The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (28 page)

"Phyros? Is that not what the ancients of Ageos once called Danir, the First Father?" Thorgis nodded. "Well, of course I know of Danir, but not of any order created in his name."

"My father was a paladin of the Order of Phyros. So he revealed to me on the day I became a man. That sword was created by Phyros, or Danir if it pleases you, and given to his chosen guards, his paladins. I wish I knew more of what the duties of the Order were. At the time, I struggled to believe what my father told me. It wasn't until the war of the trolls with Avadur that I saw what my father truly was. By that time, of course, it was too late to go back and pay attention, and I was too humiliated to ask again."

Syrus's mind raced back over the legends and mysteries he had accumulated over his lifetime. Nothing about an order of paladins came to him. Yet it somehow felt familiar. "For Danir to award a sword to his chosen, that would have had to happen in another age of the world. Are you saying your father was that old?"

"No, the swords were given to the paladins who had the blessings of Danir upon them. As they aged and died, or were killed in battle, they passed their swords onto the next paladin of their choosing. In time, fathers groomed sons to accept the weapons and the roles."

"What were these paladins doing? What did Danir need an order for?"

"I don't know. They protected the world from the return of something. Maybe demons?" Thorgis patted the sword at his side. "This weapon has now twice killed demons and slew Amator as well. Perhaps that is was it is made for."

The fish simmered and popped, and despite all the thoughts flooding Syrus's mind, the smell of cooking food was top among them. His mouth flooded and his stomach rumbled. He watched as Thorgis flipped the skewers. The fish would be ready to eat in a moment.

Syrus broke the silence. "So there should be other paladins and other swords."

"There are no other paladins, at least as far as I know. My father said their numbers had dwindled down the centuries and that if any survived they would be scattered across the world. Only Phyros could draw them together again, and the god had abandoned his people. We were the last of the Order in the north, and had been for many centuries. He feared whatever the Order opposed would return if the gods looked away from the world. I guess he was right. For now he is dead."

"Your father wanted you to inherit his sword and replace him as a paladin. But why did he send you away with it? It seemed he could've used the sword to save himself."

Thorgis shrugged. "It was his way of forcing me to become what he wanted."

"It can't be. Your father was protecting you from what happened to him. That has to be the reason. He would not let himself be killed along with his whole family just to make you accept his wishes."

"You don't know my father."

"And you don't know your own arrogance." Syrus stood, forgetting his hunger. "You insult your father's memory and turn the deaths of your mother and sisters into nothing better than tools used to make a point to you. Your father sacrificed his life to keep you alive, and you can't even be bothered to understand why. Excuse me, but you eat tonight's catch. I have no appetite."

He returned to his books, his face hot and heart pounding. Thorgis had not followed him, but remained hidden beneath the stairwell. Everything was different now, if the High King was truly dead. He kept thinking of what Grimwold had told him. Had it been Grimwold?
Find the way out and bring the answers with you. We are depending on you.

With Eldegris dead, who was depending upon him? Who else knew why he had been dispatched here? What purpose was there to Eldegris's sacrifice? Thorgis was a coward and a fool. Had his High King been wrong?

The questions crowded his thoughts as he turned in a slow circle around the books and scrolls. He watched the ancient parchments circle his vision as he turned.

Then the words popped out at him. He knelt over a thin, oversized tome. Bound in what seemed to be leather, the book's large pages were dense with neatly written runes. He glided his finger halfway down the page and whispered what he read.

"A Treatise on the Great Enemy of Urdis: The Order of Phyros." Syrus smiled and carefully turned the pages. The parchment was still flexible, but it could crack if mishandled. The author went on at length, over several pages, on the Order. Looking at the book laid out next to this one, he saw a clear representation of Thorgis's sword drawn on the open page. The runes were listed to the side of it, each with a careful exposition of the meanings.

