Smoothing his features to keep Roskelem from noticing, Loroth focused on the conversation at hand. Roskelem had been telling him about his need for magic. “...people do not respect me, you see? They see me as cowardly and weak! I always hear talk—when they think I'm not listening—how they wish my brother was still alive and me dead. Even my wife joined those talks, but at least she had the nerve to say it to my face. She said I was a coward—”
“How did you prove yourself to be a coward, Your Majesty?” Loroth furrowed his brows as he leaned forward into the conversation. He didn't want Roskelem to see him as a threat, but rather someone he could confide in; if the king trusted him, perhaps he might believe Loroth when he spoke of the dangers of infused magic.
Roskelem's lip lifted in a sneer, and he sat back in his chair, glaring at the surface of his desk. “There was a siege. King Zaklurd came and took a fortress on our southern border. By the time I gathered the forces to face him, I realized it was too late—he had already taken full control of the castle. I knew if I attacked anyway, it would only lead to needless bloodshed, and I didn't want that blood on my hands.” He looked at Loroth with wide eyes, hoping the prince would understand and not judge him.
Loroth knew every king had the responsibility to attempt to free a sieged castle; if the king didn't even try—Loroth could understand where the talk of cowardice came from, but he kept his thoughts to himself and looked back at Roskelem. “Why would this affect your wife so greatly?”
A dry but humorless laugh emerged from Roskelem's throat as he threw a hand in the air. “Because the castle had belonged to her family prior to our marriage!”
Loroth frowned. She had a good reason for her anger, but he knew there was more to the story. “So what has happened to your wife? I...” He paused to reflect to make sure his next words were true, but once he knew, he went on, “I do not recall seeing much of her during my visits to your kingdom.”
Again Roskelem let out a laugh—a terrible sound—as he covered his long face with one hand and dismissed Loroth's question with the flick of his other. “She left me, of course. Oh, she left the children with me because she knew she couldn't take them, but she left me—said she could not stand by the side of such a weak man.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“In the forest with bands of thieves.” Roskelem fixed his glare upon his desk once more, and Loroth tilted his head as he observed this. The king of Serhon was furious, yet he did not have the confidence to glare at Loroth—as though he knew the prince of Cuskelom was not to blame for his situation.
Loroth could understand where one might come to believe Roskelem had no courage, but Roskelem needed an ally who would understand and encourage him rather than discourage him. Loroth tried to conceal a frown behind the thoughtful posture of his hands because he wanted to stay on the topic of the dangers of infused magic, but perhaps this was not the right time.
With a careful sigh, Loroth waited for Roskelem to look at him and then spoke, “Tell me, Sire, there is much that weighs heavily on your mind. You feel the need to justify yourself and to prove yourself powerful. Speak—for some things are eased by simply talking.” With that, he sat back and waited.
For a long moment, Roskelem stared at him—reading his face, searching his motives, but then finally Roskelem's face crumbled with barely contained emotions. “It hurts, Prince Lorrek. I didn't ask to be king! I never wanted the crown. My brother was such a better ruler, and I never wanted anything to happen to him. I was happy—my wife and I. We were happy before I became king...” Loroth listened while the king of Serhon spoke of his past.
<~>~<~>~<~>
In the gardens Therth listened as Atheta recounted her childhood memories of her mother and father. “Mother was always kind and gentle, but she expected us to be proper children and work hard on our studies. She made sure my siblings and I were all the proper princesses and prince, as we were supposed to be.” A fond smile glowed in Atheta's honey brown eyes as she spoke of her mother, but then her smile faded as she lowered her gaze to her hands on her lap while she still sat on the tree branch—Therth had decided to stand rather than sit too close to her.
