Chapter I:
Candor Proud
The Escape
With a soft thud the young man eased the guard's dead body to the ground. The guard's chain armor made more noise than he would have liked, but at least he was dead; and now nothing stood between the young man and his freedom. Killing the guard was easy; he had been foolish enough to leave behind a small wooden spoon when he last brought food to the dark stone prison cell. A day and a half of working the spoon against the rough cut stone walls had transformed it into a deadly weapon.
Three weeks had gone by in that dark place, but now he was free. Without the iron bars in his way, the young man would have little difficulty escaping.
But before he left the prison there was one thing that he needed to find. The voice of his old teacher echoed in his head as loudly as it would have if the older man were hollering within the stone halls of the dungeon. 'Never, ever, EVER, lose your Book!' he ordered, commanded, impelled and otherwise demanded. 'Not only does it represent your own labors, but it represents secrets that must not fall into the hands of any other people.'
He was not afraid of this latter possibility. The elves of Sunlan would never discover the secrets of the Book. They, despite their longevity, were too impatient for real learning. 'Curses!' the youth hissed to himself as he brushed the dust from his sleeves. He gently rolled the guard onto his back and searched his body for anything useful. He bore a sword, but the young man knew that he would not need it. He found three keys, a mashed chunk of bread - which he took - and ten small bronze coins. 'Better than no coins,' he thought as he rushed out of the cell.
He had been blindfolded when he entered the dungeon, but he thought he could find his way out without too much difficulty. He had counted the number of steps in each hall. 'Thirty steps from the entryway to the cell,' he said, calculating the distance. 'To the left there are scarcely eighteen paces.' He turned sharply to the right and made his way past several empty prison cells, none of which had either window or bed. These were the cells reserved for those who the elves either wished to kill, or for those they wished to interrogate.
It was to this latter end that the young man had been imprisoned.
He had arrived in Sunlan at Evnai port, dressed as a merchant and bearing the seal of Ason, the master of Inklas. But by some trick of fate it was discovered that he had not come to the north in order to buy or to sell. A boy, a human child no more than seven years of age, had tripped in the street as some elf lord was charging through the stone-paved road that leads from the port of Evnai to the western gate of the city, and from then on to Centan. This was the road he himself meant to travel; and so it happened that he stood but six bounds from the boy when the chariot appeared, turning a corner as though the flames of Thaeton the dragon pursued it. Without thinking (and if he had thought about it he never would have done it - for what is such a child to him?) the young man darted after the boy. He leaped through the air and caught the youth by the edge of his shirt, pulling him to safety just as the horses reared back, kicking their startled legs through the air.
The elf was unharmed, except for his pride.
'Fear not, master elf,' the young man had said quickly, 'the child is safe, and your horses are uninjured. It is a good turn for all.'
At the mere suggestion that the life of a human was worth troubling his beasts the elf turned crimson with rage, and leaped from his chariot with his whip in hand. He swung it hard at the false merchant, but the young man dodged his blow easily. In his fury the elf lumbered forward, fully expecting the mortal to repent and drop to his knees in fear. The merchant neither repented nor backed away, however, but stood ready to return the elf's abuse blow for blow - or, as was more likely in this case, to evade every strike and to strike once lethally. The elf seemed to sense this somehow, and fear filled his eyes as he drew closer to the dark young man who had withstood him.
Rather than testing his own strength, however, he summoned guards and ordered the man bound and gagged.
Had it not been for the child - again, why should he care about the child? - he would have cut his own throat that very moment and avoided all of this trouble. But as he saw the awe and gratitude in the child's eyes he could not bring himself to end his own life in that manner - not in front of the boy.
Instead he allowed them to bind him and carry him away blindfolded to the prison of Evnai Port. He might have killed any number of the guards, elvish warriors though they were, before being taken or slain, but then he would be treated like a murderer, and not merely a troublemaker or rabble-rouser. He would have to escape; and it would be all the easier if he did not have elvish blood on his hands.
Thus he found himself the prisoner of the elves in Evnai, and all of his weapons and supplies had been taken from him.
