Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  After many hours of traversing the dark tunnels, Amir called a full halt. They had come to a large chamber that was semi-lit from above. Water could be heard dripping from the ceiling into a basin on the tunnel floor.

  “What is that? That stuff is worse than the stench of the sewers,” groaned Adrina.

  Amir lifted Adrina to her feet.

  “Come quickly; the others wait ahead.”

  Adrina stood unsteadily for a moment and then as the dizziness passed, she nodded her head, gesturing that she was ready to proceed.

  Chapter Six

  Hundreds of darkly clad warriors pushed their way into the square. They bore the brunt of the waves of arrows pouring down upon them from the garrison bowmen. Behind them came horsemen clad in heavy mail; even the beasts of this evil guard were armored. The mounted horsemen pushed the footmen forward, and slowly they made progress.

  The garrison bowmen were forced to be more selective in their volleys as the palace mounted guard charged the enemy ranks and intermixed with them. In gallant groups of ten they charged the approaching footmen. On horseback they had considerably more maneuverability than their foes, yet the enemy quickly learned how to sever rider from horse. Instead of striking at the man on the horse as they charged, they attacked the horse. As the horse fell, the rider was easily dealt a deadly blow. Few riders were able to recover as their mounts crumpled beneath them. Many were pinned beneath their horses and could only lie struggling to get free as their foes claimed their lives.

  The enemy horsemen seemed to be lagging purposefully behind, waiting until the footmen had taken the brunt of the defensive. Lord Serant ushered Calyin and the others into a protective circle within the folds of the shieldbearers. He would not leave Calyin’s side any more.

  He waited and watched. The numbers on each side were quickly balancing out. Enemy bowmen were taking up positions and returning the volleys of the garrison bowmen. Serant ordered the garrison bowmen to make a strategic retreat; he needed to save their ability to strike into the enemy’s heart for later.

  Pikemen with their long shafted blades followed in the wake of their mounted comrades. Easily they drove the enemy back for a time. The dark warriors’ swords were no match against the great length of the pike. The long blades pierced the enemies’ hearts before they could get close enough to strike. The advantage was clearly on the side of good, at least momentarily.

  A thick rain of arrows fell in surges against the pikemen, falling on both friend and foe; those who attacked did not care as long as their enemies died. Lord Serant could see the enemy commanders ordering the bowmen to shoot; and in spiteful retaliation, he ground the heel of his boot into the enemy lord’s back near the base of the skull. He understood why they attacked thus. It was a desperate foe who didn’t care if he killed his own as long as he was the victor in the end.

  “How many more come?” demanded Lord Serant of Lord Konstantin, grabbing the man by the scruff of the hair, his boot still in place.

  The vile lord’s only response was to work a ball of spittle up in his mouth and launch it at Lord Serant. The westerner did not flinch as the spittle struck his right cheek and dripped downward. Calmly, he cuffed Lord Konstantin with a heavy hand.

  “Chancellor, here is your chance to redeem yourself,” said Lord Serant, with evident animosity. He knew the chancellor was wounded, but he needed someone who could follow detailed orders well. He saw a blind spot in the enemy ranks and he intended to take advantage of it.

  “They need someone to follow; can you lead them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good!” said Lord Serant, smiling.

  He hurriedly explained his elaborate plan to infiltrate the enemies’ rear flank and then issued a group of swordsmen to accompany the chancellor. Lord Serant ordered the bowmen to lay a screen of arrows into the heart of the enemy. Afterward, he mustered all but a handful of his remaining soldiers. They awaited his signal to charge into the enemy ranks. His words were inspiring; they were welcome to the soldiers’ ears. This was a man of power for whom they would willingly die. The end was close at hand.

  On his command, those not already engaged in combat streamed forth. Their goal was the enemies’ mounted guard, and they cut a direct line for it through what remained of the enemy footmen’s ranks. The charge was timed with the chancellor’s sneak attack to the rear, the line where the enemy officers gathered. The twang of bowstrings and the crashing of steel rose from a clamor to pandemonium once more.

