Errand of Mercy

Chapter Two

A light breeze from the sea stirred the fronds of the palm trees lining the streets outside the high-domed vault of the Stone Arch. The four guards at the top of the Vault's granite steps came to attention when they saw a sweating Lord Garkim jump from his horse, leaving it untethered in the street, and race up the steps toward them. The guard sergeant stepped forward uncertainly to challenge him.

"The password is zal tran kor mokV Garkim barked, hurrying past the larger man. "Guard the entry!"

The guards backed off, looking at one another in astonishment. The guard sergeant shouted for two of their fellows down the street to join them, and they took up positions of greater alertness, their weapons drawn and readied for an unknown foe.

Ikavi spat other passwords at the guards at the second doorway, then stood impatiently as the two huge bronze doors there remained closed a little longer. His eyes took in the white pillars, the nervous soldiers, the huge solemn statues to either side of the inner door, the curling paper on the wall with its brief regulations for guarding the vault.

One of the two massive doors creaked as it slowly opened inward. No one was visible on the other side. Ikavi waited, teeth grinding, as the door opened fully. Just beyond the doorway was a huge, squat, doglike statue sitting on its haunches, in a narrow hallway that curved off to the left and right away from Garkim. The stone dog was as thick as a bull and the height of a man, its expressionless eyes looking in Lord Garkim's direction.

The dog's stone lips abruptly moved as if they were flesh. "You may pass," it said, then returned to its state of immobility.

Garkim stepped through the door and heard it slowly shut behind him. He hurried on to the left, toward the final set of doors. "The gate in the Stone Arch is opening!" he shouted.

"The arch gate is opening!" called an invisible guardsman somewhere above. Whispers and a metallic rustling echoed through the curved hall, then-nothing. Magical silence reigned.

Lord Garkim reached the far doors on the inner wall and pulled up short. "Let me pass," he said, panting from exertion.

The doors vanished. He went through the doorway, then heard a rush of air behind him. The hall through which he had passed was now sealed and trapped with magical stone and iron.

Garkim walked into a vast, bright hall, octagonal in shape, with thick, round pillars reaching along its walls to support the high dome above. Rippling colors reflected from the marble walls, nearly drowned in the sunlike brilliance of the magical light pouring down from the ceiling. Metal nails in Garkim's boot soles clacked and echoed until he came to a stop and eyed the great chamber. It appeared to be empty except for a lone object standing in the center of the room's colorful tile-mosaic floor.

Only forty feet away was a dirty gray arch carved from a single slab of rock, covered with glyphs and runes. Garkim had seen this chamber several times before on routine visits. The elaborately etched stone had not changed, nor had the "door" of rainbow light that filled the space beneath the arch. Garkim glanced at the floor, noted his location on the complex mosaic, and stepped back a pace. He allowed himself a deep sigh. He'd apparently made it in time.

The flickering rainbow curtain inside the Stone Arch faded; a ripple of darkness filled the space instead. Lord Garkim flinched. He had never seen a gate in operation. The inside of the gate was now an opaque black surface. His right hand strayed to the hilt of the long sword strapped to is belt, but he forced his hand down to his side. It would be damaging to betray fear with guards watching him from above.

Someone stepped out of the gate into the great domed chamber. It was a man, as large and broad-shouldered as a soldier of the Ffolk, in bright silver plate mail and an open-faced helm that revealed a long mustache, long dark hair, and square face. He entered leading with his bright round shield in his left hand, head down, shoving forward hard as he did so in case anyone tried to block his way. A long-handled warhammer came up in his right hand, ready for an overhand strike. Garkim had never seen armor and weaponry so elaborately engraved and decorated. A great warrior, indeed. The shield, which seemed to glow, had a balance and scales engraved upon it.

Garkim put his right hand slightly out to his side and waved back, in a warding gesture. Do not attack, he telepathically told the guards above. Then he opened his mind to receive the stranger's alien thoughts.

"Identify yourself!" the warrior ordered Garkim. He spoke Faerunian Common, not the Thorass Garkim had expected, but Garkim had studied many languages. He nodded agreeably before answering. The fighter was a religious warrior and gave few second chances. The visitor stepped away from the gate, which was still black. More warriors were coming, Garkim understood.

