Empire Awakening (Maledorian Chronicles Book 2)

by John Forrester

  The soldiers relaxed, glancing at the fire, nodding to themselves in agreement.

  “Takes forever to make, though. And I’m starving,” said a round-faced young soldier with a long scar running along the side of his neck. “Jelim, is it done yet?”

  A lean, muscular man with startling green eyes and short-cropped hair looked up from studying the stew. “Impatient as ever, that’s our Gron. You’d be wise to temper your eagerness, especially on the battlefield. Last time earned you that lovely scar. Next time will be the death of you.”

  Gron just grinned sheepishly. “You saw how I split in two the head of the fool that marked me like this, didn’t you? If somebody dares to kill me, I’ll kill ‘em twice over, I will.”

  “Not if your smell doesn’t kill us all first,” said another soldier. They laughed together at that.

  Jelim sniffed the stew and nodded to himself, satisfied. “It’s ready, fellows.” He looked up at Arcturius. “Are you officers too far above our station to join us?”

  “Do I look foolish enough to pass up an offer to enjoy such delicious smelling stew?” The wizard chuckled softly. “We would be honored. A fine meal amongst fine company.”

  “Present company excepted,” Jelim winked at Gron, who just held out his bowl in response.

  The stew did smell amazing, and Jondran realized he was hungry. How had he forgotten to eat all day? The battle and the concerns about the Maledorian cultists had occupied too much of his attention. Stupid of him, really, to forget to eat. He loved food and the taste of fine wine. If only they had some.

  Jondran and Arcturius accepted bowls filled with the piping hot stew. At Jelim’s insistence, the wizard took the first bite.

  “You’re a terrible cook, Jelim.” The wizard grinned in satisfaction. “What are you drinking with this most excellent stew?”

  Gron lifted a jug of something clear, looking apologetic. “It’s the best we could do, considering the rationing.”

  “Nonsense,” said Arcturius. “You provided the stew, and I’ll provide the drink.” He produced a bottle of red wine from a satchel at his side. “Stolen from a local winery in the hills west of here. Benefits of being an officer, I suppose.”

  “Drink, indeed!” Jelim said, his eyes excited. He accepted the bottle and opened it, sniffing curiously. “I pronounce it a most excellent vintage. It will go perfectly with the stew.”

  The others cheered and clanked their cups, greedily studying the bottle pouring forth crimson liquid into the wizard’s cup. Soon, all cups were poured, and Arcturius raised his drink in a toast.

  “May we prevail against our enemy with our belly’s full of this fine stew and blessed drink. To victory!”

  The soldiers raised their drinks in response and gulped down the wine. Their faces shone with mirth.

  When they’d finished the stew and emptied the bottle of wine, the soldiers relaxed, some drinking from the jug, some leaning back to sleep, and others, Jelim and Gron included, turned their attention to Arcturius.

  “So, tell us the truth, sir. Will we win this war?” Gron’s eyes looked vulnerable and concerned. “And don’t lie to us like our commander. We’re sick of all the official statements.”

  “Well, honestly, I don’t know.” The wizard frowned, glancing at his empty cup. “It depends, I suppose, on the ability of our sorcerers to win the day. Otherwise, in a straight up fight against the soldiers of Mar Thagroth, it will continue to be bloody and the victory difficult. That is if you consider survival as part of the idea of victory.”

  Jelim nodded in thoughtful appreciation. “So far, we’ve seen little magic from our sorcerers.”

  “If only the witch Cambria were here to bring lightning and hailstorms down on our enemy.” Arcturius looked off, his expression forlorn.

  “But she is here,” said Gron. “I saw her myself with a bunch of her other witches.”

  “No, it can’t be true.” The wizard looked at the soldier with disbelieving eyes. “Perhaps it was someone else? Otherwise, wouldn’t we have seen vast displays of magic on the battlefield?”

  “It is true, sir.” Gron stood and pointed off in the distance. “That tent over there with the orange banner. I saw her there. It was her, I tell you. I’ve seen what she can do, and I know her face.”