Still making his escape, he came at last to the entryway of the dungeon, where three armed men stood guarding a thick oak door. Each man had a blade sheathed as his side and a short spear propped against the stone floor. He watched them for a moment before acting, but once a plan was formed in his mind he did not hesitate. He rushed to the door and pulled hard at the lock, acting as though he thought it would give under his feeble strength. The two nearest guards made as if to restrain him, thinking he had gone mad. But as soon as they drew near, the prisoner relieved one of the guards of his sword and the other of his head.
'The goddess!' the third guard shouted, fumbling at his side for an ivory horn. The prisoner hurled the sword through the air, severing the strings by which the horn was hung and piercing the man's neck, killing him instantly. The remaining guard fell into a rage and prepared his spear to strike. The prisoner grabbed the spear as it approached and pushed it and the guard past him, tripping his captor as he stumbled past. In an instant his arms were fastened around the guard's neck and he said in a soft but imperious tone, 'Key.'
The guard felt at his waist for a moment, indicating that the keys were in his pocket. The prisoner removed them and released the man, leaving him with his spear in hand. 'Fool!' the guard shouted, attempting to strike the prisoner once again. But the man dodged and struck fiercely at the shaft of the spear, breaking it in two. The pointed end he took for himself, and then went about unlocking the door as though the other man were no longer there.
'What kind of devil are you?' the guard muttered, looking at the broken end of his spear with amazement.
'I do not know,' the prisoner answered. 'I was not aware that I was a devil at all. You seem to know more than I do about devils, so your opinion would undoubtedly be more certain than my own.'
'Why don't you kill me?' the guard said, his face red with rage and fear at once.
'I will,' the prisoner answered coldly. When the guard made to protest the prisoner shook his head, 'There is no use. There are things in this world that are bigger than you and bigger than me as well. Know at least that you will die for the good of the world. I do not expect that to be much of a comfort to you, of course. But it is true, and I may as well give you the opportunity to understand.' In truth he meant only to calm the man enough to ask him where his belongings were hidden.
'Where can I find my belongings?' the prisoner asked.
'I hope you die of the rot!' the guard cursed.
'I could kill you slowly,' the prisoner said coolly. 'Or I could kill you in an instant, ere you even know what happened. I care not which you choose, but I do want an answer from you.'
'Everything should be in the chest behind the water barrels,' the guard stammered, obviously hoping that his helpfulness would change this strange escapee's mind about killing him.
The prisoner walked over swiftly, trying to avoid showing any signs of anxiety. In truth his mind was racing. In that book was to be found every secret he had been taught and many more that he alone had discovered during his studies. He was fairly confident that he had written it cryptically enough that no one but himself would be able to understand it. But fairly confident was not good enou
gh when it came to the secrets of his people.
It did not help that it had been foretold that his family would somehow bring disaster upon their homeland. Could this be the foreseen blunder?
'Who are you?' the guard asked fearfully.
But the prisoner did not answer him. He found his throwing knives and thankfully took them up and placed them into a sack that was hanging from the wall. He found his dark clothing, his Smoker and his Firesling and his Thunderstones. He found a purse filled with gold coins. This did not belong to him, but he took it without hesitation or remorse. He found a few other oddments, but he could not find his book.
'Where is the book?' he asked, trying his best to conceal his anxiety. The last thing he wanted was for the man to think that he could use its location as a means to barter for life.
'I do not know,' the guard said. 'Perhaps the Jailor took it.'
'What is his name?' the prisoner asked flatly. 'And where can he be found?'
'If you release me, I will bring you to him.'
'Tell me only his name,' the prisoner said kindly, 'And I will leave you here in peace.'
'He is an elf. His name is Olihon,' the man blurted out.
'Thank you,' the prisoner said politely. 'I truly mean it, that is very helpful to me and I appreciate it.' Nonetheless he threw one of his knifes into the guards throat, sending him tumbling to the ground as he died in a fit. He walked calmly over to the guard and retrieved his knife, wiping the blade clean upon the man's cloak. He threw the sack with all of his belongings over his shoulder and unlocked the oak door, passing from captivity to freedom. As he left the room with the three dead guards he turned and looked at the last man, whose blood yet poured from his body. He could not tell whether the man was yet clinging to life or not - he would certainly die soon enough. But he said in a calm voice, 'I am Candor Proud, of the Black Adder.'
