Destiny (3 page)

“If that’s so, then why didn’t they ever tell me anything? Why didn’t they tell anybody?”

“Because I asked them not to. It was the one condition I made when I left you with them. I made them swear they’d never reveal your origin. They gave me their word as Norriel. And they kept it.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“Because your life was in great danger. The best way to save you was to keep your origin and whereabouts a secret. Nobody was to know where you were or else you’d die; there was a latent risk we couldn’t ignore. And Mirta and Ulis kept their word, and with it they saved your life. For the next eighteen years you were in no danger, since nobody knew where you were hidden. I visited your parents secretly on several occasions, making sure it was a time when you were not there. Their happiness at having you could not have been greater. Your parents were very proud of you, Komir, and they loved you more than their own lives. I know because they told me so. That you must know.”

Komir’s eyes moistened.

“If you knew I was in danger, if you brought me to my parents fleeing from danger, then you know who was after me. Not only that, you know who was trying to kill me, and so you know who killed my parents. Who, Haradin?”

The Mage bowed his head.

“I don’t have the answer you want, Komir.”

“Yes you do, Haradin, I know you do! Tell me!” Komir insisted.

“I never succeeded in finding out who wanted you dead. What I can tell you is that the assassins I fought were from somewhere very distant, from another continent, if my guess is correct. Hence I guess that their master, the one who ordered your death, must also have been. The assassins I defeated to save your life had slanted eyes. They belong to no known race of Tremia, and that I can tell you for sure as I’ve traveled the whole continent in my expeditions. And although there are many little-known and mysterious regions in this great territory, I never saw men with slanted eyes. That’s why I’ve always believed the threat comes from somewhere very distant. Nevertheless, my Keep… my contacts… informed me that the attack you suffered recently and the death of your parents came at the hands of men of that race, warriors with slanted eyes dressed in white tiger-skins. In some way I can’t guess, they managed to find your trail after so many years, and came back to finish what they’d left undone. Someone very powerful wants your death and has spent all these years looking for you to kill you.”

“Who!” Komir insisted again. His intense emerald green eyes fixed on Haradin’s serene grey ones.

“I don’t know, Komir. If I knew, I’d tell you. I gain nothing by hiding it from you. I too wish for justice for Mirta and Ulis, not only you. That’s why I’m offering you my help. Together we might find who it is that wants you dead, and stop him.” Haradin tried to persuade Komir of his sincerity, since what he was saying was the truth even though probably the young man would never believe him.

Komir frowned and narrowed his eyes.

“Why do they want me dead?”

Haradin took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Komir, I don’t know that either. You’ll have to believe me. ‘Who’ and ‘why’ go hand in hand. If we discover one, we’ll find the other. Someone sees you as their enemy and wants to kill you at all costs. I don’t know the reason, but it must be a very powerful one.”

Haradin considered telling the young man all he knew of his destiny, but in the end he rejected the idea. There was too much at stake, thousands of lives were in danger, not just the three kingdoms at war but all the lives on the face of Tremia. He could not trust the young man with that secret; he was not ready for it. It was too risky. No, he would not tell him, at least not yet.

“Do you really want me to believe you don’t know anything about who wants to kill me and why, when you’re the one who saved me?”

“It’s not up to me whether you believe my words or not, but they are sincere,” said Haradin. “The fact that I saved you was a mere coincidence.” He pointed at Komir’s chest. “Perhaps the reason is the Ilenian medallion.”

“If it was because of the medallion they’d also be looking to kill Aliana, Asti and the other two bearers. But they’ve only come for me. Why, Haradin? Why me?”

“That, young Norriel, whether you believe it or not, I don’t know. But I’m convinced that it’s of supreme importance. What I do know, and I think you do too, Komir, is that you’re a Chosen, with a profoundly important destiny. And that destiny might be the cause of your pain and sorrow. In some way I also think it’s linked to that Ilenian medallion which hangs at your neck. It can’t be a coincidence. In fact, I’m convinced it isn’t.”

