Wrath of Kerberos (30 page)

E
MUEL COULDN’T MOVE
, couldn’t even look around to see who had just entered the room, so securely tied was he to the marble table. At his wrists and ankles, the leather straps had broken the flesh; dried blood crusted his bonds and stained the stone beneath him. The eunuch had been stripped bare, and for all the time he had spent in his presence, Kelos was still shocked by the scars of the boy’s emasculation.

“Keldren,” he said. “Silus may have the potential to be dangerous, but I can assure you that Emuel does not. This is entirely unnecessary.”

“On the contrary, my friend. Not knowing the limits of his power, we have to assume that Emuel is just as dangerous as Silus.”

“Emuel?” Kelos said. “Can you hear me?”

Emuel opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

“What is this?”

“A precaution. As Emuel uses song magic, I cast a silence spell upon him. Now, let us begin our examination.”

Keldren held out his hands and, with a
pop
of displaced air, an open book appeared in them. The wizard ran his finger down a page, muttering to himself. Looking up, he fixed Kelos with an intense stare.

“Why was Emuel emasculated?”

“To preserve the pitch of his prepubescent voice. An adult human voice is normally unable to achieve the range required for elven song magic.”

“Ingenious. Cruel, but ingenious. And what can you tell me about his tattoos and scarifications? Why did somebody go to all the trouble of so marking his flesh?”

“Elven runics,” Kelos said. “A way of opening Emuel up to the magic of song.”

“Interesting. But not all of these are elven runics. This one here – the symbol that looks a bit like a crescent moon on its side, entangled in vines? – well, that is dwarven. A profanity, an insult in runes. Nothing more than crude graffiti.”

“I understand the Final Faith based their designs on ancient elf spells.”

“Yes, well, they were wrong then, weren’t they? But not entirely. See these? These
are
actually elven runes, but they’re like none I’ve seen before. At first I thought that they might be based on an earlier form of script. But, from the text here” – he indicated the book – “I’m now certain that’s not the case. The runes
are
elvish, but a form of the language not from our past. Therefore...”

Kelos looked blankly at Keldren for a moment, before he realised what the wizard was getting at.

“From your future? Magical canticles that have yet to be developed?”

“Exactly!” Keldren said, triumphantly. “There is magic here that no elf mage has yet wielded. Emuel is a repository of
future
magical knowledge. I will be able to extrapolate from the runics upon this one young boy to produce song magic of a power that none on the peninsula have yet witnessed. Such an advantage could have vast implications for the mages in our military. What you have gifted to us here, Kelos, is a potential weapon in the war with the dwarves.”

“Emuel is no weapon, Keldren. And I didn’t gift him to you, any more than I gifted you Silus. If you don’t remember, we were taken against our will.”

Keldren closed the book and placed it beside Emuel. “May I remind you, Kelos, that as a gesture of goodwill I have given you certain freedoms? This is in recognition of our bond as mages. Do not abuse my hospitality; you can be given over to the camps like that!” Keldren snapped his fingers.

Kelos opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say. He considered reaching for the threads, weaving a spell with which to attack Keldren, but he realised that any magical duel would likely end in his own death. This was, after all, Keldren Dremos Enthrold, the finest Old Race mage of his generation and a legend amongst those who studied the art of sorcery. He supposed it was true what they said: you should never meet your heroes.

“I’m sorry, Keldren. Please, proceed.”

“See, dear boy? I knew that my trust had not been not misplaced. Now, let’s see if we can get our newest acquisition to sing, shall we?”

L
ATER,
K
ELOS WAS
allowed to bring Emuel some food and water. Keldren had thoughtlessly left the eunuch bound to the table, and when the mage freed him, he was barely able to stand. Keldren hadn’t so much coaxed the boy to sing as torn the songs from him.

Kelos held a stone jug to Emuel’s lips, and he drank thirstily.

“Why are you doing this, Kelos? Why are you helping that man?” he said, after he had quenched his thirst

“Because if I don’t, things would be so much worse for you and Silus. Emuel, I’m doing what I can. I’ve been trying to work on Keldren, but it’s taking time.”

“If I have to endure this for much longer, I will die.”

Emuel was right. There was only so far he and Silus could be pushed. And once Keldren had concluded his experiments, what then? Kelos wondered at what cost the wizard’s sorcerous knowledge had been brought. Were all the great works that he so admired – that had formed the foundation of Kelos’s life in magic – so steeped in the blood of others? It sickened him to kowtow to a man of such lax morals and disregard for others, yet it was the only way he would get the measure of him. The wizard seemed to know the ultimate fate of his race: their destruction in an apocalypse that would wipe all but the smallest traces of their civilisation from the map. What if he could offer Keldren the means to survive? If Kelos could appeal to the vanity and hunger for knowledge that so obviously drove the wizard, would he abandon his own kind?

Kelos had to hope so, as it was the only option open to them. He and his companions might be the only humans in existence who knew of the true nature of Kerberos, and the threat they all faced from Hel’ss. If he couldn’t win Keldren round, then their future was decided with the end of all things.

“Either way, Emuel,” Kelos said. “I can promise that it will all be over soon.”

K
ELDREN HAD SET
a fire going, the coals banked so high that they threatened to spill onto the hearth and ignite the rug. The heat from the flames offered little comfort, instead intensifying the humidity in the poky little study and making Kelos break into a sweat. Keldren, however, appeared perfectly at ease, even swathed as he was in his velvets and linens, all wrapped about by an ebon cloak. What was it about magic, Kelos wondered, that attracted people with such ostentatious tastes?

