Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Your father is a wise man,” said Noman.

  The four sat up talking for a short while more, each in turn retiring when sleep entered their eyes. They would need to get an early start in the morning, and it was getting late. Xith did, however, get in his objection one last time; and having the final say, he seemed pleased enough to be willing to go to sleep. Nijal was the last to fall asleep. He wondered if he would ever be able to do something special like the others; and he couldn’t help but think about the words that Xith had spoken to him: “Even the greatest of Men can fall and often the lesser among you will prove tenfold your greater. Your place is here with us, Nijal of Solntse. You are part of us now; cast your petty fears behind you.”

  Startled, Vilmos awoke, a scream sought to issue from his lips, but a man dressed terrifyingly in all black had a hand tightly clasped over his mouth. He strained to break free, yet could not; the man was too powerful and held him pinned in place. His eyes widened and he rapidly scanned the room for signs of the others. He was alone and one of the highwaymen had found him. His first notion was of defense. Could he break free? Could he organize his scattered thoughts? Could he find the magic in time?

  “Calm yourself,” whispered his assailant. “Here, put these on.”

  Momentarily, the voice didn’t register with Vilmos; he struggled regardless.

  “Calm yourself,” the man repeated. “Put this on.”

  Vilmos sighed and shook his head to ward off the sleep-induced stupor, relieved that he recognized the voice.

  “It is only an illusion; look again,” hastened the voice.

  Vilmos started to say something, but the hand remained over his mouth. He peered around the room again, this time less frantically. He saw Nijal across the room hurriedly getting dressed and did likewise. He quickly joined the others in the hall, noticing everyone was dressed in macabre hues. Noman restored the illusion then; Vilmos only knew this because he noted a subtle thought entering his mind—the watchword of an illusion’s enactment.

  As before, though, he saw no change in the appearance of the others—Noman had explained that this was because he knew the truth of what they really were, and illusions held no bounds over such truths. In hushed tones, Noman explained that Ayrian had finally returned with distressing news and they must leave immediately and secretly.

  Flight from the inn was made with haste; the final race had begun.

  Outfitted in dreary garb, it seemed they chased the dark wind, which howled unsettlingly. A chill came over Vilmos as they exited the city, the surrounding countryside hung with so many shadows that the land itself seemed utterly dreary and grim. And only then did the desperate flight and the desperate race seem real.

  “One more to gather before we are through and then we have only begun,” were the ominous last word’s that Noman whispered into the wind—words that Vilmos dwelled on even though he had heard a similar utterance before because again they only sounded real just then.

  PART TWO

  Chapter One

  Imtal palace and city were somber places over the many days that followed the announcement of the king’s death. Three sisters with long black hair mourned and yearned for their father in the grand gardens. Midmorning found them seated around a table in the gazebo with Sister Catrin and Jasmine.

  Jasmine, Catrin and Midori sat on one side and Calyin and Adrina were on the other. Two of Lord Serant’s men stood behind Calyin. They would not leave even though they had been ordered to do so by Calyin herself. They had great respect for her wishes, yet followed only Lord Serant’s orders where her safety was concerned. They judged the priestesses of the Mother as a threat and as such they would not even drop back a respectful distance where they could not hear the words being spoken.

  “Today is the seventh day; let us not argue this day away,” implored Calyin. “Your fears are unfounded. There is no danger in Imtal. Look around you. What do you see? I see flowers being claimed by the coming of winter, losing their petals and withering to the ground. I see trees filled with autumn colors, bronze and gold and scarlet. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “You are an eternal optimist. You would find good in a time like this,” hissed Jasmine ominously.

  “Calyin, we discussed this yesterday. You agreed then. Have you no sense of loyalty?”

  “You speak of loyalty?” scoffed Calyin, “Loyalty is not something you suddenly find, but a thing that is built up over time. Do not throw it at me as if you have any sense of loyalty to this family. Your loyalty lies solely with the Mother.”

  Midori got a faraway look in her eyes. “You’ll never know the depths of my loyalty,” she whispered.

  She said no more as Jasmine cautioned her.

  “Honestly, tell me, what harm will come of it, Princess Calyin? For I can see none. Several days away will do the girl some good.”

  “What do you think, Adrina?” asked Calyin.

  Adrina had her eyes turned out into the garden. She knew they argued over her as if she were some prize catch, yet she did not care.

  “I am numb,” she whispered, “I feel nothing.”

  She turned back to the fading greens of the garden. Calyin wrapped her arm around her shoulder and hugged her.

  “It will pass,” she said, “it will pass. Just let it all out. Go ahead, cry, cry until there are no more tears. Tears are good for the soul, they cleanse it.”

  “I can’t cry; I don’t feel,” returned Adrina, wriggling away from her sister’s hold.

  “Do you see why a short respite will do her some good?” asked Midori in a stern voice. “She needs to get away from this dank place.”

  “Perhaps she will; perhaps she will return to the North with me when this is all cleared up and Prince Valam returns home.”

  “You are a fool!” shouted Jasmine. “The prince will not return!”

