“I am well versed in all of the stones and their powers thanks to a prophecy,” Ocken said.
“A prophecy? You expect me to believe in legends and prophecies?” the king said, a little louder than Ocken would have liked. Servants passing in the halls glanced in their direction.
Here we go, Ocken thought. I won’t be able to show my face in the city for months.
“No,” Drygo said, shaking his head. “I’ll have no more of this nonsense.”
Ocken thought about reminding the king that he hadn’t wanted to speak, but the king himself had insisted that he share what he knew. Ocken thought better of it and held his tongue.
The king threw up his hands, exasperated, and marched back into the queen’s chambers leaving Ocken and Callum alone in the hallway.
Callum looked at Ocken, raised his eyebrows, and mouthed, “Prophecies?”
***
Over the next few weeks, the king distanced himself from everyone, but Ocken believed he got the worst of it. Drygo placed Ocken on a semi-permanent post outside his bedchamber. Whereas he usually followed the king wherever he went, now Ocken stood in solitude for hours on end.
He knew little of the queen’s condition, but he surmised her situation must not have improved or the king would have been more jovial. True to his word, though, Drygo tried just about everything to save his wife and unborn child.
Ocken stood silently and watched as all manner of priests, shamans, healers, and alchemists entered and exited the queen’s chambers at the other end of the hall. They had one thing in common: they all entered with their heads held high and all left in a hurry, the king’s angry tirades flooding from the room in their wake.
Then one day, a particularly tall and lanky man with a hooked nose and beady eyes named Lazairis, an alchemist of some renown, entered the queen’s chambers. When the door opened, the usual shouts did not follow. Instead, the king exited with the alchemist and followed him down the hallway. Alijah rushed after them in the king’s wake.
“—don’t know,” Drygo said.
“Are you mad?” Alijah said, hobbling and huffing to keep up. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“While ekanian root is quite potent,” Lazairis said, “it’s not harmful, I assure you.”
Ekanian root? Ocken thought. What do they want with that?
Lazairis continued, “The queen will sleep more soundly and it will aid in easing the queen’s pain.”
The king stopped walking a few paces from Ocken and ran his hands down his face.
“What are the side effects?” the king asked, considering the alchemist’s recommendation.
Lazairis began, “There are no—”
But Alijah interrupted, “There are no side effects for a normal dosage! But the amount that you are recommending could place the queen into an eternal sleep.”
Drygo blanched at Alijah’s words. “Why would you suggest such a remedy?” the king asked Lazairis.
“I would not, under normal circumstances, but as you have already stated when you called for me, you have tried all conventional methods and have failed,” the alchemist said, bumbling with his words. “I would not recommend this unless I felt it is what is best for the queen.”
Ocken cleared his throat. The king cast him a piercing glare.
“Got something to say?” Drygo asked.
“If I may?” Ocken replied.
The king nodded, his expression softening.
“The Khur are quite versed in the use of ekanian root, though we know it by another name: kingsbane.”
“Kingsbane? Are you serious?” Drygo asked.
Ocken nodded and said, “It’s every bit as potent as these men have said. However, the desert tribes have been using it for centuries to fight their petty wars. My people created an antitoxin to nullify its effects on us. I’ve taken kingsbane so often that I’ve developed somewhat of an immunity to it.”
“I don’t know,” Drygo said, “it seems too risky. I mean, kingsbane? Do you even know how that sounds?” He shook his head. “No. It’s not happening. I won’t risk it.”
A deafening scream erupted from the queen’s chambers.
Panic flooded through Ocken and the color drained from Drygo’s face. All four of them ran back to the queen’s bedside, Ocken once again carrying the frail Alijah.
Evangeline lay on the floor, arms and legs sprawled wide. The king’s mouth hung agape as he knelt beside her and cradled her head. He looked up at the maid for an explanation.
“Sh-she was just returning from the chamber pot a-and I didn’t do nothin’,” the maid said. “She just fainted.”
