Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches: Omnibus

by Robert Stanek

  King Andrew smiled as Adrina began eating without waiting for his approval. Adrina knew he liked her independent nature, for he had fostered this especially in her. Yet she also knew a great deal could be hidden in a simple smile. Its uneasy weight made her cringe and turn away from her father’s gaze. Her independence was exactly what she and Lady Isador, her maternal nanny—governess—had discussed in length just the previous Seventhday.

  “His Majesty is getting along in years, as am I, young Adrina,” Lady Isador had told her in her frank, motherly way. “Some day you will be alone. His Majesty favors finding you a suitable mate in the near future. Already several prospective suitors have been made aware that you will soon be of courting age. His Majesty has charged me with preparing you to begin courtship. Yet, it is well known—” And this is the part that made Adrina cringe then and now, for Lady Isador had come to tears. “—that you are not a courtly lady. I am afraid I have failed miserably in my duties as your governess. I asked to be dismissed, but His Majesty wouldn’t hear of it. ‘She is strong willed, strong minded, not easily pleased, and quick to anger, which is perhaps my own fault,’ His Majesty told me. Young Adrina, I gasped at the hearing, His Majesty is never wrong nor at fault. ‘Lady Isador,’ His Majesty went on to tell me, ‘you have a lot of work to do if you are to retire at summer’s end.’ I agreed with him on that point.

  “South Province is calling me home young Adrina. Only Great-Father and Mother-Earth could keep me from it. I long to see my father’s house, walk amongst the great white birch trees that line the yard, and smell strong southerly breezes. Breezes that make you want to curl your toes up and walk through tall midsummer grass…”

  A smile did come to Adrina’s lips then, and she turned to look back at her father-king. There was a faraway look in the monarch’s eyes and Adrina could only wonder as to his thoughts. Surely, he was considering the progress of the search. She had heard that not a single one of the upper lords had responded. She wagered that presently he was considering which nobles of the middle and lower houses had suitable sons.

  Momentary delight came to her eyes as Chancellor Yi seemed to twitch—King Andrew had nodded ever so slightly to get his attention. No doubt having mentally completed the list, he was whispering a notation in the chancellor’s time-bent ear.

  Adrina played with the bit of honey-glazed hen that remained on her plate. No longer hungry, she probably could have pushed the mostly empty plate away, but soon afterwards one of the dreadful courtiers would have undoubtedly moved in and she would have been locked into a meaningless conversation. No, she thought, let them think she was interested only in eating.

  When Captain Brodst, the man Adrina had nearly collided with earlier, entered and approached the king’s table, Adrina’s heart raced—even the captain of the guard did not interrupt the evening meal without justification. Adrina tried to listen in but could only hear some of what was being said.

  “—it is urgent, Your Majesty,” Captain Brodst said, “a messenger has arrived this hour from the South.”

  King Andrew furrowed his brow. “I gather the news is more than urgent?” Captain Brodst nodded. “I see, have council chambers prepared. I will be along presently.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” said Captain Brodst, kneeling appropriately, preparing to make his exit.

  “And captain?”

  Captain Brodst nodded again.

  “Rouse two guards to council doors.”

  A pained expression crossed the captain’s face. Captain Brodst took great pride in his position as captain of the king’s guard and being told to do the obvious was an insult. Adrina sympathized with the burly captain. She liked him, though he seemed to have little love for her.

  “At once, sire,” said Captain Brodst. Then he quickly departed.

  Adrina was left to amble through the scattered remains on her plate. Her hope was to escape the dining hall and find a strategic position near the council chambers.

  She waited, and waited, patiently thinking to herself that the matter wasn’t too urgent or else her father would have departed immediately. Then again, her father had never been one quick to stir to action. Sometimes it seemed that he mulled over the simplest of decisions for hours—like the color of a new flower to put into the gardens—and then those decisions that she assumed he would deliberate over for days were made in the blink of an eye. Still, she had seen him take seven days to contemplate a heated land dispute when a decision had been desperately needed that same day to keep two of the lower lords from mauling each other.

  As King Andrew laid his dinner knife aside and rinsed his fingers in the dipping bowl for what appeared to be the last time, all eyes around the great oblong table rose to greet his. The time for Adrina to make her move was now or never. She shot a withering grimace to the pale little man to her right—stay where you are, she warned with her eyes—and attempted to follow in Andrew’s wake.

  She glanced back as she gracefully but hurriedly exited the hall to see if anyone followed. Most of the courtiers were caught in the tangle of attendants swarming over the tables to remove the remnants of the meal. Some of the courtiers had guardedly returned to their fare as they always did. Some were already deep in meaningless conversations with whomever was to their right or left. These were the ones who had either decided they’d never gain the king’s favor and it was nearly time to depart Imtal Palace, or those who were just present because it was the thing to do. There were those who had chosen the evening meal as their final battling ground—their last chance to confer with His Majesty—and these were the ones that sought to follow but were caught in the tangle of attendants.

