The girl became worried, or at least that was how Gardan and Dominic read her expression. Rogen cocked his head, as if listening, then said, “I know it is dangerous, but we owe Pug a great deal. He and Kulgan are the only hope for people like ourselves.” Both men appeared embarrassed by this but said nothing. “Besides, Arutha is the King’s brother, and it was their father who gave us all this wonderful island to live on. How would people feel if they knew we could have helped but didn’t?”
Pug spoke softly to Dominic. “Rogen’s second sight . . . is different from any I’ve heard of. Your order is reputed to have some knowledge of prophecy.” Dominic nodded. “He sees . . . probabilities is the best way I can describe it. What may happen. It seems to require a great deal of his energies, and though he is tougher than he looks, he is still quite old. It is easier if only one person speaks to him, and as you have the best understanding of the nature of the magic that has occurred, I think it would be better for you to tell him all you know Dominic agreed. Pug said, “If everyone else will please remain silent.”
Rogen reached across the table and took the cleric’s hands. Dominic was surprised at the strength remaining in those withered old fingers. While not able to foretell himself, Dominic was familiar with the process as performed by those of his order. He cleared his mind, then began to tell his story from when Jimmy first ran afoul of the Nighthawk upon the rooftop to when Arutha left Sarth. Rogen remained silent. Gamina did not move. When Dominic spoke of the prophecy naming Arutha “Bane of Darkness, the old man shuddered and his lips moved silently.
The mood m the room became ominous as the monk spoke. Even the fire seemed to dim. Gardan found he was hugging himself as he sat.
When the monk halted, Rogen continued to clutch his hand, not allowing the other to pull away. His head was raised, neck arched slightly backward, as if he were listening to something distant. His lips worked without sound for a while, then slowly words were forming, though so quietly they were not distinguishable. All at once he spoke clearly, his voice firm. “There is a . . . presence . . . a being. I see a city, a mighty bastion of towers and walls. Upon its walls stand proud men willing to defend it to the end. Now . . . it’s a city under siege. I see it overwhelmed, with its towers ablaze . . . It’s a city being murdered. A great savage host runs in its streets as it falls. Those who fight are sorely pressed and withdraw to a keep. Those who rape and loot . . . all are not human. I see those of the Dark Path and their goblin servants. They roam the streets, their weapons dripping blood. I see strange ladders being raised to storm the keep, and strange bridges of blackness. Now it burns, all burns, all is in flames . . . it is over.”
There was a moment of silence, then Rogen continued. “I see a host, gathered on a plain, with strange banners flying. Black-armored figures sit silently on horseback, showing twisted shapes on shields and tabards. Above them stand a moredhel . . .” The old man’s eyes teared. “He is . . . beautiful . . . He . . . is evil. He wears the mark of the dragon. He stands upon a hill while below him armies march past singing battle songs. Great machines of war are pulled by miserable human slaves.”
Again there was silence. Then: “I see another city. The image shifts and wavers, for its future is less certain. Its walls lie breached, and its streets are stained red. The sun hides its face behind grey clouds . . . and the city cries out in anguish. Men and women are chained in lines without end. They are . . . whipped by creatures who taunt and torment them. They are being herded to a great square, where they face their conqueror. A throne is erected atop a mound . . . a mound of bodies. Upon it sits . . . the beautiful one, the evil one. At his side stands another, a black robe hides his features. Behind them both is another something . . . I cannot see it, but it is real, it exists, it is . . . dark . . . It is insubstantial, without being, not truly there, but . . . it is also there. It touches the one on the throne.” Rogen tightly clutched Dominic’s hands. “Wait . . .” he said, then hesitated. His hands began to tremble, then in piteous tones, nearly a sob, he cried, “Oh gods of mercy! It can see me! It can see me!” The old man’s lips trembled, while Gamina clutched at his shoulder, eyes wide, holding him closely, terror written upon her little face Suddenly Rogen’s lips parted to emit a terrible groan, a sound of the purest agony and despair, and his body went rigid.
Without warning a lance of fire, a stab of pure pain, erupted in the minds of all who sat in the room. Gamina screamed in silence.