"Be at peace!" Garkim called in Common, making no unnecessary movements. "Do not approach me. Stay near the gate. You are in-" He hesitated. A second warrior, a young man in gold-scale armor, came through the arch. This one led with his long warhammer, punching it forward to clear his way. Finding no opposition, he spotted his fellow and took up a position on the other side of the arch, both warriors swiftly scanning the room for other threats.

Garkim stifled a gasp as he received their thoughts. They were holy warriors of Tyr, the ancient god of justice! Did they know of…? No-no, they were here seeking someone, a kidnapped woman…

"You are in no danger where you stand," Garkim called out, putting strength in his voice. "Stay close to the gate and do not approach me immediately. My name is Lord Ikavi Garkim."

"Is this the Utter East?" shouted the golden warrior. Strands of carrot-red hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead.

Garkim noted the gate inside the arch was still black. "It is," he replied. "From where do you hail?"

"We came from Undermountain," the silver-armored warrior replied, turning his full attention to the councilor. His hammer was still ready to strike. "It would be wise to answer us truthfully. Are there traps in this room, around us?"

He can tell if I am lying. He reads my voice as I read his mind. "Yes, there are traps," said the councilor. "You are in no danger if you follow my instructions. Do not approach me."

"You said that already," said the golden warrior, looking up at the brightly lit dome far above. "We-" He stopped and turned, hearing a footfall.

A third armored warrior came through, leading with a bright two-handed sword. He glanced left and right, saw his allies, and traded places with the first warrior at the latter's motion. Moments later, a fourth man walked out of the blackness beneath the stone arch. He was an older man in loose-fitting leather clothing, a long, thick staff held out in a defensive posture before him. His long, silver hair was tied back in a ponytail. He stayed behind the other three, but glanced back at the gate and moved aside.

A wizard, he is a wizard. Wait-the others don't know what he really is. He is a secret wizard, posing as a staff-armed warrior. He hopes he will not have to drop his disguise as a fighter. A youth and another wizard are behind him. Garkim nodded thoughtfully. "Are more of your party coming through the gate?" he asked.

"Yes," said the first warrior shortly. "Now, tell us exactly where we are.'

"Certainly, certainly," said Garkim slowly, gathering the last of their thoughts. The next man through would be a novice, a trouble-prone sort tolerated by the others despite his clumsiness. A wizard-woman, a noble, would be the last person to enter through the gate. This group was bent on finding someone here, a kidnapped woman with whom Garkim was unfamiliar. They had already fought many powerful monsters guarding the gate's other end in Undermountain, and they had expected to fight hundreds more monsters here. They were astonished but still relieved to find only a well-dressed man inside a marble rotunda full of light-but they expected their host to sprout fangs and wings at any second. Garkim carefully drew a breath.

"Well?" demanded the first warrior.

"You are in a building that is called the Vault of the Stone Arch," Garkim began. "We are in the city of Eldrinpar, in the Imperial Reaches of Doegan. Further greetings must wait, however. Follow my instructions if you would leave this area safely. Look down at the mosaic floor on which you are standing. You must not cross the great circle of flowers made from red and yellow tiles that you see. Ker-" He cut himself off; he had almost used the golden warrior's name. It wouldn't do to let them know he could read their minds. "Keep inside that circle, and no harm will come to you. Sir-you with the golden armor, you are very close to the edge."

The golden warrior did not back up. "I dislike being fenced in, my good man. What will happen if I take another step?"

You will die, thought Garkim irritably. "You will trigger a trap, and you will have little time in which to regret it," he said loudly. "You are safe there, where you are. Please lower your weapons and pay attention to my instructions."

"Identify yourself more fully to us first," said the silver warrior grimly. He stepped forward, his right armored foot coming to rest a fraction of an inch from the circle of inlaid flowers. "You seem to have been expec-"

"Hey! Is this the Utter East?"

