by T. A. Uner
“Which is?” Fabian asked.
“That, I cannot help you with my boy; each person’s experience with the Golden Door is unique.”
“You cannot help? Or will not help? There’s a huge difference,” Lager added.
Tildon cast an annoyed look at Lager for a few moments before continuing. “Commander, not everything in life has a clear-cut explanation. Despite the thinking you’ve grown accustomed to, life itself is not linear by nature, but non-linear.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Lager replied. “It seems fate has something in store for us, but what?”
“Well having your technology helped, Lager,” Fabian added, “and your combat experience, plus my Spirit Stone armor.”
“Your armor is indeed special, like you Fabian,” Tildon said. “It is the product of a nation that has never been conquered.”
“Tork?”
“Yes,” Tildon replied. He passed around a Sunwood box filled with Cinnamon Strips, a famous Rek dessert. Fabian and Lager each took one. Despite its unassuming brown appearance it melted in Fabian’s mouth and had a sweet, creamy taste. “The Tork Hegemony employs the most efficient military force on this planet. Their defensive forces are so highly-trained, and heavily-armored, no other military force dare invade them.”
“No wonder the Spirit Stones’ locations are a closely-guarded secret,” Fabian said.
Fabian finished his Cinnamon Strip. “Apparently not so closely-guarded, remember that merchant in Outville? Says a smuggler traded for that,” Lager said, pointing at Fabian’s armor.
Tildon chuckled. “Commander McVick, perhaps that ‘smuggler’ intentionally traded that Spirit Stone with that merchant: after all, everything that is to be, must originate from pre-calculated actions.”
Both Fabian and Lager looked at Tildon, meticulously studying the old man’s face. Trying to see what the connection was. Fabian had a theory about the placement of the Spirit Stone, perhaps Tildon had been the so-called “merchant” who’d traded away the Spirit Stone to the Outville Trading post. But he kept his thoughts to himself. Then the sound of footsteps whispered into Fabian’s ears, they were soft and stealthy, but even without his helm on his other senses were sharp enough to detect their presence.
Fabian turned around and smiled. “Marella.”
“What are you three talking about? And without me in your midst?”
Tildon’s eyebrows arched. “My child didn’t I tell you to rest?”
Marella sat down next to Fabian and started chewing on a cinnamon strip. “I think I’ve slept enough for the past few days; I also owe you my life kind sir.”
“Think nothing of it, it was my pleasure.”
“It’s good to see you on your feet, Marella,” Fabian said.
“Quite true,” Lager added. “I was getting bored without you chastising me.” He smiled.
“So what were you men talking about before I snuck up on you.”
Fabian grinned. “The Hellion Doors; Mage Crossmark here is an expert.”
Tildon laughed. “I’ve had some experience with them. After all, I once was the guardian of the third Hellion Door, the Golden Door, also known as the Dragon Door. But as I got older I realized I could not care for it any longer, so I took it to the Unknown Wastes and buried it there. It should be safe, in that desolate land. I also spell-protected it, so it cannot be accessed physically. Only a magic-user of great power and skill can break the spell, and not many are alive today that can perform that deed. Each Door is a self-contained entity, with its own realm, so they all require a vigilant host. That is why all the Hellion doors have separate guardians, to ensure that no one person can access their combined power; anyone who can overcome the challenges of all three Hellion Doors would become a dangerous enemy, since mastering them means becoming one with the universe. You will meet the first guardian in Trident, the next city you encounter outside these woods, Lord Renley is his name. But be wary of Renley, for he has been corrupted by power.”
“Then why would you want someone like that guarding your door?” Marella said. “Why not just take it back and find another, more trustworthy keeper?”
Tildon sighed while his elderly housekeeper brought Marella a hot drink. “It is not that simple I am afraid. Only the King can rescind the agreement and I doubt that is his top priority with the Golden Mane stolen and the eastern borders overrun by Wasps. It would also spell total disgrace for Trident, for Lord Renley was once a great ally of the King and the protector of the East, but now he seeks to expand his influence with any state he can strike an alliance with.”
