Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (20 page)

After the ceremonies, the wizards left her alone in the tower to complete her mourning. No one would disturb her until she emerged of her own accord. Even servants silently left food in the next chamber and removed the old dishes when they brought in the next meal.

It didn’t take long before grief was overtaken by seething anger. First, she felt pique at the village sorcerers who claimed that magic could shield against pain such as this. If it could have, surely the mighty Kragen would have been exempt. She knew one thing: Kragen wouldn’t have wallowed in pity and remorse. Instead, he would have taken charge of the situation. The ancient spirit men, once the most fearsome weapon in the lord’s arsenal, were now shattered. All, that is, except the newest one: the traitor Tumberlin.

If she could learn to control the fallen apprentice, Humi knew that their dream of reuniting the empire under the Kragen crest could remain alive. But the ki mages knew little beyond the basics, and the steward could explain nothing beyond the apparatus employed. Kragen held his best secrets close to himself even in death. Perhaps her lord had been wise enough to plan for this contingency. Yet, Kragen had told no one, trusted no one… except her.

Humi’s eyes scanned the room.

The lord had a secret cache behind the stone wall of his bedchamber. She had seen him open it twice. Even knowing this, it took Humi an hour to find the seam of the hidden door. To gain entrance took the entire first day. At sunrise, she managed to reveal a wall full of thick books. Kragen’s name on one of the spines reminded her that he had been slain near sunrise only yesterday. Then she lay on the bed they had shared and cried herself to sleep.

At noon she arose, refreshed and determined.

There were thirty-eight volumes on the hidden bookshelves, a lifetime of accumulated knowledge. The university texts about mathematics, lightcraft, and the theory of shades held little interest for her. What Humi wanted would be found in the notebooks written in her lover’s precise hand. Kragen had gone far beyond the traditional boundaries of known patterns and summoning theory to forge new frontiers. As she knew there would be, Humi found an index volume for the entire library.

The index was more than page numbers and topics; rather, it provided a series of lesson plans to guide an initiate into the inner sanctums of creation. These cryptic notes alone were worth a king’s ransom to the right seekers and could be used to make her richer than she ever dreamed. It could be parlayed into a world fit for her child. But first, she would use it to exact revenge. The master would be paid for this inheritance by the blood of traitors and the screams of the guilty.

As her grasp of the ancient language was minimal, it took her most of the second day to translate and find what she needed in the volume. A broader, theoretical understanding of the magical arts would be necessaryrest her son’s instruction, but not for the simple thing she desired. Indeed, the glass diver had been around magic for years without knowing the why of it; she only knew a little of the how. Trying to explain why was something that scholars would argue about for centuries. The why of a sword was important to the smith making it, not the soldier who swung it at the throat of an enemy.

Most of what she needed, she found in a treatise on speaking with the spirits of men. There were two primary methods: bribery and coercion. Though the original work had been incomplete, Kragen had added copious notes on convincing the unwilling, based on his personal experiences in the dungeon.

The next morning, Humi ordered the steward to prepare the courtyard of the Mandala. All of the mirrors were to be rehung, and all the wards refreshed by the others in the sept. The master’s paraphernalia, including his staff of protection, were to be set out in proper order to await her arrival. The apprentice should be suspended upside-down by arm and leg irons inside one of the lesser circles of the great pattern. Meanwhile, the Lady of the Deep ordered the maid to draw a bath.

Outside of her room, there was a brief scuffle and then silence. When she left her bath, the chamberlain informed her that a messenger had tried to force his way through, but Morlan had punished his insolence. Her personal guard was gaunt. As promised, the ki mages had sped his natural healing, but at a price. His body had been ravaged, consuming itself as if weeks had passed without food. Morlan seemed to have aged a few years as well, no doubt to replenish the mage who had performed the procedure. Morlan’s suffering had given him a distinguished air that she found attractive, and his extreme loyalty added to the appeal. Humi decided that she had made a wise decision in choosing this man. By way of reward, she inclined her head in Morlan’s direction in the same way the lord often had when acknowledging a skillful point scored by another in courtly games. The guard straightened at her glance and followed her toward the Mandala.