  There were also those whose task it was to watch. They were the eyes and ears of many a lord and even the paid spies of other kings. Adrina was suddenly sure the rather pale looking man beside her was not only pretending to be aloof but was also listening to the King’s every word. He did not get caught up in the tangle of attendants. In fact, he moved rather adroitly through the crowded room and into the adjacent hall.

  As she reached the wide open-aired corridor connecting the central wing of the castle with the West wing, Adrina’s heart and mind began to race with the possibility of excitement ahead.

  “A messenger with grave news,” she whispered to herself. Change.

  Crystalline walls mirrored Queen Mother’s innermost feelings. The day held promise. Her mood was bright. The room, bright.

  Walls, ceiling and floor of the modest meditation cubicle were clean-swept, and broken only by the frame of the door before her. The chamber, designed for ascetic purposes, was meant to hold no distractions.

  Queen Mother herself was outfitted in a flowing white robe. It too was without adornment, designed to hold no distractions. It dangled several feet beneath her crossed legs and levitated form. Her arms were also crossed. Her eyes, appropriately closed. Her head, level and directed toward the closed door. Her thoughts dwelled solely on cleansing meditation.

  She did not respond to the soft summons the first time it entered her mind. Instead, she held persistently to her meditation. She was trying to forget.

  My queen… came whispered words into her mind a second time.

  A second time Queen Mother cast them away. She didn’t want anything to spoil her pleasant mood, especially as troubled as her mind had been upon waking and considering how long it had taken her to soothe those troubles away. The day held promise, she reminded herself.

  My queen… the voice came more urgently.

  Annoyed now, Queen Mother opened her eyes. A light wave of her hand stirred the cubicle’s door and swept it quickly open. Do come in Brother Liyan… What brings First Counsel to my door?

  Following the unspoken whisper, the timeworn elder outfitted all in gray entered the room—the gray of the robe was a symbol of office, unlike the white of Queen Mother’s robe, which was a symbol of her whims. Brother Liyan nodded to the Red Brother who stood watch just inside the chamber. Dark brown eyes regarded
him for a moment and a chill ran the length of his spine.

  The crystalline walls slowly adjusted to reflect agitation. At first they dulled and darkened to a metallic bronze and then settled on a murky brown. Taking note of the falling and deepening of the cubicle’s glow, Brother Liyan turned pale.

  My queen, Brother Liyan said as he stepped across the threshold. He kneeled appropriately, and awaited her response to make further comment. Under other circumstances, he would not have been so formal and formality would have been the last thing expected of him, but here in the halls of Sanctuary when Queen Mother herself had called a retreat it was expected of him and so he did his part.

  Queen Mother responded again, only with feelings as she often did when annoyed.

  Brother Liyan looked up into Queen Mother’s eyes and uneasily rose from his knees. My queen, a thousand pardons for the interruption, but this matter is urgent. You did not address it directly during the assembly, but I gather that Brother Seth prepares for the journey?

  Yes, that is so.

  I do not understand. Why Brother Seth, First of the Red? His strength is needed here in Leklorall, especially now.

  Queen Mother held her position, her long white dress cascading to the clean, cold floor. It must be.

  You yourself said the chosen wouldn’t survive the ordeal. The chosen will never return to East Reach… Brother Seth must not go. Who would protect in his stead? Surely then… Brother Liyan paused and looked to the brooding figure standing beside the door. As the second, Brother Galan must stay…

  That is a truth you would do well never to impart again… Only those of the assembly know the fate of the chosen… Brother Seth is free to choose as many Brothers of the Red as he feels necessary to accompany him. If it is in his will to choose Brother Galan, then she too must go.

  Brother Liyan paled visibly again, yet would make the protest he had repeated over and over in his thoughts in preparation for this very moment. My queen, have you considered what it is you do? The Red are your chosen protectors. It will soon be too late to—

  Shielding their thoughts and slamming the cubicle’s door abruptly, Queen Mother didn’t allow Brother Liyan to finish. Black walls mirrored her increasingly somber mood, for these were the very thoughts she had sought to cleanse away through her meditation. Precisely, was her response and the Brother Liyan’s eyes went wide.

  My queen… Brother Liyan didn’t understand.

  Good Brother, savor this feeling on a future day, but for now know that I am fully cognizant of my actions. I am the living prophet of my people, am I not? I know very well what it is I do… If I as Queen Mother, the heart and soul of my people, cannot pay the dearest of prices for the ridding of the greatest of ailments, then I, and all, fail the greatest of tests… Brother Seth is our only hope. He will fight to survive where others would surely succumb. Never have I seen such faith. Never have I seen such determination. He must believe he can succeed. And he must truly strive for this.

  My queen, Brother Liyan gasped. I truly did not know or understand, forgive me.

