Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Xith procured an ointment from his bags and applied it to the wounds. He hoped it would slow the festering of the creature’s touch and perhaps even prevent it. The commotion had stirred all the residents of the inn and even the innkeeper himself. A body upon the floor was a very disquieting sight and was a sign of ill fortune on this special day.

  Newcomers to the scene assumed the fight had been between the two. The one lay still upon the floor, the color drained from his face, and the other cringed against the wall as his wounds were being mended. No one offered an explanation. They were all left to guess. A small sum of gold exchanged hands before the inn returned to normal.

  “Our plans are known,” Xith whispered to Noman.

  Noman nodded grimly.

  “We can wait no more for Brother Teren’s return. We gave him until morning, no more. The storm still has not faded in its ferocity. We must try to fight it ourselves.” Father Jacob said those words in his mind yet not aloud. Others around him were thinking similar thoughts, but some understood better than most the need for speedy action.

  They had sought out the center of the storm once and had been cast back. They all understood that the eye was upon them now. The nighttime hours had not been wasted in idleness; many plans had been drawn, discussed, worked, and re-worked. Morning had found them without the warmth of a fire. No new logs were sent for. They had decided, and though the decision had come after a long strenuous debate, they were going to stick to it.

  Liyan explained in loose terms some of what he knew, but he did not reveal all. The key factor was that the enemy knew of their presence and that now they were prepared to resist, and nothing more. The members of the Brown were assembled beside Tsandra, and they were no longer afraid to free their will upon the land at its full.

  During the hours of twilight and first light, the struggle was born. The will of the masses was gathering, sending back a force of its own. It was vigorous in the manner in which it gained speed and strength, but it was steadfast in one point: it must remain unseen, growing from a distance, just as the rage they were enduring had. Their opponents had had time, where they had little; however, nothing would hold them back now.

  They still had one of two paths to follow. They could attack either the creators or the storm itself. They had not decided, and for now the simple fact that the choice lay ahead was enough. Seth acted best as the watcher. He moved and shifted his will across the sky in spurts, never delaying long in one place, but always watching and in this he proved to have abundant talent.

  Liyan was the mediator, the voice between Seth and Tsandra. His was a consciously chosen tedious task, for in this capacity he could also keep Valam, Jacob and the others informed. The waiting was the most difficult thing he had to endure. He abided well for a time, but he eventually grew impatient and shuttled between conscious thought and the link. He was mostly concerned about the possibility of failure, and if they failed, what their next choice was.

  Neither Captain Mikhal nor Danyel’ had delayed in their return to duties. Captain Mikhal returned to the affairs of the camp. As he was the leader, he had many things to attend to, chief among which was flood control and keeping the paths on the ridges open. The Seventh returned to his own, commanding a small detachment of scouts as they ventured north.

  Most were unaware that morning arrived because the light in the sky remained the same. The strain of exhaustion from the many hours of work began to show. In the interim, between the still of night and the fullness of day, a counterforce was constructed, and now they moved it across the sky. It gained force as it ran, flowing fluidly upon the winds.

  Seth guarded it as it moved, seeking out its course. His head swayed and bobbed. His eyes were tightly closed, but they saw many things. He floated beyond the clouds at the very edges of the air. Soaring upon the rivers and streams of the currents, Seth ran before their storm. He was its watchdog. And he waited.

  Tsandra guided the forces around her as they flowed from her followers. She channeled it upward, and the power nearly carried away her soul. Her center was at its very peak, but still they needed to give more, much, much more. She linked outward, moving her thoughts to those around her, allowing them to channel the power with her. She formed a link that became an interconnecting network spreading out from her in a great spiral, and the strength of will began to flow greater than ever before.

  With wonder in her eyes, Calyin followed her escorts, two large figures outfitted in thick mail and heavy weaponry, down the long corridor. She had often considered what it looked like, what avenues or halls lay past the small stretch she knew. As she walked, she counted the footfalls, knowing each turn in advance without looking.

  As they drew away from the area she had been detained in, she began to note the crossings of the halls, always keeping a careful count in her mind. They walked at length without pausing until they came to a set of double doors where they halted. Only one of the guards proceeded through the door while the other remained with Calyin. There was a long wait before the other returned. When he did, it was clear that he was not pleased.

  The march continued on, and just when it seemed they would never stop again, they did. Since their last pause, they had climbed four flights of steep, narrow stairs and walked down many halls that seemed almost to be without end, weaving in an ever upward, and perhaps inward, direction. Calyin wasn’t exactly sure of her whereabouts although the air did seem fresher, not acrid, as it had been before.

  She was taken by surprise when the doors were opened before her to reveal a great chamber. Heels striking the polished floor sent vibrations resounding throughout the room. Calyin counted a full forty steps from door to center. During the time they crossed the room, her eyes had been busy. The sun shone in through high windows along the center of the ceiling. She thought it was beauty incarnate, an exhilarating sight after so long in a dimly lit place.

  The hall was plain and simple in comparison to the iridescence of the sun falling through thick prismatic panels. The only thing of note was the granite throne, chiseled from the rock of the room and placed midway just off their present path. The throne was empty. They stood before it, waiting.

