Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  The two combatants faced off. The winner of the first bout was clearly tired but this did not slow his attacks. A relentless, heavy arm drove the challenger to the far side of the circle, nearly chasing him beyond the line: a disqualifying step for the challenger.

  “Do you see now why no one wanted to compete with this one?” asked S’tryil.

  Vilmos nodded. He understood.

  “He will be chosen if no others challenge him after this bout. He will join the others on the balcony…” Vilmos’ eyes followed the gesturing hand up to the balcony. “I’ve seen him win five battles in one day. He is good, really good. Today should be his last day. Do you see the weariness in his eyes? He is fatigued. He will not last much longer, especially if there is another challenge, but I don’t expect there to be.”

  Vilmos asked, “How do you know?”

  “We’ll have to wait.” The bladesman smiled. “But only a true fool would enter the ring with so weary and fierce a competitor. Instead of quick victory, such a challenger more often than not ends up being carted away to the death house. They say, if you corner a snake and don’t expect it to strike—to kill—you are to blame and not the snake.”

  “Those three?” Vilmos pointed to the men who stood behind the seated lord. “Did they go through the same… the same…?” Vilmos was unsure what word to use.

  “Yes, they did. Do you see the man standing in the middle? The broadest one?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s the lord’s son—”

  “Then he was assured a spot.”

  “I wish that were the case,” said S’tryil. “I wish that were the case.” After pausing momentarily to regard the sure victor in the contest, he continued. “The test of steel lasted six days for that one, a record I do believe. Many believe the same as you, and every year he teaches them the meaning of the word defeat. No, he is by far my biggest concern.”

  Vilmos was silent for a time. The match ended. The one called Shalimar won again; the challenger was carried out. Vilmos pursued no questions about the defeated man. He waited quietly, eyeing the dark, red stain that marred the hard dirt only a few steps away.

  A new challenge never came. Vilmos saw glee in the jaded face that marched from the courtyard.

  A ruckus erupted from the crowd amidst shouts of applause. Two men were shaking a stout, fat man and behind them another pair faced off about to brawl.

  “Stand close!” shouted the bladesman.

  Unsure whether to remain silent or speak again, Vilmos clung close to S’tryil. “What is wrong?” he whispered.

  “This always happens. Someone doesn’t want to pay their marker—and this happens. He’ll pay or he’ll suffer the consequences… Don’t worry, the contest will continue. It always does.” S’tryil turned his eyes back on the vacated circle. Vilmos did likewise. “One more,” whispered the bladesman, not meaning for Vilmos to hear him.

  “What do you mean? What one more?”

  “Well, let’s just say that the matches after next are the ones I came to see.”

  Vilmos, not knowing when to stop, asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t worry, the next combatant is very skilled. So skilled in fact I’m confident he’ll go on with the others, but that’ll be days from now,” said S’tryil. “There, you see the one stepping back into the circle? He is Shchander: quick and sharp. His attack is his best skill, not very good on the defense.”

  “Do you know all the fighters?”

  “Quick, aren’t you?” said the bladesman. “In a way, yes, I do.” He was starting to like to the inquisitive youngster.

  “If he’s not very good defending, how come you think he will be the victor?”

  S’tryil grinned. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Watch the way he jabs. He’ll get two to three thrusts for every one of his competitor’s. I guarantee you. That’s why he’ll win. He never tires; it’s amazing. The sad thing is that most of the would-be challengers know it. No, they’re waiting for the next. The strongest have been holding back. They want a taste of the best, especially after his lordship’s defeat in Imtal last winter. They figure he’s getting old. Gray, if you know what I mean. Me, I don’t think so. He’s been the best for a decade now and, the Father willing, I think he’ll make a comeback this year.”

  Vilmos nodded, which was a sign for the bladesman to keep mumbling on and on. It was strange that he told a boy things that he would not tell any other.

  “Beat by a captain of the palace guard. Can you imagine the thoughts that flooded his mind in that moment of defeat? … Now if you want to see a real test, a combat to the death, there is such a test of steel.”

