Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches: Omnibus

by Robert Stanek

  She turned away. The attendant helped her into the coach, closing the door behind her. The coachman took his position. The Knight Brigade, Klaive Keep’s most elite mounted horsemen, took to the saddle.

  As the coach started out of the courtyard, she turned to look back. Rudden waved and she smiled more deeply. In her heart, she knew she had made the right decision. The journey from childhood to womanhood wasn’t an easy one, but she would undertake it—it may lead her to a place quite unexpected.

  Chapter Two:

  The Long Road

  Emel spurred Ebony Lightning on and the great black stallion charged across the open field with a speed that few other horses could match. As a ranking member of his father’s company, he had more responsibilities than ever before in his life and none so important as the safekeeping of the elves who accompanied the battle-weary group of Kingdomers as they returned to Imtal.

  He cursed low under his breath as he urged Ebony to even greater speeds, vowing to Great Father that he would find the truth of the matter before him no matter the cost. On the return trek, his father, Ansh Brodst, King’s Knight Captain, had opted to take the faster, more dangerous route north. They took the Old Kingdom road through Moeck, skirting the Belyj Forest, Fraddylwicke Swamp and the Dead Sea, braving the Cliffs of D’Arndynne in rains that had swept far braver men into the sea and from this world.

  But they braved and surpassed the deadly cliffs without mishap, and it was within the lands of Fraddylwicke that the trouble had occurred. At first, the onlookers had been curious, to be truthful, and so no one could have foreseen what was to come. Still, there was little excuse for failure and absolutely no excuse for forgetting one’s ancestry.

  Ancestry in a place such as Fraddylwicke was everything. For it was here, in lands as harsh and desolate as any found in the whole of the kingdoms, that the Blood Soldiers had been born and here that thousands upon thousands had died defending a stretch of land whose only value was in the boundaries that its borders represented.

  Dnyarr the Greye, the last great Elven King, had laid siege to Fraddylwicke Castle two times during the Race Wars in his attempt to gain the southlands. The first siege lasted over one hundred years, which wasn’t enough time for young elves to grow to maturity but lasted generations for the men who defended the fields with their blood and their lives. Yet, if such a thing was unimaginably horrible to endure for those who served, could one possibly imagine a thousand years of such existence, as was the case of the last great siege?

  Or could one doubt without any certainty that after the final victory in the fields around Fraddylwicke that those who survived were no longer what they once were? So when the victorious sought to rule the lands of Man, it should have been no surprise that divided kingdoms united against them and their allies, pushing them back to the dark corners of the world and, ultimately, leaving them forgotten like the past from which they came.

  Emel Brodstson never should have forgotten this and his father, Ansh Brodst, shouldn’t have either. For the blood in their veins was that of those who Emel now eyed with a murderous rage as he chased them across the sodden field. Yet a distant kinship didn’t stop his sword arm or cause him to slow Ebony’s thunder as he ran down the last of the attackers.

  By the time he returned to the company, the berserker rage in his blood had passed, but its short presence within had changed him in ways that he later would not be able to explain. In a way, it made him less human, less a man—but someone who could separate himself from his feelings and find only the burning rage within could never see this. It would only be apparent later, much later, to those who knew him before this pilot light of rage was ignited.

  Vilmos awoke suddenly in the darkness, staring about the strangely shaped room as it shifted with the movement of the water beneath the floating city. He and Xith had not made it out of Jrenn the previous day and had rented a room at an inn instead. Now he was alone in the darkness and Xith was nowhere to be seen—or was he?

  Vilmos stood and walked to the far corner of the room where there was an alcove. He moved quietly and carefully. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the glowing orb the shaman held in his outstretched hands. He saw images flash by in the orb as if the shaman was looking for a thing he could not find.

  The shaman’s face, lit dully by the glow of the orb, reflected frustration, and he was muttering to himself. “Step aside; move about so that I may see.”

  Vilmos leaned on his haunches, taking the weight off his feet. The flash of images was hypnotic and as he looked on, it was as if he was being drawn into the orb. Soon it seemed he was standing within the glow of the orb itself and the images of the world—vivid and real—were before him.

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and waited. When he opened his eyes again, hoping that he would be standing in the room of the inn, he instead found that nothing had changed. Large as life images still played before his eyes—and even more strange, the images called to him.

  Stunned panic set in. He forced himself to rip his eyes away from the hypnotic flash. It was then that he knew for sure he was indeed standing

  within the orb. His heart started racing. He twisted his head back and forth like a trapped animal. He was about to take a step backward, away from the flashing world, when a strong hand firmly clasped his right elbow.

  He turned and saw Xith standing beside him.

  “Don’t move,” said the shaman. “Dangerous, often lethal, to do so.”

  “Where are we?”

