Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Yet with a cry of ironic agony, their charge ended. Feet no longer tread solely upon enemy dead. Seth felt vivid torment in his soul. The first of the Brotherhood fell, a blow from behind piercing the brother’s heart.

  Seth vowed to spare no suffering on the one who had delivered the deadly blow. With a jump and a kick, the guilty was knocked stunned to the deck, his demise not instantaneous like the others before him. He would be forced to lie and watch with eyes that were purposefully allowed to move as life slowly dripped away. Seth’s blow struck the spinal cord just below the neck on the right side.

  Nine and one trudged onward toward the high deck where Cagan now battled the enemy captain. Three sailors were all that remained of his once proud group and they protected his rear as he struggled against the galleon’s surly captain. Although thick lines of evident fatigue held to his countenance, Cagan persisted. For now his determination could not be extinguished. Yet the numbers were not on his side and soon the enemy would overwhelm Cagan and the last of his sailors.

  Desperately, Seth continued the assault. The enemy was strong and skillfully wielded their weapons. Two more brothers fell.

  Seth pushed onward with regained ferocity, as did his companions. He and seven others reached the stairs to the high deck and surpassed them. Only Cagan remained standing, all around him were the dead and the dying, and his sword lay deep in the enemy captain’s chest. With the heel of his boot, Cagan smashed downward, and retrieved his cold steel blade. In disgust, he spit into the dead man’s face.

  Drained, Cagan stumbled. Seth rushed to his aid, and cradled him in still strong arms. “It is only us at the last.” Cagan choked on his own blood and weakly added, “… my friend.” His clothes blood splattered and shredded revealed multiple lacerations beneath.

  There was no time to attend to Cagan’s wounds, Seth knew this. The two remaining ships were near, and within minutes their ranks would sweep over the decks toward the place where the last few survivors stood. The middle decks of the sinking galleon were already being claimed by the yearning sea and their own small ship was beginning to founder under the yearning weight. The end was surely near.

  Seth spoke to the seven yet fated to remain, words that exited his mind with powerful intent, words that he truly meant. They are what stand in the way of our victory. We cannot fail! We will not fail! Do not still your fervor, nor your fury. We shall make them pay well beyond their expectations. Eight against the many shall be triumphant!

  “There are… nine!” shouted Cagan.

  Chapter Ten:

  First Lessons

  Vilmos bolted upright, unsure what had awoken him. Thoughts from the previous day came flooding into his mind. The shaman. Midori. The drums, he heard the drums again. And voices.

  Then for an instant all thought stopped. No dreams, he realized, no dreams. He had slept peacefully during the night and nothing had awoken him, until just now. The drums, he heard them again.

  He was about to speak when Xith clamped a hand to his mouth. The shaman stared meaningfully into his eyes. “Not a sound. Take my hand.”

  Vilmos nodded. His knees were trembling. He sat as Xith indicated he should. Quietly the two waited. The sound of voices and drums grew steadily clearer and closer. Soon it became readily apparent that whoever was out there was in the hills just beyond their clearing.

  Vilmos was ready to run but Xith sat very still, his eyes closed, his face pale and drawn, and his hand clasped tightly to Vilmos’. From high overhead came the distant call of a hunter. Staring long, Vilmos caught sight of the grandest eagle he had ever seen. It was circling lazily over the hills and as Vilmos peered up at it, it turned a glistening black eye in his direction.

  Suspicious, Vilmos stared at Xith.

  The eagle called out again, a long piercing call, and then it folded its powerful wings and dove from the heavens. Vilmos held his breath as he watched it fall. It soared over the cliff’s edge and down into the depths of the deep valley.

  Color slowly returned to Xith’s face and he released Vilmos’ hand. “Huntsmen and trackers,” he whispered, patting Vilmos on the back reassuringly. “They are from your village and the neighboring two.”

  Vilmos turned a watchful eye to the hills. “Are they looking for me?”

  The shaman shook his head. “As far as I can tell, they hunt an animal of some sort.”

