The Seeker

7

The span of the stone bridge arched high over the lake and was constructed in such a manner that it could be easily defended by anyone in the keep. The bridge was narrow, allowing only two abreast, and there was a barbican at the opposite end. The arch of the bridge had been designed so that any sort of shield carried in advance of an attacking party would be rendered useless, because archers on the barbican could fire over it as the attackers started down the slope of the arch. However, there was no sign that anyone had passed this way in years. The mortar was old and cracked, badly in need of repair, and the low walls on either side of the bridge had lost a number of stones to the lake below.

Sorak started slowly across, testing his footing as he went, unsure how much the structure had weakened over the years. It seemed incredibly old, and there was a thick layer of rock dust on the surface of the span—However, it seemed solid. Sorak was followed by Korahna, then Ryana. As they approached the barbican at the opposite end, they could see that part of the structure had crumbled. Bats nested in the barbican and a flock of them streamed out on their approach, wheeling around in mad arabesques and emitting high-pitched shrieks as they spiraled up toward the roof of the cavern.

Ryana remained on the alert, her sword held in her hand. Sorak simply held his staff; Galdra hung in its scabbard on his belt, beneath his cloak. Korahna’s tension was evident in her bearing. She was clearly frightened, but she said nothing as she followed Sorak, taking care never to fall more than several steps behind.

There must have been, at one time, a thick wooden gate in the barbican, but the wood had long since rotted away due to the moisture in the cavern, and only pieces of it still remained. Sorak used the staff to brush aside several large cobwebs as he went through, followed by the others. The keep was built on solid rock that jutted from the surface of the lake. It was uneven, and the walls had been constructed to accommodate its shape.

They passed through the barbican and approached the outer walls of the keep, which were about forty feet high. The walls, too, had crumbled in places, and the topmost portion of the tower had fallen, but most of the structure still stood. Sorak led them beneath the arched entryway and into a small courtyard set with mortared stone. Inside the courtyard was an old well, from winch the residents must have drawn their water, and several smaller structures that may have functioned as guardhouses or small outbuildings separate from the keep itself. The tower of the keep loomed over them—dark, silent, and foreboding. All was hushed, save for the chittering of the bats.

“I suppose that we must go inside,” Korahna said.

“You may wait out here if you wish,” said Sorak.

“Alone? I think not,” the princess said quickly.

As with the barbican and the outer wall, there was no longer any door to the keep itself, and Sorak mounted the stone steps and went through the arched entryway in the darkness. Korahna followed uneasily, and Ryana brought up the rear. They came into a great hall that was dark and covered with dust and cobwebs. There were small droppings on the floor from some creatures that could be heard scurrying away at their approach, and guano was everywhere. The place smelled of decay.

“I cannot see a thing in here,” Ryana said, knowing that Sorak’s vision in the dark was as good as hers in the daylight.

“There is nothing much to see,” he replied, his voice echoing in the darkness from somewhere to her right. “If there were any furnishings in here, they are long since gone. The hall is square-shaped, with a raised stone dais on the side to our left, where the lord of the manor sat during meals or when court was held, hard though it may be to imagine such convocations in a dismal place like this. There are sconces in the walls for torches, and an arched gallery that runs around three sides of the chamber on the upper floor. Looking up a the ceiling, I see rotted beams. The floors, for the mos part, are now gone. No one has lived here for countless generations.”

No sooner had he spoken, however, than a flickering light suddenly appeared, illuminating the walls of the stone steps leading up to the tower. It was as if someone were coming down the stairs, carrying a candle, except this light was blue.

“Witch light!” said Korahna, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She took hold of Ryana’s arm.

As they watched, the light grew brighter, and down the steps, around the curving wall, a figure came. Korahna gasped and drew back fearfully behind Ryana. Ryana’s fingers tightened on the sword hilt. As the figure came toward them, descending the stone steps, they could see it was a man in robes. He was not carrying a candle or a lantern. The blue glow emanated from his very body, rendering his features somewhat indistinct.

