“My lord, will you not come back to the throne and continue your enjoyments?”
“I might come back later, after I take care of him,” he said, and nodded toward Garth. “I will also come back to see that you have regained control here, and when I do, all had better be in order.”
The Walker looked back over at the woman, who reclined naked upon the silk divan. He could see the terror in her eyes. He raised his hand and, though she tried to look up at him seductively, her features paled. He snapped his fingers and a cut diamond, the size of a small walnut, appeared between his thumb and forefinger. He tossed it between her breasts and, laughing, turned away. Scooping up a decanter of wine, he strode down the steps of the throne platform and approached Garth. Draining off the decanter, he tossed it aside.
“So, One-eye, you’ve won.”
Garth said nothing, staring straight at the Walker.
“So now you are my chosen servant of the year. Come and I will show you all that you desire and deserve to know.”
The Walker turned away and looked out across the arena.
“I proclaim Garth, whom you call One-eye, the winner of this Festival.”
There was a ripple of a cheer, but most stood silent, and the Walker frowned, looking back at Garth.
“I think they are not happy with the victory.”
“It might be other things, my lord,” Garth said quietly.
The Walker looked over at Varena, who was slowly being dragged away by her servant and Hammen.
“You should claim her satchel, as is your right.”
“Where I am going, I suspect there is no need of it.”
The Walker, chuckling softly, nodded.
He looked down at two monks who knelt at the edge of the circle, holding a great silken bag which contained the mana tribute, the bag pulsing with a radiant light. Kuthuman greedily reached over, took the bag, and looked back at Zarel.
“I suspect there is not as much in here as I expected.”
Zarel lowered his head, saying nothing.
“If that is true, you know I’ll be back sooner rather than later.”
“Why not check now?” Garth said quietly.
Kuthuman looked over at Garth, his features troubled.
“Later.” And he said the words coldly, looking back at Zarel, who gazed at Garth with unconcealed hatred.
“It is time to go,” the Walker announced, and he fixed Garth with an icy stare.
“This will be amusing.”
He raised his hands high.
Garth felt as if an opaque screen had been drawn around him, the world beyond drifting off into a hazy, fog-covered shadow. Sound distorted as if the mob were shouting from down the end of a long underground cavern. The world darkened. He looked up and the sun, which had been blazing with such hot intensity, was now a dull red, darkening into night.
And then he began to fall. His stomach tightened and he suppressed the urge to cry out with fear, wondering for an instant if he were already dead. The ground was no longer beneath his feet, yet he felt no rushing of wind, no sense of flying. The opaque shadow drew in tighter, all going dark. Again he looked up at the sun. It was gone. Overhead there was a narrow cone of light, of brilliant purple, and out of it streaks of light snapped past. Yet it was almost as if he did not see the light, but merely sensed it. He wanted to reach out and touch the lights yet knew that somehow they were impossibly far away. He looked down at his feet. A small disk of dark red was drawing in upon itself, shrinking into a pinpoint, becoming nothing, the lights streaking past him shifting in an instant from purple to red, then disappearing.
Garth felt a surging of power, a sudden delight coursing through him, as if the infinite universe had been reduced to a toy that now rested in the palm of his hand. He reveled in the power, allowing it to course through his soul. Time lost all meaning, all sense, and he was not sure if a second had transpired or aeons.
“Now you know the power of the infinite,” a voice whispered to him.
For the first time Garth was aware that there was a presence with him. It was dark, foreboding, and yet for this instant he could sense an almost benign amusement, as if the Walker was an indulgent old man, showing new wonders to a child.
“The power you wielded is but nothing compared to what I am.”
The light ahead shifted, drifting out of purple into blues, greens-an infinite variety of a million hues. He felt as if he were soaring into the heart of a sun that was exploding into rainbows of fire.
Garth felt as if he could reach out and, with the flick of a finger, set suns spinning on their courses, that with the palms of his hands he could mold and shape worlds, and with his breath set the firmament swirling. He felt as if he had become a god and the power of it was all-consuming, reaching into his soul with its seductive strength.
He laughed, his voice echoing through the night.
The sensation of falling stopped and he felt a pressure on the soles of his feet. All was dark and then, ever so slowly, a hazy light formed, out of focus, as if he looked up into the sunlight from the depths of the sea. The light swirled, sparkled, and then took form.
He was standing in a shady grove, the trees around him reaching up into a crystalline blue sky flecked with high, drifting clouds. The air was rich with a heady scent of springtime flowers. Tropical birds of red, green, yellow, and dazzling white darted past, their songs echoing like a heavenly choir.
Garth turned, smiling, watching them pass.
“It is like paradise,” Garth whispered, and he was surprised that his voice was knotted, a tear blinding him.
And then the memory came. It was warm, soft, laden with the gentle light of childhood. It was the garden of his father’s winter palace, far in the southlands. He looked around closely. There on the green grass was a favorite toy, a wooden rocking horse upon which he would ride and dream of glorious charges. Next to it was a stuffed mammoth, the right tusk gone, the fur knotted from his tiny fingers busily twisting and tying the wool.
It’s a dream.
But it was not. He knelt down on the grass and, reaching out, he touched the horse, which rocked slowly back and forth.
He heard a soft laughter, rich and warm with love.
“Papa.”
He stood up, expectant. A shadow moved behind high bushes that were heavy with orange-and-yellow blossoms.
For an instant he felt as if all the years had been stripped away.
I can see. I can see with both eyes!
He moved as if in a dream, running on short legs, laughing, his voice high and filled with shrieks of delight.
Again there was the laugh.
“Come, Galin. Mama’s waiting.”
The shadow stepped out from behind the grove of trees. He was tall, red-haired, beard and mustache cropped short, a circlet of turquoise stones resting upon his brow, his long flowing robes of a simple cut, embroidered with edging of richest blue.
“Papa!”
He moved around the edge of a fountain, which danced and splashed. A gentle breeze took the water, spraying him with a fine mist, and he laughed at the coolness of it, the rainbow of light.
He reached up to his face to wipe the spray from his eyes.
His hand touched the patch over his left eye.
Stunned, he pulled his hand away and at that instant all faded. The garden melting, shifting, falling away. For the briefest of instants he thought that he did indeed see his father, standing before him with his sad, gentle eyes, reaching out. The image drifted as if falling away into a long dark tunnel and he wanted to reach out to it.
“Papa?”
The image held for a moment, the sad eyes gazing at him, a hand outstretched, beckoning, and he started to step forward toward it.
No! He’s dead. Murdered.
The image faded and Garth turned away, tears coursing down his face. He looked up again.
He was standing on a darkened field that stretched away into an eternity. No sun lit the sky, the world illuminated as if by an unseen and unholy light. Dark green clouds, moving impossibly fast, roiled overhead, racing by. The wind was damp, cold, and filled with a pungent acrid smoke that held with it the stench of corruption. Before him was a darkness that was shadowy, not fully formed, wavery, as if nothing more than mist. The form moved, its black robes fluttering in the breeze, and for a brief instant he caught a glimpse of a skull-like visage. He felt his blood go cold.