“It would appear that is not the case.”
“How did she die?”
Mel swallowed hard, the struggle not to cry evident on his face. “Mordum killed her.”
Aramis was stunned into silence. Things were more serious than he’d thought. Mel turned and resumed his pace.
“I faced the templar, but I was outmatched. I’ve never feared death until that moment. When he struck me a killing blow, I thought I had failed you. The fight was so quick, I was certain that he would have caught up to you. How did you escape?”
“I surrendered to the mark,” Aramis answered.
Mel nodded. “I figured as much. As I lay dying, I heard singing. I thought I was imagining it. I wasn’t.” The sounds of pursuit echoed into the corridor. Mel quickened his pace. “Zevea, the Goddess of Light, welcomed me when I died. She told me of Edria’s demise and asked for my allegiance. She promised to avenge Edria’s death and to restore my life.”
They stopped at the end of a long hallway. A wooden door blocked the way. Behind them, Aramis heard the howling of Jackalwere growing nearer. Mel motioned to the door. “I cannot follow you inside. There is something more powerful than the magic of mankind guarding this door. I will wait here for you.”
Aramis stared at the door. He was tired and sore. Every move he made caused his muscles to scream at him. He guessed that the bones of Mordum were somewhere beyond that door. He feared he didn’t have the strength to continue. His resolve was like steel, but his body threatened to rebel against him. He was aware of Mel’s eyes on him.
“Why did you decide to come back?” he asked. “You were free of this life.”
“I was not free of responsibility.”
“Responsibility to what?”
“To the world. To the people who were still here. If Mordum succeeds, everything will be gone. I could not continue through eternity knowing that.”
Those words gave Aramis a boost of strength he didn’t know he had. He summoned his blade. The familiarity of its hilt reassured him. He could do this. Nodding to Mel, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Darkness enveloped him. The ceiling did not glow like it did outside the room. The blackness felt tangible, like a thin layer of material that parted and swept around him. Aramis had the feeling that something was watching him. A chill crept through his armor and he shivered. The walls around him shuddered from an unseen force. As he continued forward, he held his left hand out in front of him so that he didn’t run into anything.
Fire leapt into life directly ahead of him. A large brazier was the source of light. Behind it, the flickering flames illuminated a figure seated on a throne. He stepped forward slowly, his grip on the sword tightening. As he drew near, he gasped.
The figure on the throne was his father.
He knew that is was an illusion, but it seemed too real. His face was identical to the last time Aramis had seen him. The royal crown rested on his head in the exact place his father always wore it. He was sitting straight, but upon seeing Aramis, he leaned forward.
“My son, is that you?” he asked. Even his voice was the same. Aramis’s heart fought against his mind, wanting to believe that his father was truly alive.
“You’re not real,” Aramis whispered.
“Am I not? Then how do you suppose I am here?”
“I …” he did not have the answer.
“Tell me, my boy, why have you come here? Do you not know that this place is a trap?”
“I know,” Aramis said. “The wizard told me what this place is.”
“And yet you came anyway?”
“Yes.”
His father nodded slowly. “You were always brave. Nothing like your brother.”
“My brother?”
The older man sighed and Aramis realized how aged his father looked. “There are many things I wanted to tell you. Some of them, such as this, I kept from you for your protection. I was going to reveal it to you before I died. At least, I intended to. Come closer.” His father beckoned him.
Still unsure, Aramis kept his guard up, ready to strike. He inched closer. His father waited patiently as he took his time.
“I will not harm, my son. That is not why I am here. But they will.” He nodded toward the darkness. Aramis looked to the edges of the firelight and saw shadowy figures moving about.
“What are they?” Aramis asked.
“Twisted creatures. Servants of the god of the dead. Never mind them,” he said. “There is something you must know. Your brother is a vile man. The atrocities he committed are the reason I banished him from the kingdom.”
“What did he do?”
“Many terrible things, all of them done in fear. I told him that he would not inherit the throne if he did not stop his dallying with the common people of our realm. He had many illegitimate children. He had them all killed, even those who had yet to be born.” Tears trailed down the old man’s face.
“Your mother was heartbroken, both at his actions and my decision. She was pregnant with you when it all came to light. Your brother had been angry. He’s angry still, and he will not rest until he finds you.”
“He won’t have to,” Aramis said. “I will take back the throne. By force, if necessary.”
“It will not be an easy task,” his father said. “Adamar is clever as a serpent and he has found favor with Mordum. You will need strong allies to fight the coming battle.”
“I’m afraid,” Aramis said.
“I know, my son, but you must persevere. If you fail, Mordum’s darkness will sweep over the world.”
“Is there no one else who can bear this burden?”
“Possibly,” his father replied. “I am not gifted with visions of the future. Mordum has his gaze set on you, though I do not know why. My time here draws to its end. There is one more thing I must tell you. There are three things Mordum seeks. His blood, his bones, and his ashes. His blood you know of, his bones are here in this room, and his ashes are hidden beneath the castle.”
“What castle?”
“Your castle. In the dungeon, there is a secret network of tunnels. Melchiades knows the entrance. The ashes are buried there. If your brother hasn’t found them yet, he soon will. You must stop him from completing the ritual that will allow Mordum to take human flesh.” The image of his father began to dissipate.