He had long hair, down past his shoulders. In the blue glow that he cast, it was impossible to tell what color the hair was, but Ryana imagined that it had to be white, for he looked very old. He had a lengthy beard, as well, which obscured much of his face. His proportions were human, and his robes were intricately woven with many decorations.

Around his bare head, he wore a circlet of what looked to be either gold or silver—Ryana could not tell because of the glow that emanated from him. The center of the circlet was set with some sort of precious stone, cut into facets. He wore a sword buckled round his waist, with a hilt and pommel that were set with precious stones, as was the scabbard. Around his neck was some sort of chain of office, and wide metal bracelets hung on his wrists. His soft booted feet left no tracks in the dust on the stair as he descended. On the last step, he stopped and gazed at each of them in turn, his bright blue aura illuminating the entire chamber.

“Are you the Sage?” asked Sorak, staring intently at the figure.

“I was Lord Belloc, Duke of Carador, Lord of the Outlands, Keeper of the Seals of Knowledge, vassal to Kino Valatrix the First of the Teluri.”

“The Forgotten Ones,” whispered Korahna. “The old legends speak of them. They are said to have been the first to practice sorcery.”

“You are a spirit, then?” Ryana said.

“My body has been dead these past three thousand years,” the spirit said.

“And you have dwelt here ever since?” said Sorak.

“There was a time when I dwelt in a palace that rivaled that of King Valatrix himself,” the spirit said. “It stood several days’ ride to the west of here, in the grassy plains, by a cool spring.”

“Silver Spring,” said Sorak. “How came you here?”

“Valatrix grew jealous of my knowledge and felt threatened by my power. He coveted the Seals of Knowledge, which were given into my safekeeping by the Holy Sisters of the Order of the Willing Key.” He turned to face Ryana.

“Greetings, Sister. It has been a long time since I have met a priestess of the sacred order.”

Ryana stared at the spirit, uncomprehending at first, and then it dawned on her. “The Willing Key .. willing key ... the villichi?”

“Valatrix believed the powers of the Holy Sisters stemmed from their sacred Seals of Knowledge and not from within themselves, as it was in truth. He believed also that my own powers stemmed from these same Seals, and not from years of arduous and patient study of the mystic arts. He believed the Seals of Knowledge held great power, when all they really held was the key to that power, a power that one had to unlock within oneself and nurture patiently through many years of dedication. In his jealousy and greed for power, Valatrix made an alliance with the Damites, who lived to the north in their fortress city in the Dragon’s Bowl, and together, their forces marched against me.

“I could raise no army capable of defeating such a host,” the spirit continued, “and so I was forced to flee, together with those of my loyal retainers and my people who managed to escape. The Holy Sisters scattered to the four quarters, to meet again in a secret place of which only they knew. I came here with my faithful few to build this keep and guard the Seals in this hidden cavern. Here we lived, and here we died, those who chose to stay. I was the last one left, and on my dying bed, I vowed to remain until such time as I could pass the Seals of Knowledge into the hands of one worthy of keeping and protecting them.”

“The Seals of Knowledge,” said Ryana. “Do you mean the Lost Keys of Wisdom of which villichi legends speak?”

“They are, indeed, the keys to wisdom,” said the spirit, nodding, “but they shall give up their secrets only to one who knows their proper use.”

“What of the Sage?” asked Sorak.

“Ah, yes, the Wanderer,” the spirit said, nodding again. “Once, many years ago, he came, the first living soul to visit this place since my death. He was quite young then, rash, and full of the impetuosity of youth. I saw then that one day, perhaps, he could receive the Seals, but he was not yet ready.”

“The Wanderer?” said Sorak with surprise. “You mean the Wanderer and the Sage are one and the same?”

“He has gained much in wisdom since those days ” the spirit said, “but he cannot leave his sanctuary now and I cannot go beyond these walls. It will be for you to take the Seals of Knowledge to him. That is why he sent you, to bring him the Seals and bring me my rest.”

