Lord of the Black Tower: A Mega-Omnibus (5-book epic fantasy box set)

by Jack Conner

With wonder still in his eyes, Albrech said, “But how did you escape Celievsti, my dove, and why did it take you so long to find your way back here?”

  Logran stepped forward. “Let me explain.”

  She looked grateful. As the old sorcerer told the tale, her eyes would often dart to Baleron, but he tried not to meet them.

  Logran spun a story of fear and injury, of shock and terror, how she had landed her serath in a thicket and been pursued by Borchstogs for days on end before finally finding the Great Swan again and taking off. She’d wandered high and low, so Logran said, nearing Clevaris only to see it besieged and impossible to approach, and ultimately returning to the city she’d grown up in, to the family she knew. Seeing Glorifel likewise besieged, she had decided to make one last desperate attempt to find sanctuary.

  The gathered princes and princesses clamored in a happy riot, and she beamed at them all, glowing joyfully. The king watched on with great contentment, though he said little.

  As she reacquainted herself with Albrech and her former brothers and sisters over breakfast, Baleron kept silent and tried not to get in the way. He did notice Logran frowning a bit at him, but if the sorcerer suspected anything amiss he kept it to himself.

  Throughout the reunion, the prince and Rolenya very self-consciously avoided holding hands or displaying any overtly affectionate behavior. He wondered just what in the Seven Hells he’d gotten himself into. Blood or no blood, he was sleeping with his sister! This was yet one more weight that he didn’t need on his mind. He found it difficult to look his father in the eye.

  Inwardly, he projected his image: a cursed prince on a dark steed bearing an evil sword, spreading ruin to the world, possibly ushering in the End Times, and now involved in incest. Incest! The word made him shudder.

  At last the king exclaimed, “By the gods, I feel good!” His eyes shone, which was rare. “Tomorrow night is Imrilliande.”

  “Moonday!” gasped Rolenya.

  The king’s eyes were only for her. “I had not intended to proceed with the festival this year, under the circumstances, but now I feel in the mood for it. And the city needs a lift now most of all. And, by the gods, we’ll have it!”

  The princes and princesses exclaimed loudly, and excitement lit their faces. Baleron sat back and said nothing, but his heart was troubled.

  After the breakfast, Rolenya approached him in private. “Come with me to the festival,” she begged.

  “Are you mad? We must not be seen together!”

  “We’ll be masked. No one will know.” She pressed herself against him and whispered in his ear: “Please?”

  The annual celebration—Imrilliande in Elvish, or Moonday in Havensril—was the night when people of many different faiths and races celebrated the making of the Moon, the goddess Illiana’s most fabulous feat. The rivers and the streams of Glorifel were stained purple at sundown to represent the color of water under a nighttime moon. Baleron and Rolenya, in disguise, watched on when Logran dipped his staff in the great river of Nagradin before the gathered crowd, which numbered in the thousands. The people burst into applause as a purple cloud spread out from his staff’s tip, and the musicians played joyously. Thus began the Festival.

  Baleron would have thought the townspeople glum, frightened, but they smiled and engaged in festivities ... though they did shoot occasional glances toward the city walls. He only hoped Ungier held off attacking during the celebration.

  People of all social classes wandered the nighttime streets wearing ornate masks and costumes, drinking a type of exotic ale made by sorcerers and elves that glowed greenly under the full moon. Glowing, incandescent balls of blue-white light floated above the roads and waterways, miniature representations of Illiana’s Lamp, mostly masked by black clouds.

  Some sang songs, or ate moonpies, crescent-shaped pastries, or pies that were shaded to represent the waxing and waning of the moon, sold at street corners. Single girls dressed up as Stewardesses of the Moon blew bubbles in boys’ faces. Lovers took gondolas out on the purple streams and were serenaded by their gondoliers, who sang tales of the moon’s beauty, and of things to do beneath it.

  This is what Baleron and Rolenya did. In disguise, no one took them for prince and princess, and they enjoyed anonymity for once in their lives. He could pretend for a time that they were just two people in love, and nothing else mattered.

