Guardians of the Lost Read online

  Gustav continued his search, patiently going over every bit of ground and was rewarded at last. A flash of metal caught his attention. Kneeling down, using his dagger, he carefully pried the shiny object from the ground in which it had been partially buried. He unearthed a small silver ring that might have fit a human child. He had no doubt that it was a pecwae ring, however, for in it was set one of the turquoise stones which the pecwae value beyond gold, considering them to be magical.

  How did such a valuable ring come to be lost? Gustav wondered, turning it in his fingers. Was it tossed away in a lover’s quarrel? Dropped while fleeing in panic from some enemy? Or had the gods set it here as a sign for him? Gustav closed his hand over the treasure and continued his search.

  Although he found nothing else, the ring convinced him that this was a pecwae camp. But was it the camp the monk had visited? There remained only to look for the burial mound. Gustav walked a circle round the campsite, expanding the circle outward with every rotation. The trees grew sparsely here, a possible indication that long ago the ground had been cleared for farming. The pecwae were not farmers, but the Trevenici humans who were their protectors would have tilled the soil and left their mark. On the edge of a brush-covered rectangle of land that might have once been a field of grain or corn, Gustav came upon a mound, a large mound, covered over with grass.

  He glanced at the sun. Still several more hours of daylight left. He walked around the mound, examining it minutely, bringing to mind the monk’s description.

  After they had placed the body of the bahk inside, the pecwae sealed up the tomb’s entrance with stones piled on top of one another, then covered these over with a layer of mud.

  And there it was. The crude stone wall. Gustav halted, not so much in elation at his find, but in alarm.

  According to the historian, the pecwae had covered the stones with mud. Over the intervening years, grass and weeds would have taken root in the mud, partially hiding the stone wall. Gustav should have found the wall only with great difficulty, but it stood out quite plainly.

  The grass and weeds had been torn off and tossed aside. Finding small clods of dirt with the grass still clinging to them, he picked up one of the clumps, examined it. The grass was still green, just starting to wilt. Someone else had been here.

  Gustav examined the stones in the wall. He could see signs that they had been removed and then replaced, to make it look as if they had not been touched. The knight knew better. The pecwae are not builders. They would have done little more than pile one rock on top of another, never giving any thought to fitting them or to putting mortar between them. The dirt of the ages would have crept in among the stones. There should have been spiders, worms, ants crawling among them.

  These stones were free of dirt. The insects had been displaced.

  Gustav cursed. He cursed himself mostly, cursed his own methodical, plodding nature. While he had been marching off squares in his fool grids, someone else had found the tomb. While he was counting footsteps, someone else had opened the tomb.

  Gustav sat down in the grass to rest and drink from his water-skin and to consider this unlooked-for development. Someone had found the bahk’s tomb only days before he had done so.

  Coincidence? The tomb had remained untouched, unnoticed for a hundred years. Of course, it might be possible that someone else could have taken it into his head to search this remote locale for the tomb at the same time that Gustav did, but he considered that highly unlikely.

  Someone knew he was coming.

  Gustav thought back over all he had done and said the past few months. He had never made any secret of his quest for the Sovereign Stone. But Gustav tended to be a private man, keeping his own counsel. He was not the sort to tell every stranger he met in an alehouse his business. The monks of Dragon Mountain knew he intended to try to locate the tomb. History gatherers, the monks are not history makers. If one of the monks had wanted to come on this journey, he would have come, bringing with him his full retinue of hulking, devoted bodyguards. Gustav had not enjoined the monks to keep his destination secret. He had seen no need to do so and they might have revealed it to anyone asking.

  Someone had opened the tomb and presumably someone had entered it. Grave robbers? Gustav doubted it. Your ordinary run-of the-mill grave robber would have dashed off with the loot, leaving the tomb unsealed. Someone had gone to a good deal of trouble, expended a lot of time and effort to replace those stones.