  The kingdom soldiers’ charge was short lived as the enemies’ mounted horde swept forth. The black beasts whinnied and reared up as they raced forth, trampling the first brave few who reached their ranks. The shield ring was brought closer as the enemy leaders directed fire against Lord Serant’s position. Even behind the wall of tower shields, arrows found their marks, picking off those that shielded their lord and the other dignitaries with their own bodies.

  Lord Serant ordered his holdouts to charge, followed by his bowmen who were to shoot on the run. For a brief time, it seemed as if they had the enemy surrounded and were closing in, but the superior horsemen had been holding back again and they crashed forth with a vengeance. The last of the pikemen fell; the swordsmen continued their charge, followed by a mixed contingent of bowmen and bladesmen.

  The hope that had lasted briefly ended with the fall of the chancellor’s group. Their strike had apparently been ineffective. A new battle cry rang out across the square; a new banner was raised in the field. More mounted warriors streamed into the square from the western sector.

  Their presence sent terror into the hearts of those that saw them; the kingdom soldiers, though discouraged, continued their assault. The end was near, very near. Lord Serant vowed he would fight until his last breath. He ordered the shield bearers to move out and all who could still wield a weapon, even his precious Calyin, followed.

  Lord Serant spat on the dark warrior lord who was bound helpless beneath his scornful heel. His eyes filled with glee as he saw horror and disappointment on Lord Serant’s face. He held no regrets for this day. He had served his master well. Lifting his great sword from its sheath, Lord Serant left Lord Konstantin where he lay face down in a puddle of blood. He would not offer the dark lord the dignity of a swift death, hoping instead that his fellows thought him lost in the chaos of the field, knowing that in time the man would bleed to death, but that death would come slowly and with much pain.

  Horsemen filed into the square from the west and the north now, wreaking havoc as they came. The sheer numbers were unfathomable to his mind; how could the enemy have such a vast reserve? How had so many been able to infiltrate this far into the Great Kingdom unseen? He was appalled. As he ran, he handed Calyin a dagger from his belt, his last; the look in his eyes spoke volumes, a lifetime’s worth of dreams that would never come true, also of love, deep, lasting love. Calyin smiled and took the dagger. She was also ready to die.

  “Look!” yelled Calyin, her voice wild and captivating, “Look!”

  Lord Serant raised his eyes and cocked his head; surprise swept over him. He saw, yet he did not believe. A change had taken place; the banner once raised was gone. Another one stood proudly in its place, one that he clearly recognized. The dark warriors also realized the trick, but it was too late. Their horsemen were cut down as they watched.

  The only defense left to them was to flee, but opposing horsemen were already upon them, coming in from all sides now. All possibility of escape was cut off. Mounted soldiers continued to pour into the square. The will of the enemy to fight was sucked from them in one swift move. They huddled around their leaders, who issued orders the soldiers no longer followed.

  Thousands clustered around the hundreds that frantically sought to escape. Sorrowful whinnies of dying beasts rose above the cries of the desperate men. More banners were raised on the field as the fleet horsemen surged into the square. Moonrise had come long ago, full and ominous, though the combatants had not noticed its arrival and beneat
h this full yellow globe and an unmarred starlit sky, the battle came to an end.

  A small group of riders circled back to those who had stopped their charge dead still and looked on in awe. Two flag bearers rode to left and right of this small group, carrying the spectacular gold and silver banner of freedom whose symbols were oddly enough the scimitar, the eclipsed moon and the free man’s crest.

  “Greetings, on this deceitful night,” yelled a rider who approached, “I am Lord Geoffrey of—”

  “—Solntse. But how did you know?” interrupted Lord Serant.

  “I had a strange visitor a number of day’s ago. He told me the waxing gibbous moon brought ill tidings and to rouse our garrison and set wings to our feet. ‘Reach Imtal before the full moon wanes,’ he beckoned, and thankfully I heeded his words.”

