Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Remembering the rock fight he and Xith had had during the magic shield lesson, he smiled. He tucked the stone into his palm, held it there as a good luck charm. He took to tossing it up into the air and catching it again every few steps as he went. Soon after he became lost in his thoughts.

  A darkly robed figure passed in front of him. He let the stone drop to the ground. A sensation touched his mind, gnawed at him. He couldn’t quite place what it was. Perhaps it was telling him to run but his mind was too disoriented to realize it.

  He ran to catch up with the robed figure. The other looked like a priest. The shadow walker in his mind had seen their kind before. Vilmos had feared them once; he did not fear them now.

  Vilmos followed the priest until it became obvious that he was doing so. The priest turned to face him. He shuddered as he glimpsed a hornmarked face seemingly etched from rough hewn alabaster within the dark recesses of the cowl.

  “Boy, go away. I have no time for you…”

  Vilmos withstood the glare, stared straight back at the priest with unmoving, unyielding eyes. “I wish to serve.”

  “The priesthood has no need of such. Return to your master.” The dark figure spoke tersely but without anger.

  “I am not a slave, I serve Shost,” Vilmos said, the words coming to his tongue as if from another.

  The priest grabbed Vilmos, hiding the boy’s face in the recesses of his cloak as he slipped into an alleyway. The priest didn’t say much more after that and neither did he release his iron grip. When they were several streets away the priest stopped, put Vilmos down. He pulled Vilmos by the scruff of the collar after him then, and through street after street they marched.

  Valam walked rapidly, excitedly through the halls. The disappointment of the morning’s downpour faded. His first stop would be the audience chambers to talk with his father and advise him that the plans for departure were completed, and then he would look up an old friend. He had been so wrapped up in affairs that he had not seen Timmer since his return. He wondered how the old swordmaster was getting along, and more importantly, how the years were affecting his sword arm.

  As Valam was being admitted to his father’s audience chamber he took note of outsiders in the room. Apparently Chancellor Yi saw and understood his confused expression. The chancellor hurriedly excused himself and escorted Valam into the hallway. “They are the delegation from the Minor Kingdoms.”

  “What? When did they arrive?”

  “There is no time for that, young sire. You must find Brother Seth and send a runner for Captain Brodst.”

  “Captain Brodst?”

  Chancellor Yi gripped Valam’s sword arm with his outstretched hand. “Trust me on this, young sire. Do so quickly, tell him to come equipped.” Chancellor Yi turned to return to the audience chambers.

  The urgency sensed, Valam did not delay. He raced through the halls, found Seth, and sent a summons to Captain Brodst. Seth was not far from the place they were supposed to meet for practice. Valam did not have to tell Seth something was wrong. Seth could sense it. The two quickly made their way back to the audience chambers.

  Captain Brodst arrived shortly after Valam and Seth. He replaced the guards who normally stood just outside the door with two of his personal sentinels, while he took a position just within the door. The captain’s timing was smooth and the outsiders only noted the entrance of Valam and Seth. Seth wordlessly told Valam of the naked rage in the minds of the outsiders. He read their hatred and their hatred was not only for him as an elf, it was for King Andrew, Valam, and everything Great Kingdom represented.

  Chancellor Yi made the customary introductions. Valam and Seth were seated near King Andrew. The tension in the air was clear. Something was about to happen.

  The small-statured Chancellor de Vit stood in front of the emissaries from Vostok. He set his sullen eyes on Seth, then with unbroken stride returned to the point of the conversation he had been in before the interruption. “King Jarom will settle for nothing less than a full forum to discuss the issue at hand.” So saying, he turned and spat at Seth. “Remove the elf from my sight at once. I will not be in the same room as one of these.”

  Outraged, Valam would have jumped from his seat and tackled the chancellor if it had not been for King Andrew’s stern hand admonishing him. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, vowing that if the chancellor insulted his father, the king, he would kill the other where he sat.

