The Curse of Credesar, Part 1 Read online

  Chapter 2: Thelaran's Warning

  As the trapdoor banged shut, Kelden stumbled down the stairs. The high council wanted him to go to the Meditation Hall and prepare for his departure, but he wasn't ready to give up on the hope that the seers might somehow be wrong about him.

  Coming around the stairway pillar--huffing, puffing, and grunting curses--was Zagrin Tarless, the law keeper and former tempest seer. An enormously fat man with poor hygiene, Zagrin was the butt of many jokes around Valganleer. But Kelden had always found him to be a likeable fellow, save for his habit of telling stories few cared to listen to, and he tried to treat him kindly. Zagrin leaned his bloated form against the pillar wall, struggling to catch his breath. Sweat dripped from his tangled black hair, and his grey robe bore wet spots below the armpits. Stubble darkened his sagging chins. His blue eyes were big and round, and he shook his head in amazement, as if the climb up these stairs was an awesome feat that could drain a man's will and strength.

  "Kelden," Zagrin panted, with a nod. "Up a bit early, aren't you?" He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and added, "Whew! Quite a climb up from the History Chamber. And still quite a distance to go! I'm looking for my link. That wretched Gargetch fiend was supposed to be in the library doing some research for me, but I'll bet he's napping somewhere on a heat vent--probably in some old storage room up in the Fire Hall. He hates research, and he's always trying to weasel out of it. "

  Kelden shrugged, breathing shallowly because of Zagrin's sour stench and wondering why the law keeper chose not to bathe. "I'm just going to the Meditation Hall." For a moment, the last thing he felt like doing was explaining to Zagrin his situation, and he was about to move on. Then he remembered how brilliant this young law keeper was. Zagrin probably knew nearly as much about the laws of Valganleer as Salvensteed Laget did.

  "I was summoned before the high council," Kelden said. "But I can't give out any details. They're not too happy with me right now." That was a ridiculous understatement, but he could think of no better way to say it.

  Zagrin gave him a knowing grin, revealing dark-yellow teeth. "Ask for a Garn Abbane. It's your right, you know."

  "A Garn what?" said Kelden.

  "Garn Abbane." Zagrin cleared his throat. "Every student, teacher, or seer in Valganleer has the right to request a Garn Abbane after an appearance before the high council. The Thelaran keepers do a full probing on you. The results cannot be disputed. If you've been charged with any wrongdoing, you should always request one. Unless, of course, you're hiding something the high council missed and you don't want it revealed. A Garn Abbane leaves nothing hidden. I can assure you of that. Just remember, though, that it's up to the keepers whether or not they grant one."

  Kelden nodded, feeling a spark of hope. "Thanks, Zagrin. I'll check into it."

  Zagrin smiled. "You know, it worked good for Eblar Stoert two centuries ago. He was tried and convicted of perpetuating the worm plague by the bizarre nature of some of his experiments, and was sentenced to death. The high council seemed to have loads of evidence against him. But he requested a Garn Abbane and was found to be innocent of all wrongdoing. The council overturned his conviction and he went on to be a great tempest seer."

  "Sounds like it really helped him," said Kelden, who usually answered the things Zagrin said with responses like nods, grunts of affirmation, phrases like, "Oh, really?" and "Wow, that's something," while he thought of ways to get away from him so he didn't have to stand and listen to things he had no real interest in.

  "You bet it helped him!" Zagrin said enthusiastically. "And then there was Breelin Kagworth, who was charged with summoning a Blue World specter to Valganleer for the purpose of assassinating--"

  "I better get going," Kelden interrupted, starting past him.

  "Glad I could be of service," Zagrin said. He began his lumbering climb upward again with a sigh and a groan. "Long way up to the Fire Hall," he muttered back. "This old Legaran tower isn't small. Not in the least!"

  Kelden continued his climb downward. The situation's grim realities were still trying to force their way into his thoughts, but now at least--thanks to Zagrin--he had something he could try that might put an end to this madness. He told himself that if the Garn Abbane proved he wasn't Credesar, he'd do something kindly in return for the law keeper--if only to sit and listen to a few of his stories. But one puzzling question invaded his mind. If the Garn Abbane was so effective, why hadn't the high council used it in the first place? He paused and turned, considering dashing up the stairs and asking Zagrin, but then he decided against it, so as not to get stuck listening to the law keeper's stories. He suspected his teacher would know the answer.

  As Kelden descended to the next bridge, a bell chimed out a short, cheerful tune. A crowd of Ulden students and their links crossed in single file and headed up the stairs, on their way to the Goliat Hall for their morning break. These were some of Valganleer's elite--talented and snobbish. While Kelden was certainly talented--perhaps more so than most of these stuck up lads--his calling was not Ulden lore, and so to these students he was just another lowly swine. They glanced at each other and snickered as they stepped off the bridge, and as always, his response was to try to avoid eye contact with them. Their links were equally snobby Gargetch fiends--short, winged demons made of a dark and shiny element. In spite of being the most common and least powerful of the links, Gargetch fiends considered themselves superior to all other fiends--especially in intelligence, and so they made perfect companions to the Uldens.

