Prelude to the Last Act

The Never Ending Quest - Episode 14983

........................................................I........... ..................................................

A light drizzle had begun to fall from the sky outside and a cold wind swept through the city of Bannock. Autumn was now far advanced and Winter's Night was coming soon. And though the many chimneys of Montefort blazed and crackled with burning logs the chill in the castle was not dispelled. The people within huddled together in quiet groups or sat waiting, all alone and shivering, for the night to run its course. And within the stone chamber in which the seven archmages deliberated the fate of the man called Denom, dark shadows flitted restlessly across the walls.

The Council of the White Hand had been arguing for hours, debating the merits, both good and bad, of Denom's testimony and of the statements that had been presented to them from the others involved in the strange man's journey. Food had been brought to the wizards as the hours crept slowly by and as they ate they continued to deliberate the question set before them. Namely, whether or not Denom was actually Lord Fred. Finally, Urlathe raised his hand and the others quieted down. "Let us cast our votes now to better see where we all sit in our judgments," he said. A murmuring rose up around the table. He waved his hand for silence. "I know some of you are not yet ready and I will not seek to rush your decision, but I feel that it would serve us best if our opinions were made clear at this time. This is therefore only a preliminary vote." The others acquiesced to this and a small cup was produced. It was passed around the table from mage to mage and each wizard in turn placed a marble into it. When it made its way back to Urlathe he dropped the contents of the cup into his hand and separated the marbles into three groups. White, grey and black.

Three marbles lay in the white group. Three marbles which pronounced that Denom was indeed Lord Fred of Suffex. Thule, Orkney and Faith had cast their votes in favor of the man in the red armor.

Only one black marble fell from the judgment cup. This had been cast by Alexander who was convinced that Denom was no more a D'Honaire than he was a son of Rhom.

This left three marbles neither for nor against. Three marbles dyed in grey and carved with the sygils of Urlathe, Ursula and Britainnie. They were still undecided and each required a greater proof to guide them before they made their verdict.

But where would this proof come from?

"We seem to be at odds with each other, my friends," Urlathe said. "Perhaps we should look at what it is that we agree on." It was Orkney who spoke next. "We know that his form is not an illusion. The Glyphs of Khyrathul would have betrayed such a deception. But of his physical body only his head is true D'Honaire. The rest of him... he's like a patchwork golem. And yet he seems unaware of his queer physical state. Beyond that I can only say for myself that I believe his actions and motives bear out that he is in fact the son of Dredrik D'Honaire."

"And that is where our agreement ends," Alexander jumped in. "I say his actions are just that, an act. And as for his motives we only have his word for why he has done what he's done. And I for one find that his word carries little weight in our deliberations." Turning to Orkney Alexander continued, "You say that he believes that he's Frederigo D'Honaire and that he's acted in a manner consistent with that of the Duke's son. But he also carried on a charade, taking on the name of Denom in an effort to deceive all those around him. He is a confessed liar, and yet you would find truth in his words?"

"He explained that to us," Orkney rebutted, "and his reason was a sound one."

"If that was his true reason," Alexander countered. "And I concede that he may think he's telling the truth, but that doesn't matter. He is, as you put it, a patchwork golem. He isn't a man, he's a thing. He may have all the memories of Frederigo D'Honaire, but in reality he is just a creature created by another's hand. And if you take his words at their value, then it was this Dr.Vincent who created him. But who is to say that it wasn't done under the Dragon's direction? Hmm? Denom claims it was a second dragon, Minestus, who sent him into the desert, and that just as his strength and vigor was on its last ebb he oh so fortuitously discovered Vincent's tower. What if Vincent was a willing accomplice of Minestus; what if this was all planned out by the vile wyrm?"

"To what end?" Urlathe asked.

"The perfect assassin," Alexander answered.

Thule barked out a laugh at this. "Perfect is hardly the word I would use to describe the situation Denom now finds himself in."

Alexander's face flushed. "I do not claim to know all the answers, good Thule, but I will not shirk my responsibility to ask every question. Obviously if Denom was intended to infiltrate the courts of Allaria then something went wrong. I imagine that the attack by the third dragon Denom spoke of, Malachi, set Minestus' plan awry."

