Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) (24 page)

“
You will pardon me,
Mistress, for saying so, but we haven’t chanced to meet before
today. In truth, I know not if you are truly the famed seer, Azura,
or some imposter who has taken her tower and her trappings. As we
both agreed, these are dark times and things are not always as they
seem.”

Lies. They know who I am, they just don’t
believe in my power.

“
I knew
of your
White Rose
.”

“
You did indeed, my Lady,
and that was most insightful, but mayhaps, just a
guess.”

Fine. Then proof I’ll give you.

“
Perhaps you require a
small demonstration of my skills?”

“
That would be most
appreciated, my lady, and would go a long way toward providing me
the comfort I need to expend the monies you’ve
requested.”

Stinking wizard.
“For this, my price goes back to five hundred
silver stars.”

“
Of course, my lady,” said
Tanch. “If you can convince me you speak true.”

“
I will do a reading of
one of you.” She looked them each up and down. “You, doubter,” she
said, pointing to Theta. “I will tell you things only you would
know, then you will know my power. Agreed, Par Sinch?”

Tanch looked back at Theta who offered no
reaction. “Agreed.”

Theta stepped forward. “Do
your reading, woman, though I warn you—if your powers be true, you
may not like what you see.”

Is he a raper and a
killer? I’ve seen such things before and don’t fear them. Little
shocks or surprises me anymore.
“Take a
seat and hold out your hands.”

Theta sat down, but paused before extending
his hands. He grasped the cord of his ankh and lifted it off, over
his head. He turned toward Claradon. “Hold this for me until we’re
done.” Theta handed Claradon the ankh and extended his hands toward
Azura, palms up.

I must get this right.

Azura grasped Theta’s hands and shuddered.
Her head snapped back, eyes opened wide, though they saw nothing of
the now. Her eyes rolled back in her head, only the whites
exposed.

A maelstrom of images, sounds, and emotions
unlike any reading before flailed Azura’s mind, trampled her
thoughts and shattered her defenses. She saw nothing through the
blur and heard nothing but the din. She felt everything and
nothing, lost in a vortex of madness.

She struggled to manage the torrent, to
control the flow before it destroyed her. If she didn’t master it
in moments all sanity would be lost, and all that which made Azura
an individual would be gone, forever, reducing her to a gibbering,
drooling, mindless thing.

Azura exerted all her discipline and all her
will and regained some semblance of control. Gradually, the images
slowed and cleared; the cacophony ebbed; the world came into focus.
Azura became her subject, seeing through his eyes, hearing with his
ears, and feeling his feelings. Not of the now, but of the past,
long past. All her will bent on maintaining control and keeping the
maelstrom that ever threatened her in check.

She looked out Theta’s eyes and a feeling of
power washed over her. A sense of incredible strength, and vast,
unmatched knowledge. A feeling of durability, vitality, and near
limitless energy. A feeling of age, a sense of eternity.

She, no Theta, stood atop
a smoking snowcapped mountain, then in a boat on a roiling sea, in
a desert, on a field of ice, in a forest glen—but somehow, this was
all the same place, all the very same spot on Midgaard—as if the
world changed, but Theta remained. As if he had walked Midgaard
forever through all its epochs and geological upheavals. As if he
were always here, immortal, everlasting.

The images shifted and churned, faster and
faster again. Azura set her will against them and pulled them into
check once more. She saw a woman that she loved grow old, sicken,
and die almost within the blink of an eye, and her heart broke. All
the people in all the lands began to age rapidly, so rapidly, and
they grew sick, and weak, and died. They all died. But Theta
remained; everlasting, ever strong, a warrior, a knight
eternal.

Guilt beyond imagining assaulted her; a
sorrow beyond all sorrows rended her soul, and a loneliness without
end engulfed her. Worst of all, the helplessness and the anger it
stirred within her. An anger that ever threatened to erupt. A
simmering need for vengeance. Nothing she could do could stop the
suffering and the dying. Nothing.