“And if it is?”

“That’s what we must find out, before it’s too late: not only for you, but for all Tremia.”

Isuzeni smiled as he gazed at the spectacle of death and destruction which extended across the rolling plain. From the top of the hill, accompanied by two of his acolytes and surrounded by the hundred Moyuki who protected him, he admired the power of his Mistress’s army. Thousands of enemies lay dead on the plain, countless rivulets of warm blood came down from mounds of bodies, feeding a red river of death.

The weak in spirit looked away, since the spectacle upset their stomachs. So much blood had been shed that day that the mud was the color of wine. Huge black-feathered, white-necked vultures hovered in circles above the human remains, in hope of a banquet such as they had not enjoyed in those lands for a long time.

“The city is ours, my Lord,” General Kowasi said, bowing deeply before the High Priest.

Isuzeni looked at the general of the first army, three of whose captains were accompanying him. They all wore the same full layered armor, black as night, with on their chests the white breastplate with a red triangle: the emblem of the first army.

“Call back your troops and send in the Moyuki, they can finish off anybody still breathing. I don’t want prisoners, we mustn’t show any pity towards the enemies of the Empress.”

“So it shall be done, my Lord,” General Kowasi said, bowing. He turned and went away down towards the river.

Isuzeni looked at the conquered city below. It burned with the great flames of war. The cloak of corpses which stretched before it was nothing but the prelude to the desolation which had come to this kingdom.

Erenalia, capital of the proud, and until a few days ago flourishing, Kingdom of Erenal.

How foolish her king had been not to surrender the city and kingdom to the power of the Dark Lady. Dasleo would pay very dearly for his folly.

“General of the second army,” Isuzeni called, with his eyes fixed on the black smoke from the high part of the city which was rising to the evening sky.

General Orasi presented himself and awaited his orders with a deep bow. “Here, my Lord.”

Isuzeni looked at the blue breastplate with the red triangle, emblem of the second army.

“This fire mustn’t reach the Great Library of Bintantium. The knowledge amassed there is immense. A treasure rivaled by very few, and one I’ve had my eyes on for a long time. I want it for myself, General. Have your men make sure of it. If the Library or its contents suffer any damage, you’ll be impaled alive above the wall.”

“The Great Library will remain intact, my Lord,” the General said, his back rigid, and left at speed.

“Narmos, come here,” Isuzeni called his acolyte.

“I am here, Master. How may I serve you?”

“The Master Archivists of the Order of Knowledge, what’s become of them?”

“Some have perished, my Lord. But most have fled and taken refuge in the Thousand Lakes.”

“I’m not pleased to hear that, although of course it was to be expected. Those scholars are as valuable as the knowledge stored in the Great Library. I want to gather them all together, their minds, their knowledge, and put them to my service. Knowledge is the seed of success in life, learning the most precious good. Whoever possesses those things will be capable of dominating kingdoms. Find them and bring them to me.”

Narmos nodded.

“Cenem has gone after them, Master; he’s sure to bring them back. He took a party of Moyuki with him.”

“That might be so, but I’m not so sure he’ll manage. The Thousand Lakes are a labyrinth where it’s all too easy to get lost, and the scholars will have prepared a clear escape plan. I need my maps. Go get them.”

While Narmos obeyed his orders, Isuzeni gazed out to the west. Great forests lined the horizon, and his mind was caught at once by the vision of the first masses of blue of the eternal lakes. The Thousand Lakes… That wonder of Nature represented a logistical problem for the Dark Lady’s armies, and he had to find a solution as soon as possible. Yuzumi, Supreme Empress, would not tolerate any delay. They had to move west, towards Rogdon, now. Isuzeni had to find a pass through that maze of forests and lakes. It had to be a pass wide enough for the black army to cross and reach Usik territory, on the edge of the endless forests. That presented another problem to solve: the wild men of jade and their unfathomable forests…

Let’s face each problem separately, step by step, without fear or hesitation, using that gift the gods have blessed us with: intelligence, together with the patience of the one who knows how to wait to gather the fruits of the seed he planted,
he said to himself to strengthen his resolve.