Startled, everyone looked back at the gate. A clean-shaven youth with short, sandy hair and well-tailored clothing had come through. He held a large fighting knife out as he turned around, staring at the chamber with huge eyes. He carried a large backpack with a bedroll on top, and a long coil of thin rope hung from his belt. "Wow!" he gasped. "What a place!"

The gold-armored warrior abruptly reached out with his hammer and struck a light, glancing blow against the white tile floor outside the circle of inlaid flowers. It happened too fast for Lord Garkim to catch the thought and shout a warning. He was in the act of flinging up his arms to shield his face when the trap went off.

A block of black stone fell out of nowhere from above and struck the ground directly in front of the gold-armored warrior with a bone-jarring crash. Shattered floor tiles flew across the room, hammering armor and battering exposed skin. The gold warrior fell backward, his hammer clattering to the ground beside him. The black pillar, as wide across as a man's outstretched arms and half again the height of a tall man, settled upright into the smashed tile floor with a groan, then was silent.

"Stay where you are!" roared Garkim, enraged and unnerved. "Stay there or you will be killed!"

Several of the visitors moved anyway, grabbing the golden warrior and hauling him and his weapon away from the stone, closer to the black gate. The warrior with the staff helped the armored man to his feet.

Anger burned in Garkim's face. "The gods curse your stupidity!" he shouted in fury at the group, now bunched defensively around the arch. "This room is protected against all invaders using the gate! You are idiots and fools to doubt me!"

The visitors said nothing, their weapons ready. After a pause, however, the silver-clad warrior- their leader-lowered his shield and hammer. He exhaled and nodded his head, muttering instructions to his comrades. The men moved away from the black gate, eyeing it and Lord Garkim with grave suspicion.

"We will follow your directions, then," said the leader to Garkim. "My name is Miltiades, of Phlan. You obviously anticipated our arrival."

"Not I," said Garkim, forcing himself to be civil with an effort. "Your arrival was foreseen by my liege, our emperor, the Mage-King Aetheric III of the Imperial Reaches of Doegan, who bids you welcome. I am instructed to see you safely out of this building and guide you to quarters prepared for you in the mage-king's palace."

"I thought this was the Utter East, not some empire," mumbled the youngest man.

"Noph," warned the silver warrior.

"This is indeed the Utter East, or at least a part of it," said Lord Garkim. "It is well that you came here and not to one of our neighboring kingdoms, but we can discuss that later. For now, be assured that you are in good hands."

The third man through the gate, the one with curly blond hair and a two-handed sword, grinned as the tip of his weapon touched the floor. "You don't seem fond of people just coming and going through the gate," he responded. He tilted his head briefly toward the huge block of stone to the side, then glanced back at the gate. "Speaking of which, what's keeping Aleena?"

"Experience with gates breeds great caution," said Garkim. "Only a poor man or a fool fails to bar his door. Now, if you at last wish to escape this chamber, you must first look-"

He broke off and craned his neck, his gaze going past the newcomers. Something behind the visitors had changed. He hadn't yet caught what it was-he hadn't been paying attention. The newcomers, following his gaze, turned to look at the gate. Tyr's Word," someone whispered in shock. Lord Garkim stared in astonishment, his instructions forgotten. The blackness inside the stone arch had vanished. No colors replaced it. He i could look under the arch and see the other side of I the rotunda clearly.

"The gate!" shouted the golden-armored war-i rior. He turned to the silver warrior in amaze-I ment. "What happened to the gate?" The silver warrior shook his head, staring at the I space under the stone arch. "That should not have I happened," he muttered, glancing uneasily at Lord I Garkim. "The gate should still be working, unless-" I "Unless something happened at the other end," said Kern suddenly. He stepped forward, tested the space under the stone arch with his hammer, I then slapped a hand against the stone arch. The prunes that covered it were dark and lifeless.: "Where is Aleena? Did some fiend attack her?"

Noph cleared his throat. "Uh, guys, it's okay," he said. Everyone turned to stare at him. The youth had already put away his knife. "Uh, Aleena, um, she stayed back.; Maybe she…"

"She what?" shouted several of the men at once.

Lord Garkim closed his eyes for a moment and f sighed.

It was going to be a day he would not soon forget.