Alutar: The Great Demon

by Tuttle, Richard S.

  “The Forest of Death?” asked Prince Saratoma. “Why there?”

  “The Mage has requested it,” answered Eulena. “I was taken aback when he mentioned it, but I have had time to think about it since. It really makes sense to me now. It is a vast forest that is uninhabited, and it needs care to rejuvenate. Who is better suited to such a task than the elves?”

  “What of the demons?” asked King Elengal. “Surely, the Mage wouldn’t send our people to their deaths, would he?”

  “The demons fled from the Mage,” answered Eulena. “They are not likely to return to a place where the Mage is known to visit. They will find some other secluded place to dwell, but there is still evil lurking in those woods up north. We will require strong magic to eradicate it.”

  “We will no longer be curtailed from training our mages,” mused King Elengal.

  “And you will have no shortage of friends who will lend you a helping hand,” offered Galdan, an elven magician from Glendor. “I think the Forest of Death sounds quite appropriate for the Dielderal, although I think a new name might be in order.” Galdan glanced at King Elengal and frowned, “It will be a long journey, though. It would be a march of over three hundred leagues.”

  Eulena glanced at Prince Saratoma and smiled. “I think Saratoma and I can lead the people to our new home,” she stated. “I arrived on a unicorn, and I am sure that the unicorn would be pleased to let King Elengal ride to the Forest of Death, so there is no need for him to walk such a great distance. He may even use the unicorn to visit the other nations of our world on his way to our destination. I think such an overture would bode well for our future.”

  Prince Saratoma frowned at the elven mage’s words. He knew that there was a message in them that was not being stated, but he could not decipher it. It was almost as if Eulena was trying to get rid of King Elengal by enabling him to stray from the column of elves that would be walking to the Forest of Death. The elven king, however, was not confused at all. He gazed at his grandson and then at Eulena. A broad smile spread across his face, and he nodded in approval.

  “The plan is sound,” announced the elven king. “I will leave my grandson in your hands, Eulena. Guide him well on his journey.”

  Not far away, two couples sat talking.

  Princess Jeanel intertwined her arm with King Samuel’s arm and said, “Father has agreed to the marriage. It is only a matter of setting the date now. I am so excited.”

  “And we are excited for you,” smiled King Harold. “Bonnay and I would love to attend the wedding, but our schedules are rather hectic. Do you have any idea of when the wedding will be?”

  “We just received King Myer’s blessing,” answered King Samuel. “We haven’t even had time to think about it yet. I am sure that we can arrange the schedule to suit your needs. What is so pressing in Ertak that keeps you so busy?”

  “It is not Ertak that requires so much time,” answered King Harold, “although there is still much to be done there. We are sending thousands of people to help resurrect Sirocca.”

  “Sirocca?” frowned Princess Jeanel. “I do not understand. Sirocca is buried under the Sands of Eternity.”

  “Not any more,” grinned Bonnay. “The Mage uncovered it. It is still a desolate place, but that will change soon. The workers are going to attend to the cities that were once buried under the sands. There is a fear that buildings might collapse unless they are reinforced immediately.”

  “And there is still plenty of sand trapped in the cities that will need to be carted to the sea,” added King Harold. “It is a huge undertaking. The people of Korocca and Zarocca have pledged thousands of workers already, and I suspect many of the residents of Olansk will come, too.”

  “I will also pledge support for such a worthy project,” frowned King Samuel, “but why does this affect your schedule?”

  Princess Jeanel suddenly gasped and covered her mouth. King Samuel looked at her questioningly.

  “Is that why your father sat at the head table with the kings and queens?” she asked Bonnay. “Is he to be the King of Sirocca?”

  Bonnay smiled and nodded. “Baron Ohmson is the most senior of Siroccan nobles,” she said. “He has long been recognized as the leader of the expatriates of Sirocca.”

  “Then you will become a princess?” asked King Samuel. “Surely, that clears the way for your betrothal?”

