Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Vilmos slipped further and further over the cliff, only his upper body remaining on the rocks while the rest of him dangled freely over empty air. His fingers pulsating with pain and wary of the approaching drop, he pleaded for help, his head turning wildly. "I don't want to die… please help me… How can you just stand there? Please, I beg you."

  "The power lives within you. You have used it many times before, though you didn't know why or exactly how. You are the power, Vilmos. It yearns to be released from within you. Release it."

  "Please, please help me." Vilmos' plea sounded pathetic even in his own ears. "Please."

  "Vilmos, let it go. I am giving you a reason to use your power; I give you your life. Release it."

  The voice was again commanding, Vilmos felt compelled to do as invoked. He had to prove he could stop the wind. Somewhere within was the key, a key that must be found. It had been so much easier before. He had never really tried to use the power; it had just come to him.

  "Hurry, Vilmos. You must hurry!"

  Vilmos found the object of his inward search; the strength was there. Still unsure exactly how he was supposed to make the wind stop, Vilmos decided to let his mind drift. His thoughts wandered until he found a helpful clue. As he anticipated, the solution to his dilemma seemed to seep into his mind.

  It had always been there.

  "Quickly, Vilmos. You must release the power now."

  A test of the power within forced the wind to flicker. Strength flowed to Vilmos unbidden. He bathed in its caress; it felt so wonderful.

  Magic isn't bad; it is beautiful.

  Vilmos knew what he had to do to make the wind cease and now he would do it.

  The man screamed, "Vilmos, release the power, release it now before it is too late!" His anxiety increased with each passing second. "Hurry, Vilmos! Let it go; feel it flow!"

  Vilmos perceived a peculiar scratching at the back of his mind; something loomed closer. Magic isn't bad, he reminded himself, the words flowing to him again.

  "Go on try it," whispered the man, "Set it free."

  Vilmos shook his head to rid himself of the irritating scratching. "I will, I will."

  Vilmos focused on the wind, shaking his head to rid himself of the irritating scratching at the back of his mind. Was it a whisper?

  Seemingly, as if simply acknowledging that the whisper existed was enough, Vilmos heard it. "No, Vilmos, no."

  Vilmos shook his head, his concentration faltering. Irritated, the old man grabbed Vilmos about the shoulders and lifted him from the ground, shaking him violently while his razor sharp fingernails ripped into Vilmos' shoulders. "Do as you are told boy!" he shouted.

  With untold power captivated in a crisp, clear voice, the newcomer spoke again. "It is a trick, Vilmos. Look closely, see his true form. The fourth comes. Look!"

  The wind stopped dead. The old man released his grip. Vilmos fell to his knees.

  The man said, "No, Vilmos, it is not true. Do not listen to foul lies."

  Torn between the two voices, unsure which to follow, who spoke the truth or what to do, Vilmos clasped his hands to his head. His mind reeled with pain. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

  Unchecked, the power within grew to a crescendo, reaching beyond Vilmos' control. His wild eyes stared in disbelief as crazed thoughts continued to spin through his mind. He was the power, the master of all he surveyed; he would release the force within. His arms shot out and he stood with his feet spread wide, bracing against the wind. His eyes were wild.

  The second voice screamed, "Vilmos, in the name of Great Father, I command you, Awaken! "

  Vilmos' eyes jumped open. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, blood dripping from his shoulders and fingers and pooling on the floor. The sound of stifled, irregular breaths fell upon his ears. Realizing the sound was not his own, he shrank into the corner. He would not have been amazed to see the old man sitting beside him, yet as he turned, meeting a warm smile, he nearly wet his pants.

  "I thought you would be away until next Seventhday. What are you doing here?"

  The tutor seated at a chair next to the bed, stared at him. She whispered softly, "Protecting you, Vilmos. The fourth is upon us."

  "Why didn't you wake me? I was having a terrible, terrible dream."