  “Someone doesn’t want to discourage my exploration,” Gustav murmured. “Whoever it is wants me to think that the tomb is unviolated. He fears that if I come to the tomb and discover it open, unsealed, I will go away without entering. Which just proves that this person doesn’t know me very well.” Gustav smiled, though his smile was grim. “He has been waiting all this time for me to find the tomb. He’s taken care to keep himself concealed. He wants me to go inside. Why? That is the question. Why?”

  He had no answer, at least none that made sense. One fact was certain. Whoever this someone was or whatever it was this someone wanted, Gustav did not intend to disappoint him. He began to dismantle the stone wall.

  The task did not take him long. The stones had been stashed back in a hurry and were all higgelty-piggelty. He soon cleared the opening.

  Cool, moist air scented with the musky odor of freshly turned earth flowed out of the mound. The sunlight permitted him to see a short distance inside and he was agreeably surprised to find that the tunnel was still intact after all these years. He had figured that a dirt tunnel dug by pecwae, who would not have bothered to shore it up with timber, would have inevitably collapsed shortly after it was built. Smooth-sided, the tunnel was about five feet in height and about four feet wide and it disappeared into darkness.

  Had the watcher entered the tunnel? If so, there should be some sign. Crouching down outside the entrance, Gustav examined the floor and the walls, searching for footprints.

  He found prints—small, naked pecwae feet. A great many, passing back and forth, so that only a few tracks close to the tunnel wall were clearly visible. The dirt on the tunnel floor was dry, hard-packed, the images of the feet preserved. These were the marks of those who had built the tunnel, not the marks of a trespasser.

  Gustav could envision the pecwae chattering excitedly in their high-pitched voices. He felt a connection to them extend back through the years and he was glad to think that they had loyally honored one who had served them faithfully to the very end.

  Gustav rose, walked back out into the sunshine. He looked around, listened carefully, but heard nothing, saw no one. He felt the eyes watching him, as usual. Placing his knapsack on the ground, he opened it and removed items he would not need inside the burial mound—food, his map. These he left outside. He retained a small oil-burning lantern, flint and tinder to light it, lock-picking tools and water.

  Certain he had everything he would require, he slid his arms through the straps of the knapsack, settled it on his back, and prepared to enter the mound. On the threshold, the knight paused. Turning, he placed his hand deliberately on the hilt of his sword and cast one long, significant look behind him.

  “I know you are here,” he said to the unseen watcher. “I am ready for you. Do you not imagine you can take me unaware.”

  He did not bother to wait for an answer.

  Turning, stooping, he entered the burial mound.

  Gustav had taken only a single step inside the burial mound when he sensed the magic.

  Gustav had no skills in the arcane art himself, a fact he had bitterly regretted as a child, having mistakenly imagined that magic could solve all his problems, ease all his griefs, make everything right. Years brought wisdom and a better knowledge of magic and the sacrifices required of those who practice it. The years also brought magic to him in the form of the enchanted armor that is a gift of the gods to the Dominion Lords, those holy knights chosen of the gods who undergo the Transfiguration.

  When a Dominion Lord undergoes this mi
racle, he gives himself wholly to the gods. His flesh is transformed into the element that is associated with his race. Human Dominion Lords are changed to stone. Elves give themselves to air, orken to water and dwarves to fire. When the miracle is complete, the Dominion Lord emerges alive and well and exalted from touching the minds of the gods. As a reward for his faithfulness and to assist him in his pledge of defending the defenseless, the Dominion Lord is granted wonderful, magical armor.

  This armor bestows many gifts upon the Dominion Lord—gifts of magic, gifts of strength, gifts of wisdom and insight. All gifts are dependent upon and designed to suit the personality of the Dominion Lord and take into consideration his or her own skills and the life they choose to lead thereafter. The gods know more of a man than he does, they see into the heart, and the gifts that are given may not at first be understood. The gods saw Gustav’s long quest before him. They gave him the ability to sense the presence of magic, a skill possessed by only those who have undergone magical training. The armor did not give him the power to use magic, however, knowing that his skills did not lie in this area.

