The Path Of Peace (The Cremelino Prophecy Book 3)

by Mike Shelton

The older but muscled man slapped her hard across the face, sending her falling into the bed. “Your use is not so great that I can’t accomplish my purposes without you. I am not a traitor. I am a patriot acting on behalf of those that won’t. Our empire has been denied their destiny for greatness for far too long. There are others who believe in me and are guiding us toward becoming one land together.

  Christine stood up again and continued to glare at her captor, a far more dangerous man than she at first realized. Her hand went instinctively to her face, rubbing what was sure to be a swollen bruise.

  “Tomorrow we ride to the border and attack your precious land. My wizards will demolish anyone who interferes. Within a month, your husband and his army will be backed into Anikari and will be pleading for your life, and now the life of your baby, in trade for his entire kingdom.”

  “He won’t do it.”

  The general laughed. “Oh, you naïve girl. Kingdoms greater than yours have fallen for the sake of a woman. I hear about the passion and love your King has for you. He will have no choice but to follow his heart.”

  Christine realized that the general was correct. Darius would give up all he had for her. It was a sad but proud feeling at the same time. Tears came to her eyes and fell unashamed down her reddened face.

  “You are now confined to this room, day and night. There will be no visitors. Food will be brought to you three times a day, and the chamber pot will be emptied once. Any disobedience will bring swift action to you and your baby,” he roared.

  Christine’s hand went to her stomach. Her baby! She must stay safe for the baby. She would obey the general and hope for a miracle.

  General Alrishitar ran his hand around the inside of her doorframe, and blue light spread across it. “No one without my permission will enter or leave this room”. With that, he walked out and closed the door.

  Falling back to the bed, the young farmer-girl-turned-queen sobbed until her throat was raw and sleep overtook her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  TO THE BORDER

  Mezar rode Star, his new Cremelino, in furious strides, racing ahead of Leandra and his other companions to get to Gildan first. Amazed at the bond, he reveled in the peace, power, and direction it brought him. And the speed! They took three days in what would normally be a week-long journey.

  Slipping through the Gildanian border just west of Denir, he noticed the march of thousands of troops on the Gildan side heading for the Realm. His father was planning on invading. Mezar had very little time to stop it all.

  Riding through Gildan was slower. Not wanting to call any more attention to himself, he laid a brown blanket over the horse to hide his blinding white color. Taking up at an inn on the outskirts of the capital city, he now sat with Star in the stable.

  Without warning, Star went up on his hind legs and made a screeching sound. Mezar stood up from a bucket he had been sitting on and tried to soothe the Cremelino.

  “Star, what is wrong?” Mezar felt the horse’s horror through the bond.

  Lightning just felt the horrible pain through her bond.

  “From Christine?”

  Yes. She could hardly bear it, even at this distance—abrupt and intense physical pain, followed by overwhelming distraught.

  “Does she know from where it came?” Mezar asked.

  It’s close to us here. She transferred the feelings to me as soon as she felt them, and now I can sense Christine close by.

  Mezar didn’t know they were able to do that, but he was anxious about the possibility of finding Christine. Mezar’s men and Leandra were still a few days behind, and Darius would be farther behind than that. With forces building up on the border, he must act fast to stop his father.

  The prince of Gildan struggled with thoughts about the general. He had always been a tough man to please, a man used to giving orders rather than following others. Until recent days, he never showed any signs whatsoever of deceit to the empire. Once Mezar’s grandfather passed away, his father was already chosen to rule. Why wouldn’t he just wait? Something didn’t make sense.

  Hoping he wouldn’t have to directly confront his father, Mezar mounted Star, and they headed out into the city. It was nearing dusk, and although people were still about, the crowds were, for the most part, heading to their warm homes. With the last rays of sun disappearing, Mezar was struck once again by the beauty of his city, especially the multi-colored domes reflecting off of the setting sun. Looking up on a nearby hill, he caught a glimpse of a large building, an estate of a formidable Gildanian noble.

