Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Your brother dies just after moonrise and with him the hope that the peoples will ever be united.”

  “Leave Valam out of this!” Adrina flew into a rage, started kicking, punching, screaming.

  “Let him finish,” Vilmos pleaded. “I want to know.”

  “Yes, indeed,” the Dragon King said. “You’d like to know wouldn’t you little one? Why? Why? Why?”

  Vilmos held Adrina back. They both took a step away from the menacing figure who suddenly seemed more like a creature of the underworld than one of the great dragons. “One truth,” Vilmos said. “You offered.”

  “One truth was given. Heed it as you would.”

  Vilmos stepped in front of Adrina. “And if we open this door you spoke of?”

  “No if’s. You must. The prince dies. The prince lives. You choose.” The Dragon King waved his hands, transporting them out of the tower, taking them to a plateau where they could look down into Great Kingdom from the heavens. He pointed to the tiny dragon Adrina held in her hand.

  The creature threw back its head; fire came out of its mouth. Adrina was compelled to look into the flames.

  Her heart beat faster and faster.

  She saw images within the flames. Valam lying wounded in a bed. Father Jacob and Keeper Martin were beside him. Dead men piled behind them.

  The Dragon King spoke, “The wounds aren’t fatal. Dragon’s milk is, however.”

  “Dragon’s milk?” Adrina asked.

  “Only one cure, only those in the service of the Dragon survive. Will you choose life for your brother or death?”

  “To what end?”

  “Choose.”

  “I will not.”

  The Dragon King lashed out with his tail. They jumped to avoid tripping and falling. “My dears, one way or the other.” He waved his hands. Four doors appeared. Two to the left of Vilmos. Two to the right of Adrina. “One of you will always be mine. Act now to save him, or not. If you save him, he’s mine and you are both free.”

  “If we don’t choose?” Adrina asked. Vilmos added, “What then?”

  “White brings the hope of life. Black brings death. Two as one. Choose or stay. I don’t care.”

  The tiny dragon in Adrina’s hand squawked. Adrina looked down, saw it was looking at her. Behind the iris of its tiny eyes she could see flames—the same flames that were in the Dragon King’s eyes. “Mine,” she said boldly. “I will take this with me.”

  The Dragon King mocked her, saying, “As if you had a choice. Remember, one of you will be mine regardless.”

  There was a flash of lighting, but the lightning went from the ground to the sky. A torrent of smoke and debris exploded outward. Adrina jumped out of the way. When she turned back, it seemed she was alone.

  “Vilmos, Vilmos?” she called out through the smoke. She coughed and sputtered.

  Vilmos groaned, said, “Here, I’m here.”

  When the smoke cleared they found the doors remained. Two white and two black.

  “Doorways to nowhere,” Vilmos grumbled.

  “No,” Adrina said, “It’s a puzzle. White is life. Black is death. One of you is mine regardless. Two as one. Don’t you see?”

  “If you only knew.” Vilmos put his hands to his head. “We choose white then?”

  Adrina stopped Vilmos from going to the door. “Not so fast, I don’t think so.”

  “Black then?”

  “Too easy,” she said, turning about in a close circle. “One of you is mine,” she said to herself as much as Vilmos. “Two as one.”

  “We choose white. We have to. He said so. White is life.”

  “For us, but what about my brother? Is that death for him then?” The tiny dragon she held squawked as if in response.

  “Black then?” she asked, speaking not to Vilmos but to the dragon. The dragon made no response.

  “Black and white,” she said. “We choose both.” The dragon squawked and flapped its wings as if to say yes, yes. Adrina was sure that was the right choice.

  Vilmos gulped, asked. “Which of us chooses black and dies if you are wrong?”

  “I do,” Adrina said stepping up to the black door to her right, grabbing the door handle. “Are you ready?”

  Vilmos moved to the white door to his left. He nodded, asked, “You’re sure about this?”