Marella finished sipping her drink. “He even approached Paz a few years back and proposed an alliance to annex a portion of the Southern Empire in exchange for military support and weapons. My Chancellor rejected the idea.”
“A wise decision, my dear,” Tildon said. “For dealing with Lord Renley is like dancing within a pit of vipers.”
“What makes you think he’ll grant us access to the Bronze Door?” Fabian asked.
“You have the law on your side, Fabian, you all do. As Crusaders of a Gold Quest you are entitled to ask for the Bronze Door’s guidance, to help prove your worth.”
“But we do not have the Royal seal of the King,” Lager said. “Even though I am one of his advisers I doubt Renley would accept my word, he seems like the suspicious type.”
“Lager’s right, Mage,” Fabian said. “We left on our own without royal recognition and have no way to prove our Quest is legitimate.”
“I can remedy that.” Tildon reached into a cupboard and took out a crystal box. After muttering a few words it opened, revealing a sparkling diamond inside. “The Truth Diamond.”
“It’s beautiful,” Marella said.
“How is that gem going to help us?” Lager said.
“This isn’t just any gem, Commander,” Tildon said haughtily, “this is one of Rek’s finest heirlooms, and given to me by the First King of Rek, my dear friend Bram. Even one of Renley’s stature would not dare reject the one who wield it. It would undermine his power and bring shame to his city.”
“But he’ll know you gave it to us,” Fabian said.
“Aye, but that does not change the fact that you will be in charge of its possession, so it would be irrelevant for him to dissent. Then once you complete your endurance task within the Bronze Door, you must use The Truth Diamond’s power to capture the Door and bring it back to Rek City so that a new guardian may be appointed. That way the Renley threat will also be neutralized as well.”
“I knew there was a catch,” Lager said angrily.
Tildon placed The Truth Diamond inside its Crystal box and muttered the magic password into Fabian’s ear. “Now, son, I place it in your safekeeping, keep it on you at all times. To make it work simply point it at the object you desire and it shall safely store it for you. So, for example, when the time comes to take back the Bronze door from Renley, simply point it at the Door and say ‘Door.’ But, remember, you must first complete the first Endurance Test or the Diamond will not work; nor will you be able to locate the second Hellion Door.”
“Why is that?” Marella asked.
“A simple safety precaution, my dear.”
Later they were shown to their beds and the next morning a lavish breakfast was cooked in their honor. Tildon had his stablemen prepare three strong horses and issues fresh supplies to the three adventures. Tildon gifted Lager a pair of Golden binoculars and Marella two golden hilted daggers to replace the ones that had been lost in the caverns. After thanking Tildon profusely for his kindness, Fabian and his friends set out for Trident.
Nine
The woodland scenery grew smaller behind the travelers, the tree branches waving goodbye in the gentle breeze. They were now travelling within a chaparral terrain dotted with sporadic shrubbery. Fabian was grateful to have met Tildon once more, the old Mage had given him yet another task within this already arduous Quest. Right now he did not know if that was indee
d a good thing or not.
His new steed was a piebald stallion, an impressive one at that. But he still could not stop thinking of his old horse Starspeed, perhaps he never would.
The chirping of birds ushered in the bright new day. Next to Fabian rode Marella atop her brown mare while Lager guarded their rear flank atop a black and white courser. Matilda barked at a squirrel that ran across the path they were traversing, before disappearing into a thicket.
“Ram, I’m detecting lifeforms converging on us.”
Fabian swiveled his head around toward Lager right before something slammed into his chest. He lost his balance and fell backwards, off his horse and felt the ground slam into his spine.
II
It took a few ticks before Fabian realized some projectile had been hurled at him, a few paces away from him lay a javelin. When he lifted his head up Matilda was by his side barking furiously while men in raggedy tunics and chain mail began crawling out of the shrubbery like giant spiders. They were armed with various weapons and had weather-beaten faces.