  Over there. The thought came charging from Star, who seemed to know where Mezar was looking. She is there!

  * * *

  Richard sat in council with the other members. His mind was wandering during the ongoing boring rhetoric from some of the younger councilors. A rear door to the room opened, breaking the silence, and one of the aides approached the senior councilor. He leaned down to whisper in Richard’s ear.

  “Sir, a rider from Sur has just stumbled in. News from the King.”

  Richard’s boredom vanished. He jumped up, dismissed himself, and left the room. “Have him meet me in my study.”

  The young rider’s hair was disheveled, mud splattered his clothes, and his face was gaunt and tired. The councilor told him to sit and handed him a drink. Parched, the man drank in eager gulps before saying anything.

  Finally, the young man related to Richard the news from Sur, the battle with Arc, the Preacher in Mar, and the abduction of the queen.

  Richard sat back in exhaustion. Worried for weeks with no news from his son’s party since the queen had ridden back through Anikari on their way to Sur, he was relieved to at least know something. He was also distraught about news from Mar and the sudden appearance of the Preacher there.

  “General Cray asked to send two battalions of men toward the border with Gildan immediately,” the messenger continued. “As soon as the snow melts, the King, the general, and the rest of their men are heading south to Denir – to the border with Gildan. The King means to find his wife.”

  Richard knew what Christine meant to his son. Though he didn’t understand the attraction at first. His son and him had not seen eye to eye on many things, but he had learned to accept and respect the young queen, and he had pledged his support and loyalty to his son. He admitted that she held up quite well, she was good for his son, and he had actually begun to grow fond of her. The Realm should be a safer place so that they didn’t have to worry about their queen being abducted. The failure was on all of them. The task to find her again would be everyone’s top priority.

  The senior councilor stood. “You get some rest, soldier. The ride you made may well save our kingdom. I will find the battalion leaders myself.” He hoped his son wouldn’t let his anger get in the way of things. The power he held, still new to all of them, had a way of getting him in trouble.

  On the way to the battalion leaders, he stopped back in the council room and shared the news with the rest of the men and women. Jarad San Newlyn, the religious councilor, offered to pray for the King and their queen. Richard, although not overly religious, consented for the time to be taken to do so before they dismissed. He knew that Darius would think it was important. And maybe it was. The additional peace and clarity he felt after the prayer did much to bolster his spirits.

  * * *

  Darius rode beside General Cray and High Wizard Sallir. Troops from Sur, Anikari, and a small presence of Arc soldiers rode behind. Danijela had stayed in sur in preparation to returning back to be with her father in Arc. The prior day, Darius’s group met up with the two battalions that his father had sent south to Denir as he had instructed. Given the size of the troops and the wagons to support them, they were still days away from reaching the border of Gildan.

  Darius itched to ride forward on his own. Thunder could make the journey in much less time, but this once, he held to the advice of others. He was the King of the Realm, and duty held him to stay with his troops
in this situation. He did bristle with impatience as he slowed down for their sakes. All he could think of was getting to Christine.

  The communication from Mezar informing him of the whereabouts of his wife had been both a blessing and a curse to his impatience. Lightning, who traveled with Darius, communicated to him, the same as to Mezar and Star, the intense feelings she felt from Christine for a brief moment earlier. He wanted to barrel ahead, crushing everyone between him and Gildan to reach her, but he also knew that he trusted Mezar. The prince would do as well as Darius could in getting her out safely, even more so, being from Gildan and being able to blend in. Darius as King entering into Gildan unannounced could provoke war.

  “My Lord” Roland came up beside his master. “Riders coming up the road toward us.”

  Darius watched Roland’s pointing fingers and called a halt to the troops. He’d sent riders up ahead to ascertain the situation on the border.

  Three riders skidded to a stop in front of him. All three were handed a waterskin to drink their fill before talking.

