Defender Of The Crown: Heir to the Crown: Book Seven

by Paul J Bennett

  "Not necessarily. It depends on the purpose of this library."

  "I don't follow," he complained.

  "What is the primary purpose of a library?" Albreda asked.

  "That's obvious," said Hearn, "to store books."

  "Yes, but to what purpose?"

  "For future reference, of course."

  "What if that's not true. What if this library represents history?"

  Hearn looked around the room, taking in the sheer volume of books. "That's a lot of history. That being the case, wouldn't there be multiple books for the same time period?"

  "Likely there is," she said, "and so there is another sub-category within each grouping."

  "I see what you're getting at," said Hearn. "Each shelf might represent a decade, let's say. And within each shelf, books might cover different topics."

  "Precisely."

  "But how does that help us?"

  "I'm not sure it does," said Albreda, "since we don't know when the fissure was discovered."

  "I do," announced Hearn.

  "You do?"

  "Of course, at least in relation to the construction of the tower," he said. "I can manipulate stone using magic, remember?"

  "Then how old is it?"

  "The cavern below predates this tower, of that I am sure."

  "Then we need to find the oldest books in the library," said Albreda. "They will, I'm sure, have some reference to it."

  "You think it of interest to whoever built this place?"

  "Of course," she said, "don't you? After all, what's the likelihood that the tower just happened to be built here?"

  "A good point," he said, placing his book back on the shelf. "You start over there," he said, pointing, "and I'll start here. Between us, we should be able to narrow down the search for the oldest books."

  * * *

  Albreda descended the steps once more, carrying a tray. "Time to eat, Aldus," she said, pausing when she saw the old druid sitting at the table, a candle held high to illuminate some text. "Something interesting?"

  "Indeed," he said, "though not, I fear, related to Revi's condition."

  She moved closer, placing the tray carefully on the table. "What is it?"

  "It's a hidden history," he said.

  "What do you mean, 'hidden'?"

  "It references events that are not mentioned elsewhere."

  "How do you know?" Albreda asked.

  "I was a scholar before I was a mage, remember? I'm fully conversant with Mercerian history."

  "If you say so," she said. "But tell me, what are these hidden events you speak of?"

  "Something called the Shadow War," said Hearn.

  "That sounds ominous."

  "It gets worse," he continued. "According to these notes, there was a war between a group of dark mages and the forces of light."

  "Forces of light? Really? Who might they have been?"

  "I don't know, it doesn't say, but the dark mages were definitely Necromancers."

  "I take it, from the name, that this was all hidden away from the common folk?"

  "And the crown, from the sounds of it," added Hearn.

  "That sounds a little like the Dark Queen."

  "It may, in fact, be related. According to whoever wrote this, the group of Necromancers was led by a Dark Council."

  "Can't they come up with something more original than that?" Albreda asked.

  "I suppose we could call them the Council of Evil if that makes it more palatable," said Hearn.

  "It doesn't matter," she replied, "get on with it. What happened?"

  "The war lasted for several years, with each side scoring victories and suffering defeats, until they finally destroyed the Necromancers' power base."

  "When was this?"

  He scanned the page, looking for dates. "The first mention of them is in the year 753. It appears that's when the court mages of Merceria first became aware of them. They were destroyed in 913, the same year that King Haran was crowned."

  "That's just over fifty years ago," she said.

  "Too old for us," said Hearn, "but not too long ago for Andronicus."

  "Agreed, or the Elves. Lady Penelope was one, remember?"

  He looked up at her, the realization dawning on his face. "You think she was one of them?"

  "It would make sense," said Albreda. "We know she was a Necromancer, after all."

  "And if she survived," said Hearn, "then others might have as well."

  "Forming a Council of Shadows," said Albreda. "It all makes sense now."

  "What does?"

  "Years ago I had a vision," she said.

  "What type of vision?"

  "A shadow growing across the land. I remember telling Dame Beverly."

  "I thought that shadow was Lady Penelope?"