  The tutor looked to Vilmos' hands and the blood dripping to the floor. "We both know it wasn't a dream. I am here to help you, Vilmos."

  Vilmos turned away from the tutor and then back again. "I don't need help; just go away."

  She glanced nervously to the window and then touched a dark yellow stone to the palms of each of Vilmos' hands. "Healing stones," she said quietly, calmly. "They will ease the pain."

  "Is it magic?" Vilmos asked.

  "In a way," she responded, upturning warm green eyes, "these come from the temple of Mother-Earth."

  She touched her index finger to each stone and whispered words in a language unknown to Vilmos. The stones burst into brilliant yellow flames and as Vilmos witnessed the birth of two tiny suns, his fingers tingled. As he watched, the wounds healed and scabs formed. Soon there was no trace of injury, and all the while the dazzling glow of the stones was diminishing until all that was left of the tiny suns were pebbles the color of coal.

  She touched a finger to Vilmos' shoulders where the old man's clawed fingers had raked the flesh. He could feel the shoulders throbbing now that the pain from his hands was gone. "I am sorry," she said. "The power of the stones is spent, but I could not have undone this anyway. I must go now. Will you come with me?"

  "Wh-wh-where," stammered Vilmos, "are you going?"

  "Vilmos, you are special. All you have to do is trust me and let me help you. I am going to meet someone. He has waited a long time for you to be ready."

  A voice told Vilmos if he left now he would never be coming home again. "I am afraid."

  She offered Vilmos her hand and hesitantly he accepted. Her touch put Vilmos at ease and as he looked up into her soft green eyes his worries faded away. He would go wherever she would take him.

  "We have to move swiftly," she said as she led Vilmos from the house. "The woods are a strange enough place with the light of day, let alone without it."

  They had just reached the edge of the village when the sound of drums burst into the air. She began to run all out, dragging Vilmos behind her.

  "Hurry, hurry," she said. "They come."

  The two made the trek from the village to the dark wood at a record pace, the tutor dragging Vilmos behind her. Before them was a path overgrown with weeds and underbrush but still visible to an observant eye. Here they entered the dark wood. Questions flooded through Vilmos' mind. Where were they going? What of his mother and father? What of the drums?

  He followed her along the tangled trail. Several times he tried to speak, though no words ever escaped his lips. A sickness welling up from his stomach told him the whole of the world was suddenly somehow different.

  By the time they emerged from the dark wood, the sun was low on the horizon and the meadow spreading beyond the forest's veil was shrouded in shadows. Beyond the meadow, rolling hills obscured the horizon and somehow Vilmos knew the place she hastened to lay beyond the hills, somewhere off in the unseen distance. He raced alongside her expectantly now as the echo of drums chased their footfalls.

  Chapter Five

  After that night Adrina spent days trying to piece together what had transpired. That is, when Lady Isador or Chancellor Yi weren't giving her lessons, and discounting the horrible day she spent with Rudden Klaiveson. The more she probed for answers, the more intrigued she became. No one in the whole of Imtal Palace would talk about the visit—Emel included.

  She was working on a plan to change that. Emel would talk. She had only to find the right time and the right words, which she hoped was now as she waited in the shadows. Performing his duties as acting sergeant had delayed Emel, and by the time he had arrived at the palace stables the others of his company had been and gone. />
  His steed, fittingly dubbed Ebony Lightning because it was jet black and could outpace even stallions bred for the king's swiftest messengers, still waited in its stall. He had known the appointed time of first formation, so he had not hurried. Then he had still had a full half hour.

  Before and after every ride, Emel rubbed Ebony down from the poll of its head to the dock of its tail, up and down each powerful leg. In his proud eyes Ebony was the tallest stallion in all the lands and when he rode him, it was from this height that he looked out at the world.

  Emel would have given anything to be like the Kingdom huntsmen, free like the four winds. His skills as a tracker stemmed from these desires. He had even pulled several short assignments at High Road Garrison—the last being during the past winter and spring—which allowed him to exercise these desires. He had not been able to take Ebony Lightning with him then, but now things were different. Ebony was his now, a reward for services rendered to the crown.

