Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Oh Adrynne, why? he asked himself as he disappeared into shadow.

  Chapter Five

  The rough lands in the border country drained their strength as they trudged day in and out through jagged, rock-strewn land that grew steadily rougher and wilder the farther the three traveled. It seemed that they had nothing to look forward to save the mountains marking the boundary to the northern lands inching closer and closer, seeming increasingly insurmountable. During the day the land was hot and parched; at night it was windswept and frigid. The few scrub trees that dotted the earth provided only meager fires, which only tempted them with warmth.

  The sound of animals scurrying about in the night was the most prevalent thing on Vilmos’ mind. Carrion beasts occupied the skies of the day, ever vigilant in their search for the end of life and the beginning of their next meal. It was these creatures that Vilmos imagined when the night came, edging closer and closer, standing over him when the frequent clouds brought shadows across his eyes.

  Thinking of carrion beasts helped him forget the memory of fighting his mirror-self. Each move he made, his other self made the same move, and the struggle was relentless. Where his two selves touched they merged, blending one into the other, sometimes twisting and bending one around the other, or warping and fusing so the lines between them blurred. Eventually, always, the lower torsos became one and it was only the upper bodies that were two.

  As they locked arms and pressed against each other, each trying to gain control over the other, the two chests fused, bringing a terrible pain. The white-hot pain moved from his navel to his neck. Afterward it was only the two heads facing each other, looking out from one body, that remained separate one from the other. Relief came for an instant when his two selves faced each other for a final time. As the two heads merged, they echoed one within the other until finally both selves acquiesced and struggled no more. A flood of memories followed, both ancient and new, and then, like now, Vilmos was left with what little he could grasp of it all.

  Xith walked beside Vilmos and called out, “You have that look again.”

  “I know I must,” Vilmos said truly, “But how can a boy be a man and a man be a boy? And if—”

  “It will all balance out. Much of what seems new will also seem familiar.”

  “Eh ho to we, to no wa,” Ayrian said on wing from above them, “You are reborn, as are all things.”

  “A to no ma, as are you,” Vilmos replied reflexively.

  Ayrian called out in what sounded to Vilmos like laughter as he thrust out with his great wings and raced ahead.

  The day passed, as did many others. Vilmos started to think that the Borderlands were aptly named. The land itself was unpredictable; at its southerly skirt lay jagged hills that seemed to flow up the western perimeter and meld into the rolling hills that formed its northerly bounds, yet in between were arid lands that went from flat, endless wastes strewn with stunted growths to odd, patchy lands that seemed to be heaved up from the darkest bowels of the earth itself. It was the latter that the trio traversed presently. Vilmos cringed and cursed as they passed yet another abysmal fissure around which were allayed great juttings of rock that looked as if the earth had spat them out.

  There was obvious tension in the air; Vilmos sensed it, though no one spoke of it. He recalled now the previous night’s discussion, one that the shaman and the eagle lord had not meant for him to hear. The two spoke briefly and in hushed tones of the Hunter Clan. Apparently, Ayrian had spotted a small group of them the day before; yet as far as he could tell they were not being pursued by the Hunter Clan.

  The following day brought Vilmos, Xith and Ayrian to the first of the foothills that gradually spread out toward the mountains, and only then did the perceived tension diminish. At first Vilmos greeted the arrival of the hills as a blessing, but this feeling of good fortune was rapidly replaced by indifference as nightfall came and found them still trekking through the hill country. The whole next day became a slow battle against a rolling land that seemed to have the upper hand. Vilmos’ feet were sore and blistered by the time they finally reached the first path that led up into the mountains.

  “Solstice Mountain,” Ayrian called out from above before winging his way up the mountain. The sense of jubilation faded when Xith told Vilmos that the trail before them only led up into the narrow gap that spread between the great range, and that they would travel only partially along its course before veering off into the heart of the mountain; yet as he touched the first of his footfalls to the stone of the mountain and with each step he took, it did seem that a veil was slowly being lifted from before his eyes.