The great game was entering its most crucial phase. Before the moves might have been critical, but now every act was vital.

I will leave nothing to chance; she’s a bad traveling companion and might turn treacherous. The man who wishes to succeed in the art of war, as in any other aspect of life, must plan every step, leaving nothing to the capricious fates.

Remembering this maxim, he relaxed. Everything was going according to the meticulously-worked-out plan. Progress was good; his strategy was working.

“The maps, my Lord,” Narmos said, his arms loaded with half a dozen great rolls of parchment tied with leather strips.

Isuzeni gave them a cursory glance. He knew them in detail, he had them tattooed in his mind, he had studied them thousands of times. He could recognize them without needing to unroll them: a whitish one for the North, a yellowish one for the South, two greenish ones for the West and another two bluish ones for the East. He had spent countless hours studying those maps, planning the moves of the great game which had now led them to that moment and place in time. He selected the second of the maps of the East and opened it before his eyes. He stared at the Thousand Lakes represented on it, with the craggy forests and wooded hills which surrounded them.

“When will the scouts I sent out return?”

“It would take normal men several days to come back, but since they’re White Tigers… they’ll be here by nightfall.”

“Right, that’s good to know. I need to be sure the path I’ve traced out is perfectly viable. In any case, I’ll send a thousand men to secure the route. Foolish is the man who doesn’t foresee the next move and make sure of it. Let them be men of the third army. I trust General Yasomori.”

“At your command, my Lord.”

The rhythmic sound of drums thundering in the distance made the High Priest and his acolyte turn and look east. Isuzeni’s heart took delight in the advance of the Empress’s troops. Yuzumi was arriving at the head of three of her seven armies, and like an unstoppable swarm, thousands of black ants completely covered the green hills and made their way down towards the river. The black tide covered all, tinged with red from the standards and banners. Spellbound, Isuzeni contemplated the power of his Mistress, secretly coveting that power for himself —a wish which could never be revealed, one the mere thought of which put him at risk of losing his head. It was his impression that the black tide was devouring everything in its path, and as Isuzeni knew well, that was indeed the case.

A little before nightfall they reached Isuzeni’s war camp. In the midst of the great black tide, he identified his Empress. She was borne on the shoulders of the fifty strongest men of Toyomi, in a magnificent golden palanquin. This was so big that it had room for a dozen slave-girls who attended to each and every one of the Empress’s needs. A regiment of a thousand Moyuki surrounded their mistress, advancing in close formation. They wore their dress-armor, black as night, polished like ceremonial steel. Fearful masks covered their faces, and fixed on their backs they carried banners which rose six feet high and fluttered in the wind, red as the death they presaged.

The three armies camped east of the river. With the unequaled efficiency of an experienced, perfectly trained army, the war camps were set up with martial order and in no time: the Fifth army to the northeast, the Sixth to the southeast and the Seventh closing off the rear. Hundreds of small fires were lit a moment before the coming of twilight. Isuzeni walked across to Yuzumi’s tent, made of canvas as black as her soul, embroidered in red like the blood of those who got in her way. When he arrived he gazed back at the high part of the city, which was still burning. In the light of the flames he could make out the Moyuki finishing off the last survivors. He walked in to see his Empress.

He found her standing in the middle of the tent, surrounded by a dozen fearsome bodyguards. The light of the oil lamps bathed her in a golden gleam, underlying her unequaled beauty, a beauty as lethal as death itself. She wore her sensual, close-fitting body armor, it was like a second skin, one of curved steel. But what most impressed the experienced High Priest once again was that arresting gleam in his Mistress’ jet-black eyes, which could only mean one thing: blood and power.

