The Reign Of Istar (33 page)

“You serve Mishakal.”

“I follow the laws of the goddess. I obey her commands. I would never presume to speak for
her, my lady.”

“But is it wrong to want to rid the world of evil?”

Michael hesitated before answering. This was a question he himself had long argued
internally, and it was not easy to utter his innermost thoughts and feelings.

"How do you define evil, my lady? Too often, we define it as that which is different from
ourselves, or that which we do not understand. You said before that we should rid the
world of wizards, but it was a wizard, one Magius, who fought at the side of the great
Huma and who was the knight's dearest friend.

“In the land of my birth, near Xak Tsaroth, there live a band of nomads called the
Plainsmen. They are barbarians, according to the Kingpriest. Yet a more generous, loving
people never lived. They worship all the gods, even the dark ones, who are supposedly
banished from this world. When one of their people falls ill, for example, the Plainsmen
pray to Mishakal for healing, but they pray also to Morgion, evil god of disease, to
withdraw his foul hand.”

“What is their reasoning?” Nicholas's brow furrowed. “Morgion, along with the Dark Queen,
was driven from the world long ago.”

“Was he?” asked Michael gently. “Have plagues and illness left the world? No. What do we
say, then? We say that it is the unworthy who suffer. Was your mother unworthy?”

Brother and sister were silent, absorbing this thought.

Then Nicholas frowned and stirred. “What is your counsel, then, Brother Michael? Do we
defy the Kingpriest? Think well before you answer.” The knight smiled wanly. “As the one
in charge of our spiritual guidance, you will be in as much danger from the inquisitor as
my sister and I.”

Michael did not respond immediately. He rose to his feet, paced thoughtfully about the
hall, hands clasped behind his back, as if again wondering what to say, how to say it.

Brother and sister drew near each other, held hands. At last, Michael turned to face them.

“Do nothing. Not yet. I ... I cannot explain, but I have had strange dreams of late. Last
night, Mishakal came to me as I slept. I saw her clearly. Her face was grieved, her eyes
sad. She started to say something to me, to tell me something. She reached out her hand to
me, but, at the last moment, she faded away. I will pray for her return tonight, pray that
she will speak to me. And then, hopefully, I will be able to guide you.”

Nicholas looked relieved; the burden lifted, for a time, from his shoulders. Nikol smiled
tremulously at Michael. Reaching out her hand, she took hold of his, pressed it warmly.

“Thank you, Brother. We have faith in you.”

Michael's hand tightened on hers. He couldn't help himself. She was so lovely, so caring.
Nikol, looking into his eyes, flushed, removed her hand from his grasp.

“Nicholas,” she said, “it is time for our sword work. I, for one, could use the exercise.”

Her brother went to the weapons rack, lifted a sword. “Yes, and I feel the need to sweat
the touch of that fat priest out of my pores.”

He tossed the weapon to her. She caught it expertly. “I'll change my clothes first. It
wouldn't do to put any more rents in this poor dress of mine.” Teasing, she glanced
demurely at Michael. “You need not come with us, Brother. I know how fighting, even in
practice, disturbs you.”

She didn't love him. Liked and respected him, but she didn't love him. How could he expect
her to? What was he? A healer, not a warrior. How often he had seen her eyes shine when
she listened to tales of courage and valor on the battlefield. Her dreams were of a bold
knight, not a humble cleric.

The twins ran off, laughing and jesting, leaving him behind, empty, lonely, and afraid.
Sighing, he went to the family chapel to say his prayers.

“You know what it is you must do?”

“I know,” growled the goblin chief. He was some part human, and thus smarter and more
dangerous than most of his kind. “Give me the money”

“Half now. Half when you deliver the knight. Alive!”

“You didn't say anything about that!” The goblin glowered, his face hideous in the bright
light of the red moon, Lunitari. “You just said bring you the knight. You didn't say you
wanted him alive.”

“And what would I do with him dead?” Akar demanded testily.

“I don't know what wizards do. And I don't care.” The goblin sneered. “Alive will cost you
extra.”

