The Lost City: The Realms Book Two (An Epic LitRPG Adventure)

by C. M. Carney

  Voices rose in assent and Gryph felt the tide turn against him.

  “Force this imposter, this false El’Edryn to give the seal to us.” Barrendiel said. “Conclave was never meant for the likes of him.”

  “Perhaps he is right father,” Myrthendir said. Barrendiel’s eyes snapped to his cousin at the unexpected support.

  “No,” Lassendir raged and his voice echoed around the massive chamber. “You cannot know what you ask. I will never allow the gates to that city to be opened. It was an oath promised by my father’s father to the last High King, and only the High King can release us from that bond.”

  “But the High King will never return,” Barrendiel spat with barely controlled anger and he pointed at Ovyrm. “We all heard the words from the Accursed’s lips. If the High King still lives, he cannot return. He is bound by a blood oath.”

  Everyone in the room knew the truth of the ranger captain’s words as surely as they knew their own names. Lassendir suddenly looked exhausted and Barrendiel’s gaze softened. He walked the several steps up the dais and knelt at his uncle’s elbow.

  “They abandoned us, My Lord. You are the greatest man I have ever known and only you can lead us through this. It is time for you to take the Twined Throne. It is time we had a High King once more.”

  “No,” Lassendir snapped and all the pain and exhaustion Gryph had seen in the Regent disappeared. “No man shall sit on the Twined Throne until the High King returns.”

  Barrendiel stared at Lassendir in shock and both men’s eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills. After several tense moments Barrendiel stood and spat at Lassendir’s feet. “You are an old man and a fool. You will bring ruin to us all.” The captain stomped down the stairs of the dais.

  “Cousin,” Myrthendir said, and reached a hand out to stop Barrendiel, but the irate elf slapped the hand off and strode towards the exit.

  “Rangers to me,” Barrendiel yelled and uncomfortable glances passed between the rangers. They looked to the Regent and to the retreating back of their captain before they fell into formation behind their commander.

  Lassendir looked at Gryph and said. “I ask you one last time, give me the seal and the eggs.”

  Wick’s eyes stared at Gryph, hovering somewhere between anger and pleading. Tifala was fighting an internal battle between the trust Gryph had earned and the betrayal over what Gryph had hidden from them. Ovyrm simply stared, the implacable xydai’s expression impossible to read.

  “I am sorry My Lord, but I cannot.”

  Heads hung low and Lassendir sighed. “Take them into custody,” the Regent said in a strong voice. “I will deliberate on Conclave and decide their fates in the morning.”

  The armored guards surrounded Gryph and his fellows. Myrthendir walked up to Gryph. “Not really what I meant by truthful cooperation.”

  Gryph said nothing and Myrthendir stepped aside, extending his hand to indicate Gryph should follow the guards. Gryph did as asked and the guards surrounded he and his friends.

  Wick glared at him in anger. “You’ve just killed us all.”

  9

  ​Myrthendir escorted them from the throne room and up several winding staircases to a well-appointed floor. Heavy bars guarded the windows, and the doors were girded with thick bands of metal. It was opulent, but also clearly a prison and sent a very definite message. We’ll play nice, for now.

  Their prison was a suite of rooms that dominated one quarter of the round tower’s fifth floor. “Baths have been drawn and fresh clothes left for you. The cooks will send up food and refreshment. Get some rest. Tomorrow you face Conclave,” Myrthendir said, indicating that they should enter.

  Ovyrm crossed the threshold without looking at the Prince Regent. Wick scowled at Gryph as he entered. Only Tifala showed any grace, with a slight nod of appreciation to Myrthendir. Her glance at Gryph would have done a disappointed mother proud. It seemed odd on her youthful face, but it hit Gryph with all the fury of a punch.

  At the door Myrthendir put a hand on Gryph’s shoulder. “I would speak with you.”

  Gryph nodded and stepped aside with the tall elf as the guards closed the door behind the companions he’d come to think of as friends. Friends I may have already lost, Gryph thought.

  “You would do well to obey my father’s requests,” Myrthendir said. “He is an honest and fair man and while Sillendriel’s words on your behalf hold a great deal of weight with my father … and with me… they will not save you if my father decides you are a threat.”