  For Xith and Vilmos, the first few hundred yards of the climb were the easiest, yet from there the climb became a steadily increasing challenge. The ancient path up into the gap was worn by rains and washouts, and in several places it was as if a perpendicular rock wall had been thrown up in front of them. Ayrian used his great wings to scout the trail ahead and became instrumental in their successful progress many times.

  They climbed sharply up through the mountains long after the earth was swept with darkness; they climbed, finally stopping only when the path’s end lay before them. The moderate starlight that had guided them still gave them light as they set up a meager camp. Their level of anxiety was high as they thought of the events that tomorrow would bring. For that reason, sleep was elusive this night although it should have come easily after an exhausting day.

  A new day came with heavy cloud cover, which gradually thinned out as the day passed and hopes and expectations soared; somewhere aloft lay the mystical city of the clouds, and all they needed to do was attain the summit and the city would be theirs. The sun blazed high across the mountaintops and still they climbed though soon they would reach the fog layer shrouding the uppermost reaches of the peak, and from there they did not know how far the climb would be. They turned from the trail near the gap, following another smaller path that led upward into the foggy shroud. This path was like the one that continued through the gap and then split, becoming two other trails that slowly wound their way down through the mountains eventually taking its travelers into the northlands. It was a remnant of what had once been a large, well-worn trail. Now it consisted only of large clear patches followed by sparse stretches of ice that wound their way up the mountain at an angle that curved up and across its face. And slowly they progressed along it. Ayrian, with his great wings, helped the two make it through the many areas that would have been insurmountable otherwise. However, as they entered the foggy shroud that loomed over the whole of the lofty precipice like a great white blanket, the advantage disappeared, and a new arena where no one knew what was ahead lay before them.

  The ground beneath their feet began to gather larger amounts of water, feeling cool at first to tired, burning muscles, turning hard as it slowly turned to a frozen sheet. The air thinned in tune with the freezing of the land, and pauses for reprieve became increasingly necessary. When they stopped, which was with growing frequency, Xith and Vilmos brought the cowls of their cloaks close against their faces and gathered numb hands into their lower folds, the cold only then seeming to bite into their skin. Ayrian was the sole member of the group that had little difficulty coping in the extremes; the cold had little effect on him, and to him the air seemed fresher at higher altitudes.

  Snow far more abundant than the ice replaced it; and just when the path was completely lost to their eyes, they were surprised to find that they were near the peak. Temporarily, the heavy weariness faded away; and they charged up the sharp rise toward the summit. Hearts and minds raced, for it seemed that the journey was finally at an end. Vilmos slipped and fell twice in the steep, quick ascent, nearly slamming his knee into a sharp rock one time, and the other nearly falling face first onto a similar dark, forbidding stone. The exhausted trio stood still and silent when at last they attained the mighty crown of Solstice Mountain—a jagged pinnacle of ice, snow, and rock gathered in a foggy shroud—unsure where to
proceed, for here their combined knowledge ended. Xith had never been here before although he knew that this was where they must go, nor had Ayrian; and Vilmos was confused. Vilmos had said nothing during the latter stage of the climb; his mind had been filled with shadows and lurking specters from the distant past. He knew this place from somewhere yet couldn’t quite grasp how.

  The boy looked from the Watcher to Ayrian, back and forth, back and forth. He began to trudge through the snow toward the steeply descending cliff ahead of him, drawn by a seemingly nonchalant hand. The other two eventually followed. A barely visible circular platform void of snow and ice hung at the very fringe of the dark, gray cliff. The platform was plain and unremarkable except for three small sets of stairs in the middle that led upward and outward, ending in open air.

  Xith began to climb the stairs but Vilmos stopped him with a wavering hand.

  “That is the fools’ gambit,” came the peculiarly familiar voice from within him, “we must wait.”