“But ... we do not know where the Sage is to be found,” Sorak said. “Where are we to seek him?”

“In your heart,” the spirit said, “and in your dreams. The Wanderer shall be your guide, and the Seals shall be your keys to wisdom. Behold. . .”

The spirit held out his right arm, fingers outstretched, then turned his hand palm up, raising his arm in a lifting motion.

A large stone block in the center of the chamber floor started to move with a loud scraping sound. It slowly rose up out of the floor to a height of about three feet and hovered there. As the spirit moved his arm, the block moved, floated to one side, then fell to the floor with a resounding crash and cracked into several pieces. From the hole once covered by the block, a small chest rose into the air. It seemed to be made of some sort of metal, for it gleamed softly in the light. It floated over to Ryana and hovered before her at the level of her chest.

“It is only fitting that a priestess bear the Seals,” the spirit said. Ryana reached out and took the chest. It was fastened with a small iron lock, and as she held it, the lock sprang open . . . and immediately disintegrated into dust. “My time on this plane has ended, the spirit said with a weary sigh. “I can rest at last.

And as they watched, the blue glow began to fade, and with it, the spirit faded from sight as well. “Remember, to the seeker the one true path is the path to knowledge,” the spirit’s disembodied voice echoed through the hall. “The Wanderer shall be your guide. The Seals shall be your keys to wisdom. Go now, and go quickly.”

A cold wind blew through the hall as it was once again plunged into darkness. Ryana felt Sorak take her arm and lead them back out of the keep. Outside, she stared at the small chest she held in her hands. It was made of solid gold and carved with ancient rimes.

Behind them, there was a rumbling sound and, as they turned, they saw the stones of the tower start to crumble.

“Quickly,” Sorak said, taking their arms. “We must hurry.”

They ran back across the courtyard and through the arched gate in the outer wall as the keep collapsed behind them in an avalanche of rock. They continued running through the barbican and out across the bridge. The span trembled beneath their feet as they ran across it. The mortar cracked, fissures appeared in the stone bridge, and heavy stone blocks fell into the lake below.

Korahna cried out as she tripped and fell, but Sorak caught her and swept her up into his arms. The entire cavern reverberated as the keep crumbled into rubble behind them, sending up a cloud of rock dust. The bats wheeled through the cavern, filling it with their screeching cries.

Sorak dragged his companions to the other side just as the bridge collapsed behind them, sending up gouts of water as the heavy stones fell into the lake. And then the rumbling ceased, and as the dust slowly settled, they could see nothing more than a pile of rubble where the keep stood.

“Rest, Belloc,” Sorak said. “We shall fulfill your charge.”

Ryana stared at the small chest in her hands. “I have learned something not even Mistress Varanna knows,” she said softly. “I have learned the origin of the villichi sisterhood. They scattered to the four directions to meet again in a secret place of which only they knew: The valley in the Ringing Mountains, where the temple stands today. And in this small chest lie the long-lost Keys to Wisdom ... the Seals of Knowledge, which no priestess has seen in over three thousand years!”

“And now you may look upon them,” Sorak said.

Ryana shook her head. “That I should be the one ... I, who have broken my villichi vows.. . .” She shook her head again. “I am not worthy.”

“Lord Belloc thought you were,” said Sorak.

“But he did not know.... I did not tell him. . .”

Sorak placed his hand on her shoulder. “Who am I, an outcast, to bear the magic sword of elven kings?” he asked.

“Who are you to bear the Seals of Knowledge? And who is Korahna to go against all her father stands for and ally herself with the preservers? Who are we to question any of these things?”

“Questions are what led us here,” Ryana said.

“True,” Sorak replied, nodding. “And there are still answers to be found. But we shall not find them here. I had dared to hope our search was ended. I think now it has only just begun.”

Korahna stood staring across the lake at the pile of rubble where the keep had stood. “To think, that poor spirit walked those dark and empty halls alone for longer than any of us have lived—or shall ever live. I had always thought that spirits were things to be feared yet I feel pity for that poor shade, and relief that he may rest at last.”