Orkney shook his head impatiently, "My dear Alexander, your most salient point is that Denom is a liar and that his tale cannot be trusted and yet you find no difficulty in drawing upon his own words to present these charges against him. You cannot have it both ways. Either he's a liar or he's not. Which is it?"

"The best of liars know to use the truth as much and as often as possible," Alexander retorted. "I never said that his tale was untrue but that his purpose in telling it to us was only to further whatever deception he is a part of. He is obviously a servant of darkness. But if we seek to know the veracity of what he's said then let us be away from here. Let us go to Walants, let us visit Minestus' Peak and stroll through the Haunted Wood, for that is the only way we can verify Denom's tale and more importantly know it's true meaning."

Urlathe once again held up his hand, silencing the others. "That may just be what we will be forced to do. But that will take time that none of us want to give up lightly. Is there no quicker way? I cannot believe that our Arte has failed us in this matter."

There was a hush around the table and then Ursula said in frustration, "His body is a puzzle in more ways than one, we cannot find the answer there." Faith added, "His mind is noble, but dark and tortured, we cannot find the answer there." And then Britainnie finished by saying, "His spirit is clouded, and my eyes are dim, but only there can we find the truth. If we are willing."

Urlathe raised a brow, "Do you say that we are unwilling?"

In answer Britainnie replied, "What is the body? What is the mind? Nothing without the spirit. That is the true self. But I cannot see Denom's spirit clearly. I do not know why. Perhaps it is because it is an inhuman thing, a false spirit created by arcane arts. Or perhaps it is the true spirit of Frederigo D'Honaire, but it flickers and flitters before my eyes because it clings to a body unnatural to it. Either way, if we can discover the true essence of the one called Denom then we will know if he is the son of the Duke of Suffex or if he is not."

"But you failed," Urlathe reminded her, "and there are no others in our Order as skilled as you in seeing what is unseen. What hope then do we have of revealing the truth of it?"

"There is a way to combine our might, and together no secret can remain hidden from me," Britainnie answered. "I speak of the Binding of DelNath."

Urlathe's face grew suddenly dark. "That is forbidden."

Britainnie smiled wryly, "And so it is not our Arte which fails us, but it is we who fail to exercise our Arte."

"Hold no contempt for the Law, Quiet One," Thule warned her, "or else you walk a path that shall condemn you."

........................................................II.......... ..................................................

The door to the chamber suddenly opened and all eyes turned to see who it was that dared interrupt them. Urlathe was the first to speak to the intruder, but his tone was anything but reproachful. "Duke Dredrik, we welcome you to our deliberation."

Duke Dred looked down at the assembled mages, his face set like stone. Behind him his shadow lept up like a bird of prey spreading its wings over the ancient family crest carved into the low arch above his head. In the sudden burst of a spark from the hearth fire, the Duke's eyes lit up in orange scarlet and the rubies inset within the gryphon's head above him flashed in eerie unison as if the two were linked together. Stepping down into the room from the short landing Dred confronted the archmages. "I can sit no longer in the same room as that... pretender. Have you anything to report to me?"

Urlathe shook his head, "I am afraid that we do not. With all our skill we can only say that he may be one thing or he may be another but we cannot be sure which." Orkney stood up then and approached the Duke. "My lord," he said, "let us assume for a moment that Denom is truly your son. If so, the tale he told us rings true to my ears. The perils he faced were amazing but in each instance see how he accounted himself. With honor and loyalty and courage. And after great travail he finally found himself returning home. But he discovers that the world thinks him dead. So what does he do? He adopts an alias so as to reach home and country as quickly as possible. His duty compels him. And no less than duty, his heart aches for those he left behind. Please tell me, would the son you raised from swaddling clothes have acted thus?"

The Duke did not speak but all saw the slight nod of his head. Ursula then stood and said, "Dear Duke, you have spent some time with the man, sitting in the room yonder. You have heard him speak and seen him in the company of your men and yourself." Ursula paused for a moment and then asked, "Is he a stranger to you?"

With his head still bowed, Duke Dred answered with a quivering "No." He took a breath and then looked up. "He has my son's voice and my son's words. Everything he has told us up to the point of his entering the Southern Caves is true. And the rest... I cannot say if it is true or not, but... he is so like my boy." Dred nearly choked on the words, his voice thick with longing.

