Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Your sister’s betrothal to King Jarom was purely a matter of state and for the good of Great Kingdom,” Isador said with a stern tone. “You may never know His Majesty’s anguish over that decision, but I knew, and your mother, bless her soul, knew as well. His Majesty was simply attempting to make amends for a transgression of youth.”

  “Did my father really win mother’s hand over Jarom?”

  Isador smiled and brushed back a wayward strand of Adrina’s hair. “His Majesty won more than her hand, he won her heart, and when Alexandria came to Imtal, she brought with her Jarom’s own heart.”

  Adrina’s eyes wandered to the sunshine playing in the window. “Do you really think he would listen, Isador?” Isador replied, “You know I do, Young Highness.”

  Before she knew it she was standing before her father awaiting his response. Despite frowns and stares she maintained a smile.

  Father Tenuus, silent and brooding, stood off to King Andrew’s right, a sour frown set to his lips. The king frowned likewise, probably agreeing with the captain’s statement—the open road and a long, hard journey were no place for a young princess. Still, Father Jacob had added a rare touch. His blessing for her to accompany the group came as a surprise to say the least, and thus was surely the reason for the sour grimace Father Tenuus bore before him.

  Andrew rose from his high-backed chair and spread his broad shoulders wide. He looked first to Captain Brodst and then to the two distinguished visitors, Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. “Three years have come and gone since your mother’s passing. Each day I grieve. Each day the pain does not diminish, it grows. I am beyond healing Adrina. Queen Alexandria was my life. You look so very much like her my dear, sweet Adrina.

  “Each day I also see this pain mirrored in your eyes. I ask myself what I can do to end it. Yet, if I cannot ease my own , how can I ease it for another? I think the time away could be the time to finally heal. You may go with my blessing, my dear.”

  King Andrew looked to Lady Isador, “And, I understand you will visit the Barony of Klaive on the return. You don’t know how much that pleases me, my dear. ‘Tis a beautiful place come spring. Often I’ve envied Klaive his place by the great sea. Rudden Klaiveson is an apt and likeable fellow. When you announce your betrothal to him you will have made a wise choice, my daughter.”

  Adrina began to hurry away. She turned to look back at Lady Isador. “What of you, Lady Isador? I mean, you will come with. You do want to go home, don’t you?”

  “South Province will have to wait.” Lady Isador sighed, looked away. “Hurry along now, before I come to tears. I’ll be along in a moment to help you pack.”

  Adrina hurried to her room. She and Isador made short work of the packing. Soon after she was guiding her mount through palace gates, her head held high, her face glowing with delight at her father’s approval. It all seemed so surreal, like she was living a dream. She thought momentarily of Rudden Klaiveson, then cast the thoughts away—nothing was going to spoil her day. The Barony of Klaive was at the very least a six-day ride away, and first they would journey to Alderan by the sea.

  She rode along the cobbled streets of Imtal toward its southernmost portcullis. She knew she would miss the city. So often had she looked out her window, stared at its tall gray walls, and dreamed of things beyond that the lands beyond seemed just that, a dream. She would miss Lady Isador, her maternal nanny, and her father, Andrew, this was true. But oddly, most of all she would miss those tall gray walls. They had housed and symbolized her fears, her loss, her anger, even her hopes and dreams for so long they truly seemed a part of her. The future without them to look out at, even if only for a few weeks, seemed frightening.

  Her dreams had held her and carried her through those three long years. But now she finally had what she wanted and suddenly she felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and race back to Imtal Palace—for there, she could dwell in her dreams and hide from the truth, the cold bitter truth.

  “Pleasant thoughts,” she whispered, “only pleasant thoughts today.”

  She let her mind wander along the cobbled city streets and small shadowed alleyways they passed, pieces of her thoughts falling into every nook and cranny.

  As the iron grate clambered closed behind her the excitement of the open road before them, the open green of a large inland plain and the gentle rolling of soft hills in the distance swept her away. She held no remorse for leaving now, only hopes for the thrills that lay ahead.

