Chapter 8
*
Vho didn't know whether she should tell anyone, even Edern, about the strange dreams she had experienced the previous night. She had managed to suppress her irrational paranoia and suspicion, guessing that it was a sign of Kalathan's thinking contaminating her own, but she still wasn't sure how she could tell them, or how to convince them that the dream truly was prophetic.
Vho was also still possessed with the cold fear of losing herself in someone else's mind, unable to be an individual any longer. However, try as she might, she could think of no way in which to stop it, and she could not detect any insidious tendrils of alien thought sneaking into her mind.
"Vho," Silverfox was now riding beside her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had not even noticed him dropping back. "I wanted to ask you something; does this mage, Kalathan, have any mind magic?"
"Why do you ask?" she enquired. Was that her own caution and suspicion, or Kalathan's? She had to break this doubt circle somehow, but she couldn't . . .
"I'm still wondering how, why, he left the Empire and came here. It would also be nice to know what we'll be facing."
"He has no mind magic at all." Vho pushed the words past her own reluctance. "He - doesn't like mind magic. But he is Adept class - more than, really."
Silverfox nodded gravely. "Also - you said something, last night, about sending assassins to kill the Queen, for this conspiracy."
"Yes," Vho said. "Elspeth mentioned that there had been assassins, but they stopped them. Kalathan realised that there were too many powerful mages around the Queen. They had hoped to make them wear out against the shields, or lure them away, and kill them, and then kill the Queen."
Silverfox seemed slightly anxious. "And we've just been lured off." He murmured, shaking his head. "Oh well, at least there are still other mages looking after the Queen."
*
Kalathan stared at himself in the obsidian mirror that was one of the few relics of his homeland. He examined his reflection minutely, and whispered the tiny spell to keep his eyes and hair their natural, matte black colour. He would wear his strange colouring like the badge of pride and individuality it truly was, rather than let himself bleach to a 'normal' appearance.
He was, in appearance, even more outlandish than Vho, for his skin was a shining onyx, and his teeth and the whites of his eyes were the only other colour on his face. His hair was tightly curled, forming a close cap over his head. His square chin jutted forward stubbornly, and his face was all planes and angles rather than soft curves.
In spite of their similar origins, Vho and Kalathan were not very similar in appearance; Her eyes were not the same disquieting black, but were rather a very dark brown. Her skin, too, was lighter, a soft brown rather than a gleaming black. Her face was oval, without Kalathan's high cheekbones that made his face look like an unfinished carving. Only their hair was very similar; Vho's hair surrounded her face in a wild tangle of curls that fell to her shoulders, customarily tamed into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
A surge of anger filled Kalathan as he, in spite of himself, compared his own visage to Vho's. How had that witch done what she had done? Why could he not stop thinking about her. He could not even concentrate on his God-sent mission.
When that thought struck him, Kalathan realised the truth. This was a test, sent to him by the Gods to see how devoted he was to their quest. He must reassure them of his unswerving devotion to this cause, and all would be as normal. This girl Vho - where had he learnt her name? Had the Gods given it to him? - was their vessel, however unwitting, just as he himself was.
Having worked that out, Kalathan knelt on the floor of his cavern and began to call upon the Gods.
*
Edern's smooth canter was vaguely hypnotic, and since it was the norm for a largely untrained rider on a dangerous mission to be belted into the saddle, Vho hardly needed to concentrate on holding on. She found herself dozing, and did not resist what she would normally consider to be irresponsible behaviour.
She leaned forward in the saddle, tightly wrapping herself in her cloak; even in the late Valdemaran spring, someone acclimatized to the much hotter Empire required a cloak to feel comfortable. Than the smoothly rocking motion of Edern's canter lulled her to sleep.
*
Vho felt warm and very safe, even though she knew she should be terrified by the fact that she was no where near any of her friends. For some reason they seemed unimportant.
With an unnatural, dreamy lassitude, Vho looked around. She was in the cavern again. It was part natural, but in places the walls were polished smooth by magic. In places thick rugs covered the smooth rock floor, and a pile of luxuriant silk cushions lay in one corner.
The cavern was oddly square, and there were two openings - too regular to be fully natural - in adjacent walls. Both were covered with silk curtains, of a blood red silk, and both the curtains were pulled across. However, the cave was well lit, by amber coloured mage lights that also warmed the room to a high temperature.