  King Andrew spoke openly, “By a full forum you mean a gathering as outlined in the Alliance Treaty?”

  “King Jarom, East Warden of the Word, ruler of Vostok, will not concede otherwise.”

  King Andrew gripped Valam’s left wrist as his face showed his anger. The king’s grip, surprisingly firm for a man of his years, might have crushed the bones in a lesser man’s arm, but Valam barely noticed. “How long will it take Jarom and the others to make the journey to Imtal?”

  “It is King Jarom, and it will take at least another full month,” snapped the chancellor.

  Valam broke free of his father’s grip, jumped from his seat and lunged across the table. Even Seth seemed surprised at the speed with which Valam crossed the eight foot stretch of oak. Valam’s fist knocked the chancellor to the floor, and as the man fell Valam followed him to the ground. Unlike the chancellor, who didn’t move after hitting the floor, Valam landed on his feet.

  His fist poised to strike, Valam whirled around to face the remainder of the delegation from the Minor Kingdoms. “The next insult brings death, make no mistake, you will die by my hand.”

  Captain Brodst dragged the chancellor by the scruff of the collar out the door, telling the guards to shackle him and throw him into the courtyard. King Andrew almost reflexively said something, yet did not. A faint smile did touch the corners of his lips.

  The other delegates babbled apologies. The head delegate from Yug was the first to speak above the others, “I am sorry, that is the word also from King Alexas.” Valam cast angry eyes at the speaker. The man quickly modified his statement saying, “I mean, Your Majesty, King Alexas wishes a gathering to discuss the matter at hand.”

  “How long?”

  Another delegate from Vostok moved into Chancellor de Vit’s vacated place near King Andrew’s high-backed audience chair and spoke, “I am afraid, Your Majesty, that we will require at least a month to make preparations. King Jarom wishes all the kings to make the journey together.”

  “A month?” said Valam angrily, “And you bow to Jarom like dogs?”

  The man sank down in his chair, swallowed a lump that had just welled up in his throat. “That is what I was informed, Prince Valam, Your Royal Highness. I only relay the word. Do not judge the messenger by the words.”

  This is a counter, they know of your plan to journey to the south, imparted Seth to Valam.

  How? thought Valam to himself, using the learned technique which allowed Seth to reach into his mind. We only recently made those plans.

  Valam eyed the delegate from Vostok. It was clear now that Chancellor de Vit had been but the messenger and this man speaking now held the strings. The purple silk of the robe and the gold embroidery from his triangular hat to the tips of his curly toed boots spoke of the delegate’s wealth and standing in the southern kingdom. The delegate was obviously of noble blood and perhaps even a royal cousin of Jarom.

  They’re planning something…

  What? thought Valam.

  Valam pointed a steady finger at the delegate, said coolly, “Action is required and requested, a month to prepare is not acceptable.”

  The audience chamber was still and silent. All eyes were fixed on Valam.

  I see a city… A large city… A square with armed men…

  An attack? thought Valam.

  I’m not sure but I do know they don’t want Kingdomers in the… Seth’s thoughts trailed off. This one, this man. He’s the one, the one who saw to the murders of your envoys. I see it in his thoughts…

  Valam turned to face
his father. “With your permission, sire?”

  King Andrew nodded his head.

  “Captain,” charged Valam as he exited. “Kill the next man who dares insult any Kingdomer or elf.”

  He patted the captain knowingly on the shoulder. In a way it was an apology that he granted. In all the excitement and preparations, no one had enlightened the poor captain and now it really did seem that the whole of the kingdom had forgotten his deed. The celebrations had been cancelled and Imtal Proper was in turmoil. Valam lingered a moment, delving beneath the sullen eyes that stared back at him.

  “Gladly, Prince Valam, gladly,” said the captain as if to end the thing that passed between them unspoken.

  Chapter Four:

  Boundaries

  Seth studied the training sword, holding it outstretched. The metal felt cold and awkward in his hand. He watched how Valam held the weapon, imitated the hold but the grip didn’t feel right.