The two ki mage members of the sept, known as the cousins, stood before her in the gated entrance to the courtyard. Necrota the younger spoke for both of them, although “younger” was a relative term as he appeared to be in his forties. The absolute age of a powerful ki mage was always difficult to determine because they often rejuvenated themselves at the expense of others. This unwholesome practice had created so many enemies for the cousins that they had to remain under the constant protection of mercenaries. This habitual depredation of the innocent made the moralizing that followed seem almost amusing. “My lady, this thing you intend is too dangerous; moreover, it is abominable and blasphemous.”

She gazed coolly at the younger mage and said, “You have no say in this matter.”

The mage, still dressed in dark-blue, satin bedclothes, objected, “But the very act you premeditate could stain the soul of your unborn child forever!”

Lady Kragen shifted her gaze to the lowered gate in her way. “Sir, you presume too much. What I intend shall satisfy my son’s need for vengeance. Or have you forgotten our stolen Honor?”

Both wizards squirmed at this reminder. “We’re working on that through our own channels. There is a substantial reward out. All of our allies are actively searching. It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to find them. The escape boat has been recovered. Someone traded it for a wagon south of here. Furthermore, we have a plan. The principle of familiarity will enable us to use the dagger removed from good Morlanto locate the sheath that carried it or the smith who forged it. You see, everything is well in hand, so you can go back to your rooms and relax.”

The note of condescension in his voice made her sneer. “Weeks? A single week would be too long. If word gets out that we have failed to retaliate immediately, it will be perceived as weakness, and our underworld holdings will be ripped from us by the wolves. Our arm must strike swiftly. What about the chief assassin, the one identified as a sheriff?” she demanded.

The older cousin attempted to explain the difficulties they were encountering on this simple assignment. “The great flash of lightning that we saw in the sky when the garden walls collapsed has created tremendous karmic interference. We still don’t understand what caused it, but the effect is undeniable. All aural traces before the event have been erased. We can find no readings before the event. Afterward, the sheriff touched only the sheath from the guard’s blade and a cobblestone or two before vanishing. The images are confused; they’re similar to those left by a crowd of people in emotional turmoil. Bunji, the wall sergeant, was the only one to see him close up. But even he’s become a victim of foul play. With no clear description, we suspect that the many cloudy images obscuring the sheriff are the disguises he wears on his missions of murder.”

Humi’s lower jaw trembled. “Or the souls of those he’s killed, unable to rest until he has been brought to justice. Open the gate; I would speak to the traitor.”

“To what end? Surely, venting your rage would do little good,” reasoned the younger mage.

“Would you rather I exhaust my wrath on you instead?” she asked.

Heartbeats later, the gate opened. The lady turned to Morlan as she entered the courtyard. “However long this takes, I will not be disturbed or spied on.” He nodded and motioned several soldiers into key places while nervous wizards retreated.

The apprentice had been strung up as she’d requested, but naked. The sight of his breast flaps disgusted her. She concentrated on his face, lest pity weaken her. His face appeared sunken by more natural causes, likely the lack of food or sleep for almost three days now. His eyes were red-rimmed and dark. No whites showed. At her approach, he sniffed the air like a dog.
Fitting
, she thought.

Then she began experimenting, trying to convince this wretch to shed his body like soiled clothing. She discovered that placing the life-stone over a ritual candle flame could re-enact the searing of Tumberlin’s flesh when the stone had been created at the Mandala. It took her several tries to get some of the expanding metal devices inserted properly and working in the desired fashion. The amulet and the torture implements were powerful catalysts, but nothing seemed to do the trick. Some of the noises produced by the man’s body made her want to vomit, but she managed to channel this disgust into more anger at the apprentice. Soon, the screams bothered everyone else on the island more than they did her.

