Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Four men guided the barge toward the other shore, one in each of its corners, as the master explained its workings, among the many tales he spun in the short time. He explained how the ferry had two landings on the opposite shore and that the easterly one was the one they should wait at on their return route, for the other was just the landing for the return from the southerly shore. He told them how two asses bore the barge back to the departure landing against the river’s current and he even worked the sum of their payment into a song.

  Feeling sorry for his wry demeanor, Xith dropped twice the necessary coinage into the old man’s hands as they disembarked. As he rode away, he glanced back with a hint of laughter yet in his eyes. He watched the two mules pull the ferry along the river’s edge. The road to Krepost’ was the only path they could follow, and as it was where they were bound for, they took it with great eagerness, following as it slowly wound its way to the top of the bluff.

  The answers Xith and Noman sought were beyond Krepost’, but for now the small company was safe. The city would house and keep them until they were ready for the next, more dangerous, part of the journey.

  PART TWO

  Chapter One

  Lord Geoffrey of Solntse awoke in darkness. “Calyin? Midori? Brodst?”

  “No, they are not among us.”

  “Lord Serant?”

  “No, it is only us.”

  Geoffrey’s thoughts spun. The last thing he remembered was the encounter with the bandits and the hunter clan. “Dead? Are they all dead?” he asked, fearful of the answer.

  “Perhaps. I do not know.”

  “Where—where am I? Why is it dark?”

  “They like to keep us in the dark.”

  “Who are they? Wait a minute—who are you?”

  “Don’t fret so much. You should relax; you have been unconscious for days.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes, I am afraid so.”

  “Do you know where the others are? The ones who were with me.”

  “I am afraid that I only saw you—well, actually I didn’t really see you. I heard them carry you in.”

  “It is cold in here. Where is that wind coming from?”

  “There is a blanket there, beside you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me. I have done nothing.”

  “What is that sound? Who is that?”

  “Oh, him. Don’t pay any attention to him; he goes on like that all the time. Here, try to drink some of this.”

  Geoffrey was thirsty; he drank deep. An instant later, he was spitting out what he hadn’t already swallowed. “Oh, that’s awful; what is this?”

  “Would you believe water, or so I am told. It is horrible, but wait till you try the food.”

  “—Oh—I don’t feel so good.”

  “You should rest. Find sleep, and find solace in it.”

  “What an odd word! Makes me almost want to laugh.”

  “Odd times—odd times.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Shh—they come. Just sit quietly.”

  “Who?”

  “Shh—” The other shuffled in the darkness. “It is okay; they only brought food. Here, eat some of this.”

  “Your hands—what is wrong? Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No offense taken, and I am sure if there were a spark of light in this hole, you would understand.”

  “What do you mean? Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t pry. You are right; this is awful.”

  “It is all right.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A long time—too long.”

  Geoffrey eased back, pulled the blanket around him, slipping quickly into a deep sleep. When he awoke what could have been hours or days later, he ate the leftovers in the bowl beside him, choking down whatever his stomach sought to spit back up. The other did not stir. In the darkness, Geoffrey could not tell if the other were sleeping or dead. He hoped the former and not only because the latter would mean that he was alone in this forsaken place.

  Some time later, the guards brought food and water. Geoffrey ate and drank, perhaps more than his fair share. What followed was a seemingly ceaseless cycle of sleeping, waking, and eating. His strength returned. The other in his cell remained strangely quiet, withdrawn perhaps by something Geoffrey had said.

  Feeling stronger made him bolder. When the guards returned, he shouted at them, “I demand that you release me at once!”

  “You make no demands here!”

  “Release me and my companion at once!”

  “Hardy, har, har—you make me laugh. Hey, he wants to go home!”

  “Set me free, or I’ll cut your heart out myself.”

  “Cut my heart out, free?”

  “I am a free man. You have no right to hold me.”

  “So you are. Sprout wings and fly away, but even those will not help you here.”

  “Take me to see your leader at once!”

  “Our king is a very busy man, but I will tell him you wish an audience. You are such an important person that I am sure he will jump to his feet and come running at once.”

  “Do you mock me?”

  “Why, yes, of course!”

  “I will hold you in contempt for this!”

  “Contempt of what? What are you going to do to me? If you do not shut your mouth, I will not even bring you your food.”

  “I would much rather starve!”

  “Then so be it. The other one with a big mouth will not eat today!”

  “Do you think I care?”

  “We shall see—we shall see.”

  Geoffrey said no more, his thoughts going first to those he thought lost: Prince Calyin Alder, Captain Ansh Brodst, Lord Edwar Serant, Sister Midori—she who had once been a favored daughter and princess of the realm. Were they all dead now like the Alder king? Had the enemies of old broken the heart of the kingdom? Did Solntse yet stand and were her people yet free?

  He whispered the free man’s creed, “I am a free man, and I will die as such.” He begged the Lord of the Heavens to spare his son, Nijal, if no other. “Please, oh lord,” he whispered. “Has madness beset the lands?”

