by Dan Zangari
“It’s the rogulin,” Elsia said. “Iltar said it smells like its aftereffects.”
Alanya made a face as she drank the elixir. She stepped away from the counter, but moved back to steady herself. Alanya abruptly set the goblet down, bracing herself against the counter.
Hazais and one of the maids entered at that moment and noticed their mistress. “Your Excellency!” Hazais shouted, dashing across the kitchen.
“I’m fine…” Alanya said. “I-just-need-to-sit.” She slurred the words and grabbed the goblet, taking another sip. Alanya made another face, looking like she was about to vomit.
Elsia looked at Iltar warily. Her gaze seemed to ask, “What did we do wrong?” Iltar wondered the same thing. They had followed the recipe exactly, so nothing should be different.
Alanya stumbled, splashing some of the elixir from the goblet. Hazais grabbed her, but she staggered past the boys, and then fell forward out of Hazais’s grasp. Iltar went toward her, but he was too far away. The high duchess hit the floor face-first, spilling the goblet across the floor.
“Your Excellency!” Hazais and the maid screamed in unison.
Iltar was the first to reach Alanya, and he knelt beside her. He touched her neck and felt her pulse. It was slow and rhythmic. He glanced to the boys. “This is why I don’t want you drinking it,” he said sharply.
“Is she dead?” Bilda asked with a gasp.
“No,” Iltar said as Hazais knelt across from him.
“Your Excellency!” the butler cried as he shook Alanya’s shoulder. “Your Excellency.”
“I think the elixir must have knocked her out,” Elsia said. “The last apothecary we visited said her halisym was extremely potent.”
“We must make her comfortable,” Hazais said, pulling Alanya’s arm over his shoulder. Iltar helped, and they lifted the limp woman to her feet. Alanya’s head hung as they carried her through the kitchen and down a hall. Everyone followed.
They carried Alanya into a sitting room and gently sat her down on a long couch. The butler swung Alanya’s legs up, propping them atop a pillow.
Soon, everyone was in the sitting room. Elsia came up beside Iltar, holding one of the goblets. Was she going to drink it despite seeing what it had done to Alanya?
“Did you pass out that quickly?” the countess asked, holding her goblet at eye level.
“No,” Iltar said. “But I don’t succumb quickly to things like that.” He was the only one who had drunk the elixir the first time.
“I see…” Elsia sighed and moved to one of the chairs with an ottoman. She looked quiet and determined.
A tight grip pulled at Iltar’s arm. Hazais stared at Iltar with a menacing gaze. “Did you know it would do this?”
Iltar glanced at the butler’s grip. “No,” he said coldly. Hazais scrunched his forehead, then a crash resounded beside them, and Iltar spun.
Elsia was unconscious in the chair. Her hand hung over the chair’s arm, dangling above the shattered goblet.
“Aunt Elsia!” Pagus shouted, dashing to the unconscious countess.
“What have you done?” Hazais demanded, sounding furious.
Iltar ignored him and stalked back to the kitchen, with all his acolytes but Pagus in tow.
“This could kill them!” Hazais shouted after Iltar. “What kind of man do you think you are, endangering the ladies?”
Iltar simply raised his brow at the butler, and Hazais continued railing at him. He ignored the opinionated butler and found Petral—one of Alanya’s guards—standing in the kitchen.
“This is the concoction, Master Iltar?” Petral asked.
“Yes, but sit down before you drink it,” Iltar said.
The guard nodded and grabbed a goblet before exiting the kitchen. Petral had been selected due to his ability to recall the vivid details of his dreams. Alanya thought he would be a perfect test subject.
“I won’t have any part of this!” Hazais shouted.
Iltar continued through the kitchen and glanced at the butler. “Your mistress ordered you to participate.” He stopped at the goblets and grabbed two of them. Iltar rounded the corner, holding a goblet toward Hazais.
The butler, however, refused to take it. Iltar and Hazais exchanged fierce gazes until Pagus entered the kitchen.
“Uh… Master Iltar?” Pagus asked.
“Here.” Iltar handed the goblet to his apprentice.
