Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Moving each finger now, separately in an independent flicker, he touched the candles, each with a different spark of energy, forcing them to light in the same instant as one. A cleansing of his inner self allowed him to reflect his will inward while he waited for strength to build—the bright red-orange of the sun, the green, green pastures of open plains, the placid blue waters of a gentle lake and the serenity of life were his only thoughts.

  The power of the world encircled him and he had only to reach out to grasp. He could shape this power, bend it to his desires, caress it with his touch. The will of nature, the will of the very air in which he floated, came to him and he focused, channeling ever so carefully while a pleasant calm passed over him. Suspended in time, touching its boundaries, he held the power of the world.

  He called the wind.

  A breeze, a warm soothing flutter, blew in a fine whisper, increasing until it was a gust, then a gale. He touched the forces of will he held in his beckoning hands; the wind became a raging torrent of swirling force. The candles blazed, burning with such intensity as the wind gathered strength that their heat brought beads of sweat to Seth’s brow.

  The peace of the earth surrounded and took him. It was time.

  Seth cast his spirit to the place of Galan’s moribund soul, the moaning wind becoming a deafening roar. The brightly burning flames became ten tiny suns. Seth leapt beyond.

  Everything stopped, deadly silent. The air, no longer warm to the touch, but cool, cool enough to drive a shiver into one’s heart.

  Seth reached for the last unraveling strand, not knowing if his strength was enough to sustain it. He felt the will of the Father all around him.

  The Father wanted to bring his daughter home, to end her suffering, to carry her away to a better place, but Seth was selfish and did not want to let her go.

  He had held the last strand of her life too long to let it slip away. He held her spirit, success was so near. Two must survive, went the whisper in his mind.

  Father, I implore you! Seth cried out. My need is great! Please hear my call and listen to my words!

  His message fell as a wave smashing against the shore in the dead of night. Matching that of the land as it was rent and hopelessly twisted, his will became the soft grains of sand sucked out by the churning black waters.

  Wallowing in darkness and turmoil, Seth collapsed to the floor at the head of the bed. His journey ended. Galan’s journey ended.

  Chapter Ten:

  A Strangeness in the Air

  Vilmos awoke. He was terrified—and for good reason. He was not alone. The grove was occupied by those that were not of this realm.

  “Dark master, we heard your call upon the wind. The sign is in the east and the peoples of North and South gather. Is it time?”

  Vilmos tried to back away but quickly found he was surrounded. “You are men? There are men in Under-Earth?”

  “Less a man, less men, than once before. Come with us. We will accompany you on your journey and ensure your safety.”

  “I don’t know where I am going. I’m lost. I lost my master.”

  “Lost your master?” The speaker started laughing—almost a cackle. “Lost your way?” He turned to his fellows, still laughing, and then he turned back to Vilmos. “Stranth was lost because of Kastelle and Adrynne, but you are never lost. This cannot be so. The tower awaits. Let us guide you.”

  Vilmos stared at the streaks of fire racing across the skies of Under-Earth. His longing was almost a plea for help but he didn’t cry out aloud—only in his thoughts. He stood uneasily. The robed figures took a few steps away as if in reverence. “Will you hurt me?” he asked.

  “Pain. There is always pain. Pain is all around us; it is within us and in the air we breathe. Pain is to pleasure as joy to sorrow. So what is hurt?”

  “But you will help me find my way? And you will take me to wherever it is that I want to go?”

  The hooded ones moved around Vilmos, circling and chanting. The one speaking never moved. He stood still.

  Vilmos gathered his belongings—what little he had—still eyeing those around him. “Do you have a name?”

  “Servants do not have names. They are best nameless.”

  “Do you have names?” said Vilmos indicating the group with his hands.

  “Think of us as your shadows. Your will is ours. We will walk with you to the end of your path.”

  “I don’t think the boy needs shadows!” said a voice in the distance.