  Kelden went past two more bridges before reaching the Meditation Hall. The Ulden students stayed clear of this area. It was a dark and ancient tunnel, smelly--not like the bright rooms and passageways of the Ulden Hall. Yet to Kelden Delure, the Meditation Hall was comforting. He liked the dim, quiet tunnels and chambers, the ancient feel. He felt right at home here. And he liked the idea that Ulden students wouldn't be caught dead in this passageway.

  There was no door, just a gaping tunnel mouth cut in the stone blocks. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare. Torches were sparse, only burning outside the chamber entrances, leaving dark stretches between rooms. It looked like a passageway that led to abandoned chambers or old storage rooms, rather than a corridor where some of the greatest seers, teachers, and alchemists in the long history of Valganleer had learned to expand their minds.

  And as with most areas of Valganleer, the reasons behind the nature of the Meditation Hall's design had become uncertain, with the magically recorded history from Valganleer's earliest days having grown unstable and diminished--a result not foreseen by the seers. Some of the old records had been updated, while others had slipped through the cracks and existed only in speculation and rumor. Because no sound record of its origin existed, strange and often ridiculous rumors about the Meditation Hall abounded, even amongst the most respected seers and teachers.

  Kelden began the long walk down the gloomy passageway to confront his teacher, Lendrith Bramas. He'd always been one of Lendrith's favorite students, but he wondered what he was now to the old man. Surely his teacher couldn't look upon him in the same light, and Kelden dreaded the possibilities, imaging the deep scorn or pity that might be directed his way. They certainly weren't going to discuss blood lore theories and practices or what upcoming lessons might entail.

  Kelden paused, desperately not wanting to continue. But he had no choice. If he was indeed Jarvin's link--the foul demon Credesar--he needed whatever advice or items Lendrith could give him to survive the journey to Frindagan Tower.

  He forced his legs to carry him onward. Fortunately, the tunnel was deserted. Grim thoughts sought to break through his defenses--images of blood, of something dark lying deep inside him waiting to claw its way free. The questions kept repeating in his mind: Am I Jarvin's link? Am I Credesar? Why this, of all things?

  A Hetheope guard stepped from a niche in the wall and stood facing Kelden, towering over him. Kelden froze, for if he dared move, the Hetheope would take issue a
nd demand he submit to a more thorough search. Kelden was in no mood for such a confrontation, yet he had no choice but to appease the creature. Dozens of these guards patrolled Valganleer at any given hour. They had been created by the alchemists, given massive size and natural weaponry in the form of tusks and claws. They were designed to intimidate students, and they did their job well. Even after two years, Kelden had to suppress a shudder whenever he came face to face with one.

  "I have to meet with Master Lendrith," said Kelden. "In the Low Room."

  The Hetheope did not speak--they never did--but it motioned Kelden on and stepped back into the shadows. Yet its gleaming eyes continued to watch Kelden as he hurried onward, and he knew the Hetheope would follow along. They were single- minded in their duties and relentless.

  When Kelden reached the Low Room, he followed a short stone stairway down to an iron door. It looked like a dungeon door, with a barred window and sizable lock, but this was just for show. The door was never locked, because nothing of value lay within. This was strictly a meditation chamber, with the dungeon-like door having some vague connection with cutting oneself off from the outside world for the purpose of inspiring an isolated feeling. It was a chamber that no one used anymore, a leftover relic from the days when training methods were less refined.

  Kelden peered through the window bars. He could see Master Lendrith sitting on a bench, a leather pack at his feet. The old man looked haggard in the morning light, but not defeated. His wrinkled hands were folded over his stomach, as if trying to hold his anxieties in check. His shaggy grey hair stuck out in all directions, and he was unshaven, his face a maze of countless lines, wrinkles, and other aging blemishes. Like many teachers that never became seers, he lacked the power to maintain his youth, having been unable--or perhaps unwilling--to push himself to greater levels, and he would eventually perish from the hazards of old age. His face constantly bore a thoughtful expression, as if he were always pondering something. His eyes were closed, two leathery shades pulled down.

  With a trembling hand, Kelden drew the door open. Shoring up his will, he stepped inside. The Low Room, which was lined with thick wooden benches, was a strange and ugly chamber. The ceiling was aggressive toward the mind and eye, the stone blocks forming a swirl pattern that seemed to draw in the viewer--an architectural design that gave Kelden the disturbing impression it was trying to pull his soul out through his head. The floor was inexplicably uneven, with absurd high and low spots, but overall it seemed to be spiraling downward toward the center. The walls had been enhanced by the motion sorcery of old lore, with the dark stone blocks endlessly appearing to be tumbling downward like a lumpy waterfall. It was an unpleasant, oozing downward flow of bricks that could make one sick to the stomach after a while.

  Carefully watching his footing on the uneven floor, Kelden started toward Master Lendrith. He took an unexpected step downward. His heart lurched and he had the sensation of falling. He took another step and moved upward. Foolishly, he glanced at the ceiling and got ill, waves of dizziness washing over him. He grabbed a bench for support, and took a careful step down.

