Spell Fade

by J. Daniel Layfield

  He couldn’t see or hear anything unusual, but there was no denying the feeling. He was being watched. Every pore in his body felt it, every hair stood on end, screaming it out. He didn’t have to listen to hear his own desires now. They were being made very clear. He wanted out of this place.

  “There are guards at the castle gates,” Alain appeared in front of Dartan and announced.

  “OK!” Dartan managed to turn his scream of surprise into something passing for a word. He cleared his throat and asked, “How many?”

  “Just two,” Alain answered, eyeing Dartan up and down. “Are you alright?”

  “Of course,” Dartan answered. “Just wishing again that Logan was here.”

  “Yes, well that would even the odds, I suppose. However, he has his own mission, and considering we have yet to be attacked by a dragon, I’d wager he has it well under control.” Dartan nodded even as he eyed the skies. “Still, you should be able to handle the guards on your own. It appeared as though they may even be sleeping.”

  “An empty city, two guards at the castle gate, and they’re sleeping?!” Dartan wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He also wanted to see if it all sounded as ridiculous when spoken aloud as it did in his head. It did. “Explain to me again how he has remained a threat to Pavlora for so long.”

  “The Queen forbade it. No one was allowed to invade or encroach upon the Northern Kingdom’s territory.”

  “And after her death?”

  “A promise kept in honor of her memory.”

  “And now he’s our problem?” He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. It was not only the Queen he was questioning, but also his mother, and straight to the face of his father.

  “She had her reasons,” Alain answered, resuming his stone-faced demeanor. It made Dartan even more uneasy. “Do not presume to know the reasons for her actions.” A brief flash of anger touched his eyes as he warned, “And do not make me regret my own.”

  Dartan nodded his head, but did not lower his eyes. He did not mean to disrespect his mother or her decisions, but he still felt it was a fair argument, especially considering their current circumstances. When Alain spoke again his voice was soft and even, all trace of anger gone.

  “When you become King you will be able to make your own decisions about such things,” Alain explained. “However, you must learn to balance acting swiftly and decisively with acting justly and wisely. Neglect the first two and you will appear weak and vulnerable. Without the second two, you will be cruel and foolish. It is the great King who can temper these together into one action.”

  “Don’t you mean if I become King?” Dartan said, his eyes on the imposing castle.

  “No. I said what I mean, and I said when.” He turned to face the castle as well. “Now, let’s go.”

  The guards were definitely asleep. Judging by the number of empty bottles scattered about them, Dartan thought a more precise description might be ‘passed out’. Regardless, he saw no sense in rushing down to the front gates.

  Dartan studied the few openings in the walls that passed for windows, looking for any sign of movement. Alain searched the grounds for any hidden guards. After a few minutes both men were sure they were alone with the unconscious guards.

  “You realize this is a trap, don’t you?” Dartan asked.

  “Of course I do,” Alain answered with a small snap of irritation. “But I see no way of figuring out what it is without springing it. Do you?”

  Dartan shook his head. “I just hope we can get out of it without having to chew something off.” Alain gave him a small frown, which he ignored. “After you, my faithful guide,” he said with a bow and wave of his hand. Alain passed by without a word.

  The guards didn’t stir as they stepped over them, and no hidden army came pouring out as they crossed the stone bridge to the entrance. They passed through the outer walls into an empty courtyard, where a path led towards a set of tall stone doors. The doors stood open, but Dartan could see nothing past the gloom inside them. The feeling of being watched fell upon him again, but he had yet to see any sign of movement anywhere.

  As they approached the doors, Dartan could make out a few steps, and a dimly lit hall beyond. Pausing only slightly for one last glance behind them, they ducked through the doors, and down the hall.

  Once inside Dartan expected the feeling of being watched to subside, attributing it to being exposed in the open. He was wrong. If anything, it grew stronger within the enclosed corridors, and he was finding it harder to ignore.

  By the sixth turn Dartan realized he was utterly and completely lost. “Do you know where you’re going?” he whispered loudly.

  “Of course,” Alain answered with barely a backwards glance. He then made two immediate rights and stopped abruptly. Dartan nearly crashed into him, or through him, whichever may happen with a magically produced mental image. Actually, he’d rather not think about it.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  “Shh!” Alain held his hand out to quiet Dartan, and listened.

