Chapter 13.4.2

The path seemed longer than the last time I had traveled it. I scraped the crusty surface of the tunnel, and I stumbled on the uneven floor. Peter kept me from knocking my head on the ceiling, as I was pulled down when he bent over, but I often caught my shoulder on the side at the narrower parts. Bruised and bleeding more than when I started, I stepped with gratitude onto the narrow ledge that looked over the great cavern.

Then remembered the narrow, slick switchback trail. It had been a test when I was well, but now it was an impossibility. I sank to my knees, defeated.

The shadows of the cavern lightened, and I saw the stone dragon. He shifted, his wings spreading slightly, and turned his head toward me. Emerald eyes glittering, he spoke in a voice that shook the mountain. "If you think this path is hopeless, it will be. If you see it as only a challenge to overcome, you will."

I rose to my feet. Peter did not move, as if turned to stone when the dragon came to life.

Was this a demon or a god? It spoke, and thus was more likely the latter – but only one of our gods is known to take the form of a dragon, and that is a god who is far above the affairs of mere mortals. So this must be a demon. Irritated at its impudence, I thought, And where does your path lead, that I must suffer to travel it?

My thoughts came out as words, spoken in the voice I did not have.

The dragon’s throne began to shine with a light that would have dimmed the sun, then the damp stone became gold and silver that looped up and cascaded down the sides. Glittering jewels – rubies, sapphires, and diamonds – crusted the armrests and backrests that curved up from the soft velvet seat. The dragon now had emerald scales and ruby eyes, and his breast plate and underwings gleamed gold. When he spread his wings a moonbow cast across the darkness, touching the far wall. The stone opened, letting a multitude of beings creep forth. Demons, spirits, and animals crept forward and lay down at the base of the throne.

A crown of fire circled his head as the throne turned milky-white, a swirl of clouds. The whiteness parted, showing the whole world beneath the dragon, his wide wings covering what is, what has been, and what will be. He roared, "Do you challenge the Master of Paths?"

A god, most definitely, and none other than the oldest and greatest of them all. Mere mortal that I was, I bowed and said, "Forgive me. I only wanted to know, not to challenge."

The Master of Paths gave me a tolerant smile. "For an ignorant child, you pass the tests well. Look on this."

Beneath him, the image of the world shifted and twisted, then formed itself into unnatural warriors that fought among desolation and waste. "This will be, should you fail your greatest test. You, small but chosen one, have no small part to play in the fate of the world."

Chosen one? I was but a mute cripple, shut away from his calling, without even the support of the Christian lord who had abandoned him. And yet, if the Master of Paths himself pronounced it so, I must be, though I could not see how it could be. If the fate of the world depended upon my actions, I must be careful of them. Still, there was one thing I had a right to know.

Gathering up my courage, I said boldly, "Tell me what I must do to succeed."

"Do not turn back from the path set before you!" With that, the Master of Paths folded his wings about him, plunging the room once more into darkness.

I shook my head to clear the last of the vision. Peter stooped then, and signed in the pale light of the lamp, "You fainted. Should we rest?"

I shook my head. The command from the God had been quite clear.

Chapter 13.4.1

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I came back to the world, and found myself moving. Someone was dragging me from the torture chamber, scraping my heels over the rough stone floor.

I raised my hands to the arms circling my aching chest, and felt the rough cloth of a monk’s robe. My rescuer – if he was indeed rescuing me – paused, then helped me to my feet. Then he pulled me against his taller frame and half-carried me beyond the door.

There he paused to pick up a lantern, and the light flickered up under the cowl, highlighting familiar features. Had my lord come back to save me? No, this man was too tall for my lord. This was Peter, determined to get me to lauds.

As long as it got me away from the torturers, I was grateful.

We went down a long hallway, then stopped before a wooden door. Peter pulled a key from his robe and opened it, then helped me through. He paused to relock the door.

It was the dusty storeroom. The secret passage, and freedom, was not far.