“Well don’t just leave her lying there,” Alijah piped up. “Help her up onto the bed.”
Ocken and Lazairis both reached out and assisted the king in returning Evangeline to her bed.
To the maid, Alijah said, “Go check the chamber pot, tell me if you see anything abnormal.”
The maid nodded and disappeared from sight. Alijah began to check her vital signs. The queen’s skin had taken on a yellow tinge. Ocken stood on edge, peering over the man’s shoulder, his heart thumping wildly in its cage.
“She is stable,” Alijah said.
“What hap—” the king started to say, but the maid returned and all attention snapped to her.
“There’s blood in the pot, sir,” she declared.
“Hmm…” Alijah began scratching his chin.
Callum and Chelsea, who had found herself pregnant a month after Evangeline, spilled into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Callum asked.
Alijah continued to mumble to himself, “Liver failure, high blood pressure, blood in the urine, fainting…”
“What in Iket’s name is wrong with my wife?” the king said, raising his voice.
“It’s as I feared,” Alijah responded, hanging his head. “I’m afraid the queen is dying. The unfortunate truth is that one in five women die in childbirth. While the queen’s earlier ailments might have been unrelated, as it seems they were, when these symptoms present themselves, the chances of the mother surviving are almost one in one million.”
Chelsea let out a whimper. Callum grabbed her and pulled her into his chest.
“What about my baby?” Chelsea asked, placing her hands on her belly. “Will I die, too?”
Alijah sat up as straight as he could, observed Chelsea, and said, “I cannot say for certain, but you’re healthy. I don’t see why you would experience any complications at this stage.”
Chelsea’s ragged breaths steadied at the doctor’s reassuring words.
“Surely you can save my wife?” the king asked, staring down into her face and caressing her hair.
“There is nothing that can be done,” Alijah said.
Drygo looked to Lazairis, his eyes pleading with the alchemist.
“He’s right,” the man said, barely a whisper.
Evangeline’s eyes fluttered then opened, staring up into the eyes of her husband. Before she could say a word, her eyes slammed shut and she cried out in pain through clenched teeth. The king squeezed her hand, worry painting his face.
“It’s worse than I thought. The baby is at risk,” Alijah said. “I recommend we remove the baby immediately. The queen will die, but she will almost surely die anyway. We must save the baby.”
“Absolutely not!” the king cried out.
Chelsea began sobbing again.
Ocken felt like a fish out of water. He had never known a lover, he could not begin to imagine the pain the king was experiencing, and he knew little about the practices of healers. Helplessness and despair filled his heart as he watched the scene continue to unfold.
“The kingsbane,” Drygo said to Ocken, snapping him from his sorrow. Seeing Callum’s confusion, the king corrected himself, “The ekanian root. You can draft the antitoxin?”
Ocken nodded.
Drygo looked to Lazairis and said, “Administer the herb.”
“My king, that will not help
save your wife,” Alijah protested.
“It may not save her, but it can comfort her,” the king said. “Do it. Do it now.”
Lazairis reached into his pouch and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. He shook it violently and it turned green.
“Hold her mouth open,” the alchemist instructed.
Drygo tried to open her mouth, but she struggled against his touch and continued to hiss in pain.
“Evie, I need you to listen to me,” the king said, speaking softly. “You need to open your mouth so the healers can give you a medicinal herb. Do you understand me?”
She bobbed her head and carefully opened her mouth. She began to hyperventilate, small squeals escaping from her open mouth as her body convulsed. The alchemist poured the vial’s contents into her mouth. Evangeline choked then swallowed.
Almost immediately her body calmed. Within a minute her eyes closed again and her breathing settled into a calm. Then her chest stopped moving altogether. Alijah checked her vitals again.
“She is still alive, but in the deepest of sleeps only the ekanian root can provide.”
Ocken let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Out,” Drygo said. “Everyone out except Callum and Ocken.”