  "So did I, but what if I was wrong? What if that shadow was the return of this Dark Council?"

  "That would be particularly bad," said Hearn. "It took all the mages Merceria could assemble to defeat them."

  "How many?"

  "More than twenty, from what I could tell, and we have, what? Four?"

  "Five if you include Revi," said Albreda, "and that's with Kraloch, who isn't technically one of ours."

  "A far cry from twenty," said Hearn. "What do we do?"

  "Do? What can we do?" she said. "We are only speculating here. We don't know if our premise is even possible."

  "Still, we must do something. What about our Weldwyn allies?"

  "They have maybe a dozen mages and some untrained apprentices," said Albreda, "but only five or six of any real power. If the Dark Council has been reconstituted, it could well be the end of us all."

  "We must keep digging," said Hearn, "and hope more will be revealed."

  * * *

  Kiren-Jool examined the page. "And you say this was in the tower?"

  "It was," said Aldus Hearn. "Albreda and I feel this Dark Council may still exist."

  "This text gives us very little to go on. Are you sure it's accurate?"

  "I would hardly think it worth keeping if it wasn't," noted Hearn. "Remember, it was hidden away from normal folk, including the Kings of Merceria."

  "Do you think they suspected the influence of these Necromancers at court?"

  "I can't say," said Hearn, "but the notes make it clear that only the court mages knew of this Shadow War."

  "We must inform the queen!" urged Kiren.

  "Do you think that wise?" asked Hearn. "The original mages thought it best to keep it secret."

  "Yes," the Kurathian agreed, "but they failed, didn't they?"

  "Failed, how?"

  "At least one Necromancer escaped them, possibly more, and Queen Anna already knows about Lady Penelope and her affinity for Death Magic."

  "I suppose that's true," noted the druid, "but there is little we can do until her return from Norland. The real question here is what we do in the meantime?"

  "What does Albreda think?"

  "She feels it is best to inform the mages of Weldwyn," said Hearn. "At least then, we shall have more eyes watching for the return of these people."

  "We need to begin training apprentices," said Kiren-Jool.

  "Isn't it a little late for that?"

  "We don't know how long they're willing to wait. We know Penelope, as an Elf, is more likely to think in longer terms. If you remember, she spent years building up her power base behind King Andred."

  "You're suggesting we start training other mages, but how do we find them?"

  "And interesting conundrum," noted Kiren-Jool. "Lady Aubrey had some ideas on the matter, but we were all so busy with our lives that we never investigated further."

  "Then we shall have to make it a priority," said Hearn.

  "And we will, but we still have to deal with the problem of Revi's illness."

  "Illness?" said Hearn. "More like a curse."

  "Nonsense," noted the Enchanter. "He has an illness, nothing more."

  "But he went mad!"

 
; "Not of his own accord," said Kiren-Jool. "He spent too much time staring at the flames. I would gather his mind was afflicted, but I must admit I'm no expert in such things. It will fall to Lady Aubrey to determine the cause. What of Kraloch, he's a healer? Has he any ideas on the matter?"

  "I'm afraid not. He's used healing and regeneration on the poor soul but to little effect. I'm afraid with Revi's mind gone, we have to keep him dosed with magebane."

  "Magebane? Surely he's not attempting to cast?"

  "He was," noted Hearn, "though he had little control."

  "Then his mind isn't completely gone," noted Kiren-Jool. "If it was, he'd be unable to recall the words of power."

  "I can't see that as being any help," said Hearn. "He's still not in control of himself."

  "Maybe not, but at least he's still capable of thought, even if his mind is jumbled."

  "Kraloch is going to consult the Ancestors. Perhaps they will have some idea of a cure."

  "Let us hope so," said Kiren-Jool, "for I fear it might prove to be our last chance to help him."

  * * *

  Kraloch advanced to the centre of the magic circle, then sat, cross-legged, placing his satchel before him and rummaged around inside.

