Journey into the Void (6 page)

A hand touched Ulaf's shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Jessan squatting beside him.

“Are you all right?” Ulaf demanded.

Jessan nodded. He was bloody and disheveled, with oozing sores on his arms and chest. He must be in agony, but if so he kept his pain to himself. His lips tightened and compressed, his hand clenched, but he said no word of complaint.

“We have to get them out of here!” Ulaf said, gesturing to the pecwae.

Jessan looked at Bashae, and his face darkened. “He is hurt badly. He can't be moved.”

Ulaf glanced around. Five battle magi had entered the tavern. They had the Vrykyl surrounded and were slowly closing in on him, herding him into a position where they could concentrate their destructive magic on him. The Vrykyl was trying to cast Void magic, but not having much luck, apparently, for no more magi went down. Ulaf was thankful to note that the battle magi were concentrating solely on their prey. None had so much as glanced in their direction.

“Jessan, listen to me,” Ulaf said in low, urgent tones, knowing that the Trevinici was the only person the pecwae would heed. “These people are
going to bring down the wrath of the gods on that fiend. If we don't get far away from here by the time the magic goes off, we're all dead!”

Jessan glanced at the magi and the Vrykyl and gave an abrupt nod. “How do we get out? They have blocked off all the exits.”

“I'll deal with that. You guard Bashae and the Grandmother.”

Ulaf stood up, placed both hands on the wall, and began to chant. He was an experienced magus, but there was always a horrible moment of doubt for any magus, for with every casting there was the possibility the spell might fail. He added a swift prayer to the gods along with the magic and gave a heartfelt sigh of relief when he felt the wall beneath his fingers start to crackle.

He glanced back over his shoulder, saw Jessan conferring with the Grandmother. She shook her head. Jessan said something more. She looked at Ulaf, bleak questions in her eyes. He made a helpless gesture that said, “We have to get out of here!”

The Grandmother gathered up the stones that rested on top of Bashae with a flick of her hand.

“Bashae,” said Jessan, “I'm going to pick you up. This may hurt—”

“Jessan,” Bashae whispered, struggling to speak. “The knapsack!”

“It is safe. Ulaf has it,” said Jessan.

“Let me see it!” Bashae gasped.

Ulaf pulled the knapsack out from his shirt, held it up.

Bashae sighed, relieved. “That's good. I need to talk to Shadamehr, Jessan. Quickly. Before I die. Can you take me to him?”

“You are
not
dying,” Jessan said angrily. “Don't talk. Save your strength for getting well.”

He lifted his friend gently, trying not to jar him. Bashae moaned. His body shuddered. He went limp, his head lolled back on Jessan's arm.

“He is not dead,” the Grandmother said in a trembling voice. “He has fainted. That is good. He will not feel anything now.”

Jessan rose to his feet. Pallid from his own wounds, he staggered when he stood.

“Are you all right?” Ulaf asked.

Jessan's tight lips pressed together even tighter. He grunted an assent.

Ulaf turned back to his work. The chanting behind him was rising in volume and intensity. It wouldn't be long.

“Stand back,” Ulaf warned.

Flinging the knapsack over his shoulder, he adjusted it securely, then backed off a few paces in order to get a good run at the wall. He braced himself for the impact, which would be bone-jarring if his magic hadn't worked. He couldn't think about that. Turning his shoulder, he ran at top speed straight for the wall.

Wincing, anticipating the impact, Ulaf smashed through the wall with ease, creating a gaping hole in the wood and plaster. His momentum carried him out into the street, where he nearly collided with a startled battle magus.

Seeing a ghostly apparition (Ulaf was covered head to toe in plaster dust) come bursting through the wall, the battle mage brandished his sword, the words of a spell crackled on his lips.

“Friend!” cried Ulaf, raising his dusty hands into the air. “Don't harm us! We were caught in there with these children! We just want to get away from here!”

Keeping his hands raised, he jerked his head toward Jessan, carrying Bashae. The Grandmother stumbled along at Jessan's side, clutching Bashae's hand.

What with the darkness, the smoke, and the flames, the battle magus would not be able to see clearly. As it was, he barely cast them a glance.

Ulaf caught hold of the Grandmother and, ignoring her outraged protests, hoisted her onto his back.

“We have to run for it, Grandmother, and you won't be able to keep up. Put your arms around my neck!”

The Grandmother obeyed, clasping her arms around his neck with a grip that nearly strangled him. Ulaf broke into a run, heading for the tavern where Jessan had told him they could find Shadamehr. Fortunately, the battle magi had illuminated the surrounding area in order to provide a clear field of vision in case the Vrykyl managed to escape. Their spells had lit up half the city, filling the streets and alleys around the Tubby Tabby with a cold, white radiance. Battle magi, stationed at every street corner, could be heard chanting the spell.