One corner of the square cave, between the two walls with openings had an artificial fountain which trickled into a largish pond on the cave floor. Opposite this was the corner piled with cushions. In another corner was a shelving unit and a cupboard. Vho drifted over, and incuriously examined the objects on the shelf. There was an obsidian mirror and a silver bowl inlaid with designs of gold wire.
Vho turned to face the last corner. It held a small but elaborate shrine to the Gods, like those found in noble homes. Temples, or course, held much larger versions, but like the obsidian mirror, the shrine was so familiar as to make her heart ache with homesickness.
The person kneeling before it, however, was unknown to Vho, and she moved closer to see his face. She walked across the 'room', ignoring the beautifully carved table that blocked her path. It seemed oddly unsurprising to Vho that she could walk straight through it.
The man carried on the theme of red that dominated the room in his rich silk robe, heavily embroidered in gold. He was not handsome, even by Vho's Empiric standards, and she wondered why so powerful a mage would have kept an imperfect form.
His face did have a great deal of character, though; stubbornness in the strong chin, a great deal of determination. And in spite of never having seen him before, Vho knew him.
"Kalathan." She stated calmly. He did not look up from his prayer. Vho wondered if he could not hear her, or was merely ignoring her. She did not bother to speak again, but waited for him to fall into the meditative trance cultivated by worshippers. When he did so his body stilled completely, and the murmuring quieted.
After a moment, Kalathan stood up, leaving his body still knelt on the floor.
"Vho." He identified her, looking much calmer than she would have expected. "Are you here to test me?"
"Why should I be?" Bafflement seemed to be beyond her in this out of body state, so Vho asked with curiosity rather than confusion.
"You are the vessel of the Gods." Kalathan said confidently. "They are testing my devotion to them."
Suddenly Vho realised that Kalathan was much younger than they had all thought. Previously when Vho had seen his thoughts, he had been harsh and cruel, but here all illusions were gone, all the defences and barriers they all entered into their own minds slipped away, taking with them all emotions, and leaving only intellect.
"Why did you destroy those villages?" Vho asked.
"They are blasphemers, they worship those monstrous demons. Their deaths purified them. The power of their wasted lives will be returned to the Gods." There was doubt in his voice and mind, but Vho had a vague understanding of what he meant.
"Do the Gods answer when you pray?" Vho asked gently. "Did they tell you to follow this course? Did they say you should kill the ignorant along with the true blasphemers?"
Kalathan looked confused. "They speak in my heart; they tell me what is right. And - ignorance is not innocence."
"But it is not guilt. They did nothing, yet you kill them."
"Their power goes to the Gods! They serve in their death!"
"How does their power go to the Gods? Do you give it to them? No, the power goes to you, Kalathan. You do not have that right." Kalathan was silent, so Vho continued. "Is the Lord Javer a God?"
"No." The denial was immediate.
"Then why do you follow his bidding?"
"I follow the Gods! They wish this land cleaned of blasphemers! Lord Javer is a means to this end! And I will keep this land worshipping the Gods, cleansed of blasphemers!"
"Why did you leave your mage training in the Empire?" Vho asked curiously.
"I was given my mission; to destroy blasphemers and demons. I left to do holy work. I travelled the lands of Velgarth, until I came to this place. And then I saw my destiny; to rescue this land and turn it back to the path of the Gods!"
"Why do you hate blasphemers with such a passion?" Vho asked clinically. She noticed that Kalathan was able to muster far more emotion than she was. His mouth snapped shut. "I command you to speak!" She continued imperially.
"It was blasphemers, evil ones, rogue bandits of the Empire who killed my family." Kalathan said. "None survived their slaughter, and no blasphemer will survive mine!"
"And so you become what you most hate." Vho said sadly. "Murderer, destroyer of families. How many children have you killed, Kalathan?"
"But the Gods - the Gods - " Kalathan's mouth worked but no sound came out. His figure began to fade away.
Vho watched as the projection of Kalathan disappeared. She watched aimlessly as his body reanimated and began to shake.
She felt a pull at the back of her mind and followed slowly. How would she explain this to the others?
* * * * *
Yeah, sorry about the slow-movingness. It's just easier to make one point at a time.