  “I think the boy has heard enough!” boomed a voice that Vilmos instantly recognized. He knew he was in trouble, though he didn’t know how much.

  “I beg your pardon,” said S’tryil. “Do you know this man, Vilam?”

  Vilmos replied, “Yes,” at the same time Xith asked, “Vil-am?” Then Vilmos quickly said, “Thank you, Greer, for allowing me to stand under your protection. I must go now.”

  Xith and Vilmos hurriedly returned to their rented room to gather their supplies and pack what few belongings they had. Vilmos’ only real possession, the staff Xith had given him, was his most prized, and he carried it downstairs with the last of the supplies. Then he packed the goods into the saddlebags and stood by the horses.

  Xith came out of the inn a few minutes later, but instead of mounting a horse as Vilmos expected, the shaman touched a leathery hand to Vilmos’ bare arm and said, “Stay here. I have one last task to perform. If I don’t return by twilight, leave the city. Go south; take the horses and supplies with you. Follow the Kingdom road. I will find you when I can.”

  Chapter Six:

  A Fitful Transition

  The sun shining on the tall, wide window across from Adrina created an orange glow on the glass panes and lit up the room with a spray of golden rays. She drew out a lengthy yawn; the day was growing heavy on her and for a few fleeting moments she thought of Isador, the nanny who had raised her and brought her to womanhood.

  A light rapping came to the door, and as it opened a moment later she recognized the familiar form of Keeper Martin. Her face lit up when she saw the old keeper and the sad thoughts vanished. She turned away from the window. “The elves?” she asked.

  Martin averted his eyes from hers. “Beautiful sunset, ‘tis a shame if we don’t take a moment now and again to wonder of it.”

  “The elves?” repeated Adrina. Martin moved to the window beside Adrina. Across the room, Myrial placed wood in the fire and Adrina turned to regard the girl. “Myrial?” she called out. “Don’t you have better things to do than to see to the wood in my fire? And where is Garette?”

  Myrial tidied the hearth stack and then started to rebuild the fire. “His captain wishes words with you, my princess. Do not be harsh with Guardsman Garette. He knows not which path to follow.”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Adrina. She turned back to Keeper Martin, “Keeper, certainly you’ve come to talk with me about something?”

  The keeper scratched at the gray in his beard as if he could scratch out the salt in the salt-and-pepper color. “I’ve been doing a great deal of research on the elves since my return. Our lore library in Keep Council has the best records, but many of the records are incomplete and the oldest records burned in the great fire. A lecture in the Great Book speaks of the healing powers of the elves and I wonder at the truth of it. You were there when elf Galan took the arrow out of my side.”

  “I believe, Keeper,” said Adrina, “the correct designation is Brother: Brother Galan.”

  “Most unnatural to name a woman brother,” said Martin. “I suppose I shall get used to it, but in the meantime I have other issues to deal with.” He paused as if thinking deeply. “What can you tell me of that incident, the arrow, for I remember little. It was as if I was in another place and I felt no pain.”

  “I was repulsed and attract
ed by the goings on,” said Adrina, shivering as she remembered. “It was as if the skin around the wound and Galan’s hand suddenly became fluid as she reached into your side. When her hand came out, she held the shaft of the arrow, and there was no blood as I expected. But what does this have to do with what has happened?”

  “Everything and nothing,” said Keeper Martin, again looking away. “I wonder if they’ve perhaps separated themselves from what has happened and they need now to find their way back. Elf Seth is the one who seems to be the strongest. Galan’s light is fading and we think she won’t last to this day’s end. We’ve tried everything—I’ve tried everything I know to do.”

  “I’m sorry, Keeper Martin, I don’t think I saw or know anything that would help. At the end, there was a pink-yellow light and I had to turn away from it. When I turned back, the wound was—” Adrina stopped speaking abruptly, then continued. “With Father Jacob, I heard it. That could be it.”

  “Go on,” urged Keeper Martin.