  “On the count of three,” Adrina said, closing her eyes, preparing herself for whatever might come. She turned to Vilmos, made sure he was ready. “Three,” she said without counting one and two. She opened the door, stepped into darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  Endgame

  People crowded onto rooftops. It seemed everyone carried a torch, lighting up the night sky. The balconies had people hanging over the rail, clinging desperately to their bit of space and vantage point.

  Seth and Captain Brodst circled, back to back. The opposing trio pressed from the outside. Seth had finally gone beyond restraint, vowing he would not hold back anymore.

  The dark orange flames on the rooftops reminded him of the battle at sea. The hungry black flames rising from the sinking ships. The battle that only four had survived.

  Seth lashed out at laterally at Geoffrey, eyeing Shalimar as he moved. He thumped Brodst’s right side, indicating a change.

  The captain turned, lunged at Geoffrey.

  Seth swept around the captain, arcing with his blade. He jumped into the air, kicked out at Shalimar with his left foot. His foot made a clean blow to the side of Shalimar’s head. Shalimar went down.

  Captain Brodst took a step back, hit Shalimar’s head with the butt end of his sword. Shalimar’s head slapped the dirt. He didn’t move.

  Men rushed into the circle to carry him out.

  It was a two on two match. Father and son against the captain and the warrior elf.

  Geoffrey and Nijal squared off against Seth and Ansh. Geoffrey made a quick move to separate the pair.

  The crowd roared.

  Both pairs were visibly fatigued. It became a struggle to make simple attacks and counters.

  Then, as swiftly as it all began, it nearly ended. Brodst fell, taking Nijal with him.

  Seth and Geoffrey had to sidestep to avoid going down as well.

  The two circled.

  Seth took measure of the Lord of Solntse. His movements were catlike and precise. He used the momentary lull to gather his strength, focus.

  The Lord of Solntse’s moves were sluggish. He bled from a wound in his side. He held the mid-length blade like a club.

  Seth studied his eyes, trying to see if it was some sort of trick. He jabbed with his sword, whipped around, turned back, intending on elbowing Geoffrey, only to find the man wasn’t there.

  The lord had ducked out of the way. His blade was coming up to gut Seth from navel to sternum.

  Seth saw the blade, had only an instant to react. He feinted, shifting too far back to support his weight.

  He went down. Geoffrey pounced on him, pummeling him with the side of the blade.

  The crowd grew quiet. The silence was apparent to Seth even as he struggled to break Geoffrey’s grip.

  He stared into Geoffrey’s eyes. Geoffrey clearly wasn’t afraid. He surely thought he held the strongest position, that he was moments from victory. Seth knew, however, that he could reach up and snap Geoffrey’s neck in an instant. The lord would never have suspected Seth capable. He wouldn’t even know what happened to him as his life ended.

  Seth broke Geoffrey’s grip, brought his hands up to the man’s neck. He knew the next heartbeat would change everything. He promised Prince Valam he wouldn’t hold back. But would Geoffrey’s death bring the thing he sought?

  He brought his fists down.

  Geoffrey collapsed.

  Seth pushed the other off, spun around, found his sword. He got to his feet, watched Geoffrey struggle to his knees.

  Seth gripped the sword. He could end this with a single blow. Geoffrey expected it. Seth could tell.

  When Seth d
idn’t move, Geoffrey struggled to his feet. Geoffrey looked at Seth, his eyes seeming to ask, “What are you waiting for? Strike, end this.”

  The image of Redwalker Tae flashed through Seth’s mind. Loyalty to his cause is what he needed, not a dead lord. Geoffrey dead at his feet would solve nothing.

  Seth tossed his sword to the ground at Geoffrey’s feet. Geoffrey stared at Seth, awe written in his expression.

  Geoffrey stumbled, fell forward, clinging at Seth’s waist as his legs collapsed. Seth held him up.

  The two walked from the circle.

  At first the crowd did not roar or cheer. They simply parted. The viewers were as awestruck as Geoffrey had been. Men and women reached out to touch Seth as he passed.

  Chanting began. In the hearts and minds of those who had seen the match the victors were clear. The Kingdom trio had won. They had won in grand style.

