Dagnarus said nothing, however. He bade Klendist ride with haste.

Taking his lord at his word, Klendist departed then and there, without ceremony. Dagnarus left as well, riding in the opposite direction, heading toward the taan camp, to the place where he had established his command center.

He summoned to him the powerful taan shamans, who were known as the Black Veil and were the leaders of the taan army in the absence of the kyl-sarnz, the Vrykyl. The Black Veil were not all present. Several had ridden with Nb'arsk, to be in on the attack of the Portal at Delak 'Vir. Those who were present greeted Dagnarus with awed reverence and respect, far different from the curt nod given to him by Klendist.