Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Reach inside yourself for the power. It is there. The power lives within you. You have used it many times before, though you didn’t know why or exactly how. You are the power Vilmos. It yearns to be released from within you. Release it.”

  “Please help me.” Vilmos sounded pathetic. “P-please.”

  “Release the power Vilmos,” repeated the other, “let it go. I am giving you a reason to use your power. I give you your life! Do it now, quickly, or you will DIE!”

  The voice was commanding again, Vilmos felt compelled to do as invoked. He had to prove he could stop the wind. Somewhere within was the key, a key that must be found. It had been so much easier before. He had never really tried to use the power. Previously it had just come to him when he needed it. He needed it now, and it wouldn’t come.

  “Hurry, Vilmos. You must hurry!” spoke the man with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

  In time, Vilmos found the object of his inward search. The strength was there.

  Still unsure exactly how he was supposed to make the wind stop, Vilmos decided to let his mind drift. His thoughts wandered until he found a helpful clue. As he anticipated, the solution to his dilemma seemed to seep into his mind.

  It had always been there.

  “Quickly, Vilmos!” The man spoke frantically. “You must release the power now.”

  A test of the power within forced the wind to flicker. Strength flowed to Vilmos unbidden. He bathed in its caress; it felt so wonderful.

  Magic isn’t evil; it is beautiful.

  Vilmos knew what he had to do to make the wind cease. Now he would do it.

  The man screamed, “Vil-mos, release the power, release it now before it is too late.” His anxiety increased with each passing second. “Hurry Vilmos. You must release the power now. Let it go, feel it flow.”

  Vilmos perceived a peculiar scratching at the back of his mind, something loomed closer. Magic isn’t evil, he reminded himself, the words flowing to him again.

  “Go on try it,” whispered the voice, “set it free.”

  Vilmos shook his head to rid himself of the irritating scratching.

  “I will, I will,” Vilmos said.

  For an instant, Vilmos toyed with the wind. The gale stopped full, then started again with sudden vigor. Vilmos shook his head again to rid himself of the irritating scratching at the back of his mind.

  Was it a whisper?

  Seemingly as if simply acknowledging the whisper existed was enough, the voice came again. “No Vilmos,” it whispered.

  Vilmos shook his head again, his concentration faltering. Irritated, the old man grabbed Vilmos about the shoulders and lifted him from the ground, shaking him violently.

  “Do as you were told boy!” he screamed, his razor sharp finger nails pushing into Vilmos’ arms.

  With untold power captivated in a crisp, clear voice, the newcomer spoke again. “It is a trick Vilmos. Look closely, see his true form. Evil comes in many shadings, but you can always see through it if your vision is clear and your mind is centered. Search its form. LOOK!”

  The wind stopped dead; the old man released his grip. Vilmos fell to his knees.

  “No Vilmos, it is not true. Release the power. Do not listen to foul lies. Release it now.”

  Heeding the will of the voice, the power of magic within Vilmos soared. Torn between the two choices, unsure which to follow, who spoke the truth, or what to do, Vilmos clasped his hands to his head. His mind reeled with pain. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

  Unchecked, the power within grew to a crescendo, reaching beyond Vilmos’ control. His wild eyes stared in disbelief as crazed thoughts continued to spin through his mind. He was the power, the master of all he surveyed; he would release the force within.

  “Vilmos, in the name of Great-Father, I command you AWAKEN!” spoke a third voice with overwhelming sincerity and vast fear. In the haze of Vilmos’ consciousness, the voice was a distant untouchable shadow. The power within was so inviting and warm, he did not want to let it go.

  The old one grew greedy and smiled an evil grimace. “YES, Vilmos, can you feel it? Yes. That’s a good boy. Now, USE it.”

  Vilmos discerned and separated the perceived voices. The newest, the faint, distant one overridden with fear and heart wrenching pain, was feminine. The crisp, clear voice of the newcomer was calm and compelling. The voice of the old one demanded action.

  “Are you the evil one?” Vilmos asked.