“But my father...I have very few memories of him before he became king. I believe he was happy with Mother, and they were such a lovely couple, but after he was crowned, even I recognized his uncertainties and lack of confidence.” She looked at Therth with a hopeless shrug. “As you can imagine, it wasn't the most ideal example for Haskel, so that is why Mother insisted he spend a summer in the woods. You see, Mother has a unique relationship with the thieves of the woods. They respect her—for some reason—and they have an agreement. They are her eyes and ears and have agreed to be discreet with their thieving habits, and in return she will let them roam free. Father wasn't pleased when he realized Haskel would spend a summer among thieves, but there was nothing he could do—Mama had already made the arrangements.”
With a sigh, Atheta hopped off the branch and began wandering around the small clearing as if to gather her thoughts from a tree, a bush, or a flower. Finally, she glanced back at Therth. “After that, Papa insisted that I accompany him to every council meeting and every formal event. He told me I would be queen one day, and he wanted to make sure I knew how to rule. At first I didn't understand, but then the older I became, the more I observed, and the more I realized how...my father lacks courage.” She ducked her head. “I watched other kings and simple barons push him around in the court until he agreed with one of them—usually the most powerful.” She let out a quiet laugh as she shook her head then lifted her gaze to Therth. “He was about to come into an alliance with King Zaklurd right before Zaklurd invaded Serhon and took a fortress. Mother was furious and demanded that Father do something about it, but Father knew he couldn't—he had already given his word to King Zaklurd that he would not hinder any of his advances; he simply never foresaw the fact that Zaklurd meant to invade Serhon.
Therth lifted his hand to stop her when she paused. “Then why hasn't Zaklurd completely taken over Serhon? We haven't heard of any overthrow.”
Atheta smiled. “That's because Haskel returned and stood up against King Zaklurd with an army of men and drove him out. As you can imagine, Mother was very disappointed in Papa, and she left the palace. I remember that, before she left, she told me it was very important that I stay with Papa and help him; she said I was the only one he ever listened to and actually respected, but she couldn't stay—so long as he would stand aside and allow a terrible king to overthrow our kingdom, so she left. I stayed.”
Watching the princess stand near a tree and bow her head with eyes closed, Therth frowned. He hadn't known all this, and he doubted Theran or Lorrek knew half of it either. He was grateful Atheta trusted him enough to share all this history with him, but he had to know, “Princess...” He approached her—careful steps as if nearing a shy animal. When she lifted her gaze to him, he stilled. “Why...why are you telling me all this? Is it not Theran or Lorrek's place to know instead of me? I am a mere double—”
“You don't understand.” Atheta realized and shook her head. Turning her back to the tree, she crossed her arms, leaned against the tree, and stared at Therth. “Mother and Father were happy until he became king. I have always sworn to myself that I would not have such a horrible marriage, but...” Her mouth dried, and she looked beyond Therth in search for the right words. Finally, she licked her lips and looked back at him. “But I am to marry Theran—a man I thought I loved, but now I'm not so sure.” She nodded at him.
It took a moment for Therth to comprehend what she had said, and then he widened his eyes with understanding, yet he froze in spot. “Princess, I...” He trailed off, uncertain how to explain. “Please, the knowledge of my existence should not change how you feel about my cousin. He loves you—dearly—”
“Then why does he go out and get so drunk that he cannot stand or attend any political meetings—including discussions of our wedding—where I am present?”
Atheta pushed away from the tree and approached Therth with confident steps. “Why is it that you are ever required to stand in his place when a situation involves me? Does he not care for me? Is he a coward? Does he think me a fool? Do the two of you laugh at how you fooled me yet again after the encounters?” The closer she came, the more Therth retreated until he backed into a tree, but Atheta still approached him—her eyes thin with a fiery glare. “Give me a good reason for his actions.”
Therth opened his mouth, but he couldn't—there was no good explanation for Theran's behavior other than his own personal carelessness and lack of foresight. Therth sighed and ducked his head to avoid Atheta's relentless glare. “I can give none, Your Highness. I merely do as I am commanded. I ask no questions.”