Confusion furrowed Ocken’s brow. Why did the king want him to stay? Surely he wanted some time alone to make a decision.
The maid took Chelsea from Callum’s arms and helped her leave the room. Alijah and Lazairis followed after them and shut the door.
Ocken stared hard at the king’s face trying to deduce his thoughts. When Drygo was certain everyone had left, he returned Ocken’s stare with determination.
“You once mentioned a legend of your people,” the king began.
Ocken’s eyes widened.
“Yes, I know. I dismissed it. But I can’t let Evie die. I won’t,” he said. “Not until I’ve tried everything. And I mean everything, even outlandish prophecies and tales from far away. So let’s hear the rest of your story.”
Ocken looked to his grand marshal for support. Callum only shrugged and motioned for him to speak.
“It is said that one of the gods, Serith, could heal all maladies, no matter the cause. People flocked to her from all over. Stories insist that simply touching her hand returned a person to perfect health.”
Ocken paused, waiting for the king to ridicule the notion. When he was met with silence, he continued, “If we could find Serith’s stone, we might be able to save the queen.”
“Might?” the king asked.
“There are a lot of variables, Your Majesty,” Ocken explained. “Finding the stone—in time, figuring out how to work it, that sort of thing.”
“So where do these legends say the stone is,” Callum asked.
Ocken did not immediately answer, nerves taking over again. “They… don’t.”
“What do you—?” the king yelled, then looked away and took a deep breath. More calmly he said, “What do you mean they don’t say where the stone is?”
“I mean just that. It wouldn’t be a legend if it were a confirmed fact. And undoubtedly others would have sought out the stones by now. There would be demigods all over Aralith wielding unearthly power.”
“So…” Callum said. “How do we find the stones? You must have some idea. Some guess as to where to begin?”
“There is one possible place to look,” Ocken said. “But the stones aren’t guaranteed to be there and you would have to be mad to go there.”
Ocken closed his eyes and silently begged the king not to ask.
“Where?”
Ocken sighed. “Where the stones were forged. A place called Anima Sanctum in the heart of the Wandering Wood.”
CHAPTER 3
Thirty minutes later Ocken stood outside the palace near the stables. The moon hung high in the sky as darkness covered the land.
Why does everything always have to happen at night? he thought.
When he closed his eyes at night, all he could see was the kranack attacking his father. He hadn’t personally seen the kranack, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was there, haunting him in the night.
So Ocken tried not to close his eyes. Tried not to think about otherworldly creatures. Instead, he busied himself preparing for the journey ahead. He had already packed his satchel and now was loading it onto his horse. Slipping the leather strap through the buckle, he pulled tight and fastened it in place.
“I beg you for the third time, sire,” Callum said, “at least wait until morning.”
Ocken shook his head. Callum’s attempts to dissuade the king were relentless, but ineffectual. When Alexander Drygo had his mind made up, there was little that could change it.
“Evangeline may not have until morning,” the king replied. “I’ll not waste another minute while she lies there dying.”
“It’s not just the darkness. Proper plans need to be set in place, a credible story to explain your absence, that sort of thing,” Callum reasoned. “You don’t want your enemies swooping in while you’re gone.”
Ocken chuckled inwardly. “That’s precisely the reason why we’re leaving now, isn’t it, Your Majesty?”
Ocken stepped away from his horse and found the king smiling.
“If we wait till morning,” Drygo said, “the whole kingdom will know we’ve left.”
Callum opened his mouth to speak.
“And I’ll not be waiting until tomorrow night. So tonight it is,” the king said. “You’ll make the right excuses, Callum. You always do. Tell them I’m sick. Tell them I’m beside myself with grief. Tell them I refuse to leave Evangeline’s side and she’s too sick to be seen by anyone but the healer. I don’t care what you tell them. Whatever you do, when it’s done, I want you on the next horse out to meet us.”