  “It has never mattered to me whether Bonnay were a princess or a peasant,” smiled King Harold. “I would marry her anyway, but her new status will make things much easier for me in Ertak. No one will even think about speaking against our marriage now.”

  A mere twenty paces away, behind the head table, a small group of Alceans stood talking quietly.

  “Captain Gomery has decided to stay here in Zara,” Garth reported to King Arik. “I think he has become quite attached to Haditha.”

  “Probably more so every day,” agreed Kalina. “While Gomery would love Haditha no matter what she looked like, the water witch appears younger every day. It is as if some magic is working within her. It is a curious magic that I would not mind exploring.”

  “You have no need to look younger, Mother,” chuckled Queen Tanya. “People already mistake us for sisters.”

  “That would not be the focus of my interest,” laughed Kalina. “I am just interested in all types of magic, and this is one that I have never seen. It makes me curious.”

  “All magic makes you curious,” chuckled Garth as he fixed his gaze on Clint. “What about you, Clint? You have spent so much time in Zara that Alcea might seem like a strange land for you. What do you have planned for the future?”

  King Arik signaled a Red Sword. He whispered in the soldier’s ear and the Red Sword promptly left the hall.

  “I haven’t given it much thought,” sighed Clint. “I have been so focused on getting through this crisis that I have not had time for a wandering mind.”

  “What is this talk of wandering?” asked Emperor Taerin as he approached the group with his mother and sisters in tow, “You are not thinking of leaving us, are you, Forshire?”

  The Red Sword returned to the hall and handed King Arik a wrapped package.

  “My name is Clint McFarren,” smiled Clint. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to say that.”

  “Whatever your name,” smiled the emperor, “I have enjoyed your friendship and your support. I absolutely admire what you were able to do with the A Corps, and I stand amazed at the skill you have shown in your duty to Alcea. I would like to be able to call upon your advice when I need it.”

  King Arik smiled broadly and handed the wrapped package to Clint. The Ranger glanced at the package in confusion, but the Alcean king urged him to open it. Clint tore the paper of the package and his eyes swelled with pride. Inside was a tunic of the Knights of Alcea.

  “As Emperor Taerin has already noted,” King Arik said with a smile, “your service to Alcea was extraordinary. Your efforts have saved the lives of thousands of people on both sides of the ocean.” King Arik embraced Clint and then stepped back and continued, “As a Knight of Alcea, you have the ability to speak in my name. You will also have the means to travel between Alcea and Zara. While I will not command you to perform any such service, I think you would make a fitting ambassador to not only the Empire of Barouk, but to all of the nations in Zara.”

  Unseen by the others, Taerin’s sister, Samana, grinned and squeezed Rynda’s hand in excitement.

  Clint looked into Taerin’s eyes and smiled as he nodded. “I have come to have two homes,” he stated softly. “I cannot think of a better way to spend my days than bringing both of them closer together. King Arik, I am greatly honored to be accepted into the Knights of Alcea. I vow that I will never bring shame to Alcea or the Knights. Emperor Taerin, I am also honored that you would seek my advice. I will make myself available to you whenever you wish it to be so.”

  * * * *

  The three mages halted their unicorns in the clearing atop the hill a
nd dismounted. Valera immediately left the clearing and moved into the trees. The others followed. She halted on the edge of a low ridge. Spread before her was a cultivated valley. On the other side of the fields stood a small village, its rectangular wall broken in only one place, an arched doorway in the center of the closest wall. Kalmar stepped up next to Valera and gazed out over the valley.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly.

  “I am,” Valera said with determination. “The Mage promised Crystil that someone would replace her in Smirka. Crystil taught me all of her spells. She probably anticipated not living through our mission. It must be done, Kalmar. You know that as well as I do. We cannot be selfish and live only for ourselves.”

