Instead, he found himself in the arms of Hell’s Harlot, a beautiful temptress who touched him shamelessly, bringing arousal from his traitorous flesh. At first he fought against her obscene advances, twisting and kicking fruitlessly in an attempt to escape her tender fingers, her soft lips. But his blows passed through her without effect, while her own gentle touch produced a pronounced reaction in the knight. His soul weakened, his flesh yielded, and the witch used him for her obscene pleasure.
And he, in that foggy weakness, he enjoyed the same carnal gratification. He ravished her as if she were the whore of Babylon, and he relished each salacious convulsion of his loins. Only when at last he lay exhausted, and she fell sound asleep, did he realize that he had been tested by God.
It was a test he had failed.
In his surging grief he strangled the harlot, but he knew that his vengeance was too late to cleanse his soul of sin. He staggered from her lair and found himself in a world of blasphemy… a world in which he had struggled and labored for more than three centuries.
And once again he awakened, and God’s work lay before him.
But now he had a tool, a talisman that would make that work so much more effective. As he did every morning, he reached to his breast, found the stone there, still suspended on its golden chain. He looked at the pearl, at its crimson cross, and understood again that he had been chosen for an important task. The red sigil on the stone was not a perfect cross, since all four of the lines were the same length. Even so, his discovery of the talisman in the possession of the heretical witch Caranor had convinced him anew that his work was here.
And so he emerged from his tent, ignored the stirring of his small army, and raised the stone toward the already bright sun.
“Come to me, Children of God,” he whispered, his fingers clenched around the pearl. “Come to me, and join my new crusade.”
7
The Road to Argentian
Coast of metal,
Silver crest,
Sweetwater stream and glade eternal.
Towers tall gardens blessed-
Argentian!
A home, a source a nest.
Despite the planned early departure, the homebound Argentian delegates needed most of the afternoon to cross the long causeway from Circle at Center to the lakeshore. Tamarwind wasn’t surprised that the homesick elves of his pastoral realm were ultimately reluctant to take leave of the city’s splendors. Indeed, the scout surprised himself with his own regrets, wistful thoughts centered on the woman with the delicate frame and the strong face. He had known her for centuries, had given her the seed that had created offspring, and yet during the last tenday she had made him feel like a giddy youth. The emotions were strong and unusual, but he liked them.
After the long causeway ended at the shore of the lake, the Avenue of Metal became the Metal Highway. Here Wiytstar, the chief delegate, suggested that the party find rooms in the splendid lakeshore inn. Though a long time remained until the Hour of Darken, the other Argentians quickly agreed. Ulfang, similarly being in no particular hurry, was content to swim in the pond among the birds that had given the hostelry its name.
The Blue Swan Inn rose above its own harbor. The place was a sprawling building of rough-hewn wood, with many lofty towers and beautiful gardens of blossoms and sculpted trees. Though of course it was run by elves, it was popular with druids, many of whom maintained boats in the anchorage. Just before the Hour of Darken Tamarwind enjoyed the sight of a dozen of these craft, each propelled by magical wind gusts, racing toward the lighthouse at the mouth of the harbor.
The next day they had a leisurely breakfast and started out by midmorning. The road quickly entered a large, straight tunnel, and the lake-with its island of green trees, marble buildings, and the Worldweaver’s Loom-slowly vanished into a small circle of daylight behind them.
Not that the tunnel was dark, of course. Globes of white light, enchanted balls created by sage-enchantresses a thousand years ago, floated just below the peak of the tunnel’s arched roof. These balls were spaced about once every hundred paces, but a full dozen of them seemed to attach themselves to the elven party and float overhead as they walked along.
“This tunnel was carved by goblins, two millennia ago or longer,” Tam explained to Ulf, who had commented on the generally smooth walls and straight pathway.
“Goblins?” Wiytstar overheard. “Aren’t they terribly dangerous when you get a large group of them together?”
“Not really,” Tamarwind replied. “They’re clannish, of course, but they can be very hard workers. Give them enough to eat and drink, and goblins have done some of the best building in all of Nayve.”
“I see they have drains in many places,” Ulfgang noted, sniffing at a metal grate in the ground. “They could carry off a lot of water.”
Tamarwind smiled. “In fact, there are tales that some of those drains connect to huge tunnels underneath Nayve. Who knows-maybe the water would drain all the way to the Underworld!”
“Well, I know I’m grateful for the lights,” sniffed another of the delegates, shivering and looking sideways as she stepped past the drain set in the roadway’s gutter.
“How did one get to Circle at Center before the tunnel was built?” asked Ulf.
“Well, there’s always been the Highway of Wood,” Tam replied. “And before this route was opened that was really the only way to get from the city to the rest of Nayve.”
The travelers proceeded at a measured pace, meeting several groups of elves who invariably wished the Argentians an unchanging life and then walked on past. There was no way to tell how rapidly time was passing, but even Tam was beginning to feel tired when they noticed an unusually bright glow suffusing the tunnel before them. At the same time the air became tinged with a mingled flavor of spice, smoke, and grease.
A half hour later they reached Garlack’s Underground Inn. The proprietor was an obese goblin, and if he was surly he was also fair. He offered food, drink, and lodgings in exchange for a few simple tasks. Wiytstar Sharand was no master enchanter, but he easily wove simple spells to clean the bedrooms, wash dishes, and refill the water cistern. In return the goblin and his workers produced heaps of fried fish, strangely spiced but quite savory to the elven palates. The floating globes dimmed enough to let them sleep, then brightened as they started out again. Tamarwind, as always when he traveled here, felt the darkness of the tunnel pressing heavily around them, and he set as brisk a pace as the elders could manage.
Even so, it was late in the day when they spotted sunlight before them, and finally hastened out of the tunnel to stand beneath an open sky. The lofty crests around them were hidden behind rugged shoulders of lower ground. As the enchantress had predicted, patches of rubble tumbled by the earthquake blocked the road here and there, but the druids had already done a good job of moving much of the detritus back onto the slopes and crests of the hills where it belonged.
Tam and Ulf found that they naturally walked a little faster than the other seven delegates. With a laugh the scout abruptly realized that he preferred the dog’s company to that of his countrymen.
“I’m glad to have you strolling along the road with me,” he declared. “Doesn’t it seem as if we’re embarking on an adventure of sorts?”
“Anytime I can get out of the city it’s an adventure. And as to me strolling along the road… well, it’s age,” the dog admitted. “A century ago I would have bounded up each of these hills-just for the view!”