The streets were empty. City guardsmen were posted nearby to keep order. The streets around the tavern had been cordoned off, but that didn't stop the citizenry from trying to find out what was going on. People stood in doorways, craning their necks, or peering out the upper-story windows of their houses, trying to see what was happening.

No one stopped Ulaf or the Trevinici, carrying the “children” to safety. One guardsman asked if they needed help. Ulaf shook his head and kept running.

Bashae moaned in pain, his head rocking from side to side.

“How much farther?” Jessan demanded anxiously.

“Only a block or two,” said Ulaf. “How is he doing?”

“He's going to be fine,” said Jessan.

Ulaf looked at the small, deathly white figure Jessan held so easily in his strong arms, then glanced over his shoulder at the Grandmother, who clung to him tightly. She didn't make a sound, but Ulaf could feel the wetness of her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

 

Five battle magi had the Vrykyl surrounded. Moving cautiously, they backed him into a corner, all the while chanting the words to a powerful spell. Jedash was still holding his own. He still kept them at bay, but he was growing weaker. The wound made by the Blood-knife had done its damage. He could feel it draining him, siphoning off his energy.

The magi came at him from all directions, half-blinding him with their foul, dazzling light. Jedash retreated. He would have surrendered to them if he could have. He didn't want to fight. He'd never been much of a fighter when he was alive. The armor of the Void could keep his rotting corpse intact, but it had no effect on what he was. The Void could not grant him courage. Jedash might appear ferocious on the outside, but inside the black helm, his eyes darted about the room, searching for a way out. A craven coward in life, Jedash was a craven coward still.

Trampling furniture beneath his feet, Jedash fumbled for his own Blood-knife, which he wore at his side. He closed his hand over it.

“Shakur!” he wailed. “Five battle magi have me surrounded! I am able to hold them off for the time being—” he stumbled against a table, nearly fell, but kicked it asunder and managed to save himself—“but I am wounded and can't hold out for long. Shakur! Are you there? Answer me!”

“I am here,” was Shakur's churlish response. “Your orders were to keep your true nature secret. What did you do to provoke this?”

Inspiration struck Jedash. He knew perfectly well that Shakur would not come to his aid, but Shakur was bound to come to the aid of the Sovereign Stone.

“I have it!” Jedash yelped. “I have the Stone! That is why they are attacking me! They're trying to take it from me. You have to come, Shakur! Come now!”

Jedash heard another voice, not Shakur's. The voice that answered was the voice of Dagnarus.

“You lie,” said Dagnarus, and his voice was empty and dark as the Void. “You had the Sovereign Stone in your possession, but you disobeyed orders. You were told to bring it to Shakur. Instead, you were greedy, and you lost it.”

“I know who has it!” Jedash whimpered. “I can get it back! Please, my lord, please save me!”

“I have better things to do with my time,” said Dagnarus.

“My lord!” Jedash cried, clutching the Blood-knife that was made of his own bone. “Shakur! Help me!”

Silence was his answer. The silence of the Void.

The magi backed him into the massive fireplace. Terrified, Jedash tried to use his magic, tried to cast again the deadly spell that had slain the first battle magus. He sought for the words to the spell, but the chanting and praying of the battle magi confused him, so that he couldn't think.

The spell failed. He tried another, only to have it fail.

The chanting of the battle magi reached a crescendo. The blessed magic of the gods flashed and blazed in the air, bright and burning as the sun. The magi held the magic fast. Feeling the destructive force building around him, Jedash turned his back and tried to burrow his way through solid brick.

The battle magi let loose the magic.

The wrath of the gods struck Jedash. The explosive force of the spell ripped apart the armor forged of the Void, pulverized it, smashed it into fragments that disintegrated in the heat of the magic. The blast tore through the fireplace, blew out the wall, and leveled the chimney. Bricks and mortar and wooden beams crashed down on top of the Vrykyl.

The building shuddered, and for a moment it seemed as if it might come down on them all, burying Vrykyl and magi alike. The magi were prepared for that, for they are trained to face the possibility that they might be called upon to sacrifice themselves in the destruction of their foe. The tavern was well built, however, and, after one final shiver, as
though the Tubby Tabby was itself horrified by the event, the building settled and held firm.

Other magi moved in. Those skilled in construction magic came to shore up the weakened structure, while the Inquisitors, those magi who made a study of Void magic, came to search the rubble for remnants of the Vrykyl. The battle magi who had cast the spell departed the field. Drained of energy, two were so exhausted that they could not walk, but had to be carried by their fellows.