  “Sire,” one of the men began, “there are signs of large battalions of troops gathering a short distance south of the border. The governor of Denir has begun gathering in the farmers and others who live outside of the city.”

  Denir, being on the border with a foreign kingdom, always maintained a high amount of food stores and extra livestock inside the city for such possibilities as this. It was a double-walled city, with killing fields between the two walls, fifty feet of empty space in which archers from the walls could kill anyone in between. A siege on Denir would be a long one.

  One of the other men took over speaking. “However, my Lord, even though we did not see it with our own eyes, it is rumored there are wizards with them.”

  Darius frowned at that. Wizards might negate much of the strength of the walls. “Of course, we also have wizards with us,” he said to firm up the men’s hopes, though inside he wondered how much two of them could do against those fully trained in Gildan. The High Wizard was a formidable foe for sure, but Darius was still learning the possibilities of his powers. Being a wizard of the heart, he was not as equipped for battle as other types of wizards, but he was sure that if need be, he could provide some solid resistance to the Gildanian army.

  After a short rest, he motioned for the army to begin marching again. Darius was deep in thought as he rode. They would need to reach Denir before the Gildanian army attacked. They must contain the foreign army on their side of the border.

  The King thought back to his first assignment as commander of the King’s Elite Army. It, too, had been in Denir. They had marched from their training grounds in the Superstition Mountains. Through a lucky plan and opponents that were overly confident with themselves, Darius had been able to capture a group of Gildanians with their commander, Mezar. At the time, he hadn’t been aware that Mezar was second in line to the throne of the Empire of Gildan. Of course, he also hadn’t known he was in line to be King of the Realm either.

  He discussed the situation of the upcoming battle with Cray and Olan. Was there something they could do besides an outright battle? The Realm had already lost many fine soldiers fighting the army from Arc up in the pass. An open battle with Gildan would put many more lives at risk and would put a strain on the relationship between Mezar and himself. He knew that Mezar had a duty to his empire and to help the Emperor reestablish peace there, but it would be difficult with Mezar’s father, the general, building up an army to invade the Realm.

  The High Wizard, being a wizard of the mind and having had more history of studying wars and battles, told Darius he would think on it. After that, they rode in silence with only the sounds of the horses’ hooves, soldiers’ feet sloshing in mud, and the supply wagons’ wheels creaking along the long road.

  Darius’s thoughts of course went to his wife.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WIZARD POWER

  Rapp sat hunkered down behind some crates close to the docks of Mar. Through the slats in the wooden boxes, he watched the sailors and deckhands loading and unloading goods from the ships. Trade between Mar and Gildan, and even farther south, were conducted through this port. It wasn’t uncommon to see a few elves from Elvyn or ships from the eastern kingdoms, or Southern Territories.

  The early winter sun barely touched Rapp through the wet fog. He pulled a wool coat more protectively around his small body and tugged his black cap down tighter over his ears. His legs were getting stiff, but he was used to these kinds of assignments from the governor, and now from the ambassador, and he learned long ago how to relax and tighten his muscles to keep the circulation going.

  Earlier in the day, he had followed Mr. El’Lan—or the Preacher, as the ambassador called him—down to the docks. His orders from the ambassador were to keep the Preacher in sight at all times and occupied as long as possible. The ambassador, on the other hand, was going to try and bring Alessandra’s mother to her without the Preacher finding out.

  The Preacher had gone silently to one of the larger ships at the dock. By the look of the colors and riggings, Rapp concluded it was from one of the eastern kingdoms. The Preacher had been inside for almost an hour, and Rapp was getting bored. Looking around, he pulled himself out from behind the crates and walked in a haphazard manner around the docks, trying to blend in. He wanted to know what was happening inside the ship.