“Very well.” Akar gave in with an ill grace. Reaching into a black velvet pouch, he
carefully counted out a few gold pieces.

The goblin stared at them with deep suspicion.

“They're real,” snapped Akar. “What do you expect them to do? Disappear?”

“It wouldn't surprise me. If they do, so do I. Remember that, wizard.” The goblin chief
thrust the coins into a hairy pouch at his belt. “Tomorrow night. Here.”

“Tomorrow night. Here,” repeated Akar.

The two parted, both skulking back into the dark shadows that bred and sheltered them.

*****

It was the hour before dawn. Brother Michael's sleep had been restive. He woke often,
thinking he heard a voice calling him. He sat upright, holding his breath, staring into
the darkness of his small, windowless room.

“What? Who's there?” No answer. “Am I needed? Is someone ill?” No response. He lay back
down again, telling himself he'd imagined it, and drifted into sleep, only to be roused again by the same call.

“Michael ... Michael ...”

He sat up, weary, sleep-dazed. “What now - ” he began, then stopped and stared.

The image of a beautiful woman, surrounded by a radiant blue light, glimmered at the foot
of his bed. He had seen her image before, but never this clearly, never this close. He
knew, now, that she would speak to him, that she had come to comfort and guide him. His
prayers had been answered.

Michael had no care for his nakedness, for the goddess sees all men naked, when they come
into the world, sees the nakedness of their souls, their hearts. He slid from his bed and
fell to his knees upon the cold stone floor.

“Mishakal. I am your servant. Command me. What is your bidding?”

The goddess's voice was lovely, like the song of myriad birds, like his mother's whisper,
like silver bells on a bright new morning. “Truly you are my servant, Michael. One of my
faithful servants. I need you. Come with me.”

“Yes, of course, Holy One.” Michael rose swiftly, began dressing himself, hardly knowing
what he was doing. The blue light surrounding him was blinding, filled his heart with
uplifting joy. “Is someone sick? Someone in the village, perhaps?”

“Put aside the cares of this world, Brother Michael. They are no longer yours.” The
goddess held out a hand of surpassing beauty and wondrous softness. “Come.”

Michael heard horns blowing the call to battle. He heard shouts and voices, the rattle of
armor and of sword. He heard feet pounding on the battlements. He paused, looked behind
him, looked toward the door that led to the family chapel.

“Yes, Lady, but there is fighting! They will need me - ”

“Not for long,” said the goddess. “Paladine has them in his keeping. He will gather their
souls to him, remove them from a world that soon will erupt in fire. Lay down your burden,
Michael, and walk with me.”

“And I will see them again? Nicholas, Nikol?”

“On the other side. You will wait for them. It will not be long.”

“Then I will come.” He was glad to leave, glad to give up the pain of living, the pain of his desires. Soon, he would be able to love her purely.
He reached out his hand to take the hand of the goddess....

A scream shattered the dawning. Fists pounded on his door.

''Michael! Brother Michael! You must come! It's Nicholas! He's hurt! He needs you!"

“Nikol's voice!” Michael trembled; his hand shook.

“There is nothing you can do, Brother,” the goddess told him sadly. “True, the valiant
knight is wounded, but, even as his sister stands here, pleading for your aid, the knight
is being carried away by his attackers. You will arrive too late to save him.”

“But if Nicholas has taken ill, who will lead the men? The manor will fall - ”

“Brother Michael! Please!” Nikol's voice was raw with shouting.

The goddess gazed at him with cool eyes. “What will happen, will happen. You can do
nothing to prevent it. Have faith in us, believe that all is for the best, though you do
not understand. You said yourself, 'What mortal can know the mind of a god?' If you
refuse, if you lack faith, if you stay and interfere, you run the risk of dooming
yourself, the woman, and the world to a terrible fate!”

“Michael! I need you!” Nikol cried. Fists pounded on the wood.

“Then so be it, Lady,” he said heavily, “for I cannot leave them.” His hand dropped to his
side. He could no longer look on the radiance of the goddess. It hurt his eyes. “I love
her. I love them both. I can't believe that their deaths would be for the best! Forgive
me, Mishakal.”

