The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  No one else knew of these memories or the truth contained within them. Loroth had been the only other one who had known anything, but he had died. So when Lorrek gave up his memories, “No one else will know the truth,” he reminisced with bitterness.

  “Lorrek?” Anelm's brilliant presence drew his attention—shining bright in this darkness that seemed to swallow light.

  Lorrek nodded but found his throat tight, so he could not speak. Instead, he directed Anelm how to bind his memories as if into a thick book. Placing it into her hands, he covered her hands with his own and told her, “As soon as you take this from here, I will be empty from memories. Pocket this away someplace safe and forget where you placed it.”

  Holding onto the book of memories in her hands, she searched Lorrek's soul. “Are you sure about this?”

  Swallowing hard, Lorrek lifted his hands off the book and stepped back—the darkness obscuring his features. He nodded once. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” Tears thickened his voice, but he pressed on. “I wish to do something right for once. Grant me that one wish.”

  Her pale fingers traced the runes on the cover of the book, and then she hugged it to her chest and looked at the shadowed figured of Prince Lorrek. “Thank you.” Then she turned to leave the chamber full of darkness.

  “Someday...” Lorrek's voice stopped her before she crossed the threshold, and she looked back. She saw the grievous hurt on his face but the brave way he smiled, “Someday I'll be redeemed.”

  Knowing his words meant more than she realized, she offered him a kind smile. “Know that you may forget, but you will not be forgotten—at least, not by me.”

  “You would do you well to forget me, Princess.”

  She only shook her head and—hugging the book of memories close to her chest—she stepped backwards out of the chamber.

  Alone in utter darkness, Lorrek bowed his head. “And so, no one shall ever know the truth...” Then the world in his mind collapsed like shreds of black glass.

  Feeling movement, Anelm opened her eyes and saw Lorrek stagger back blindly before collapsing to the floor, unconscious. Anelm gasped and moved to go to him but found her way blocked by Haskel.

  When she glared up at him, he shook his head. “Go.” He nodded to the door. “Go now before my father changes his mind.”

  Anelm looked past Haskel and saw Gremina with Bodulf kneeling beside Lorrek while Roskelem stood nearby, waiting for confirmation—his attention was not on the princess of Athorim. Realizing Haskel was right, Anelm nodded her thanks to him then wrapped magic around herself and chose her home as her final destination—never looking back to see Roskelem's reaction.

  She swore it would be the last time she would use tainted magic.

  As soon as she vanished, Haskel sighed then turned back to the situation at hand.

  He could not foresee how any good could come from it.

  Roskelem stood over Lorrek while Gremina and Bodulf checked his vitals. However, they became frustrated.

  “His lack of solid form makes this increasingly difficult!” Gremina finally admitted to her father as she looked up at him with much irritation.

  Roskelem folded his arms and nodded at Bodulf. “Well then, do something about it. Surely you know a spell.”

  Bodulf laughed, but it was a dry sound, and he shook his head before motioning at Lorrek. “Only he knows the spell that binds his cells together in solid form, and unfortunately, he never gave me the spell before you sentenced him to this. There is nothing I can do, Sire.” He shrugged as he rose to his full height.

  “Isn’t there some kind of...I don’t know, binding spell that can be cast around an individual?” Gremina asked, not really certain if her question made any sense.

  Bodulf lifted his hand to his chin in a thoughtful pose and cocked his head to the side. “You mean like a physical cast to keep someone from moving if their arm is broken? Could work, but it won’t last long enough. Maybe just long enough to get him to his chambers.”

  “Do it.” Roskelem commanded with a nod. “And take him to the chambers which I had prepared for him.” He locked eyes with his children. “And tell me when he wakes.” With that, he marched out of the room, having much to contemplate.

  Gremina cast Bodulf a helpless glance. “So...what are we to do?”

  “Let me try something.” He closed his eyes and muttered a spell. “That should be the cast around him, but it won’t last long. Just long enough for me to do this...” He uttered another spell and gestured with his hand, levitating Lorrek’s unconscious body in the air. Bodulf grinned then looked at the prince and princess. “Where to?”