  Vilmos turned, as did the hooded ones. He saw a mass of silvery armor, a great clubbed weapon held in an outstretched, mailed fist. The armored warrior seemed to be as tall and large as the trunk of a tree.

  Vilmos gulped as he looked down the length of the spiked club—a club that was nearly as long as he was tall. Vilmos backed away. The robed figures filled the space between him and the armored warrior.

  “You are making a mistake,” said the warrior. “Human meat just doesn’t taste as good as it used to. I’m not going to eat you. That is a promise, but what of your fellows? What are their plans for you? Do you know?”

  “They are friends. They have come to help me along my path. I will go with them if it is all the same to you.”

  “It is not all the same to me—I assure you! I have a great deal to do this day, so make your decision and be quick about it! You have a lot to learn if you are to get along here. Do you know what they will do to you when they find out you are not the one?”

  “He is the one,” hissed one of the hooded men. “The sign is in the east and he has come. We have come for him; he is ours. Leave us now or we will do what we must to protect that which is ours!”

  “You will now?” The warrior swung the great club around his head. The hooded ones cowered away. “Are you so sure of yourselves?”

  “Good morning, Myrial,” said Adrina quietly as she stretched through a waking yawn. “What hour is it?”

  “Late in the day, my princess. You’ve had several would-be visitors already.”

  “News of the elves?”

  “Not that anyone has said but I do believe you have a visitor waiting. He may have some news.”

  “He?” asked Adrina, sitting up, turning to the bedside.

  “Quite handsome I must say. I do find him striking, but I think he has eyes for you.”

  “Myrial, you play with me,” said Adrina putting on her slippers and going to the mirror. “You know I’m betrothed to Rudden Klaiveson and it is as it should be. My father is pleased and will dower all the lands between Heman in the north and River Opyl in the south. There’s a promise of a grand palace as well—but as to that I’ll have to wait and see.”

  Myrial started combing Adrina’s hair. “You care nothing of palaces and land holdings—I know this, so don’t try to make me a fool. What does your heart tell you? That is the question you must answer.”

  Adrina stood and went behind the changing partition. Her clothes had already been carefully laid out. “What of the household? How are you managing? I’ve heard good things from the cooks.” There was a moment of silence and Adrina repeated, “I’ve heard good things from the cooks.”

  “I think the cooks are right,” said a strong masculine voice.

  “Emel, is that you?” shouted Adrina. “Myrial? …Myrial, I’m not finished!”

  “Yes, Emel. Don’t worry I’ll keep the appropriate distance. I don’t want any rumors—but I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been pacing the hall for more than an hour.”

  “Do you have news of the elves?” asked Adrina as she straightened the dress about her shoulders, emerged from behind the partition.

  “No news of the elves.” Emel glanced to the window, to Adrina. “I’m being sent to the Territories: Krepost’. It is my father’s wish.”

  Adrina’s face turned pale. “Is this a punishment of some sort—like High Road last summer? I’ll speak to your father and to mine. This isn’t right!”

  “No Adrina don’t,” said Emel. “This is s
omething I must do.”

  “Why?” cried Adrina, throwing her slippers at him. “Did you tell someone of the orb? Does this have to do with the attack? It wasn’t your fault. Don’t they know that?”

  Emel turned away. “I was the ranking officer on watch. It was my fault regardless and I have accepted responsibility. Exile in the Territories is far less a punishment than the alternative. My shortsightedness nearly cost your life and the king—”

  “My father? What does my father have to do with this? If he has any part in this, banishment has less to do with the attack and more to do with—”

  “Your father has nothing to do with the orders. It is my father, but it is my obligation as well. I have brought shame and dishonor.”

  “Shame and dishonor?” shouted Adrina. “How could anyone have known of a secret attack? Did you show them the orb? It has powers that will prove your innocence—magical powers that create a ring of silence. I know this to be true, I was there.”

