The Door Within

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  Paragal looked down at the parchment. Dark ink pooled where the pen’s tip rested. Why, then, would he allow me to take his life?

  Paragal shook his head. It did not matter why, for King Eliam was dead. The power was Paragal’s now. He cleared his mind and sought to see his future.

  Visions erupted in his mind, and Paragal wrote what he saw.

  I will be wise.

  I will be feared.

  I will be powerful.

  Paragal wrote these three lines and smiled for the last time.

  Something took control of his hand. Paragal cried out, for he could not stop his own hand from writing. The visions that followed pierced him through:

  I will never know all.

  I will never be loved.

  I will never be King.

  Crimson light poured through the eastern window as the fierce sun rose between the peaks of Pennath Ador. Its rays splashed upon the scroll and seared the ink into the page. When the light of that dawn reached Paragal, it kindled into red fire and began to race up his arms as if he were doused in oil. The hungry flames writhed about Paragal, afflicting him with agonizing pain, but did not consume him. He flailed at the fire, but it could not be quenched. Then Paragal felt himself being lifted.

  The crimson flames carried Paragal’s contorting body up, and he passed through the stone of the tower into the blazing dawn sky. Paragal saw through the flames that there were other forms captured in the fire and floating high above the courtyard of Alleble. And Paragal knew that every one of his evil conspirators was captured in the same manner as he. And the last line that Paragal had written on the scroll seared his mind.

  I will never be King.

  As if catapulted by a gigantic hand, Paragal and all of his horde were flung with tremendous force—an evil red scar tracing high in the sky far from the Castle of Alleble. Finally, they crashed together at the foot of a dark mountain range. The roots of the mountains smoldered like a fire left to burn itself out.

  But the impact did not kill even one of the Glimpses who had been cast out. Not one of them perished from the flames or the fall. And Paragal, though he was not consumed by the fire, was changed by it. His sword could no longer be called Cer Muryn, for its blade was charred black. Paragal’s eyes, glassy with shock, flickered red. And upon Paragal’s chest, seared into his pale flesh like a brand, was a jagged scar: the outline of an inverted crown.

  Beneath it were symbols from the oldest language in Alleble, in the same runelike manner as those engraved upon The Stones of White Fire. Paragal looked with disgust at the scar but grimly accepted his new name: Paragor.

  “Come back, Aidan,” the Captain said gently. Aidan awoke from the vision and blinked. He could still imagine Paragor and the other fallen Glimpses smoldering at the foot of the dark mountains. It made him shiver.

  “From that time forward, King Eliam regained his rightful place on the throne. He is different now, of course, and the holy purity of his countenance takes some getting used to. But he is our King, and we love him more than ever for rescuing us from the fate that Paragor had in mind. The Prince, as Paragor calls himself, and his servants, Aidan, are our eternal enemies. And though he has not waged full-fledged war against Alleble, he is massing his forces. And he is ever at work bribing, coercing, and tricking—doing anything he can to draw the loyalty of the free Glimpses of The Realm away from Alleble. And tomorrow, tomorrow we begin a quest to Mithegard to see if we can ruin the Prince’s plans and bring more of the children of Alleble back into the fold.”

  “Captain, I’ve seen Paragor.”

  “What?” The Sentinel looked up, his eyes narrowed, posture tensed. “Where?”

  “It was in a dream I had before I entered The Realm.”

  Tension melted from Captain Valithor. He sighed with relief. “That is natural, Aidan. When you read The Scrolls—it is bound to influence your dreams.”

  “But it was a dream I had before I found the scrolls.”

  Captain Valithor’s eyes widened.

  Aidan continued. “I had the same horrible dream over and over again. I was in the ruins of a kingdom. I was captured, and Paragor told me to deny my King. I refused, and . . . and he killed me.”

  Captain Valithor staggered backward and steadied himself on the wall of the fountain. “Aidan, I . . .”

  “What is it?” Aidan was alarmed.

  The Captain swallowed. Then he mastered himself. “Aidan, no matter what, tell no one else of this dream.”

  “But, why?”

  “No one! Do you understand? I must seek the King’s wisdom, for my own is found wanting in this. Remember, no one!”