  The wizard looked perplexed. “Not that I doubt you, soldier, but I still find it very strange. Over there, at that tent, you say?” Arcturius glanced at Prince Jondran. The old wizard was baiting the information out of the soldier and doing a masterful job at it. “This I have to see for myself. If Cambria is here, then hope has returned, I tell you. Victory cannot be far away.”

  “Go see for yourself. But be careful. I’ve heard she has a nasty temper.”

  “I thank you for the warning, soldier.” Arcturius stood, nodding to the men. “And for the stew. I’ll look forward to sharing it with you again.”

  “And you’ll bring more of that fine wine?” said Gron, grinning.

  “Indeed, I won’t come empty-handed; you can count on that.”

  Arcturius and Jondran turned to leave, heading toward the orange tent. They kept their eyes low as they walked, trying to avoid sorcerers and larger groups of soldiers. Finally, they reached the place Gron had pointed out.

  “It is her,” whispered the wizard and jutted his chin toward a banner. “That is her sigil. She was always too vain to hide her power from others.”

  But unfortunately, the place was well-guarded, and scores of sorcerers milled around, eating, drinking, gossiping, and warming their hands around fires. It wasn’t nearly a celebration, but there was something driving optimism in the group. That scared Jondran, thinking of what might be coming in a future battle.

  “But there’s no sight of Cambria.” Arcturius looked concerned as he seemed to be scheming a way inside the tent. “This won’t be easy, not without a fight.”

  “What if I were to create a distraction?” Jondran whispered.

  “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Besides, I need you inside that tent with me. Otherwise, I fear she won’t listen to what we have to say. If she’s angry at me because of our history together, then so be it. But she needs to hear from you, as the leader of Mar Thagroth, and from someone who has directly seen the rise of the Maledorian cultists.”

  “So how do you propose us getting in there?”

  The wizard rubbed his chin, thinking. “Let’s circle around and see this problem from all angles.”

  Prince Jondran followed Arcturius as they wove around other tents—still keeping a distance—while they studied possible approaches to getting into seeing Cambria. Would they wait for a while and see if she departed?

  It was getting very late now, almost midnight, and Jondran worried whether the witch had gone to sleep. But there was the flickering lights of candles inside the tent, which caused him to believe she was still in conference with her allies. For indeed, sorcerers entered and left in quick succession and several enemy generals as well. They were actively planning something.

  Unless the wizard had seen something he’d missed, the prince hadn’t spotted a way inside. He looked to Arcturius, who only shrugged, puzzled.

  “You there,” said a commanding voice.

  Jondran froze, glancing over to where a general stood. The prince saluted out of instinct and stood at attention. Arcturius followed suit, standing erect and staring directly in front of himself.

  “You’re from the fourth division? I need you to deliver a letter to your general from the witch Cambria.”

  “Yes, sir!” barked Prince Jondran. He looked at the general, realizing he wasn’t holding anything.

  “What are you waiting for? Go on inside; she won’t kill you.” The general glanced at the tent, and Jondran saw fear in his eyes. The man was avoiding her; he was terrified of Cambria. This was the opening they needed.

  Prince Jondran went to march over to her tent, realizing Arcturius hadn’t followed him. When the prince glanced back, the general and
the wizard motioned for him to continue. Several guards and sorcerers noticed the interaction between Jondran and the general and allowed him to pass.

  As he looked at the tent flap, his heart began to hammer in his chest. Did he have to face her alone without the wizard? What if she judged him an enemy and murdered him on the spot? For they were truly enemies, after all, weren’t they? All along, he’d been counting on Arcturius to sway her mind in their favor somehow. Wasn’t that the plan?

  Courage, Jondran, summon courage, he told himself and took another step toward the tent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When Elendria awoke, it was to the sound of someone sweetly playing a lyre. It sounded off in the distance, as if a fog surrounded her, compressing the air and muffling the music. She shook her head, hoping to decipher if the tune was real or if she was dreaming.