He started toward the door. His hand was on the handle. His heart ached. He longed to go
with the goddess. Yet, outside, he heard Nikol crying. He placed his hand upon the door.
The light around him seemed to soften. He glanced back.

“Tomorrow night, the Night of Doom, the bridge at the Lost Citadel will open to all true
clerics. Only those who have faith may pass.”

The blue light glimmered and died. Michael yanked open the door.

Nikol clutched at him. “Where have you been? What have you been doing? Didn't you hear me
call?”

“I was ... at my prayers,” Michael said lamely.

Her eyes flashed. Daughter of a knight, she could not understand the soft cleric who fell
to his knees and prayed to his goddess to save him, when other men were grabbing shield
and sword. Catching hold of his hand, she began running down the hallway. He stumbled to
keep up with her. She was clad in her nightclothes. Her long gown whipped around her
ankles, nearly tripping her. Blood stained the white cloth. Michael had no need to ask
whose it was.

“They carried him inside,” Nikol was talking feverishly, as they ran. “We stripped off the
armor. His wound is deep, but not mortal. We have to hurry. He's lost so much blood. I
left old Giles with him....”

No, we don't need to hurry! Michael cried silently. Too late. We will be too late! But he
found himself running all the faster, as if he could outrun destiny.

They reached a room on the ground level, near the entrance. They had not carried the
wounded man far.

“Giles!” Nikol cried, pushing on the door. “I've brought the healer. I - Nicholas? Where
are you? Giles! Oh, god, no! Paladine, no!”

Her heartbroken cry went through Michael like iron. Nikol caught up the body of the
elderly servant, lifted him gently from the floor.

“Giles! What happened? Where's Nicholas?”

Michael knelt beside the old man. A goblin arrow stuck out of his chest, the shaft buried
deep.

“Mishakal, heal...” Michael's voice cracked. The holy medallion of Mishakal he wore around
his neck, the symbol of his faith that gleamed blue with the radiance of the goddess, was
dark, its light gone. He stammered;

his words halted. The old man gasped. “They ... took him!” “Who took him? Giles, answer
me!” Nikol cried. “Goblins ...” The old man stared at her, but his eyes no longer saw her. His head lolled in her arms. She laid him on the floor, her face expressionless,
shocked past hurt and sorrow.

Michael stood, looked around the room. Broken glass littered the floor; the window swung
crazily on its hinges. It had been smashed open with a heavy object, probably a club or
mace. Blood smeared the windowsill.

“They carried him out this way,” he said.

“But why?” Nikol stared at the empty bed, the bloodstained, rumpled sheets. Her face was
whiter than the linen. “Why would they take him? Goblins butcher and kill. They never take
prisoners.... Oh, Nicholas!”

A shudder swept over her. She buried her face in the still-warm bedclothes, twisted the
cloth in her fingers. Michael ached to comfort her. He drew near, reaching out to her. His
hand touched her shoulder.

“My lady - ”

Nikol rounded on him with a savage cry. “You! This is your fault! If you had been here,
instead of hiding behind the skirts of your goddess, my brother would be well! He would be
alive! He could have fought them - ”

A bowman, bloodied and disheveled, appeared in the doorway.

“Where's my lord?” he demanded harshly. “The enemy is assaulting in force. What are his
orders?”

Michael straightened, was about to give the man the terrible news that his lord was gone.

Sharp nails dug into his skin. Nikol pushed past him.

“My lord will be with you presently,” she told him, her voice cold and level. “We are
binding his wound.”

“Pray Paladine he comes swiftly,” said the bowman, and dashed off.

“Katherine!” Nikol cried. “Katherine - There you are.”

The woman who had been nursemaid and nanny to the girl, lady-in-waiting to the young
woman, hastened into the room at her mistress's call.

“Fetch me the men's clothing I use when I practice with Nicholas! Be quick about it!
Hurry!”

Katherine stared at her, confused and upset. “Oh, my lady, there is no time! We must flee
- ”

“Go!” Nikol shouted at her. “Do as I command!”