  “The bear, the black bear,” said Vilmos, wide-eyed. “Is it near?”

  Xith asked Vilmos to explain. Vilmos told the shaman of the bear attacks, the death of the girl from Olex Village, and his own encounter with one.

  “Bears you say,” Xith said, “that is interesting. Bears are not easily stirred, nor easily angered. Animals of the forest have a keen sense about them. We will have to keep our eyes open as we move north. To be sure, it would not be wise to travel north through Vangar Forest, and a descent into the valley from here shouldn’t be too bad.”

  Vilmos saw a puzzled expression cross the shaman’s face and his eyes darted toward the hills. “You weren’t expecting hunters and trackers were you,” said Vilmos, sounding suddenly older than his years. “Who were you expecting, shaman?”

  “There is no need to trouble over the could-have-beens,” replied Xith. “Are you hungry?”

  Vilmos agreed he was. The shaman removed a thick slab of finely smoked beef and a loaf of hard black bread from his saddlebags.

  “Better eat all you care to,” Xith said, “it will be a long day.”

  “I am going home then?” asked Vilmos. “My parents will miss me if I am not home soon.”

  Xith had been busily cutting thin strips of beef. He paused, and then laid the knife aside. As he began to speak, his bright and shiny eyes lost their gleam and there was evident sadness in his voice. “Many, many years ago, I made a promise to a young couple who were very much in love. Five years they had been wed and still they had no children. They so wanted a child. I told them of a girl heavy with child in need of caring hands.

  “The girl, your mother, needed a secluded place to stay, a place where none knew her or that her child was without a father. Death by stoning is the punishment for such a child and mother.

  “I told the couple they must harbor the child’s mother and see that the child entered the world without harm. Afterward the child would be theirs to keep and raise as their own. I also told them there was a price. One day I would return for the child. Until that day the child was in their care—”

  “—I want to at least talk to my mother,” cut in Vilmos. “I’ll tell her I am fine and that I am with you. She will understand, though I am sure she will tell you to make sure I am back before the next Seventhday.”

  “You will not be home before the next Seventhday, Vilmos, or any other day.” Xith paused to ensure Vilmos understood. “Your father was among those from the three villages. I could sense his anguish. He knew the day I spoke of those many odd years ago had come. Your feelings for him are wrong you know. He loves you more than the air he breathes.

  “I stayed with them for three days when I escaped from the North with your mother. I told them the signs to watch for, the signs that would tell them I would return.” Xith stood and walked to the rim of the valley and gazed across the great span. He said nothing for a time, and then turned to look back at Vilmos. “Your magic is what brought me to you, Vilmos, and the reason your father was so exacting. He knew your use of magic would only hasten me to your door.”

  Tears in his eyes, Vilmos looked away from the shaman.

  “Do not be sad, young Vilmos. To be sure, Great-Father and Mother-Earth will not let their sacrifice go unrewarded. Look now to the future and the days ahead.”—There was a distinctive quality to the spoken speech that was consciously inaudible to all save cautioned ears, this was the power of Voice, and Xith played upon its dominion with the touch of a maestro’s hand.— “In your heart, you have always known one day you would leave your home. You know this is true.”

  Vilmos nodded in agree
ment. Closing his eyes, he pictured long black hair touched with gray and tired eyes of hazel.

  Xith turned to fully face Vilmos and stared directly into his eyes. “It is time we started our journey. There is much to do, so very much to do. I would ask you now to come into my service—a sort of apprenticeship. There is much I can teach you of the powers within you. I would have you enter my service of your own free will but there are things I must first tell you.

  “Know that you can stay if that is your intent. Know also, the dark priests will surely find you. They will not be as kind as I. They will bring a sentence of death upon those you love, as that is the law.”

  Vilmos shuddered at the mention of the dark priests. Their task was to purge the land of magic, a task they and those that served them had carried out across the centuries.