Atheta crossed her arms, and for a long moment, she stared at Therth then tilted her head to the side. “Have you ever requested to stand in for him in such meetings?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Therth answered before he thought, but when he realized what he had said, he made sure to keep his eyes down as he went on. “At times when Theran was in a drunken stupor but insisted he still attend the meeting, Lorrek and I often convinced him it was best for me to take his place. I...we thought you deserved better than him stumbling over everyone and making a fool of himself.”
Atheta didn't know what to say. On one hand she was grateful for Therth's thoughtfulness to hide Theran's carelessness from her, but then again, that only heightened her frustration with the situation “And when Prince Theran and I had married—then what?” She lifted her chin as she narrowed her eyes. “I doubt his drunken behavior would cease overnight. Would you have sought to deceive me then? Would you have doubled as my husband even for a night?”
“No!” Therth stepped toward her to reassure her but realized the situation was safer at a distance, so he stepped back again and lowered his hands. “No, Princess. I would not have doubled for Theran in any personal situations—only political ones.”
Listening to what he was saying, she couldn't believe what she heard. “Don't you understand?” She threw her hands in the air—the gesture and her tone of voice caught Therth by surprise. Turning from him, she placed a hand on her hip while she covered her face with her hand, trying to think—to comprehend and put into words the thoughts swirling in her mind.
With a sigh, she dropped her hand but did not turn to face him. “As doubling for Theran now, you would lead me to believe he is a generous, courageous, and good man, but imagine how deceived I would feel when Theran returns to our home as a drunken mess.” She turned back to Therth with hurt in her eyes. “How am I to deal with that when I never knew that was who he really is?” She shook her head. “Then the next day I would see him perfectly composed and collected, and I would think he is two-faced. I would grow to resent him, and then I would be no better off than my parents.”
Hugging her arms close to herself, she looked away in disgust because—in secret—she had sworn to herself never to have a relationship like her parents, but it seemed that was all anyone intended for her. Her father always told her not to depend on love in life because “Power is the only true certainty.” She didn't believe it when he told her that, and she still didn't want to believe it, but she could see how one might come to think like that.
Therth stood stunned by the way Atheta showed him a twisted version of reality he had never considered, and now his own participation in deceiving her sickened him. “Atheta...” When she didn't look at him, he didn't know what to say. He wanted to reach out and tell her all would be well and that Theran was just, courageous, and gracious, but then again he didn't want to say anything—not because it wasn't true, but because he didn't want it to be true.
So he stood there several steps behind her, staring at her—trying to find the right words to say.
Segment 11
In the operation room, Inecha squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the armrests of her chair as she felt more and more power draining from her.
Verddra stood near the monitors, watching the process. Through the eyes of magic, she saw the magic from Inecha flowing into Radella, but she couldn't make sense of the facts on the screen, so she looked at Kyra's cold expression. “Well? What is happening?”
The pale, expressionless red-head fixed her unreadable eyes on the Countess and then looked over her shoulder to Inecha. “The power from the princess is causing activity in Radella's mind.”
“However?” Verddra crossed her arms.
Kyra looked back at the monitor—unconcerned. “However, she is not powerful enough.”
“What do you mean 'not powerful enough'?” Verddra unfolded her arms then gestured to the two young women. “They are sisters by blood! That is the most powerful bond.”
“The bond is irrelevant. We can drain Inecha of her magic until she is in a comatose state, but that still will not awaken your daughter.”
Verddra narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw but then realized she was stressing, so she closed her eyes and took a cleansing breath. “Very well.” She opened her eyes. “What must be done?”
Kyra looked at her then smiled—a cold, calculating smile. “Reach into her mind. Perhaps now she will communicate with you.”
<~>~<~>~<~>
Lorrek floated through the realm of magic, exploring more and more of the facility which housed the Guardians. He moved past levels and levels of Guardian armor lined up along the walls on catwalks. Coming to the center of the room, he realized the chamber went much deeper into the ground than he had originally thought, and he looked down, down, down into the wide, brightly lit hole crisscrossed with multiple layers of narrow catwalks. Curious, he headed down to see what he would find.