  “You mean, where are you? I just followed as you were drawn into the orb. Doesn’t happen often mind you, but it does happen. You were drawn into the orb for a reason.”

  “Is this a part of the training? You said the training was to begin.”

  “Vilmos, my boy, your education is never-ending and always ongoing.” Xith laughed, a fleeting laugh. His expression became dark and serious. “Dnyarr’s orb is one of the greatest powers in all the realms. I don’t pretend to understand, understanding is beyond the likes of those of this world. I only know what I can do with it and what others before me have done with it.”

  Vilmos took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “Why does it want me?”

  “Why indeed,” said Xith. “Why indeed. I should like to think it has something to do with our present course—”

  Xith stopped abruptly as the glow of the orb around them disappeared and the scene before them exploded to life as never before. The two raced through a great forest, and as they raced onward the mountains in the distance grew ever closer.

  Soon the air around them grew cold as snow-capped peaks raced beneath their feet. In the distance now, they could see a swarm of flying beasts in the sky.

  “Dragons?” cried out Vilmos as they raced into the midst of a raging battle.

  Xith didn’t answer.

  As they raced on, Vilmos saw two winged serpents locked in combat in the center of it all. They were larger and fiercer than any of the others around them. Their great wings beat at the air as their massive jaws locked one upon the other.

  Just when Vilmos and Xith were about to crash into the fighting beasts, the two dragons turned as one and stared directly at the men before them. They spoke then in a language that was long gone from the world as everything around them began to fade away.

  Reality came crashing in. The two were left standing in their rented room, staring at the glowing orb in Xith’s outstretched hand. They didn’t speak for the span of many heartbeats, the silence burning the images deeper into their minds.

  The coach and the horsemen made fair progress along the East–West Road. By the end of the fourth day, the group reached the crossroads that would take them north to Ispeth, Mellack and then on to Imtal. Adrina was tired of the soft cushions of the coach. She longed for the leather of the saddle and wanted nothing more than to feel the open road all around her.

  She passed the time thinking of Imtal and all that had happened since leaving h
ome. In her mind, it seemed only yesterday that she was leaving Imtal with garrison soldiers all around her as they journeyed south to Alderan. But arrival in Alderan hadn’t brought anything that they thought it would. Instead they discovered Alderan had been captured by King Jarom’s soldiers and Quashan’ was next as Jarom sought to capture the key cities that would give him control of the southlands.

  In her mind it was clear that the elves, Seth and Galan, single-handedly changed the course of the Battle of Quashan’. Galan had helped guide her through the treachery of William’s camp, and it was there that she had convinced William to quit the field, turning the tide in the Kingdom’s favor. Seth had helped guide the scattered Kingdom forces defending the walls of Quashan’, and it had been his superhuman speed and skill alone that had pushed back attackers more than once. Together the elves had communicated over the distance, using only the power of their minds, and giving the Kingdomers another advantage on the field.

  No, Adrina had no doubt of their deeds. She only hoped her father, the king, had the good sense to listen to their words when they sought his support.

  Outside the windows of the carriage she heard Landon, Chief Knight of Klaive Keep, call the group to a halt. The carriage kept moving, albeit at a slower pace, until she could see the doors of a clapboarded inn. The waiting attendant opened the carriage door.

  The carriagemaster swept her from the carriage and hurried her to a room inside the inn that had already been prepared. She thanked the carriagemaster as he let himself out and bid her a good evening. All the pampering was going to her head. She had never been treated so well—in Imtal, attendants knew she loathed such foot to hand pampering—and she was never so miserable.

  She longed for conversation. Open, honest conversation, angry, heated conversation, any conversation. She would have talked to anyone, if there were anyone to talk to. “Is this what true royalty is like?” she wondered aloud. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” said a voice from the shadows.

  Adrina turned, startled. She raised the flame on the oil lamp beside the bed to cast a brighter glow about the room. She was frightened, but only barely so. In truth, returning to Imtal was more frightening.

  Returning to Imtal meant opening many old wounds and remembering things that she didn’t want to remember. For years Imtal’s walls had symbolized and housed her fears. The walls were the keepers of secrets she had worked hard to forget. But when she returned—and proved to herself that one could get beyond Imtal’s walls—she would have to look beyond and within those walls.

  So as she stared into the eyes of the one who sat waiting, she had the dark desire that she should never return to Imtal. And as the other smiled, deeply, darkly, she thought her wish would indeed come true.

  Xith closed his palm about the orb and then released his grip on Vilmos’ arm. He staggered backward, his strength clearly gone. It was only Vilmos’ quick response that kept Xith from falling.

  Vilmos helped Xith to a chair, took a seat opposite the shaman. “I’m frightened, Xith,” he said quietly. “I just don’t understand.”

  “As am I,” said Xith. “More is at hand than I thought. To be sure, we must begin earlier than I planned and for that I am truly sorry.”