"How did I miss these?" he asked himself. He had laid out the most promising books, but something like this should have caught his eye. Perhaps fatigue and hunger had unfocused his mind. His heart now pounded with the excitement of discovery. Whatever anger he had felt vanished. These books contained what he needed to know. Perhaps Eldegris had sent him to find more information on the Order. If their numbers had dwindled and he feared a return of an enemy, then it made sense for him to try to learn if other paladins still existed.

His mind was buzzing with thoughts, but he did not miss the sound from high above.

Stone on stone as something heavy glided aside.

Voices.

Their hushed words bounced down to the bottom, almost as clear as if Syrus was standing beside them. The words were foreign and sibilant, but he understood the gist of what they meant. The language of the Tsal was not so different from his own.

"At last, my brothers, we have found our heritage."

They made no attempts to mask their arrival. The Tsal, still unseen, cried out in joy.

The noise brought Thorgis out from beneath the steps. Before Syrus could stop him, Thorgis asked, "What is it?"

His voice traveled up into the blue lights dotting the darkness. The rejoicing Tsal fell into sharp silence. Then he heard one hiss.

"They are still here. At the bottom. Kill them!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

None of Grimwold's strength availed against the grip of the tentacle dangling him over the swirling mass of black smoke. Other misty black tentacles swayed lazily as if trying to grab some invisible target from the air. The yellow eye at the center of it seemed to drill into his thoughts, easing him into a discordant relaxation. He did not want to fight. He wanted to let go.

The world around him lacked color, like once-brilliant clothes that had been left under the sun for the summer. The skeletons of ruined buildings surrounded him as he hung over the mass. The place had been raided and the villagers dragged off to some horrid fate. Their village was a ruins now, and this massive thing dominated the center of it. He looked around for help, but could find none.

The eye did not want him to call for help. He just had to stop struggling. He would be fine.

The gibbering voices rose again, this time louder, filling his mind. They told him to join them. They were all waiting. Imagine the rejoicing at joining a new family? This is what he really wanted. Only this. The unblinking yellow eye filled his vision.

It drew closer. The tentacle was lowering him toward it. A chill crept into his body that forced his limbs to stiffen. His feet dangled over the mass as the howling of the voices filled his head.

Then fire exploded across his vision.

The world fled, leaving nothing but a bright light so glaring that Grimwold recoiled. The voices were drowned out by what seemed like an endless roll of distant thunder. The chill was now replaced with a heat that would have brought sweat to his brow had he a true body. The black tentacle still entwined him, but it had stopped moving. Everything had stopped moving. The world was fire and light, and the yellow eye of the black mass imprisoning him was barely discernible from the glare bathing everything.

Grimwold could not move his head but a small, shadowed form entered his field of vision. He could not make out the details until it had drawn closer. It was the boy whose village had been destroyed and who had been trapped in this strange place where Grimwold existed. The boy's sandy hair fell across his face, but still could not conceal his pronounced brow or diminish the piercing blue of his eyes. He looked up at Grimwold and smiled.

"You would battle this creature for me?" The voice was not the boy's, or at least it did not come from him. It was a deep voice, equal to the distant rolling thunder and more like the voice of the fire that blazed so brightly nothing could be seen.

Grimwold found he could not answer. His tongue was fat and stuck to the roof of his mouth. The hateful eye of the black mass glared up at him, equally frozen. The voice waited for an answer, then, as if realizing what had happened, the voice grumbled again.

"Be free a moment."

Grimwold slipped from the tentacle's grip and landed gently on--light? He stood in a vast nothingness surrounded by fiery brilliance. The boy's form was before him now, a silhouette against the flames. The twisted mass of black mist remained as well, but now its yellow eye glared up at an empty space where Grimwold had been held.

"That is better," the voice grumbled from all around, though Grimwold instinctively looked to the boy as the source. "Now, I ask again if you would battle this creature for me?"