  Seth assisted Geoffrey. The two went to the place Valam had been taken. A girl with long black hair followed in the shadows. Seth saw her out of the corner of his eye.

  Seth helped Geoffrey to a bench just inside the door.

  Valam lay near death. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob were gathered around him.

  Valam motioned Seth to come closer. “They told me what you did,” he whispered. “I believe. Word will spread. You will have your army.”

  “Save your strength. Rest,” Seth said wearily.

  The door opened and closed. Seth turned to see Princess Adrina enter. He had felt her presence in the shadows. There had been sadness in her mind and tears in her eyes then too.

  “He dies,” whispered Jacob to Seth, hardly looking up, “I pray, but there are no answers.”

  “Oh, there are answers,” Adrina said wiping tears from her eyes as she found sudden resolve. “There is poison in his veins.”

  “Poison?” asked Jacob.

  “That’s impossible,” Geoffrey said, “Weapons are all checked and cleaned before each use.”

  “Trust me,” Adrina said. “Anything is possible.” She unshouldered the bag she was carrying and knelt beside her brother. She reached into the bag carefully, making sure to grab the tiny dragon just behind the head. “Give me your hand, brother,” she said. She took Valam’s left hand in her free hand as he offered it. “Don’t give in to the fear,” she whispered. “It will be all right, I promise.”

  Geoffrey turned to Seth. “Know this,” he said. “You’ve earned my respect and that of the Free Peoples.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Return to Imtal

  Celebrations followed the competitions as they did every year. It was during the celebrations that the Kingdomers stole away from the great city of Solntse. The return journey to Imtal was brief and uneventful.

  Upon her return Adrina held council with her father, Keeper Martin and Father Jacob. Her father was pleased to learn of the victory, overjoyed to know that Valam would recover from his wounds. No one spoke of the poison lest the whisperers know they had almost succeeded. King Andrew understood. He didn’t need to be told that something grave had almost happened.

  Adrina left the council, speaking not a word about how she had came to be in Solntse. For hours afterward she paced in her room. She was upset, agitated.

  After the ordeal in Solntse she had not been able to vent. Keeper Martin, Father Jacob, and everyone else were always around. She had had no private time, no time alone to come to terms with what she had done.

  A servant had delivered her dinner some hours ago. The food sat on the tray untouched.

  She was shivering, she realized. The air was cold. The thin dress she wore wasn’t helping. She didn’t care. A part of her wanted to catch her death of a cold.

  She had sentenced Vilmos to death, so why shouldn’t she suffer.

  She saw herself in the long dressing mirror as she paced. She almost didn’t recognize the pale, thin girl staring back at her. She hadn’t been eating, couldn’t find the will to eat.

  Spotting the tray of food, she picked it up and hurled it at the mirror. The shattering brought the guards running.

  “Get out! Get out!” she screamed at them.

  They backed out of the room, eyes down turned.

  “Treat people as you want to be treated,” a voice said quietly from the corner of the room.

  Adrina’s eyes lit up. “Myrial? Myrial?” She turned. “Where are you?”

  “First agree that you won’t scream, no matter what.”

  Adrina walked in the direction of the voice. “Why are you speaking such nonsense?”

  “Agree?”

  “Yes, whatever you say. Oh, Myrial, it is so good—” Adrina put a hand to her mouth, held back a scream. She sucked at the air until she could speak calmly. “Who? Who did this to you?”

  “It is my own fault, my own fault for wanting it all. I should have seen—”

  Adrina hushed Myrial by putting her arms around her. “I missed you. How could I have ever let this happen to you?”

  “You didn’t,” Myrial said sternly.

  Adrina helped Myrial to a chair. “You warned me not to meddle. Housemaster Bever did this to you, didn’t he?” Myrial didn’t say a word. Adrina continued, “We’ll pay him back. Every bruise, every pain, accounted for.”

  Myrial turned quiet eyes to Adrina. “He has already paid,” she said, “I killed him.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Dead as can be. He said he made sure you were gone. He was going to kill me. I thought he was going after you next. I could not—”

  “Don’t,” Adrina said. “No need to explain. I don’t want to know. I trust you did what you had to do, as I did what I had to do.”

