Simon Hawke - The Seeker

“There is nothing much to see,” he replied, his voice echoing in the darkness from somewhere to her right. “If there were any furnishings in here, they are long since gone. The hall is square-shaped, with a raised stone dais on the side to our left, where the lord of the manor sat during meals or when court was held, hard though it may be to imagine such convocations in a dismal place like this. There are sconces in the walls for torches, and an arched gallery that runs around three sides of the chamber on the upper floor. Looking up a the ceiling, I see rotted beams. The floors, for the mos part, are now gone. No one has lived here for countless generations.”

No sooner had he spoken, however, than a flickering light suddenly appeared, illuminating the walls of the stone steps leading up to the tower. It was as if someone were coming down the stairs, carrying a candle, except this light was blue.

“Witch light!” said Korahna, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She took hold of Ryana’s arm.

As they watched, the light grew brighter, and down the steps, around the curving wall, a figure came. Korahna gasped and drew back fearfully behind Ryana. Ryana’s fingers tightened on the sword hilt. As the figure came toward them, descending the stone steps, they could see it was a man in robes. He was not carrying a candle or a lantern. The blue glow emanated from his very body, rendering his features somewhat indistinct.

He had long hair, down past his shoulders. In the blue glow that he cast, it was impossible to tell what color the hair was, but Ryana imagined that it had to be white, for he looked very old. He had a lengthy beard, as well, which obscured much of his face. His proportions were human, and his robes were intricately woven with many decorations.

Around his bare head, he wore a circlet of what looked to be either gold or silver—Ryana could not tell because of the glow that emanated from him. The center of the circlet was set with some sort of precious stone, cut into facets. He wore a sword buckled round his waist, with a hilt and pommel that were set with precious stones, as was the scabbard. Around his neck was some sort of chain of office, and wide metal bracelets hung on his wrists. His soft booted feet left no tracks in the dust on the stair as he descended. On the last step, he stopped and gazed at each of them in turn, his bright blue aura illuminating the entire chamber.

“Are you the Sage?” asked Sorak, staring intently at the figure.

“I was Lord Belloc, Duke of Carador, Lord of the Outlands, Keeper of the Seals of Knowledge, vassal to Kino Valatrix the First of the Teluri.”

“The Forgotten Ones,” whispered Korahna. “The old legends speak of them. They are said to have been the first to practice sorcery.”

“You are a spirit, then?” Ryana said.

“My body has been dead these past three thousand years,” the spirit said.

“And you have dwelt here ever since?” said Sorak.

“There was a time when I dwelt in a palace that rivaled that of King Valatrix himself,” the spirit said. “It stood several days’ ride to the west of here, in the grassy plains, by a cool spring.”

“Silver Spring,” said Sorak. “How came you here?”

“Valatrix grew jealous of my knowledge and felt threatened by my power. He coveted the Seals of Knowledge, which were given into my safekeeping by the Holy Sisters of the Order of the Willing Key.” He turned to face Ryana.

“Greetings, Sister. It has been a long time since I have met a priestess of the sacred order.”

Ryana stared at the spirit, uncomprehending at first, and then it dawned on her. “The Willing Key .. willing key ... the villichi?”

“Valatrix believed the powers of the Holy Sisters stemmed from their sacred Seals of Knowledge and not from within themselves, as it was in truth. He believed also that my own powers stemmed from these same Seals, and not from years of arduous and patient study of the mystic arts. He believed the Seals of Knowledge held great power, when all they really held was the key to that power, a power that one had to unlock within oneself and nurture patiently through many years of dedication. In his jealousy and greed for power, Valatrix made an alliance with the Damites, who lived to the north in their fortress city in the Dragon’s Bowl, and together, their forces marched against me.

“I could raise no army capable of defeating such a host,” the spirit continued, “and so I was forced to flee, together with those of my loyal retainers and my people who managed to escape. The Holy Sisters scattered to the four quarters, to meet again in a secret place of which only they knew. I came here with my faithful few to build this keep and guard the Seals in this hidden cavern. Here we lived, and here we died, those who chose to stay. I was the last one left, and on my dying bed, I vowed to remain until such time as I could pass the Seals of Knowledge into the hands of one worthy of keeping and protecting them.”

“The Seals of Knowledge,” said Ryana. “Do you mean the Lost Keys of Wisdom of which villichi legends speak?”

“They are, indeed, the keys to wisdom,” said the spirit, nodding, “but they shall give up their secrets only to one who knows their proper use.”

“What of the Sage?” asked Sorak.

“Ah, yes, the Wanderer,” the spirit said, nodding again. “Once, many years ago, he came, the first living soul to visit this place since my death. He was quite young then, rash, and full of the impetuosity of youth. I saw then that one day, perhaps, he could receive the Seals, but he was not yet ready.”

“The Wanderer?” said Sorak with surprise. “You mean the Wanderer and the Sage are one and the same?”

“He has gained much in wisdom since those days ” the spirit said, “but he cannot leave his sanctuary now and I cannot go beyond these walls. It will be for you to take the Seals of Knowledge to him. That is why he sent you, to bring him the Seals and bring me my rest.”

“But ... we do not know where the Sage is to be found,” Sorak said. “Where are we to seek him?”

“In your heart,” the spirit said, “and in your dreams. The Wanderer shall be your guide, and the Seals shall be your keys to wisdom. Behold. . .”

The spirit held out his right arm, fingers outstretched, then turned his hand palm up, raising his arm in a lifting motion.

A large stone block in the center of the chamber floor started to move with a loud scraping sound. It slowly rose up out of the floor to a height of about three feet and hovered there. As the spirit moved his arm, the block moved, floated to one side, then fell to the floor with a resounding crash and cracked into several pieces. From the hole once covered by the block, a small chest rose into the air. It seemed to be made of some sort of metal, for it gleamed softly in the light. It floated over to Ryana and hovered before her at the level of her chest.

“It is only fitting that a priestess bear the Seals,” the spirit said. Ryana reached out and took the chest. It was fastened with a small iron lock, and as she held it, the lock sprang open . . . and immediately disintegrated into dust. “My time on this plane has ended, the spirit said with a weary sigh. “I can rest at last.

And as they watched, the blue glow began to fade, and with it, the spirit faded from sight as well. “Remember, to the seeker the one true path is the path to knowledge,” the spirit’s disembodied voice echoed through the hall. “The Wanderer shall be your guide. The Seals shall be your keys to wisdom. Go now, and go quickly.”

A cold wind blew through the hall as it was once again plunged into darkness. Ryana felt Sorak take her arm and lead them back out of the keep. Outside, she stared at the small chest she held in her hands. It was made of solid gold and carved with ancient rimes.