The Stewards of Reed, Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl

by RM Wark

  The little boy was gone

  Gone, Gone

  The Pride of Pevek was gone

  But through Song, Song

  The Pride of Pevek lives on

  The Matron had been furious with Wendell. The orphans had been instructed that they must remain silent during the Emperor’s visit. Selma remembered how the Matron had raised her punishing stick high above poor Wendell’s head. Selma remembered how Wendell shut his eyes tight, preparing himself for the blow.

  But the Matron did not strike. The Emperor had intervened.

  “Do you know the name of the song you sing, my child?” the Emperor had asked.

  “I believe it is ‘The Pride of Pevek,’ Emperor,” came Wendell’s nervous reply.

  “Aye, it is. Tell me child, how did you come to know that song?”

  “My grandfather taught it to me, Emperor.”

  “I see.” The Emperor made no further inquiry of their grandfather. “It is a very old song … that song you sing,” he had said.

  “Is it?”

  “Aye.”

  Selma remembered how the Emperor had looked Wendell over carefully.

  “You must come with me to Cetahl.”

  “And my sister, too?” Wendell had asked, pulling Selma close.

  “Aye.”

  Until that day, Selma had never met anyone besides Wendell who was familiar with “The Pride of Pevek.” In all her subsequent years, the Emperor had been the only other one who seemed to know Wendell’s song. Until now.

  *************

  The burly man kept his distance through it all. He said nothing as he shifted his gaze between Gentry and the road north, where the other horsemen had gone.

  For a long time, the only sound was the howl of the wind. In the brief interludes when the wind ceased to blow, the labored breathing of a horse filled the air instead.

  Somewhere in the deep recesses of Gentry’s mind, he heard the approaching hoofbeats. He no longer cared. Casper had been his birthday present when he turned thirteen. Casper had been his companion during the faithful journey to Mt. Xavier and back. Casper had been with him on many a trip throughout the Laureline Region. Casper knew things about him that nobody else knew. Not even Daria. Not even Fallon. And with a final raspy exhale, Casper passed on.

  Gentry did not acknowledge group of men who eventually gathered at what used to be his campsite. He had long since let go of the knife, but he was still holding fast to his dead horse – oblivious of the blood, of his own pain, of the angry words being spoken by others as they watched from afar.

  *************

  “Wizards be damned, Cranston. You brought us all the way back here for some fool and his lame horse? Have you even checked to see if he had anything of value?”

  Cranston shook his head. “No, sir. I figured I should wait. I made sure he did not escape, though,” the burly man was quick to add.

  “You just told me he probably has a broken leg and his horse is lame. How did you imagine he might escape?”

  Cranston lowered his head and spoke no more.

  The boss cursed under his breath and shouted at his men. “It seems we shall be making this our camp for the night. There is not enough light left to the day to make it to Colton now. Cranston, you get that fire going again. Troy, you come with me. The rest of you – look around for the fool’s belongings and make sure to bring anything of interest to me.”

  Troy fell in line behind the boss, and they made their way over to Gentry.

  “You there!” the boss yelled as he approached.

  Gentry’s eyes stayed focused on Casper. He did not bother to look up at the man who called out to him.

  “Hey, the boss is talking to you, fool!” Troy said, giving Gentry a shove.

  At last Gentry raised his eyes. Before him stood Troy and Slim – the very same men who once captured him after he broke into Dennison’s house years ago. Gentry had thought this day could not get any worse. He was wrong.

  *************

  Lord Edmund was not sure what to expect when he entered the small hole. It was dark and cold and filled with a smell most foul, but he was relieved to discover that it was not another dead end. He made his way slowly through the darkness of a small tunnel, sniffing at the ground. It was not long before he stumbled upon his first set of bones.

  Just another rodent, he thought. Hopefully I shall avoid a similar fate.