*
Vho didn't know whether she should tell anyone, even Edern, about the strange dreams she had experienced the previous night. She had managed to suppress her irrational paranoia and suspicion, guessing that it was a sign of Kalathan's thinking contaminating her own, but she still wasn't sure how she could tell them, or how to convince them that the dream truly was prophetic.
Vho was also still possessed with the cold fear of losing herself in someone else's mind, unable to be an individual any longer. However, try as she might, she could think of no way in which to stop it, and she could not detect any insidious tendrils of alien thought sneaking into her mind.
"Vho," Silverfox was now riding beside her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had not even noticed him dropping back. "I wanted to ask you something; does this mage, Kalathan, have any mind magic?"
"Why do you ask?" she enquired. Was that her own caution and suspicion, or Kalathan's? She had to break this doubt circle somehow, but she couldn't . . .
"I'm still wondering how, why, he left the Empire and came here. It would also be nice to know what we'll be facing."
"He has no mind magic at all." Vho pushed the words past her own reluctance. "He - doesn't like mind magic. But he is Adept class - more than, really."
Silverfox nodded gravely. "Also - you said something, last night, about sending assassins to kill the Queen, for this conspiracy."
"Yes," Vho said. "Elspeth mentioned that there had been assassins, but they stopped them. Kalathan realised that there were too many powerful mages around the Queen. They had hoped to make them wear out against the shields, or lure them away, and kill them, and then kill the Queen."
Silverfox seemed slightly anxious. "And we've just been lured off." He murmured, shaking his head. "Oh well, at least there are still other mages looking after the Queen."
*
Kalathan stared at himself in the obsidian mirror that was one of the few relics of his homeland. He examined his reflection minutely, and whispered the tiny spell to keep his eyes and hair their natural, matte black colour. He would wear his strange colouring like the badge of pride and individuality it truly was, rather than let himself bleach to a 'normal' appearance.
He was, in appearance, even more outlandish than Vho, for his skin was a shining onyx, and his teeth and the whites of his eyes were the only other colour on his face. His hair was tightly curled, forming a close cap over his head. His square chin jutted forward stubbornly, and his face was all planes and angles rather than soft curves.
In spite of their similar origins, Vho and Kalathan were not very similar in appearance; Her eyes were not the same disquieting black, but were rather a very dark brown. Her skin, too, was lighter, a soft brown rather than a gleaming black. Her face was oval, without Kalathan's high cheekbones that made his face look like an unfinished carving. Only their hair was very similar; Vho's hair surrounded her face in a wild tangle of curls that fell to her shoulders, customarily tamed into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
A surge of anger filled Kalathan as he, in spite of himself, compared his own visage to Vho's. How had that witch done what she had done? Why could he not stop thinking about her. He could not even concentrate on his God-sent mission.
When that thought struck him, Kalathan realised the truth. This was a test, sent to him by the Gods to see how devoted he was to their quest. He must reassure them of his unswerving devotion to this cause, and all would be as normal. This girl Vho - where had he learnt her name? Had the Gods given it to him? - was their vessel, however unwitting, just as he himself was.
Having worked that out, Kalathan knelt on the floor of his cavern and began to call upon the Gods.
*
Edern's smooth canter was vaguely hypnotic, and since it was the norm for a largely untrained rider on a dangerous mission to be belted into the saddle, Vho hardly needed to concentrate on holding on. She found herself dozing, and did not resist what she would normally consider to be irresponsible behaviour.
She leaned forward in the saddle, tightly wrapping herself in her cloak; even in the late Valdemaran spring, someone acclimatized to the much hotter Empire required a cloak to feel comfortable. Than the smoothly rocking motion of Edern's canter lulled her to sleep.
*
Vho felt warm and very safe, even though she knew she should be terrified by the fact that she was no where near any of her friends. For some reason they seemed unimportant.
With an unnatural, dreamy lassitude, Vho looked around. She was in the cavern again. It was part natural, but in places the walls were polished smooth by magic. In places thick rugs covered the smooth rock floor, and a pile of luxuriant silk cushions lay in one corner.
The cavern was oddly square, and there were two openings - too regular to be fully natural - in adjacent walls. Both were covered with silk curtains, of a blood red silk, and both the curtains were pulled across. However, the cave was well lit, by amber coloured mage lights that also warmed the room to a high temperature.