  “This is perfect,” she said, her head on his shoulder, and, feeling the subtle rocking of the boat, he had to agree.

  An Imrelliante, one of the floating Moonballs, hovered above the stream here, gliding slowly along over the water and bathing the lovers in glowing light.

  “Imrilliande is my favorite holiday,” she whispered. “Oh, it’s so lovely!”

  “So it is.”

  “I wish it could be like this always.”

  “That would be a dream.” He enjoyed the cool wind off the water. It had been a long day on the wall, and Ungier had waged a fierce battle, but Baleron did not feel weary, not with her. When he was with her, a strange energy filled him and fueled him.

  Watching her bathed in the light of the Imrelliante, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, smelling her perfume, he wished he could freeze this moment for all time. Here and now, he was content. He wondered how long it would last.

  It was long past midnight when they returned to his suite at the castle. Drunk on valrenda, the green ale, they made love until they could go on no longer.

  They woke up in each other’s arms, and he was happy and full of warmth, or part of him was. The rest was webbed with doubt and shame.

  Several days passed, and he and Rolenya continued to spend time together, even though his days were filled with defense plans and battle, and hers were filled with reunions. They spent most nights together and often met during the day for passionate interludes, when he could spare the time. Every hour he told himself No more, but he could not stay away. Or rather, when he did, she would seek him out and when no gaze was upon them press her body against him, and he could not resist.

  Before her arrival, he’d noted the emptiness inside himself. He’d been a mere shell of a man, nothing but an instrument of death. But now, with her, he felt full. For the first time in a long time, he felt whole.

  His men began whispering among themselves, saying that their leader was not himself and that he was acting like one possessed. Baleron rained his wrath on the gossipers, but he knew something was wrong, and despite his newfound sense of completion he loathed himself. Every day, he grew more desperate, more filled with disgust.

  Incest. Doom. Killer. Dark steed. Evil blade.

  Incest!

  It became a chant, a litany almost, a list of his sins.

  One day during the morning briefing, he could not even hear General Kavradnum’s presentation. All he could hear was: Incest. Doom. Killer. Dark steed. Evil blade. Incest. Doom. Killer. Dark steed. Evil blade.

  He was going mad.

  Afterwards, he saddled up Lunir and took the bird for a ride through the skies toward the western arc of the city wall, his evil and bloodthirsty sword nestled securely in its scabbard hanging from his waist. As he went, his Doom followed him like a poisonous cloud; he could almost feel it—the Wolf’s claws upon him, digging into his flesh. And after his shift at the wall ended—after a day of fighting demons—he returned to his rooms and slept with his sister.

  All the while he tried to ignore the crawling on his skin.

  Chapter 11

  Though the day would go to the Seven Hells quickly, it started off surprisingly well. Baleron awoke to find himself in sun-drenched sheets with his arms about the girl he’d loved ever since he could remember. Of course, never had he thought about loving her as he had last night, but all things change with time.

  He began to rise from bed when she seized his hand and said, “Baleron.”

  “Yes?”

  She turned to him, and her blue eyes sparkled in the morning light.

  “Let us marry.”
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  He thought his heart stopped, such was his complete shock.

  She laughed at his expression, and it was a delightful sound, as if she were up to her old mischief again.

  “It’ll be perfect,” she assured him. “We’ll unite two nations that desperately need it. That’s assuming my mother—my true mother, Queen Vilana—and,” she added, “can you imagine that? My mother, the Elf Queen! It just doesn’t seem right, does it? I’ve never even met her.”

  “But marriage? It’s mad. We’re—”

  “Brother and sister?” She laid a hand on his chest, and ran her fingers through his hair there. “But we’re not.”

  “But ...”

  She smiled tenderly. She adjusted her position slightly, propping herself up, and the silk sheets slipped away from her, revealing her firm full breasts, with her red nipples standing erect against her pale white flesh. Black strands of her hair fell across them.