  He would pass the carcasses of many more dead rodents before the small tunnel gradually became big enough for a fox to crawl through. Lord Edmund remained in the form of a rat, however, lacking the desire and energy to transform.

  This part of the tunnel included several branches that went off in different directions, presumably leading to other points of interest deep within the mountain. Unfortunately, the foul smell was so pervasive that Lord Edmund could not rely upon his rat nose to guide him down a safe path. So he forged straight ahead, careful not to veer to the left or right, just in case he had to retrace his steps.

  Eventually the tunnel opened up into a small chamber. It reminded Lord Edmund of one of the torch rooms that served as a back entrance to his cave, and for whatever reason the odor was not as strong.

  Perhaps there is a source of fresh air in this chamber, he thought, though he suspected it was more likely that he had just grown accustomed to the smell. Regardless, it was as good a place as any to stop and rest.

  The rat walked along the edge of one of the chamber walls until he found a little depression in the ground in which he could curl up and fall asleep. And that is exactly what he did.

  *************

  “Wizards be damned, look who it is,” Slim said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  Troy stepped back to get a better look at Gentry. “Is it really him? The man Dennison was searching for?” he asked.

  “I never forget a face. It is him.”

  Gentry remained quiet. There was nothing to be gained by talking. Besides, he was in too much pain. He lowered his gaze to Casper again.

  Slim followed Gentry’s gaze to the dead horse. “Troy, let us get that beast onto the fire. A little horse meat shall taste good after all we have been through today.”

  “Aye, Slim.”

  Troy called over a few of his companions. Together they pulled the horse away from Gentry and towards the fire, leaving an unsightly trail of blood.

  Gentry could not bring himself to watch his horse any longer. It was not a fitting end for his faithful companion – filling the stomachs of such unworthy men – but there was nothing he could do.

  “Have you forgotten your tongue?” Slim asked, now alone with Gentry.

  Gentry did not respond.

  Slim stepped squarely on Gentry’s broken leg – causing Gentry to cry out in pain – and leaned in close. “I do not appreciate being ignored, fool. I suggest you start talking.”

  “What is it you want from me?” Gentry asked. There was no hint of fear in his voice, only defeat.

  Slim smiled and removed his foot from Gentry’s leg. He squatted down in front of Gentry and lowered his voice. “In truth, I feel I owe you my gratitude … for Dennison.”

  Gentry finally met Slim’s gaze but said nothing.

  “No one has seen Dennison in more than two years. I know you were looking for him. Whether you care to admit it or not, I know you were the one that made him … disappear.” Slim turned his head to the group of men now butchering the horse and adding wood to the fire. “Because of you, these men are now mine. They do what I say. And now our pockets are filled with gold.”

  A pack of thieves. The end of my days shall be at the hands of a lowly pack of thieves, Gentry thought with despair.

  “Thank you,” Slim said.

  Gentry seized the opportunity. “You may thank me by letting me go.”

  “Aye, I could,” Slim said with a chuckle. “But alas, I shall not. You killed Dennison, my friend. One cannot kill the leader of this group and suffer no consequences.”
<
br />   Gentry showed no emotion. He had already resigned himself to the fact that he was going to die. His thoughts turned to Daria and Luca. I am sorry. I should have stayed home where I belong.

  “Do not worry, my friend. I shall make this quick.” Slim stood up and whistled. “Cranston! You have a steady hand. It is time to bring an end to this fool’s suffering. Grab your sword.”

  “Aye, Boss!” Before long, the burly man made his way to Gentry and Slim with a long sword in hand.

  “Make it quick and clean,” Slim directed.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Given his broken leg, it was impossible for Gentry to get on his knees for a proper beheading. With much discomfort, Gentry finally managed to lie back onto the ground, lifting his chin to expose his neck. He closed his eyes.

  “Get on with it!” Slim commanded.

  “Aye, sir.”