  Three sailors, who he surmised were in actuality guards, stood outside the ship. Their skin was darker, and tattoos adorned their arms. Glancing around for ideas, he spied a few jugs of wine sitting outside another ship, waiting to be loaded. The sailors of that ship seemed to be preoccupied. With a swift move, Rapp grabbed a few jugs and continued walking back toward the ship where the Preacher had gone inside. Coming up to the sailor guards he changed his persona and put on his dumb but happy face.

  “Hey, blokes.” He grabbed their attentions. “Got some drink here from the harbor master as a thanks for your business.”

  The men, wet and cold, smiled at the possibility of some wine warming their bellies. They reached out for one of the jugs.

  Rapp gave them one, and with smiles, they passed it around between the three of them. “Cold night standing guard out here.”

  One of the men mumbled in agreement. They continued sharing the wine.

  Rapp moved in closer and whispered, “Guarding something important in there?”

  Another man laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know, harbor boy?”

  Rapp continued to play the simpleton. “You sailors must be important to guard something in such a big ship.” He handed them another jug of wine.

  The third sailor, loosened up by the wine, began to talk more, though Rapp had to concentrate real hard to understand the accent.

  “There are important men in the ship discussing important business. They don’t want to be disturbed.” The man began slurring his words rather quickly. He was obviously someone who couldn’t hold his drink well. Rapp latched on to him for more information.

  Rapp looked surprised and envious. “I’ve never seen a ship this big before. They must be important.”

  “Magic users,” one of the other men whispered, then laughed.

  All three sailors put their hands in the air and moved their fingers around as if imitating a wizard. Rapp joined in, laughing.

  Two of the men sat down and took the last jug of wine. They began grabbing it from each other and almost came to blows, when the third man took the wine jug from them and put it up to his lips, taking a long drink. The two others jumped up and grabbed the third man back down.

  Rapp smiled and skirted around the three drunken sailors onto the large ship. Hearing voices from an inside cabin, he ducked down some stairs and into an empty storage room. He listened to the discussion on the other side of the thin wooden walls.

  “You overstepped your boundaries, Preacher,” came a deep voice with a strong foreign accent. “You are not in a position to give orders.”

  “I am
preparing the land for your people. I deserve some credit,” came the familiar voice of the Preacher.

  “You failed in Belor. That was your assignment. You allowed a wizard to become King of the Realm, and from what I can tell, you have done nothing else to secure this land. We have had to turn our attention to Gildan now and see if they can take the Realm since you have not been able to do so.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I am sowing discord around the Realm. I have contacts in Sur and Arc that are starting a war there, I am disturbing the hierarchy in Mar, and I will take down the young wizard who thinks of himself as a King. I do not need the Gildanians’ help.”

  A third voice spoke for the first time. Rapp wished he could see who was talking. “The discussion is ended, my old pupil.” The voice was old and raspy. “We had high hopes for you in the east. You were to be our eyes and ears in this land. It was time for us to expand, but that time is now passed. Current events have changed things. There are more wizards in the western kingdoms than we were led to believe. We have found another in Gildan to help us in our task. You are no longer in our employ.”

  Rapp moved around the storage room and tried to find a crack in the wall. Finally, he was successful. He could now glimpse the back of the Preacher. Two other men of brown skin stood opposite him, one very old with white hair. Necklaces, charms, and earrings adorned their heads and necks, and tattoos seemed to cover their arms and necks. Their eyes were slightly tilted and their bodies much shorter than the Preacher’s.

  The Preacher abruptly jumped toward the older man. Wizard’s fire flew from his fingers, flashing green and blue. The older man swatted it away as an irritant with a calm turn of his hand. The man’s eyes glowed, and the Preacher fell backward on his back.

  “How dare you attack your master. Have you not learned control yet, you insolent pup?”

  The Preacher sat stunned on the floor, gasping for breath. With only a look, the eastern wizard continued squeezing the air out of his old pupil. The man’s tattoos seemed to swim around his skin, as if they were alive. Rapp gaped in horror. The old man was going to kill the Preacher right here on the ship.