Grimwold rubbed his arms where the tentacles had pinned him, feeling solid flesh that welcomed the massage. "Well, I have given you my word. A man who can't keep his word is no man at all. Though I hadn't expected anything like this."

"Why did you agree to help me?" The boy stood still in shadow, not appearing to move even though Grimwold knew he was speaking.

"You seemed desperate for help."

"But your own body lay only an arm's distance from you. Why not return to your own concerns and your own friends?"

Grimwold had to pause. The boy had a point, and he had the same question of himself. Running to the aid of a stranger when he had so much else to worry him made no sense. He had acted on impulse.

"You didn't seem strong enough to do what you must without my help. I wanted to help you."

"To your own cost? Was it worth it?"

"I have not helped you much. In fact, I think it is you who is helping me. That thing had wrapped me and gods only know what it was about to do."

The thunderous voice chuckled, then spoke again. "You have given much of yourself to aid others. Why?"

"I would not say that is true." Grimwold's memories flashed back to his youth. He was the man who made Aros the Conqueror a legendary terror of the coasts. Villages had burned and enemies had fallen on their swords all at the command of Grimwold's power. He had taken men's lives needlessly and without honor. "In fact, I would say I have delivered more sadness to the world than most men."

Again the chuckle rippled from all around. The boy's silhouette seemed to be growing in height as he spoke. "It is true you were once a wolf among the lambs. But we do not blame the wolf for what it is. In those days you could be nothing more than a killer. Yet now, knowing what your power is, you have chosen to become someone else."

He forced himself to look at the shadow of the boy, which had grown taller than Grimwold. The boy he had recognized was gone, replaced by a giant of man hidden in shadow. He was dressed as a warrior, for his mail shirt sparkled with the surrounding light and the hilt of his sword was prominent at his hip. Strong arms were folded across a broad chest and a bushy white bearded face looked down on him. Even in the shadows, the heavy brow was still obvious.

"What are you? Where am I?" Grimwold asked, awed at the towering figure. Behind the giant shape, the light grew steadily brighter.

"I am many things. I am the first. I am the last. I am all who remains to watch, and even now my eyes slowly close."

Grimwold strained to penetrate the shadows of the face. Was it smiling? The piercing blue eyes were flooded with black, but he did not believe them closed. "Are you Danir? Am I to be taken to your hall?"

He went to his knee, even though nothing but swirling light was beneath he feet. So he was dead after all, and Danir himself had gathered him home. He felt instant remorse for abandoning Lethos.

"You fear for your friend," the voice, now that he understood it to be the words of Danir the First Father himself, vibrated to the depths of his heart.

"Lord Danir, father of all things, please consider taking him to your hall. He was brave in battle, and deserves a place in the hall of heroes, even if he is not of your people."

"That he does, and you are right to fear for him. Though not for my judgment. Lethos is deceived by his family. He and you both might die at their hands."

"Am I not dead already?"

"You were not dead, but on your way toward life again." The giant god unfolded his arms, placing one massive hand on the hilt of his sword. "But I caused you to tarry. A test for my own satisfaction. You would give your aid freely, without a thought for your own safety. You stood no chance against this pitiful thing, yet you challenged it with what little you had. That is the mark of a true hero."

Grimwold bowed his head lower. "You honor me greatly."

"I do. Now arise. You must make a choice."

Grimwold looked up at the god, the light from behind the giant form searingly bright. He had to turn away as he stood. "I will do as you bid me, All-Father."

"I have been called many names, and seen in many forms. Danir is what you understand. The Manifested, as you know your kind to be called, once named me Phyros. You have held one of my swords, and it had judged you worthy."

"Your sword, my lord? Do you mean High King Eldegris's blade?"

"Yes," the voice echoed across the vastness of the light. The black tentacle mass remained frozen in space, the only other thing besides Danir and himself. "Eldegris's time has passed. The Order to which he had sworn himself is decayed and dying. My brother, Urdis, is sending his children to your shores."