Heldon’s breath caught in his chest, and he moved away from Sindric’s statue to go to Honroth’s. He stared up at him. It was odd, looking at the statue that looked so much like himself. Heldon absentmindedly wondered if, when he died, they would erect yet another statue that looked so identical to Honroth, or if that would confuse the people and make them wonder why the masons had created two statues of the same king. However, all they would have to do was look at the plaque to see the names of the different kings. Also, Heldon supposed he could die at a later age than Honroth, so his aged appearance would look different from Honroth’s youthful face.
He stared at the features of his twin, and an old familiar ache blossomed in Heldon’s chest. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “I miss you, Honroth. Every day.” Then he lifted his gaze back at his brother’s face. “You would know what to do with the thymords’ demands. They used to be merely myths when we were children, a story of the origin of the handblades and the World Orbs. I never expected I would face them, and now I don’t know what to do. If they are the creators of the World Orbs and the handblades...” He paused as he looked at his gauntleted hand and flexed his fingers. He shook his head. “Maybe I should surrender them to them, but then what will come of Cuskelom? Each kingdom has a unique trait it is known for throughout the world—Jechorm has its technology, Serhon has thieves and assassins, Nirrorm has music, arts, and crafts, Athorim has pure magic, and Talhon has peace and neutrality. What would Cuskelom be without the World Orbs and handblades? Would they think less of us? We barely managed to fend off Jechorm. What if they decide to strike again?”
With all these questions weighing heavily on his mind, Heldon sighed and bowed his head, wishing—not for the first time—that his twin was still alive.
Unbeknownst to him, someone else had been in the Crypt of Cuskelom when Heldon entered, and he heard the king’s words. He remained behind the pillars, closer to the marble wall where the names of those who had some relation to the royal family yet never became king were etched into the wall. He too had a heavy heart but with matters he had carried with him for over a decade. Torroth had come to the Crypt to pay respects to his son and ask for forgiveness. He supposed in a strange way his prayers had been answered. Perhaps he could find forgiveness this night.
Tucking his hands behind his back, Torroth took a deep breath then stepped away from the wall and cleared his throat.
Hearing the presence of another person in the Crypt, Heldon shot his gaze up, ready to scowl at anyone who interrupted him. However, he paused when he recognized the individual. How could he not when the face was identical to that of his father? “Uncle Torroth.” Heldon straightened away from Honroth’s statue and furrowed his brows. “What are you doing here? I thought you had found a new life in the village of Ranceld. What brings you to the capitol? How is Aunt Isentha?”
“She is well.” Torroth nodded as he slowly approached his nephew, the king.
Heldon lifted his chin. “Have you heard from Therth recently?”
“No.” Torroth shook his head and sighed. “I pray he will come home when he is ready. It is hard enough to lose one son.” He gestured back to the names engraved in the wall.
Heldon’s gaze shifted from his uncle to the wall and then back to Torroth. Now his presence made sense. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You came for Loroth.”
Torroth sighed but nodded. “Aye.” He glanced back at the wall where he knew his son’s name was engraved. “The hardest thing about his death was that we never had a body to bury.” He looked back at his nephew. “It’s hard to let someone go when they just...disappear.” With that, he came to stand before Honroth’s statue and gazed up at the late king.
“I understand.” Heldon took a deep breath. “That is what it was like when Lorrek disappeared after the Rakessat attack.”
Mention of that attack caused Torroth to grimace—the lines on his face tightening. Heldon supposed it was because he had mentioned the event that stole Torroth’s twin brother away from him. In that moment, Heldon realized how similar he was to his uncle. Both of them had identical twins, and both had twins who became king and died. However, Torroth didn’t become king in Sindric’s stead because Honroth took up the crown, so while his uncle could relate to him a great deal, he couldn’t relate completely. He had never needed to become king and carry that burden.
“My apologies, Uncle.” Heldon stepped back from him and bowed his head. “I know you lost your own brother during that attack. I did not mean to stir up those memories.”