  While the boy crouched to his haunches and settled in to wait, Xith tossed a nervous glare at Ayrian and then they did likewise. The sky about them slowly turned deeper shades of gray and then became utter black. Night settled in about them; and as it brought about a shift in temperatures, the haze began to thin and a clear, moonless night with no clouds to mar it tardily appeared. Below the platform’s perch a thick blanket of white glistened, looking as if one could walk out across it to the neighboring mountain peaks. Above, as moonrise came, the stars twinkled and shone; it was a full autumn moon that sadly looked down on the unlikely trio. From high above, two others carefully watched; unseen, they studied each in turn. The presence did not astound or confound them; there was no quandary in the arrival. The two were known to them, yet it was the third who distressed them.

  “The time to act is now!” intoned the older of the two.

  “Yes, the waiting is at last over.”

  “Go, do what you must.”

  “Yes, master,” said Amir as he disappeared, to reappear on the platform below in the midst of those gathered there.

  The strange and powerful-looking newcomer slowly withdrew his sword from its embellished scabbard; the double-edged blade was as long as Vilmos was tall and finely honed. It cheerfully reflected the light of the sad autumn moon. Ayrian was about to react when a gentle hand steadied his arm. The birdman cocked his head in his odd fashion, turning to regard the hand on his shoulder; there was a distant, knowing stare in the eyes of its owner. Ayrian and Xith studied the great one before them; the description they vaguely recalled from ancient lore although they had never personally met the son of the titan king.

  “We seek entrance into your city. The time is now, Sentinel!” issued the voice from Vilmos.

  As before, Amir knew the voice but not the face of the third; the voice he recalled from a distant time, a time of strife and turmoil. Having eyes that could see into this realm and beyond into shadow heightened his other senses. A sense of trust flowed through his mind concerning the first two; still, the other worried him. He perceived only an empty space in his mind where feelings for the third should have been, yet it was the latter that had known the ancient name of invocation. He had somehow expected this strange boy, who was not a boy, to know the commanding word; so his suspicion did not dwindle, it only grew. He sheathed his weapon, and in the next instant all four stood in the audience room of the Cloud City. The audience chamber was a long hall with a high vaulted ceiling shaped in the symmetry of three waning moons and in each of the three circular corners of the chamber stood a mural. Together they told a story of the world’s past, and they seemed to change with the passing of time. Noman let them drink in the ambiance before he blighted the air with spoken words. He saw the tension in Amir, yet said nothing to allow him to relax; the time was here at last, and now the sentinel must forever be at the ready.

  “Welcome to the City of the Sky, Shaman of the Great Northern Reaches, Lord of the Gray Eagle Clan, and lastly, the wanderer who has come home. I am Noman, guardian of the lost children of the Father, master of the City of the Sky, and my companion is Amir, a child of the Blood Wars. Your arrival here marks the beginning—”

  “—of the end.” interrupted Vilmos. “Very dark times are ahead; the world will fall to utter chaos. There can be no stopping it, for even if you tried you could not, for it must be. Soon the world will be divided as chaos begins. The armies grow, the beasts emerge from their burrows, the dark forces reborn will incite the kingdoms to war and to civil strife, and the kingdoms will fall one by one. All civilization will be laid to ruin.

  “Out of the chaos will come an ending of the old and a beginning of the new. For now we must seek out the child of the coming, then the gathering will truly begin. Are you surprised? I too know the words of the prophecy. Prophecies come and go, old man.”

  Noman stared down at the boy in wonder.

  “True, true, all true, time will be the judge. Where is the other? Did you not find her?” The latter was directed at Xith.

  “Yes, I found her, though I fear we must hurry. They have already found us once.”

  The guardian’s face turned suddenly grim and he spoke again but his words were lost in the echoes of the tremendous hall, but to Xith it sounded as if he had said, “Yes, yes, and many, many more along the way.”