  There is no need for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. We each have our parts in this and we must play them out. We have waited too long to act. Sathar has the ear of King Mark. Our people return to the lands of Man… There was evident sadness in her voice.

  Brother Galan, called out Queen Mother.

  Galan opened her brown eyes and cleared her thoughts. Queen Mother?

  Leave us now. Tell Brother Seth I await his presence…

  Galan fixed her eyes upon Brother Liyan. Remember your place, her deep-probing stare said. Then she quickly departed the chamber.

  Out of breath from the long run, Vilmos doubled over. The sharp pain in his sides told him the run had been especially good. The way he figured it, if the walk from his father’s house to the edge of the woods took thirty minutes one way and he ran it in five, he had nearly an hour to do whatever he pleased.

  After the pain and the spots before his eyes passed, Vilmos quickly stretched. He knew from experience if his leg muscles were too tense or if he strained a muscle, he’d have to walk—or limp—home. Upon finishing, he put on his boots. He preferred to run barefoot; otherwise, the boots gave him blisters.

  The air grew suddenly cold as an icy wind howled up the little country path that parted the dark wood. It was then that Vilmos noticed how quiet the woods were that morning.

  He stared long into the dark wood—keeper of his secrets—as he often did. Here his childhood dreams had been realized. In the shadow of the great trees, he could run screaming as loud as he pleased, slay fire-breathing dragons by the score, discover incredible lost treasures, play with imaginary friends, and still return home on time—well, usually.

  Vilmos easily collected a large bundle of light wood from the nearby thicket, and then laid it aside. The wind howled. He stared up the overgrown path. He never ventured very far into the woods—only far enough to be within their shadows, yet close enough to still see the sunlight of the clearing beyond.

  He heard what sounded like footsteps. He turned and stared, but saw only shadows. An alarm went off in his mind. He picked up a large branch and wielded it before him.

  “Hello?” he called out, “Is someone there?”

  Movement in the shadows caught his eye. For an instant, he could have sworn he saw an old man carrying a gnarled cane.

  “Hel-lo?”

  Holding the stick before him, in what to him seemed a menacing pose, Vilmos crept into the shadows of the dark woods. Leaves crunched beneath his boots. He grimaced. Movement caught his careful eye again. He turned, raising the stick, ready to strike, then stopped cold. He saw a mound of black fur and dark eyes, a great black bear, kin of the much smaller browns the village huntsmen often sought.

  The giant bear was no more than five feet away.

  Two days ago in Olex Village, one of the three villages in their cluster, a young girl had been mauled to death by a bear. Vilmos didn’t want to share her fate. He stood perfectly still, his heart racing so fast it seemed to want to jump out of his chest. Then the great beast reared up on its hind legs. Terror gripped Vilmos’ mind. Warm urine raced down his legs. His every thought told him to run, but he couldn’t. It was as if he was frozen to the spot where he stood.

  His eyes bulging, he stared at the bear, sure any moment it would swing one of its mighty paws and that would be the end of it. He didn’t want to die; he had so many dreams left unfulfilled.

  Again, a voice in his mind screamed, Run! But he could not.

  Images from his nightmare became real. In the nightmare, the dark priests had come for him and, like now, he had been unable to run. In the dream, blue flames conjured from his fright and desperation had lashed out at the priests. The priests had merely laughed and still they had taken him.

  As if conjured again from his fear and desperation, the forbidden magic came. Vilmos felt a prickling sensation—raw energy—in his fingertips. In his mind, he screamed No! at himself and the bear. What if this was the one time too many? What if this was the time that made the dark priests come for him? Then he asked himself the final what if. What if the bear charged now?

  One swipe of its powerful paw was all it would take to end his young life. The girl from Olex Village had been taken nearly so.

  What had the village huntsmen said about bears? Had the girl not run when she should have? Or ran when she shouldn’t have? Vilmos couldn’t remember. He stared directly at the bear. It was sniffing the air as if insulted that it was crosswinds from him. Then suddenly it dropped to all fours—Vilmos was sure this was it, this was the end. The bear would charge, swipe and he would die.

  The bear roared. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tight. A scream built in his throat, but died as it escaped his lips. Silence followed.

  Vilmos waited—surely the great bear must be charging—and waited. The forest was deadly still. Vilmos inched one eye open, then the other. The bear was gone. Astonished, both his eyes grew wide. He star
ed into the shadows. Listened.

  Nothing.

  He sniffed the air; there was a strange scent in it. Scorched wood. Burnt flesh. Singed hair. All three?

  Slowly, Vilmos edged forward until he was directly in front of one of the forest’s giant oaks. He ran his hands along two still warm scorch marks in the tree’s trunk. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He had done what he shouldn’t have. He had conjured the blue flames.

  Suddenly remembering breakfast and the woodpile, he turned his gaze to the forest’s edge. He saw the sun in the clearing and ran for its safety.