  As he despaired, his hand longed to find the hilt of his sword and do what any righteous man would do in an hour of need. “A free man,” he said, mocking himself as he paced in the darkness. He shouted to the heavens, “Oh lord, help me find my way, bring light to end the darkness.”

  “You want light?” said a voice from the hall. “What else is it you long for, old man? Perhaps you seek a blade? Perhaps you seek a way out?”

  “I want only light so that I may see. Please, I beg of you.”

  “Light, eh? You’ll regret it. Soon you’ll long to return to darkness, trust me.”

  Geoffrey heard a bolt being moved aside. A moment later a thin line of blinding white light poured into the room from a small window cut into the heavy wooden door. Geoffrey shielded his eyes; the pain caused by the light was so intense that he fell to the floor writhing.

  “Still want light?” the guard asked, laughing as he fully opened the shielding window.

  Geoffrey put his hands over his eyes to stop the pain. “How many days and weeks in darkness?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  The guard offered no response save for the retreating echo of his footsteps as he moved down the hall.

  Time passed. The long minutes blended together one after the other. The light became almost bearable. The guard returned. “I’ve been told to give you this.” Geoffrey heard the clank of metal as something was thrown into his cell.

  Geoffrey tried to open his eyes. His vision was blurred; all he could see were white points of light and a narrow path of what was around him. He groped with his hands in the darkness, found what the guard had thrown into the room. “A blade—you give me a blade?”

  “When your vision returns, you’ll know what to do with it.”

  “Do you think I will take my own life?�
��

  The guard laughed, a deep mocking cackle, as he walked off.

  “The blade is for me,” said the other.

  Geoffrey could see only a blurred outline of someone sitting up in the bed across the room. “For you?”

  “For you to use to kill me. They like to pair us with our enemies. What satisfaction it gives them, I do not know.”

  “Our enemies? Wait—you know who they are? Where we are?”

  “I do,” said the other. “Before I tell you what you want to know, you must agree to put down the blade.”

  “You think I would kill you?”

  “You are bred to this purpose, as I am.”

  “So it is true that we are enemies?”

  “It is. But cannot enemies of enemies also be friends if there is need?”

  “Perhaps it can be so if the need is great.”

  “And the blade?”

  Geoffrey dropped the blade, saying to the other, “I am listening.”

  “Good,” said the other, “then I will tell you what it is you want to know.”

  Geoffrey thought to himself that what he wanted to know was much more than any one man could tell him. He wanted to know the fate of the kingdom, whether the garrisons had liberated Imtal, whether the treachery had spread to Solntse, where he had gone wrong. He also wanted to know the fate of the crown prince, for surely if there was one who could bring unity to the lands and restore order it was Prince Valam Alder.

  Chapter Two

  As Prince Valam Alder surveyed the ship from the high deck, the sky growing darker by the moment, he saw a glowing shimmer shoot up the main mast. The soft golden glow lasted only a moment; but the way the light moved reminded him of Eldrick, the tree spirit, and a time beneath the Sentinel tree that seemed so long ago. Tree spirits, he had been told, were as ancient as the winds and the lands. The teller had also told him of the Fourth, an ancient power that could move through the world unseen by all save the Watchers and those few who could see into the land of shadow. It was said that the Fourth clashed against the very winds of Ruin Mist and could blow across the mountaintops.

  What was meant by the saying Valam could only guess at; but Ekharn of the mountaineers, the elves who in ancient times dwelled in the Silver Mountains of East Reach, had told him so many things in the moments between dream and waking that his mind was still reeling these many days past. Ekharn’s queen was the one who had told him to return with all haste to Leklorall and to look to the Queen-Mother for answers. She had told him to ask of the sword as well just before she told him to awaken and remember.

  The time between the end of the dream and waking seemed an eternity. He was only now piecing together everything Ekharn had told him, and he only now understood that Ekharn had told him many things that he perhaps should not have. “Our times are but echoes. Find the dream when life’s need is at its greatest,” Ekharn had told him at the last. And now at the behest of a long-dead queen, he was returning to Leklorall to seek answers to questions he wasn’t sure he understood.

  Cagan, the elven sailmaster, stood at the wheel of the fleet’s flagship, directing the ship through the tack. Beside Cagan stood Tsandra and Teren of the Brown, two elves Valam had grown to trust, as well as Seth. Captain Mikhal was on the main deck, making his way to the high deck, as Valam watched. The captain’s return meant that the men were prepared for the heavy seas and that all was secure below decks—or as secure as was possible.

  Sullen gray skies spread out across the distance. Cagan fought to meet the waves, but with each change of direction the boat faltered heavily in the turbulent waters. Prince Valam keenly focused his attention on the deepening black of the sky overhead. He sensed something that spoke ill to him; in these thoughts, he was not alone.

  Tsandra and Teren were also concentrating on the energies of the storm. As before, they sensed more at work here than the hand of the Mother. A presence or a great force of will touched their thoughts lightly, though they did not sense it. It followed the thoughts in their minds and then fell away from them.