  With but a gentle touch of moisture in it, the air that morning was fresh and cool. Overhead the sky was cloudy and dark and, even though it held the promise of rain, it held an appearance of serenity. Adrina inhaled a deep breath and drank in the early morning aromas—the smell of grass and of early morning dew—then tightened her grip on the reins and bid her horse to speed onward.

  Three squadrons of garrison troops filing through the city gates in ponderously long lines, four abreast, had been an awesome spectacle, yet the sound of hundreds of hooves and thousands of feet plodding along muddy ground, filling the air, was equally as spectacular.

  “Half the city garrison,” Adrina whispered to herself and to the wind, “all headed south, south to Alderan by the sea.”

  Chapter Seven:

  Meeting

  Sight had been the first sense to return to Vilmos’ tortured world. The other senses followed at a pace of their own accord—except pain. Pain it seemed had always been there, overshadowing the sense of touch. Taste came in the form of a pasty film that covered his tongue, which as he rubbed it away made his stomach sour. A vague odor came to his nostrils, the smell of his own sweat. The last sense to return was hearing. Rapid breathing burst upon him and Vilmos started.

  “You are truly the evil one,” Vilmos repeated in hushed tones.

  The sound of stifled, irregular breaths fell upon his ears again. Realizing the sound was not his own, Vilmos shrank back into the corner. He would not have been amazed to see the dark-faced one sitting beside him—this he expected—yet as he turned, meeting a warm smile, he nearly wet his pants.

  “Mi-do-ri, is that you?”

  The tutor, seated at a chair next to the bed, stared intently at him. The expression on her face was one that Vilmos did not recognize, one completely out of place, a look not of dismay or terror but of understanding and approval.

  Vilmos pinched himself to ensure he wasn’t somehow still dreaming, and then asked excitedly, “What are you doing here?”

  The teacher answered with words he had not expected. “Watching you, Vilmos,” she whispered softly.

  In reaction to his anxiety, she shuffled the chair away from him.

  “Why didn’t you wake me? I was having a terrible, terrible dream. I was probably even talking in my sleep.” Vilmos halted only for an instant to intake a breath. “I do that sometimes, just go on and on and on about nothing. The dream was scary, I think.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Midori, “we both know you were not sleeping. I am a friend, Vilmos; there is no need to fear me. I am here to help you.”

  “Then was it real? Did it really happen?” asked Vilmos with renewed vigor in his words.

  Midori glanced at Vilmos’ hands and the blood dripping from his shoulders. “If you believe it occurred, then it did. If you believe…”

  “I’m afraid,” admitted Vilmos, “are you here to take me away?”

  “No, Vilmos, I will not take you away, nor will I let the black priests take you away.” She moved the chair closer to the bed once more. “I am here to help you.”

  “I don’t need any help. Please just go away,” said Vilmos feeling suddenly brave.

  “I can’t go away Vilmos. You need my help more than you know.” Midori glanced nervously out the window. “Vilmos, you are very special. All you have to do is trust me and let me help you. Can you do that?”

  Vilmos nodded. Midori touched a dark yellow stone to the palms of his hands. “It is a healing stone,” she said, “it will ease the pain.”


  “Is it magic?” asked Vilmos warily.

  “In a way, perhaps,” said Midori, upturning warm green eyes to ease Vilmos’ fright, “but this stone comes from the temple of Mother-Earth.” The stone began to glow bright yellow, then slowly dulled to charcoal gray. The pain gone from his hands, Vilmos suddenly noticed the sharp throbbing of his shoulders. “I am sorry. The stone’s power is gone, but I could not have undone that anyway. I must go now. Will you come with me?”

  “Wh-wh-where,” stammered Vilmos, “are you going?”

  “I am going to meet someone. A very good friend, who is special like you. He has waited a long time for you to be ready.”

  An internal voice told Vilmos if he were to leave now he would never be coming home again. “Midori, I am afraid.”

  The gentle woman offered Vilmos her hand and hesitantly he accepted. Her touch, sympathetic and soothing, put Vilmos more at ease. He looked up into her soft green eyes and suddenly worries and reservations about her intentions faded away. He would go wherever she would take him.