“Isuzeni, bring him to me,” the Dark Lady ordered in her firm, velvet voice.

“Yes, my Lady,” the High Priest replied. He snapped his fingers towards the entrance of the tent.

A few moments later Narmos entered, carrying his conjuring axe in one hand and the skull of necromancy in the other. He was followed by two enormous Moyuki, between them dragging the semi-conscious King: Dasleo of Erenal.

“So this is the great King Dasleo, patron of the arts, great benefactor of the Order of Knowledge. Wake him up!” ordered the Dark Lady.

One of the Moyuki grabbed a pail of water from one of the servants and emptied it over the King. Dasleo came to his senses amid moans of pain. The two Moyuki raised him by his arms and the King remained hanging like a puppet. Isuzeni stared at him. This was a broken man, both in body and in spirit.

“Did you ever believe, insignificant worm, that you could stand before me? Me?” the Empress accused him. The fury in her voice was unmistakable.

King Dasleo tried to speak.

“I… I had… no choice…”

“How do you dare say such a thing? Did my heralds not deliver my proposal?”

“I couldn’t… surrender the city… you’d have killed us all…”

“You’ll never know that, you miserable little king of the mid-east. What I do want you to know before I finish with you is that by refusing you’ve condemned all your people, all your kin, to die. Your city is burning, there’s nobody left alive from your royal household, and your kingdom is nothing more than a memory.”

“No… no… my family…” stammered the king between sobs.

“Yes, I killed them all, your wife and your two sons, and let me assure you, they suffered. That’s the price to pay for those who dare to oppose me. You’ve delayed me four weeks, and time is something I don’t have now. For that I’ll make you pay for your impertinence in true agony. Nobody opposes my designs! Nobody!”

The Dark Lady drew her red steel sword and taking a step toward Dasleo, made a sweeping stroke. Isuzeni watched the defeated king’s face. His eyes opened in a mixture of surprise and pain, his stomach split open and the man’s entrails spilled out onto the floor.

“Pick them up and show them to him!” ordered the Dark Lady.

The Moyuki did so.

“Look upon them, proud King, they’re the last thing you’ll ever see.”

Dasleo, his face distorted, looked at his guts and died amid convulsions, trying to mutter something unintelligible.

“Take him away from my presence,” the Empress said disdainfully.

Isuzeni watched the proud King of Erenal being carried out. In fact, he had stood up to the Empress’s troops and done it extraordinarily well. Undoubtedly he was a master of strategy, with a truly sublime knowledge of the art of war. But alas for him, the armies under Isuzeni outnumbered his by five to one, and the arcane arts of his acolytes had helped to sway the fight. Even so, Dasleo had caused great losses, and what was even worse, had delayed the advance of the main section of the army. This had infuriated the Dark Lady.

“And the other false monarch?” demanded the Empress.

Isuzeni glanced at Narmos and nodded. His acolyte left the tent, to return a moment later, followed by a Moyuki carrying something covered with a cloth in his hands. Isuzeni stepped toward the Moyuki and pulled aside the cloth, revealing the head of Caron, King of Zangria.

“Just as you requested, my Lady: the head of the King of the Zangrians on a silver platter.”

“Hah!” Yuzumi exclaimed, in what Isuzeni took to be laughter. “You’ve made my day, High Priest. I didn’t expect you to carry out my wishes so literally.”

“I live to please you, my Lady.”

“And today you have indeed pleased me. That fiend had the audacity to kill my heralds. I hope there’s nothing left standing in his capital.”

“We burnt everything to the ground. It will still burn for days, and only ashes and rubble will still be there to be remembered.”

“And the royal family?”

“Put to the sword.”

“All of them?”

“All, without exception. As you commanded, my Lady.”

“Ah! How much the news you bring pleases me. And tell me, you who are a master strategist and know the art of war better than anyone else, how is it that two kings of the mid-east, regents of prosperous and sovereign nations, didn’t unite to fight my armies?”