  Emel walked to the window. “Listen to yourself. Do you know how that sounds? No, I’d rather the alternative. It is my duty to go and I will go. I’ve just come to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye with your back to me? Look me in the eye Emel and tell me you don’t believe!”

  Emel turned to face Adrina. “I don’t believe. Nothing good will come of talk of the orb. I am sure of this as I am sure of no other thing. The Territories aren’t so bad—I’ll be Captain of Krepost’ Guard! It’ll be a grand adventure…”

  “Adventure? No one comes back from the Territories—no one!”

  Emel forced himself to smile. “Well maybe no one wants to come back. Maybe once they get there they find it’s such a grand place that they just don’t want to leave—maybe that’s the real secret.”

  Adrina was quiet and just when she was about to speak Myrial entered. “Adrina?” Myrial called out. “Sorry to interrupt but the lady elf is asking for you. I told Keeper Martin I would come straight away.”

  “Galan? She’s awake?”

  “Yes—and eating!”

  Adrina’s face showed relief and surprise. She turned back to Emel. “Go!” Emel told her. “I leave tomorrow morning at first light. There’s a supply caravan heading east and I’ll travel with it beyond the Wall of the World.”

  Emel handed Adrina a small leather pouch. “Take this! I won’t need it.”

  “The orb?” whispered Adrina.

  “Maybe you’ll have better luck with it than I,” said Emel as he turned away and left Adrina’s room.

  Adrina wrapped her hand about the leather pouch and then grabbed Myrial by the arm, saying, “Let’s go! I’ve waited days and weeks for this!”

  Emel watched Adrina go; his heart went with her. “It is done,” he whispered as he walked away in the opposite direction.

  A figure in the shadows whispered, “You have done right; this is as it must be. You know what you must do next—don’t delay any more than necessary. I’ll wait outside the city, on the morrow.”

  “On the morrow,” whispered Emel without looking at the speaker. He walked through the palace halls, leaving through the side entrance and making his way to the officer’s quarters within the central keep. Although the old keep was a part of the palace structure, it was separated by courtyards and gardens.

  Once inside the keep Emel passed his quarters without stopping. He went instead to his father’s official station within the keep. “Captain Brodst,” he said as he made his way through the outer door unannounced. “I’ve come to speak with you.”

  “So official,” said his father, looking up from his papers. “Please come in and sit down.”

  “I’ll stand if it’s all the same,” said Emel looking about the room. He leaned to the right and closed the inner office door. “I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter.”

  Ansh Brodst looked up from his papers again. “Requisitions, hate them,” he said. “But what would we do without provisions and proper weaponry?”

  “I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter,” repeated Emel. Ansh Brodst put down the papers and the pen he had been using. “I’ve come to resign.”

  “Steadfast in this decision, are you? If that’s your mind, I’m not the one to change it. You are making a mistake, of course. There’s soldier’s honor and duty, and then there’s pride. If it’s pride that’s bringing this on then it is best that you resign. No room for arrogance, self-importance and conceit in our business.”

  Emel bit his tongue to keep from saying something he knew he’d regret. When pain cleared his thoughts, he replied, “No father, not pride. For me, you’ve made the favor of exception. Any other would have been banished—sent to the Territories or worse.”

  “Sit and lets discuss this—” It was an order not a request. Emel sat as his father spoke. “—Seventeen generations have served and to have the line broken now for such a thing? I think there’s an easier way to accept responsibility—if there’s a need for accountability and that should’ve been for me to decide. If this is about last spring, I think I—”

  “This isn’t about last spring. I didn’t know what I was doing or thinking then, and the summer did clear my thoughts. I need distance or I may…” Emel’s voice trailed off.

  Ansh Brodst nodded solemnly in understanding. “Distance is sometimes a good thing. Take a leave of absence, surely one is deserved after all that has happened—” Again it was an order and not a request. “—it’s settled then, is it not?”

  Emel persisted though he knew better. “Leave of absence? I may not return—I’ve a mind not to return.”

