by Emmet Moss
It is the land that is not being cared for. Just as we have a duty, so too did the High King act as the balance in nature for Caledun.
“You’re speaking in riddles again. What connection lies between the two? There must be more.” Leoric inquired.
The answers to the mysteries you seek are within your memories, Leoric. It is not my place to solve these riddles of the past, for that you must look to yourself. When I died, I transferred all of the memories of every man and woman who has held this unique distinction. In the coming years, your dreams will be visions of the past. Learn to use that information, the history of a kingdom lies within you, the true history…
“Why me?” he breathed. “And what of my death? Will I truly know when I shall die?”
A reoccurring dream will hint at your eventual end. I saw the river and flashes of other recent events. I tried to avoid my fate, for so long I tried… but your destiny cannot be altered, Leoric. In the end, your path will lead back to the road you must walk.
“But how could you live with such knowledge?” Leoric asked.
I didn’t really. Remember the promise I asked of you?
“Yes,” Leoric nodded.
Throughout the long years of our storied history, only a scant few An’Dari have ever passed on the gift to their own. Do not let your duty consume you, and in turn rob you of the happiness I know you seek.
“Like you did?”
Search my memories and find the answer to that question. But if you love her, Leoric, don’t ever let her go…
Leoric could sense a change in the air. Rising to his feet, he felt a gentle breeze drift through the trees. The image of Auric began to fade as the wind swirled around the stones of his cairn. Leoric knew that it was time to say farewell.
“Auric, please, there is so much more I must ask…” he tried.
You know now where the answers you seek reside. I believe in you, Leoric D’Athgaran.
And with that, the ghostly apparition was gone, the silvery light that had spread though the glade like a soft mist dissipating within seconds.
“Goodbye,” Leoric said, lifting the gleaming necklace and tying it securely around his neck.
He mentioned nothing of his experience at Auric’s cairn to his two companions. Until he himself felt comfortable, the last thing Leoric wanted to do was worry his friends. Angvald pressured him to no end, the Kaleenian still in awe of the transformation that had transpired between Leoric and Auric. Leoric begged him to relax after the questioning persisted. Angvald wanted to know everything; from the names of each descendant, to specific battles and a detailed description of each one.
Leoric simply didn’t know the answers. Many of his friend’s queries mirrored his own. As Auric had warned, the knowledge would not appear overnight. Dreams and visions, he had said, would slowly help Leoric trace the history of those who had freely accepted the very same burden.
Benoit, on the other hand, remained relatively quiet, the thin man’s dark eyes absorbing the information with keen interest. The scholar asked sensible questions, his voice calm and steady. It was the history of the long lost An’Dari that most intrigued him.
As the three men bedded down for the evening, Leoric found that sleep eluded him. What would he see once his eyes were closed? Would he dream every night? What if he were to see his own death?
The possibilities were endless and to consider them all was too much to take in all at once. Rolling on to his side, he pulled his bedroll tight around his thick frame and closed his eyes. As he drifted off, only Angvald’s loud snoring and the distant drumming of a heartbeat invaded his thoughts.
In the end, as he should have guessed, he slept soundly, his slumber never once disturbed by visions of the An’Dari.
Epilogue
There was only darkness.
He had long ago given up on escaping the never-ending deluge of agony that wracked his body. From where his mind had retreated, the prisoner could no longer even be certain that his body still existed. No sensations remained except the pain.
At first there had been slight itches, small shivers that bore witness to the coming storm. Soon the tingles gave way to punctures, and if he yet maintained a physical body, he expected that it was likely riddled with holes. But as the sharp jabs lessened, the burning in his veins, the fire in his blood, the agony of his tortured mind pleaded for a return to such simpler measures of torment.
And there was no light and no sound other than his screams. He was losing his sense of self and he could not be sure if anything was real. Reality was slipping away. He floated in the darkness; a thing with no weight, no substance, and no form. On rare occasions when the pain mercifully receded, confused images and memories flashed in the blackness, visions of extravagance and wealth, of heartache and happiness. Although he strained to find some solid ground to hold, the blessed absence of the hurt would last so briefly that he doubted it completely.
And then finally came the cold; the freezing burn that had numbed all and left the prisoner free of everything but a dull ache pounding behind his eyes. He once again knew that he had returned to a body, his mind conscious of twitching limbs and weakened muscles.
With a ragged cough he drew breath. Feeling cold air burning his lungs, Corian Praxxus opened his eyes.
About the Author
Emmet Moss lives in Canada with his family and cat. He is a sports enthusiast and an avid reader of fantasy and science fiction. The Mercenary Code is the first installment of his Shattering of Kingdoms epic fantasy series. Book two, The King’s Guard, is set for release in the fall of 2019.