  “We have to move swiftly,” Midori said as she led him from the house. “The woods are a strange enough place with the light of day, let alone without it.”

  They had just reached the edge of the village when the sound of drums burst into the air. Midori began to run all out, dragging Vilmos behind her. “Hurry, hurry,” she said. “They come.”

  They made the trek from the village to the dark wood at a record pace, Midori dragging Vilmos behind her. Coming to a path, they took it. It was a seldom-used path, so it was largely overgrown with weeds and underbrush, but still visible to an observant eye.

  High overhead the sky was turning dark and yet they followed the little trail. Many questions flooded into Vilmos’ young mind. Where were they going? What of his mother and father? What of the bear? What of the drums?

  Several times he tried to speak, though no words ever escaped his lips. He simply followed as Midori led him along the tangled trail, holding tightly to her hand. A sickness was welling up from his stomach. He felt the whole of the world was suddenly somehow different and the feeling didn’t end as the trail did, coming to an abrupt end near the forest’s edge.

  The two emerged from the forest’s shadowed darkness. The sun had already sunk low on the horizon in front of them. Soon it would be night. A large meadow spread beyond the forest’s veil and soon they found themselves trudging across it. Vilmos could not see beyond the meadow’s brink due to the rolling hills beyond it. He wondered what they would find on the other side, or perhaps if their destination lay beyond the hills, somewhere off in the unseen distance.

  Determined now to quietly follow his silent companion, trudging on tired and sore feet, Vilmos began to wonder if they would ever stop to rest or sleep. His answer came as they marched up into the soft, rolling foothills beyond the meadow. They quickly found themselves on a rocky precipice overlooking the most beautiful sight Vilmos had ever seen—the deep valley of his imagining.

  “Hello Vilmos,” simply stated a strangely familiar voice.

  Vilmos was startled by the sudden appearance of the other. He stared at the peculiar, tiny man for a time. His skin was the color of rough leather; the face deep set with wrinkles that covered its entirety was the best indicator of his great age; hair long and black with whispers of gray neither accented nor subtracted from his appearance of age and wisdom. Vilmos stared into eyes as silver as the moonlight, and found the man had a special energy about him. It seemed like an inner flow of light and it intrigued Vilmos, and perhaps beguiled him.

  Vilmos finally responded with a timid, “Hul-lo.”

  “I am Xith,” spoke the man in a clear unwavering tone, “shaman of the great North Reach, perhaps the last of my kind, the last of the Watchers.”

  “How do you… Watchers? There is no such thing as a Watcher. That is only legend.”

  “Ahh, yet here I stand before you and you better than anyone else should know it to be true.”

  Vilmos searched his mind. The words appeared to be true, but how could it be so. The tiny man who stood before him could not possibly be a Watcher—Vilmos quickly discarded the thought. He would not judge others so hastily anymore. He had already learned his lesson once before about incorrectly judging people.

  In the history written down in the Great Book, he recalled mention of the Watchers. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find the words that momentarily eluded him. “... and the Watchers shall return from their long vigil. They shall bring word of the Coming…”

  Vilmos opened his eyes. “You do not look like one of the great Watchers. You look more like a gnome than anything else. Are you the one from my dream?”

  Xith paused and took a deep breath. “Not a dream, Vilmos, and Gnomes have not been seen in the land since Father Gnome sealed Solstice Mountain five hundred years ago.”

  “Father Gnome and Queen Elf are dead,” said Vilmos, “and Oread was cast to the four winds with her siblings.”

  Xith sat and motioned for Vilmos to do likewise. He said nothing for a time afterward and simply stared at the boy, then spoke. “History belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller’s recollection of it.”

  Far off Vilmos heard the sounding of drums again. He saw Midori nervously glance to the woods. “Why are you here?” Vilmos asked.

  “You already know the answer.”

  “Huh? I do?” said Vilmos without thinking. He slapped a hand to his mouth and raised his eyebrows. A realization entered his mind. He remembered something that had been gnawing at him ever since he had heard the shaman’s voice. He had almost recalled it before, but he had lost the thought. Now, he did remember. He knew what had been lost in his subconscious. “You were there last night, in my dream and again before. I saw you.”