  Aidan’s gut churned, and the hair stood up on the nape of his neck. “I won’t tell anyone, Captain,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  “Good, Sir Aidan,” he replied. And just like that, Captain Valithor seemed back to his own commanding self. He winked at Aidan. “You’ve been trained for this mission, very well trained, in fact. Now what you need is some rest.”

  “But I don’t see what my part is in all this.”

  Captain Valithor nodded. “Nor do I,” he said. “It is rare that King Eliam brings someone from your world to Alleble before his time. But things are changing. And I truly believe that things are drawing to a close. It is clear that the Prince and the forces of Paragory are making a last push to increase their influence in The Realm. It may be that Mithegard is a pivotal piece of the puzzle. And you, Aidan, may be another—even, perhaps, a bigger piece. Now, you have learned much. I suspect more than you are ready to know. Go back now to your chamber, for you will need your rest. I will not have you awakened at first call. No, in fact, I will set Gabby outside your door with orders to roast anyone who attempts to wake you before midday.”

  17

  FATEFUL PLANS

  Oh, this ought to be good,” Gwenne said the next afternoon. She grinned and motioned for Aidan to stop as they approached the archery range. “Look there, Matthias and Tal are at it again!”

  Aidan saw two Glimpse knights standing a step apart. Each held a long bow and had a full quiver of arrows slung behind him. The first knight was portly and older, with strands of silver lacing his long, dark hair. He hung his bow over his shoulder and reached for a bag on his belt.

  “Twenty gold coins, Tal,” he said to the other. “First shaft to the bull’s-eye and closest to the center! If the swiftest arrow is not the most accurate, we draw again. What say you?”

  “Agreed,” said the other knight. He was willowy and slender. Indeed, he seemed carved from the same wood as his bow. And like a good bow, he seemed supple, as if he had great power hidden within. Aidan noticed too that this knight’s skin, though pale, was more cream-colored than the ivory of the other Glimpses he’d seen, and his hair was bundled in great locks. This knight also drew a pouch of coins from his belt.

  “But twenty gold coins is far too paltry a sum to be won by the greatest archer in Alleble. Let’s make it an even fifty, eh, Matthias?”

  “I like your style, Tal,” said the taller Glimpse. “And I shall like your money even more! Fifty it is, then. But we need, uh—yes, Gwenne! Gwenne, come over here, if you would, and govern this contest.”

  “Don’t you two ever give up?” Gwenne said. She and Aidan approached the two archers.

  “Nay, m’lady,” answered Tal. He bowed courteously. “Not until it is decided who is the most skilled archer in all the kingdom!”

  “Take your ground, then,” said Gwenne. She raised her right arm. Both archers turned to face the distant target. It must be at least a mile away, Aidan thought. He imagined himself shooting arrows at it—missing it, of course—and probably skewering some poor farm animal nearby.

  “Ready!” Gwenne shouted.

  Each archer gripped his bow in one hand and let the free hand dangle at his side. Whispers teemed among the small crowd of knights that had gathered behind them.

  “Steady!”

  The archers glared at the target. Mus
cles tightened. Fingers twitched.

  Gwenne looked from archer to archer, Matthias to Tal, Tal back to Matthias.

  “Pull!!” she yelled.

  The motion was fluid, practiced, expert. Hands swept over shoulders. Arrows fit to strings, lingered only a heartbeat. They fired with the speed of striking cobras. Bowstrings sang out, and the missiles sprang through the air.

  A split second later two dark streaks whooshed through their arrows’ paths, shattering them in midair. With a sharp thok! two black arrows stabbed into a palisade on the right, embedded up to their fletchings in the wooden planks.

  Jaws dropped and the crowd was as still as old stone. Matthias and Tal looked at the shards of their broken arrows and then up at the black shafts that had destroyed them. Gwenne and Aidan stood there blinking.

  Nock and Bolt, bows in hand, raced down a hill from the left and bowed before Matthias and Tal.

  “If you intended to find the greatest archers in all of Alleble,” began Nock, grinning.

  “Then you should at least have had the courtesy to invite them to the contest,” Bolt finished.

  Gwenne burst into laughter.