  “I know,” she assured him. “Anyway, if my elvish mother—for that is how I must think of her, one of my two mothers—if she can save Larenthi, and we wed, our love will unite Elf and Man and heal the damage done in recent years. But more importantly, or at least to me and you and our lives, we’ll have each other. In a way, it’s all we’ve ever known, and we’re all we’ve ever loved.” Her tears were warm and he took her face in his hands and wiped the moisture away with the ball of his thumb. She was trembling and, despite himself, he longed to hold her. “Please, Bal. Say yes. Say ... say we’ll spend our lives together.”

  “No ... This isn’t right.”

  “Our love is right!”

  Weakly, he said, “But now ... don’t you see? The world is ending. At least our part in it is. The Crescent is nearly toppled. In a little while I will go to the Great Council and we will make a plan, but ... it cannot succeed. Whatever it is. Only I have the power to change things, and I don’t know how.”

  “Then let us declare our love in the last waning light of day. Let us live these last moments like we’ve always wanted to.”

  He shook his head miserably. “Even if I’m wrong, it can’t work. I’ll die, Rolly, and you’ll live forever. I couldn’t do that to you. To have you watch me grow old and whither, while you stay young and vital and everlasting—”

  “All I know is I will regret it for all time if I don’t spend at least one lifetime with the man I’ve loved since I was but a little girl singing ditties in the castle halls.” She clasped her hands in his. “Please, Baleron. Do me the honor of marrying me.”

  He could not believe this. This was inconceivable. And too fast! Much too fast. His head swam. Things started to blur around the edges, and sounds faded in and out.

  But then a strange thing happened. His heart revealed its secrets to him. It showed him that he loved Rolenya, in every way possible, and that he always had. It showed him that it was to her whom he belonged, not Sophia, not Amrelain, not even Shelir. He had great affection for the Swan Rider, but he did not love her, not really.

  Looking deeply into Rolenya’s eyes, overcome by something buried in him, he squeezed her hand and said, “Yes, Rolenya. Yes. I will marry you.”

  They kissed, engulfed in their passion, ignoring all else as the sun rose, burning, to the east.

  That was only the beginning. The day was far from over. And it did not get any better.

  Baleron and Rolenya made their way to the royal breakfast room, where they ate with their family, and it seemed to him as though everyone were pretending that they were not under siege, as if this were a typical weekend family breakfast. Would that it were.

  After the meal, king and princes would attend the Great Council meeting. Sorcerers, priests, generals, ambassadors, counselors and experts from all over the Crescent would be there. The session would likely last most of the day and could spill over to tomorrow and the next day. Baleron looked forward to it; it was good to be engaged in something proactive for once. He only hoped his words to Rolenya had been in error, that the Council could truly devise some means by which to thwart the Shadow’s campaign. Gilgaroth intended this to be the Last Great War, and he’d taken steps to ensure that the Crescent was all but helpless against him. So far, his plan had succeeded eerily well—likely aided, Baleron thought, in no small part by his Doom.

  Breakfast was wonderful, as it always was, and Rolenya seemed delighted by the familial atmosphere. Her former brothers and sisters treated her well and were heartened by her return. Baleron supposed they’d spent a great deal of time with her this last week, and it surprised him that they had so many questions for her this morning. What had she been doing with herself these past days if not spending it reacquainting herself with her siblings?

  The king, after sopping a piece of bread into some rich and spicy gravy and munching on it thoughtfully—his eyes upon Rolenya, basking in her presence—said, “Rolenya, sweet daughter.”

  She turned to regard him, smiling. “Yes, Father?”

  “Will not you sing for us, dear Rolenya? It’s been too long since we last heard your voice. I do miss it.”

  For the first time, a trace of nervousness gathered around her eyes.

  “Father ...”

  “Long has the golden sound of your voice echoed in my mind,” he said, “ever reverberating in its hollow halls. Yet the longer it is since I’ve last heard you sing the more distant the echoes become, and if it pleases you I would hear it afresh. It would do an old man good.”