One corner of the square cave, between the two walls with openings had an artificial fountain which trickled into a largish pond on the cave floor. Opposite this was the corner piled with cushions. In another corner was a shelving unit and a cupboard. Vho drifted over, and incuriously examined the objects on the shelf. There was an obsidian mirror and a silver bowl inlaid with designs of gold wire.
Vho turned to face the last corner. It held a small but elaborate shrine to the Gods, like those found in noble homes. Temples, or course, held much larger versions, but like the obsidian mirror, the shrine was so familiar as to make her heart ache with homesickness.
The person kneeling before it, however, was unknown to Vho, and she moved closer to see his face. She walked across the 'room', ignoring the beautifully carved table that blocked her path. It seemed oddly unsurprising to Vho that she could walk straight through it.
The man carried on the theme of red that dominated the room in his rich silk robe, heavily embroidered in gold. He was not handsome, even by Vho's Empiric standards, and she wondered why so powerful a mage would have kept an imperfect form.
His face did have a great deal of character, though; stubbornness in the strong chin, a great deal of determination. And in spite of never having seen him before, Vho knew him.
"Kalathan." She stated calmly. He did not look up from his prayer. Vho wondered if he could not hear her, or was merely ignoring her. She did not bother to speak again, but waited for him to fall into the meditative trance cultivated by worshippers. When he did so his body stilled completely, and the murmuring quieted.
After a moment, Kalathan stood up, leaving his body still knelt on the floor.
"Vho." He identified her, looking much calmer than she would have expected. "Are you here to test me?"
"Why should I be?" Bafflement seemed to be beyond her in this out of body state, so Vho asked with curiosity rather than confusion.
"You are the vessel of the Gods." Kalathan said confidently. "They are testing my devotion to them."
Suddenly Vho realised that Kalathan was much younger than they had all thought. Previously when Vho had seen his thoughts, he had been harsh and cruel, but here all illusions were gone, all the defences and barriers they all entered into their own minds slipped away, taking with them all emotions, and leaving only intellect.
"Why did you destroy those villages?" Vho asked.
"They are blasphemers, they worship those monstrous demons. Their deaths purified them. The power of their wasted lives will be returned to the Gods." There was doubt in his voice and mind, but Vho had a vague understanding of what he meant.
"Do the Gods answer when you pray?" Vho asked gently. "Did they tell you to follow this course? Did they say you should kill the ignorant along with the true blasphemers?"
Kalathan looked confused. "They speak in my heart; they tell me what is right. And - ignorance is not innocence."
"But it is not guilt. They did nothing, yet you kill them."
"Their power goes to the Gods! They serve in their death!"
"How does their power go to the Gods? Do you give it to them? No, the power goes to you, Kalathan. You do not have that right." Kalathan was silent, so Vho continued. "Is the Lord Javer a God?"
"No." The denial was immediate.
"Then why do you follow his bidding?"
"I follow the Gods! They wish this land cleaned of blasphemers! Lord Javer is a means to this end! And I will keep this land worshipping the Gods, cleansed of blasphemers!"
"Why did you leave your mage training in the Empire?" Vho asked curiously.
"I was given my mission; to destroy blasphemers and demons. I left to do holy work. I travelled the lands of Velgarth, until I came to this place. And then I saw my destiny; to rescue this land and turn it back to the path of the Gods!"
"Why do you hate blasphemers with such a passion?" Vho asked clinically. She noticed that Kalathan was able to muster far more emotion than she was. His mouth snapped shut. "I command you to speak!" She continued imperially.
"It was blasphemers, evil ones, rogue bandits of the Empire who killed my family." Kalathan said. "None survived their slaughter, and no blasphemer will survive mine!"
"And so you become what you most hate." Vho said sadly. "Murderer, destroyer of families. How many children have you killed, Kalathan?"
"But the Gods - the Gods - " Kalathan's mouth worked but no sound came out. His figure began to fade away.
Vho watched as the projection of Kalathan disappeared. She watched aimlessly as his body reanimated and began to shake.
She felt a pull at the back of her mind and followed slowly. How would she explain this to the others?
* * * * *
Yeah, sorry about the slow-movingness. It's just easier to make one point at a time.