The blast that had leveled his chimney nearly leveled the poor tavernkeeper as well. Having taken Ulaf's advice, he had fled the premises. Huddled with his family at a safe distance from the scene of the battle, he heard the explosion and imagined the worst. He was on the verge of collapse, when his practical wife pointed out to him that the Church was bound to recompense them for their loss and provide them with money to rebuild. And once that was accomplished, the fame of the Tubby Tabby as the scene of a battle between the Church and a Vrykyl would draw customers from all over the continent.

“We will put up a plaque,” she said.

Comforted and reassured, the tavernkeeper took his family to the home of his brother-in-law, there to regale him with tales of his own courage in the face of frightful danger.

The Inquisitors worked throughout the night, removing and sorting through the rubble themselves, permitting no one else to enter the building. When they finally left, sometime near dawn, it was observed that they carried with them a small sack, which they treated with great care. What was in the sack, if it contained pieces of the Vrykyl or his armor, was never revealed. The Inquisitors informed the Regent, who then informed the young king—in case he'd been frightened—that the Vrykyl had been destroyed.

It was said that the young king was extremely pleased to hear the news.

T
HE LIGHT FROM THE BLAST THAT DESTROYED THE VRYKYL ILLUMINATED
the night sky and shook the cobblestone streets for blocks around the Tubby Tabby. The blast shattered windows, set fire to a neighboring roof, and caused widespread alarm. The fire was soon doused. The city guard and town criers hastened up and down the streets, reassuring the populace that the Revered Magi were dealing with the situation. Everything was under control. People should go back to their beds.

At the sound of the blast, Jessan halted and looked back over his shoulder.

“That could have been us,” said Ulaf, as the ground shook beneath their feet.

Jessan nodded, then glanced around in confusion. “I think the tavern where I left Shadamehr is somewhere around here.”

“It's down this alley,” said Ulaf, turning off the main street.

The magical light cast by the battle magi didn't penetrate as far as the alley. Everything was dark and silent. Too dark, for Ulaf's liking. There were no lights in the tavern's windows.

“How's Bashae?”

“Breathing,” said Jessan. “Bashae wanted to talk to Shadamehr. The baron was in a bad way when I left him. I didn't tell Bashae that he might be dead.”

“The gods are not in a great hurry to have Shadamehr join them in their heavenly pursuits, so I wouldn't assume the worst just yet,” said Ulaf, trying very hard to follow his own comforting advice.

The Crow and Ring, the tavern in which Shadamehr had sought refuge from the Imperial Cavalry, was known to Ulaf. Located near both the Temple and the palace in an alley off Bookbinder's Street, the Crow and Ring catered to tradesmen in the printing and binding profession and minor government functionaries. Small and snug, the Crow and Ring lacked the amenities of the Tubby Tabby, having no back exit, but it did boast a storage room filled with empty ale casks that were about the right size for hiding a full-grown human—as Ulaf could testify from experience—and a proprietor who, though she talked a great deal, knew when to keep her mouth shut.

Ulaf was having difficulty adjusting his eyes to the darkness of the alley, after the eerie white glow of the light spell. Jessan had better eyesight, apparently, for he said, “Someone is there, standing in the doorway.”

Ulaf squinted, but it wasn't until they were practically entering the door that he saw the proprietor—a stout woman in her middle years who'd inherited the Crow and Ring from her late husband.

“Who's that?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

Light flared. She had removed the cover from a dark lantern, and now flashed it directly into Ulaf's eyes.

He cried out, raised his hands to shield his face.

“It's me, Maudie,” he said testily. “Close the shield! You've near blinded me!”

“It
is
you, Ulaf,” she said, peering at him intently. “Thanks be!”

She obediently slid shut the panel on the dark lantern, hiding the light. “Are the guards after you? Where did you come from? What have you got there? Children? Poor dears. Come inside and be quick about it. Did you hear that blast? They say that fiends of the Void are inside the city, going on a rampage and killing innocent, gods-fearing people. I thought that might be what you was, when I heard you coming down the alleyway. I was ready for them. I have a crowbar right handy here by the door. Did you happen to see them? The fiends, I mean? They weren't after the children, were they?”

Still talking, not giving Ulaf a chance to answer, Maudie hustled them inside the tavern and shut and latched the door behind them. She removed the cover on the dark lantern again, taking care this time to keep it from shining in their eyes. A fire burned low in the fireplace, giving off a warm glow.

The Grandmother slid off Ulaf's back and went immediately to Bashae.

“Put him down by the fire,” she ordered Jessan.