  “Yes,” Xith said.

  “Then was it all real?”

  “It was very real, more real than you will ever know.” Xith leaned forward and touched a hand to Vilmos’ shoulder; the raked flesh was already beginning to fester. The shaman shook his head in disgust.

  “But, but how… How did you… and now you are here… Thank you!” exclaimed Vilmos, clutching Xith’s hand. “I remember now. I remember it all. I have seen you often in my dreams.”

  “I did only that which I must,” Xith’s voice was calm, unchanged.

  “What do you want of me? Why have you returned?” Vilmos searched for a clue that would somehow indicate the shaman’s intent. He continued to gaze into the shaman’s eyes, and a feeling of exhilaration swept over him.

  “We will camp here tonight. Get some rest, Vilmos,” said Xith, “tomorrow I will answer your questions. Do not worry, for there is nothing to worry about. All fears are behind you for a time. You will sleep peacefully this night. Sleep, young Vilmos.”

  Overcome with sudden fatigue, Vilmos found a dire need for sleep. Xith motioned with his hands and a fire appeared. Its warmth carried with it a healing touch and as soon as Vilmos lay down on the hard ground next to the fire, he fell asleep.

  “Midori, come here. Let me look at you,” said Xith, after a brief lull, “it has been a long time since I last saw you.”

  Xith stretched out his hands to greet Midori’s. The two took a seat beside the fire opposite Vilmos. Xith’s silver eyes glowed with joy in the firelight. He was obviously pleased at how Midori had grown. The years had surely developed her.

  “Yes it has. I have not seen you since that day long ago when you left my dreams. I was only a child then,” somberly stated Midori.

  “Yes, you were. You have grown into a fine woman and have learned very well. I am proud of you,” said Xith matter-of-factly. His words of praise the absolute truth. He was indeed proud of her achievements, although he was not completely surprised by them. He had seen great promise in her when he had chosen her.

  Midori’s lips rose into a knowing smile. Xith had been her greatest mentor. She respected him deeply for it and held his approval in the highest
regard. “Thank you, Master Xith. I am honored by your kind words. Do we go together to Tsitadel’?”

  “No, I am afraid the circumstances have changed. I must take Vilmos with me. There is another that I must take to the secret city, one with greater need. But that is not for some time now. There is much to be done before then, so much to be done before then…” his voice trailed off. He heard drums sounding in the distance again.

  Midori honed in solely on the one part of the statement that struck her as inconceivable. “With you? Not with the others?” she asked, a spark of fear entering her mind.

  “Yes, I am afraid so. You should return now, there is much to do. We will meet again soon. Do not fret. There is nothing to worry about. Just explain to the council that I was wrong.”

  “But, you’ve never been wrong.” Midori didn’t know how she could tell the council Xith had been in error. No one would believe her. She knew something was drastically wrong, and an alarm sounded in the corners of her mind, though she tried to remain calm.

  “I am an old man and old men should be allowed an occasional misjudgment. Besides times are changing. Tell them, I know they will believe you. Mention nothing of what you have seen. Clear the thoughts from your mind. Believe in me, Midori. What I do is for the best,” said Xith, his words flowing freely.

  “I do believe in you, my friend. I will do what you say.” Midori took his hand and added with an emotion-filled voice, “I will not fail you.”

  “Please go. And take my blessing with you.”

  “I will worry about you my friend,” Midori said. “Will you be safe?”

  “My child,” began Xith, using a soft-handed tone, “of course I will come to no harm. There is no need to worry. Time is short, dear Midori. I have a great deal to say. Listen well.”

  A short pause followed while the words echoed in Midori’s mind, there is no need to worry.

  “Promise me you will forget what you know and what you have seen. Think of the boy no more. He is under my care. This alone should ease your woes. A great change is sweeping across the land. Great events are beginning to unfold. Things even I can only wonder at. The Kingdom of Sever is no longer safe. Do not return here.