  The instant disbelief entered his mind, the enchantment was lost. The energy within him dissipated. Vilmos looked dead into the old man’s eyes and understood the guise.

  “You truly are the evil one,” said an amazed Vilmos. As he spoke, both strangers disappeared. The words reverberated in his thoughts.

  With the releasing of the deadlocked gaze on the wall opposite his bed, the vision ended. Complete and utter confusion played across Vilmos’ face. The sepulchral dream had ended, though its images were still held in his mind’s eye. It had seemed so real, but how could it have been? He had never left his room; he would not have perished. It was only another daydream, a dreadful one.

  He reflected upon what he had seen there and was deathly afraid, for normally when the dream ended the evil of the Dark One disappeared. This time the dream was different, Vilmos could recall shapes and images, even the form the evil one had taken.

  It no longer seemed that the evil one was just part of a dream. He remembered the raging winds and the fear. It was then that an alarm of distress sounded within. Again there was a small part that he just couldn’t remember—he had seen something, but what was it?

  The images became steadily less clear as he strained to focus on them. Pain in his hands caused all thoughts to drift away and when he looked down at them, opening and closing them with evident agony, he knew the pain had been real.

  Physically and mentally drained of all its energy, his body was an empty shell with all its stamina gone. Vilmos wanted to sleep, yet he dared not close his eyes. The dream had been real, not imagined, he reminded himself.

  Aghast, he curled up in the corner, fitting his small form into a tightly curled ball. The pain had been real, the dream been real, his mind repeated relentlessly.

  Chapter Six:

  Permission

  A strong wind out of the northwest blew long strands of dark hair into Adrina’s eyes. Every now and again as she looked down into High King’s Square, she tucked the errant strands behind her ear. Sunset was near, and the square was bustling with activity. Merchants packing their wares onto pack animals, townsfolk haggling for last minute deals and the inevitable array of jugglers, musicians, fire-eaters and the like trying to earn a pittance for their supper.

  Adrina disliked the busyness in the square; nevertheless, she stared down into it. She was waiting for Emel to return with news from Ridemaster Gabrylle and the square afforded the best vantage point to witness the return of the horsemen. She was worried. Emel should have returned to the palace an hour ago—at least that is when he had told her he would return when she had parted with him at the palace gates.

  Briefly, Adrina cast uneasy eyes westward. The sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon, soon it would be dark. Just then she noticed the northerly wind and a smile crossed her lips.

  “Change comes,” Adrina whispered.

  As she turned back to stare down into the square, a distant sound came to her ears. It could be the clatter of hooves on cobbled stones.

  She heard the sound again, though this time it seemed even more distant. Then trumpeters in the palace gate towers and at the city walls sounded off in response to the distant call and Adrina knew the far off call had to be that of a trumpet. Her eyes set with worry, she stared westward. Someone in the foothills, beyond the green fields that stretched out of view, was in trouble.

  Trumpeters at the city walls sounded again—a cavalry call. Adrina knew the calls well—Emel had taught them to her—there was no mistaking the distinct call t
o arms. Imtal garrison riders would soon respond to the trumpeters’ summons. Adrina’s face flushed white. Emel was out there somewhere with Ridemaster Gabrylle and a group of unproven young guardsmen.

  Her heart pounded in her ears, another call came from the city walls. A mounted guard was passing through the gates. Somewhere in the foothills a battle was surely taking place. Adrina had sudden grand visions of a full-scale invasion by the Bandit King of the North. Emel gallantly defending land and king. And the king’s cavalry charging into the fray.

  She held her breath until the call ended, realizing only as the call to arms faded into the wind the true consequences of such a thing. “Please Great-Father not Emel. He may be brash at times, but he is brave and true as any. The truth is, I would miss him dearly.”

  The silence that followed became unbearable and Adrina retreated to her room. For a long time, she stared out her window. The dusk sky slowly darkened and night arrived. The trumpeters made no further calls and Adrina eventually let sleep take her.

  Adrina’s rest didn’t last long though and she stirred, unsure what had awoken her. She dipped her hands into the basin beside her bed and eased sleep from her eyes with the cool water. High overhead the light of a full moon was filtering in through her window, casting long shadows about the room.