  Off to the side, yet still within the circle, sat Hayley and her aide, Gorath. The Orc was explaining Kraloch's movements as the old shaman prepared himself for the ritual.

  "He will conduct a ritualistic cleansing before he begins the spell," Gorath explained. "I have seen him do so before."

  "Is that something we should do?" asked Hayley.

  "No. Kraloch's ministrations should more than suffice. Cleansing is only used when the matter is of great importance. By doing this, he is showing himself to be worthy of the Ancestor's attention. We, on the other hand, will be nothing but passive observers."

  The Orc shaman withdrew a small bowl from his bag, placing it before him.

  "The bowl is made of clay," continued Gorath, "and signifies the earth. In a moment, he will withdraw some dried river grass, representing the element of water.

  Hayley watched as Kraloch removed a straw-like plant tied in a small bundle from his satchel. He tore some off, no more than a thumb's worth, which he then added into the bowl before him. Placing a stick in, he stood it up and held it between his two palms, rotating it quickly, using a back and forth motion to rub the end into the bowl. Soon, a wisp of smoke appeared and he redoubled his efforts until the grass caught fire, glowing, and then smoke began to issue forth from the bowl.

  "The burning plant represents fire," said Gorath, "while the smoke represents air. He will breathe in deeply, to purify his mind and protect his spirit."

  "What is he protecting himself from?" asked Hayley.

  "There are many creatures of the spirit realm that could do him harm," explained Gorath. "This ritual will call on those of a good nature to protect him."

  They watched as the plume of smoke before him grew, and then Kraloch leaned forward, placing his head directly above the bowl, inhaling deeply. Moments later, he sat back, a contented look upon his face.

  "He is now ready to cast," said Gorath.

  Kraloch straightened his back, his eyes closing as he began the ritual. Sounds tumbled from his mouth in an endless stream. Hayley struggled to make out distinct words, but it was impossible. She knew that magic words were universal, forming a language all on their own, but none of the words coming from Kraloch sounded anything like those used by Revi.

  They sat for some time until her legs began to cramp. She was ready to move, eager to stretch, but then Kraloch's chanting ceased, his words echoing briefly in the large chamber before it grew quiet.

  "I call upon the Ancestors," he said, using the common tongue. "Heed my words and come before me this day."

  The shaman's head turned slightly, and though his eyes were still closed, Hayley could tell he was facing some one, or some THING!

  "I am Kraloch," the shaman continued in answer to an unheard question, "of the Black Arrows."

  He waved his hands briefly, uttering some more words, and then suddenly, Hayley felt light-headed. She closed her eyes and the feeling soon passed. When she returned her attention to the centre of the circle, she gasped, for before them stood an ancient-looking Orc, with animal skulls hanging from his neck. The Ancestor stared back at Kraloch with an intensity Hayley found disturbing.

  "Why have you summoned me?" he demanded.

  "I seek your wisdom," said Kraloch.

  "Then speak so that I would know your desire."

  "An ally of my people has fallen ill," the shaman continued.

  "What is the nature of his illness?" asked the spirit.

  "The green fire," said Kraloch. "He has spent days staring into it, and now his mind is gone. Is there any there who can offer a cure?"

  "There is one," offered the spirit, "but I fear their mere presence could put you in great danger. Are you sure you wish to continue?"

  "Though the risk be great, I must," said the shaman.

  "Very well, but I warn you, Khurlig is dangerous. Most powerful of all shamans was she, but her journey since death has been fraught with peril."

  "And she can be of assistance?" asked Kraloch.

  "While she was among the living, she held power over life and death, but such power is not used without cost."

  "I will consider your words carefully," said Kraloch.

  "Then prepare yourself," said the spirit, "for she is on her way."

  The image faded, leaving the room once again in silence.

  "How did I understand that?" asked Hayley. "Were they speaking in Orcish?"

  "They were," said Gorath. "Were you not paying attention?"

  "I could have sworn they were speaking the common tongue."

  "Spirits work in mysterious ways," said Gorath, "and I am no expert, but they seem to have permitted you to understand."