  Gryph nodded at the warning. “Why would Sillendriel vouch for me?” Gryph asked.

  Myrthendir sighed and his shoulders sunk as if Gryph’s question had raised old and unwanted memories. “I have known Sillendriel my entire life. Once we were… close. Then her ability took control of her.”

  “What ability?” Gryph asked.

  “She is a diviner, one gifted, many would say one cursed, with visions of possible futures. It has always been a rare skill in the Realms, one that normally takes years of study to gain and decades to master.”

  “But Sillendriel is different?”

  Myrthendir paused as if pained, then nodded. “She was born with her abilities fully developed, yet without the lifelong wisdom and discipline to tame those abilities. The poor girl could see future events without being able to understand them or stop them. As an infant she saw the fates of many of those around her. The first was her nanny, a wonderful and kindly woman who adored Sillendriel and was likewise adored.”

  Myrthendir paused as the emotions of the moment fought within him. “Sillendriel was barely a year old when a vision of the nanny’s death filled her young mind. She wanted to warn the nanny, to save her, but how does a child bereft of language or understanding warn anyone? That final night Sillendriel cried and cried as the nanny said goodnight and was handed off to her mother. They summoned healers, but none of them could find anything wrong with her.”

  Gryph felt a knot tie in his stomach at the thought and his heart thundered in his chest as he let Myrthendir tame his emotions. “The next morning they found the nanny, face down in the Deep Water. She was fond of taking night time strolls by the lake. Nobody knew how she fell in or why she didn't swim to safety.”

  Gryph met the Prince Regent’s eyes and saw a strength of purpose.

  “We learned later, much later, that Sillendriel felt the whole thing. She was there with the nanny as she died. She knew who had committed the murder, but it took years before she could tell her tale. Turns out, it was a lover’s quarrel gone bad. To make matters worse for Sillendriel, the lover was a palace scholar, a man Sillendriel would see almost daily for the next few years.

  “When Sillendriel could finally tell her tale, the man was confronted. Upon learning how he had been caught, he wept and confessed. At his sentencing he said he was most sorry for the burden that Sillendriel had suffered under. I agree with the man. Murder, even accidental murder, is a horrific crime, but to force that terrible burden upon someone, especially a child, is a far more heinous crime.”

  The knot in Gryph’s stomach tightened upon hearing Myrthendir’s story and he felt a deep sympathy for the waifish elf woman. Her desperate message surged back into his mind and he found that he believed her warning just as much as he had Brynn’s. You must keep the seal and eggs safe, Sillendriel’s words flowed from the back of his mind. The question is, safe from who and why do I trust her. Is that part of her gift, her curse?

  Gryph looked at the closed iron wood door. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew the people who would most likely pay for that need were behind the door. He turned back to Myrthendir and looked the man in the eyes. “I will think on what you have said.”

  “It is all that a man can ask of another,” Myrthendir said with a small bow. “I will take my leave of you.”

  Gryph watched the regal elf walk away and then the guards opened the door for him and he entered, ready to face the ire of his friends.

  For a prison
the suite of rooms he found himself in were comfortable. But a prison it was, as evidenced not only by the heavy bolts that slid into the doorframe as the ironwood door closed, but by the magical protections placed on its surface. As the clang of the bolts fell into place, a glow of brown and green energies flowed across the wood. Arcane runes appeared from nowhere as if scrawled by an unseen hand bearing a quill of pure energy. They moved too quickly for Gryph to make any sense of and then faded to nothingness.

  That didn’t stop Wick from kicking the heavy door in frustration. Its wood seemed as unfazed as the pair of heavily armed guards that stood outside their prison. Only Wick’s foot took umbrage at the assault which only further soured the gnome’s mood.

  Tifala put her hands on his heaving shoulders and eased calm into her love. Wick relaxed for the briefest of moments before his shoulder’s tensed in rage again and he spun on Gryph.

  “Just how many lies have you told us since we met you?”