  He used the benches to help him along, until he stood before his teacher. Lendrith didn't move. Kelden cleared his throat, but still Lendrith failed to acknowledge his presence. Kelden sighed loudly.

  Then Kelden's heart went cold. Master Lendrith wasn't moving at all--not even breathing, apparently. And his head was tilted back at an odd angle. For an instant Kelden was certain his teacher was dead, that some huge conspiracy was unfolding before his eyes that would inevitably lead to his own doom.

  But Lendrith suddenly opened his eyes and tilted his head forward, blinking. "Kelden Delure," he mumbled. "How are you, boy?"

  Kelden said nothing.

  Lendrith smiled humorlessly. "Just a way to break the ice, I suppose. I know how you're doing--or I suspect I do. A thousand dark forebodings must be haunting your mind."

  Kelden nodded, relief flooding through him. How could he have doubted Master Lendrith? Lendrith was far too wise and open-minded to shun Kelden so easily. He shared a deep bond with his students, and whether Jarvin's link or not, Kelden was first and foremost still a blood lore student to the old man.

  "Could it be true, Master?" said Kelden. "Could I actually be Credesar?"

  "I was told that if you showed up here," said Lendrith, "the proof had been revealed that the demon lurks within you. And if you didn't, I could expect to see you with my other students tonight. I've been waiting for over two hours now, and I can tell you my soul has been on fire. I haven't felt like this since the love of my life left me for another man, way back when I was still a student. You just feel like your mortal flesh isn't designed to house such stress. And the fact that they picked this room doesn't help matters. There is no peace of mind here, in this arcane chamber. I think they chose this room because it has a sense of finality about it, of detachment.

  "Regardless, I must now face facts courageously. If the high council tested you, their results are most likely the truth. But does that mean you're not Kelden Delure? You're still one of my most talented students. You're still who you always were. If there is a monster inside you, I believe it is not you!"

  "I don't know what to think," said Kelden. His words sounded weak, but he could do nothing about it. "The way they did things wasn't fair," he added. "Even if I get through this, people won't accept me here. The seers have ruined my life."

  "Don't give up hope so easily," said Lendrith. "Time heals all wounds, and time within Valganleer passes slowly indeed."

  Unable to think of a proper response, Kelden simply nodded.

  "Where is Theodus?" said Lendrith, raising an eyebrow.

  Kelden explained what had happened.

  Lendrith stood up. "Taken for a cleansing? I must say, that's quite unusual!" He took to pacing, and Kelden wondered how he could walk about so easily in that room without losing his balance. "Something isn't right, here, Kelden. I just know it in my heart! Things have been getting strange in this tower over the past few years, with all sorts of dark rumors floating about. And now this!"

  "What do you mean?" said Kelden.

  "I don't know," said Lendrith. He sighed and sat back down. "Maybe I'm just indulging in wishful thinking."

  Kelden looked away.

  "I want to help you, boy!" Lendrith said, pounding his fist against his palm. "But time is so short, I fear there is nothing I can do."

  Kelden nodded. "There's nothing either of us can do, Master. I have to be past the West Gate before nightfall. But I'd like to request a Garn Abbane before I go. I guess it's like a second opinion from the Thelaran keepers."

  "That's an excellent idea!" said Lendrith, standing up again. "I should have thought of that myself. A Garn Abbane is the only sure way of knowing the truth, and its revelations cannot be disputed."

  "Then why isn't it used more often?" said Kelden.

  "The danger is extreme," Lendrith said. "Not to you--but to the keepers themselves. Often one or more of them will crystallize during the process. It's a horrible fate, for their brains become...well...turned to crystal if you can imagine that! The energy expenditure is massive and somehow can cause a physical change right inside their skulls. Kills them instantly, with no hope of healing."

  "Maybe I shouldn't ask for it, then," said Kelden. "I don't anyone to die on my account."

  They fell silent. The flow of bricks in the walls stopped temporarily while the sorcery replenished itself, and then started up again. The two glanced at each other, and then Kelden lowered his gaze. The tension between them was a strange sort, born of an extreme situation. The two had always been somewhat close, but Lendrith was a professional and knew how to maintain a student-teacher relationship. He'd always been Kelden's friend but never his peer. Now things were different. They seemed on equal ground, uncertain partners facing the unknown. Kelden didn't like the feeling at all, and he was sure his teacher wasn't happy with it.

  "Yet it's your right,"
said Lendrith. "The keepers know the risks. The only thing I'm wondering is if they will refuse you in light of the circumstances. A Garn Abbane performed on you might be too dangerous. If Credesar were released during the process, there would be no way to contain him. And as I've come to understand, the keepers already refused a request by the high council to perform one on you. It's unlikely they will change their minds."

  "I guess I should forget about that," said Kelden. "Maybe the only thing to do is what the council wants--pack up and leave."

  Lendrith rubbed his temples, his face furrowed in a mass of lines. At last he said, "I disagree. You have nothing to lose by requesting one, and everything to gain. All the Keepers can do is say no. Thelaran's Hall lies just below. I think you should head down there and try your luck. Go now--for your time is quite limited." He sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and bowed his head. "I'll wait for you here."