He was, indeed, descended from the famed Captain Proud, whose actions in ancient times had drawn the attention of the Tower to the elves of Sunlan. The Magi had foretold that Captain Proud's descendants would 'break the Tower asunder', and they were, therefore, quite hated among some of the more powerful families in Lapulia. But whatever anyone thought concerning this prediction, it had also been foretold that from the line of Captain Proud would arise the savior of Lapulia. How both of these things could be true was beyond any interpretation. For what is Lapulia without its Tower? How could one save Lapulia while destroying that which not only gives it its might and security, but its very identity as well? It was largely due to such questions that the Proud family had never seen one of its members raised to the Black Adder. But Candor had exceeded all expectations during his training, and was quickly brought to the Mages to be tested and trained. In the end, the High Mage decided to give him a chance. 'The source of the prophecy has lately come into question,' he explained to the others, 'and I do not think that we should turn down such a candidate without acknowledging that, from time to time at least, even the Seers are simply wrong.'
It was, indeed, to investigate one of these Seers that Candor had come into the north. The Star Seers of Lapulia were but briefly mentioned in the Wars of Weldera. And this was appropriate, since the author of that work knew only what little he could glean about Lapulia from the heir of the Chieftan of the Galvasons, who had studied as a foreigner in Lapulia and from the scout Revere, who was of Lapulian blood, but who had, at the time of their meeting, never been to the Magic City.
It is true enough, however, that the Lapulians kept ones they knew as Star Seers in remote places throughout the world. Understanding that all things are in some manner connected, the Mages of old devised a way to preserve the lives of its sages indefinitely, and set those whom they called Deathless Eyes upon hilltops to study the heavens. The practices and procedures these poor creatures had to endure in order to attain immortality was long ago condemned by the Mages. This is highly significant, of course, since to the Mages very little is forbidden if it would seem somehow to serve the purposes of the Magic City - especially if it serves for its protection and preservation. Certainly nothing has ever served Lapulia more efficiently than the knowledge these Seers have provided for its strategists. Regardless of their utility, the creation of these beings was considered so cruel and wicked that it was forbidden in the ancient years of the world, long before even the elves had been born.
The High Mage who had created them - and who had rendered himself immortal as well - was taken and slain, his body being cast from the very top of the Magic Tower (the most shameful way for a Lapulian to be executed - cast from the heavens to the deeps of the sea). The prudent Mages that succeeded him did not make an end of his cruel, but very, very useful creations: The Star Seers.
Their bodies were so altered that they could stare unblinking at the sun and watch the stars wheel overhead without rest or relief. They had all, in their mortal years, been trained in the highest of all Lapulian sciences, and so they were able to calculate the motions they watched, and to learn precisely what would come to pass in the heavens. In due course, this knowledge extended to the happenings upon the earth, which, though distant from the stars, are not disconnected therefrom. In varying degrees these sorry creatures became adept at predicting what would come to pass even among human civilizations. They could foretell wars, predict storms, discover calamities that had befallen the earth in ages long past and warn of dangers that would come upon Lapulia in ages not yet imagined.
Everything they said was recorded by a scribe (as much as was possible at least) and sent to the Tower for interpretation and study. Alongside the scribe were at least two of the Black Adder, who would guard the Seer from any external dangers. More often than not, however, the scribe himself was one of the Black Adder, along with his guardians, and the three Black Adders would record his sayings in turns. This was, generally speaking, more efficient than having but one scribe (scribes must sleep now and again). Also, speaking generally, the scribes did not quite record everything. From now and again the Star Seers would make jests or simply complain about something that vexed them, or ask for a drink of water. These sorts of things were not generally recorded. If a Star Seer jested too much they ran the risk of angering the Mages.
The Star Seer that dwelt in the northern regions of Bel Albor had angered the Mages in Lapulia. He recently spoke of the fall of Lapulia, and of devils and demons on black leather wings, and of fire raining from the heavens. He spoke also of poisoned air and a great chasm where the Tower stood. After these reports the Mages received nothing further, and so decided to send one of the Black Adder to investigate. If it had been a thousand years earlier they would never have sent a member of the Proud family. But the ancient prophesies about the line of Captain Proud had become so common that the Mages themselves began to look upon them with suspicion - especially since the original foretelling had come from the very Seer in question. It is not uncommon for men to grow careless when it comes to things a former generation feared. It is also not uncommon for men to grow fearful of that which a former generation had grown careless.