  “This way.” Haskel motioned for him to follow, and Bodulf trailed along with Lorrek’s levitating body floating in the air alongside him.

  Soon they came to locked chambers in a tower. Bodulf looked around the room, surprised to find that it was somewhat comfortable—better than the dungeon at least. Why the king would give Lorrek such comfort, Bodulf didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to question it. He located the bed and lowered Lorrek’s body onto it. “There, and I’ve removed the cast. I can’t hold it indefinitely.”

  “Wait, so...” Gremina drew near to Lorrek laying on the bed, and she furrowed her brows, turning back to Bodulf. “He’s not solid. How is he not simply sinking through the bed?”

  A smirk curved Bodulf’s lips upward. “He’s like a ghost, and ghosts...hover over objects. He’s not really on the bed, though it may appear that he is. He can walk as well, but he wouldn’t really be touching the ground. It’s...complicated, but things like opening a door, mounting a horse, or even trying to pick up a fork to eat, no, his hand would pass through the object. Should be interesting when he wakes.” With that, Bodulf drew back.

  Gremina folded her arms as she glared down at the unconscious prince, who had caused so much grief and pain for her family. She still wasn’t convinced that her father’s decision had been the best course of action, but now they had to deal with the consequences.

  “Wait.” Haskel’s firm voice commanded Bodulf when he saw the sorcerer moving to leave the room. He gave him an unrelenting stare then jutted his chin toward Lorrek. “Now what do we do?”

  Bodulf glanced back at Lorrek, shrugged, and looked back at Haskel with a grin. “Now...now we wait.”

  Epilogue

  And so, all those memories you saw from Lorrek belong to you now—you, the one reading this tale. You alone know the truth of Lorrek’s actions, and what happened to Atheta and to Loroth. For now, Lorrek sleeps. When he wakes, he will not know what you know, and only you will know his past. Will he be a different man when he regains consciousness? Well, that is for us all to discover as this tale continues.

  For now though, we must wait. Wait for everything to fall into place just as Vixen waits in Cuskelom, and as Erita, Heldon, and Verddra wait in Nirrorm, and as Theran waits in Jechorm, and Caleth in Athorim waits, as Roskelem waits, and even as Radella waits.

  It all depends on the waking of Prince Lorrek—if he will ever wake.

  Cuskelom

  Vixen paced in her old chambers in the palace of Cuskelom. For almost a decade she had been traveling all the lands with Theran at Honroth’s request to keep the eldest prince out of trouble. Now she was back here—alone—again.

  With a heavy sigh, she sank into a chair and dragged her hands down her face then cast her mind to everything that had unfolded. She had brought Therth back, and now Honroth intended to use Therth as Theran’s double and have him accompany him to Jechorm for peace talks. Of course, Honroth requested that Vixen join them since Therth highly respected her, mainly because she would beat him up—again—if he failed to obey the king of Cuskelom.

  She reflected on the reason behind the peace talks, and she knew she was partly responsible for the new conflict between Jechorm and Cuskelom. Looking at the bracelet on her right wrist, she frowned. Theran had made a foolish deal with the Jechorians and promised them his old handblade in return for some techn
ology and the ability to pass through their land undetected. When the Jechorians came to collect it, Theran and Vixen ambushed them on their way from leaving Cuskelom and snatched the handblade back from them. Then Theran promptly clamped it onto Vixen’s wrist, and she protested but could not remove it. Only Theran could, and that thought made her growl.

  She tilted her head back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

  Not only was Honroth facing the threat of Jechorm declaring war on Cuskelom, but he also harbored Princess Mordora of Nirrorm, who had told the tales of how the sorceress Countess Verddra had killed the king of Nirrorm and seized control of the kingdom. The princess relentlessly demanded Honroth turn his attention west to Nirrorm and direct his forces to overthrow Verddra rather than going east to Jechorm, but the king of Cuskelom had already sent his brother and a sorceress to Nirrorm to assess the threat. In the meanwhile, Jechorm was the greater threat.