  “You’d have to ask yourself then if it was worth it—if she was worth it. I can tell you from experience that it is—and isn’t. But you shouldn’t forswear your future for a notion that can never be real. Where will you go on your leave?”

  “The Territories,” whispered Emel, his thoughts elsewhere. “I have some business in the Territories. I leave tomorrow at first light.”

  “With the supply caravan? That’s a dangerous business. You’d be better off going alone or with a small company of guardsmen.”

  Emel stood. “Dangerous if one is a fool.”

  “Many men have been a fool then,” said Ansh Brodst, standing as well. He clasped his son about the elbow. “Safe journey, may you find what it is you seek.”

  Vilmos awoke in a warm, soft bed. He peered around the room warily as a knock came to the door, soft and then hard, but he didn’t move to answer it. After a couple more raps, he heard the rattling of something being set onto the floor, then the sound of footsteps as someone walked away. He waited cautiously for the footsteps to fall away and then he opened the door slightly. On the floor he found a tray containing a bowl of murky soup and a large chunk of black bread covered with some sort of jam or honey. Also on the tray was a pair of candles, with one lighted and placed into a wooden candleholder of sorts.

  He eagerly picked up the tray and carried it back into the room. He placed the candlestick on the small table next to the bed and sat down, preparing to eat. To his delight, the soup was a wonderful combination of beef and vegetable, and the jam on the black bread was mouth-watering.

  As he slurped the last bit of soup from the bowl and placed the bowl back onto the tray, he noticed something odd: a small object, a tiny wooden figure painted white with a crown adorning its head. Vilmos thought it odd, but without really thinking about it, he placed it on the table next to the candle.

  A warm, full gut brought the yearning to sleep but the aching of his shoulder and side did not go away. It was then that he saw the bandages over his wounds and recalled the happenings of the previous day.

  Some hours later the last rays of the setting sun filtering in through the window awoke him. He crossed to the window, pressing his face against the cool, cheerless glass, and stared out into the growing darkness. The sun slowly disappeared below the horizon.

  Hours later, the glimmer of a dull, yellow light brought him to the window again.
A large figure carrying a lantern completed crossing the narrow street below and disappeared into an adjacent building. A shadow of light could be seen through the opposite windows, meandering back and forth as the figure crossed to a staircase and faded from sight again, ascending into what must have been an attic, since the structure had only one apparent floor.

  He mused momentarily about sneaking out of his room to check the surroundings. Deciding to do just that, he opened the door slowly, quickly realizing he was in an inn. The upstairs had an odd number of rooms: three rooms on either side of the hall marked 1 through 6, and another marked 7 at the far end.

  He listened at each door along the sides of the hallway. Hearing no sounds of occupancy, he checked the door handles. The rooms were locked. The room at the end of the hall appeared similarly empty, though a faint light shone under the door. Interested, he stooped down to peek through the keyhole; unable to see anyone in the room, he put an ear to the door.

  “May I help you?” said a burly voice from behind him. “You must want of something to be sneaking around in the dark. Is this the way you behave when you think you are alone?”

  Vilmos jumped up, smacked his head on the door handle. He winced while rubbing the top of his head. “Sorry, I dropped something,” he said, quickly adding as he turned around, “How did I get—”

  His words cut short as he stared in horror at the abhorrence before him. The creature was well over six feet tall and so large-boned that it scarcely fit into the hall. Its skin was scaly with a yellow-green tinge.

  He tried to run back down the hall, but he couldn’t quite squeeze past the hulking figure fast enough. Caught by the scruff of his shirt, he struggled to break free.

  “What’s the matter, never seen a troant before? I’m not going to hurt you—I don’t eat people. Human meat just doesn’t taste as good as it used to.”

  The creature grinned, its teeth glistening yellow-brown in the torchlight, then shouted, “Boo!” and Vilmos nearly wet himself.