  Dartan heard nothing. “You do know the way to the dungeons, right?”

  “Dungeons?” Alain looked quizzically at Dartan. “Yes, of course, but why would we want to go to the dungeons?”

  “For Aliet.” Dartan considered testing the physical nature of Alain by trying to give him a solid shaking, but decided it would most likely be more frustrating than satisfying. “She’s what we’re here for first,” he reminded him instead.

  “She won’t be in the dungeon,” Alain said with a small shake of his head. “What good would she be to Jarel down there? No, he’ll have her close to him.” He cocked his head to the side slightly. “Now, be quiet.”

  Dartan did hear something now. Footsteps. The heavy clank of armor covered guards echoed down the hallways in such a way that Dartan was having a hard time pinpointing them.

  “Be still!” Alain commanded as Dartan realized he was pacing back and forth, trying to track the steps. His face reddened and he froze in place, listening as the steps drew near.

  They passed by one corridor away. As the steps retreated, Alain moved on without a word and Dartan followed. The next time Alain stopped, Dartan remained silent and still. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps again. The same ones? He couldn’t be sure, and he dared not ask.

  These too passed close by, and Alain shot forward before their echoes had completely died. There were several more turns, but no more encounters, before Alain finally stopped in front of a pair of ornately carved, wooden doors.

  “Don’t talk, just listen,” he instructed and Dartan nodded. “Beyond these doors lies Jarel’s throne room. I have no idea what we’ll find upon entering it, but I need you to be ready. It could be empty, or it could be filled with as many guards as it can hold. Whatever it might be, you must remain calm.” Dartan looked into the cold eyes of the wizard and nodded, drawing strength from the calm he saw there. He then focused on the door, steadied himself, and reached for the handle.

  “One more thing,” Alain said, halting Dartan’s hand. “Aliet. She may be restrained, bruised, beaten, or her blood may even be painted across the walls.” Dartan felt the calm drain from his body as he turned back slowly, eyes wide. “Or not,” Alain added with a shrug. “Regardless, you must remain in control. Magic powered by emotion is very strong, but also unpredictable and unfocused.”

  Dartan looked back at the door, then down at his outstretched hand, uncertain. He couldn’t let his mind linger on any of the possibilities Alain mentioned for more than a few seconds without feeling like running into the room with hands ablaze. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and thought of home.

  It seemed so long ago now since he was there. The warm barn, filled with the smell of hay, and sunlight shining down on Aliet in the loft. He could hear her laugh and feel her light touch on his arm. How could he have ever not known his own feelings for her? Whatever lay beyond that door, he had to face it to get back to her. His mind eased, he opened
his eyes, and focused on the door.

  It normally remained open. Day after day, season upon season, year following year, it saw a steady stream of traffic in and out. Yet, now it was closed. That door wanted to be open. The hinges nearly screamed out to be swung, and even the stone yearned for the familiar weight of the doors upon it. With only the slightest touch of power, the doors happily parted, and fell open to rest against the waiting walls.

  With anxious eyes, Dartan peered into the throne room and saw – an empty room. No waiting guards. No recent redecorating with bodily fluids. The only thing he did see clearly was a fire in the middle of the room.

  Dartan released the breath he had been holding, and lowered his head for a moment. He looked back at Alain with raised eyebrows, to which Alain merely shrugged. Dartan turned back slowly and nearly dropped his sword when he heard a voice from inside the room.

  “Honestly, I was beginning to think Roal really had killed you.” It came from the far side of the room, but Dartan couldn’t see anything beyond the fire. He looked back at Alain.

  “That’s Jarel,” Alain said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Jarel,” Dartan called back as he stepped through the open doorway.

  “Disappoint? Far from it. If you were dead, then things just wouldn’t … make sense.” The pause made Dartan pause himself. Alain passed by him, headed for the far side.

  “Careful,” Alain said. “He’s up to something.”

  “Really?” Dartan whispered with sarcasm.

  “Did you say something?” Jarel asked.

  Dartan cleared his throat and covered with, “Are you alone?”