“This is all for nothing, you know,” Kelos said, sitting opposite the wizard and fanning himself with a pamphlet on the uses of mountain herbs in divination.

“Sorry?” Keldren said, glancing up from his reading.

“All this,” Kelos said. “All your knowledge will prove to be for naught. In the end the elves will fall along with the dwarves.”

Keldren looked back to the book in his hands and didn’t say anything. He lifted the wine glass from the table beside him and drank, and carefully placed the glass back down again.

“You know the truth of this, don’t you, Keldren? Just as you have calculated the coming of Hel’ss to my own time, you have calculated the destruction that will come to the Old Races.”

“The Old Races? Hah! Is that what you call us? Rather an ignominious phrase to describe the two mightiest empires Twilight will ever see, don’t you think?”

“You are avoiding the subject.”

Again, Keldren’s eyes went back to the book in his hands.

“Keldren!”

“Yes, Kelos. I understand what you are saying. But these,
these
survive,” Keldren said, gesturing with the book. “My studies will go on to form the foundation of modern magical thinking.”

“But what if I told you you could witness for yourself how important your works become? Just think, you could know the true significance of your legacy to magic. What other master of the sorcerous arts could ever hope to claim such knowledge?”

“Oh, Kelos, bless you. You’re talking in mere fantasies. I must admit that I feared I had pushed you too hard. Besides, I am already fully aware of the significance of my studies. I am, after all, the finest magical thinker of my time. You said so yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. I said the finest magical thinker of
my
time. It will be thousands of years before the true significance of your works will be appreciated.”

“But... but the work I am doing here is of vital importance to the elven empire.”

“Really, Keldren? Then why have they buried you so far beneath the city, within these rotten tunnels where your library is constantly at threat from mould and insect infestation? When did the king last directly call on your services?”

“I... I...” Keldren was getting to his feet and it seemed, finally, that the warmth of the room was affecting him, for sweat now beaded his brow. “I am Keldren Dremos Enthrold!” he shouted, throwing his cloak back like some second-rate stage magician.

Kelos waited for a moment before he spoke, allowing the wizard to fully appreciate the impassive expression on his face.

“You will be entirely forgotten by your own generation. Your name will mean nothing until two hundred years before my time, when this, your library, will be discovered far beneath the waters of Freiport bay, still protected by the magical wards that you set in place. It will be the greatest discovery of elven magical texts in the history of the human race, and a whole new branch of elemental magic will be founded on the works that here surround us.

“But you won’t ever get to appreciate that, Keldren, and no one in the elven empire will ever sing your praises. You will have been dead for thousands of years before this discovery; by then, the empires of the elves and the dwarves will be just so much dust.”

Keldren sat back down heavily and took up his wine glass, looked into its contents and then, with a growl, threw the glass into the fireplace. He shot Kelos a glare of such intensity that the mage scrambled to his feet, worried that he had perhaps gone too far.

“You dare speak to me in this way? You, a mere human? Has it escaped you that were it not for the elves, the human race would never have existed? We should have terminated your kind as soon as you dragged yourselves from the sea.”

“Without my kind, all this will have been for nothing. My race continues the work that you began and if you kill me, Keldren, you will never see the fruits of your studies.”

Keldren glowered, then sighed. “You’re right, of course. They don’t value me, you know. If they did I would at least be granted a post at one of the academies of magic.”

“In my time, Keldren, an entire university has been established in your name: The Keldren Dremos Enthrold School of Elemental Magic. Scholars come from all over the peninsula to study there.”

“That is wonderful, but I shall never get to see it. Like you say, our empire will crumble into dust.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you! I can show you the future, Keldren. I can show you wonders you could never imagine and, in return, you can aid us in our fight against Hel’ss, using your vast magical knowledge. You may not be able to do anything to prevent the destruction of your own kind, but why not turn your talents to saving
our
race? A people who continue your good work?”

“And how are you going to make this happen?”

“If I can again perform the spell that brought us all to this time, then I’m certain that I’ll be able to propel us forward into our own era. But I’ll need your help with something first.”

“And that is?”

“I was only able to perform the spell in the first place because I had access to a vast reservoir of raw magic. Now, I understand that in the bay sits an entire fleet of song ships?”

“Yes? And?”

“Each of those song ships is empowered by a magical gem. If we can gain access to a store of such stones, then I will be able to use the power within them to perform the spell once more.”

Keldren laughed and shook his head.

“I don’t understand. What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Kelos. I may be Keldren Dremos Enthrold, but I don’t have access to such stores. If I were to be found in such a restricted part of the docks, I would be arrested on sight. I’m just a lowly mage in a dank basement study; I don’t have the clearance to go wandering around the most jealously-guarded of the empire’s assets.”

Kelos was silent for a moment, staring into the flames of the fireplace. “Then... then I fear we are lost.”

“Come now, Kelos. That’s not the spirit. Is this truly the man who stood up to the great Keldren? What was this vast reservoir of power that enabled the sorcery in the first place?”

“The blood of a dragon.”

“Really? Good grief.”

“See? I told you we were lost.”

“No, no. Not at all. You see, serendipity may well have placed the solution within our grasp. As it would happen, one of my colleagues, living on the borders of the Sardenne Forest, has recently written to me concerning the sighting of a great lizard in the foothills of the World’s Ridge Mountains. Now, let me see.” Keldren sorted through a haphazard pile of papers that sat upon a low desk. “Ah, yes, here we are. ‘I, with my own eyes, saw a flash of scaled flesh, the swish of a vicious barbed tail, and heard the beast’s roar; a sound which chilled me to the core.’ Hah! Yes, Alymere always had a sense of the melodramatic.