  Calyin threw back her arms to restrain the guards, who had just pressed forward. Jasmine glared at the two men, unafraid.

  “I am not afraid of death, you sons of mongrels. I would welcome it as surely as I welcome the night. Only good will come of my passing, only good. If you wish to take me now, do so, or back away, back away now, before I lay a curse upon you with my next breath that will blight your life until its end!”

  The two took only one step back at first and then another as Jasmine continued to glare.

  “Have you no respect?” asked Calyin. “This night we will lay my father to rest. Let us drop this paltry argument and talk no more of it until tomorrow. Tomorrow you can argue to your hearts’ content.”

  Catrin whispered the only words she had said in days, words that only Jasmine and Midori heard. “The ignorant always believe tomorrow will come as did today,” she said.

  Midori was quick to find words. “Yes, perhaps you are right, sister. Perhaps we should wait and discuss this later. I think it is a good time to find lunch. Is anyone else as hungry as I?”

  Adrina turned back.

  “Let’s not take it in the hall,” she said, “there is a balcony in the tower beyond the wall. Father would often sit there at about this time.”

  The day passed slowly and it seemed that afternoon would never come. Some hours later, Calyin and Adrina were still on the balcony above the tower; remnants of a heavy, half eaten meal still rested on the table in front of them. Once the meal had been served, Adrina had chased off the attendants, telling them not to return until they were called, and so the uneaten food sat.

  “High Province is grand this time of year,” said Calyin. “I know I have told you this before, but I will tell you again. The choice is up to you. You needn’t do anything if you don’t want to. But please look at yourself. Your hair is a mess, you haven’t bathed, and you hardly eat. Father is dead, Adrina. Nothing can bring him back and nothing that you could have done would have prevented his death.”

  Adrina averted her eyes as tears started to flow.

  “Adrina,” said Calyin, “it is time you mended your own soul. You cannot go
on like this. I cannot go on like this. Cry, cry until there are no more tears within you. Let it all out, let it all out.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Adrina in a pathetic sounding voice, “you did not see his pain.”

  “Did you ever think that he is happier now? Can you truly say that he was happy since mother passed on? There was life and at rare times there was joy, but true happiness that runs deep within the soul was gone, long since gone. She was his life, his source of life, and without her life was void. No, I assure you, he is much happier now. He rests in the hall of the great ones, the kings and queens of all the lands that ever were, and she, his beloved queen and wife, rests beside him. He is happy, Adrina, he has found peace. Cry your tears of lament, but let go your remorse.”

  Lord Serant came looking for his wife and joined her in comforting her young sister: “You are young and you have a full life in front of you. Find inspiration in the day, joy in the light of the sun. Such sweetness in your beauty, such tenderness and grace. Find wonder in the simple pleasures of the world, in the wonders of youth.”

  “Find a young man’s face and melt your heart within it,” added Calyin, greeting her husband with a warm embrace.

  “Oh, Calyin, I am so sorry,” said Adrina, “it’s just, it’s just—”

  “Shh, shh, hush now, dear. Say no more,” gently soothed Calyin.

  “So much happening at one time; it just overwhelmed me,” Adrina said. “Do you think Valam is coming home?”

  “We will have to wait and see; and if he does not, we can cope without him.”

  Adrina wiped the tears from her eyes. She thought of the irony of her father’s death as the land was being reborn in spring and the flowers were returning to the gardens. She thought with bitterness of her upcoming nameday—a nameday that meant nothing without her father there to celebrate with her.

  “Shall we find the bathhouse and put it to good use? A hot soothing bath would feel good about now, would it not? When father looks down from the heavens this night and sees his funeral bier pass through the city streets to the central square where he will be laid to rest, let him find us with our heads raised proud and our hearts filled with love, but our eyes void of tears. Then he will know that he can rest peacefully and without concern.”

  As Calyin finished, Adrina began to run her hands through her hair, fussing over the many tangles in it, a sign that she had at last begun to move on. Lord Serant, Calyin, and Adrina returned to the palace proper. The lord and lady’s bodyguards, two to front and rear, moved with such skill that they seemed invisible; and to the three, it seemed that they were alone.

  The bathing time was a private time for the two sisters. They relaxed in the warm waters, stretching sore muscles and washing their hair with herbal-scented soaps that Calyin had brought from the Northlands. Dusk was approaching as they stepped from the hot pool into the cool air. Calyin rejected the gown that had been pressed and readied for her, selecting new riding leathers instead. Adrina did likewise. Neither intended to ride in a coach this eve.

  An anxious hour passed as they waited for a few last-minute items to be readied. The castle was suddenly alive with activity. Chancellor Yi rushed to and fro. Servants groomed horses. Guards polished armor and fanciful weaponry. The bier coach and its team were the last things readied. The guests and family crowded into the forward courtyard, assembling before the great gates of the outer wall. At the sounding of the first toll they mounted and waited.

  Precisely at the time of the setting sun, the funeral procession was in place. At the sounding of the first knell, those present mounted and waited; at the sounding of the second, the gates slowly began to open, and at the sounding of the third, the procession began to move. Father Francis had embalmed King Andrew’s body so that he looked as he had in life except that he now appeared at peace with himself.