  His eyes closed tight, Gentry did not see the burly man raise his sword. He did not see the thick fog that suddenly appeared, shrouding the entire campsite. He did, however, vaguely recall hearing screams before he blacked out entirely.

  *************

  As she sang along to Wendell’s song, Selma found herself searching for the origin of the sound. With each step, her eyes were ever so slowly becoming adjusted to the darkness, helping her to navigate through the various twists and turns.

  She finally stopped when the whistling ended. She was standing before a cell, but it appeared empty. Confused, she turned away.

  “Why do you cry, dear Selma?”

  Selma jumped at the sound of the voice. She turned back around to find a man in the cell, stepping from the shadows. She was surprised she did not run. For some reason, she was not scared.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  The man smiled. “I know many things.”

  “If that is true, then you must know why I cry,” she retorted.

  In the darkness of the dungeons, Selma saw his eyes flicker for the briefest of moments as he touched the wall of his cell.

  “You cry for your brother. You cry for Wendell.”

  Selma gasped. “What are you? A wizard?”

  The prisoner laughed, and it echoed through the dungeons. “No, dear Selma. I am no wizard.”

  “Then who are you?”

  A look of amusement crossed the prisoner’s face. “I am not certain how to best answer your question.”

  “Perhaps we should start with an easier question then. Have you a name?” she asked.

  “Aye. I have many.”

  “Well, what should I call you?”

  “You may call me by whatever name you wish.”

  Selma was growing impatient. “I shall call you Oren then. I had a pet rat named Oren when I lived at the orphanage. He also preferred to dwell in dark places.”

  The prisoner smiled. “It is a perfect name.”

  “Oren?”

  “Aye?”

  “The song you were whistling ….” Selma’s voice trailed off.

  “The ‘Pride of Pevek’?”

  “Aye. It was Wendell’s favorite song.”

  “He chose a good one.”

  “Aye.”

  There was a lull in the conversation, but it was lacking in the general discomfort that usually accompanies such periods of silence. Selma found herself at ease.

  “Oren?”

  “Aye?”

  “Why are you here in the dungeons?”

  “I might ask the same question of you, dear Selma.”

  Selma fumbled with the knife in her pocket, but she said nothing.

  “I am sorry for your pain, dear Selma. But now is not your time.”

  Selma let go of the knife, and tears formed in her eyes once more.

  “I am all alone,” she cried, bowing her head.

  “You do not have to be alone, dear Selma.”

  Selma picked up her chin and beheld the smiling prisoner with the flickering eyes.

  “You know where to find me. You are welcome to visit, anytime you wish.”

  “I would like that very much,” she found herself saying.

  “As would I.”

  *************

  When he awoke, he could not tell if hours or days had passed, but it certainly felt as though it had been weeks since he had eaten a decent meal. He ignored the rumbling in his stomach and surveyed the small chamber. There were three exits, including the tunnel that had brought him to the small chamber.

  Lord Edmund slowly made his way to one of the other tunnels. He had wandered for some time along the downward sloping path without encountering anything but more darkness. He did not even see any side tunnels. More than once he considered heading back, but he continued on. When the echo of a faint dripping sound finally reached his ears, Lord Edmund began to run.

  He had not realized how thirsty he was until he reached the pool of dark water at the end of the tunnel. There was a musty smell to the water, but it did not smell of death, so he drank greedily. His thirst not quite satisfied, Lord Edmond transformed into a fox once more and began lapping up the musty water with even greater speed.

  The water had momentarily quieted the aching of his stomach, and the fox made his way back towards the small chamber. Traveling was not quite as slow now that he was ten times his former size, and he was soon heading down the third exit from the chamber.

  He noticed several side branches to this tunnel and decided to investigate. The first few branches he tried were dark and sloped downwards. Feeling these were unlikely to lead to an exit or anything good, Lord Edmund quickly made his way back to the main tunnel. He came across another side branch that sloped upwards, but to his dismay it only led to a small den littered with the carcasses of many other small animals. By the look and smell of things, the animals had been dead for some time.