“Hell of a time to have my weapon charge low,” Lager yelled. He jumped off his horse and grappled with one of the bandits while Marella drew her dirks and slashed at another.
I am lucky to be alive, Fabian thought. If it wasn’t for his Spirit armor he would’ve been split in two like a chopped cantaloupe. Instead he endured a ringing in his forehead and a sore back; he’d live. But not if he lay on his back. He picked himself up and shielded Matilda from another javelin thrown in his direction. This one he was prepared for and he plucked it out of the air before driving its point into the chest of a bearded man carrying a two-handed axe.
More bandits poured onto the road and Fabian heard Lager utter an Earth curse he’d never heard before. Some of the bandits were women, their faces grubby and lean, and like their male compatriots they looked hungry and weather-beaten.
“Behind me,” Fabian said and both Marella and Lager inched their way backwards. Lager
with a mace he had procured from a bandit he’d lain out and Marella with her dirks. “Now,” Fabian whispered, “we stand and fight or fall on a glorious morning.
“Better to die fighting…ehh Ram?” Lager said.
“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said since I’ve met you, Earthman,” Marella said. She had a confident smile on her face, and expertly used her daggers to parry an arrow headed for her midsection.
“I’m not done annoying you yet, honey,” Lager said.
“Let us show them how we fight,” Fabian ordered. He twirled his staff around keeping the bandits at bay.
Now it was time to attack.
III
Fabian stepped forward, his battle fever rising in his throat. A few ticks later, a loud noise rose from the ground. At first Fabian figured it for a gong blast, but his senses kicked in and he realized it was a war horn. Arrows started raining down upon the bandits, expertly dropping them without so much as clipping a fiber of Fabian’s band. Then Fabian saw them, a pack of mounted archers atop lightly armored steeds, launching waves of arrows. The bandits scattered like frightened ants, some caught arrows, others were more fortunate, disappearing into the chaparral as quickly as they appeared. The archers then circled around Fabian and his friends, while two spearmen brought them their horses which had wandered off to graze. A few ticks later the archers parted to allow a muscular man in armor to approach them. He sat atop a warhorse and wore armor with a trident emblem centered across his breastplate and helm. Fabian figured him for a high-ranking Knight. “Is this your entire party?” he said in a deep voice filled with the responsibility of command.
Fabian shook his head. “Yes, and we thank you for your assistance.”
“We were patrolling the woods and heard the commotion, naturally we came to investigate.”
“Naturally,” Lager said.
“I am Landor, Lord Renley’s lieutenant, why are you here?” he said brusquely.
Not even going to ask us our names, Landor? Fabian thought. “We are on an urgent mission; we must meet with Lord Renley.”
Landor’s helm concealed his face, but Fabian had no desire to see it. He had already made up his mind to be wary of this man. “That is not possible, Rek is at war, and Lord Renley is a busy man.”
“Nevertheless,” Fabian said, “we are on a Gold Quest, under the auspice of the King; we respectfully request an audience with his Lordship.”
Landor was silent, but in an ominous way, Fabian decided he did not like this lieutenant. Landor beckoned for his cavalry officers and they obediently adhered. “Take half of our pack, hunt down and kill the riff raff that attacked these travelers; show no mercy, not even toward their young.” The officers nodded and along with the archers and spearmen trudged into the chaparral.
“Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Marella asked.
“She’s right,” Lager said, “no need to go after a beaten enemy.”
“You would show mercy to those who wished you harm?” Landor said.
“They looked more hungry than dangerous,” Marella told Landor.
“That is not your concern,” Landor pointed a gauntleted finger at Fabian, “your charges speak out of turn, you should have them disciplined.”
Fabian said nothing.
“Very well, you will all follow me to Lord Renley’s palace; do not deviate from your escort.” Landor then rode off, his horse kicking up a dust cloud in its wake.
“Charming fellow,” Lager said. Marella shook her head, a disgusted look on her face.
Fabian pressed his horse forward. “Alright everyone, let’s go meet Lord Renley.”