  “In my mind I heard it and I saw his face. At first I thought it was Prince William that I saw, but it wasn’t. It was Seth. He called out to me and that is what brought Father Jacob and I to the coast.” She put a hand to her mouth suddenly remembering something else. “That is what the Lady spoke of.”

  “The Lady? I’m not following you, child.”

  “The Lady of the Forest, the Lady of the Night. I have met her twice now: once on the way to Alderan, once on the return from Klaive. It makes sense now, it all makes sense.”

  “Slow down Adrina so that I may follow. What of this Lady? Can you tell me more?”

  “No,” said Adrina as she hurried away, pulling Keeper Martin behind her. “Seth is the link and the key. Don’t you see?”

  Xith paused briefly, seemingly to check the air. He eyed the sky, staring out across the horizon from north to south. Apparently satisfied, he urged his mare onward and Vilmos did likewise.

  As the light of a new day gathered behind them, the horses were allowed a brief reprieve. The area of rocky crags and jagged, peaked hills they were in seemed familiar to Vilmos. Xith pointed out that they were still in the hill country separating Great Kingdom from the Borderlands, and from the vantage point atop one of the jagged hills they had come to they could see most of the unofficial boundary that the hills formed.

  It was there atop the jagged hill that Vilmos heard Xith speak the words “Eh tera mir dolzh formus tan!” in rapid sequence and there that Vilmos felt the tremendous raw power of the untamed lands unleashed. A moment later, he and Xith were in the icy bounds of the between—that place between worlds where the souls of the dead lingered before they passed beyond this life. That place without dimension that a mage could use to transition between realms.

  The icy cold and darkness of the between melted away to become something else, and in this place there was no moon or stars, only boundless lines of fire cutting into the ebony of the heavens. At Vilmos’ feet lay a dirt road and ahead beyond a crossroads was a forest of dark trees. The dark trees, glowing with an eerie radiance, called to Vilmos, and in that instant he knew he was in Under-Earth.

  Adrina was fast asleep soon after her head touched her pillow. When she heard Isador enter and push back the curtains, it seemed she had just gone to sleep. She wondered if the old nanny was daft and she opened her eyes only after long hesitation, astonished to find it was already morning—late into the morning by the show of the sun.

  “Good morning, princess,” said Isador cheerfully, though she didn’t feel cheerful today. “Remember, today I leave for South Province and I’ll be departing shortly.” Isador didn’t really want to leave so soon, but winter promised to come early and she had so much to do before then. Her house had not been occupied for some time, and it stood much as she had left it decades ago. Oh, the house had its caretaker, appointed by the king. In fact, many caretakers had come and gone over the years, but the house had not weathered well under the well-meaning hands. She had much to do before winter snows covered the roads. “But not a moment before I’m sure you’ve eaten a good breakfast. You haven’t been eating well these last several days.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes, days.”

  “I just went to bed. The last thing I remember is Father Jacob walking me back and I just went to bed when you came in.” Troubled and trying hard to think, to remember, Adrina recalled only blackness. “What do you mean? You are leaving me, Izzy? You can’t leave. I won’t let you go.”

  The nickname flooded the nanny with happy memories but the memories also brought tears. “You rest and eat, dear. We’ll worry about all that later. I had a long talk with Father Jacob this morning. He is concerned about you, do you know that?”

  Adrina shrugged.

  “Now stay in bed, I’ll return shortly with your breakfast,” said Isador in her motherly tone. “I’m truly sorry, Adrina, but South Province can wait no longer for my return.” It wasn’t the truth. The truth was that Adrina had grown up, Andrew would have no more children, and she was no longer needed.

  Hearing the ring of wonder and promise in Isador’s voice as she said the name of her home region of South Province reminded Adrina of her older brother, Valam. Knowing that her place was in Imtal and Isador’s was now elsewhere, Adrina said nothing.

  Isador returned, carting a tray piled high with food, smelling of delicious and mouth-watering aromas. Servants followed in the nanny’s wake, fluttering about the chamber, dusting and cleaning. Myrial watched from the far corner of the room until they finished and then, like the other servants, she wordlessly departed. She did smile though, and at the door she spun around to show off a new dress.