  On top of all this, Vixen knew a secret that she could tell no one.

  She knew Lorrek was still alive. He had appeared to her in the woods several times, asking for her advice, and...she paused as she reached behind her back and unsheathed the dagger she had hidden under her tunic. Pulling it out, Vixen inspected the curved weapon. It was a beautiful though simple weapon, yet Lorrek entrusted her with it. It made no sense.

  She swirled the weapon in her hand then shook her head and sheathed it behind her back once more. No one knew she had it. She wasn’t sure if anyone would recognize it as Lorrek’s and therefore ask questions, so she kept it hidden but close by. Lorrek could appear at any moment and demand it back, and she would give it to him.

  For now though, she waited. That was all she could do.

  Nirrorm

  In the dungeon

  Erita sat in the dungeon in Nirrorm and stared at the floor, wringing her hands. Somewhere in the palace was Heldon, who had just lost his hand. How was he coping? She had no idea, but she felt horrible. At the same time Theran was somewhere in the palace too—at least that was last she knew, unless Verddra did something to him. She wasn’t sure, but she had hoped the two brothers had been reunited and that Theran had broken Heldon out of this place and was already halfway to Cuskelom.

  If that were true though, it would mean they had left her behind. She wouldn’t blame them though. After all, she was responsible for Heldon losing his hand. Her power wasn’t a match for Verddra’s, and she had been foolish to try and break through Verddra’s forcefield to free Heldon.

  Since the incident, the countess had strengthened the forcefield even more, so Erita had no hope of escaping.

  All she could do was wait.

  In a castle suite

  Heldon sat on the edge of his bed in the chambers Verddra had assigned to him since she had removed him from the dungeon—since his hand was chopped off, since she took his handblade. He tried to curl his hand into a fist—the hand that was no longer there—and he growled in frustration. It felt like it was still there!

  Over and over again he reviewed what had happened. Erita had chipped away at Verddra’s shield that had kept Erita from using her magic, and this had allowed her to use her magic to free him. What she hadn’t expected was for Verddra’s men to come and retrieve him. Neither of them had expected that, and they certainly hadn’t expected that man to chop off Heldon’s hand.

  At this thought, Heldon cuddled the stump of his hand close to his chest as a reminder of the pain in that moment rushed through him. It had been unlike any pain he had ever experienced before—so much pain that in an instant his entire body blocked it off, and he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t remember much of that moment. It was all a blur. The next thing he remembered was waking here in this suite of Nirrorm and being informed by Verddra that she no longer viewed him as a threat.

  That thought alone made Heldon want to strangle her, just to prove her wrong, though he could use only one hand, and his right hand had been stronger. Besides, Verddra would use her magic to cast him aside the first moment she saw him as a threat.

  For now, she was right. He wasn’t a threat. She had his handblade—his way home—and still imprisoned Erita, so, for now, there was nothing he could do.

  All he could do was wait.

  In the throne room

  Verddra sat on the throne of Nirrorm, holding up Heldon’s handblade in her hand. She turned it to catch the light, revealing ancient, unfamiliar runes etched in the black metal, and a small, smooth black stone. In many ways, it looked like an ordinary bracelet but with unique craftsmanship. She had heard the tales explaining that the stone was once a part of a much larger Orb—one that always returned its wearer home. She also understood that once it was clasped onto a person’s wrist, it could only be removed by the rightful master of the handblade. She was tempted to see if this was true, but there was a complication.

  Since the handblade had been forcefully removed from Heldon’s hand, it had never been unclasped. Verddra managed to slip her hand into the bracelet, but it did not transform to fit her hand. It remained as nothing but a piece of jewelry, and this frustrated her.

