The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  He walked across the dais, unsure of how he had triggered the magic. Merl stepped off the stone platform to get around a tree that had grown too close to the platform and blocked his path. The shimmer faded away. Merl remembered the ring that he had used to send the Bal’kor back to the Keep. It too had activated the gate.

  Apparently, the ring he now possessed somehow also worked with the gate, yet in a very different fashion. There was no swirling silver-gaseous cloud, no seeing into another place—just a slight shimmer. He stood in the center of the gate and willed himself to go to the Keep. Nothing happened.

  Circling the totems again, he looked for some clue that would help him control the gates. To’paz had told him about how they worked, but had been vague on how they were controlled. He could forgive her the omission, she had been stressed and in fear of her life—he was surprised at just how well she had handled the situation given the ultimate outcome she had known was coming.

  Frustrated, he could feel his ire rising. Nothing he tried worked. The shimmer was still in place, but he could not will it to be anything more than what it was. He threw up his hands and leaned his back against one of the totems to rest, and to calm himself down.

  His back felt warm—warmer than it should have—as he leaned against the stone column. He turned around to see what was pressing against his middle back and was surprised to see the runes glowing a dull orange. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the stone and the rune he touched glowed a deeper orange color. He pulled his hand back quickly, as if afraid of being bitten.

  The stone glowed for a brief second and then went dull. He reached forward and touched the stone again and the effect repeated. Stepping back, he stared at the ring of eight symbols. He touched a different symbol, the one with three wavy lines. It too glowed, just as the other had and then faded to dull orange when he removed his finger.

  “It is a language,” he murmured.

  He tried another in quick succession. When he did, both symbols glowed for a brief instant. He remembered that when he had pressed the key into the slot in the center of the symbols, that multiple runes had glowed the same. He had forgotten that memory. Try as he might to recall the symbols that glowed, he couldn’t recall the exact combination.

  “These are like a puzzle box. I just need to find the right combination of glyphs.”

  He grew optimistic and randomly tried several two symbol combinations, and still the gate remained inactive, denying him the satisfaction of having solved the puzzle. He sighed! He was positive that he was on the right track to figuring this out. He shielded his eyes again a looked to the sky. It was getting late and he knew he should head back to the castle. He was already going to be late.

  On a whim, Merl pushed three symbols in quick succession. Once again he was denied. He tried another set of three. This time, the shimmer increased and there appeared to be a silver curtain of mist between the totems. The veil pulsed and undulated as it subtly shifted in colors—almost unperceivable to his eye.

  Merl hands were sweating now and they trembled. He prepared a ward and tied it off, hoping it would protect him from what he was about to attempt. He hesitantly reached forward and pushed his hand through the curtain and grimaced, expecting the worst.

  To his surprise, his hand did not sever from his wrist or dissolve. He felt a slight tingle, but that was all. Given his expectations, it was a bit of a letdown. He had anticipated so much more.

  He stepped back and the three symbols returned to their dull color. Merl pulled his journal from his pocket and wrote down his observations. According to his calculations, if three symbols were required, there would be over five-hundred combinations—many realms to visit. Remembering that the first three symbols he had tried did not work, he concluded that there must be at least some credence to the idea of a closing—or possibly that the set of symbols he tried were just unused. He hoped that the latter case was true. The idea of closing a realm off to magic left a foul taste in his mouth.

  He drew a map and circled Naan. He drew the three symbols he had entered into the totems and a picture of the circular key with the eight symbols. He had pressed the wavy lines, the triangle and the sun. The additional symbols were; an arrow, three straight lines—one above another, intersecting circles, a symbol that looked like lightning, and the final looked like a flame.

  Merl swallowed hard and tried to recall To’paz’s exact words when she had described traveling through the gates. He wished he had been paying better attention to what she had been saying. At the time, he was more interested in her tight leather pants. He grinned to himself, recalling the moment. He pushed the thoughts back into the recesses of his mind and tried to focus on the current situation. As he recalled, she had mentioned some were like slides, and some were more like paths. He jotted down his recollection and a few more notes about the operation of the gates into his journal and stuffed it into his pocket.

  To say that he made a conscious decision to find his son would have been incorrect in his estimation. The decision was made—yes—but it was not one he had pondered and weighted the consequences of—it just was. Whether out of desperation, stupidity or just plain curiosity—he didn’t know, nor would it occupy his thoughts.

  Merl picked up his cloak and pack, tapped the three symbols and waited for the mist to appear. He stepped blindly into the mist and disappeared from the platform. The mist cleared. A squirrel chittered. And in the castle—a Lord grumbled about the tardiness of his mage council.

  Dra’kor stood in the observation tower with Men’ak and watched the seemingly never ending line of wagons creep over the ground on the road to Three Rivers. Word had gotten out about their victory and escape from Toulereau. He had lain in bed for two full days, recovering from their fight. Hagra and Sheila had taken turns watching over him. When he had the strength to move, he was greeted with back-slaps and words of encouragement from the townsfolk.

  It started slow at first; a rider, or two, asking for sanction. Then the first wagons showed up, filled with farmers, carpenters and blacksmiths. They came, kids in tow, with all they could carry. As the days passed, the number of wagons increased until they had a half-dozen or more rolling through their gates per day.