Callum said, “Yes, sire.”
“I want this kept quiet, so I’m only taking four others with me. Bring four more when you come,” Drygo ordered.
“As you command it will be, sire,” Callum said. He bowed, but did not leave.
“You have something else to say?” the king asked.
“If I am to follow you, I must know your direction,” Callum said, as if that should have been obvious.
“Yes,” the king said, stepping up to his horse and securing his own satchel. “We’re taking the pass.”
“Through the Frosties?” Callum asked, incredulous.
“Do you know of another pass?” the king countered.
“What about the…” Callum looked over Ocken and drew closer to the king, “the thing that lives there.”
Callum had tried to whisper the words, but Ocken heard them anyway.
What ‘thing’ that lives there?
He thought of Thren. If there was some monster living in the Frostpeak Pass, he might be in danger. And it was Ocken’s fault he was stationed there. Ocken cursed to himself.
“I’ll take my chances,” Drygo said, glancing at Callum then going back to his pack. “Evie doesn’t have time for us to go all the way up to Celesti and around the mountains.”
“Evangeline can’t be helped at all if you get yourself killed in the process,” the grand marshal said, placing his hand on the leather straps, preventing the king from fastening it.
The silence was deafening. Ocken sucked in his breath.
“You’re a great friend, Callum, and an excellent grand marshal, but do not overstep your bounds,” the king said, pushing Callum’s hands off the satchel as he finished tightening the straps. “I’m leaving tonight and I’m taking the Frostpeak Pass. There is no debate here.”
“Yes, sire. I’m sorry, sire,” Callum said, backing away bowing. He turned and headed into the gatehouse.
“Ocken?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“I have some final preparations to make before we go,” Drygo said. “Any chance you can get your hands on some kingsbane and its antitoxin?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ocken said.
***
>
At half an hour past the second watch of the night, they set out. Callum had informed the guards they’d gotten some time off and needn’t show up for their shift. He raised the gate himself.
In addition to Ocken and the king, three others accompanied them: Geoffreys, Bigsby, and a woman Ocken knew only as Khate. Sitting atop her horse to his right, she looked like a warrior princess. Black leather armor with eight buckles along the side, black leather boots rising from her foot to her knees, and black leather pants beneath them. Her brown hair flowed down over her shoulders. Ocken stared at her as the gate continued to rise.
She kept her focus forward, ready to ride into the night. Ocken had learned better than to let appearances fool him. No one knew what Khate did for the king, but the rumors were varied. The one Ocken liked best, and the one he chose to believe, was that she was his personal assassin.
No one ever reported any high profile murders that could be linked to her, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
Ocken’s own weapon of choice was the swordstaff. Too heavy for the standard man—but Ocken was no standard man—he held the weapon as easily as a carpenter his mallet or a smithy his hammer. He called her Melody, for the sweet song she made as she cut through the air. She lay flat across the side of his horse. If they encountered danger while in the saddle, he had a smaller, standard steel blade at his hip, but it felt like a dinner knife in his large hands.
The gate reached the top and the king led their small party through the open portcullis and out into the city. Few lights remained on in the city. Few could afford the oil to keep them burning this late into the evening. Fewer yet wanted to be awake at such an hour. Ocken, much preferring the light of day, wished he was among them.
They kept their horses at a soft trot, not wishing to make too much noise, but moving swiftly enough so as not to linger. As they ascended the escarpment, the only way in or out of the city along the cliff to Sunbury’s north, Ocken got a final glimpse of his home. The city sprawled before him. Beyond it, the light of the moon reflected and shimmered off the water in the cove.
As soon as the city was behind them, they brought their horses to a full gallop. There wasn’t much to see at night. Farmsteads, forest, and wide-open plains. Ocken knew these things to be there, but he couldn’t see them. At least he couldn’t see anything but the forest. The trees overhead blocked out the moon, providing sufficient cover.
Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones) Page 8