The images and sounds blurred and shifted
again. A terrible sight came into focus. She stood now before a
large portal, an unnatural gateway through which sprang and leaped
and flew the very monsters of nightmare. There came dragons, black,
red, winged and serpentine. Basilisks and bogart, demons and
devils, hags and harpies, giants and djinn, minotaur and manticore,
ghost, ghoul, and goblin, wight and warg, and countless more. All
the monsters of legend, myth, and nightmare raced through that
portal from Abaddon as she looked on.

The scene clouded again, and a chorus of
voices began to chant. Most voices were strangers, but some were
familiar, some were those of friends. Traitor, traitor, traitor
they chanted. Slayer they marked him. Rebel, widowmaker, bogeyman,
devil, prince of lies they called him. Great Dragon they named him.
Harbinger of Doom they boomed. Harbinger of doom, harbinger of
doom, harbinger of doom they chanted over and over and over again.
That title of infamy echoed in her mind, no his, without end and
through all time. Azura felt herself falling, falling into a
bottomless abyss with no hope, no help, no friends.

Then before her, He stood.
Azathoth. The ancient god himself, bathed in holy light. His arms
outstretched to the sides, palms up, tears streaming down his kind
and careworn face, the white of his beard lost in like-colored
robes. He looked pained, wounded, suffering.

“
Why?” said Azathoth, his
voice unsteady. “Why hath thee betrayed me, my son? Why doth thou
forsake me? You who I loved more than all others, how can thee turn
to darkness, to evil?”

“
Take my hand, Thetan.
Take my hand and repent. Repent and all will be forgiven. All will
be as it was.”

Theta’s hands came into view. But they were
not bare. They held a sword.

Azathoth looked shocked,
but then he seemed to grow and darken. His face became hard and
terrible. “You have chosen the dark road, Thetan. Now your name
will go down in infamy through all the ages. So must it be. Now
feel my wrath and despair.”

Theta bounded toward the god, so fast,
faster than any man could move. But Azathoth was faster. His hand
shot out and from it exploded a stream of blinding yellow fire that
engulfed Theta.

Azura felt herself falling and screaming. An
indescribable pain that threatened to tear her very soul from her
body.

Azura’s face stung. She opened her eyes and
Gorb stood over her. She was lying on the floor. Did he slap me?
Such things helped end the spell when things went bad.

The wizard knelt before
her. He offered her something—a cup of water? She couldn’t focus
enough to be sure, and pushed his hand away. Her vision was
blurred; her ears rang; and her thoughts raced, unfocused. Memory
stormed back to her.
Harbinger of
Doom!
She started and arced up into a
sitting position. She began shaking uncontrollably.

It’s him. Dead gods, it’s him. The Harbinger
of Doom. The lord of evil. Make them go away.

“
Get
out!” screamed Azura. “They’ve gone to Jutenheim.
The White Rose
has
sailed to Jutenheim. Now get out. Get out.”

The soldiers turned and left. The wizard
bent down beside her. “I’m sorry, dear Lady, we did not mean you
harm.”

Azura grabbed him by the collar and pulled
him close. She could feel Gorb beside her, tensed, ready to strike
at her command. “He’s the prince of lies, wizard.”

Tanch looked confused. “What?”

“
He’s not what he seems.
He’s the bogeyman of legend. The Harbinger of Doom—it’s him, your
man, it’s truly him.”

Tanch stood up, a look of horror on his
face.

“
He will be the death of
you, wizard. Beware him. He will be the death of us all. Go now,
go. Never return here. Get out! Get out!”

Gorb stood, menacingly. Tanch fled the
tower, Ob beside him.

After they were gone, Gorb lifted Azura into
her chair. Her vision cleared, though a strange ringing still
filled her head.

Gorb looks frightened. I’ve never seen him
frightened before. The way he’s staring at me; how odd. Dirkben and
Rimel have the same look. Why?