“Father, I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too big!”
His father smiled, and then he was gone. Before the flames in the brazier went out, he saw two things. The bones of Mordum sitting on the throne, and the shadows alive with movement. Aramis sprinted to the throne.
—
“My Lord,” Mel interrupted. “We must be going if we plan to make it to the ship.”
Aramis checked the hourglass at the bar and knew Mel was right. They could still make it if they hurried. “I’m sorry, but I must be on my way. Thank you for the food.”
“Wait,” Jarrod pleaded. “What happened? Did you get the bones?”
Aramis glanced to Mel who shook his head. Not seeing any danger in telling the boy, Aramis smiled. “I did. After fighting off the creatures that waited in the shadows, I escaped the room. Mel and I made it out of the Nexus to find that one of Mordum’s armies was attacking the wizard’s domain. My friend Kedrick was killed, but with the aid of the wizard, we were able to get away.” A look from Mel cut Aramis’s retelling short. “I’m sorry, but we must be going now.”
“Thank you,” Jarrod said. “I wish you luck on your journey.”
“I appreciate it. We’ll need everything we can get.”
After Aramis and Mel left, Jarrod cleared the table and went to the back of the inn. He washed the dishes and helped his father start the fire in the kitchen’s stove. Once the workers arrived and he was satisfied his father had ample help, Jarrod left the inn. He walked a few streets northward and turned down an alley. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t followed, he knocked on the backdoor of one of the dilapidated buildings.
>
The door partially opened and a robed figure peered out at him. “Is it done?” the man asked.
“It’s done,” Jarrod answered. “I put the poison in their food. He and his priest friend ate all of it.”
“Well done,” the man said.
“One more thing. He told me they have the bones.”
“You have more than earned your reward.” The man opened the door fully. Jarrod stepped inside and the man closed the door behind him.
“Prepare yourself to receive the Mark.”
“The proof of a belief lies in conduct. Let your behavior speak so clearly that you don’t have to explain your principles.”
—Melchiades
CHAPTER eight
Shortly after leaving port, Aramis became ill. It began as a minor stomachache, but quickly progressed. He gripped the worn wooden frame of his bed and vomited into a bucket. Mel hovered around him like a distraught mother, but there was nothing he could do.
“Perhaps,” Aramis choked, “I ate something that didn’t agree with me.”
Mel shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, my Lord.”
Aramis laid back on his bed. His lips were chapped and felt like they were burning with fire, while his mouth was dry and tasted of the vile acids of his stomach. He was light headed from the heaving. His vision swam before him and he thought for a moment that he might pass out. He held onto consciousness, however, and looked to his friend. Mel had a worried look on his face.
“I need some fresh air,” Aramis croaked.
“The windows don’t open,” Mel answered. “I’ve already tried them. I can carry you out on deck, if you feel up to it?”
Aramis debated with himself for long moments before nodding his head. Mel helped him out of the bed. Aramis placed his arm around Mel’s neck and the two staggered from their cabin to the open deck above.
The smell of saltwater and the sound of waves lapping against the hull greeted them. Aramis breathed in deep, trying in vain to make the stench of vomit leave his nostrils. They passed the Captain on their way to the railing.
“Put me down,” Aramis said. Mel helped him to sit on the deck with his back to the rails. The Captain walked over to them.
“Gods man,” he said. “You look like a demon from Hell.”
“I feel like I’m in Hell,” Aramis replied. The roof of his mouth felt like dried leather and the light headedness had been replaced with a splitting headache. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the mild afternoon breeze that blew across the deck.
“That’s the worst case of seasickness I’ve ever seen,” the Captain muttered to Mel.
“I don’t think that is what he’s suffering from,” Mel replied softly.
“It’s not the plague?” the Captain asked alarmingly. He took a step back.
“No, not at all. I’ve seen something like this before, years ago. It was poison.”
“Poison?” the Captain said.
Mel nodded. “Deadly nightshade, if all of the symptoms hold true.”
The Captain stared at Aramis in concern. “He needs help, and soon. I’d wager he’ll be dead in a day, two at the most.”
“Not if I can help it,” Mel replied. The Captain clapped Mel on the shoulder and then strode away.
“You know I can hear you,” Aramis said. “The wind carries quite well down here.”
“I know you can.”
“If I die—”
“Don’t,” Mel interrupted. “You are not going to die.”
Aramis sighed. The two remained silent.
“Did you hide the bag?” Aramis cracked his eyes at Mel.
“I did. It’s under a loose floor board beneath your bed.”
Aramis noticed one of the sailors nearby taking an interest in their conversation. He opened his eyes fully and stared at the man. The sailor met his gaze momentarily before turning away. Aramis was too tired and give it any thought.
“I think some sleep will help me,” he said. Mel helped him to his feet and took him back below deck and placed him in his bed. Aramis knew Mel wouldn’t leave his side, so he didn’t bother telling him to go. He closed his eyes and darkness overtook him.