  Vilmos turned his great brown eyes in a wide circle about the room. “No, you aren’t listening. I think I’ve made the wrong decision. I want to go home. I want to go home to Lillath now!”

  “What?”

  “Magic is evil! Why should I learn such a thing?”

  “No Vilmos, you are very wrong. Magic is not evil.”

  “Magic destroys!”

  “Magic can be evil if used in the wrong hands, so can all things. Money is the worst evil of all, but if used properly it can be used for good. You learn magic for the purpose of good and not evil. I would think you would have accepted this now, particularly after Quashan’.”

  “Magic tears things apart, it destroys! It destroys everything!”

  “Don’t be so hasty in your judgment!” Xith was almost angry; he had to calm himself before he continued. “Magic is only evil if the person using it is evil. Those of weak mind are easily overcome by the greed for power and too much power can be an evil thing. This is why you will learn to control the gifts you have been granted. This is why you must learn patience. Great power in unskilled hands is useless; great power in skilled hands can shape mountains.”

  Vilmos shook his head. He watched Xith but in the back of his mind he saw dragons battling in the sky. Somewhere in the dark corners of his mind he knew what it was that they fought over and it was this thing that terrified him. He shouted in a booming voice, “But he will return!”

  “The dark one is a myth, a legend.” Xith carefully shaped the truth. “He is not real. He is real only in our imaginations. The legend was created long before the Blood Wars… Maybe he existed at one time, long, long ago. I don’t know for sure. No one does, but I do know he does not now exist. Now his existence is only through lore and myth, perpetuated by those who wish to control. They are the true evil; they are what we should fear. For it is they who manipulate such things to their own ends, using it to justify all that they do.”

  Xith continued, although Vilmos had stopped listening to the words. “During the time of the gathering they will try to destroy us to prevent the coming… Yet a few, a very select few, have used the myth for the good of all. They have turned it around. They use it to prepare us for what the future will bring and this is why we study the histories. We must learn from the past and when the time comes we must be ready so that we do not repeat it.”

  Xith rambled on, speaking words he should have never said to Vilmos, but for a reason unknown to him he spoke anyway. Vilmos half listened but couldn’t shake the images from his mind. “But if magic is not evil, why is it forbidden? Why do the Priests of the Dark Flame destroy magic?”

  Xith collected his thoughts. “It is to prevent the corruption the future will bring. You must learn to use your magic to its fullest. You must learn to master it before it masters you.”

  “What?” asked Vilmos not understanding as the images in his mind’s eye faded, leaving him confused.

  “Remember,” said Xith using the dominating nature of the voice, “the fate of all the lands will one day rest in your hands. You must believe, Vilmos. Believe because you have to believe and because you want to believe. He does not exist. You must believe and remember only this. You must be ready for our journey to Under-Earth. Forget all else…”

  Chapter Three:

  An Unexpected Discovery

  Vilmos and Xith departed Jrenn with a protected caravan bound for the Free City of Solntse. For days afterward, the unchanging sun beat down upon them. Xith’s skin, unnaturally weathered and dark, proved to have better tolerance for this than Vilmos’ fair skin, which was now burned by the sun and wind.

  The sound of dozens of feet and hooves crunching the stones of Great Kingdom’s High Road echoed in his ears. A steady gale coming out of the mountains to the north carried the dust of the Barrens across River Krasnyj. The handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth did little to keep out the dirt, and as he ran his hand across his cheek the gritty film made him long for a hot bath and clean clothes.

  Sunset was near and more than anything he wanted to hear the caravan master call out the final stop of the day. The ten garrison soldiers that protected the caravan were the only ones on horseback. While two stayed at the fore of the caravan and two to the rear, the others clustered near the carriage ferrying a lady of some standing in the Kingdom. He caught glimpses of her pale face from time to time through the carriage’s white lace curtains.

  He was surprised when the city of Solntse came into view and even more surprised when the caravan reached the city before nightfall. As they passed under the walled city’s outer gatehouse he watched the gatekeepers who stood watch, certain that at any moment they would unloose volleys from their readied crossb
ows. But once they were safely within the city’s protective walls, his thoughts and attention turned to the grandeur of the streets and buildings spread out before him.

  Xith held Vilmos by the scruff of the collar to ensure he watched where he was going while he was gawking, and gripped the collar tighter suddenly to pull him away from a brightly clad female who was beckoning for him to follow her. Xith sighed; Vilmos didn’t know that this was where his journey to the destiny that awaited him would truly begin.

  Several times he stepped around men who simply stopped dead in their tracks in front of him. Once he bumped into one, almost causing a ruckus, and Xith dragged him quickly away. Finally, Xith gave him an ultimatum, “Follow me and do only what I do. Or I’ll leave you in the street to fend for yourself!”