  Isador settled the tray in the middle of the bed, tucked a cloth napkin into Adrina’s blouse. “You eat now. If there’s one thing I’ll do before leaving today, it’s ensure you’ve eaten. I’ve left orders with Myrial as to your care—should you need it.”

  “What do you think of Myrial?” asked Adrina before she realized that Isador was talking about leaving this very day. “And you are leaving today? Can it not wait?”

  “So many questions mean that you are recovering. It was a dangerous thing you did and you should be ashamed of yourself, causing so much worry over silly elves.”

  “Silly?”

  “Silly,” said Isador. “Elves and humans do not mix and should not mix. It is a simple law of the land. They should keep their affairs to themselves and keep out of ours, I say.”

  “You don’t mean that really, do you, Izzy?”

  “I mean it. I mean every word of it. Mark my words, nothing good will come of this. Queen Alexandria would have chased them out of Imtal and back to the West Deep where they belong.”

  “I am not my mother. Nor are you my keeper!” Adrina was angry and hurt by Izzy’s words.

  “Just as I thought,” said the nanny taking a step back. “How long now? How long has it been?”

  “How long has what been?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, and you just forget those silly notions. Elves and humans do not mix. You are sworn to Rudden Klaiveson and I’m going to ensure you have the grandest wedding ever seen in a thousand years!”

  Breakfast finished, Adrina took Isador’s hand. Isador had practically been her mother these past several years and it saddened her deeply to think of the nanny’s departure, perhaps the reason she had pushed the thought from her mind.

  Adrina helped Isador pack the remainder of her belongings and the two walked quietly to the waiting coach. Dourly, she gave the old nanny one last hug, tears in her eyes, as the bags were being loaded. She would miss Isador very much.

  “Good-bye, Izzy,” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry, princess, I will keep in touch. I promise. You are old enough to take care of yourself now. You don’t need me holding you back any longer. I must return to my home and settle a score with the years and you must go on to lead your own life.” Isador stepped into the carriage. “I must go, princess,” said Isado
r with a heavy heart, “It has been so long since I last visited my home. You are welcome to visit any time you like. A visit in the spring would be grand!”

  “Grand indeed,” whispered Adrina, hiding her tears.

  Neither said any more after that. There wasn’t much else to say. They embraced—the great wrapping, smothering embrace of close kin. Adrina held the embrace for several long heartbeats for fear of letting go. Then Isador signaled the driver to proceed.

  Adrina watched the black back of the coach pull away, wheels spinning, spinning. She was sad, but happy in a way. It was time for Isador to return home.

  Adrina waved until the coach disappeared from the courtyard, still seeing those four high wheels spinning.

  As she turned from the courtyard, she found her father standing not far removed from where she had said her good-bye. His shoulders drawn back taunt, his eyes wide and sullen. Adrina knew in that instant that her father, the king, would miss Isador as well. Adrina smiled, embraced her father warmly, then took his hand and mounted the long alabaster stair that flowed upward to the entrance of the central audience hall.

  Father Tenuus, the palace’s only in resident priest, stood rigid at the top of the stair, doing his best imitation of the stone warriors that embellished the upper deck. His gaze fixed on Adrina as she and her father passed. She had been skipping evening meals and missing his invocatory prayers, and while he wanted to talk to her about this, he remained silent and statue-like as the two passed.

  Father and daughter parted in the hall. Adrina walked more quickly now while Andrew continued at a sedate pace toward his chambers. Adrina pictured her father the way she had seen him once not long ago, in his bed robe and slippers shuffling to his private audience chambers—that was the night Keeper Martin arrived unexpectedly, followed by Father Jacob. Her thoughts quickly became lost and tangled again as she reminisced about the days that followed.

  Upon reaching her room, Adrina changed out of the colorful housedress Isador preferred and into drab riding clothes. Though she never made it to the stables, she wandered the halls content. Eventually, she found herself standing before a familiar door, which she quietly opened. Inside, the warrior elf, Seth, lay near death, but she was confident death would not claim him now.