Pagus carefully held the goblet and strode out of the kitchen. He looked eager. Hazais spun, sighing in exasperation. The butler exited the kitchen, shouting for more of the servants to come help him carry Alanya to her bed. It seemed an indecency to him that she was sleeping on the couch.
Ignoring the butler, Iltar turned to his acolytes. “If we’re not awake by midmorning, use enthralling spells to wake us.” Then he hurried out of the kitchen and toward Alanya’s bedchamber.
* * * * *
Iltar was sound asleep within seconds of drinking the elixir. Greens and browns whirled around him, and he found himself wandering through a familiar forest. He knew those trees; they led to his family’s homestead on Soroth.
Soon, Iltar stumbled into the clearing. Streaks of yellow and pink light whizzed around him, like arcane and acidic bolts. It was as if they were trying to hit him.
Must focus, Iltar told himself, struggling to move toward his grandparents’ home. His muscles felt heavy.
To become lucid these past few times, he had imagined a man with a white tunic and used that anchor to take control of the dream. But that wouldn’t do this time, not if he wanted to reach Vabenack. The author of Dreamwalker had missed a particular detail in his instructions that he had included in a prior part of the book: The object that draws one into lucidity must have the First Emblem—a diagram in the Cherisium religion—somewhere upon its surface.
Strong winds blew against Iltar as he crawled toward his home. A boulder flew from the sky, crashing before him and obscuring his view.
“Damn it!” he shouted and fought against the wind. Why was there so much resistance? In none of his other dreams had it been this difficult to take control. Deep down, was he fearful of accessing Vabenack? Or was this a by-product of the elixir?
Iltar rounded the boulder, and the grass became spotted with red, accompanied by intense heat.
Magma.
Iltar swiftly picked his way across the grass, but almost fell into one of the pits forming from the wind. Magma bubbled and burst behind him. The winds raged. Another boulder crashed, followed by another, and another. Amid the chaos, Iltar hurried to the porch and stopped at the door.
There it is.
The First Emblem was carved into the door. It was a sword with a jagged fuller, pointing skyward. Six spikes curved below the pommel, arcing upward, with eight-sided stars resting at the tip of each spike.
The commotion ceased behind him and Iltar felt in control of the dream.
I need a clear space, he thought and opened the door. It led to a white landscape with a white sky. Once through the door, Iltar closed it, and it vanished. Only he remained in this place.
Focusing his mind, Iltar manifested a circular doorway, forming seven keystones out of polished galstra. It hovered in the air before him, as if held up by a spell. He quickly constructed the rest of the doorway, then spoke the incantation from Dreamwalker, “Alza Cho’k sa’maz nira.”
Iltar felt no magic manifest upon speaking those words, and he supposed if they would open the doorway they were more like phrases to activate a tevisral. He had heard of magical objects that required words to activate them, but had never encountered any.
Yellow light surged from the keystones—that hadn’t happened before. The light surged to the center of the doorway and expanded, erupting in a brilliant flash. Iltar shielded his eyes, but not quickly enough. The flash blinded him. Spots formed in his vision, but eventually faded.
“I’ve done it!” Iltar cheered. “Finally!”
The circular doorway he had formed was like
a window looking into that strange yellow-sky realm. Triumphant, Iltar laughed with a twinge of hysteria and stepped through the doorway to Vabenack. His feet landed on sleek glass, and he expected to slide upon it, but there was traction. How odd…
“Amazing,” Iltar muttered. Glassy ground spread as far as he could see, and the sky was devoid of the blood-red clouds. He looked down and saw a shifting landscape of a hillside beneath the glass. It was like standing in the sky and looking at the ground. The grass grew, became dormant, and then greened; all within a second. Buildings suddenly sprang up, then crumbled. The ground beneath kept cycling through these changes, which happened every few seconds. It was the oddest experience, like he was watching the world age and renew.
Dreamwalker claimed that one could see any part of Kalda’s past here in Vabenack. One must only focus on the place where they wished to be and then guide that area to the proper time using words and thoughts.
Iltar walked a short distance, and then turned. He expected his portal from his dream to vanish, but it was still there.