  “You don’t know how indebted to you I am, good sir. I thank you and all the free men who have come to our aid!” yelled Lord Serant.

  For a moment the two men looked silently about the square. Many expressions crossed their faces as the soldiers of Solntse and those few of the Imtal palace and garrison that lived scoured the square in search of survivors, both friend and foe alike. The scene was one of death and destruction. The dark warriors had left their mark deep on the kingdom. The blood of many had flowed through the central square. Many brave soldiers had lost their lives. Those who had insisted that the strife would never reach them were quite mistaken.

  In the days to come they would scour the countryside in search of those responsible for collaborating with the enemy. The guilty would be found and dutifully punished, and then they would turn their anger outward upon the leaders of the insurgency. Lord Serant had little doubt that this search would lead them south, but first reparations must be made. Imtal garrison must be rebuilt, a new palace guard would have to be selected, and the heir to the throne must return.

  Watching the proceedings from the glowing orb in his hand, Xith was pleased. The company he had sought to build was together and Great Kingdom had once again survived the test of the darkness. Yet Xith knew all too well that notions of good and evil were too simple an interpretation for what was taking place. The cosmos didn’t understand the concepts of good and evil—to the cosmos there was only the cycle of renewal. When one age ended, another began. That is the way of it and it did not matter whether that age was good or evil in someone’s eyes for there was always another interpretation, always another point of view.

  Satisfied, Xith focused his thoughts on the warrior elf and the kingdom prince and their faces appeared in the glowing orb. He blew onto the orb, casting wind to the sails of their ships and taking them easily past the dark storm that approached. He wondered then what would happen to them when they discovered that everything they thought they knew was a lie and that only in the lies would they find the truth. This saddened him and this sadness turned his thoughts to Vilmos, the boy the company was built to protect. The boy who would become the one against which the forces of darkness and light would align and then single-mindedly seek to destroy.

  Chapter Seven

  “Jasmine, please don’t leave us,” cried Sister Midori-shi. She looked to Sister Catrin-ni, who knelt on the other side of Jasmine. The two stared deep into Jasmine’s eyes. They could see that her spirit yearned to be gathered by the Great-Father.

  For a moment they both looked around the square. The scene was one of death and destruction. The assassins had left their mark deep on the kingdom. The blood of many had flowed through the central square. Many brave soldiers had lost their lives this eve.

  All would remember this day. Those who had insisted that the war would never reach them were quite mistaken. The distant war in the Eastern Reaches had been brought to them. The kingdom had been plunged into the midst of a war they were unprepared to fight.

  The peace that had existed for centuries was completely gone. Their king had been assassinated. A princess of the kingdom had been kidnapped. But worst of all, an army of assassins had invaded their homeland. They had infiltrated all the way into the vary heart of the kingdom, the capital city of Imtal.

  Father Francis returned after checking on the others of the royal party. The guards were clearing the wounded and the dead from the field. A strange thought was clawing at the back of his mind. An emotion before unknown to him permeated his other thoughts. He tried to meditate them from his mind, but they remained.

  He looked to the dark-haired woman across the square and for the first time the impact of her beauty fell upon him. He that was of the Great-Father and her that had given herself to the Mother-Earth. The thoughts in his mind would not be denied acknowledgment. They demanded to be allowed existence. He could suppress them no more. He had shared the union of the Mother and Father with this one. The natural love of the two for each other and for all things was inside him.

  He wondered if she, too, felt the pull of emotions upon her. He wished to go to her, but he could not. He had acknowledged his feelings for her, yet they could not be allowed. He decided he would return to the palace with Lord Serant and Princess Calyin, and leave the past behind him.

  Lord Serant defiantly looked around the square. He still clutched the hilt of his sword tightly. His beloved Calyin stood at his side. She reached out and took his free hand in hers. She tightly clasped it. Finally, he sheathed his weapon and the two embraced.