Azura looked up and saw
her reflection in the tall mirror across the room. Her long auburn
locks now ran gray from root to end. She put her hands to head and
grabbed at her hair in disbelief.
My hair,
my face!

“
No!” Azura screamed. “No,
no, no!”

***

The group walked quickly through Azura’s
courtyard.

“
What happened?” asked
Artol. “We heard a woman’s scream. Another minute and that door
would’ve been splinters.”

“
The seer went bonkers and
booted us,” said Ob.

Tanch came up beside Theta as they made
their way onto the street. His face was flushed and his voice
harsh. “What did you do to her?”

“
Nothing,” said
Theta.

“
Tell that to her hair,”
said Ob. He turned to Artol. “It went white before our eyes. Mr.
Fancy Pant’s doing. Maybe we should introduce her to
Slaayde.”

Artol looked shocked. “What?”

“
Nothing?” said Tanch. “It
didn’t look like nothing to me. She is a wizard of the Order, not
an enemy. What did you do? I demand to know.”

Theta ignored him, never slowing his
pace.

“
Answer me,” said
Tanch.

“
Your back seems better
today,” said Theta. “Put your teeth together and it may stay that
way.”

“
Enough,” said Claradon.
“We can discuss this back at the ship. We got what we came for and
that’s what’s important.”

XII

FREEDOM SQUARE

“
Can I do any
less?”

—
Angle Theta

“
Some commotion up ahead
in Freedom Square,” said Ob. “That’s where the main slave market
was.”

“
Freedom Square?” said
Dolan. “Why call it that if slaves were sold there?”

“
Don’t know,” said Ob.
“Never made no sense to me.”

“
Because evil oft denies
its nature and pretends to be good,” said Theta.

Tanch looked to Theta, searching his
face.

“
They never even called it
slavery. They named it workhood or some such. Who did they think
they were fooling?” said Ob.

“
None but themselves,”
said Claradon.

“
No,” said Theta. “They
fooled many, for many are fools.”

Ob turned to Claradon. “Shall we see what’s
what? Just a few blocks out of our way.”

“
Alright,” said Claradon.
“But let’s be quick.”

The avenue opened up into
a large square where many streets intersected. A noisy crowd was
gathered. Men were up on the large, raised, wood platform upon
which untold slaves had been exhibited and sold. For generations,
the pirate lords of Tragoss Mor raided villages and cities and
islands up and down the coast for hundreds, even thousands of
miles, taking what booty they could and capturing people for
slaves. They brought them all there, for sale in Freedom Square to
the highest bidder. Any land that had no trade treaty with Tragoss
and that paid no tribute to them lived in fear of their
attacks.

That day, dozens of
Thothian monks stood on and around the slave platform. One spoke
into a speaking-trumpet soon after the group entered the
square.

“
Come forward, citizens,”
said the monk. “We have rare goods for auction today.” He gestured
to his fellows and they opened the rear door of a large covered
wagon beside the platform. The monks pulled out several people,
their heads covered in hoods; their hands tied before them. Two
were adults, a short male with a slight build, and a curvaceous
female; the rest, mere children, little more than babes. The monks
dragged the prisoners up onto the slave platform and lined them up
for all to see.

Murmurings spread through the crowd.

“
What’s this?” shouted one
man. “The freedom market was closed.”

“
Workhood is no more,”
shouted another.

“
No,” shouted several more
citizens. Soon the whole crowd took up the chant, “No. No.
No.”

The lead monk, one Del Koth, a tall, thick
man of bushy beard and yellowed teeth, motioned the people to
silence.

“
Don’t be alarmed, good
citizens,” said Del Koth. “The freedom market is closed and will
remain so. No man will ever be sold here again.” He paused, took
the measure of the crowd, and let them settle.

“
But these creatures,”
gesturing toward the prisoners, “are not men.” He turned to his
fellows. “Remove their hoods.”

The monks ripped the hoods from the two
taller prisoners. Each had a strange greenish tinge to their skin
and large, distinctive, pointy ears.