  “On guard!” yelled Valam as he lunged with his blade. The blow knocked the weapon from Seth’s hand.

  Seth picked up the sword. Valam showed him the correct stance and grip, then took the offensive. He parried inward, striking full against Seth’s blade, which held firm now.

  Valam shuffled back along the floor, parrying in and out, giving Seth a feel for the balance and movement involved in swordplay. Seth was quick to adapt, to change with Valam’s movements, but was still susceptible to harsh thrusts which stung and often ripped the hilt from his hands.

  “Judge how tight you need to grasp. Remember, firm, don’t strangle. Work with it, anticipate your opponent.” Valam moved through the various steps, thrusting high and low. Valam’s thoughts were only on the attack, thrust, parry and block.

  Seth followed each movement. He watched the strategy, learned the timing involved. Tension eased from his thoughts as his mind opened. He waited only for Valam’s next move, countered as necessary.

  For the next phase of training, Valam took Seth to a two-handed stance. He showed Seth how much power could be gained in the attack as well as the defense, although at a cost to maneuverability.

  My grip, can you show me again? asked Seth as he defended.

  Valam paused to show Seth the proper two-handed grip, then executed a series of simple thrusts, demonstrating how one could use the tip of the blade to impale and rend. Afterward he switched to the defensive, allowing Seth to practice his thrusts.

  “Watch your stance. The way you stand is as important as your attack. Place your feet wider apart so you have a good center of balance. It will allow you to move more easily and to react better in any direction necessary.” Valam went through a series of fancy movements to the right, left, forward, and then back. “You see, balance is the key. If your balance is bad, your attack will be poor.”

  The two practiced for hours. The clash of metal on metal rang throughout the courtyard. Seth enjoyed the activity as did Valam.

  Their thoughts became detached from everything around them. They had only the weapons in their hands.

  “You see,” Valam said, lunging forward, “I knew you would like it.”

  Yes, it is interesting. There is an art to it, replied Seth as he easily blocked, then swept in for an attack. Would a lighter blade allow for more mobility?

  “Definitely, we train with these heavy blades for a reason.” Valam countered with a low thrust, then a parry. “Seth, can I ask you something?”

  You don’t need to ask, groaned Seth, straining as the weight of Valam’s blade descended upon him. Seth pushed Valam away, forced the prince to parry against his thrust.

  “When I first handed you the sword you acted as if you had never seen one before yet in the images from your homeland I saw numerous weapons.”

  Seth switched from thoughts to words. “It is the workmanship of the blade. It is so different from our own. The metal is different, dull and black. I remember ours as bright silver, and it is also the first time I had ever held a weapon.”

  “That is strange for me to conceive,” Valam said through clenched teeth, “I have had a weapon of one sort or another in my hand ever since I was old enough to carry the weight.”

  Seth started to pass a thought on to Valam, paused to concentrate on his movements and steady his balance. “The Brotherhood doesn’t use weapons. We rely on our skill of movement in weaponless combat. The techniques can be quite effective, as you’ve seen.”

  Valam’s assaults grew quicker, harsher. “But how can one fight an enemy who uses a skill which we do not possess?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Seth confused, reading mixed emotion in Valam’s words.

  “None of my people have your skill of hand. We cannot hope to match you on the field.” Valam lunged at Seth with great vigor.

  Seth’s expression grew rigid. He stopped abruptly; luckily Valam pulled his thrust back at the last moment. Seth contemplated the question for a space, he understood Valam was agitated and he wanted to respond correctly. Valam, it is not so. I have explained to you about the Brotherhood, only a select few are chosen, as it is with our enemy, and though the will of the land is in every living thing, few can harness those powers as we do. We would not have come if the need was not great. Queen Mother has seen the paths and she knows what will come without your aid.

  Seth chose swordplay as an alternative to further explanation, then changed the subject. Are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?

  “Just probe my thoughts, you will anyway.”