“All is well.” Torroth offered his nephew an encouraging smile but then moved to stand before Sindric’s statue.
Over eleven years ago, Jechorm had built a machine called the Rakessat, claiming it could withstand any magical attacks. They wanted to test this, and Cuskelom was the closest land with magic, so they presented Cuskelom a challenge. The Rakessat would enter Cuskelom with the goal of obtaining a World Orb while all the Cuskelians would fight to ward it off. If the Rakessat was successful, the Jechorians would keep the World Orb and have confirmation that their machine was indeed immune to magic. However, if it failed, Jechorm would withdraw.
No one expected the Rakessat to kill King Sindric in the process or that Lorrek would sacrifice everything to destroy the machine.
While Cuskelom found a new king, and a new era began, Torroth took his wife and retired to the quiet village of Ranceld. Everyone thought it had been because he feared the people would mistake him for Sindric—the king he had doubled for on numerous occasions, yet the truth was more complicated than that. Guilt also drove Torroth back here to where he now stood before the king of Cuskelom.
It was fitting he stood before the king. Heldon was the one person he needed to speak with, but Torroth hesitated because he knew if he revealed the truth, he may never see his wife again.
“Uncle?” Heldon broke through Torroth’s thoughts. “Are you well?”
Torroth hesitated a moment longer then finally turned back to his nephew. “Sire, I...I have something to tell you, but I fear once I speak the truth, you will never look at me the same again. You may even command me to be imprisoned or executed—both of which would be righteous responses, I suppose.”
Heldon frowned when he heard this, and he saw how his uncle wrung his hands. Something made him uneasy, and that was unsettling for Heldon. He had never seen his uncle nervous—or his father for that matter, since both of them bore the same face. Heldon couldn’t help but feel a little anxious as well, but he knew he had to hide it, so he swallowed and pulled back his shoulders, ready for whatever truth Torroth might give him. “Uncle, I assure you, I will not imprison you or have you executed. Only those who have committed treason are executed. Besides,” Heldon gave him a friendly smile and clasped his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “You are family. I fear I have little family anymore, so I would not wrong you.” Then he removed his hand. “So what is it you wish to tell me?”
For a long moment, Torroth stared at his nephew. He had to remind himself that Heldon was not only his nephew, but also his king, and Torroth knew he had sinned grievously against Cuskelom.
He dropped to his knees before Heldon and bowed his head. “I have committed treason against Cuskelom because I killed King Sindric.”
Seeing his uncle kneel before him surprised Heldon, but hearing what he had confessed stunned him even more. Heldon didn’t know what to make of any of this. It made no sense. “Uncle, the Jechorian’s Rakessat killed Father—not you.”
Torroth chuckled, but it was a sad sound as he shook his head. He looked up at his king, and Heldon could see the grief in his eyes. “You don’t understand. I allowed the Jechorians to send the Rakessat.”
Heldon stepped back from his uncle and set his hand on the pedestal of Honroth’s statue to stay upright as he felt weak in his knees. “What...” He tried to find the words to say, but he dreaded the answer he might hear. “What do you mean?” He stared at Torroth. “What are you saying?
”
Torroth sat back as he remained kneeling before his king. He thought back to all those years ago and shook his head. “Over a decade ago—almost two decades—Sindric sent me to Jechorm in his place. They thought I was him. They showed me their plans to create a machine that could withstand magical attacks, and they presented me with the challenge of the Rakessat going to obtain a World Orb once they had completed making the machine. I saw it as a way to possibly tame my brother’s powers, so he would see he was not in absolute control. Acting as King Sindric, I gave my approval.” Torroth shook his head. “It wasn’t until years later that they finally completed the machine and sent it to Cuskelom and everything unfolded.”
The more Heldon listened, the more was revealed, and he began to stand taller now, feeling grief and indignation burning within him. He stared at his uncle. “Why? Why did you agree to their challenge?”