  “I understand,” Kalmar replied sorrowfully, “but I needed to be reassured that you understand what you are doing. You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

  Valera smiled and nodded, the hint of tears forming in her eyes. “And I love you, Kalmar, but there are things more important than ourselves. The Mage’s promise cannot go unfulfilled.”

  Valera turned and hugged Atule. She then hugged Kalmar and kissed him gently. Without a word, Valera turned and walked away. Atule and Kalmar stood on the ridge and watched her depart. They saw her emerge below and start to cross the valley. The field workers also saw Valera approaching, and they quietly laid down their implements and walked calmly into the village, closing the lone door behind them. Valera crossed the valley and hesitated at the closed door to the village of Smirka. She turned and briefly gazed back at the two men on the ridge. With a deep breath, she turned and pushed the door open. She walked into the village and closed the door.

  “This is too reminiscent of times long forgotten,” Atule said sadly. “Why are you allowing her to do this? Why don’t you become forceful and drag her away from here?”

  “Like you tried to do with Crystil?” Kalmar asked softly. “I would have no better luck than you did, Atule. The fact is, if I tried to force Valera to come with me, she would no longer be the woman that I love, and if I pledged to remain in Smirka with her, I would no longer be the man that she professes to love. There is no solution to this problem, Atule. Valera and I are doomed to go our separate ways.”

  “So you will spend the rest of your days in lonely solitude?” scowled Atule. “You have no idea what that is like, but I do. You will grow old and powerful, but you will still yearn for her. Her face, her touch, will haunt you for the rest of your days until you manage to convince yourself that she is dead, and even then you will feel incomplete. Your only chance at survival is to become a thing without emotions. Feel no love, no hatred, nothing. You will become an empty vessel for your magic.”

  Kalmar did not respond. He knew that Atule’s words were from the heart, and he had no doubt of the truth in those words.

  “What would the two of you have done if Crystil had not died?” Atule asked to break the silence.

  “I am not sure,” Kalmar answered. “We had talked of traveling the world, helping the unfortunate when the chance arose. I do not think we would have continued that forever, but a few years of it would give us a chance to determine how we wished to spend the rest of our days. The travel would have also allowed us to choose a place to settle down. I suspect that I would eventually return to healing wherever we settled down, but I would not charge the fees that I did in Herinak. I have learned that lesson well enough. Valera had spoken of the urge to teach others how to improve their magical abilities.” Kalmar sighed and shook his head. “Why make me dredge up such memories now?” he asked. “You are only making this departing more difficult for me.”

  “I was just curious,” smiled Atule. “We should get to know one another if we are going to be traveling together.”

  “We should also get a start on it then,” Kalmar said with an air of finality. “I cannot stand here and gaze at Smirka any more.”

  “Will you ever come back to visit her?” asked Atule.

  The question seemed to surprise Kalmar. He frowned deeply and looked at Atule. “The thought never occurred to me,” he admitted. “I guess I have been looking forward to this time as an ending. I have dreaded this moment and never thought past it.”

  “Well,” shrugged Atule, “you will have to think about it soon enough. Let’s go down to Smirka before we leave. We might as well see what’s there.”

  “I have been there before,” frowned Kalmar. “It is not much to look at. It is a poor village and nothing more.”

  “Well,” shrugged Atule, “I would like to see it one last time. Humor me, Kalmar. I will not keep you there all day.”

  Kalmar nodded and the two mages started down the hill and across the valley. They passed through the door in the wall, and Kalmar led the way to the unique building in the center of the village. Valera was already sitting on the floor behind the small desk, a scroll in her hands. She looked up in surprise as the two men removed their boots and entered the one-room building.

  “I thought you would be far away by now,” Valera said softly. “What brings you here?”

  “Memories,” answered Atule. “You are sitting on the wrong side of that desk.”

  Valera frowned in confusion. She set the scroll down on the desk as the men approached.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You are here because the Mage promised Crystil that someone would take her place,” declared Atule, “but this is not where you belong. Where you belong is alongside Kalmar.”

  “The Mage’s word cannot be broken,” retorted Valera. “These people need me.”