  “Sure is something to see,” Men’ak commented.

  “Sure is,” Dra’kor grumbled. “Where are we going to put them all?”

  Dra’kor turned and looked at the line of wagons parked one next to another by the gate. They already had more wagons than they had space. He had heard Toulereau order some of them broken down into parts and stacked behind the Smithy’s place.

  “Toulereau has a plan. He’s got all the new fellows working on moving the wall out another fifty feet. They darn near have half of it done already. It’s pretty amazing how much these folks can get done in a day…without magic.”

  “Have you received any replies from Ja’tar,” Men’ak asked as they climbed down the wood ladders and headed into town.

  Dra’kor pulled his cloak tight and shook his head. “I’ve sent all the notes I can. None of them have come back. I’m beginning to worry!”

  Men’ak stopped mid-stride and let a farmer leading several cattle pass. The lead cow mooed in protest when the farmer gave her rope a yank toward the stables. Her bell clanged loudly and the rest of the herd followed blindly.

  “Are you sure he got them?”

  “I can see no reason why not! He got all the others I sent him. Whether he has the box…I can’t say. Maybe he can’t get to the box. If he can’t get to the box, he can’t answer the notes. I think he keeps the box in his quarters.”

  Men’ak’s face showed he was concerned. “That doesn’t bode well.”

  Dra’kor scowled. “No, it does not, but what can we do?”

  They walked for several strides in silence.

  Dra’kor grabbed Men’ak by his cloak and pulled him harshly to the side.

  “What…” he complained, knocking Dra’kor’s hand aside.

  Dra’kor grinned.
“Watch where you step!”

  Men’ak looked down at the fresh pile of cow-shit and then back at Dra’kor. “Thanks!”

  Dra’kor shook his head and laughed.

  It was just another day to the children that raced in circles around the barracks. A little girl with a handful of dandelion flowers held high above her head lead the pack of five others who squealed in delight at the game. A group of men stood just outside the tavern, drinking their ales, watching warily, unsure of how they felt about the influx of strangers. Strangers arranged their wagons and makeshift tents on the sides of the streets. Groups of women gathered to tell stories and gossip.

  Dra’kor interrupted the silence with an urgent ask. “You haven’t seen him…Ja’tar…in the dream world?”

  Men’ak turned his head and looked Dra’kor in the eye. “No—I’d tell you if I did. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. Could be he just hasn’t found me yet. I hear it takes people time to find me. According to Lana, that little girl I see there all the time, the mist is a big place. I wish to halla I could move around like she does, but I just haven’t figured it out yet!”

  “She hasn’t taught you?”

  “She says it can’t be taught because it is different for everyone.”

  “There are others moving about in the mist?”

  “She says, yes!” Men’ak shrugged. “Not that I’ve seen. Maybe she meant in the past. I don’t know any more than you do!”

  Dra’kor forced a smile. “I know. Let’s hope it is because he escaped the attack and is on the run.”

  “How?” Men’ak asked, almost under his breath. “It doesn’t seem like anyone else escaped. Even Zedd’aki showed up in the mist…”

  ”He is the Keeper,” Dra’kor wishfully mumbled. “If anyone—”

  Men’ak grunted his reply and felt his eyes well up.

  Dra’kor could tell that Men’ak wasn’t convinced. He knew if he pursued the topic, Men’ak would shut down. That wouldn’t serve anyone, so he changed the subject.

  “A group this big is hard to feed…”

  Men’ak brightened and slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Dra’kor shook his head. He had done his best to remove the enchantments over the earth and the crops were growing. They had greens now, and some peas and small carrots were starting to come of size. The grains they needed to make bread were a long way away from harvest, as were the potatoes.

  “Let’s look on the bright side! They have cattle and goats and there are some fine looking ladies too!”

  Dra’kor pushed his friend hard, causing him to stagger.

  “Hey! Don’t tell me you don’t think about it! Oh, that’s right—you have Sheila…”

  Dra’kor broke into a big grin.

  “We better get our arses down the street and help.” Men’ak pointed. “Toulereau has been giving us the eye since about the minute we climbed the tower.”

  “He runs a tight army.”

  “We ain’t part of no army!” Men’ak growled, perhaps a bit to forcefully. “Wizards don’t answer to the kings!”

  Dra’kor nodded in Toulereau’s direction. “You gonna tell him?”

  Men’ak scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Not today!”

  Dra’kor answered, “Pfft, thought not…”

  They began walking across the field, passing the stables as two men with a pole over their shoulders walked through the gate. They had a large freshly dressed bull-elk hanging between them. The enormous rack, clear of velvet had still not molted from winter; it dragged on the ground leaving snake-like trails where the sharp horns caught the dirt. Children ran alongside, squealing and pushing at the dead animal with sticks, pretending they were swords.

  “Looks like we’ll have meat for tonight,” Men’ak said, as his stomach growled.

  “Sure, but what about tomorrow, or the day after?” Dra’kor grumbled.

  Men’ak stopped short. “What’s with you?”

  “Never mind…”

  “You have been in a sour mood ever since you returned. It’s getting old.”