  The declaration was made in the manner decreed: the people must see their king once more in death as he was in life. In this way all bore witness that the king had indeed passed. With the sounding of the fourth knell, the gates were fully opened. First to exit were the honor guard, twelve men arrayed in black armor upon mounts of gray. They rode out in single file, followed by the open funeral bier.

  The bier itself was quite simple, an ordinary oaken box painted black, fixed with long brass handles along head and foot and two thick silver poles running down the long sides. It was pulled by seven black horses. The royal family followed, each mounted on a pure white stallion. A cry of despair rose from the growing crowd, which had been summoned by the first toll; their king was truly dead.

  The final group to depart the courtyard and slowly enter the city streets was the rear honor guard of a full complement of soldiers, fifty in all. They followed, outfitted in armor that shimmered in the falling light. The procession advanced one trumpet blast at a time toward the central square. With each sounding of the horn, more people crowded into the streets.

  The path they took from palace to the square was not a direct route into the city’s heart, rather an indirect route that wound its way along many of the long cobblestone paths of Imtal and then slowly, after a wide outward circle, began to creep inward.

  The streets in all directions were filled now as people streamed out of their houses to pay their last respects. Many felt obliged to follow the bier and the thick line that stretched behind the procession grew and grew until its end could no longer be seen by those who would often look back in wonder. King Andrew had been a fair monarch and the Great Kingdom had prospered under his caring hand.

  The eve of his passing had been a grievous event. Uncertainty now lay ahead for all the citizens of the realm. Where was the crowned prince? Had he not heard the cry for his return? Would the prosperous days of the past now end? What was ahead? These were the many questions that ran hushed through the crowd.

  The procession turned inward now, beginning the slow creep toward the central square. Each sounding of the toll brought them one step closer. Adrina looked into the faces of the crowd. She could see that they also felt the sadness of this great loss. Princess Midori and her companions also rode with the royal family. They rode to Adrina’s left.

  Lord Serant had flatly refused to allow Princess Calyin to leave the castle without his personal guards. He rode with her at the rear of the procession, surrounded by the faithful ones who had accompanied them on the journey from High Province. Father Francis had tried to convince Lord Serant that the kingdom was not like his former home, the Western Territories; but Serant would not listen and eventually Father Francis had acquiesced.

  The procession reached the grand central square. Even at peak market season when hundreds of stalls lined its depths and many thousands more came for the festivities and goods, the area was only half filled. But today, it was filled to capacity. The inner circle, however, had been kept empty by decree. Twelve blocks from the central square was a large encircled garden, a memorial to the previous kings of the Great Kingdom. It was here where new kings were crowned and old ones were honored and entombed.

  The crowd parted to let the procession enter. As was the custom, the funeral procession circled the garden three times and then stopped. Each horseman dismounted one at a time, from the first to the last. The final decree of death was given and a long silence followed. The final toll sounded just as the last light of day shone on the square; and as its echoes fell away from the land, the sun sank below the horizon.

  Tiny red sparks burst from sparse areas of the gathered throng. As the torchlight began to spread and its light slowly became agreeable, the members of the procession started to remount, as was customary. The twelve in black mounted, bowed their heads respectfully and waited. As the fiftieth man of the rear guard mounted, the dozen forward guards looked up, dismounted and went to the bier, forming two lines, four abreast, on either side of it while the four others waited.

  Those who looked on bowed their heads now. The twelve took a momentary breath and then the chosen eight heaved the
casket from the bier. As the casket was slowly carried toward Andrew’s crypt, the remaining four men labored to push away the guarding stone. There was such a silence over the next few moments that the footsteps of the men descending into the vault carried across the square nearly to its ends. As the last of the onlookers bowed their heads, waiting for the last prayer to begin, a group of men broke from the crowd. They lunged into the midst of the royal family. Jasmine was knocked from her horse. Adrina had seen the attack and tried to scream. A hand covered her mouth and she was dragged from her horse. The attack had come and gone in an instant that left the viewers dazed.

  Chapter Two

  The sound of clashing steel broke the silence. A cry of panic erupted from the bewildered crowd. All around the square soldiers clad in black emerged, tossing their deceitful robes of white onto the ground and raising their weapons high. They attacked everyone in sight, hacking and slashing even the innocent. Guards rushed to stop the onslaught. Many of them died before they could even draw their blades.

  Lord Serant’s bodyguards sprang into action. The small contingent flashed as a burst of white lightning into the surge of the dark, and it was temporarily thrust back. Wielding huge two-handed battle swords as a child would a toy dagger, these men were obvious masters, their skill and expertise unmatched on the field.

  The dark warriors paid a grave price for their fall; however, Serant’s guards were simply overwhelmed by the number of the enemy. For each they cut down, two warriors lunged forward in the fallen’s stead. They did not shame their lord as the last man crumpled to the ground, a mortal wound in his side; they had given the others much needed time, a chance to prepare.