He came to a halt near Nikol, reached down a gloved hand, as if for the waterskin. In that motion, Michael knew him.
"You gave me water," said the knight, and his voice seemed to come from below the ground, from the grave. "You eased my burning thirst. I wish you could do so again."
The knight's voice was sad, burdened with a sorrow that brought tears to Michael's eyes, though they froze there.
The knight's words jolted Nikol, drove her to action. She drew her sword from its sheath.
"I do not know what dark and evil place you spring from, but you desecrate the armor of a knight — "
Michael shook free of his fear, ran forward, caught hold of her arm. "Put your weapon away. He means us no harm." Pray Mishakal that was true! "Look at him, Nikol," Michael added, barely able to draw breath enough to speak. "Don't you recognize him?"
"Lord Soth!" Nikol whispered. She lowered her sword. "What dread fate is this? What have you become?"
Soth regarded her long moments without speaking. The chill that flowed from him came near to freezing their blood, the terror freezing their minds. And yet Michael guessed that the knight's evil powers were being held in check, even as he held the reins of his restive steed.
"I hear pity in your voice," said the knight. "Your pity and compassion touch some part of me — the part that will not die, the part that burns and throbs in endless pain! For I am one of the undead — doomed to bitter agony, eternal torment, no rest, no sleep…"
His fist clenched in anger. The horse shied, screamed suddenly. Its hooves clattered on the frozen ground.
Nikol fell back a step, raised her sword.
"The rumors we heard about you, then, are true," she said, trying to control her shaking voice. "You failed us, the knights, the gods. You are cursed — "
"Unjustly!" Soth's voice hissed. "Cursed unjustly! I was tricked! Deceived! My wife was warned of the calamity. I rode forth, prepared to give my life to save the world, but the gods had no intention of being merciful. They wanted humankind punished. The gods prevented my coming to Istar and, in an attempt to cleanse their hands of the blood of innocents, they laid this curse on me! And now they have abandoned the world they destroyed."
Michael, frightened and sick at heart, clasped his hand around the symbol of Mishakal. The death knight was swift to notice.
"You do not believe me, Cleric?"
The flame eyes seared Michael's skin; the dreadful cold chilled his heart. "No, my lord," said Michael, wondering where he found the courage. "No, I do not believe you. The gods would not be so unjust."
"Oh, wouldn't they?" Nikol retorted bitterly. "I've kept silent, Michael, for I did not want to hurt you or add to your burden, but what if you're wrong? What if you've been deceived? What if the gods HAVE abandoned us, left us alone at the mercy of scoundrels like those in Palanthas?"
Michael looked at her sadly. "You saw Nicholas. You saw him blessed, at peace. You heard the promise of the goddess, that someday we would find such peace. How can you doubt?"
"But where is the goddess now, Michael?" Nikol demanded. "Where is she when you pray to her? She docs not answer."
Michael looked again at the medallion in the palm of his hand. It was dark and cold to the touch, colder than the chill of the death knight. But Michael had seen it glow blue — or had he? Was it wishful thinking? Was his faith nothing but wishful thinking?
Nikol's hand closed over his. "There, you see, Michael? You don't believe…"
"The Disks of Mishakal," he said desperately. "If we could only find those, I could prove to you — " Prove to myself, he said silently, and in that moment admitted for the first time that he, too, was beginning to lose his faith.
"Disks of Mishakal? What are these?" Lord Soth asked.
Michael was reluctant to answer.
"They are holy tablets of the gods," the cleric said finally. "I… hoped to find the answers on them."
"Where are these disks?"
"Why do you want to know?" Michael asked, greatly daring.
The shadows deepened around him. He felt Soth's anger, the anger of pride and arrogance at being questioned, his will thwarted. The knight controlled his anger, however, though Michael sensed it took great effort.
"These holy disks could be my salvation," Soth stated.
"But how? If you don't believe — "
"Let the gods prove themselves to me!" said the knight proudly. "Let them do so by lifting this curse and granting me freedom from my eternal torment!"
This is all wrong, Michael thought, confused and unhappy. Yet, in his words, I hear an echo of my own.
"The disks are in the great library," said Nikol, seeing that Michael would not reply. "We would have gone to look for them, but the library is in peril from the mobs. We travel to the High Clerist's Tower to warn the knights, that they may ride to Palanthas, quell this uprising, and restore peace and justice."
To their horror and astonishment, Lord Soth began to laugh — terrible laughter that seemed to come from places of unfathomable darkness. "You have traveled far and seen many dreadful sights," said the knight, "but you have yet to see the worst. I wish you luck!"
Turning the head of his wraithlike steed, he vanished into the shadows.
"My lord! What do you mean?" cried Nikol.
"He's gone," said Michael.
The darkness lifted from his heart; the icy chill of death retreated; the warmth of life flowed through his body.
"Let's leave this place swiftly," he said.
"Yes, I agree," Nikol murmured.
She went to lift the waterskin, hesitated, loathe to touch it, fearful, perhaps, of the death's knight return. Then, resolute, face pale, lips set, she picked it up. "He has been cruelly wronged," she said, flashing Michael a glance, daring him to disagree.
He said nothing. The silence became a wall between them, separated them the rest of the way up the mountain.
Part VI
The Tower of the High Clerist was an imposing structure, its central tower rising some one thousand feet into the air. Tall battlements, connected by a curtain wall, surrounded it. Michael had never seen any building this strong, this impregnable. He could now well believe the claim made by Nikol that the "tower had never fallen to an enemy while knights defended it with honor."
Both stopped, stared at it, overcome with awe. "I have never been here," said Nikol. The lingering horror of the meeting with the undead knight had faded; her lingering anger at Michael was all but forgotten. She gazed on the legendary stronghold with shining eyes. "My father described it to Nicholas and me often. I think I could walk it blindfolded. There is the High Lookout, there the Nest of the Kingfisher — the knight's symbol. We planned to come here, Nicholas and I. He said a man was never truly a knight until he had knelt to pray in the chapel of the High Clerist's Tower — "
She lowered her head, blinked back her tears. "You will kneel there for him," said Michael. "Why?" she demanded, regarding him coldly. "Who will be there to listen?"
She walked up the broad, wide road that led to one of several entrances into the fortress. Michael followed after, troubled, uneasy. The tower was strangely quiet. No guards walked the battlements, as he might have expected. No lights shone from the windows, though the sun had long since sunk behind the mountains, bringing premature night to the tower and its environs.
Nikol, too, appeared to find this silence, this lack of activity odd, for she slowed her walk. Tilting back her head to try to see through the gloom, she started to hail the tower. Her call was cut off.
Cloaked and hooded figures surged out of the night. Skilled hands laid hold of Michael, swiftly relieved him of his staff, pinned his arms behind his back. He struggled in his captors' grasp, not so much to free himself, since he knew that was impossible, but to try to keep sight of Nikol. She had disappeared behind a wall of bodies. He heard the ring of steel against steel.