  Tears flowed down Calyin’s cheeks. Lord Serant gazed into her eyes and wiped her tears away. “I will forever protect you, my love,” he whispered into her ear.

  His eyes saw the body of Chancellor Yi, which lay behind Calyin. Lord Serant had found the chancellor to be most foolish. Nothing like this carnage could have happened in the Western Territories. The lands might be barbaric, but he was safe there. No one could have so easily entered his capital and attempted to slay him.

  Slowly the square emptied of all save three who refused to leave. Captain Brodst continued to attempt to persuade them to leave though they would not listen. He understood why they would not leave. He knew the beliefs of the priestesses of the Mother.

  If it were Jasmine’s time to pass, she would. Nothing they could do would save her. Now, he stood patiently watching them. He ordered more patrols to search the city street by street. The gates of the city were sealed, so Princess Adrina must still be inside the city, and if they searched long enough, they would have to find her.

  Midori and Catrin joined hands with Jasmine; one last time the three would become one. The two could feel the yearning of Jasmine’s spirit. They knew the Mother called her to join with her. At the last all were gathered home by the Father save the priestesses of the Mother. They alone were given the privilege; their devotion had allowed them to join with the Mother.

  The connection was complete. They could feel the Father watch them from above. They sensed a smile on his lips. A blazing light filled the center of their thoughts. They knew this was the presence of the Mother, strong within them.

  Captain Brodst watched the scene. He was greatly intrigued by it. He did not know whether he should continue to watch or not. He knew very well the secrecy of the priestesses. He knew no male had ever witnessed what was now taking place before him.

  This was more than the passing of the first of the Mother; it was also a ritual of choosing. One of the other two would become the first, and the other would become the second. As he watched, joy filled his mind such as he had never known but the joy soon became so overpowering that it overwhelmed him. He could watch no more; he could not walk away either. He was held transfixed and looked out at the world around him as if from afar.

  In silence the three priestesses were connected. The image of the Mother grew clearer in their minds. Slowly a face defined itself. This was the face of the Mother; it spoke of power and beauty, but more than that a feeling of all encompassing love flowed from that image.

  Energy surged rapidly through them. A white light emanated from them and swirled rapidly around them. Jasmine’s body began to shimmer and then
faded out of existence. All of her thoughts became joined with Catrin’s and Midori’s. Her thoughts became their memories, and thus Jasmine’s spirit passed to rest with the Mother.

  They could see Jasmine make the journey to the Mother’s garden. A feeling of immense happiness flowed to them. They could also sense the other priestesses who rested there welcoming Jasmine home.

  As the Mother bade them farewell, they begged her to stay and cried out into the night. “Wait,” they implored, “Wait!” “Which of us is to be the first?” they asked. But the Mother did not heed their words and soon it was just the two of them, facing each other, hands joined. Not far off stood the transfixed captain. He could no more look away than a fly could escape a spider’s web.

  An old memory came to Catrin and Midori, and with it realization of what they must do and how the ceremony of choosing must begin. They set their minds to the struggle of will quickly losing track of time and space. Now, they existed solely in a whirlwind of thought and will. Both stretched out from their center with every ounce of their being to gather the flow to them, but both encountered vast difficulties.

  Indefinite thoughts spun into their consciousness. Some were pieces of past experiences, some of the present, and all were intertwined with the future. The normal order of passage said Sister Catrin should become the first, as she was now the second, but the final test of servitude was still to be passed. The victor would become as one with the Mother.

  Slowly the thoughts began to define. They became single thoughts, forming a multitude of future paths, turning points in the future. The two were forced to make decisions. They must choose the correct path to follow from the many. The choosing went on and on until it seemed it would never end.

  Midori screamed in agony, collapsed. Captain Brodst was startled and looked to where Midori was sprawled, motionless on the ground. He tried to run to her aid, but could not. He could only watch in horror.