Torroth looked up at his king and then rose to his feet. “Part of me didn’t think they would be successful. And the other part...” He hesitated then swallowed and looked at the floor for a moment before meeting his king’s gaze. “The other part wanted justice for what Sindric had done to Loroth—and to Therth. He had no right to alter their appearances while they were still within the womb! He had no right to infuse magic into Loroth!” Torroth clenched his fist. “He had no right, and I had to watch as my son became weaker and weaker, sacrificing everything without thought, and then, when he finally died, we had no body to bury. I lost my son before he was even born, thanks to your father. I wanted his power restricted.”
Heldon stared, having a hard time comprehending everything Torroth told him. He wished Erita was here. She would be able to voice the questions he couldn’t, and Heldon could stand back and listen in silence until he had to speak. However, she was not here. He was alone, and he had to speak.
“Your actions...” Heldon paused to lick his lips and gather his breath. “They killed my father.”
Torroth bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Aye.”
Heldon began walking around his uncle, keeping his eyes on him at all times. “They stole ten years of Lorrek’s life from him.” More and more pieces fell into place. “Because of you, Honroth became king since Theran left to find Lorrek. Honroth died because he led the Cuskelian army as king. And now I am king.” Heldon spread out his hands in a hopeless gesture. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. Instead, he kept it bottled up and pressed on. “If you...” He swallowed the lump in his throat and clenched his fists. “If you had not done so, my father may still be alive. My twin may still be alive. I would not be king!” Heldon’s voice echoed in the Crypt when he shouted the last sentence.
He turned away from his uncle and covered his face with his hand, willing himself to calm down. “And Father would know what to do with the thymords.” He shook his head.
Torroth furrowed his brows as he heard the last statement from the king. “The thymords? They’re here?” He thought he had heard Heldon mention them when he spoke to Honroth, but Torroth thought he imagined it. Now he straightened when realized the very real possibility that the thymords had returned to Cuskelom. “They want the World Orbs?”
Heldon frowned when he heard his uncle’s inquiries, and he turned back to him, nodding. “Aye.” He didn’t want to get off the topic from the treason his uncle had committed, but if Torroth could offer him a solution, Heldon was willing to delay any punishment that might be due for his actions.
“But they do not have a claim to them. The World Orbs are Cuskelom’s.”
Heldon chuckled when he heard this, and he nodded. “That is what I have been telling them, but they insist the World Orbs belong with them because they originally made them.”
“No, no, you don’t understand.” Torroth approached his nephew. “I mean, Cuskelom has a stronger claim to the World Orbs than even the thymords. It’s something I recall my own father telling Sindric and me when we were children. It made little sense to me back then. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I’m certain it is in a scroll somewhere.” He met Heldon’s gaze. “If you permit me, Sire, I will go to the palace library immediately and seek this out. I know there is information there you may use. There may even be a way to safely remove all the World Orbs from the Porta Cosmica to buy you more time. Please, Sire, I know I have greatly wronged Cuskelom, but please, allow me to do this. Once all of this has been resolved, you may sentence me to whatever punishment you see fit for my crimes.”
For a moment, Heldon hesitated. As king, he thought he should command his guards to escort Torroth to the dungeon until this issue with the thymords had been resolved. However, as Heldon, he wanted the advice and knowledge of a wiser individual. If Heldon granted him this opportunity to prove himself loyal to the royal family, perhaps Torroth would be indebted to him and would serve him as a good advisor. Heldon wasn’t sure how it would play out, and he wished to have Erita’s advice on this matter, but for now he needed the information Torroth may have on the thymords.
“You swear you have Cuskelom’s best interest in mind, Lord Torroth?” Heldon gave him an unrelenting stare. “That you will not betray the royal family of Cuskelom again? If I sentence you to be tried by the courts, you stand to be executed for your actions. However, I am willing to give you a second chance because you are family and you hold valuable information I need at this time.” Then Heldon stepped up to his uncle until he was in his face, and he lowered his voice and maintained eye contact. “But know this, if you betray me, I will kill you myself.”