“I have a bed upstairs,” Maudie offered, hovering around them and getting in the way. “The poor child might rest better there. What's wrong with him? Oh!” She gave a little gasp. “He's…he's not human! What is he? Not a fiend?”

“He's a pecwae, Maudie,” said Ulaf soothingly.

He drew her to one side to let Jessan pass. The Grandmother laid out a blanket on the floor. Jessan lowered Bashae gently onto the blanket, as the Grandmother took out her stones and began arranging the stones on Bashae's head and neck and shoulders, muttering to herself. Jessan sat back on his heels, helpless and concerned.

“What happened to him?” Maudie asked.

“It's a long story. Where's Baron Shadamehr? How is he?”

“I'm that glad you're here,” she continued on, talking over her own question, as well as his. “There've been strange going ons in that room. I guess you know that Baron Shadamehr is in there. Oh,” she added, blinking at Jessan. “I recognize that barbarian now. He was with him.”

“Where is the baron, Maudie?” Ulaf asked, his fear growing. He looked about the tavern, saw no signs of him. “Jessan said he was wounded.”

“Aye, the poor baron didn't look good,” Maudie said, shaking her head dolefully. “His shirt all soaked in blood. He went in there”—she nodded toward the storeroom—“and a beautiful woman and that barbarian fellow went in with him. Then the barbarian came out and ran away and—”

“How is the baron?” Ulaf demanded. “Where is he? The guards didn't find him, did they?”

“You needn't shout. As far as I know, he's still in there.” Maudie said, offended. “As to his health—”

“Didn't you check to find out? Honestly, Maudie—”

Angrily, Ulaf shoved his way around her.

“The door's locked,” Maudie told his back. “I beat on it and shouted 'til I was hoarse and there was no answer.
That's
what I was trying to tell you,” she added, following him over to the door. “I heard a woman's voice and it sounded to me like it was talking magic and it wasn't healing
magic. I should know. I had the healers in this place day and night when my Sam was dying, chanting their heads off, though it didn't help him none. Because his aura was fighting the magic, they said. The growth ate him up. Then everything went quiet in there. An uncanny quiet, if you know what I mean. I banged on the door, but there was no answer. And then, just when I figured that maybe the woman was a witch and she spirited them both out into the night, there came a dreadful crash and a cry that sounded like demons was in there, then silence again.”

Ulaf put his hands on the door, chanting the magic. He'd cast his spell by the time she paused for breath.

“Sorry about your door,” he told her.

Ulaf smashed apart the wood, leapt through the remnants.

“Ulaf! Thank the gods!”

“Is that you, my lord?” Ulaf asked uncertainly. The voice was so weak and altered that he barely recognized it. He couldn't see anything in the pitch-dark room. “Are you all right? Wait—I'll fetch a light.”

He swung around to grab a lantern, found one thrust into his hands. The Grandmother stood right behind him.

“Shouldn't you be with Bashae?” Ulaf asked her.

“Bashae wants to talk to him,” the Grandmother said firmly.

“I'm not sure—” Ulaf began.

“Bashae's dying,” said the Grandmother, her voice creaking. “He wants to talk to Baron Shadamehr.”

Ulaf did not know what to say, and so said nothing. Taking the lantern from her, he entered the storage room. He flashed the light around, searching among the crates and barrels, casks and bottles.

“My lord?”

“Here,” said Shadamehr.

Ulaf followed the sound of his voice. He found Shadamehr resting against a wooden beam, Alise cradled in his arms.

Ulaf gasped softly at the sight.

The baron's eyes were dark and shadowed, his cheeks sunken, his skin ashen. He glanced up at Ulaf, then looked back down at Alise, who lay limp and motionless in his arms. Her head rested on his breast, her vibrant red hair covered her face. She stirred suddenly, her body twitched and she cried out incoherent words. Shadamehr gently smoothed the rampant curls, murmuring softly, soothing her.

Hastily Ulaf set down the lantern, knelt at the baron's side. “My lord! What happened? Are you all right? What's wrong with Alise?”

In answer to his last question, Shadamehr wordlessly drew back her sweat-damp red hair. The lanternlight illuminated her face.

The Grandmother sucked in a hissing breath.

“Gods have mercy,” Ulaf whispered.

“What's ails her?” the Grandmother asked.

“Void magic,” said Ulaf quietly. “The Void demands a toll of the person who uses it, although I've never seen anything this bad. She must have cast a powerful spell.”

“She did,” said Shadamehr bitterly. “She gave her life in exchange for mine.”

“I know the spell,” said Ulaf. “At least, I know of it.”

“You can help her,” Shadamehr said. “You can heal her.”

