Melanthrix the Mage (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“THE SITUATION IS FAR MORE SERIOUS THAN I THOUGHT”

The one known as Alpha stood on the cliffs of the island of Loryùppa, gazing out to sea. In the distance he could barely make out the dim shapes of the other islets of the chain, most of them bare rocks thrusting several hun­dreds or thousands of feet above the surface of the sea, outlined by the churning white surf at their base. The archipelago was all that remained of the lost continent of Atlantis, which had sunk beneath the waves a thousand or more years earlier. Of the eighty or one hundred islets that remained, only Loryùppa, the largest, was habitable, and it was completely inaccessible, being surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Where he perched, at the mouth of a lush valley that ran almost the entire length of the land, the rocks dropped some three hundred feet to the surf below; elsewhere, the cliffs swelled to a thousand sheer feet or more.

To his left he could hear the gurgling of the stream that drained the valley before dying in a spectacular wa­terfall not far from where he stood. As he turned widder­shins, the moonlight revealed the eerie remains of the tem­ples which had once dotted this place, their fallen stone columns littering the landscape like the bleached bones of some elden giant. Of all the ornate buildings which had once adorned the valley, monuments erected by a long-dead people to their equally dead gods, only one now survived, and that because it had been cut from the living rock of the mountain that rose to his left. What had become of those gods, no one could really say. That they had abandoned their people in the face of the One True God was obvious to some, if not to him, for he knew of places on Loryùppa that still held something of their presence, and which he would not dare challenge or even visit.

The Brotherhood had found this place several hun­dred years ago, from an account left by Mikhaêl Phôstêridês the Grand Mage in his
Historia Nisyrias
, which, despite its title, was actually more of a grimoire and travelogue than a history. There he had described the nine great temples of the Vale of Loryùppa, which he himself had visited, listing their purposes, attributes, and transit points. They had lost several volunteers before finding the lone surviving mirror in the sole surviving temple. He wondered idly where those acolytes had gone.

A movement to the right caught his eye, as one of the huts discharged a figure.

“Are you ready?” Alpha asked.

“Yes, master,” came the muffled reply.

“Then let us proceed,” Alpha said.

He led the way down a path through the woods on their left. Around a bend they abruptly came upon a door that entered directly into the mountain face. The acolyte had the impression of great stone pillars carved from the rock on either side of the opening, but the muted moonlight provided very little detail.

“Please cover your features,” Alpha said, fas­tening his own cloth mask in place with leather ties. He then flipped up his hood, checked his associate's dress, and without further ado led the way inside.

The first room they entered was small and austere. Perhaps it had once been used as a guard or cloak room, or possibly for something else. There was simply no way to tell. Now its furniture consisted entirely of two benches and a table. Alpha motioned to his associate to seat himself at one of them.

“Wait here,” he said. “I'll ring a bell when we're ready for you.”

Then he exited through the only other door.

Alpha passed down a long corridor that had been cut cleanly through the rock. The walls glowed faintly with their own light, sufficient for him to find his way to the end. There were no side passages. He eventually came to a metal door, which he unlocked with a key he carried hanging 'round his neck, and entered, closing the entrance after him.

He found himself in a large chamber called the En­neaphon, or “Nine Tones,” which had nine sides, one rep­resenting each of the old gods and bearing his or her image graven high on the wall, just below a small opening. The temple had been constructed in such a way that the air vents built into the top of the chamber would produce notes ran­domly throughout the day, making music whenever the breezes began blowing in from the sea, particularly at dawn and dusk. At times these created a horrendous racket, but there were other occasions when one could imagine Pan and the other elder beings sitting up there playing their pipes, and still other moments, much rarer, when one could almost hear them singing arcane words just beyond the grasp of one's understanding.

Nine thrones were carved into the naked stone, seven of them now filled by hooded, masked individuals. Alpha sat himself in the largest and most ornate position.

He said: “I call the Brotherhood of Tighris into session. With one spirit we meet, into one spirit our voices min­gle, our souls are uplifted by becoming one.