  Rolenya swallowed her mouthful and lowered her eyes. Demurely, she said, “I would beg you not to ask that—not yet. I ... am not ready. I faced many horrors in Gulrothrog, and I still carry many with me. They cling to me like shadows, like cobwebs, and the Light cannot shine through them, not fully. That Light is my voice when I sing. I’ve felt it before and, gods willing, I will feel it again. It is Grace.” She seemed on the point of tears, and it was all Baleron could do not to squeeze her shoulder or cradle her affectionately, as he sat right next to her.

  “Time will heal you,” he said. Looking pointedly at his father, he repeated, “Time.”

  King Grothgar nodded sadly. Rolenya was not to be pushed. No one could deny the horrors she’d faced, the nightmares, the abuses. If time was all she needed, they could give her that.

  “Tell me of the Council,” Rolenya said excitedly, changing the subject. “Is it true there will be representatives from one of the Giant lands?”

  Albrech smiled, and nodded. “Just so, my dove.”

  Rolenya shared an eager look with Baleron, and he felt a swell of excitement in his own breast. Giants! He’d always wanted to see one.

  Breakfast concluded and the daughters rose to leave. In Larenthi, daughters would be the equals of sons and would join in the Council debate, but in Havensrike this was not yet the case. Rolenya did not argue the policy, merely hugged Baleron and her father and left with her sisters.

  The king watched her disappear, a sad smile on his face. Baleron drew near and Albrech said, “It is good to have her back. Truly it is. Strange that she won’t sing, though,” mused the King.

  “She’s been to some dark places,” Baleron reminded him. “The darkness isn’t so easy to banish. Trust me.”

  “Yes,” the king agreed absently, and then his cold eyes shifted to his youngest son. “Fear not, Baleron. I know what I said about you standing in for your sister in my eyes, but you should know that, just because she’s returned, you won’t be pushed aside. You’ve held your own admirably these last few weeks. So come—all of you. We’ve business to attend.”

  His sons accompanied him to the Council Hall, a great chamber with a throne at one end and long, wide tables along both walls with a broad aisle in the center. A huge stained-glass window stretching up to the arched ceiling poured light into the room from directly behind the throne so that one had to squint slightly to make out the king when the sun was high. The hall was full when the king and his sons entered, and they took their places, Albrech upon his throne and his sons to his right side in a s
hort line of lesser seats. To his left stretched a line of seats for his closest advisors, nearest among these Logran in his most majestic robes, wearing his high rounded hat and bearing his staff of office.

  Immediately upon the king taking his throne, an officer of the Court smote the marble floor with his own staff and called out, “All hail the King!” Everyone excepting Albrech rose, including his sons and advisors, and echoed the officer’s words.

  The king nodded and said, “Now I call this session of the Great Council to order. All sit.”

  As they did, Baleron noticed some uneasiness in a few faces and vaguely recalled Logran’s warning that some spies might have infiltrated the Council. Just how serious was that threat? Surely no one would willingly aid Gilgaroth ... . unless they were under his thrall, of course, but with Logran’s power protecting them, all must be well. Surely.

  As everyone else sat, the king rose. His stony blue eyes lanced the gathering, singling out both friends and fixing their locations in his mind.

  “Thank you all for assembling today,” he said. “All of us have our roles cut out for us in the weeks and months ahead.” He paused a moment, lending his next words an almost theatrical air of gravity. “War has come! The Wolf is at our very walls.” He paused again, as if to gather his strength, then plowed on: “Our allies in the Crescent all hunker down, expecting and preparing for the worst, having already dispatched what soldiers they can spare to assist Queen Vilana. Thank you,” he added to the representatives of the other allied states, “for graciously accepting what advice we in Havensrike have to offer on such matters.

  “But now the Wolf has come to Glorifel. He’s poised to destroy the two most powerful cities of the Crescent. If the capitals fall, so will the states. The Crescent will crumble, and the soft Northlands will be open to an attack which they cannot repel. That cannot come to pass.” He considered. “But as to how we shall work in concert to rout the Beast—that is what we must determine.” Slowly, he sat and motioned to General Kavradnum, who sat at the head of the right table. “General, please bring us up to date on military matters.”