  “Valam?” Myrial asked. “I heard that he—”

  “He will live. I have seen to that, but at what price?” Adrina said under her breath. She was asking herself, trying to come to terms with what she had done. She spoke loud enough for Myrial to hear as well. She couldn’t carry the burden alone.

  “The dragon mark?”

  Adrina kneeled, looked up at Myrial. “Who told you of the dragon mark?”

  “I hear things,” Myrial said.

  Adrina’s face was screwed up, livid, her eyes filled with pain and rage. The fingers of her hands tensed while the nails dug into her palms. “I did what I had to do.” She cried, her sobs echoed off the walls of the room. “I did what I had to do.”

  “No need to explain,” Myrial said, turning Adrina’s own words back on her. “I don’t want to know. I trust you did what you had to do.”

  Adrina put her head in Myrial’s lap. “Valam will live.”

  Myrial combed Adrina’s hair with her fingers. “Yes, he will. You did what you had to do.”

  “And the elves, have I damned them too?”

  “You have damned no one. Lord Geoffrey brings word of renewed commitment to the Alliance from the leaders of the Free Peoples. Representatives arrive within the week. True, earnest discussions will begin.”

  Adrina looked up at Myrial. “How do you know such things?”

  Myrial said coolly, “Bever’s whisperers are now mine.”

  “He was a spy?”

  “So it would seem.”

  FIELDS OF HONOR

  RUIN MIST CHRONICLES BOOK THREE

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Amir, son of Ky’el, cast the orb at his feet and stepped into a spinning circle of light. “They’ve arrived in the high desert; the field is set. The others will come now. I only pray that all will not be lost.”

  “You lose faith,” the other replied without looking up. “You must be patient. In the end, the paths will come together. It is so written.”

  “Can nothing change the course we have set upon?”

  “You could no sooner catch the moon or the wind. Once set in motion, it will not stop. For now we must wait and watch. Our time will come soon enough.”

  “Would you have me follow them?”

  “Go to the clansman, Ashwar Tae. Tell him it is
time.”

  Amir stepped back into the spinning circle of light, disappearing and reappearing on the windswept slopes of the Rift. He appeared alongside a man on horseback and asked, “Big enough for you?” The man had the disciplined look of a soldier. He had a wide mouth, a long, sharp nose and a head of wildly unkempt copper-colored curls. He was dressed in boiled leather padded with a thick fur lining and studded with many rows of sharp steel teeth. A great sword was slung on his back and a quartet of throwing knives hung from his studded leather belt.

  The man turned to grin at Amir, his few good teeth showing amongst the bad. “Indeed. It is just as you said,” he declared, reaching out to grip the other’s forearm. “You have kept your word, and I thank you for that.”

  “Don’t thank me, Ashwar, thank him.”

  Ashwar turned back to the procession of giants, beasts, and men, thinking to himself that he’d sooner thank the Fourth himself than the King of Titans. The one was the devil he knew, the other the devil in his life—or so it seemed to him.

  For hours, the two watched the procession without speaking further. The giants of the six clans lumbered by—fire and ice, storm and mountain, stone and hill. The beastmen of the Lost Lands, atop mammoths, rode by six abreast, trumpets roaring. Behind them came the Dragon Men of the Ice. Some of the Dragon Men rode great bears—black, white or brown. Others rode great wolves, either gray or white. His clansmen, the men, women and children of Oshywon, came last. Some were afoot but most were ahorse like him.

  In the stories of old, Ashwar had heard of Gatherings, but he never imagined he would see one in his lifetime, let alone help to assemble it. He was excited and frightened at the same time. In the stories, Gatherings marked the end of an age and always finished badly. He wondered how this time could be any different, but he had hope. Hope was all his people clung to at times—hope for a better tomorrow, a better life, hope for a return to the plains and rivers they once knew, hope for justice and retribution, hope for their children or their children’s children if not for themselves.