  But though Gustav could not use magic other than the magic of his armor, he could sense magic, as an orken sailor can sense an approaching storm or a dog the coming of an earthquake. Gustav halted to light the wick inside his oil lantern. Known as a “dark lantern,” popular with thieves, the lantern had a sliding panel that could be raised to emit light or lowered to shut the light off. He flashed the light around, but could see nothing.

  He tasted the magic, rolled it on his tongue, the only way he could describe the sensation he experienced whenever he was around magic. The taste was not foul. It did not flood his senses with bitter bile, as happened to him when he was in close proximity to the accursed magic of the Void. Yet, there was an implied threat. He was being warned to leave, warned against trespass.

  Lifting the lantern, Gustav advanced a few more cautious steps, flashed the light off the walls of the tunnel, shifted the beam from ceiling to floor. The pecwae are skilled in the use of Earth magic, particularly the magic of stones, and will often guard their tents by surrounding them with stones of warding and protection. They might have inlaid such stones into the walls of the tunnel or embedded them in the floor.

  Search revealed nothing, however. The walls were made of dirt and were unadorned. Not so much as a pebble. Not pecwae magic, then.

  As Gustav entered deeper into the tunnel, the sense of danger and foreboding increased and he drew his sword. Perhaps the spirit of the dead bahk lingered here, unable to leave the mysterious object the creature had so long treasured. Perhaps it was not the spirit of the bahk at all, but something more sinister. Old burial sites drew other beings—some with flesh and blood and some without.

  The knight had now left the sunlight behind. He relied solely on his lantern for light. The tunnel extended farther than he had imagined it would, farther than was realistic, given the size of the hill. Either the tunnel had opened up into a chamber or the magic was affecting his senses. Fortunately for his aching back, he was no longer forced to stoop. He could stand upright.

  Darkness dropped on him, thick and soft and heavy as some large, lumbering animal. Gustav could see nothing for the darkness. He was completely, utterly blind. He felt with his hand to determine if he had accidentally allowed the panel to drop down, shut off the light, although he knew perfectly well he had not committed such a careless act. A child of the streets, forced to earn his living by nefarious means, he had been skilled in the use of dark-lanterns since the age of ten.

  Intending to relight the lantern, Gustav turned to go back to gain some sunlight for his task.

  He found his way blocked by a solid wall of earth.

  Gustav was uneasy, but also intrigued, more intrigued than fearful. He was blessed with an excellent sense of direction. He had walked in a straight line. He had not turned off the path or taken a misstep. The tunnel should be open behind him. Yet it was not.

  Fumbling in the thick darkness, he managed to relight the lantern, held it up to examine the wall.

  It was made of earth.

  He set the lantern on the floor beside him to mark his place. Laying his knapsack beside the lantern, he walked along the wall that had suddenly sprung into being, feeling it with his hands, counting his steps. After twenty paces, he still could not find a break. He tried to dig into the wall with his fingers. The earthen wall was solid as if it had been built of bricks.

  The tunnel had sealed shut behind him. He was the one entombed.

  Gustav had faced death many times in his seventy years. He had fought men, monsters, dragons and spirits and he had overcome them all. He had survived several accidents, one near drowning and attempted murder. He had known despair and terror. He had known fear. Most important, he knew how to use fear to his advantage. Fear is the spur that pricks one to life.

  Gustav had known fear, but never panic. He knew panic now, as he pictured the death he would die—slow and tortured, starving, dehydrated, alone in the thick and smothering darkness.

  His mouth went dry. His palms sweat. His bowels spasmed, his stomach constricted. A nerve in his jaw began to twitch uncontrollably. He was about to summon the magical armor of the Dominion Lord and it was at that point that he regained control of himself, even to the point of seeing the ludicrousness of the situation. Summoning the magical armor would be akin to a child diving beneath a blanket to protect himself from a lightning bolt. The armor didn’t bolster his thought processes. He had to think through this danger.