Candor Proud stepped out into the busy streets of Evnai. The door he had just opened was apparently not the main entrance, and there were only two guards standing nearby. He opened the door wide and hid himself behind it, pinned between the oak and the stone of the prison. He called out in a booming voice, 'He's escaping - hurry!'
The two guards whirled around in amazement, looking at the open door with wide eyes. They took up their spears and rushed into the prison. As soon as they had entered Candor shut the door behind them. They were only in the room for a moment before they realized what had happened, but by the time they opened the door and looked out into the street Candor had vanished from sight entirely.
The Jailor's House
It was mid-day by the time Candor found his way to Olihon's modest home. The Jailor of Evnai was, in a sense, the most hated figure in all of Sunlan. The port and its commerce drew a great number of mortals se
eking work, and so with the mortals came all their evils. The Jailor Olihon was the man charged with overseeing them and making sure that they did not pose any danger to the elves of the city. But it was an unpleasant occupation, and after a century and a half of the work he had fallen in the esteem of the elves. He was lord over all criminals, and servant to all nobles, and he was as unhappy as might be expected. This unhappiness made its way into the prison, which had under his authority become a grim and dismal place. He chose to live somewhat outside of the main city of Evnai so that he would not be troubled by the nobles and not known as the Jailor by the men.
As secretive as he was, however, Candor had little difficulty discovering where he dwelt. There was not a soul in Evnai who did not know his name, and after a short time Candor managed to find a few noble-looking elves who could answer his questions about where the Jailor kept his living quarters.
The small but neatly managed house was empty, however, and Candor found nothing in the man's chests and cupboards. He left the house as quietly as he had entered it, leaving it in such a state that no man could have known that it had been entered. From an old widow who lived a few houses from Olihon he learned that the elf often frequented the Hooked Fish Inn, which was about a half-hour's walk to the northeast along the road. She did not seem to know anything else about the man - she did not seem to think that he was an elf, and she certainly did not know that he was the Jailor.
Candor thanked her for her help and followed the road toward the inn. He managed his outward mood quite well, as he had been trained to do, but deep within him he knew that he would be unsettled until he once again held his book in his hand.
He passed a group of small workshops, places where mortal men labored to earn a living, some by fixing wagons, others by selling fruit or meat. He passed a blacksmith's shop and a tailor before finally coming to a great fountain with a broken statue in the center. Long ago the fountain had run dry, as the river that fed the city its water had altered its course several hundred years earlier. This area of the city was once quite prosperous, and had been a dwelling place of the elves. But when the river left, so also did the elves.
Except Olihon, of course.
Candor scanned over the houses until he saw one building with a weather-beaten sign of a fish with puckered lips preparing to kiss a rather feminine looking hook. He shook his head and entered through the open doorway. There were not many people at the inn. The sun still soared high in the late Spring sky. One drunk man slouched over a table in the corner, another two men played dice at a table near the door, and one sad, solitary man sat in the center of the dining room. He had a bowl of soup in front of him and a half-eaten loaf of bread leaning against an empty mug.
A serving girl smiled brightly at Candor, seeming more happy to see a customer than he thought possible. He took a gold coin from his pack and asked her to bring him two ales.
She happily obliged, disappearing into another room to fetch his request. It was, he thought, undoubtedly the gold in his purse that drove her to serve with such enthusiasm.
He made his way around the dusty wooden tables to the place where the lone man sat, lazily eating his bread and soup. The dice-players were both grey haired, and so could not be of the Deathless. This man, then, was Olihon - unless the Jailor of Evnai was the passed out drunk. In any case, he could not question the drunkard until he awoke.
Since the gold was not his, it was easy to part with. 'Care for a bit of company?' Candor said to the man, beckoning to serving girl with a wave of his hand. The girl cheerily brought the two mugs of ale to the table and set them down, one before Candor and one before the other man.
Olihon, for it was indeed the Jailor, hesitated for a moment before picking up the ale. When he had taken a sip of the ale, however, he seemed to perk up. 'Thank you, stranger, the elf said. 'What brings about this good turn?'
'I've had some fortune,' Candor said with a smile. 'So I thought I might spread a little cheer in Evnai.' He waved his hand across the table as if to indicate his good favor toward all that surrounded him. But as he waved his hand he let fall a pinch of white powder, which slipped into the other man's ale without being noticed.