  A door opened on the far side of the hall opposite the one they had entered. A woman with long, flowing ebony hair was ushered in without escort. A spark of hope caught Calyin for a moment, but it was soon to fade as the woman approached closer. Her hair was pulled up tight on one side, and her dress was of cloth conservatively designed. She crossed to the great chair but did not sit upon it.

  Almost immediately after the woman touched her hand upon the stone, a trumpet sounded and a large group began filing in. They were arraigned in shining mail with bronze over-plates formed at the joints. While they were equipped with no manner of weapon, they appeared a very effective defensive force. They held feathered helmets in gloved hands, slightly shifting them from side to side as they walked.

  A figure followed. He was without adornment, but Calyin knew in a glance that he was royalty. His gait was bold and led him straightforwardly to the chair although he did not sit. He waited.

  A second figure emerged from the door at the rear of the hall. He wore a gray robe. His entourage was large and did not seem altogether friendly. This group stopped at a mark a few paces to the right of Calyin. She counted eleven of them.

  Calyin watched as the minutes passed and new groups appeared and formed around her as if she watched some dance where she alone did not know the steps. Four lines now stood to her left, and the group to her right changed to five as she looked on. After a time she lost count of the footsteps and the number of persons present. And after a time, the room was full, save for a single seat, which was not yet unoccupied.

  The dance had ended; however, Calyin still waited. The air that had until a short time ago been fresh and pleasant now reeked from the mass of bodies; there were too many for the room despite its size. Calyin soon grew weary of delays and her attention drifted back to the sunlight filtering
from above.

  Her gaze and her attention were fixed elsewhere when the final figure entered and took his seat. She had not seen or noticed the soldiers come to attention upon his arrival. She did not notice the cushion placed upon his seat or the drink poured from a golden vessel into a jeweled goblet. A man approached her with the drink and kneeled before her, but she had not seen that either.

  “It is customary for the guest to drink. You must drink,” said the man in low tones. Calyin was slow to respond to the words, and she did not take the glass that was offered. She waved it away. “I wish nothing from a servant.”

  “I am no servant, my lady. I am Prince Sy’dan Entreatte, second son of the lost kingdom. Please do not affront me in front of my people.”

  “You call me a lady, yet you treated me no better than a common slave. What kind of a people are you? A simple gesture and all is forgotten? I do not think so.”

  “Please keep your voice down. Do not despoil my honor. Drink, it is customary. Please, I beg of you, and I must make pardons for your ill treatment. I did not know. I will see that the rogue that treated harshly one so fair will pay.”

  Calyin accepted the drink even though she knew the tongue that spoke softly to her was forked. She found no pleasure in its refreshment. Calyin looked contemptuously at the seated one. A chair was procured for her to sit upon though she refused. She bided her time. “What have you given me?” she asked, her voice weak.

  Prince Sy’dan took the goblet from her hand before it could fall to the stones of the floor. When the drink began to take hold, she staggered backwards, uneasy on her feet, but still refusing to sit.

  “I see you do not agree that we are gracious hosts. Have you ever been in the cells of your garrisons? They are not pleasant places, I can assure you. You were treated far better than I, far better than the High Lord of Shost. Yet now I welcome you to my hall and promise you that your lesson is learned. All things have a price and a penance.”

  Calyin started to speak her mind but held her tongue. Prince Sy’dan indicated his gratitude with a small bow and a smile. Ashwar did not let the silence hold in the room long before he broke it. “I welcome you, Princess Adrina Alder, into my home. I am Belajl Entreatte, High Lord of Shost, returned from the Dark Fire. In a moment the potion you drank will let you see true.”

  The name startled Calyin, causing her to look befuddled. She almost stated that she was Calyin Alder but again said nothing, turning her confused look to a smile. “What of my companion, where is she?”

  “The others are quite safe for now, I promise you. No harm will come to them if you cooperate.”

  “Others?” thought Calyin. She immediately wanted to ask to whom he referred. “What is it you wish of me?”

  “Your secret of course.”

  “Secret? I have no secrets.”

  “Do you know the bounty that rests on your head? Which is wholly redeemable whether you are alive or dead, I might add.”

  Calyin understood the “play your cards well” that was inferred. “Perhaps you should explain to me who it is that wants me and then I can tell you.”

  The High Lord considered her sincerity for a time before responding. “I honestly do not know it in full, save that it is a king from a far off place and he wants you. For the sum, I do not care what he does to you.”

  “If it is gold you want, I can offer you plenty.”

  “My dear, it is more than mere coins, I assure you. Do you not know the full of it yet?”

  Calyin puzzled on the word full; he had spoken it twice. Her head started to spin and suddenly she was dizzy. She was pushed into the chair beside her. She tried to focus but couldn’t. Everything was muddled. “I don’t feel well. May I rest?”

  “Soon, very soon. You will rest. Yes, I can promise you lots of rest. I did not cooperate for nothing. Tell me, princess, what do you know of this stranger and why did he journey to Imtal?”