  “Thou hasty-witted flapdragons!!” roared Captain Valithor as he stormed into the training yard and up to Matthias and Tal. “It would seem that you each owe fifty gold coins to the winners!”

  “Not so, Captain,” said Matthias. He blushed and was clearly intimidated by their great leader, but still he argued. “They did not hit the bull’s-eye!”

  “No,” the Captain replied. “Not one bull’s-eye but two—traveling through the air at great speed. And Nock and Bolt fired from much farther away!” Captain Valithor erupted into deep, bellowing fits of laughter. The crowd joined in the mirth. Dejectedly, Matthias and Tal handed a bag of coins to each of the winners.

  The twins accepted their prize and turned to Aidan. “Greetings, Twelfth Knight!” they said, again bowing low.

  “How did you do that?” Aidan blurted out.

  “Yewland skill!” said Nock. “We were trained to shoot before we could walk. It is the way of our kin.”

  “And, of course, superior equipment never hurts,” said Bolt. “Our bows and the shafts of our arrows are made from the roots of the great trees in the Blackwood. Our bows launch with much greater force and speed.”

  “And our arrows fly straighter and pierce the air with no resistance,” Nock said.

  “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” said Aidan.

  “It is no more amazing than what I’ve heard of your skill with a blade,” said Bolt humbly. “I didn’t really want to show off. It was Nock’s idea.”

  “Ahh, they had it coming,” said Nock, dismissing the offense. “Those two drive me crazy with their petty competitions. They should be content with their skill—”

  “Just as we should be content with ours, brother,” replied Bolt, and the discussion was over.

  A few moments later, Captain Valithor and the other Glimpse knights gathered around a great round table in the center of the training yard. It was warm and still, and the late-afternoon sun dissolved into the hazy sky. A mantle of dark clouds bubbled at the horizon.

  “I think it might rain,” Aidan said as he and Gwenne joined the others at the round table.

  “No, not today at least, Sir Aidan,” she said. She scanned the distant sky and frowned. “But there is something brewing in the West. I can feel it. The worst storms always come out of the West.” A light, cold breeze swirled amidst them, and the nearby trees rustled.

  There, at the table, was the first time Aidan had seen the full team together.

  He knew most of them. Kaliam, whom they called Pathfinder, was hunched over the map, engaged in conversation with Captain Valithor. As always, Nock and Bolt were seated side by side. Their light brown hair was tied back tightly, but a few renegade strands drifted loose and floated like phantoms on the cold breeze. Mallik stood rigidly behind the twins, his hands crossed over the haft of his hammer. He looked like he was standing guard. Matthias and Tal were next. Sir Acsriot wore a dark, weather-beaten gray cloak and sat to the right of Captain Valithor. Next to Sir Acsriot were two Glimpses Aidan had not met.

  “Gwenne, who is he?” Aidan asked quietly. He pointed to the first, who stood very still, leaning on a long wooden staff. This Glimpse wore new plate armor, polished and gleaming. He seemed very well groomed, almost princely, compared to Acsriot.

  “That is Eleazar. He is our team’s spokesman,” explained Gwenne. “He is wise in Alleble’s lore and as skilled with words as he is with that staff. He will be the first to meet with Mithegard’s sovereign, King Ravelle.”

  Aidan turned his attention to the knight who stood next to Eleazar. This Glimpse wore a long, dark tunic over leather breeches but no armor. The sleeves of his surcoat widened at the end, and his hands disappeared into them when his arms were crossed.

  “Okay, well, who is that? He doesn’t have any armor . . . or a weapon.”

  Gwenne turned to Aidan and whispered, “He is Farix, and he is a weapon.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Be glad Farix is on our side, Aidan. Were he to battle our entire team at the same time, he would disarm and slay each of us, except Captain Valithor, before we could so much as put a scratch on him.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Aidan asked.

  Gwenne’s hard stare spoke volumes. She wasn’t kidding.

  Just then, Farix looked up at Aidan and smiled. Aidan swallowed and immediately began studying his boots.

  “Yes, Aidan, our group of twelve is formidable indeed—easily a match for a Legion of Paragor’s so-called knights. We must be reminded that success in Mithegard hinges not on the accuracy of our archers or the prowess of our swordsmen. Still, we will not naively go unprepared—or unarmed.”