  An attendant was replacing the coals in her fireplace. “Sorry Your Highness,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have let the fire go out, but I wished not to disturb you. It looks to be a cold night and I was concerned.”

  “Yes,” said Adrina, “summer is surely at an end.”

  The attendant finished her work and as she departed she said, “Good night, Your Highness.”

  Adrina nodded. She was watching the flames in the hearth slowly build.

  Soon a low but cheerful fire began to fill her chamber with warmth. As Adrina bent down to put on her slippers, she noticed she was still dressed in her riding clothes. She changed into her nightclothes. Thankfully, Lady Isador hadn’t found her sleeping thus. She would never have heard the end of it. She could hear the old governess now, “Proper ladies do not sleep in their day clothes.”

  A soft knock on the door followed by whispers caused her momentary alarm. “Lady Isador?”

  “Do I sound like Lady Isador?” replied a voice in a hushed tone.

  “Emel?” asked Adrina.

  “Of course Emel. Are you going to let me in?”

  “Just a minute.” Adrina slipped a robe around her then opened the door. “Hurry up, hurry up. No one saw you come up here did they?”

  “Do I look stupid? Close the door, close the door.”

  Adrina closed the door. She almost ran into his arms, but caught herself on the first step. “Must remember your station, dear,” she whispered to herself—Lady Isador’s words.

  “You’re muttering, I can’t understand you. I nearly ran into that attendant of yours. I told her I was making my rounds. She seemed to believe me. I think she rather likes me. She is pretty don’t you think?”

  Noticing how handsome Emel looked in the pale light, Adrina stared—here before her was twice the man the son of Klaive was.

  Their eyes met, she averted her eyes from his. “I was worried. I heard the trumpet calls and when you didn’t return I thought something dreadful had happened to you.”

  Emel chuckled. “Something did happen and you’re not going to believe me.”

  Adrina directed her eyes at Emel. Okay tell me, they said.

  Emel started laughing again. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to Ridemaster Gabrylle.”

  Go on, Adrina’s eyes said.

  “We were skirting the Braddabaggon foothills on the return. Twelve new recruits, never been on a mount before in their lives. Twelve more that’d done border patrol once or twice, but still rather new to riding. Three others, acting sergeants like me. Ridemaster Gabrylle had been cursing all day long. And out pops this lowland cat. The thing was seven feet long head to tail, all claws and teeth.

  “It let out a cry and up went Ridemaster Gabrylle’s bay. Ridemaster Gabrylle fell clear from his saddle and there he sat. One more hiss out of that cat sent the new recruits running scared. And they didn’t just go in one direction. They all went in different directions. Half were clinging to their frightened mounts’ necks and the other half were just trying to stay in the saddle.

  “Ridemaster Gabrylle started screaming and cursing—it was then we noticed he’d broken his leg in the fall. He was spitting fire and those new recruits heard it and they panicked even more. They thought the cat was devouring poor Ridemaster Gabrylle. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or help the ridemaster. It was comical as you please.”

  Adrina was laughing heartily now. She motioned to Emel to sit and hesitantly he joined her on the bed. He sat on one side, she on the other.

  “Tell me the truth of it,” Adrina said, “you ran too didn’t you?”

  “I did think about it. I didn’t want to be there when Ridemaster Gabrylle got back into the saddle.”

  “What of the trumpets?” asked Adrina, tucking her long black hair back to one side.

  “Oh that is even better.” Emel paused and took a deep breath, his eyes following Adrina’s hands. “Ridemaster Gabrylle’s leg is broken and he demands that one of us snap the bone back into place. I’d never done it before and neither had anyone else. Gabrylle pointed at me and screamed, ‘Brace the damn leg boy, I’ll do it myself!’ I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and did it. Then I hear this snap, snap, SNAP!