“Yes, now that he has passed his charge to us,” Ryana said, staring at the golden chest. “And it is no small burden.”

“What are the Seals of Knowledge?” asked Korahna.

Ryana opened the chest. Inside it, resting in slots cut into a block of polished obsidian, were four gold rings, with large, circular faces, like coins, engraved with runic characters. When pressed into hot wax or clay, each ring would make a seal.

“According to villichi legend, these are enchanted rings,” Ryana said, “made by a druid sorceress who was the first high mistress of our ancient order. Each ring is said to be a key, one for each of the four quarters, and when all four are used together as seals, the impressions made by them unlock a spell that opens up the doors to wisdom.”

“But what does that mean?” the princess asked.

Ryana shook her head. “I do not know. If there was more to the story, it has been lost over the many intervening years. Legend has it that each villichi priestess, when she came of age, departed on a pilgrimage to seek Ceys of Wisdom, which had been lost somehow. That is how our pilgrimages are said to have begun, and we know now how the keys were lost. Belloc kept them hidden in his sanctuary in the cavern while Valatrix, and who knows how many others, must have searched for them. Even if they did not possess the knowledge to use them properly, they would still have been worth a fortune. Now that metals are even more rare, they must be nearly priceless. And the sorcerer kings would doubtless give anything to have them.”

“And now you have them,” said Korahna.

Ryana bit her lower Up and grimaced wryly. “And if news of it gets out,” she said, “then I shall become a target for every thief, brigand, and defiler on the planet.”

“Should you not take them back to your villichi temple in the Ringing Mountains?” asked the princess.

Ryana shook her head. “And give those same thieves, brigands, and defilers a reason to seek out the temple? No. In time, the same thing would only happen all over again. Besides, Belloc was entrusted with them, and it was a trust he held not only through life, but also in death. He believed they should be given to the Sage, and if anyone knows their proper use, the Sage would be that one.”

“Then we had best be on our way to Nibenay,” said Sorak, “for that is the destination we were given.”

They made their way back through the tunnel and came out into the grotto once again. Sorak bent down by the pool and splashed some water on himself. “We should take this last opportunity to refill our skins and refresh ourselves a bit,” he said.

“Indeed, you should, for it shall be your last opportunity,” said Torian from the mouth of the grotto. He stood there, silhouetted in the light from outside, holding his sword and flanked by his mercenaries.

“Torian!” Korahna said.

“My compliments, Your Highness,” Torian said, stepping into the grotto. “I never would have dreamt you could survive a trek across the barrens. Clearly, I vastly underestimated your strength of will and spirit. You not only survived, apparently none the worse for wear, but you have managed to find water, too. My men and I are grateful. We had grown very thirsty.”

They looked tired and worn out from their journey across the savage barrens, but the determination in their eyes was no less intense for their ordeal. The mercenaries held crossbows drawn with bolts fitted. And they did not take their eyes off Sorak and Ryana for an instant.

“You should not have followed me, Torian,” Korahna said. “I shall not go back with you.”

“Oh, I have no intention of crossing that miserable, forsaken waste again,” said Torian. “We are but two or three days’ ride from the mountains, and once across those mountains, we are in my domain. I intend to take you back with me to Gulg, where you shall find a far more comfortable life in my family estate.”

“No, Torian,” Korahna said. “I am not going to go with you. I am going home, to Nibenay.”

“To what?” asked Torian. “To a miserable life of skulking in the shadows with the Veiled Alliance? Living in some hovel in the slums and hiding from the templars? Plotting pointlessly in stinking, filthy little rooms amidst the stench of unwashed, sweaty bodies? Fearing to show your face in the light of day? That is no life for a princess. I can offer you far more than that.”

“Perhaps,” Korahna said, “but at a price I cannot and will not pay.”