  Cagan stood stoutly with his legs firmly planted on the deck. He strained under the weight of the helm as it tried to thrash about. Defiantly, he again turned the ship into the wind, directing the sails into the tack. His voice rose above the rasping of the waves and the moaning of the vessel. The bosun repeated his orders in seemingly ceaseless chords of shrill notes; all about the ship men moved to the sounds, tightening or loosening a sail or line here or there, as Cagan commanded.

  Safety lines sprouted and stretched to the far corners of the deck. A rope found its way to the captain and lashed him about the helm. All the while, those that were now forced to move below deck were unaware of the proceedings above though in their minds they held images that were close to the truth. Danyel’, who had retired below after they set sail, lounged back as if nothing were going on. He chewed absently on a bit of bark he had saved in a small pouch. The bitter, sweet taste in his mouth carried his thoughts away.

  Captain Mikhal fidgeted with a small worn coin in his hand. He rolled it in and out of his fingers, playing it from one side of his hand to the other. Out of the corners of his eyes, he maintained a watch on the others. He did not adapt to the idleness as well as everyone else seemed to although he did note concern upon Valam’s face.

  The sound of water pouring down to the lower deck sent an alarm running through the thoughts of all. Startled minds brought feet scrambling to the mid-section hatch only to find more water, which drenched those close to the opening. Valam was the first to the ladder, and he was quick to secure the latch. He counted his blessings as the lock clicked, and he immediately heard the rushing of water above.

  Valam waved the others back to where they had come from. He grinned broadly but not harshly at the concerned faces. This was not his first storm at sea; he had endured worse, or so he thought. He found his way back to the place he had occupied earlier and sat down. His thoughts began to reflect inward, and he turned to images of home, most especially what lay ahead for him.

  A great creaking moan sent a shudder throughout the ship as if it bore an enormous weight. The bow and then the stern tumbled with a crash and then quickly rose on high. With the third crash came a cry and fear spread instantly. A rushing sound followed, like wind rustling through trees. Bodies swept with the water floundered helplessly, scrambling to catch anything available. Those that were able made for the hatches and safety.

  The center hatch was the most congested as many began to flee the rising waters. For a moment the panic stopped and a cheer rang out. The shouts died out as the water continued once more on its course.

  City walls that had seemed so large in the distance appeared to shrink as the small band approached. Slowly the walls blended in with the raised cliffs and rocky crags. Krepost’ had no immense protective wall as did its sister city though in its own way it was protected. As they rode, Xith cast long glances to the heavens, wondering if it was a fool’s folly to try to breach the heart of darkness. Had they outwitted Sathar the Dark and the Fourth himself? Or did the darkness want them to believe they had? Was the trap set and were they already in its throes?

  No guard marked the entrance to the city, nor was there a watch raised in the forward or postern towers. Here they tethered their mounts and parked the coach. Several reluctantly elected to remain behind until the others returned. Inside the carriage, both Adrina and Amir had gone back to sleep, which none remarked about, which was just as well. Adrina had been wide-eyed since the river crossing thinking about the gatekeeper of Krepost’, who legend said might or might not chase them over the cliffs into Statter’s Bay and to their deaths. However, as the hours passed and the company slowly made their way to the city high in the mountains, her enthusiasm and fear had waned.

  The streets were deserted, and silence prevailed. Nijal squinted at the orange ball looming in the distance. The clouds above were just beginning to break up. The one thing about the city that was not disappointing was its s
ize. Nijal compared it to that of Solntse, which was the greatest city of the West.

  As they trod through street and alleyway on a course that only Xith knew, they came upon the market that the ferryman had mentioned. The sight and sound of so much activity suddenly springing to life took them by surprise. They had just circled around a squat, long, one-story building, and the market had suddenly appeared before them. They stood at its edge, staring in wonder.

  Xith did a cursory inspection of his belongings and then led them into the square. He was quick to recommend that they keep a hand on anything valuable, adding that things had a way of disappearing though no one would admit to their theft. He also mentioned that accusing someone of thievery was not the brightest thing to do. Noman laughed as he added his agreement with that statement.

  All manner of beast, fowl, food, and aromas assaulted the senses as they wandered among the stalls. Xith greedily snapped up bits of herbs and spices, mumbling to Noman as he made each purchase. The market at Krepost’ was unrivaled for the variety of its goods and services. It was the last stop, or the first, on the East-West road, and almost anything could be bought here if the price were right.

  Xith had forgotten how excited bartering made him. A youthful spirit overcame him as he frantically dashed about, searching for all the things that were on an imaginary list that he appeared to be recording his purchases on. The satchels, which had been his first purchase, were now filled to capacity, forcing him to slow his pace.

  “I don’t understand—” whispered Nijal, “Where did all these merchants come from? Where do they get all the goods?”

  “That is the wonder of Krepost’!” replied Noman.

  “No, really?” pleaded Nijal.

  “Another time, another time, my friend.”

  Noman moved back to assist Xith without further regard to Nijal’s insistence. Nijal sought out someone else to turn his questions on and found Shchander; but he did not know, either. He, like Nijal, had rarely been beyond Solntse; and while the markets in Solntse were grand, they were small compared to this.