“Brothers and sisters, I bring you good news and bad. One of our own has passed into that great adventure beyond life itself. His name can now be mentioned in this assembly. Count Alexis of Gör­goszák, who sat among us as ‘Xi,' was foully mur­dered this afternoon. Let his
nomen
be inscribed among the im­mortals, let his fame be etched upon these hallowed walls.”

He stretched out his right index finger, and from his ring sent forth a narrow beam of red light. Using it like a stylus, he began pressing a name into a blank space on the bottom part of the wall, just above the vacant chair, joining a short list of others already noted there. The other seven raised their hands in turn, and simultaneously bathed the name of Alexis with their incandescent light, sealing it for­ever into the stone.

“We shall remember him always,” Alpha said, “for his wisdom, for his valor, for his companionship. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” came the combined response.

“But with each death comes a new birth,” Alpha said, “and with each ending a new beginning.”

He rose from his seat of primacy, went to the door, opened it, and struck a silver bell that echoed down the cor­ridor. A moment later the acolyte had joined him.

Alpha turned back to face the seven: “I present for your con­sideration ‘Thêta,' who desires to take the seat left vacant by Xi's untimely passing.”

He led the candidate to a stool placed in the de­pressed circle at the center of the chamber.

“You must judge,” he said, “is he worthy?”

The seat on which Thêta sat rose from the floor and began to revolve. Each of the seven turned their full psy­chic concentration on the man, trying to break down his will and his ring-shield.

For he who would become Thêta, it seemed as if he encountered each of them individually on a different plane. In one instance he sat across
les échecs
board from a masked player, in another he rode a destrier in a tourna­ment against an anonymous armored opponent, in another he was paired in a contest of thespians with a tragedian wearing a downturned face mask, in another his masked ri­val met him face-to-face in the wrestling ring, in another he was a tamer of beasts surrounded by a pride of hungry tigers, in another he faced judgment from a court for a crime he had not yet committed, in another he played a lyre for a king who could not be satisfied.

“Is he worthy?” Alpha asked again.

“
Axios!
” said Tau. “He is worthy.”

“
Axios!
” came the response in turn from Gamma, Rhô, Mu, Epsilon, and Kappa. Only Lambda was silent.

“
Is he worthy?
” Alpha asked of Lambda.

“
Axios
,” the latter finally said, with obvious re­luctance.

“Then let Thêta be seated amongst our company,” Alpha solemnly said. “We welcome him to our Broth­erhood, from which there is no parting but death.
Evoê!
”

“
Evoê!
” they repeated.

Theta rose from his stool, and took the empty place of Xi.

“Brothers and sisters of the Nine,” Alpha said, “we face a crisis of confidence. One of our own has been killed by magic dark and foul. See now his passing.”

And he created for them an image floating above the center of the floor, one that gave each a perfect picture of the afternoon's event and how it had unfolded.

“What say you?” he said.

“I have seen this done before,” said Mu, “in distant Asshyria, where they practice a magic both weird and unnat­ural. This is not dissimilar, I think, to something I once experienced there, but neither is it precisely the same.”

“Indeed,” Tau said, “yet whatever hybrid of magi­cal traditions this working might represent, there is no question in my mind that whoever promulgated such an abomination will do so again.”

“This person,” said Kappa, “will go to any lengths to attain his goals. I smell a vendetta at work, brethren. Consider the crimes: each required direct contact with the victim and a close and exact knowledge of the Kórynthi court and its principals. All contain an particle of humilia­tion. Who would do this, and to what purpose? I see a spider lurking at the center of this web, pulling the strings and gloating over his triumphs, and chuckling at his vic­tims' discomfiture. I suggest that we are equally in dan­ger.”

Lambda raised a hand.

“More to the point,” he said, “these ac­tions violate the very tenets by which this organization was established. We exist with the sufferance of the higher Psairothi com­munity in Kórynthia to regulate and control the unautho­rized use of the lines, and secondarily to further the study of our heritage and knowledge, and thirdly to counter the influence of the Covenant of Christian Mages and other such groups. We provide a neutral arbitration of disputes. This individual seeks the destruction of such norms. Only one of our own could have penetrated so deeply into our midst without being detected. Ergo, we have a rogue among us. He will destroy anyone or anything who gets in his way. Such a person would risk all, for in his own mind he loses nothing except by failure.”