“Then I am afraid that you shall have no choice,” said Torian. “I did not come all this way for nothing. Four men have died because of you, Korahna, and two more shall die when I catch up with them, provided the barrens have not already done them in. You have caused me a grreat deal of trouble, Your Highness, more than I would have suffered for any other woman. I intend to be compensated for my efforts, and you, Korahna, shall be that compensation.”

“We may have something to say about that,” Ryana said.

“You shall have precious little to say about anything, my lady,” Torian replied with scorn. “You enjoyed the hospitality of my tent, and you repay me by stealing my property.”

“Your property?” Korahna said with disbelief.

“Priestess or not, no one plays me for the fool,” Torian continued, ignoring Korahna’s outrage. He turned toward Sorak and raised his blade, using it to point at him. “And you, elfling—you I shall kill personally.”

“Talk won’t get it done,” said Sorak.

“Then I am done talking,” Torian said, raising his blade and leaping toward him.

With a motion so deceptively fast and smooth that it almost looked lazy, Sorak drew Galdra and parried Torian’s blade as it came down. The moment Torian’s sword came in contact with the elven steel, it split cleanly in two. Torian did not even feel the impact of the parry. His arm continued on with the downward stroke, throwing him off balance, and as the upper half of his sword blade clanged to the rock floor of the grotto, Torian recovered, staring with astonishment at what remained of his sword . . . the hilt and a foot of blade.

“You were saying?” Sorak said, raising one eyebrow. Torian’s eyes grew wide with fury. “Kill him!” he shouted to the mercenaries. “Shoot him down!”

The mercenaries raised their crossbows and shot their bolts, but though no more than fifteen paces separated them from their target, each bolt flew wide of its mark. The mercenaries gaped in astonishment.

Torian sputtered incoherently and screamed at them, spittle flying from his lips. “Idiots! What’s the matter with you, can’t you even hit a target not twenty feet away? Shoot him, I said! Shoot him! Shoot him!”

The mercenaries reached for fresh bolts, but suddenly all their arrows simply took flight on their own, leaping from their quivers and flying across the grotto to clatter against the far wall and drop into the pool.

Ryana’s bolt, however, did not miss its mark. It struck one of the mercenaries in the throat, and he fell, choking and gurgling and clutching at his neck where the arrow penetrated his larynx and poked through to the other side. As he collapsed, Ryana drew her sword. “The rest are mine,” she said. Torian gaped as she waded into the remaining mercenaries, swinging her sword with both hands.

With a scream of inarticulate rage, Torian drew his dagger and hurled it at Sorak.

Sorak merely raised his hand, and the dagger stopped in midair as if it had struck an invisible wall.

Torian’s jaw dropped in disbelief; the dagger clattered harmlessly to the ground. His hand clawed for his second dagger, but before his fingers could close around the hilt, the knife flew out of its sheath and sailed across the grotto in a high arc over Sorak’s head, falling into the waters of the pool behind him.

Seeing Torian disarmed, standing there stunned and apparently helpless, Korahna suddenly rushed toward him in a fit of royal outrage. “Your property, am I?” she said, her eyes blazing with fury. “I will show you whose property I am!”

“No, Princess!” Sorak cried out, but it was too late. She swung to backhand Torian across the face. As her blow fell, Torian took her hand, spun her around, and grabbed her from behind. Seizing her in a powerful grip, he held her before him, one arm clamped across her throat, the other gripping her by the hair. “Try any more of your tricks, elfling, and I’ll break her neck! Drop your sword, priestess!”

The two remaining mercenaries, though seasoned and experienced fighters, had had their hands full with Ryana. Her assault had backed them to the mouth of the grotto, and now, when she saw that Torian had the princess, she hesitated, backing away slightly and holding her sword before her. The two mercenaries took advantage of the respite to spread apart, one to either side of her, ready to move in. Her gaze shifted quickly from them to Torian and back again.

“Drop your sword, I said!” Torian repeated. “Drop it or I’ll kill the bitch!”

Ryana hesitated. “Sorak ...” she said, uncertain, while keeping a wary eye on her two antagonists, who held their ground.