Ten
They passed through the countryside where bedraggled field worker slaved over crops. Occasionally they would come across a stead which had been abandoned. Having come from a rural province Fabian knew the struggles these Steaders faced, especially when weather was one of your enemies. An indifferent Lord did not help either.
In the distance they could see Lord Renley’s palace. It stood arrogantly amidst the desolate land, its spires clutching the sky as if it were trying to siphon light from the heavens. How could a lord live in such splendor? While the people he was responsible for lived in squalor.
They passed through the gates of Trident and were immediately taken to Lord Renley’s courtroom. It was every bit as lavish as the King’s, perhaps even more so: animal skins and exotic carpets, exquisite paintings, crystal chandeliers and lavish furniture made from foreign wood. Upon a gold dais, a corpulent man in a tight-fitting waistcoat sat on a throne studded with precious gemstones. He was eating a chicken leg and wiping his fingers on his fur-trimmed jacket, atop his head sat a circlet, as gaudy as the rings on his fingers.
“Corporate fat cat,” Lager said.
Fabian did not understand the Earth term but he figured it wasn’t a compliment.
As much as Fabian loathed the idea of showing respect to this pompous aristocrat, he removed his helm, his vision gone, he felt exposed, but remained calm.
“These travelers wish to speak with you Lord Renley. They claim to be crusaders on behalf of the king,” Landor said.
Lord Renley eyed Fabian suspiciously, while ignoring Lager and Marella completely.
“A little young for a Gold Quest, aren’t you boy?”
Old enough to knock out your teeth with my staff, M’lord. “I am sixteen cycles old, M’lord.”
Renley giggled like an old woman. “Indeed? Now what is it you wish to speak with me about? In case you haven’t heard we’re at war with the Darklands.”
“Respectfully, M’lord I wish to test my endurance against the Bronze Hellion Door, or Stage Door, as it is also called.”
Renley’s eyes widened. “Where is your seal from the King?”
“I have none, Lord Renley, but—”
“No excuses boy, the law is the law, I am the guardian of this Door and I am not about to let anyone near it during these times of duress, especially a band of unknown wanderers cl
aiming to be acting in the interests of the King. How can you possibly prove whom you say you are? To traverse the Door is a privilege.” Renley shook his head and his flush red cheeks wiggled. “I know what is best for my city and people; leave now, boy, and take these two with you.”
Your people are hungry, some turning to thievery for food, your lands sterile, and you sit in your self-absorbed world eating and you have the gall to say you ‘know what is best for your city and people’? Fabian slipped on his Ram Helm.
“Now who are you supposed to be?” Renley said. He giggled again.
“I am known as Stone Ram, but my birth name is Fabian…Fabian SilverSword.”
Renley scratched his jowl. “SilverSword? Where have I heard that name before?”
“It is the name of one of my ancestors, Yule SilverSword, the smith who designed the Silver Hellion door.” Fabian took one step forward. “And you will let me take the challenge of the Bronze Door, m’lord.”
“Are you deaf boy, didn’t you hear what I said?”
“No, m’lord, I heard every word you said.”
Renley turned toward Langor. “Remove them!”
The giant armoured knight stirred to life like an enchanted statue while both Lager and Marella took up defensive positions behind Fabian.
Fabian produced the Truth Diamond. Its radiance filled the room with light, and when it finally allayed, Renley’s stared at it disbelievingly.
“Now m’lord,” Fabian said. “Take us to the Bronze Door.”
II
“Where did you find the Truth Diamond?” Renley asked suspiciously, as Landor led them down a dimly-lit brick corridor into the bowels of the palace.
“That is not your concern,” my lord, Fabian said politely, “the fact that I have it in my possession is all that matters.”
Renley grunted and they came to a large set of double doors, upon them was the Trident seal. Renley waved his ringed hand and the tumblers unlocked by themselves. “The door is magically sealed, young Crusader,” he said, dropping his haughty tone. They entered another room and two giant platinum statues stepped off their plinths and advanced toward them. Each had the Trident crest emblazoned on their chests and each one carried a massive pernach in its hand.