This time, when he moved the screen that revealed the passage, he came with me. He put the screen back in place, but there was no one to move the chest. I lifted swollen fingers and said, "They will know the screen was moved."

"The dust will tell them we came this way," Peter’s hands replied. He took a deep breath. "We will rest for a moment, no more."

"Can we hide in the cavern?"

"We have no food, nor fuel, and when the soldiers do not find us in the castle, they will scour all the land around. We must starve or go out to be caught. Our only hope is to leave quickly, before sunrise, and hide in the forest. Later we will make our way through it to the monastery."

"The Eastern Green Forest?" I signed. "Before dawn?"

"Lord Guerney’s soldiers are superstitious heathens – they would never follow us into that place, fearing as they do the simple shadows of the night."

There is nothing simple about those shadows, I thought back.

"By my faith in Christ, I know I have nothing to fear from it. I have seen a road that cuts through it – how could it exist, if people did not travel on it?"

The people who travel on it are doomed, I replied to myself. But I faced a forked path: did I tell the monk what I knew to be true, and unmask myself as a heathen unworthy of his sacrifice? Or did I stay quietly in character and face destruction of both body and heart? Perhaps his faith was strong enough to protect us both. Or perhaps I could change his mind before we stepped foot into that evil place.

For now, however, I struggled to my feet and accepted his help.

Chapter 13.3

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As I hung, the feeling in my wrists and arms faded, and with it went the outer world. I now stood on a black path in a dark world, one without music. It was made of black shale, blade-thin slices set on end, sharp knives marking a desperate trail.

Demons crouched on either side, their forked tongues licking fire-redden chops. Their scarlet eyes watched me, waited for my command. I could send with a word, through the paths of the spirit world, to catch a lord, a Bard, or a faithless lady with razor-sharp teeth. After that they would be mine, devoted servants all, to reclaim the Bardlands from their Christians Slavers. They would die in agony to befit their god, every lord and lady, every pious priest, every Silent Monk...

No – I would not set the demons upon the Silent Monks, those who had comforted me to no gain of their own. In their debt as I was, I could not repay them with hate. But they would think it no honor to be spared from the destruction of their fellows, so if I spared them, I would have to spare all Christians. Even the faithless lords. Then, how could I hunt a Heathen if I spared the much more deserving Christians?

With just their meekness, the Silent Monks had bought my anger.

My feet were poised to step onto that black, poisonous path, the path of hatred. I pulled back. I would not be seduced into setting the demons free. I turned and left the path, the one that makes slaves of those it calls its masters.

My death would not come easy, but at least I would stand before the gods without the stain of the black path on my feet, or the betrayal of my power as a Bard in my heart.

Chapter 3.2

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I came to as the soldiers were dragging me down the steps. They pulled me up, and slammed me into the wall. Several more times they tripped me or simply pushed me into the stone, until finally dropping me on the cold floor of the torture chamber. I lay there, bleeding and wondering why Lord Guerney even bothered to keep torturers.

"Duke! Jesse! Get yer lazy bones up!" yelled the Captain of the Guard.

The torturer’s apprentice stumbled through a door and pushed greasy hair out of his eyes. "What do ye want?"

"The Lady Laurice has run off, and this monk knows where. Lord Guerney wants to know it by breakfast."

Jesse rubbed his head, looked at me, and frowned. "Duke’s out."

"Where’d he go?"

Jesse shrugged. "With a wench. He’ll be back, soon enough. Her husband is jealous."

"Get to work on this fool as soon as you see him." The Captain hauled me up by my protesting arms and locked my wrists into chains that hung from the ceiling. I was too short for them, and hand to balance on my toes while the iron cut into my wrists. Before the soldiers had all left the room, I could already feel blood trickling down my arms.

Jesse stumbled back to his bed, leaving me to hang, and to await a slow, miserable death because my Lord and my childhood friend could not be bothered to take me with them.

The world is filled with bastards.