“Alanya!” Iltar shouted. “Elsia!” He spun, searching for the women, but the glassy landscape was empty. He was alone.
“Pagus!” Iltar shouted, but the boy didn’t answer. “Petral!”
Perhaps no one else made it… Iltar had told them of his revelation in the herbalist’s shop. They all knew they must focus on manifesting an object with the First Emblem somewhere on it. Perhaps they had trouble getting their subconscious minds to register that change.
Iltar continued wandering across the glassy landscape for what seemed to be hours. “There has to be a better way to traverse this place,” he said with a sigh. “I need a landmark or something.”
Iltar kept walking. A dark spot loomed over the horizon. He continued toward that spot for a long time, and it soon grew. The tips of mountains rose from the glass, meeting the darkened spot in the sky. The darkness seemed to extend for quite a way.
Does magic work here? he wondered, then uttered an incantation to quicken his pace. White magic surged from his hands and enhanced his legs. Iltar felt an urge to run, and he dashed across the glass. He felt youthful as he sprinted. Though he had kept in good shape even after his last adventure, Iltar hadn’t run this fast for so long.
The skies darkened and the peaks he had seen became towering mountains cradling a valley filled with trees. After an hour of running, Iltar dashed into the valley, a dark-purple lake at its heart. Across the lake and along the foothills of the mountains was a towering castle unlike anything he had ever seen. It scraped the sky, rising at least thirty stories.
“By all that’s magical!” Iltar gasped, still running.
What was this oasis in the desert of glass? Who put it here? He hadn’t manifested it, had he? So many questions, and Iltar was determined to answer them all.
“A beast shall stay his hand against the Unspoken One. He shall not have a mind to slay him.”
- Prophecy of Soron Thahan
The Castle of Laelin Lake had a peculiar smell within its halls. It somehow reminded Cornar of the Keepers’ Temple, though he didn’t know why. Cornar had reentered the dream walking down another gaudy corridor behind Melthas. Was he Naedar again? Cornar studied each of the men, none of whom looked unfamiliar.
“Naedar,” Adrin whispered, “come with me.” The grand mage slipped out of formation and hurried to an intersecting hall. There wasn’t anyone around besides their infiltrating band.
Cornar quickly caught up to Adrin, who was climbing a stairwell. They seemed to be quite high up in the castle. Beautiful windows rose to the next floor, allowing a view to the lake and the surrounding area. The view didn’t look so odd at this time of night. Cornar couldn’t even tell that the lake was purple.
“We need to find an empty room,” Adrin said, “some place where we can gather everyone.”
They arrived on the next floor—Cornar didn’t know which it was—and quietly moved toward a door. Adrin pressed his ear against it then nodded to Cornar as he opened it.
The room was a large suite, with a sitting room and bedchamber. It was just as ostentatious as the rest of the castle.
Adrin hurried across the room and carefully rummaged through a desk. He read through several letters and then opened a book filled with handwriting. “I think we’re safe to gather in here,” he said. “This suite belongs to the Countess of Yaenarez. She’s probably at the banquet.” He turned to Cornar. “Tell Melthas.”
Cornar hurried out of the room and back down the staircase. His father and his group of Elites were still where he had left them. “We found a spot,” Cornar said. Melthas nodded and guided the group down the hall.
Cornar, however, lingered for a moment, gazing at the castle’s gaudy detail. What am I going to learn here? he wondered, musing on the supposed purpose of the dream. Prior to sleeping, Cornar had instructed his men not to wake him. He had retired to his cabin on the Promised Maiden and locked the door. Cornar was determined to discover all he could.
On the march back to Kretin, Cornar had recorded all the details of the previous dreams. He wrote them all down, usually immediately after he awoke. The phrase he heard in the second dream when falling—Beware the evil behind the eyes of allies—lingered with him. Initially, Cornar interpreted that as evil intentions among those of the expedition, particularly Jahevial. But now he couldn’t trust any of them; that much had been made clear throughout his experiences beneath Klindil.