  “Gwenne, you told me there are supposed to be twelve of us going to Mithegard,” Aidan began cautiously. “But including myself, I count eleven . . . and I don’t remember meeting the other knight.”

  Gwenne glared at Aidan. “Oh . . . you’ve met the other knight,” she began, a sly smile curling on her lips. “She is standing in front of you.”

  As she spoke, she opened the cloak she was wearing and revealed that she too wore armor and carried a sword. She pulled the sword skillfully from her scabbard and spun it around her wrist, carving the air in front of her.

  “Sir Aidan, I would like to introduce you to Thil Galel, the Daughter of Light. Shall I prove to you my worthiness to accompany you on this quest, or did you not forget that I bested Kaliam in a duel?”

  Aidan wished he could crawl under a rock and disappear. He knew that Gwenne was strong and athletic, that she had great swordcraft. Defeating a beast like Kaliam in battle was no easy task, Aidan knew! He looked at Gwenne—long blond hair tied back with a silver circlet, piercing blue eyes, the auburn, velvety cloak draping over her armor. It was still hard to imagine someone who appeared so delicate and beautiful—in a moment turning into a tough-as-iron warrior.

  “I’m sorry, Gwenne. Sometimes I just don’t think,” he said. “You definitely seem worthy to me. Forgive me for shooting off my mouth.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Gwenne said, sheathing her blade. “Of course you are forgiven, but I must admit it was fun to watch you jump when I drew my sword. I can only imagine how you might jump when you meet a knight from Paragory. They are far more ugly than I am.”

  “No, I’ve seen them. Or at least I think I have. Right before Gabby swooped down on me, a knight in black armor was chasing me in the foothills of that mountain with the two jagged peaks.”

  “The Prince’s Crown,” said Gwenne, thinking aloud.

  “There were actually a bunch of knights. It was horrible, Gwenne. They were taking these people like slaves into a huge cavern in the mountain. There was smoke from in—”

  “That is the Gate of Despair, Aidan,” said Captain Valithor quietly. He and the rest of the twelve were staring at Aidan. �
��Those wretched souls who pass that terrible gate will endure misery and sorrows that reach beyond the end of their lives. Such is the fate of those who swear allegiance to Paragor The Betrayer. And it is for that reason we travel to Mithegard—into harm’s way. We may by necessity be forced to travel near the gate ourselves, for Paragory lies between us and Mithegard.”

  “With all due respect, sir, we dare not travel the Prince’s Crown,” argued Tal. “Paragor is sure to have every available spy watching for us, not to mention his legion of foul beasts living in every crevice of that wretched mountain.”

  “The Prince’s Crown?” Aidan blurted out, surprising himself. “That’s the mountain range I came over.”

  All of the Glimpses stared at Aidan.

  “You passed over the Prince’s Crown?” blurted out Mallik, wonder in his eyes.

  “Actually, I passed through it. I found a tunnel that cut right through,” he said, leaving out the fact that little creatures with glowing eyes led him to the tunnel. “But I don’t think we can climb back up the passage. It is very narrow and slippery.”

  Captain Valithor looked at Aidan thoughtfully and then said, “Kaliam, what do you say to this? You know those mountains better than any of us. Do we travel the Prince’s Crown?”

  Kaliam hesitated, stared at the map, and then seemingly made up his mind.

  “Sir, I do not advise an attempt at the Prince’s Crown. The dangers are too many, and I do not believe that we can expect Aidan’s good fortune.”

  “Well then, Kaliam, Pathfinder, how do you suggest we travel to Mithegard?”

  Kaliam began, “Let us head north and take the land bridge through the Mirror Lakes.”

  “No, not that way!” interrupted Acsriot, rising and throwing back his travel-worn cloak. “I am little more than an herb-meister on this journey, my skill with salves and potions being far greater than my skill with maps, but I need to have some say in this matter.”

  “Continue, Acsriot,” said Captain Valithor. There had been some friction between Acsriot and Captain Valithor, Aidan remembered from that day when Acsriot arrived to train with a stained blade. But, Captain Valithor, harsh as he was, did not hold grudges. And he seemed eager for Acsriot to prove himself.