Rhô finally spoke.

“Then we must bend all of our efforts towards finding and destroying this individual immediately, no matter the cost.”

“What about the Dark-Haired Man?” Epsilon asked.

“I don't believe in fairy tales,” Rhô said, “nor should any of you. This is a
real
man. He has a
real
goal in mind. He is using magical techniques that may be partially unknown to us, but that are based on
real
prin­ciples. If we can discover his goal, if we understand
why
he is attacking these individuals, we may be able to stop him before he can cause more damage. But stop him we must.”

“It's not that I
believe
in the Dark-Haired Man,” Epsilon said, clearly piqued, “but to name him is to know him, and this person, whoever he might be, possesses a nature that's black to its very core. It's also important to state what we can reasonably infer: that this is one individ­ual, not a group of conspirators, who most certainly would have tripped over themselves by now, and thus stand re­vealed.”

“Agreed,” the one called Gamma said, “but I think we're missing something vital here, although I'm damned if I remember what it is. It hovers just beyond my ability to retrieve. I do recall having heard or read about a similar situation once....”

Above them a few notes tentatively began, softly at first, and then with more vigor. Suddenly all nine were craning their necks to see the tops of the walls, from which a whisper had begun hissing through the vents:

“Alpha bêta gamma delta epsilon,

When shall I begin to set upon?

Zêta êta thêta iôta kappa,

When shall you all come to papá?

Lambda mu nu xi omicron,

You'll all die, one by one,

Pi rhô sigma tau upsilon,

Till all the nine but mine are gone,

Chi phi psi ômega,

Wizard, witch, and strega,

Alpha bet a game at Delphi.”

The words metamorphosed into the raucous squawking of a cacophony of crows, quickly growing in amplitude, until all were covering their ears in pain.

“Enough!” roared Alpha, raising his hands in a spell. “
Theos avertat!
”

The awful racket ceased, but now they could clearly hear the sound of someone breathing, someone who would have had to have been very large indeed to be so notice­able.

“The situation is far more serious than I thought,” Alpha said. “This place has never before been violated by an outsider. It needs cleansing immediately. You must leave, all of you, right now, while I set the evacuator in motion.”

Hurriedly they began moving towards an antecham­ber whose entrance opened to the right of the corridor door.

“We'll meet again in four weeks,” Alpha said, “and then I want answers from each of you. Until that time, take all appropriate steps to protect yourselves. We stand adjourned.”

Then he walked to the center of the room, crossed his arms against his chest, and began chanting something in a language that none of them recognized. As his body be­gan to rotate in place, out from his hands and rings streamed rays of red and gold, washing up the walls from their base, scraping away the residue of the evil. The last of the eight looked back over his shoulder as he entered the portal, but could no longer distinguish any semblance of a man in the rapidly spinning figure of their leader.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“RECEIVE THIS LANCE”

The king's eldest daughter came to court on the snowy feastday of Saint Katoulina in February. For the past seven years the Princess Arrhiána had served as Re­gent-Countess of Arrhénë for her underaged stepson, Va­lentín, since that day when the old Count Rufín had finally succumbed to his many ailments. She had been married at age sixteen to Rufín's eldest son, the Hereditary Count Avrelián, who had coughed out his life from the consump­tive complaint just six months after their union, leaving a son and heir from his first marriage to Lady Marionílla of Kazincbarcika.

The County of Arrhénë, although not the largest in Kórynthia, was the key to the kingdom's eastern defenses, guarding it from invasion by the Åvarsmen in the north, and the Golden Horde of Szátmár to the east. Many a po­tential conqueror had pounded his army to pieces trying to take the massive fortified city of Aszkán.

Arrhiána's son had now reached his majority, and she was preparing to relinquish her stewardship of the county. Together with Gorténz Hereditary Count of Gör­goszák, Philoróm Hereditary Lord of Szent-Péter, and Levónty Hereditary Lord of Vélents, the Hereditary Count Valentín would be presented before King Kyprianos this morning in formal court, there to receive the tokens of their high offices, and to pledge their loyalty to their sovereign and master. There was no more solemn occasion in the state than this endless procession of lord and liege before the Great Sword of Tighris and the throne of Kórynthia.