  After many false starts, Lord Edmund eventually stumbled across a side tunnel that not only sloped upwards, but also hinted at a source of light. He carefully made his way up the tunnel, stopping after every step to listen. Each time, his ears were only greeted with the welcome sound of silence. When he finally emerged from the tunnel, he found himself in a rather large chamber. The air was most certainly less foul, and Lord Edmund sighed in relief.

  He scanned the chamber, searching for the path that would lead him out of the mountain. When he caught sight of a heap of rags in a far corner, he froze. He watched it for some time, looking for signs of life, but nothing moved. He sniffed in the air deeply, but he smelled nothing but faint traces of the foul odor that had persisted throughout his journey through the belly of the mountain. He crept slowly towards the rags.

  It was impossible to tell how long the man had been dead. Leathery skin still stretched across parts of his face, preserved by the cold temperatures in the chamber. The fox walked around the corpse and sniffed at the bags that had been tucked away against the wall. He could not stop himself from immediately tearing into the bag containing moldy bread. He only hoped he would not regret the feast later.

  The other bag did not smell of food. The hard leather was not something his fox teeth would ever puncture, so Lord Edmund transformed into a wizard once again. His hands shook as he worked the knot at the top of the bag until it eventually opened. He had been so excited to find a compass that at first he did not even notice the scroll of paper. His eyes grew wide as he carefully unrolled the fragile document.

  A mariner’s map!

  Lord Edmund did not know what purpose such a map would serve so far from the sea, but he was grateful that the dead man in the mountain had held on to it. Although the map did not contain much information about the interior parts of the Eastern Territories, it provided a sketch of the coastal lands and listed several harbor towns.

  My luck is finally changing for the better, he thought.

  Lord Edmund spent the next few days studying the map and exploring the various tunnels leading out from the chamber. It took some time to find an exit as he had to clear away a landslide of small boulders
that was blocking his way. Fortunately, he had his wand, and the work was therefore not as cumbersome as it might have been otherwise.

  The intense sunlight that poured in from the cave opening assaulted his eyes, however. It would be better to depart at nightfall.

  When darkness set upon the world, Lord Edmund made his way to the exit. He breathed in the night air deeply and stared up at the sky. It had been a long time since he felt so alive – so free – and for a brief moment he paid no heed to his hunger pangs. He was surprised to see that the moon was nearly full now, and he had to resist the urge to howl. After collecting his bearings, the lone black wolf made his way down a mountain path, heading south towards the sea.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Revealed

  Lady Dinah rubbed her head and slowly lifted her gaze from her desk to the swirl of clouds beyond the large window pane in her study. The sun was already setting. She had lost track of time … again. In truth, the past few months were a blur. The Council of Wizards meeting had come and gone, and the Western Wizards had departed long ago. Lord Fabian had lingered a little while longer (this thought made her smile), but the smell of him had long since faded away.

  She had just finished reading through one of the books she had taken from Lord Edmund’s library, the one about the history of battles with the East. She was surprised (and frustrated) by how little information about the East was actually contained within the book – only the vaguest descriptions of their largest strongholds: Nurlat, Ardon, Cetahl. This information would have been more useful if even the roughest sketch of a map had been provided; alas, there was nothing. In fact, she had yet to come across any useful information in any of the books she read on the East. It was all very curious.

  Hopefully Lord Edmund’s latest expedition shall change that.

  The crackling sound of fire drew her attention from the window to the fireplace. She watched as the flickering flames consumed one of the logs, the charred wood crumbling to ashes. Similar flames had snuffed the life from her mother’s journals months ago, but the revelations of those journals continued to haunt the wizard. Once again, despite her best efforts to push the thoughts from her head, Lady Dinah found herself thinking of her mother. Queen Delia had been dead for fifty years, but her deepest secrets threatened to destroy everything.