Tumberlin broke after a short time; she was certain of that. The captive wizard would have done anything she demanded, but still he refused to discorporate. Every four hours, she’d travel back to her rooms, rest, dine, and re-read the reference volumes for some clue. What step was she missing in the process? The lady tried several variations—to no avail. Finally, after a day of torment, the solution revealed itself. Tumberlin was weaker than the ancient demons and could only escape the bounds of flesh during the night. Perhaps his tchnique required a level of sleep, or the sun itself created a spiritual barrier. Regardless, she had mastered the transition that night. The second time came much easier, a simple exertion of her will, like the sculpting of clay on the wheel. The third time, Tumberlin obeyed as soon as she touched his life-stone.

The spirit of the apprentice obeyed her mechanically. She practiced by sending it on trivial spying missions around the fortress. When he returned to his body, the apprentice could describe any room of the palace or any conversation to her in great detail. He would do anything in his limited power for the surcease of pain. Satisfied, the Lady of the Deep ordered, “Bring me the finest map we have of the south. Ask Necrota to mark where the boat was recovered. Chamberlain, brew strong tea; we have a busy night ahead of us.”

****

Tumberlin’s spirit located the stolen Kragen boat, abandoned on the shore because the protective wards were exhausted. At an inn three days travel from the scene of the crime, he lurked in the taproom, listening for clues. All the farmers could talk about were the event in the western sky and the Royal Scouts who had passed through looking for the source. However, the shadow’s unnatural presence caused drinks to turn to vinegar and dice to come up snake-eyes repeatedly. In the ensuing fistfight, he spotted two men in Executioner uniforms covered by thin disguises.

After he reported his findings, Humi dispatched the Inquisitor and his team.

The na
me of the new capital city, Reneau, meant ‘reborn’ in the old tongue. The city skirted a lone mountain, the site of the famed City of the Gods. One of the few vestiges of the ancients, the city on this mountaintop was open to religious pilgrims from around the world during daylight. Once in a great while, persistent seekers carried away some small totem found there, sometimes one with great power locked inside. But during the night, the city of mystery belonged to the gods. Any creature still within sight of the gates after sundown died immediately, without a mark.

As the years wore on, the number of discoveries decreased and the accidents increased. On an average day, only four hours could be devoted to exploration before the seeker had to flee, less if snow or heavy packs threatened to slow the escape. The Keepers were an ancient order that guarded the slopes of the lone mountain. They rang the warning gongs at the proper hours and when bad weather approached the summit. Their villages also sheltered and fed pilgrims. For this service they were paid a small fee by each visitor. But that’s not why the order existed. Mainly, they lived in the shadow of the holy mountain to prevent others from desecrating it and to worship as their ancestors had for generations.

The climb to the City was a steep and taxing one that every adult male Keeper made daily in order to offer sacrifices of food, flowers, and small message scrolls to the gods. These offerings disappeared every night without fail. The members of this order were strong in leg muscles, sparse in words, and some of the best mountaineers in the world. The little that men knew of the Dawn race came from their lore. But even these loyal servants were not immune to what the gods did at night. Debates raged among the Keepers as to whether the Nightfall weapon was a defense mechanism of the City or the reason the Dawn people no longer lived in this place.

When Emperor Myron fell, the six kings persecuted the Keepers, like any other power they could not control, almost to the brink of extinction. Then history gave them Sandarac, known to half the world as the Pretender.

Sandarac had started his career as a traveling performer who specialized in sleight of hand and escapes. He had an easy charm that the crowds found appealing. But his real income came from daring thefts. Before being imprisoned, he’d stolen the secret mix of elements, the process for making the famed steel of Kiateros. Ironically, he was apprehended while sneaking out through one of the high-security vaults, and charged with attempted theft of mere silver. During his first escape, he discovered the secret of their steel. It was not a recipe, but the
place
that made the metal stronger. Deep in their volcano, a chamber called the Breath of God brought together the right balance of all things to form the perfect blade. On his second escape, Sandarac got word to the neighboring kings of an offer: his freedom for a secret that built empires.