  He was putting the finishing touches on the rub down when Adrina emerged from the shadows. Now he could only watch from afar as the other riders began to file through the outer palace gates and listen to the Warmaster Gabrylle's call, knowing the evident anger in the tone.

  From the expression in Adrina's eyes and the saddlebags beside her, Emel knew without a doubt what she wanted. He stroked Ebony Lightning and glared. "Adrina," he began, "I will say this one more time, give me the harness and let me go. They're passing through the palace gates. Damn you and your foolishness!"

  Adrina dangled the harness in front of him. It was the only harness that remained in the stables as far as Emel knew. "I'll have my father talk to Warmaster Gabrylle if need be. My horse is already saddled."

  Emel regarded her for a moment. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat the same as he had. She had even bested him once or twice on the competition field. "This is not practice," he said, "This is the real thing. People are dying out there on the fields."

  Adrina lost her resolve momentarily and Emel snatched the harness from relaxed hands. By the time he put the harness in place and was in the saddle Adrina was mounted and awaiting him just beyond the stable in the parade grounds.

  As Emel rode up to Adrina, he told her, "A dozen other guardsmen will willingly take my position. I must show the warmaster that I know what I am doing."

  Ebony whinnied as Adrina edged her mare closer, bringing the two horses side by side. "You know what is at hand. I want to know and I'll be waiting for you when you return. You must tell me everything you know then as you promised before."

  Emel nodded acknowledgement and rode out of the parade grounds. Adrina watched him go and then returned her mare to the stables. She passed the hours that followed quietly, taking dinner in her chambers.

  Early evening found her atop the palace walls. Every now and again as she looked down into High King's Square, she tucked the errant strands behind her ear. The square was bustling with activity, merchants packing their wares onto pack animals, townsfolk haggling for last minute deals and the inevitable array of jugglers, musicians, fire-eaters and the like who had gathered to make festival of the day's executions.

  Adrina disliked the busyness in the square. Nevertheless, the square afforded the best vantage point to witness the return of the riders. She was growing worried. Emel should have returned to the palace an hour ago.

  She cast uneasy eyes westward. The sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon; soon it would be dark. As she turned back toward the square, a distant sound came to her ears.

  Adrina wondered if it could be the clatter of hooves on cobbled stones. She wanted it to be but knew it wasn't. She heard the sound again, though this time it was even more distant.

  Her heart leapt when trumpeters in the palace gate towers and at the city walls sounded off in response to the far off call. Her eyes set with worry, Adrina stared westward. There was no mistaking the distinct call to arms.

  Knowing Imtal garrison riders and foot soldiers would soon respond to the trumpeters' summons, Adrina's face flushed white. Emel was out there somewhere with Warmaster Gabrylle and a group of unproven young guardsmen. It was their sixth excursion in as many days and the only one where they hadn't returned before dusk.

  Within minutes, another call came from the city walls. This call meant a mounted guard was passing out of the city and into Imtal proper.

  Billows of smoke rising in the foothills caught her eye. Near the smoke she could see long lines of troops, rushing across the hilltops of the Braddabaggon. For a moment they seemed a swarm of insects over the land and it was then she realized she had never seen so many in the field. As the opposing lines of troops clashed, the attack on the palace began anew. The enemy catapults and ballistae hurled their payloads at the outer city walls.

  The battle raged on as the darkness of the night gathered full. The torches and fiery flames of arrows and bush lit the foothills with an eerie glow. Adrina said a silent prayer then, asking Great Father to watch over the kingdom soldiers. At the last she added a special wish, a wish that Emel would return safely from the fray.

  In the distance she heard the crackle of thunder and saw the storm that moved in from the north. Rain followed. Slowly the lights in the foothills faded until there was only darkness and the distant sound of a raging battle she could not see.