  “There has to be a way out,” he muttered to himself, angry at his loss of self-control. “You just haven’t found it yet and you won’t find it if you lose what wits the gods gave you.”

  Then the darkness lifted and he saw the eyes. Small eyes, burning bright red, close to the ground and coming nearer with shrill squeals and chatterings and the scrabbling sound of innumerable clawed feet. As the first of the creatures swarmed into the lantern light, he saw they were rats—hundreds of rats, thousands of rats. The floor of the tomb heaved and rippled in a black-furred wave, rolling toward him. Half-starved and wild with hunger, the rats would strip the flesh from his bones in moments.

  Gustav ran back to where he had placed the lantern, grabbed it up and swung it at the vermin to drive them away. Fearful of the bright light, the rats hung back, red eyes gleaming, like an army awaiting the order to attack.

  Whirring noises buzzed in his ears. An insect landed on his cheek and almost immediately, he felt a small, stinging pain. He put his hand to his face, crushed a mosquito between his fingers. At the same instant, ten other mosquitoes stung any part of his flesh that was exposed—his face, his neck. More mosquitoes flew down his back, stinging and nipping. He could feel them crawling underneath his leather cap, biting painfully at his scalp. Hastily sheathing his sword, he put the lantern at his feet to ward off the rats and began to slap the mosquitoes. He jumped around and shook his arms and legs in an effort to try to dislodge them. Anyone who saw him performing this macabre dance would think he had gone mad.

  In the midst of his torment, something grabbed his sword arm. Gustav turned swiftly. No hand had hold of him. His arm was in the grasp of an enormous tree root that was winding itself around his elbow. Another root snaked out and caught hold of his ankle. A third clutched at his left arm.

  A veritable cloud of mosquitoes surrounded Gustav, stinging every part of him. He was forced to close his eyelids to keep them out of his eyes. The army of rats moved in to attack. Heedless of the lantern’s flame, they swarmed over his feet, screeching and scratching and clawing. The tree roots began cutting off the circulation in his arms. With a desperate heave, Gustav broke free of the roots. Flailing his arms, he stumbled backward.

  The wall was gone.

  Gustav retreated down the tunnel. The mosquito infestation diminished. He could still hear the buzzing sound of their wings, but the cloud did not follow him. The rats, too, ceased their assault. He looked back over his s
houlder. He had left his lantern on the floor behind him and by its light he could now see what he had not been able to see when he had been inside the tomb.

  The lantern light illuminated a large chamber, undoubtedly the burial chamber. His tormentors were lined up before it, watching him depart. The rats did not come after him. The tree roots hung limply from the ceiling. The mosquitoes whirred but did not pursue him.

  Gustav understood.

  He had been warned. He would not be permitted to enter the burial chamber.

  “It is as if the very Earth itself is guarding the tomb,” he muttered, scratching at the mosquito bites and slapping at the few still infesting his clothes.

  He halted his scratching, no longer feeling the stings.

  “The very Earth is the guardian,” he repeated. “Of course! Earth magic! Nothing else could have called out Earth’s legions. The rats and insects and trees threatened me, but they did not kill me. Not this time. This time was the warning. Next time, they will kill. What are they protecting?”

  He guessed the answer.

  “Is that possible?” he asked himself, awed.

  His heart swelled with elation so that its beat grew erratic. Suddenly weak, he leaned back against the wall, trying to calm himself.

  “After searching all these years, have I truly found what I seek?”

  He could think of nothing else that the Earth would strive so valiantly to protect.

  The Sovereign Stone. Each portion of the sacred stone had been empowered by different magicks: the elven portion was powered by Air magic, the dwarven portion by Fire magic, the orken portion by Water magic. The human portion of that sacred artifact was empowered by Earth magic. Earth magic that would protect the blessed Stone from those who had no claim to it.

  Such as the person who had been watching him.

  That person must have entered the tomb, only to meet with the same deadly threat as Gustav. Forced to retreat, the person was now waiting and watching to see if Gustav fared better.