  Dra’kor stopped and tried to control his temper. “You didn’t see what was out there…you..you…didn’t see…”

  Men’ak looked up into his friends eyes and saw the worry. “No, I didn’t. But you being negative isn’t gonna help. These people need us. They look up to us.”

  “I didn’t ask for this!”

  Men’ak shoved a finger into Dra’kor’s chest. “Yes, you did. This is exactly what you wanted, or at least this is what you told us you wanted when we were back in the Keep. So which was it, lie or truth?”

  Dra’kor’s eyes clouded over. “Truth..,” he muttered softly. “Only...”

  “Only what?”

  “Only I didn’t expect that it would be like this. I thoug—”

  “Well, it is. It is exactly like this—so now we make the best of it!”

  “You’re right, Men’ak. It’s just that I feel like we are losing the war.”

  Men’ak searched his eyes. “Then we have to fight harder and be more clever.”

  Dra’kor nodded and tried to force a smile. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Speaking of being clever, how’s your magic doing?”

  Men’ak smiled, “I only need to cast the life spell twice a day. I still can’t really control the dreams, but I’m working on it.”

  Dra’kor smiled. “I glad for you. I was a bit worried.”

  “You?”

  “I’m good for about every other day now. I’ve been working on some of the other spells they taught us at the Keep.”

  Men’ak stopped in the middle of the street. “What kind of spells.”

  Dra’kor avoided his eyes. “The kind of spells that will help us survive.”

  Men’ak’s face turned white. “Does Hagra know?”

  Dra’kor shook his head. “Sheila does. We’ve been working on them together. The adjustments take time and experimentation.”

  Just then, Toulereau came striding down the street. Dra’kor watched as he headed straight for them. The crowd of people parted and let him pass. He looked serious.

  “There you two are…” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Well, you found us!” Men’ak said. “What can we do for you?”

  Toulereau forced a thin grin, glancing out the main doors to the town. “Funny you should ask,”

  “We’re not going to like this are we?”

  “Well,” Toulereau said, while his grin spread across his face. “That may well depend on your perspective.”

  The unlikely band of five exited the ravine. Unbeknownst to most of them, they had been slowly gaining elevation. Tax pushed on his thigh as he stepped up on the large rock formation near the top and looked around. The vista before him was breathtaking. He estimated they were far above the Keep. Not high enough to touch the clouds, but high enough that the trees had grown short and stubby. The mountains stretched around them and he could see the lush deep valleys off in the distance. A waterfall could be heard, but Tax didn’t see it; he guessed it could have been the sound of the wind.

  He hadn’t noticed that they had been steadily climbing. With all the rocks and boulders they had been climbing over the past two days, it had not felt like they had been going uphill. The walls of the ravine had just slowly gotten shorter. From here, the ravine looked unspectacular and less menacing.

  They felt the warn sunlight on their faces and the cool mountain air in their hair. Azuela sat down on a flat rock and pulled out some dried meats and hard bread; she handed some to Tax. She took a bite and chewed slowly. The others undid their belts and removed their weapons. Tax looked at the small bright blue and yellow flowers that were growing on the hill. The delicate petals were smaller than the nail on his little finger. When the wind blew, they trembled like they were dancing. It had been a long time since Tax had seen so many flowers. His eyes welled up at their beauty.

  They sat in sile
nce and ate, taking in the grand vista.

  After they finished, Azuela called Brawn over.

  “Brawn,” she said, “you have served me admirably over the years. But it is time for us to separate and go our own ways. You need to go back home and prepare the others for the end-times. Only Tax and I will journey from here.”

  Brawn nodded. “Ifin ye don’t be needing my help and that be ‘yer wish. I’m good!”

  Azuela grabbed him by his beard and gave him a big hug and kiss, causing the gruff dwarf to blush and wipe at his cheek, but Tax could see the softness in his gaze.

  “We will meet again. Our destinies will cross again in the future.”

  Brawn turned so that Azuela wouldn’t see his tears and walked over to his companions and gave them the news. There was a short but animated argument; hot words that were carried away by the wind. The Warrior grabbed his axe and stormed off into the ravine, not even saying goodbye. The other two picked up their weapons, strapped them on and left without any further interaction. Brawn turned slightly and waved over his shoulder with his sword just before disappearing over the horizon. Tax heard the Warrior’s bird call echoing on the wind.

  “Well, Tax…it’s just you and me from here on.”

  Tax nodded nervously. Even though Azuela appeared to have potent magic, having the three fighters along gave him considerable comfort.

  “Brawn and the Warrior didn’t seem very happy about leaving…”

  Azuela smiled. “Those brave men have been with me a very long time. Although they would never admit it, I think they will miss me.”

  “But they didn’t even say goodbye!”

  “Sure they did, but it was their way of saying goodbye…not ours! Didn’t you hear Warrior’s bird call? He was saying goodbye.”

  “I suppose so. It just seemed odd to me…that’s all!”

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to call on some friends,” she said as she faced to the north and started chanting. Tax watched. Her eyes had clouded over. That’s the best way he could explain it. They were all milky and swirly, appearing as if storms were brewing.