'That is rare enough these days,' Olihon said grumpily. 'Those who are not dying in the wars are dying of want or boredom in the festering cities of Sunlan. If you think Evnai is in need of cheer, you should hear what they are saying about Centan and about Alwan.'
'Any news of the war?' Candor asked politely. The Lapulians, of course, were aware that a war of some kind or another was being waged in Bel Albor, but it never hurt to get more news. First hand experience was at times a better source than even the wizened Seers.
'There is nothing new about this war,' Olihon said. 'It will go on for as long as the world endures no doubt. But I have heard that nearly the whole region from the Esse to the Swamplands of Thedul is now loyal to Agonas - to Lord Agonas, that is, or to Lord Dalta.'
'That is good news for Sunlan, of course,' Candor said, as though the news was encouraging to him.
'War news is good for no one,' Olihon said.
'That is true enough I suppose, master elf,' Candor said with a laugh, noticing a redness growing in the eyes of the elf. His powder was beginning to take effect. 'Lord Olihon,' he began, 'Tell me about your own line of work. Anything interesting in Evnai's dungeons. You know, I have heard it said that the dungeon has an empty cell reserved for one of the High Elves. Is that true?'
For an instant Olihon seemed taken aback by the mention of his own name. He looked into his ale with a puzzled expression as he tried to recall whether or not he had told this strange young man his name. And now that he thought on it, he could not quite remember whether this kind young man was a stranger at all.
'I'll have some of this soup,' Candor said to the serving girl as she passed by their table. He suddenly remembered that he was hungry. 'And some bread too - better make it two loaves.'
He was not naturally this friendly. But a Black Adder trained almost as much in the arts of deception as in the arts of war - a deadly combination, of course. He could act friendly, even if he could not be friendly.
'There is a room that we call Zefru's hall,' Olihon said after deciding that this young man must be one of the younger guards at the prison - or someone from one of the nearby inns - he could not remember.
'Zefru?' Candor laughed, feigning interest. 'You mean the Dagger of Agonas? Why would there be such a room in Evnai's dungeons?'
'Zefru,' Olihon said, speaking with equal parts admiration and equal parts contempt for the high elf, 'Zefru is as dirty and rotten a thief as ever there was born in Sunlan. Yet he eluded the rulers and guards of Evnai for ages. Everyone knew that he was a thief and a murderer. But no one ever caught him or was able to prove that he did what everyone knew he did. There is a cell set apart for him, but he has never occupied it. Over the years men have donated things - furniture, golden lamp stands, red carpets and the like - and we have furnished the room quite splendidly. Ilun, the man who oversaw the jail before I was given the task, once sent him an invitation, and even promised to bring him an elf-maid as a bride if he would confess and agree to live in the prison. It was a jest, of course; no one expected anything of it. But it was told in every inn throughout Sunlan for a time.'
'That is very interesting indeed,' Candor laughed. 'There must be all kinds of strange things that enter into those guarded cells. Especially seeing as Evnai is a port city.'
'You are a clever fellow,' Olihon said proudly, suddenly seeming ready to tell just about any secret, and tell it happily. 'There was a strange fellow that was brought in by one of the elf lords - some kind of troublemaker.' Olihon paused for a moment and stared at Candor with a puzzled expression. In the end he shook his head, convinced that this kind soul who had bought ale for him could not possibly be their prisoner. 'We would have beat him and released him,' he continued, 'but he was carrying the strangest things!'
'What
sort of things?' Candor asked enthusiastically, trying to give Olihon the impression that there would be nothing out of the ordinary in simply shouting out every detail.
'Well, he had some strange - well, I didn't know what it was. He also had these round, iron... things.' Olihon paused and thought, trying to remember what else they had discovered. 'Oh, there were about thirty knives all of different sizes and shapes - battle knives mind you, not the sort of thing you cut a potato with. And... a book.'
'A book?' Candor laughed, spilling his ale as though it had taken him by surprise. 'A book of all things? A book, and thirty knives?'
'Yes, and it was a strange book at that. Full of pictures and words that didn't make a bit of sense. It reminded me of the fables they tell in the north, where the Essenes live.'