But then another voice spoke, one with a hard edge. "He has Fred's voice, oh yes, for he has his tongue. Indeed, he has Fred's entire head. But the rest of him comes from some nightmarish charnel house." Faith and Britainnie shot ugly stares at Alexander but they did not refute him. Duke Dred though seemed to sag under the weight of his words. Dred had known for days that Denom, whoever he was, was somehow connected to his son. That a part of his son rested within Denom. But no one could explain to him what this actually meant. Was his son dead and was Denom pieced together with Fred's cold and lifeless flesh, was Denom merely a bizarre half-finished copy of his son, or was Fred in fact the man sitting in the chamber Dred had just left? Dred knew what he wanted to believe, but he had no idea what was actually the truth. "Is there no way to know?" Dred asked the room pleadingly, his voice strained. He could no longer hide his deep yearning to behold his son once again. But it was also clear to him that it was a creature that had returned from the Dragon's den. Would it not then be better for this man not to be Lord Fred? Would it not be better not to know the truth?

"There is only one way, but we will not use it," Britainnie answered the Duke.

"WHAT?!" Dred roared, suddenly changing from a grieving father into an indignant duke. "You have traveled here in order to make judgment on this man. You will do whatever it takes to accomplish your task!" Urlathe took a small step back from the Duke and then flashed a withering glance at Britainnie. "My lord," Urlathe looked at the Duke uncomfortably, "Sister Britainnie is referring to a magic which we cannot lawfully practice--" Dred cut him off. "If it will tell us who this man is then you will use it," he commanded the mage lord.

"But it is a ritual which requires the use of blood," Urlathe respectfully informed Dred. "You know, of course, that blood magic is forbidden."

"You know damn well I do," Dred barked at him. "My father was one of the Dukes that signed the decree. I still remember the tragedy that forced us to put an end to such practices for it was visited upon one of my dearest friends and it nearly destroyed his House." Urlathe nodded sympathetically, "Yes, Duke Barnabas. And since that sorry time no mage of the White Hand has been permitted to perform any act which involves the shedding of blood. And only the King himself can lift that ban. As such, we cannot--" Again Dred cut off the mage lord. "And you should know that in the matter of Denom I have been granted full authority by the King. And so I'm telling you one more time, commanding you, if this magic can tell us who Denom really is then use it."

"As you command, my lord," Urlathe replied. "But I must warn you, even if we discover that he is your son..."

Dred held up his hand. "I know. Even if he is my son, there is cause to fear that in his Quest he has become someone's, or something's, pawn."

Urlathe nodded. "That is the consensus."

........................................................III......... .................................................

Fred waited patiently for the wizards to return, but within him his soul was in turmoil. He had come to accept the tragic course of his life, but a tiny part of him still clung to hope. And this hope had at first been strengthened when he had come here. Upon entering the chamber a guardsman at the door had demanded that Fred hand over his swords. Cautiously Fred had unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to the man and Nelheth-Mord had, amazingly, made no protest. Was this a sign that Fred was not forever condemned to hold that cursed blade? But as the interrogation unfolded Fred realized that he would not escape his dark destiny so easily. And soon his hope died away almost completely. Not that there was much left to begin with.

Since his days in the Haunted Wood he had felt a net of doom draw tight around him. In that forsaken land he had been touched by fear and horror, and after escaping the evil forest he had thought that he would be free of it. But he had discovered that he was wrong. And how could he have been so foolish, he thought, for he was, after all, a damned man. His evil sword marked him as such. And the Lady in White had marked him as well, goading him with omens whenever death rose up to swallow those around him. Was it he who followed in the wake of death or was it death that now stalked him? He did not know. And it did not matter.

For regardless, Fred knew that he was now bound to the forces of evil. This was his great shame, for which he had kept silent until he could meet once again with his father. This was the dark secret that he had refused to speak of even to his sister, although of all those that surrounded him only she now felt any love for him. Everyone else was filled with only suspicion and fear. They did not even recognize him for who he truly was, but Fred knew this too was a part of his curse. It would not let him die surrounded by his family and those he loved, oh no, rather he would face a cold death overseen by the hard faces of men who viewed him only as an enemy. This would be the last punishment of his curse.