  “I am sorry about Jebbis,” Gryph said, regret digging into him. Jebbis was Wick’s cousin, brutally slain and then eaten in the Barrow by a baalgrath. Imagine a massive, and idiotic, reptilian gorilla and you’d perhaps begin to understand the foul creature that had nearly added Gryph to his diet as well. Only quick thinking and a bunch of luck had saved Gryph from joining Jebbis.

  “How could you hide his journal, that he was dead?”

  “You didn’t make the best first impression,” Gryph said by way of apology.” And then after Tifala was taken I didn’t know if you could handle more bad news. I am sorry, I know I should have told you.”

  Wick’s nostrils flared and Gryph knew only some of the gnome's anger was directed at him. From reading Jebbis’ journal, Gryph knew Wick blamed himself for getting Jebbis into the situation that led to his cousin’s death. Gryph also knew Jebbis did not share that feeling. Gryph berated himself for forgetting about the journal, but realized that, despite the pain it would cause, that his small friend deserved to know the truth of his kin’s death. Taking a deep breath Gryph told Wick what he knew.

  “If it helps, he did not blame you for his death.”

  Tifala held Wick as the small gnome shuddered, his emotions leaping from guilt to anger and back to guilt again. Periodically, Wick’s tear laden eyes would come to Gryph’s and Gryph did his best to hold that gaze with warmth and compassion.

  “I think I need a bath,” Wick said and looked to Tifala. She led him into an adjoining room where several large tubs sat on tiled floors, wisps of steam spiraling towards the ceiling.

  A sideways glance at Ovyrm told Gryph that the xydai was giving Wick’s emotions the respect they deserved, but that his anger at Gryph was even fiercer than the gnome’s. Gryph noted this and went over to the ash skinned warrior monk. A vein tensed in the man’s temple as Gryph stared him in the eye.

  “Say what you have to say,” Gryph said.

  “I am trying to be logical,” Ovyrm said. “I know that you cannot have known of the past of my people when you claimed the arboleth eggs, so my logical mind is willing to forgive your ignorance.”

  “But?” Gryph said.

  “However, you had just faced the beast and knew the danger it represented. I would have to guess that the prompts you received stated as much?”

  Gryph nodded but did not let his eyes fall from the xydai’s penetrating gaze.

  “Yet you still claimed the eggs. The arrogance of that action concerns me. It suggests a lust for power that must be fed no matter the cost.”

  Gryph sighed, and he knew there was truth in Ovyrm’s words. He may not have known just what hell an arboleth could unleash, but upon learning of the potential power of the eggs, he had ignored that danger. It had been a risk, even then he’d known it. Perhaps that risk had been unwise because he had no current ability to make use of the eggs. Yet, he had been taught to use every weapon that made itself available to him. Mind you, from what Ovyrm had told them about the arboleth, the eggs in his soul bound satchel were more nuclear than conventional.

  “You are right. I could claim ignorance as my defense and that defense would have some validity. And yes, the eggs can be used for great evil, but they can also be used to fight and protect against that evil. I promise you if we live through tomorrow, I will consult you on any use of the eggs. I will listen to your wisdom and consider it well before deciding. Is that acceptable?”

  Ovyrm hesitated for several moments, ancient fears chipping away at his logic and self-control. Gryph felt like he needed one last push of assurance.

  “For now they are safe. No one can access my satchel without my permission. It is soul bound, locked to all but me.”

  Ovyrm stared into Gryph’s eyes for several moments. “I will trust you to do what is right, but I will never be happy with this.”

  Gryph gripped the man by the shoulder and squeezed. “I understand, and I cannot ask more of you than to be true to your feelings.”

  Ovyrm took a deep breath. “And do not put too much faith in the wizardry of things. All locks can be broken. All doors can be opened.” With that the tall xydai turned and walked into the adjoining room. There he stripped off his tattered and filthy clothing and eased himself into one of the fragrant steaming baths.

  Gryph sighed. Our jailers are living up to their promises, Gryph thought, hoping it was not an ill omen of what was to come. Experience had taught him that such things could shift like the winds. With a sigh, he made his way into the room. Out of respect for his fellows, or perhaps fear of their reaction, Gryph chose the tub furthest from the others. The hot water eased his sore muscles and cleansed grime from him, creating a halo of muck and dirt. The tub sucked the muck away. It is filtering the water, Gryph thought in wonder. He closed his eyes and drifted into his reverie.