  The sound grew clearer, and her vision resolved to form shapes. She looked around a dimly lit room littered with gems and crystals, extinguished candles, and intricate creations formed of twisted vines. She was lying on a bed of what looked like bear furs. Glancing around, she saw she was in a monastic room of sorts with earthen walls.

  Rising, she made her way over toward a slit of light and parted a heavy cloth curtain, revealing an iron pot simmering over the low flames. The conversation of two aged women was interrupted by her arrival. They turned their gazes to greet her.

  “We thought you might very well sleep another full night.”

  This woman—a witch perhaps?—had a round face and long, silver hair tied in an elaborate braid. She wore a lovely silk robe the color of sapphires. Her washed-out blue eyes studied her with a thoughtful intensity.

  Elendria tried to speak, but the woman raised a slender hand to stop her. “Don’t try to talk just yet. Give yourself time to heal. We know enough about you, as your friends have told us much. We expected you sooner, as Madam Lassengre gave us the approximation of your arrival. When you failed to come, and when our familiars reached us in warning, we set out to find you in the forest. Luckily for everyone involved, we came just in time.”

  The other woman gave a small laugh at the comment. Though her skin was porcelain smooth and pale, she looked ancient from the deep wrinkles around her piercing green eyes. This witch wore an emerald robe of silk, embroidered with a silver geometric pattern along the edges. Her black hair was tied in an elaborate bun held together by a long silver needle. “You and your friends were as good as eaten by the mist wraiths.”

  “Did everyone in my group survive?” Elendria said, surprised to find her voice hoarse and irritated.

  “A few of the miners perished in the attack. But your friends are all alive. The mist wraiths weren’t happy to have us interrupt their supper. One might have thought you failed to believe the bedtime stories your nanna told you.”

  “I was told far stranger stories in Maren Downs,” said Elendria, and at their frowns, closed her mouth.

  “So, you didn’t find the experience frightening?” the silver-haired woman said. “You all would have died if we hadn’t come and rescued you.”

  “We were merely following your familiars into the forest. Why would you lead us into such a dangerous place?”

  The silver-haired witch scoffed in colorful disbelief. “Did we ask you to linger and pick mushrooms? The entire forest is dangerous, my dear. We told you to come directly here. Were you always this disobedient and foolish as a child?”

  Elendria began to bite her fingernails. “Sometimes, yes. The disobedient part. But people rarely called me foolish.” But then, Elendria remembered the trip to the temple, where she went by herself to find Remi. “Well, mostly not foolish, I guess.”

  The silver-haired woman sighed, glancing at the other woman. “Have we had worse pupils over the years, Drevenia?”

  “I’m not sure if we have.” Drevenia looked keenly at Elendria. “You look like a wildfire waiting to happen. Do we have to teach her? What was Madam Lassengre thinking, taking you under her wings?”

  The witch sighed and slapped her hands together as if deciding something. “I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I am the leader of this coven of witches. And this is Hadara, my friend, and your future nightmare; that is, if we decide to accept you as a student.”

  Hadara gave Elendria a dark, penetrating look. “I don’t mind training this one. I’m always up for a challenge. The question is, will she be able to survive studying under our tutelage and the instruction of the others? She will need to keep quiet and listen to her elders. But likely, her ego will get in the way.”

  Elendria held her retort, though she was fuming inside. She wasn’t about to get into a fight with these two witches. They might turn her into a rodent or something worse, like a flea.

  “That’s a good start. I could see your struggle in suppressing your tongue.” Hadara nodded in appreciation. “Why don’t you go outside and find your friends? They’ve been pestering us constantly about your condition. We’ll resume the subject of your training soon enough.”

  Was that a dismissal? When the witches turned their backs on her, returning to their conversation, she supposed it was. So, Elendria went to go, glad to be away from them. What a bunch of strange old bats.

