Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Storm clouds that the early morning had hinted of still loomed in the east, slowly progressing westward with the passing of the day, but it was not clouds that marred the sky and made the day seem drab. It was the dust; and the folded cloth wrapped around his face did little to help matters either.

  The dust blew into Vilmos’ eyes and made it painfully difficult to stay alert as Xith had asked, and it obscured what could have been a clear day—if you could call a blood-red sky with eerie yellow clouds in the distance a clear day. Everything that grew along their path was stunted from the lack of light the eternal dust storms created. Strange blue grasses, bunched up in large, thick clumps, made the horses falter. The wind carried with it the occasional tumbleweed, which, in addition to the unbearable dust, harassed them. Ahead in the distance grew scattered groves of trees, which also appeared to be of the same unhealthy variety of plants as the grasses.

  Progress across the windswept land was slow and it was nearly an hour before they wound their way to the first stand of trees, which, as they passed between, struck Vilmos as oddities. The stunted trees had knotted trunks, thick at the base with sudden spurts of thin and thick in between their wide outreaching arches, and at the very tips of these wide outreaching boughs were sickly yellow-green leaves.

  For a time, it seemed they jumped between the stunted clusters of trees, playing leapfrog with the dead land, then for a long time afterward it seemed the dead land swallowed them.

  A large grove, formed from several smaller groves that many long years of persistent growth had matured, was ahead. In the center of this large grove was a small clearing formed from the odd felling of the largest tree that had for a millennium served as the centerpiece of the grove, but now lay wasted, oddly smitten by the same elements that spawned its growth.

  “Can we stop here for a minute and catch our breath?” asked Vilmos wearily, pulling the mask down as he did so.

  “Only for a moment,” replied Xith. “Even though we’re out of the open, it is best to be a mobile target.”

  “Target for what?” began Vilmos, just as several somethings dropped out of the trees around them.

  Humanoid, or at least human-like, the creatures had tough, scaly, green skin, clawed hands and feet. Vilmos covered his nose with his hand as he breathed in their putrid stench. His stomach churned and it was all he could do to keep for throwing up. Vilmos held his breath, begged at the air for mercy, did the only thing he knew he could, hoping it would be enough.

  Chapter Seven:

  The Awakening

  “Promise you’ll stay?” Adrina asked Keeper Martin. “If he wakes, I want to be the first to know of it. I am sure he will know how to help Galan.”

  Keeper Martin walked Adrina to the door. “Go now. I’ll take care of him.”

  Adrina watched Martin close the door and then took a walk to clear her mind. After a time she found herself in the kitchen, where despite the cooks and the scullions who were in the middle of preparing the evening meal, she made herself a snack and then wandered out to the far terrace to watch the sunset.

  As she walked, she looked about dourly for Father Tenuus. She whispered to herself, “Yes Father Tenuus, I am going to miss the evening meal, but I will say my prayers just the same. You can count on it.”

  She expected to find the balcony vacant when she reached it and was surprised to find her father. He was sitting alone: no aides or pages, not even Chancellor Yi who was always at his side, were present. She knew her father well enough to know that he was best left alone, for he was surely remembering her mother and the great waves of sadness within him could swallow her just as they had many times before. Quietly she turned and walked away, so as not disturb him. She understood the need for recalling the past from time to time, and held the hope that one day her father would come to an understanding with the pain of loss just as she was starting to.

  Shortly after she backtracked across the garden and circled her way up the western tower, she found herself watching the sunset from one of its uppermost stonework windows. From where she was perched, she could turn and look below to see the balcony and her father.

  The changing colors of the setting sun sinking below the horizon dazzled her eye and captivated her heart for a time, and it wasn’t until the sun faded completely from sight and darkness enshrouded her that she turned to look down at the balcony again. It was also then that she felt the presence of someone standing behind her, lurking unseen in the growing shadows.

  She smiled as she turned to see the outline of a man in armor standing stout against the stonework of the tower wall, knowing instantly it was Emel. He motioned her to follow as he moved to the door across from her and out onto the upper bulwarks. She heard the clanging of his heavy armor and the banging of his heavy stave as it struck the broad stones of the floor. And, slowly, she followed.

  The stave, the symbol of the watchman, was a thickly carved piece of hard wood about five feet in length, finely sharpened at one end and blunt on the other. The watchman tapped the stave onto the resonant stone floor as he walked to let those on the opposing walls know he was there, and when he heard the returning taps, he knew his fellows were also still present. They walked at a stately pace and when in step built up a rhythm that circled around the four walls, always starting from the east in the morning and during the day where the sun arose, and from the west in the evening and at night where the sun set. The ritual was an old one from times past.

  Adrina grabbed Emel’s hand, held it for a moment. “Wait,” she said.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “But you don’t have to do this anymore, you are a garrison captain.”

  “I can’t,” said Emel, pulling away. His staff rapped the ground as he marched, partially drowning out her words. “I must earn my men’s respect through diligence and attention to detail. I am not my father.”

  “Nor should any expect you to be,” said Adrina quickly. She reached out to touch his hand. “Only for a moment,” she begged, throwing her words softly to him in an attempt to lull him into listening to her.

