The Path of Dreams

Chapter One-3

“The gates aligned focus the mind to cross the bridge. That was what it had read, and had no reason to be on the page.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there is now a link between the forest and the valley. We have two of the seven Shrines of the Gods, I would bet your soul on it. I need proof from one of these places, and the valley is the most obvious place. Maolmordha shall go there since I need to actually be able to learn something about the distortion.” There had to be something that would tell him that this was a focus for the Gods. Of all the people he could trust, she was the most dedicated. In truth he had already made up his mind to send her there the instant he had seen the stone. Again Garias cursed the fact that he could not move swifter himself. Having long ago given up counting the years he knew that utilizing the greatest focus only would relieve him of the ravages of age. That, or the Tome of Law. One way or another, he would accomplish his goals.

In a much more relaxed frame of mind now, Garias became aware of a timid tapping at his study door. Aware that the burdens of ruling a city the size of Raessa meant he would never seem to get a moments peace, Garias unbolted the door. On the other side stood a guild runner, one of the few people that the Witch Finder would allow in his private study without good cause, Armen watched in silence as the messenger followed him into the study. Garias took position on his seat, and resumed contemplation.

“Wine, Armen?” Garias indicated with a tilt of his head that if Armen wanted a goblet, he needed to fill two. Armen complied. One did not decline an invitation from the ruler of Raessa, no matter what the option.

“So what have you to report about tonight then?” Garias asked in a tone hovering on utter boredom.

“The wizards are nearly here, master. Nothing else seems to change. The commons still hang nightshadow over their doors and windows, convinced it will keep them from being sighted by 'the evil eye', as they put it. I have no idea if it is successful, but it gives the city a distinct aroma.”

“I don't recall the last time I went down there.”

“The focuses still hold on the walls, and the greater focus draws people from as far away as the headwaters of the Hotiari, leagues to the East. The city is packed. People will have their diversions, I guess.”

Those that did not have the privilege to live behind the insurmountable city walls were forced to make do outside, and over the past twenty seasons or so, the city had grown considerably. Why they felt drawn here, they never knew, but Garias had it all in hand. The misbegotten souls were drawn by the addictive power of the city itself.

“Excellent. So the thousands that now flocked inside and out are ripe for use in the defence of the city should the need arise, and to feed such dark magic as the Golem.” It was a useful focus, and had added benefits. On top of the fodder down in the city, the focus also drew those with similar abilities from the nomadic tribes that Garias loved to hate. They had provided him with a steady supply of humans with the ability to focus all sorts of magic, and had taught him a lot. The fact that he despised the use of such magic was a side issue. The knowledge was locked away safely in his library, and he had proven time and time again to himself that it was not what you knew that was the key to success, but where to find the answers. The answer to one question, the question of what the commoners believed, was a simple answer.

“Nightshadow will not help them at all, Armen. The simplest focus could scry into any house from this tower. There is not a secret that I could not find should I have but the need.” Garias closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his body on the verge of a new discovery. As the Golem grew, so did he.

“The question I would like you to answer though is why they would be doing such a thing. The focus around this city ensures that an original thought from any of this chattel is erased as soon as they think it. They do, they exist, completely unaware that they are as a fly in a spiders web.”

“Could it be the focus itself?”

Garias looked at his underling with a dismissive glare of contempt.

“Stupid imbecile. Were that to happen do you not think every focus wielder in this entire tower would not come running? Even those who give us the delightful feeling of hate would know.”

Armen bowed his head in supplication. “I will keep my ears open for any stray comment, master.”

“You do that,” sneered Garias. Annoyed by Armen's implication that the focus that he spent over thirty years and used countless lives to perfect would have a flaw, Garias turned his back on the underling in an all too obvious gesture of dismissal. “What do you have for me?” he asked of the messenger, who stood holding an empty wine cup.

“The wizards have arrived, my Lord.”

“How are they here so quick?” Armen burst out, a lack of thought in his sentence.

“There are other methods than walking. Go see to them. You, messenger, go to Nejait and bring me the head of the Guild of Fire.” With that dismissal, Garias studied his wine. The aroma was thick, full of wild fruit and a robustness that matched his own desires. Armen had his uses after all, but he had to constantly remind Garias that he was as dense as the rest. If Armen had not proved so useful as the public face of the overzealous 'Witch Finder', Garias would have had him removed permanently.