Katherine cast a frightened look at Michael, who shook his head, bewildered. The woman
fled, her wooden clogs clattering over the stone floor.

Nikol glanced about the room, found what she sought. Catching hold of her brother's
leather belt, she drew a sharp knife from its sheath and held it out to Michael. He stared
at it, then at her.

“My vows forbid me to carry sharp weapons, my lady -”

“You weakling! I'm not asking you to fight with it!”

Nikol thrust the knife into his limp hand. Lifting the heavy braid of long, golden hair,
she twitched it around, held it out to him.

“Cut it. Cut it to match the length of my brothers hair.”

Michael understood suddenly what she intended. He stared at her, aghast. “Nikol, you can't
be serious! You're not thinking - ”

“No, it's you who's not thinking!” She turned, faced him. “This is my only chance to save
Nicholas. Don't you understand? They've taken him away. Now they're launching an assault
to cover their escape. We must drive them back, then I can lead a party to go rescue my
brother.”

“But you're a woman. The men won't follow you.”

“They won't know they're following me,” Nikol said calmly, turning around again. “They'll
think they're following my brother. We look enough alike that I can fool them, beneath the
armor. And don't worry, Brother,” she added bitterly. “You can stay here in safety and
pray for me. Now, cut”

Her sarcasm was sharper than the blade. He realized now how wide was the gulf that
separated them. He had sometimes dared to hope that she was fond of him. He had sometimes
fancied that she had responded warmly to his touch.

If I were noble or if she were common, might we not love?

But now he knew the truth, he saw it in her eyes. She despised him, despised his weakness.

Michael grasped the knife awkwardly. Lifting the heavy braid of hair in his hand, he felt
its silk beneath his fingers.

How many times have I dreamed of this moment, he thought to himself bitterly. The grace,
the privilege of touching her beautiful hair.

He heard frantic shouting outside. A spent arrow whistled in through the window. Gritting
his teeth, Michael hacked away at the shining, twisted strands.

*****

“My lord!” A grizzled sergeant caught hold of the knight's arm. Blood streamed from a cut
on the sergeant's head. He limped from either a new wound or an old. “My lord I It's hopeless. There are far
too many of the fiends! Sound the retreat!”

“No!” The knight shook him off furiously. “They're falling back. Rally the men for another
charge!”

“My lord, they're regrouping, making ready for the killing blow, that's all,” said the
sergeant gently.

Michael realized then that the sergeant knew the truth. He knew he wasn't following his
lord, but his lady.

The cleric edged closer, to listen to the conversation. The battle had been brief and
brutal. He had done what he could to ease the pain of the dying, but that hadn't been
much. The situation bad been too dire, too confused, for anyone to notice that their
cleric had tucked his medallion of faith inside his robes, that no prayers passed his
lips. Merciful death came to most swiftly. Michael's one panic- stricken thought was that
Nikol would fall, wounded. And then what could he do for her?

“What are your orders, my lord?” the sergeant asked, respectfully.

Nikol did not immediately answer. Exhaustion had taken its toll. The ragged blond hair
that fell to the metal- armored shoulders was wet with sweat. Any other knight would have
removed the heavy helm, wiped his face. This knight kept her helm on.

Michael joined them, stared out over the battlements into the woods beyond. Day had
dawned. The vast numbers of the enemy could be counted easily; they made no secret of
their strength. The knight glanced around at the pitiful number of men who remained.

“Release the men from duty,” said Nikol, in a low, toneless voice. “If they leave now,
they can make good their escape. The goblins will be too busy looting and burning to chase
them.”

“Very good, my lord,” said the sergeant, bowing. “Give them my thanks. They fought well.”
“Yes, my lord.” The old sergeant's voice was choked.

“My lord will be coming with us?” Nikol made no response. Michael stepped forward prepared to argue, prepared to tell everyone the truth, if necessary. Anything to save
her. He caught the flash of blue eyes from behind the helm. Nikol's gaze held his a
moment, warned him to keep silent.