  Emel smiled and walked away. He called back to her, “Follow me and we can talk.”

  Adrina ran to catch up. Emel’s staff rapping the floor annoyed her and caused her sentences to come out broken as she attempted to talk between each tap. “Can you… stop… that infernal… noise… for a second.”

  “You know I can’t!” said Emel.

  Adrina stormed away, running back to the stairs and out of sight before Emel could respond. He had been avoiding her since the return to Imtal and that cut into her heart more than anything.

  Adrina returned to Seth’s chamber. She sat beside him for several hours, dabbing a wet cloth to his forehead. She heard his question, but didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know if he could understand her thoughts as she could his. She felt responsible for the attack upon Seth and Galan. She, like the others, had underestimated the fear with which Kingdomers and Southerners alike regarded the two.

  The company had barely left Quashan’ when it happened. The attack came in the middle of the night as they made their way north. The poison in the darts was the same poison that took King Charles. That they could fight its deadly affects this long was surprising. That Seth was winning against the poison and gaining strength every day was clear.

  Seth probed Adrina’s mind for the words that eluded his memory, using her tongue, the Kingdom tongue. Do you know where Galan is? Does she yet live? But even as he asked, the answer came.

  “Your companion lives, but we know not for how long. It is a miracle she has lasted this long. She is very weak but she has great will to live. She must be holding onto the last ounce of her life. Father Jacob is doing all he can to save her. I am truly sorry. I pray for her and you each night.”

  Seth knew Adrina’s words to be true. He would not release the last thread of Galan’s life. Defying the laws of natural order and the laws of the Brotherhood, he held it firmly in his grip and vowe
d he would never let it go. He reached out with his mind to Adrina now, again in the language of her people. You must take me to her! This time the words came easier and he did not stumble over each. His memory grew clearer.

  “No, you must rest for a while yet, then I will take you to her. You must understand…” Adrina paused and her words turned to sobs of regret, “I am sorry. We have tried everything. We didn’t think you’d live. But I hoped and prayed you would, and you have…”

  I have rested too long. You must take me to her! I haven’t the time to explain to you why, you just must!

  The words thrust upon her mind like a hammer, Adrina winced from the sudden pain. She closed her eyes for a moment in a failed attempt to fight back the sting. Weariness swam through her body, fatigue sought to carry her into sleep, sleep she wouldn’t allow. “Not just yet,” said Adrina. She heard the urgency of his plea, but held firm. “Father Jacob is with her and so are many other priests. You can see her tomorrow.”

  Seth’s short attempt at resistance ended as he collapsed back into the bed; he had made it to a seated position and no farther. Adrina leveled a spoonful of warm soup upon him, which he promptly refused. The soup didn’t look appealing and it smelled rather odd.

  Adrina raised a finger and waved it. “If you don’t eat, you will not regain your strength!” She thought she sounded rather like Isador, and perhaps she did.

  Seth was about to argue that he wasn’t hungry, but he decided to the contrary. He would eat first to appease her, and then he would argue his point. The broth did taste good despite its odor, different from what he was used to, yet very good.

  Adrina emptied spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, satisfied to see him eat and happy he appeared to be recovering. Her thoughts wandered after she watched sleep overcome him again. The power of his voice, the voice that could reach inside her mind and seemingly touch her very soul, brought to her wonderment.

  After Seth slipped back into a deep sleep, Adrina left his room, closing the door carefully behind her. Outside the door, the two Klaive Knights waited. She had forbidden them to enter.

  “Don’t you ever tire?” she snapped as the knights took up positions at her side. “Why don’t you return to Klaive and do so quickly!”

  She stormed away down the hall, going at a pace that she knew caused her protectors to labor under their armor.

  As she turned a corner, heading into the old section of the palace, she entered a dark corridor. Ahead in the hallway stood a figure shrouded by the shadowy gloom.

  The knights swept past Adrina protectively as a safeguard—a safeguard that saved Adrina’s life. An instant later, she heard the swish of arrows and one of the knights fell momentarily, but he was quickly on his feet.

  “Long live Oshywon!” shouted the attackers as they swept in from all sides.

  The Klaive Knights boxed Adrina in and circled her protectively.

  One of the attackers approached out of the darkness, saying, “We will not harm her. This is a kidnapping and not a killing. Had we wanted her Highness dead, it would already be so. Lay down your weapons and you will return to your families.”

  The Klaive Knights’ response was the clash of steel on steel. The two moved with speeds that surprised Adrina—the only others she had seen who were so quick were Seth and Galan. But where the elves had skill of feet and limb, the Klaive Knights had skill with a blade, and when a single blade wasn’t enough to hold off the press of attackers, the knights switched to two-weapon combat, taking their great swords in their right hand while using a long dagger in their left.

  Adrina began shouting frantically as the attack went on. “Guards! Guards!” But there was no response and no one came to her aid. She could see the leader of the attackers smiling as he clutched something in his hand—something magical or mystical Adrina presumed.

  Adrina decided then to be daring. The two knights circling her had auxiliary blades at their backs—blades that were made for throwing. She watched, timing her move carefully, grabbing a blade in each hand and then throwing the blades quickly.