“I'm sorry—”

“You have to!” Shadamehr cried harshly. He grabbed hold of Ulaf's arm, squeezed it painfully. “You must, damn you! You can't let her die!”

“My lord, there's nothing…I can't…” Ulaf faltered. He sighed deeply. “There is nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do, my lord. The gift of healing comes from the gods, and they will not bestow that gift on any who practices the magic of pain and destruction.”

“Not even if it is used for good?” Shadamehr demanded angrily.

“Not even then, my lord.”

Alise cried out, her body twisted and writhed. Her fists clenched spasmodically.

Shadamehr clasped her tightly, bent his head over her.

“Baron Shadamehr?” Jessan's urgent voice came from the door. “Bashae needs to talk to you.”

“Not now!” Shadamehr said impatiently.

“You should go to him. The pecwae is dying,” said Ulaf.

Shadamehr stared at Ulaf, then over at Jessan, who shook his head in grim confirmation.

“A Vrykyl,” Ulaf said. “There was a fight…”

“Oh, gods!” Shadamehr said, closing his eyes. “What have I done?”

“He saved the Sovereign Stone,” said Jessan, his voice gruff. “He is desperate to talk to you, my lord. Will you come?”

Shadamehr looked down helplessly at Alise.

“I will stay with her,” offered the Grandmother, adding bluntly, “I have said my good-byes to my grandson.”

“Yes,” said Shadamehr, his heart wrenched with pain and pity. “I will come.”

He laid Alise gently down on the floor and wrapped her warmly in her cloak. Painfully, he staggered to his feet. Ulaf saw the blood that covered Shadamehr's shirt.

“My lord, what—”

“Not now!” Shadamehr gasped. He grimaced in pain. “Here, young man, give me your shoulder to lean on.”

Jessan put his strong arm around the baron, aided his weak steps. Ulaf hurried around to the other side, and, between them, they helped Shadamehr from the storage room. Glancing behind, Ulaf saw that the Grandmother had her stones out and was placing them at various points over Alise's shivering body.

“Should I run for the healers?” Maudie asked, all in a twitter.

“No!” said Ulaf sharply. “The last thing we need now are Temple magi poking about.”

Alise was already considered an outlaw by the Church, for she had been an Inquisitor who had left the holy orders without bothering to tell anyone she was leaving. If they found out that she'd been using Void magic, they would immediately place her under arrest. They would heal her, but only to make certain she was well enough to face her executioner.

“Are you sure?” Maudie persisted, staring at Shadamehr. “He looks to be in a bad way.”

“Do you know what we need, Maudie?” said Ulaf. “Hot water. That's what you can do. Go fetch some boiling water. We need lots of it. Buckets.”

“Well…” said Maudie hesitantly.

“Hurry, woman!” Ulaf ordered, his tone stern. “There's no time to waste!”

“I'll just go put the kettle on.” She headed for the kitchen, and they could hear the banging and clattering of iron pots.

Bashae lay on the floor in front of the fire. He appeared to be resting easy, no longer suffering. His face was smooth, free of pain. His skin was so pale as to be translucent, his eyes were clear. A single stone, a bright, glittering ruby, lay on his chest.

Jessan eased Shadamehr down, so he could kneel on the floor beside the pecwae.

“Ulaf,” said Shadamehr, “has everything been done for him?”

“The Grandmother used her magic on him, my lord,” said Ulaf.

“But is that enough? These folk remedies of hers—”

“My lord, I am a child in magic, compared to the Grandmother,” said Ulaf. “His injuries are severe. He should have died of them instantly. The fact that he is still alive to speak to you is a testament to her skill and her faith.”

“You have the Sovereign Stone?” Bashae asked Ulaf. “You have it safe?”

He could not speak above a whisper, but his words were distinct, his tone, calm.

“I do, Bashae,” said Ulaf. He drew out the knapsack, held it for the pecwae to see.

Bashae's gaze shifted to Shadamehr.

“I asked you once before to take the Sovereign Stone, my lord. You said that the knight had given it to me and that I should keep it.” Bashae gave a little shrug. “I would, but I don't think it would go with me to my sleep world. My sleep world is a very peaceful place. They won't want it there.”

“I will take the Sovereign Stone, Bashae,” said Shadamehr. He reached out for the knapsack, held it fast. “I will fulfill the knight's quest. I should have done so in the first place. If I had—” He shook his head, unable to go on.

“Come closer,” said Bashae, “and I will tell you the secret of the knapsack. It's magical, you know.” Motioning Shadamehr near, Bashae whispered the secret that the knight had told him. “The Stone is hidden by magic. Speak the name of the knight's wife, and you will see it. The name is ‘Adele.'”