  “I—I—don’t feel well. I must sleep—”

  “Walk her around, you fool! You have given her too much! Hurry, or it will be you that takes her place!”

  A soft voice whispered into Calyin’s ear. It sang pretty songs in a melodic tone, and its questions she answered. The sun was so beautiful coming through the window, so beautiful, thought Calyin. The voice promised to take her away if she would just pay attention and answer. She tried her best. She wanted to rest so very much. Darkness did eventually find and carry her off.

  Chapter Six

  Nijal’s search had carried the two through the night and now in the hour between day and night, his gait at last slowed. As luck or other fates would have it, he had found Awn and now they followed him. Awn and his companions led Nijal and Shchander to a place they did not know and unfortunately could not see, for they were blindfolded.

  They had gone a great distance before they stopped and in the silence the two heard the echo of water falling, but it sounded odd and unlike the fall of raindrops against a rooftop. They were told to remove the blindfolds and for the first time they looked upon their surroundings. The questions that had been roaming through their thoughts were almost immediately answered.

  They knew that at some point others had joined them. The faces were only now revealed. For several minutes they strained to hear a whispered conversation, and then they continued on. Shchander marked the corridors they crossed and moved along in his mind. The walls were odd-shaped, rough-hewn, perhaps carved from solid rock, or so he thought.

  Nijal was troubling over completely different matters. He stayed close to Awn, trying to follow the flow of the conversation Awn was having with one of the newcomers. He couldn’t discern much from the muddled tones except that the other was unhappy with the current situation. Nijal thought he heard a name mentioned, or perhaps it was the name of the man Awn was speaking to, he wasn’t quite sure. It soon became very clear to him that Awn was very angry over something this man had done.

  “We will be there soon, my friend. Do not worry,” said Awn becoming aware of Nijal’s closeness.

  “Where are we? Are we still in the city?” asked Nijal.

  “Of course we are in the city—quite so—indeed,” replied Awn, but Awn didn’t listen long enough for Nijal to ask him another question. Awn turned back to the man beside him, quickly returning to their discussion. Shchander pulled Nijal’s shirtsleeve to gain his attention and waved for Nijal to come closer to him.

  Shchander whispered quietly into Nijal’s ear, “Well, what do you think?”

  “What do I think about what?” replied Nijal.

  “Shh! Not so loud. What do you think about these tunnels?”

  “Tunnels? I hadn’t noticed really,” Nijal said, and he hadn’t until just now. Torches lit the path before and behind them, bracketed into the walls by thick iron spikes that were rusted with age. Dust swirled about their feet as they stepped, and the ceiling was hung with cobwebs. Nijal ran his right hand along the wall. Although its appearance was rough, it was smooth but riddled with pockmarks.

  “What time do you think it is?” asked Nijal, whispering again.

  “Growing well into a new day, I would imagine,” said Awn, “you needn’t whisper.”

  Both Nijal and Shchander grew silent, feeling like children who had just been scolded for doing something they were not supposed to. “Relax,” added Awn, “you are with us now. No harm will befall you.” Shchander was still silent, but Nijal admitted he was more worried about his whereabouts than anything else at present.

  “You are with us now—and as I said before, there is nothing for you to worry about.”

  “How far have we walked? Where are we? The air is rather cool and damp.”

  “The air from the sea is always a mixed blessing. It is cool and soothing most of the time, but often it is very damp.”

  They came to a long gallery and here the group was forced to walk single-file. A long, hard look in the direction they had come revealed nothing. Their only source of illumination was the torches they now
carried. The walls in this section were unadorned. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. Lofty glances to the ceiling only revealed darkness, as it was beyond the reach of the torchlight.

  Oddly, Nijal had kept track of his steps here, losing the count at around five hundred strides, but the hall still stretched out before them and then was lost in the shadows. Just when Nijal thought their path would never end, light flowed through the tunnel from its terminus. It was like bursting into the bright sunshine of a new day, which it was, in fact.

  Delicate rays poured into a room or chamber, as Nijal considered it for a moment. Then he decided that it was a grotto, a grand, tremendous grotto, for no other word seemed to capture what he saw. He couldn’t contain himself and he let out a cry. Its echo alarmed Shchander and the other, which they did not easily recover from.

  The whole of the hollow was suddenly alive with people running about. Men charged the entrance with spears and swords, children scurried into hiding places, and careful, discerning eyes could notice sentries along the high places in the walls readying bows and arrows. And then all went blank, as if a hand had suddenly passed over the sun. Total darkness enshrouded all.

  For an instant, Awn cast Nijal an angry glare. Then he announced his arrival and that of his companions. The gloom quickly lifted and most returned to what they were doing before the scare. Others turned to welcome the visitors without rebuke. The party was led swiftly through the maze of structures set about the place toward the farthest reaches of the far wall. The tempo was such that the two observers were not able to see much of what they passed, nor did they dare try for fear they would lose the way or their step. The site they came to was cramped and profusely crowded. Many long bench-style tables were crammed into the small space, filling it to capacity. It appeared to be a meeting area of sorts, also serving perhaps as the dining hall as food smells hung in the air.