The first level glowed a warm orange, and as he looked around, he stopped—shocked. Behind glass, in a circular room lit with orange light, were rows and rows and rows of infants—all of different ages, most of whom should not be born yet—asleep in individual glass tubes. Lorrek narrowed his eyes as he saw this then drifted closer to the room for any sign of life. He remembered the aborted child and how it had not been killed but rather taken alive. “Were all these children aborted?” he wondered as he stared at the innumerable children.
His eyes fixed on a holographic monitor in front of each child, and he realized it was reading the child's vital signs. The spike in a line indicated to a heartbeat, and Lorrek sighed with relief; they were alive, “But why are they here?”
Knowing the children held no answers for him, he pushed away from the glass and went down another level. This level reminded Lorrek of the fighting arena, but instead of ordinary users and non-users, the individuals in this arena were all Guardians. They trained one-on-one, in teams, or all against one—depending on the commands from the observation station at a higher level across the way.
“All target Drathic.” A voice over the intercom instructed, and seven Guardians turned their weapons on a single individual in their midst.
By just the body language, Lorrek could tell the targeted Guardian had muttered a complaint then dropped to a knee, slamming his fist into the ground. A violent flare of magic blasted from his fist through the room, knocking everyone back. A few more agile Guardians went with the momentum of the blast and then flipped back up on their feet while a few others skidded back with the blast before readying themselves when it passed. By the time they regained their senses, the Guardian designated as Drathic had disappeared in the ever-changing training arena.
Pillars and walls rose from the floor and after a while sank back into the floor. Rings on the floor rotated the room. Two Guardians stood side-by-side on the same team, but without realizing it, they walked on separate rings, and when the rings began to shift, they were pulled away from each other unless one Guardian jumped to the other ring.
The Guardians moved and nothing in the transforming room seemed to surprise them as they hunted down Drathic. Suddenly shots echoed in the room, and Lorrek's attention shifted to the far right hand corner of the r
oom where Drathic had been cornered. He shot his hand-guns again and again, but the Guardian opposing him only stretched out his hand, and an invisible dome of magic draped over him, shielding him from any bullets.
Realizing his weapon was useless, Drathic holstered it, and then Lorrek saw him gathering magic around himself as he moved to slam his hands together. His hands clapped once, and Lorrek instinctively withdrew and lifted his hands to shield him from another fierce blast, but the reinforced glass contained the magical blast.
Lowering his hands, Lorrek frowned as he looked at the aftermath. None of the Guardians had been able to withstand that blast this time and lay still on the ground.
The lights in the arena lit up, and the room transformed into a barren chamber. “Sequence ended.” A robotic voice informed them. “All Guardians disarm and return to docking station. Next session is set to begin.” Lorrek watched as the first group of Guardians climbed to their feet and headed for the sliding double doors. When they opened, they faced another group of Guardians. The two groups exchanged nods then stepped around each other, and the room dimmed again and began transforming for another round.
Though he was curious to watch them continue training, Lorrek knew he had to continue his investigation, so he pulled away from the glass and went down another level.
This place seemed to be the center of operations with most of the scientists in white clothes walking with purpose. Holographic readings filled the walls, but it made no sense to Lorrek; instead he looked beyond the graphics and saw magic again flowing through the walls—this time in massive quantities. Narrowing his eyes, he followed the magic further and further into a construction zone.
<~>~<~>~<~>
Vixen took an armored punch to her chin. She winced but didn't have time to think as the Guardian grabbed her by her throat and hauled her up—leaving her feet dangling off the floor. She grabbed the metal hand, trying to find a weakness in the armor that she could exploit and force him to release her. He brought her up to his visor, and—while gasping for breath—Vixen made the odd observation of how silly she looked in the reflection of his visor as he choked her. Anger boiled under her skin, and she narrowed her eyes as she heard the Guardian say something.
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 32