  That night of running through the woods had spilled over into many days and nights of running. Throughout it all the drums had been there, always behind them and seeming to get closer as time passed. Panic had ruled those days and nights but not this night. This night was different for they had arrived at a campfire and the one Vilmos had seen in his dreams was there waiting for them.

  Vilmos stared at the peculiar tiny man for a time, still unsure if the things he had seen in his dreams were real—if any of this was real. After a long pause, Vilmos said, "I know you. You are King Gnome."

  The gnome's skin was the color of rough leather—and while his face, deep set with wrinkles that covered its entirety, was the best indicator of his great age, his hair, long and black with whispers of gray, neither accented nor subtracted from his appearance of age and wisdom. He sat and motioned for the two to do likewise. Then he said, "Descendent of the long line of Oread though I am, I am no longer king. My people were taken away a thousand years hence and I am all that remains."

  Far off Vilmos heard the drums. He saw the tutor glance to the woods. He was silent for a moment and then said, "You know I am afraid; you can sense my fear. Can't you, your majesty?"

  "If you insist on thinking of me as a king, you will put my life and yours in great jeopardy. I am a simple shaman, nothing more. You may call me Xith."

  Vilmos remembered something that had been gnawing at him ever since he first heard the shaman's voice. "In a vision you told me of Under-Earth and showed me two faces in glowing orbs."

  "No vision," he said.

  "Then was it real?" Vilmos asked.

  "More real than you will ever know," Xith said as he leaned forward and touched a hand to Vilmos' shoulder where the raked flesh was begun to fester with a deep infection. "We will camp here this night. Tomorrow I will answer your questions. Do not worry, for there is nothing to worry about. All fears are behind you for a time. You will sleep peacefully this night. You must remember always that history belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller's recollection of it."

  Overcome with sudden fatigue, Vilmos found a dire need for sleep. Xith gestured with his hands and the campfire flames became bright with sudden life. The fire's warmth carried with it a healing touch and as soon as Vilmos lay down on the hard ground next to the campfire, he fell asleep.

  Xith's silver eyes glowed with joy in the firelight then and as he regarded the tutor, he thought her brave and sincere. "Come here," he bade her, "Let me look at you."

  She crossed to him.

  Xith took her hand, noticing how the years had matured her. When she started to speak, he silenced her saying, "Promis
e me that you will forget what you know and what you have seen. Think of the boy no more. He is under my care and this alone should ease your mind. A great change is sweeping the lands and it is no longer safe. Do not return here."

  She looked up into Xith's eyes. "Will you be all right?"

  He hushed her with a silencing finger. He did not use the Voice on her as he had the boy. "I grant you faith Midori, deliver the final scroll. I know that the journey of homecoming will not be an easy one for you. But it is one that you must make, and one that you will make more than once."

  "First do no harm," she whispered.

  Xith's face grew dark and shadowed. With a sweep of his hand, he cast her into the winds and though she was far from sight, he whispered after her, "Watch your way with care and I will see you many more times."

  Alone now with the boy, he looked to the heavens and the gibbous moon obscured by dark clouds. He did not know if he could cheat fate or even if it was wise to try, though he must try for the future of all the races in all the realms was at stake.

  Seth's eyes keyed to the impassable line of multi-sailed vessels hungrily waiting. That the ships were King Mark's, he had no doubt. That the five ships, including the flagship he sailed in, would survive the encounter, he had plenty of doubts.

  Brother Galan reached out to his mind, What do we do now, Brother? Two days out of Kapital and already we find the enemy upon us.

  Seth ignored Galan and directed a thought to the ship's sailmaster. Cagan, we must get through. We cannot fight them all at once. Can we make it to open seas?

  "Perhaps," Cagan said, speaking aloud as was his chosen fashion and the fashion of those who were not of the Brotherhood. "The escort ships should strike the right side of the blockade while we cut straight through and try to make for open seas. With the wind filling our sails this ship can outrun anything."