Dry, brittle grass crunched beneath his boots. A few feet away, he could see a fountain that showered water droplets into a small pool. He suddenly realized he was thirsty. He walked to the fountain and knelt beside it, reaching his cupped hands in. Scooping the water up, he drank some. It burned his mouth and his throat.
Instinctively, he spat it out and flung it from his hands. Before his eyes, the water turned colors. It became black and oily. A shadow moved beneath the surface of the water. Aramis stood up and back away warily.
The shadow slowly lifted from the water. It had the form of a man, yet it had no defined features. The shadow stepped out of the pool. Whatever it touched quickly turned black and oily like the water that had spawned it.
Aramis tried to summon his blade, but nothing happened. The shadow approached him. Aramis backed away, only to be stopped by something tall and flat. He risked a glance. It was a wall. It stretched the length of his vision. He turned back to the shadow.
Its arm reached out toward him. Dark, oily water dripped from its fingers. It grabbed him and he screamed in agony. A searing pain shot through his body. He gasped and tried to push the shadow’s hand away, but his hand slipped through the shadow. He couldn’t touch it!
The shadow’s other hand gripped his throat and began to squeeze. He choked and struggled, but the shadow did not relent. And then he died. He knew the feeling. It was familiar to him. Although he was dead, he was still aware. The shadow dropped him to the ground.
Aramis felt the life come back into him. He pushed himself up and stood before the shadow. This time, it did not touch him. Hesitantly, Aramis reached out and touched the shadow. It immediately collapsed upon itself and splashed to the ground.
Aramis awoke to screams and smoke. He sat up and immediately noticed he no longer felt ill. He was, however, extremely weak. His cabin door was open and Mel was missing. Summoning his armor and sword, he staggered feebly out of the door and up onto the deck.
Chaos was everywhere. Sailors were battling each other. The clash of steel filled the air. Aramis quickly spotted Mel. He was back to back with the Captain and they were surrounded. Aramis summoned his blade and lurched toward them. The ship swayed erratically. A quick glance revealed that no one was manning the tiller.
A sailor intercepted him mid-deck and engaged him. Aramis lifted his sword to parry the man’s attack, but he was exhausted and offered a sloppy defense. Had he not been protected by his armor, the sailor would likely have ended the fight quickly.
His muscles screamed in reproach as he struggled to keep the sailor’s blade at bay. The ship swayed hard to port and Aramis slipped, falling to one knee. The sailor managed to keep his balance and struck Aramis in the chest with his blade. The sword clanged off his breastplate and Aramis focused all his strength on swinging his own sword in a horizontal arc. His blade cleaved through the sailor’s first leg and halfway through the other.
The sailor screamed and dropped to the deck, blood gushing freely from both extremities. Aramis’s vision blurred from the exertion. He tried to move his body with the swaying of the ship as he waited for his vision to clear. As soon as it did, he saw the Captain get struck down by one of the sailor’s. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if it was a mortal blow or not.
The sailor he’d maimed continued screaming, rolling around the deck, washing the boards with his blood. Aramis rose to his feet and as he passed the fallen man, he drove his blade through the man’s throat.
“Shut your mouth,” he muttered to himself. He forced his burning muscles to obey him and made it to Mel’s side.
“What are you doing?” Mel shouted as he struck a sailor in the nose with the hilt of his blade. His armor glittered brilliantly in the sunlight.
“I’m helping,” Aramis answered. He attempted to block a blow from another sailor
, but the force of the sailor’s swing knocked Aramis’s blade from his grasp. Mel whipped his blade around and stabbed Aramis’s assailant in the stomach. The sailor collapsed backward, falling to the deck and holding his wound.
“You are too weak to be of help, my Lord,” Mel said.
“What’s going on?”
“Assassins,” Mel answered. “Agents of Mordum.”
“What are they doing here?”
“I have my suspicions, but I’m not sure. I think they are looking for the bones.”
Aramis nodded. He suspected as much. “I can’t tell friend from foe,” he complained.
“Just kill anyone that attacks you,” Mel said. “Can you check on the Captain?”
Aramis looked to where the man had fallen. A puddle of blood had pooled around him. Aramis knelt beside him and examined his wound. He’d been gashed across his chest. It wasn’t mortal, but it was deep. Aramis retrieved his sword and cut the Captain’s shirt off. Using the material like bandages, he covered the wound and tied it tightly around the man’s chest. He groaned as Aramis worked. That’s a good sign, he thought.
He slumped to the deck beside the Captain, holding his sword across his lap. He couldn’t put up much of a fight in his state, but he was determined to defend the Captain from further harm. Within a few minutes, Mel and the few remaining loyal sailors had taken back control of the ship. Mel made his way back over to him.
“How’s the Captain?”
“He’s not in immediate danger, but he may get an infection. Does anyone know how far we are from the closest harbor?”
Mel consulted with one of the sailors and returned. “Two days sailing with a strong wind and a full crew. There aren’t many of them left, though.”
“Unless there’s a healer on board, the Captain won’t make it two days.”
One of the sailors began shouting and pointing. Mel looked and shook his head.
“What is it?” Aramis asked.
“We’ve got a bigger problem,” Mel answered. “We’re close to show and we’re about to run aground.”
The Restored King (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 4) Page 7