“If you kill her,” Sorak said, “then there is nothing to save you from me.”

“And if I let her go, I suppose you will graciously allow us to retire and go our way,” said Torian sarcastically. He gave a barking laugh. “No, my friend, I think not. You are not that stupid. You know that I would only bide my time and try again. You could not afford to let me live. I advise you to tell the priestess to drop her sword, before I grow impatient.”

“Sorak,” she said, “what should I do?”

“Don’t listen to him, Ryana,” Sorak said. “Those men will kill you the moment you drop your sword.”

“I give you my word that they shall not,” said Torian.

“You expect me to trust your word?” Sorak replied contemptuously.

“You do not have much choice,” said Torian. “But even so, you do not trust me. Consider this: I stand to gain nothing by having the priestess killed. She is of more value to me alive, as a hostage.”

“The princess is of more value to you, still,” said Sorak, stalling for time as his mind raced to find a way out of the situation. One quick twist and Korahna’s neck would be broken. And he felt sure that Torian would not hesitate to do it. “You came all this way for her. Kill her now, and what have you got to show for all your efforts?”

“Clearly, it would be a Joss,” Torian admitted in an even voice, “and doubtless it would mean my life, as well. However, I would have died denying you your satisfaction, and that would count for something, I suppose. You have some designs of your own for the princess, I’ll wager, else you would not have risked so much to bring her with you. The priestess, perhaps, would have helped her out of the goodness of her heart, and as a fellow preserver, but you? I think not. I think there is something in this for you, something that you want. A reward, perhaps, or something else that she has promised you.”

Sorak damned the man for his shrewdness. He had hit upon the truth, though he did not know exactly what it was. He did need the princess, quite aside from his concern for her, and Torian knew it.

“If release her now,” said Torian, “then there is, indeed, nothing to save me from you. And if I kill her, then I face death, as well. Either way, conditions would remain the same. I am prepared to meet them, one way or the other. But so long as she remains alive, well then, the game continues. I will take the priestess as my hostage to make sure you do not try any of your tricks. You have demonstrated that you are a master of the Way, and I have no more illusions about my ability to kill you. The priestess shall ensure that you do not kill me.”

“What do you propose?” asked Sorak tensely.

Torian smiled, realizing he had turned things around dramatically and now had the upper hand. “I will make my way to Gulg with the princess and the priestess. You shall have the liberty to follow us, but not too closely, for if I see you, the priestess shall suffer for it, understood?”

“Understood.”

“Sorak, no!” Ryana cried.

“We have little choice, Ryana,” he replied.

“Listen to him, Priestess,” Torian said. “Now is not the time for foolish thoughts or noble gestures.”

“Go on,” said Sorak. “State your terms.”

“When I reach the safety of my family estate,” said Torian, “I shall release the priestess. Unharmed, so long as you do your part. The princess remains with me. Whatever reward she has promised you, I shall match it so that you shall not walk away with nothing to gain—That will give you an incentive to continue on your way and trouble me no more. I have no desire to watch my back for the remainder of my life. You shall wait outside the gates of Gulg. I will send your reward with the priestess, and you can meet her there. If you see foot within the city gates, I will leave word to have you killed. Even a master of the Way cannot stand against an entire city guard.

“I will even allow you to retain your magic sword, though I am sorely tempted to demand that you surrender it. However, I am a practical man, and have no wish to antagonize you any further. You took something from me, and now I have it back. I am content to leave it at that, and even to pay you for all the trouble you have caused me. I will consider it an investment in the future. So... what is it to be? Shall we both be practical? Or shall we conclude this sad affair right here and now, to no good profit for either side?”

“Put down your sword, Ryana,” Sorak said.

“Sorak, no! Don’t listen to him! You cannot trust him!” she replied.

“I think I can trust him to look after his own interests,” Sorak said. “And it is in his interest to keep the bargain in good faith. Put down your sword.”

She hesitated, then, with an expression of disgust, threw down her sword.