  “Or you can come with me now. I will do my best to teach you control over your powers. And though I am not human, I can teach you the way of the Magus.” Xith’s expression became stern. “A very difficult trial awaits in the coming days. In this I need your help, Vilmos. Will you help me?”

  “Lillath will be lonely,” Vilmos said, wiping tears away from

  wet cheeks. “Will they ever have another child?”

  “In time, Lillath will have a child.”

  “What of the dreams, are they gone?”

  Xith stared directly into Vilmos’ eyes. “Have you made your choice, Vilmos?”

  “I wish to go with you.”

  Xith’s face betrayed no emotion, pleased or otherwise. He waved his hand, beckoning Vilmos to follow him.

  The descent into the deep valley took many hours. Picking their way along the broken trail to the valley’s floor was akin to torture. Four times the trail cut into the face of perilously high walls ended, and four times they used ropes to continue the descent. Each time Vilmos muttered under his breath that there had to be other trails and each time Xith responded with, “Perhaps, perhaps not. At any rate this is the path we have chanced upon.” Xith spoke the words with such vigor that Vilmos was sure there was a lesson in the words, but what it was he didn’t know.

  Vilmos craned his neck to see the lip of the wall they had just descended. He was panting, and sweat dripped from his chin. Vilmos sighed and fought to take in one lengthy breath to get his breathing under control. The hard work had been oddly cleansing.

  A soft breeze cutting through the valley brought cool air swirling beside the wall. Vilmos smiled, cool perspiration against his skin felt good. “Where do we go from here shaman?”

  “The northwesterly curve of the valley will carry us to the upper bounds of the Vangar,” Xith said, indicating it was time to begin again. The brief rest was over.

  The shaman spoke as he walked, “From there, it is at most a day’s trek to the plains beyond. We do not want to delay long in the forest. Hearing the news of bear attacks puts me at great unease. For something that surely isn’t human or oreadan has taken up residence there.”

  “Oreadan,” mused Vilmos, turning to regard the shaman more closely. With the high sun at his back, the shaman seemed even more intriguing and mystical. Perhaps it was the wrinkled, timeworn face or the troubled, weary eyes that although the sun dulled them were still of a silvery gray. Perhaps his height, which measured Vilmos’ equal—but Vilmos was a boy with much growth ahead. As Vilmos considered this, Xith’s words struck a chord—nothing was north. “Do you mean to leave Sever? There is nothing but desolation beyond.”

  “That is what you have been told, this is true. But the whole of the greatest kingdom in all the lands is north,” answered Xith, as he slung his leather satchel over the opposite shoulder and changed his walking stick into his left hand.

  “The Alder’s Kingdom.”

  “Yes, the Alder’s Kingdom, known as Great Kingdom to those who dwell there.”

  Methodically, Xith picked up his staff and placed it in front of him with each step. Although well in his years, he didn’t show the signs of it. He didn’t need the walking stick though it looked very appropriate in his hand.

  When it seemed Xith would say no more, he added, “And, the Borderlands are north of course.”

  “Is that where we will go?” asked Vilmos, “I do not want to go there. I have heard strange tales about the Borderlands—evil dwells there,” a direct quotation from his mother. Vilmos was well practiced at recalling such things. His eyes grew wide. “What of the Hunter Clan? What of the Bandit King?”

  “We must first enter Great Kingdom at a place called South Province.”

  Vilmos tried to speak but Xith stopped him. “Sleep now,” he said. Xith waived a hand indicating Vilmos should help him set up camp. They would sleep beneath the stars this night.

  Vilmos learned quickly the deep valley was a harsh place without a warming sun. Soon after dusk, the land lost all its warmth and the cold only worsened during the night.

  Two hours before sunrise, they started their solitary march. By the time the evening sun arrived, they hoped to reach the river at the valley’s center. If they could cross the river an hour or so before nightfall they could, with luck, dry their clothes by the last of the sun’s rays. If they didn’t reach the river in time they would camp on the close shore and cross the river the next morning, but this would mean many wasted hours.