But atleast it would come to an end. He only wished it would come sooner than later. He feared that if he remained here much longer that his House would fall under the shadow of death that surrounded him. In his trembling heart he dreaded the coming of the Green Flame. But most of all, he simply could no longer bear the way his father looked at him, the fear and anger and sadness in his eyes. By the gods! Fred's heart screamed in silence, what is taking the wizards so long?! He had told them his story, filled them in on the details of his doomed Quest. What more did they want? What more did they need in order to see that the forces of darkness had claimed him for their own? The White Hand was famed for keeping order when servants of darkness rose up to threaten the lives and souls of men. They were intimately acquainted with the prescribed methods and procedures for dealing with evil. Why then did the wizards seem to hold back from handing down sentence on him?

And then the archmages, led by Duke Dred, re-entered the chamber.

Rowena lept to her feet. "Father," she said with trepidation, dreading the judgment of the White Order. Dred motioned for her to be quiet and then addressed Fred. "You will come with us so that we may make further inquiry into your claims."

Fred looked up at his father in astonishment. The wizards, with all their power and arcane wisdom, still had not come to their preordained verdict?! Well Fred had had enough. He would wait no longer. He rose to his feet and the soldiers in the room stood up with him, their weapons at the ready. "I do not understand!" Fred exclaimed. "That you do not know me I see now is a part of my doom, but that you cannot see that I am a man cursed must only come from your own senselessness!" Fred then moved toward his father. "Father," he said, a pleading in his voice, "I came here for many reasons for I am many things; soldier, knight, and servant. But of all those things, I most care for the honor of being your son. And I am so sorry for having proven myself unworthy of that honor. In my travels I have refrained from telling the truth and sunk to telling lies. I did this out of shame. Shame for what I had become. Shame for the true crime I was guilty of. Ashamed that I was now a man cursed by the darkness. I would tell no one my story, not even dear Wen, for I knew to do so would reveal my dark secret. And I did not want you to learn of my fall from grace like you would the latest gossip about a chambermaid's indiscretion. I did not want the tale of my dark curse to spread around the countryside to be clucked about by old women or peddled by drunken chicken farmers. I kept silent in a vain attempt to protect my Family's honor, a foolish attempt I now see for here I am, forced to tell my tale before this assembled room. And now all of you know my secret, that which I had hoped only to reveal to my father. For it is my father whom I have most wronged. I have brought evil into his House and infamy onto his Family name." Fred bowed his head, his words choking in his throat. "Father," he began anew, the words hoarse and cracking, "I had hoped to avoid a public scandal. I had hoped that I could have come to you in private, and in private beg you for your forgiveness. I wanted to tell you I was sorry before my doom was made complete and the White Hand came to put me out of my misery."

Dred looked down at Fred and Fred could see that within the Duke's eyes a torrent of conflicting emotions raged one against the other. Fred's heart ached at the sight. And then Britainnie's voice suddenly called out to him, "And why should we put you out of your misery?" Fred turned toward her, his face filled with rage and frustration - what game were these wizards playing with him? "Because I am accursed!" Fred shouted at her, "haven't you been listening!? The foul touch of dark things has defiled me. Evil spirits have tempted me and drawn me into their webs of horror. Within a dead dragon's den I came upon an evil sword and it did cleave itself to me!"

"This sword?" Thule asked, holding Nelheth-Mord tightly in his hand. Fred stared at it with loathing. Urlathe gazed at Fred warily and then said, "Child, we understand what you're saying. We listened to your story and did not fail to note the darkness that you have encountered. But curses are a tricky thing. How are you cursed? Are you possessed? Are you a were-creature? Are you compelled to do evil or to bring evil to those around you? Does this sword mark you as cursed?"

Fred pointed at the vile blade and then to his surprise it flung itself toward him and landed in his palm. A gasp of fear rose up from those who watched and the soldiers in the room edged in closer toward Fred, their weapons trembling slightly in their grasps. "What do you think?" Fred asked the mage bitterly, fear gnawing at the edge of his voice.

Urlathe answered him. "I think you hold a sword forged in times of yore, a sword which has beholden itself to you because that is its duty. Like the Flamebane you wear it was made in the days of the Great Empire and mighty magicks are engraved upon its metal skin. It is not evil but simply does the will of he who wields it. Now, if there is evil in you and if you wish to lift it off of your soul then you will come with us without further argument."

  1. The Binding of DelNath

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WolfRun

2/19/2001 8:17:14 PM

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