  “That’s not fair, what has happened? This is not like you, Valam. Has something happened in council that you’re not telling me about?”

  Valam slowed the attack to respond, shifting quietly while he spoke. He countered Seth’s jab. “The delegates left Imtal immediately after speaking to my father.”

  “They withdrew the offer of support they had hinted of, did they not?”

  Valam lowered his sword, took a step toward Seth, speaking in a hushed tone, “This must stay between you and I, not even Adrina must know of this.”

  “Agreed.”

  “King Jarom requested a gathering. It means he seeks the seat of power which Great Kingdom has always held.”

  “Or he has some other plan.” Valam pushed for Seth to explain. Seth turned away. “Tell me, Prince Valam, what does the winner of this competition get?”

  “Beyond respect?”

  “Beyond respect.”

  “Is there anything beyond respect? Don’t you see? Your cause needs popular support and there is no better way to gain such support. People from all corners of the land and beyond attend.”

  Then we practice for the competitions.

  “No, we practice for ourselves,” Valam said striking out with his sword. “I await my father’s decision.”

  Vilmos’ feet hurt from the rocks underfoot and because of the breakneck pace of his abductor. Several times he told the priest he wouldn’t run but the priest, not listening, only told him to keep quiet or he would stuff a gag in his mouth—a thing Vilmos was starting to believe would happen.

  Eventually they stopped while the priest gathered his bearings. Afterward, though, it was back to the double-time march through the streets, passing almost to the outskirts of the city. Vilmos wasn’t sure which side of the city they were on. It was difficult for him to get his bearings in Under-Earth as there was no sun to mark direction. It did seem, though, that he was on the opposite side of the city from where he had entered.

  The priest stopped, crossed the street, pulled Vilmos behind him. The building they stood in front of was different from those around it. It was built with white stones instead of black and had a single spire that rose into the sky hundreds of feet, making it the tallest building Vilmos had seen in the city.

  The priest pushed Vilmos through the front door, sending him sprawling into a darkened antechamber. Vilmos lay still, unmoving. The antechamber’s windows were coaled over and allowed no natural light to filter in. He prayed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, won
dering what the hand attached to his collar would do next.

  The room swayed as he was raised from his haunches and thrust into another room, one lit by a conglomerate of lanterns whose dull, yellow spray scarcely touched the darkness. The room held a sense of foreboding. A group of darkly clad men sat at a table talking in hushed tones.

  Afraid to move, Vilmos lay motionless as the group of men gathered around him, staring down at him. He knew that beneath the shadows of black the hooded robes afforded were eyes that held loathing. He could sense it.

  “Can you believe it, Talem?” hissed his abductor. “All this way to find a mere boy.”

  “Are you sure?” answered Talem, lowering his hood to reveal his face as he did so.

  Vilmos gasped. If there was one thing he knew for certain about the priests, it was that the hood was not to be removed. He had never seen so many of the priests in one place. At most he had seen two of the dark priests together and even that had been only on one occasion, an occasion that had sent his father into a hysterical frenzy.

  “Yes, I’m sure. He was where you said he would be and he followed the lure.”

  “I don’t know,” said another, prodding Vilmos with sharp, stubby fingers. “I see nothing of the mystics, only a boy. Lord Boets will be displeased.”

  The priests started to debate over him as if he was some kind of prize. They decided to take a knife to him to see if that sparked a response.

  He watched a priest withdraw a shiny blade from a black sheath. The priest’s steady hand brought the blade closer and closer.

  Terror gripped his mind, holding him while the blade’s fine edge sliced into his arm. The icy sting of pain and the touch of his own warm blood came to him as through a vision. He did not flinch, whimper, or offer anything for them to gawk at. It was as if he looked in on another’s dream.

  “Go ahead, kill him,” said one of the priests, disappointment in his voice.

  Another objected, “Why? He’s not the one.”

  “We can’t just turn him to the streets. We have to kill him.”