  "What happens now?"

  "We wait for this Khurlig to appear."

  "And who is she?" asked Hayley.

  "I have no idea," said Gorath, "but I would surmise a great healer, judging from the description."

  "What did he mean by cost?"

  "This is also unknown to me," replied her aide. "I suppose we shall just have to wait and see."

  Hayley sat, her eyes glued to the form of Kraloch, who remained in place, unmoving, his eyes still closed.

  Motion off to the side drew her attention. The hairs on her arms stood on end when an Orc came into view, a bent figure shuffling forward on wilted legs.

  "I am Khurlig," the Orc intoned, "Mistress of Life and Shamaness of the Red Hand."

  "The Red Hand?" whispered Hayley.

  "A tribe on the Continent," replied Gorath. "It is they that gave us the secret of the warbows."

  "You seek information about the green flame?" asked Khurlig.

  "We do," said Kraloch, "for one of our allies has been afflicted, and he has lost his mind. Can you help him?"

  The ghostly figure smiled. "I can," she said, "but to do so, I must inhabit a body. Such things do not work from the spirit realm."

  "No!" interrupted a new voice. Hayley turned to where the sound was coming from. Someone outside of the circle was speaking, but to her mind, it sounded as if they were close by.

  The figure of Khurlig wheeled about, turning her back on Kraloch. "You!" she sputtered, "you have dogged my steps for far too long, Uhdrig."

  "And you have overstepped yours," replied the newcomer, entering the circle. The visitor was bent with age, yet her eyes looked keen and observant.

  "Do not lecture me," said Khurlig. "I shall return to the world of mortals and tread upon the ground once more."

  "You cannot," said the newcomer, "I forbid it."

  Khurlig laughed, a high screeching sound that echoed through the chamber, "You cannot stop me this time." She turned to face Kraloch and then stepped forward, her body passing through that of the shaman.

  "He is mine!" came Khurlig's voice, then a scream of a
nguish.

  "You have failed," said Uhdrig.

  "I do not understand," said Khurlig. "Long have I waited for this opportunity, practising my arts by day and night."

  "And yet Kraloch has stayed your hand," said Uhdrig. "You have gambled and now lost. Never again will the Ancestors allow you to communicate with our living descendants."

  Khurlig gave a shrill cry and then began to fade.

  "I don't understand," said Hayley. "What happened?"

  Kraloch turned to face the high ranger. "I cleansed myself as a protection from vile forces," he said, "and it saved me from Khurlig's malevolence."

  "But now we'll never learn how to cure Revi," said Hayley.

  "The answer lies in your ally's past," said Uhdrig.

  "You speak in riddles," said Kraloch. "Master Revi cannot recall his past."

  "No, he can not," agreed Uhdrig, "but his apprentice can recall hers. She has only to seek that which is buried."

  Kraloch nodded his head. "Wise words, Uhdrig of the Red Hand, I shall heed them well."

  "Fare thee well, Kraloch, and may your tribe prosper."

  "As should yours," said the shaman.

  The old spirit faded from view, and Hayley was left feeling somehow lighter.

  "I don't understand," she said. "What just happened? Did we get a cure for Revi?"

  "Hopefully," noted Kraloch, "but it now depends on Aubrey."

  Nineteen

  Valmar

  Fall 964 MC

  * * *

  Roland Valmar looked up from his notes, "You have news?"

  Sir Warren nodded, "Aye, sir. Everything is proceeding according to plan."

  Valmar rubbed his hands together. "This is it," he said, "what I've been working towards for years. This will be a historic day, Warren, you mark my words. The legitimate royal line shall be restored and usher in a new era."

  "Yes, my lord," said Warren, though he knew full well that Valmar was far from a legitimate heir. "Would you like to address the men?"

  Valmar considered it, closing his eyes and seeing himself on a balcony, speaking to a large, adoring crowd. Then, they all fell silent, and he just stood there, like a fool, at a loss for words.