  “Kalmar needs you more,” Atule insisted. “Now, move out of my place.”

  “Your place?” gasped Valera. “What are you talking about? You lost Crystil by refusing to stay here with her. How can you now propose to take her place?”

  “I do so precisely because I lost Crystil,” Atule explained. “Twice. I will not let Kalmar and you suffer the same fate that Crystil and I did. Besides, these village people are all that Crystil left behind. If she deemed them so important to her life then I want to get to know them better. I will keep the Mage’s promise, not you.”

  “But the spells,” Valera blurted out. “Crystil purposely explained them all to me. You won’t know what to do.”

  “Then teach me,” Atule said with determination. “I ask only three things from the two of you. Teach me what I need to know, and promise to visit me occasionally. I would also appreciate it if you looked in on the Rhodans from time to time. I will write you a letter of introduction.”

  * * * *

  In Herinak Castle, the Lair was almost empty. The young princes and princesses had all left, Prince Bultar being the last to leave. Yet one suite was still in use. In the bedroom of that suite, four mages stood over a young woman lying in the bed. The woman was not conscious, and had not been for many days.

  “It’s been too long,” fretted Theos. “I do not think that she will ever wake up. Why did we do this? Why didn’t we let her die?”

  “Hush,” Balamor replied soothingly. “You know that we could never have refused to help her. Do not torment yourself so.”

  “It is not my torment that bothers me,” snapped Theos. “You know what I am saying.”

  “You are too impatient, my Tyronian friend,” Sigfrid said calmly. “I have already seen Zalaharic perform miracles that shattered my beliefs. Give him time to work on her. He has already healed her visible wounds, and those were so horrific that I would never have believed such healing possible if I had not seen this elf in action before.”

  “I find no fault with Zalaharic,” sighed Theos. “I truly took her for dead when we first saw her, and I stand amazed at what he was able to do. I agree with you, Sigfrid. I would not have put much faith in anyone healing such wounds as she had. That sword thrust should have killed her, and he healed those internal wounds, but to do so and then have her die because of a knock on the head is sorrowful. Worse, the thought of her living but never regaining consciou
sness is what truly terrorizes me. That is the worst of all punishments.”

  Zalaharic sighed and removed his hands from Althea. He straightened up, one hand going to his back as he arched with stiffness. Sigfrid hurried across the room and poured a cup of kioji tea. He handed it to the elf, and Zalaharic drank it down. The elf eased himself into a chair and sighed again.

  “The knock on her head is not the problem,” he announced to the other mages. “If it were, I could easily bring her to consciousness.”

  “Then what is the problem?” asked Sigfrid.

  “She simply has no will to live,” answered the elf. “In fact, she is fighting my attempts to revive her. She wants to die.”

  “Why?” scowled Theos.

  “Because she saw Karl die,” answered Zalaharic. “Finding that memory is what clued me in on her true condition. If she had gone unconscious because she struck her head when she fell, she would not have seen Karl dropped from the tower. Therefore, she was still conscious at that time. The two of you arrived only moments later. Isn’t that true?” he asked as he glanced at Theos and Balamor.

  “Theos did,” answered Balamor. “I maintained the illusions while Theos went to retrieve Althea.”

  “Her eyes were open when I arrived,” frowned Theos, “but they were not functioning. It was akin to a stare of death. With blood all over her, I thought she was dead.”

  “Understandable,” Zalaharic nodded. “You were wise to have rescued her anyway.”

  “Was I?” retorted Theos. “Karl might be able to cope with her death, but he cannot cope with another Lyda. If Althea never regains consciousness, it will tear Karl apart. He will wish that Peanut never saved him with that levitation spell. I worry that he will commit suicide, Zalaharic. A man can only take so much, and Karl has already taken that and more.”

  “That is Karl’s decision to make,” frowned Zalaharic as he rose to his feet. “There is nothing medically wrong with Althea now. I can do no more for her.”