Hearing the door close, Garias decided to walk down to the prison. His entertainments had been few and far between in recent times, and he had missed revelling in the stink of fear and misery that reeked from the very walls. He used the door in the lower chambers of his tower now, for it provided a much easier route. The windows showed that it was completely dark, not just the false twilight provided by the receding sun. This was the right time of day for visiting such a place. It looked too hygienic and airy during daylight hours, for Garias preferred space for his minions to work on their victims. He had one man in mind as he walked down the passage that squeezed through false walls along the edge of the fortress and down into the bedrock beneath. The old man from the guild in Eskenberg. This was a particular source of irritation, as he had been on the verge of taking not one, but three wizards of great potential. One of his informants had come across one of the three one day, and had witnessed him demonstrating and selling a focus stone to some fat merchant. From that point on the informant had followed the man, and his two close friends, noting points of interest and passing them via the network to Armen, whom he believed to be in charge of everything in Raessa. The informant had it on good authority that these three had found something that would allow them to break the conventional boundaries of focusing, that most of the Law Guild used. That was a wasted community if ever there was one; wrinkled old men harping on about their sacred old law while all they did was use the occasional focus to prolong their sorry lives. It was not even worth plundering that useless pot, not unless he had truly desperate need. The only danger was the relative proximity to Raessa, but he had seen to that. These three, they could have been such a find, such a source of knowledge for him, to the point that he entrusted the Golem to retrieve them from their warren. The plan had seemed so simple. In order to research in relative peace they apparently had isolated themselves from the rest of their order. It should have just been a case of swooping in there and removing them with nobody the wiser. As luck typically had it, an of explosion ripped through their demesne just as the Golem entered. The reason he knew this was the state of the only survivor of the debacle, this one old man. Garias had literally hit the roof when all that had returned was this. The survivor had borne the brunt of his anger for days on end. Garias was nothing if not vicious and thorough. It has been nearly a full pass of the moon since Garias had seen the man, and tonight he intended to get answers to his questions.

Reaching the remarkably well-lit chambers, Garias paused to savour the raw emotion in the air. It had helped to have the dwelling of the Golem so close. Every being in this wing of the city was afraid, almost to the point of outright panic. They all knew what walked within these walls, and that it hungered. Many a torturer had been lost because the Golem needed to absorb souls and became impatient. That was just a fact that Garias had to live with. The three he had hoped to catch would have been a huge stepping-stone to discovering a way to contain the hunger of the creature's aura, but that moment had passed. He had to make do with what was in front of him, and this old man would tell him tonight what he wished to know. As he passed like a wraith down the corridor, a succubus intent upon feeding off of the emotions of men, he heard one feeble voice crying out:

“Water, please, whomever you are,” came a croak-like whisper from behind the door as he passed it. Garias closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. It was one of the green men, the sole survivor of his massive focus used to attack the forest. The desperation was like an elixir to Garias, who knew the Golem would benefit greatly from this soul. But power did have its uses, and this remaining guildsman was strong to have survived the blast that had shattered so many of his brethren into limp bundles of flesh and bone. “Do what he asks. Give him some… water.” Nodding to one of the guards stationed outside the door, Garias moved on, sure in the knowledge that the man would get water, if not a little beating as well. The room he had been seeking was three cells down. This room was no different to the others, except for its contents. The rest of the chambers had a bed and a bucket, but on the night that this particular prisoner had been captured he had been in such a rage that he had had him manacled to the wall, and had left him in that state.

As he opened the door the results were there to show. The gnarled shell of a man hung from the chains by his arms, his wrists chafed and scarred from never being released. A sense of defeat and hopelessness permeated the air, and this thrilled Garias. The stink of excrement was enough to make any lesser being gag, but Garias barely noticed it. He just stood there and watched. Presently, the prisoner trembled, coming out of a dream into a nightmare. The old man, hair lank and greasy, beard tattered and grey, looked up with a tremendous effort. He was unable to hold his head up for long, and soon it dropped back down to hang limp in front of his body.