Torroth immediately stepped back and bowed low to his king. He remembered Heldon as a young troublemaker, but the man who stood before him now was one who would take action if required. “Of course, my liege. You have my word, and I solemnly swear to do all in my power to protect Cuskelom and uphold the throne. I will give my life to save yours if that is what must be done.”
Satisfied his uncle had submitted, Heldon nodded and stepped back. “Good. Now leave me. Go to the Archives and begin your search. Report to me once you have found something on the thymords, the World Orbs, and if there is a way to safely remove the Orbs from the Porta Cosmica. Go now.”
Heldon watched as his uncle bowed once more before turning on his heel and hastening away to do what the king demanded of him.
When the doors to the crypt shut and Heldon was alone once more, he hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, feeling the weight of what Torroth had revealed to him crush down upon him.
He looked up at the statues of his brother and his father and asked the empty air, “What am I to do?”
He had never felt so alone.
15
They had been wandering for hours now, following Lorrek’s lead, but Zoyra couldn’t determine a clear path to where they were going. Lorrek took the lead, and Vixen followed immediately behind him. The thymords trailed them, and Zoyra and Theran brought up the rear. There was little chatter among them aside from Draben attempting to strike a conversation first with Lorrek, then with Vixen, and finally with Reven, but they all ignored him.
However, something about Lorrek’s posture didn’t sit right with Zoyra, and she allowed the computer in her helmet to scan him. That’s when she noticed it. “He’s burning up.”
Theran shot her a glance. “Pardon?”
“Lorrek.” Zoyra lengthened her strides to bypass the thymords and catch up with Lorrek. “He has a fever.” As soon as she stepped in front of him, she saw the paleness of his skin and the sweat glistening off his face, but Lorrek didn’t seem to see her and kept walking. Zoyra cast Vixen a helpless glance. “His temperature is 103 degrees. He needs to stop.”
“Lorrek.” Vixen tried to get his attention. “Lorrek!” She marched up to him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to pay attention to her.
He snapped out of the magic realm and blinked, staring down at her, confused. “What?”
“Sit down.” Vixen motioned to a nearby log but didn’t wait for him to obey. She dragged him to it.
&nb
sp; Lorrek followed along reluctantly. “What are you doing? I nearly had her...”
“None of it matters if you get an infection and die. Let me check the wound.” Vixen sat him down on the log and untied the sling, causing him to hiss and clutch his arm. “Let me see it.”
He hesitated but then slowly let her have his arm. He was too exhausted to care. “In order for an infection to set in, the bone must protrude through the skin—which didn’t happen. This will only slow us down. Mordora is moving fast. We must catch up with her.”
Vixen said nothing but listened to him ramble as she slowly unraveled the bandage. She hissed at the sight and squashed her face as a strong odor hit her. “I think it’s safe to say the bone has protruded through the skin.” She pulled the bandage away, revealing a bone jutting out of the skin with blood smearing the skin. Around the wound, the skin was inflamed with a pocket of puss just under the surface, and it was oozing, giving off that awful smell.
Theran drew near but was careful not to get too close. “I don’t understand. How did this happen? It wasn’t like that when I originally broke his arm.”
Hearing his words, Draben raised his brows. “You did that to him?” He pointed at Lorrek, but everyone ignored him.
“It must have happened when Lorrek tackled me when I tried to reverse the spell on that statue,” Zoyra realized, and new guilt settled in. If she hadn’t experimented with her powers on the statue, Lorrek wouldn’t have had a need to tackle her to get her out of harm’s way. Although, now that she reflected on it, she looked down at her armor and realized it probably would have protected her from the blast and shards of stone flying in every direction, so why did Lorrek do what he did? Instinct, maybe. He perceived a threat and did his best to protect anyone who might get hurt. This thought caused Zoyra to clench her fist. Once this entire situation was resolved, Zoyra wanted to have a serious talk with Lorrek about his recklessness.
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 88