  “Gabrylle lets out this scream that chilled my bones and then we hear this trumpet call from Braddabaggon way. Gabrylle points at me and three others, ‘Get that idiot boy back here,’ he screams. We mounted. Then the call comes again. By that time, the city trumpeters are already responding and it’s too late to do anything about stopping the garrison riders—you can’t countermand a call to arms.

  “We ride into the Braddabaggon a ways and at the bottom of this long round, we find this boy, sword in one hand, trumpeter’s horn in the other. His mount gone and half crazed hearing Gabrylle’s screams, he wouldn’t let anyone near him. Finally the four of us get the sword away from him—by force—and we were returning when we see two entire columns of riders approaching with lances, battle armor, and shields. They were ready for a fight. Gabrylle buried his face in his hands and wept.

  “Well actually, I thought he was weeping. Turns out he was trying so hard to hold in the laughter he was crying, broke leg and all.”

  “What happened next?” asked Adrina. She moved a little closer to Emel. “What happened to Ridemaster Gabrylle?”

  “Oh he’s all right, no riding for a couple months.”

  “No riding for a couple months,” Adrina sounded disappointed as she suddenly realized that no ridemaster probably meant the end of their hopes for the trek to Alderan. “What of the journey to Alderan? Did they select the twelve guardsmen?”

  “It would seem that the matter is more pressing than the ridemaster’s injury.” Emel paused, Adrina again moved closer to him. “I think we’ll still mount and ride tomorrow.”

  “Think or know?” demanded Adrina, moving back.

  “Well, I was told to rise before dawn and have my bags shouldered when I go to morning meal.”

  “So you made it, you’re one of the twelve. Congratulations!”

  “Wasn’t much of a choice after the cat. But I won’t be riding as a guardsman, Ridemaster Gabrylle says I’m to continue my apprenticeship into the rank of sergeant.”

  Adrina was glad of her friend’s good fortune, still, disappointment played on her face. “I guess you never got the chance to ask the ridemaster about me, did you?”

  “In all the excitement? No, I never got the chance. Still it seems the company will be much larger than expected. During the day something happened that I wasn’t privy to. I don’t know what it was but it’s sure to be the reason why two full columns answered that alarm call.

  “Seems Ridemaster Gabrylle wou
ldn’t have lead the party anyway. Captain Brodst, my father, will. He’s been elevated to King’s Captain for the task. There’ll be at least three garrison captains to boot. Seems half the city garrison is being roused and sent to the South. I don’t know what’s happened, but remember those two distinguished visitors in the night?”

  Adrina nodded her head.

  “The word is they’ll be accompanying us.”

  Adrina returned to her bed and some hours later greeted the new day with bleary eyes. After Emel had left she hadn’t slept at all. She had been busy plotting; somehow, she would find a way to join the company. With half the city garrison on the march, surely there was no need to fear for her safety.

  “If only to see the sea,” Adrina called out to the wind, “to smell salt air and wiggle my toes in the sand.”

  “Wiggle toes in the sand?” asked a voice from behind her.

  Adrina quickly brushed her hair back and sat up. “Sorry Lady Isador, I thought I was alone.”

  “Talking to yourself are you now. You need more fresh air dear. You look peaked. Did you sleep well last night?”

  Adrina considered lying. “Not really. It seems the world is passing me by and all I can do is watch. Do you know what I mean?”

  Isador sat down on the bed beside Adrina. “You’re talking about the departure today aren’t you. When I was a girl of sixteen, I wanted to see the whole of the land. Odd though it is, all I want to do now is go home. You see, home is the place you try so very hard to get away from only to miss dearly when you are gone.”

  “Oh Isador, are you making fun of me?”

  “No dear,” said Isador taking Adrina’s hand, “I’m not. Have you considered simply asking His Majesty?” No, Adrina hadn’t. “King Andrew can be very open-minded at times. Look to the Princess Calyin. Your sister traveled more times to the East than I care to count.”

  “That was because of her betrothal to Lord Serant of the Territories.”

  “Yes, yes it was, but the Barony of Klaive is not far removed from Alderan City.”

  Adrina winced. “I do not want my life decided for me like father tried to decide Midori’s.”