  One of the blades raced by the leader’s head as he bobbed out of the way but the second blade—the one the leader hadn’t seen or expected—hit its mark. The leader’s eyes went wide and wild as he staggered and then collapsed.

  The attackers fell back, dragging their fallen comrades with them. As Adrina looked on speechless, the attackers slipped into the shadows of the night. She sank to her knees, trembling.

  She wondered at herself, wondering what it was that she had become. In her mind there was no doubt she had killed the leader, if only by luck. Was she a killer now? Was she now no better than those that attacked her? Could she look at herself in the mirror and not see that face—the face that saw death and the eyes that mirrored it?

  Suddenly, there were hands around her arms and she struggled: biting, scratching, screaming—wild.

  “It’s me, Adrina,” said a voice.

  “Emel?”

  “Yes, I’m here now.”

  “The Knights of Klaive, where are they? Did they chase after the attackers?”

  Emel didn’t say anything for a moment, then he said, “No, they are here.” He helped her to her feet she was still trembling. “Don’t look back. They rest well. To die in service and to know that you’ve saved the one you’ve sworn to protect is the ultimate honor and sacrifice.”

  “They’re dead?” whispered Adrina, sinking to her knees as she suddenly went numb. “What have I done? I gave no kindness and was rude at every turn. How I wish I could turn back time and make it all right.”

  Emel kept Adrina walking: moving away. The palace was alive with the sounds of guardsmen and garrison soldiers scouring the grounds. “No kindness was asked or expected; it is the way of it. You cannot make things right—no more than you can turn back time.”

  “Did they have families?” Adrina asked through great sobs.

  “You know, it’s a good thing I was walking Garette’s watch. My relief had just come, I was just finishing when I saw you racing down the corridor. I followed only moments later, and it was a good thing—a good thing indeed. I don’t understand why you didn’t scream out. There were guards all around.”

  “But I did scream, I screamed and no one heard.” Adrina scowled. “Did they have families?”

  “That’s impossible. I didn’t hear anything—but I saw it.”

  “The bauble—the leader had some trinket in his hand. He was holding it and smiling when I screamed. He may have dropped it when he fell.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We must go back! Grab that torch! We must search—it was round and—” Adrina stopped abruptly, turned around, and then ran back in the direction they had come from. “—it glowed. Yes, it glowed. I remember now! The Lady told me of a link and a key—and a box without sound. I didn’t understand before but I do now. I was the link for Seth that brought him back and the box without sound must be—”

  Emel caught up to Adrina and grabbed her about the arms. “Adrina, you’re babbling. Something must have happened to you. We should go see Father Jacob, perhaps there’s a tonic he can give you.”

  “No, you don’t understand! I see it all now—I understand it all now, or at least I think I do.”

  Emel slapped Adrina across the face, his hand hitting harder than he wished. “Tyr had two daughters, Aryanna and Aprylle, and a wife, Kautlin. Etry’s wife, Ontyv, was with child, their first. If you want to do something, see to them. They were brave men.” Adrina pulled away from Emel and at the last, he added, “Come back to me, my princess. I think madness has beset you.” —and madness and rage were things Emel was coming to understand all too well.

  Chapter Eight:

  Phantoms of the Past

  Vilmos ran for what seemed hours—if not days. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a glimmer of white fangs. The next instant he smacked into the ground in pain. Xith glared at the creature perched on Vilmos’ chest, about to rake his head
from his shoulders. A blue-white flame shot out from the shaman’s hand, striking the creature full force, engulfing it in flames.

  Vilmos tossed the screeching beast off him. It slumped to the ground and did not move again. Feeling helpless, Vilmos looked worriedly to Xith, his body frozen to the ground, his mind not allowing him to move. He could only see the faces and watch. A tingling sensation surged through his arm, perhaps the letting of warm blood across cool skin.

  “Come on Vilmos, snap to it!” yelled Xith as he dispatched another of the creatures. He called out with more words, but frantic howls snatched them from the air.

  A creature dropped down beside Vilmos. Its eyes moved to the ground where its companion lay and it lunged. Instinctively, Vilmos threw up his shield, barely in time as the creature’s claw struck the barrier and glanced off.

  The raising of the shield was as the turning of a switch that brought awareness to Vilmos. He searched for Xith, only to find the shaman was gone. Three creatures circled him, watching his every move, waiting for the right instant to pounce.

  In alarm Vilmos cried out, but no answer came. He was afraid. Something might have happened to Xith, though he didn’t know what or how. He watched the beasts carefully as they came for him one by one, shivering increasingly with each successful reflection.

  “Xith!” he shouted with all the strength of his voice.

  No answer came.

  “Xith, are you hurt?”

  Again, nothing.

  Fear built within Vilmos, if Xith was dead so was he. He couldn’t possibly survive where the shaman had failed.

  More of the creatures came. They surrounded him. Gradually they crept forward. Their stench overwhelmed his senses—it was the putrid odor of rotting flesh. “Xith? You can’t be dead!” shouted Vilmos, “You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had! Come back! Please!”