  Xith set a furiously fast pace. Any rest periods this day would be few and short. Vilmos couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the farther north they went the more eager the shaman was to quicken the pace. The sores about his shoulders had grown scabs but still they ached with a dull pain. To him, the pain was a constant reminder of what waited ahead.

  Soon after they came to a river and crossed it, Vilmos got up the courage to again ask questions about where they were going. Xith keyed in on the one that was the most important. “We walk to teach a lesson—your first lesson,” he replied. “The most important lesson of all. There is no simple path to follow. Once you begin a course of action, you must follow it through. Beside, it would be unwise to try to teleport to our destination. You would learn nothing and would most likely—”

  “Teleport?”

  “Yes teleport.” Xith held back a chuckle, knowing a secret yearn the boy was not aware of. “True teleportation, or moving from one place to another through magic, is very powerful magic. You must understand that. It is a feat few magicians may attempt. To fail is to bring your own demise. It is a special kind of incantation that draws heavily upon the threads of the universe. One must also know exactly where they are going in order to teleport.”

  “You don’t know where we are going?”

  “Yes I do, but you do not. For the spell to be successful, to teleport the two of us to where we travel, you must also know precisely the point to which we go.”

  “Then tell me—”

  “—I am afraid it is not that simple. For now, we will walk,” Xith said, using the Voice to end the conversation.

  Xith stopped for a moment to open the leather bag that he had slung over his left shoulder. “Here, eat this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dried fish.”

  Vilmos invoked a sour face in disgust, but he was hungry. He disliked fish and decided after he swallowed the last bite that he especially disliked dried fish. Xith raised a warning hand as Vilmos started to speak again, waving his hands wildly and pointing to the ground, meaning for Vilmos to stoop low.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Vilmos, not moving.

  “Shh!” responded Xith, “Get down.”

  The response automatic, Vilmos sank low and moved to the tall grasses that grew along the river’s course. For a time silence followed, then abruptly his ears filled with the cacophony of hooves. Vilmos hugged the grasses closely and clung to the ground for safety. The sound of hundreds of horses, the clash of whips and voices soon became overbearing. Vilmos had to block them out. He clasped his hands tightly to his ears and pushed vigorously until the sounds were muffled.

  The ground trembled in the wake of
the riders’ procession and in his fright, Vilmos pushed with such force his head began to throb with pain.

  “Make it stop,” Vilmos whispered. The unmistakable rasping and creaking of a wagon passing in proximity to his position swelled to his ears despite the intended barrier. Wanting to run became the most prevalent thought in his mind, but would he be caught? What would they do to him if they caught him? And where was Xith?

  Hesitantly, Vilmos opened his eyes and craned his head up slightly. Wagons were still passing and behind them came many more riders. Carefully Vilmos checked the area to his left and right, his hands never shifting from on top of his ears. Xith was nowhere in his eyesight and now Vilmos was really feeling frightened and alone.

  The voices he heard seemed harsh and cruel, and the cracks of their whips sent shivers down his back. Please, oh please, don’t let them hurt me.

  Seconds ticked by to the pace of his heartbeats. Vilmos prayed to Great-Father to keep him safe. Eventually though the sounds grew distant and as quickly as they had appeared, the men and horses disappeared.

  Before daring to crawl from the high grass cover, Vilmos waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of movement. Hesitantly he rose from his crawl to a half stoop, and stared along the trail in the direction that the sounds had retreated.

  “Xith? Xith? Where are you?”

  Xith’s answer was calm. “Yes, Vilmos, I am with you.”

  “Who were those men?”

  “They are the reason we must travel swiftly.”

  With his eyes filled with fright, Vilmos asked, “Would they have killed me?”

  “There are worse fates than death, Vilmos.”

  Vilmos brushed the grass and dirt from his clothing. “Where are they going? And why are they in the valley?”

  “Most likely they use the valley for the same reason we do. It is safer than the forest.”

  “Why would such a large group fear the forest?”