  She tossed the bracelet in the air, then caught it, and sighed before glaring at the empty throne room before her—where Prince Theran had stood attempting to pose as his cousin, Therth. She made her hands into fists as anger flared through her. How dare he think she wouldn’t know who he really was? He was a mindless brute who relied on his own strength to get through any situation. He never could comprehend the true potential of magic, even though he had Lorrek as a brother.

  Nevertheless, Verddra shook her head. She had seen through his disguise and completely changed the course of things. Now Theran was in Jechorm seeking out what the Jechorians might know of Radella. They owed her that much, and Verddra hoped neither the Jechorians nor Theran would fail her—for their sakes.

  However, in the meanwhile, all she could do was wait.

  Jechorm

  Theran stood in the observation room watching the Guardians fight. They were impressive pieces of technology. Theran admired their armor, how it fit every piece of the body but moved effortlessly with their actions. It never hindered them, and they moved with grace and agility. Theran could watch them train all day—seeking to memorize their fighting styles to apply them to his own style.

  Of course, the Guardians also possessed one element of magic—unique to each of them—and Theran was envious of their ability. He thought magic couldn’t be infused into technology. Lorrek always spoke of how magic was part of one’s soul and couldn’t be separated from an individual, but Theran had never believed that—after all, look at what their own father had done infusing Loroth with magic.

  Shaking his head, Theran looked at Asalda as she stood at a holographic computer calling up information on Radella. He had been waiting for her to give him a lead, but it was taking her a long while.

  In the meanwhile though, Asalda had agreed to help him track down Radella if he infiltrated the Guardian ranks and determined who the rebels were among them. This thought caused Theran to look back at the Guardians sparring below, and he frowned as he crossed his arms. They were merely technology. How could they think enough to be rebellious? When he had asked Asalda this very question earlier, she had laughed. “They are the most advanced forms of technology, Therth! Of course they can think.”

  He narrowed his eyes but said nothing as he mentally reminded himself that Asalda mistook him for his cousin. This reminded him of how he had ended up in Jechorm in the first place. He had been traveling into Nirrorm with Vixen when they came across Princess Mordora, who had told them how Countess Verddra had overthrown Nirrorm. After sending Mordora to Cuskelom, Theran continued on to see if the rumors were true. Along the way, they came across Therth and Erita, and—while Vixen kept Therth busy by fighting him—Theran learned from Erita that Verddra had indeed taken control of Nirrorm and that Honroth had sent Heldon and herself to verify this, only for them to be captured by the countess. Erita also informed him that his own cous
in, Therth, was working with Verddra.

  Hearing his brother was being held captive and that his cousin was a traitor, Theran took matters into his own hands. Since Therth and he were identical, he could trade places with Therth and get close enough to Heldon to free him. He sent Vixen to Cuskelom with Therth to have Honroth hold their cousin accountable for his actions, but in the meantime, Theran accompanied Erita back to Nirrorm.

  However, Verddra saw straight through his disguise, sent Erita away once more to be locked up, and then she charged Theran with the task of finding her daughter, Radella. Without giving him the chance to protest, she sent him away to Jechorm. Now Theran had no choice but to do as she demanded until he could slip away, but this place was under heavy surveillance, and the unblinking eyes of cameras watched every corridor and every door.

  Theran hoped Heldon was being treated well by Verddra, but he didn’t trust the woman at all. The only comfort he felt came from the fact that Erita was there with Heldon in Nirrorm, and the sorceress was reliable and undoubtedly loyal to the crown of Cuskelom. She would do all she could to protect Heldon.

  So for now, Theran was stuck here in Jechorm, and all he could do was wait.

  Athorim

  King Caleth stood in the shadows of the training arena as he observed Prince Moren’s progress. The Nirrorian prince found the spell of invisibility second nature, and when he felt threatened while sparring, he immediately went invisible as if to shield himself. While it confused his sparring partner momentarily, the invisibility spell was not a phasing spell, so the blast Moren saw coming still hit him and slammed him into the back wall of the arena near Caleth. His concentration broke, and he became visible again as he groaned, lying face-down on the ground.