  Chapter Six

  Feelings of relief spread rapidly throughout the group when the city came into view. The sun, surprisingly, had only begun its descent towards the horizon. The city honor guard hastened them to the gates, where Chancellor Van’te welcomed them to the city. A cheer arose from the men as Valam announced that they were to be assigned quarters and then released to wander the city as they would. He also promised to ensure that the city’s taverns flowed with ale until the last man passed out.

  A small contingent of honor guard, those who had accompanied Valam to Imtal, waited patiently for their instructions. They were still mounted and seated quietly. Valam was just about to mount when a soft voice reached him.

  “Lord Valam, may I have a word with you?” quietly, respectfully intoned one of the mounted guard.

  “Why, of course,” said Valam. Chancellor Van’te was quick to whisper a name in the prince’s ear. Valam smoothly appended, “Bowman Ylsa.”

  “I don’t know if you have noticed, my lord, but I am not a man,” the woman spoke kindly, not harshly as she dismounted. Ylsa unbundled her hair and let it flow long. “I prefer the title of Archer if you do not mind.”

  “I— I— I—” stuttered Valam.

  The chancellor whispered in his ear again, “Strong spirited, isn’t she?” The chancellor scrutinized Ylsa closely now, smiling.

  “Yes, yes indeed,” said Valam louder than he wished in reply to Van’te’s statement.

  “Good,” said Ylsa smiling, “have a pleasant evening, my lord, prince.”

  Ylsa turned and walked away, leading her mount behind her.

  “She is a Bowman First Rank,” intoned the chancellor happily, “Do you wish to know more? I will gladly inquire for you.”

  “No, Chancellor Van’te. I do not wish to know more. Thank you.”

  The chancellor smiled a devilish smile, knowing the frustrated tone of his lord prince. He would tell Isador of this one; perhaps she could spark an interest as a concubine, forcing him to a wife of standing.

  The palace proper was a short distance away; and once within its guarded walls, Valam felt he had truly come home. Quashan’ palace wasn’t as grand as Imtal’s. It didn’t have grand gardens stretching through numerous courtyards or sanctioned council halls. It was a simple four-towered castle with a meager courtyard, a fair-sized armory, and a modest stable.

  The gatehouse held, but a single shielding portcullis and inner rampart had only recently been rebuilt. The palace proper was a separate building, two stories in height, that sat squarely in the center of the rear bastion. Still, Valam admired its simple beauty as he waited for a stable boy to retrieve his mount, telling
the boy to make certain that he had rubbed the horse down fully before he turned in for the night.

  Chancellor Van’te quickly had hot baths drawn for Valam, Seth, and Father Jacob, insisting that they bathe and rest before they held any type of council. Introductions, although extremely cordial, were very brief.

  When they were suitably rested, the chancellor returned. He ushered them downstairs, telling them someone was waiting for them, an old acquaintance. At the same time, Seth and Valam thought, Adrina, and asked where she was. Van’te assured them it was not any one Valam knew, rather an old friend of Seth’s, which perplexed both Seth and Valam.

  “Why all the mystery?” asked Valam.

  “Would you spoil an old man’s fun?” asked Chancellor Van’te.

  “And mine!” responded another.

  Seth recognized the voice, or at least he thought he recognized the voice, though it could not be.

  “Yes, your hearing is fine, Brother Seth, first of the order of the Red, protector of the Queen-Mother.”

  “But how?” asked Seth in disbelief.

  “I am quite tough myself,” said the man behind the voice, as he stepped out of the shadows to embrace Seth.

  Valam was totally lost; he had never seen this stranger before, nor had Van’te mentioned him in any of the messages to his father.

  “The Great-Father must still have plans for me.”

  Valam fixed Chancellor Van’te with angry eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He only arrived here early last week. Your group had already departed when the message reached Imtal Palace.”

  “How is it that we missed your messenger on the road?” asked Valam skeptically.

  “Honest, my lord, he went via Veter and then on to Imtal.”

  “It is truly great to see you again!” exclaimed Seth.