great cities, Doria, Tarlton of the Sand, Sea’cra, Caparal, Stav’rol, and the most ancient of them all, the King of Cities Das’von.”
“Everyone knows those legends,” said Odellius with a shrug and took another sip of wine. “The old stone ruins that are everywhere. They say it was once a portal system where anyone could travel anywhere in the world with a few simple words. I’m not sure I believe any of the nonsense but I’ve been to Doria and I’ve seen those towers. No one could build them today and people say the same about the other ancient cites, Sea’cra, Stav’rol, and everyone knows about Caparal thanks to the Tales of Yumanar. Fine stories they are to fire the warrior spirit.”
“Yes,” said Imprilius with a nod of his head and then lapsed into silence as his eyes gazed off to the far side of the room at shelf filled with china.
Odellius waited a few moments and then broke the silence, “About this Shinamar fellow…,” he prompted.
Imprilius shook his head as if awakening from sleep and smiled sheepishly, “Yes, of course, I was lost in thought there for a moment. My apologies. Shinamar the Loathesome. They say he was second in command to Elucidor the Omnipotent in Das’von before it was destroyed.”
“That name sounds familiar,” said Odellius scratching his chin, “I’ve heard it before at least, a magic user as I recall, mage king of Das’von.”
“That’s right, my friend,” said the high priest. “Shinamar is said to have betrayed Elucidor and destroyed the city.”
“A bad character, his moniker indicates as much,” said Odellius with a laugh, “never trust a man titled Loathsome.”
“There are those who think the emperor will rise again,” said Imprilius, his voice lowered even further as he leaned across the table to shorten the distance between them. “Some think Shinamar did it to hasten the rise.”
“That old story,” said Odellius. “I’ve heard it a hundred times from the orcs of Adas Jdar and Relm. They think that humans will rise and attempt to conquer the world. That’s why they don’t want anyone living in Doria. I don’t understand it myself but they seem to believe it.”
“That’s right,” said the high priest. “The demi-humans largely believe that when the Emperor arises so too will the Usurper. That the two forces will battle for control of the world. That the Emperor will support the demi- human races, the orcs, dwarves, elves, halfings, goblins and such, and that the Usurper will garner the support of humans.”
“I’ll not live long enough to see such a thing,” said Odellius, “so I’ve never taken the old legends seriously.”
“Something is happening,” said Imprilius, his brown eyes blazing. “We priests, we worship the Black Horse, the Dorians worship Mixcoatle of the Spear, the Dwarves worship Davim of the Anvil and on and on and on. There are thousands of so-called gods, each race worships them and gains their magical powers from them.”
“That’s true,” said Odellius, “everyone has a different god.”
“This Shinamar,” said Imprilius and now he spoke so low that the huge knight could barely make out the words, “this Shinamar is still around. He is active in the world and he has agents who do his bidding.”
“And he wants to bring back the Old Empire?” said Odellius.
“I… I don’t think so,” said Imprilius his eyes darting back and forth. “I had a strange dream where he spoke to me, I think it was a dream, I’m not sure. I awoke and I’ve not heard nor seen him again, but from hints the others drop, he may have contacted them as well. He is immensely powerful but somehow shackled, he cannot act directly, and he has enemies.”
“What did this dream say to you?” said Odellius his own wine cup forgotten and the huge warrior mimicked the whispered tones of the high priest.
“He… he said… he means to…,” Imprilius stuttered and was unable to finish his thoughts.
“Yes?” said Odellius.
“He means to slay the gods. To remake the world without them.”
Odellius looked at the priest for a moment and then burst out in laughter, his huge roars filled the hall, which brought out several of the acolytes who looked in at the jolly giant.
High Priest Imprilius did not laugh.
Chapter 22
“Where to now?” said Sorus as he cast a quick glance first to Proteus and then to Jon. “Whitebone knows we’re here and we have no idea where the Staff of Sakatha is hidden.”
“I don’t think Whitebone will bother us for a long while,” said Proteus as he looked back towards the mountain path they came down from moments before. “You’re right about not knowing where to go next though.”
“Why won’t Whitebone bother us?” said Sorus with first a frown and then a smile, “Not that I mind if you’re right!”
“I’ve seen priests do that trick before,” said the square jawed Brokenshield. “They have a one word escape but it takes them back to their home, and I got the distinct impression that Whitebone isn’t from around here. So, he’s a long way away now and that shoulder of his isn’t going to mend easily, even with magic. Jon crushed it to powder; I doubt he’ll ever be completely right again.”
“It was a lucky shot,” said Jon with a shrug of his shoulders and a narrow smile. “I was angry after what he did to you and Sorus.”
“Lucky you say,” said Proteus with a quick glance at the tall boy, “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t really matter. You saved both Sorus and me from that thing which means I’ll see my children again. That is more than I expected when we started this mission and it also brings me to my next point.”
Jon looked at the hardened warrior and deduced his thoughts, “You’re right Proteus. We’ve already asked too much from you. Go back to the boys and raise them straight and strong.”
“That’s right,” said Sorus who bobbing his head up and down eagerly. “You’ve done more than your share. You go back home and take care of your boys.”
Proteus looked at both of them and bowed his head, “I don’t like to leave you, but I think you’re right. I want to write a letter for you, to First Rider Vipsanius. I want him to know what happened, even if I’m a Brokenshield.”
“You’re not a Brokenshield,” said Sorus suddenly and looked at Proteus who paused for a moment and then realized what the young knight meant.
“You’ll grant me a second name?” he said, pulling his horse up short, and staring at Sorus with a strange grin on his face.
“Your boys are old enough and need to think about squiring or apprenticing in Black Dale anyway. The town needs an assistant brewer to take my place for the rest of the twelve month at least. Pick your second name, take care of the boys, and then report to Thaddeus Redhand in Black Dale for your duties. Is that understood?”
Proteus nodded his head and then raised his right hand and clenched it in the salute of Elekargul, “Thank you, Sir Sorus,” he replied. “I shall take the name Nightwalk both to honor you and because my journey took me into the darkling lands.”
Sorus suddenly blushed bright red and Jon gave out a great guffaw that seemed to release all the tension building since they left great underground complex. When the laughter finally died down, they pulled their horses up and Proteus Nightwalk wrote a short letter with a small feather quill and ink pot that came out of his saddlebag.
“How do you know to carry all that stuff?” said Jon with a shake of his head as a wry grin crossed his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran across an enraged buffalo cow and you pulled out a calf to calm her down.”
“It’s a lifetime of military duty my young friends,” said Proteus with a smile and he came over to Jon and hugged the huge boy although his head barely reached Jon’s shoulder. He turned and did the same to Sorus and then mounted his horse. Before he rode off he undid a saddlebag and tossed it to Jon. “Maybe you’ll find something useful in there one of these days! Ride north to the monastery of the Black Horse. They live in the shadows of the