“Soldier!” a firm voice called. It sounded familiar. Cornar turned, fighting the urge to jump as he saw the source of the voice. Prince Kaescis Midivar strode smugly toward Cornar, dressed in a royal garb. Two others trailed behind him—
Impossible, Cornar gasped inwardly. Bratan and Laeyit hurried after Kaescis, each looking fierce. How…? how were they here? They looked the same, as if they had walked into his dream.
Kaescis blinked several times, looking at Cornar with annoyance. “Do you not know who I am, soldier?” the prince demanded.
“Perhaps he’s just awestruck,” Laeyit said, snickering. “It’s not often that average soldiers get to stand in the presence of a hero.”
Kaescis a hero? In this time period? But he shouldn’t even exist… the prince was younger than Cornar, wasn’t he? Yet, Kaescis had never disclosed his age. Cornar had assumed Kaescis was younger, due to his youthful looks.
The prince sighed haughtily. “Will you show us to the banquet hall?” Kaescis asked. “The last group of soldiers we passed ignored us.”
“Yeah,” Bratan said with a grunt. “They wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Probably scared of you, Bratan,” Laeyit smiled, flicking her wrist at Bratan’s chest. “Most people piss themselves when you stride into a room.”
Kaescis laughed and then returned his attention to Cornar. “You’re not going to piss yourself, are you, soldier?”
“Uh, no, Your Imperial Highness,” Cornar said, feigning the role.
“Oh good, you can speak.” Kaescis chuckled. “The banquet hall?”
The banquet hall… where had his father said it was located? Cornar couldn’t remember.
“Eighteenth floor,” Cornar muttered.
“I think he’s fighting the urge,” Laeyit said mockingly, and Bratan laughed.
“So two more floors,” Kaescis said, sighing. “C’mon,” he waved for his friends to follow and he walked back down the hall. “I’m not climbing any more steps.”
Bratan and Laeyit looked at each other, and then Bratan lunged toward Cornar. “Boo!” the Praetorian shouted.
Cornar stood his ground, glaring at the towering man. He wouldn’t be intimidated. Bratan studied Cornar with his yellow-green eyes, then slowly leaned back. He was obviously contemplating Cornar’s reaction.
“I can’t tell,” Laeyit said, narrowing her eyes. “Did he piss himself?”
Bratan threw a final smirk at Cornar, then stalked off after Kaescis. Laeyit paused and glanced at Cornar. She was as plain as
she had been the moment he met her. Laeyit sighed and spun around, following the prince.
“Naedar…” The name whispered from the adjoining corridor housing the stairs. Cornar turned to see his father beckoning him. He glanced back to Laeyit, who was rounding a corner. Once she disappeared Cornar joined his father on the stairs.
“Are you all right?” Melthas asked as he and Cornar climbed the stairs.
“Yeah,” Cornar replied, but he was still wondering about Kaescis.
“Were you talking to someone?” Melthas asked as they reached the top of the stairs.
Cornar didn’t answer until they entered the guest quarters. “I just ran into a prince.”
Melthas stopped abruptly. “Alegar?” he demanded, grabbing Cornar’s arm.
“No, Kaescis…” Cornar answered, closing the door.
“The Decimator of Angolith?” asked one of the Elites.
Melthas extended a hand to calm the man. “What happened, Naedar?”
“They were looking for the banquet hall,” Cornar said.
“They?” Adrin asked, stepping close. He looked worried.
“Bratan and Laeyit were with him,” Cornar didn’t think it unusual if he used their names casually.
“Who?” asked another Elite.
“The other two who helped Kaescis hold the battlefront at Angolith,” Adrin said with a sigh. “The three of them bought time for their forces to retreat into the Litor Woods.”
“We can kill both of them,” Melthas said. “Kaescis and Alegar will die today.”
A knot formed in Cornar’s stomach. Was Kaescis somehow tied to Melthas’s death? But how was that possible? The battle Adrin spoke of had taken place sixty-four years ago, when Mindolarn, the emperor, was slain. If Kaescis had participated in that battle he would be at least ninety years old.
“We need to scout the banquet hall,” Adrin said warily. “Haedin, go find Jamar and Vedin. Have them bring their groups here.”
Haedin, a stocky man, nodded and hurried out of the room.