  As his mind dipped into a recuperative state, Gryph felt, for the briefest of moments, another mind touch his own. It felt both familiar and utterly alien and Gryph could not help but feel as if he was somehow being Analyzed. But his exhaustion dragged at him like the moon to tide and he embraced his reverie.

  10

  Lassendir knocked lightly on the ironwood door and then opened it. The room was airy and well-lit by glow globes. The healer who had been tending to Sillendriel stood and made a small bow to the Regent. He waved a hand that showed this was no time for formality.

  “I have given her Essence of Moonflower,” the healer said. “She is calm and should rest well.”

  “Thank you. Please give us a moment.”

  The healer bowed and silently walked to the door. Lassendir watched her leave and then the aged elf sat at the dark-haired elf woman’s bedside and looked down on her. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell with a calm breath. He smoothed her raven hair with a light touch and she stirred, glazed eyes looking up at the Regent.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Sillendriel smiled and took his hand in her own.

  “How are you my child?”

  “My mind is awash in possibilities, father. I feel both great fear and great potential,” she said in a lethargic voice.

  Lassendir smiled down on her, but his mind was an uncontrolled cauldron of fear and worry. He wished he could let her sleep, but he trusted in her visions, despite their erratic nature. “Tell me what you have seen,” he said, hating that his role as Regent took precedence over his role as a father.

  “The Dwellers have always been here father, but now the time of darkness has come. This man Gryph will heighten it, but he is also the only one who can stop it. Too many strands of possibility swim in my mind and I fear that if I tug too hard on one the whole tapestry will unravel and leave us all in darkness.” Sillendriel gazed deep into the eyes of the man who had raised her. “There are more paths ahead of us than there was the day my parents died, and I could not prevent that.” Tears came to her eyes and the Regent bent to kiss her on the forehead.

  “Anything you can tell me, Sil, will be of great help,” the Regent said, using t
he pet name, the private name for the adopted daughter he loved as much as his own children.

  Sillendriel swallowed and looked into the Regent’s eyes. Her gaze focused as she looked at him and then she said. “Trust in Gryph.” Then her focus dimmed, and she closed her eyes and slipped into her reverie.

  Lassendir sighed and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the forehead. Then he sat back and watched her. Be at peace my child. You deserve it.

  “How is she?” a warm voice asked from behind the Regent. The older elf turned to see Myrthendir standing in the doorway, his eyes on Sillendriel.

  “She rests, son,” the Regent said, and he indicated an open chair.

  Myrthendir padded his way silently over to the chair and sat. For a long moment both men just stared down upon Sillendriel.

  “What happened between you two?” the Regent asked, and he suddenly seemed every one of his two thousand years, as if his previously powerful demeanor had been an act of will.

  Myrthendir sighed never taking his eyes from the slumbering woman’s face. “After my journey to the outside world I was a different man. I had changed and was no longer worthy of her.” Myrthendir’s face was calm, but his eyes cast a light of loss, and perhaps regret.

  “She does not feel this way,” Lassendir said, looking at his son. “Nor do I.”

  “But I do, father.” Myrthendir looked into his father’s eyes. “I was not meant to be your heir, that was Orthendir’s path.”

  “Your brother’s death was my fault not yours. As was your mother’s, and Sillendriel’s mother’s and her father’s,” Lassendir said, looking down upon Sillendriel. “She saw so many paths that I can be forgiven for not understanding which one would come to pass, but I should have done more. It is my fault that they died.”

  Myrthendir rested a hand lightly on his father’s shoulder. “You are no more at fault than I, or her,” he said nodding down at the sleeping woman. “When Barrendiel and I left the Sylvan Aenor to find our purpose we felt free. We believed that we could choose our destinies, but both of us were soon disavowed of that notion.” Myrthendir looked up at his father. “We are not the masters of our own fates, father. We all walk paths the Realms choose for us.”