  Outside, sunlight filtered through the tall pine trees surrounding a collection of adorable houses nestled in the grass and flower-covered mounds. It was a lovely place, and the warm sun felt very fine. She closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp mountain air and the smell of pine, sage, and rosemary from the gardens.

  “Elendria?”

  She opened her eyes to see Lysha’s exuberant face. The girl darted over and gave her a huge hug. “You slept so long you had us all worried. We thought you might be suffering a relapse from your attack at the inn.”

  “No, strangely enough, I feel fine. In fact, I feel better than fine.” Elendria glanced back at the house. “Other than the strange encounter I just had with the witches. Have you met them?”

  “What do you mean? They were incredibly kind to me. Did something go wrong?”

  Elendria shrugged, thinking back to her time with the two old witches. “It’s like they were testing me or trying to estimate my worth. They weren’t kind, I can tell you that. How is everyone else doing? The witches told me a few of the miners died.”

  “It was an awful thing.” Lysha looked miserable. “We buried their bodies this morning. The other miners wanted to wait until you woke, but the witches wouldn’t have any of it.”

  “Where are the miners?” Elendria looked around but didn’t see anyone.

  “Of course, off working in the mines. Devin told them you’d want it that way. Honestly, they looked far happier at the prospect of returning.”

  A smile came to Elendria’s face. “I knew it. Those men were miserable just sitting around doing nothing in Damak. It would’ve killed them to be away so long from the thing they love.”

  “Should we go see? I’ve heard wonderful stories about the gems you can find inside.” Lysha’s lovely eyes lit up with a wild excitement. “Do you think I might be able to find a firestone? That would be amazing! I need one to be successful as an ice magician. Otherwise, my powers will be limited.”

  “But what if we’re not allowed to go?” Elendria glanced around.

  “Has that ever stopped you before? You’re the one who got me to sneak into the Ravenswood Library.” Lysha gave her a devilish smile. “Sneaking into the mines couldn’t be worse than that.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have no idea where they are. Do you know where to go?”

  “I think I can figure it out.” Lysha looked hesitant for a second then pointed at a trail that led deeper into the woods. “The miners went that way.”

  “But the witches told me the entire forest is dangerous.” What was Lysha thinking? Was the mountain making her impetuous?

  Lysha waved away the idea, jogging toward the trail. “This has to be a safe area, considering they built their houses here, right?”
<
br />   “I don’t think that means anything. Besides, how far exactly are the mines?” Elendria chased after her, trying to keep up. “Would you slow down? Maybe we should ask one of the witches.”

  “Listen, I need to get a firestone. Staying here isn’t going to get me anything. I’ve been bored all morning waiting for you to wake up. Devin and Shells already went off hunting with Maggie and Tal. If we ask the witches, they’ll probably tell us we can’t go. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

  Elendria stopped, refusing to go along with her foolishness. “I’m not going. You can go if you want, but I don’t think you should go either. And if you do go, I’ll ask one of the witches to help make sure you don’t get lost, eaten, or killed by whatever is lurking out there in the forest.”

  “What? You’d do that?” Lysha scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Since when did you get so cautious?”

  “Since we were almost killed. What is going on with you, Lysha? Are the mountains making you crazy?”

  Lysha bit back a retort and sobered up in an instant. She paused and glanced back at the village and into the dark gloom of the forest. Even the trail they were on seemed to be covering in a thick mist. Their visibility was deteriorating, and the village was starting to look like a mirage.

  “Go back, now!” hissed Elendria, and she darted toward the houses. This place was insane. They’d only taken a few steps away from the village, and some strange force, along with a feeling of gloom, was overwhelming them.

  Safely back in the witches’ village, Elendria turned to glare at Lysha’s sheepish face. She looked truly mortified.

  “I don’t know what came over me. Gods, maybe you are right; this place is driving me crazy. What am I going to do?”

  “At least now you’re aware of it.” Elendria put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Please be more careful next time.”

  The silver-haired witch, Hadara, came out from the house and locked eyes with Elendria. She ambled over, sniffing the air.