The Hankyárar of Konyály, Tivadar Zsitvay, made the formal announcement to court.

“Sire,” he said, “my lords and ladies, I present to you Her Serene Highness, the Princess Arrhiána, Regent and Dowager Hereditary Countess of Arrhénë, and her stepson, Valentín Hereditary Count of Arrhénë, who crave present audience. What say you, milord?”

King Kipriyán responded with the customary for­mula.

“We will entertain the Princess-Regent and Heredi­tary Count of Arrhénë.”

The Princess Arrhiána proceeded slowly and care­fully down the main aisle of the hall, her long black gown of mourning trailing in her wake. Valentín marched two steps behind her, immediately to her right, clothed in a somber gray tunic striped in black. His foster mother had refused all other accompaniment, despite the entreaties of her courtiers, saying, “Should I die today, it's God will and nothing can stop it. And if I live, I don't need any of you holding my hand.”

“Sire,” she said, “I bring you tidings of great joy. The Hereditary Count Valentín has attained his majority on this day. Therefore, I petition the Court of Kórynthia to release me from my service, and to take back the regency which it gave me seven years ago.”

The king sat up straight on his throne, and slowly looked around the room.

“Who objects to this petition?” he asked.

No one responded.

“Hearing no objection,” he said in a loud voice, “I do declare that the regency of Arrhiána Dowager Hereditary Countess of Arrhénë is terminated, and order this action to be so recorded in the
Annales
.

“Valentín Hereditary Count of Arrhénë,” he said, gazing down at the young man's head, “dost thou de­sire to become our vassal?”

“I do most earnestly, Sire,” he said.

“Then approach us,” Kipriyán said, coming down from the obsidian throne.

Valentín knelt before his king, raised his hands to­gether in supplication, and bowed his head. Kipriyán reached behind him for something, then took the count's outstretched hands, opened them, and placed within the cupped palms a clod of raw earth.

“Receive this soil as a token of the land thou shalt ever nurture and protect,” the king said.

“I do accept it,” the vassal said.

An aide to the king quickly moved to Valentín's right, to take each token from him when the young man re­linquished it.

Then a stalk of grain was placed in Valentín's open hands.

“Receive this as a token of the crops thou shalt ever provide thy people, in good times and bad,” Kipriyán said.

“I do accept it.”

“Receive this lance,” the king said, “as a sign of the protection thou shalt ever provide thy people, from all disturbers of the peace, internal and external.

“I do accept it.”

“Receive this ensign,” the monarch said, as he placed a staff topped by a white flag into the young man's hands, “as a token of the loyalty thou shalt ever show thy king and lord.”

“I do accept it, and I hereby pledge thee my unswerving fealty, forever and ever. Amen.”

Kipriyán raised the lad to his feet, kissed him on both cheeks, and then turned him around, formally pre­senting him to the assembled nobles and courtiers.

“My lords and ladies,” he said, “I give you Va­lentín Count of Arrhénë!”

Spontaneously, they erupted in shouts of joy and thumpings of hands upon breasts. The new nobleman beamed with pleasure as his stepmother became the first to acknowledge his suzerainty, curtseying before him.

Then Arrhiána turned to the king.

“Sire,” she said, “I crave a boon from thee.”

“What is it, my daughter?” he asked.

“I would return to court,” she said. “My step­son must make his own way into the world, learning from his mistakes and receiving credit for his own triumphs. The art of governance is largely self-taught. Should he have need, he can easily reach me. I've been gone from Paltyrrha for far too long.”

“How could I ever deny you, my daughter?”

The king grinned broadly.

“The Princess Arrhiána is returned to court,” he said, “with her father's blessing.”

This provoked another outburst in the hall, for the countess had ever been a favorite of the crowd.

Arrhiána kissed her father in gratitude, bowing low in respect, and then withdrew while the other candidates were being brought forward. More than one lord and more than one lady in that hall, watching her fair form depart, wondered who her next husband might be.