'Not them,' Candor said, acting as though he was tired of hearing such things.
'Yep, it was full of gods and goddesses, heroes and beasts. It was like something a child might play, but it was all finely done with beautiful color ink work on the images. I almost wish that I could have kept it myself.'
'Where is it, then?' Candor asked coldly. The powder was in full effect, and he knew that now there was nothing to prevent Olihon from speaking the truth and speaking plainly.
'I sent it to Morarta,' the elf answered. 'I sent it to Eberu and the god-hunters. They are always looking for that sort of thing. I imagine they will want to come and take the prisoner themselves.'
'I have never heard of this Eberu before,' Candor said. 'Does that mean that I am complete fool?'
'No,' Olihon said. 'You only know of Eberu if you are causing trouble for Lord Xanthur. If you have never heard of him, then that is all the better for you. It is better to know nothing about the god-hunters. I have to know them, of course, since I am the Jailor.'
'The god-hunters?' Candor said, feigning fright.
'If you haven't heard of them, then maybe you are a fool,' Olihon said honestly, the powder taking the place of discretion. Candor smiled at the insult, however, since he knew that it was born of his own actions and not from anything within the other man. 'They are Xanthur's men,' Olihon explained. 'And right now Eberu is their chief.'
'And they hunt gods?' Candor asked.
'You can say that, I suppose,' Olihon laughed. 'But it would be better to say that they hunt people. Anyone who teaches something that is a danger to Sunlan or to Ilvas or, I guess, to Alwan, though I don't think the god-hunters have much to do with the western country, owing to the war.'
'They hunt them for their ideas, and not their crimes?' Candor said, curiously. He suddenly realized that his interest had gone off track. He shook his head slightly and asked, 'But what of the book? What interest would Xanthur and his god-hunters have in such a thing? It seems to me that such nonsense would be better set aside for the bath house.'
'That is what I would say too,' the Jailor said, chuckling at the jest, 'but rules are rules. You see, half the rebellions in Alwan, and perhaps all of the rebellions in Sunlan have had some god or goddess or spirit to blame. So Xanthur some time ago decided to keep an eye on all these gods and goddesses. And how does one keep an eye on gods and goddesses? By keeping an eye on their servants. So the god-hunters were born. Xanthur gave them some kind of official term in the courts of Sunlan, but the people know them for what they are.'
'Sounds like a good idea,' Candor said truthfully. 'When gods and goddesses are involved, you can never be too careful.'
'That is true enough,' Olihon said.
The serving girl returned with a steaming bowl of soup and two loaves of bread, which Candor promptly ate, asking questions and making jokes about the state of Sunlan or of Evnai Port. But as he finished he could see that the effects of the powder were beginning to wear off. He pushed back his chair and left several gold coins on the table - enough to pay for both of their meals. He winked at the serving girl and vanished from the inn and from Evnai Port forever.
Lord Folly
As soon as Candor stepped out of the inn the drunk sat up with a start and lumbered from the inn after him, leaving a heaping pile of gold in the place where he had slumbered. The serving girl stared at the gold dumbstruck. As soon as the man was on the street, however, he vanished from mortal sight, his tattered clothing giving way to a bright white robe. Outside he met two others like him; black robed Death and grey clad Sleep. 'Brothers,' Folly said. 'You have seen him!'
'It is truly him?' Sleep asked, raising a bushy grey eyebrow. 'That is truly the man who will serve the light by serving the dark?'
'Have I ever been mistaken before?' Folly asked.
The others paused as they considered.
'Then it is at last being set in motion?' Death asked coldly. 'The unmaking of the Dragon?'
'It has ever been in motion,' Folly replied. 'But it is only now coming into view. He will go to the north, and he will find what he does not seek in the wastes.'
'Then the days of Bel Albor are coming to a close?' Sleep asked with great weariness in his voice.
'They are,' Death said. 'I can feel it in my very hands, which soon will stretch out across this whole land.'
'You almost sound... happy, brother,' Folly observed.
'I am never happy,' he replied coldly, 'but I am never discontented.'
'That is all one can ask for, I suppose,' Folly said with a shrug.
'Was that really necessary?' Sleep asked, looking back toward the inn.
'You mean the gold?' Folly laughed. 'Nothing I ever do is necessary, brother.'