  “In here, yes.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Alain said. “The dragon-skin box is here, and there are several piles of ash around it. He got it open, but it cost him some men.” Dartan was now relieved they hadn’t decided to try opening the box when they found it.

  “How about in the rest of the castle?” Dartan pressed.

  “I believe there may be one or two guards roaming the halls out there, but they should just be rounding up the stragglers.”

  “Stragglers?”

  “Well, of course. When you move such a large group, there are bound to be some left behind.” Dartan moved across the room as Jarel spoke until he was finally able to make out his figure. Jarel was draped across a pelt-covered throne, hand propped on the side of his head. He wore an easy smile and didn’t appear the least bit concerned by Dartan’s drawn sword or serious face.

  “Ah, there you are,” Jarel remarked, his smile growing wider. “You look so much like your mother.”

  “The people,” Dartan pressed, ignoring Jarel’s comment. “Where are they?”

  “And the manners of your father,” Jarel mumbled as he straightened himself on his throne. “They are women and children mostly,” he explained. “I’ve brought them into the castle for their own protection.”

  “Protection? From what?” He paused a moment, then had another thought. “And where are all the men?”

  “You left me no choice,” Jarel replied with outstretched hands.

  “Careful,” warned Alain.

  “I don’t follow,” Dartan had that feeling, a sickness in his gut. If anyone here had been left without a choice, it was him. Jarel was planning something, but what was it?

  Jarel pointed a finger at Dartan. “You led an elite group of warriors over your border and into Northern Kingdom territory.”

  “I did what?”

  The finger did not waver. “You let loose a dragon. Something unseen in our skies for centuries, and you let one free to terrorize our lands.”

  “It’s dead!” Dartan insisted. “Logan killed it!” Jarel raised his eyebrows and shrugged – how do we know that? This was not going the way Dartan had imagined. It felt like a trial, and worse than that, he felt guilty. And why wasn’t Alain saying anything?

  “You massacred a unit of my best men and then marched straight to my castle. You’ve left me no choice.”

  Dartan had only asked one question and had yet to have it answered. He stepped forward and lowered the point of his sword to Jarel’s chest. “Where are the men?” he asked slowly.

  Jarel barely looked at the sword, instead staring straight into Dartan’s eyes. “I can understand, no, even more, I can sympathize. I too was a new and young king once. For you it must be so much worse though. Being an unknown to your people, and following such a legacy. The desire to prove yourself must be impossible to deny.” His smile broadened, showing his teeth. “And while I can understand your actions, I doubt anyone else will.” He leaned forward, opened his shirt, and placed the point of Dartan’s blade on his bare chest. “History will mark you as the cause of this war.”

  Dartan blinked, took a step back, and lowered his sword. “War?” The word tasted foul in his mouth. There hadn’t been a war in Pavlora since the Great Dragon War, and now he had started one? “What?” His question was cut short as Jarel abruptly stood and stared down at him.

  “Every able-bodied man in my kingdom marches straight to your capital, destroying every one of your towns, villages, and citizens they come across. They do this in response to your attack, and they will not stop until the city has fallen or they are dead.” He took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

  “Alain will stop you,” Dartan grasped, even as he knew Alain’s power was fading.

  Jarel laughed. “I think he may be a little too preoccupied to deal with me,” he said, kicking open the dragon-skin chest at his feet.

  Dartan raised his head, curious of the contents. Jarel saw him and smiled.

  “Do you have any idea what you risked your life for?”

  Dartan shook his head. “No. I know only that it is important.”

  Jarel laughed. “That sounds about right. Alain never has been very forthcoming with information, especially if it isn’t his own neck on the line. Unfortunately, it also means either he doesn’t trust you, or, perhaps even more painful, he doesn’t think you worth the time to explain.” Dartan stole a glance at Alain – stone-faced as always.

  “I, on the other hand,” Jarel continued, “believe a man should always know what he’s fighting for. Perhaps, had you known what lay in this chest, you would not have given it up so easily.”

  Dartan started to protest, but Jarel raised his hand. “I’m sure you fought hard, but the fact remains, it left your possession and came into mine.” Dartan simply lowered his head. “Come closer, and decide its importance yourself.”

  Alain moved beside Jarel, and Dartan gave him a quick glance. Alain nodded and Dartan moved closer. Jarel caught the glance and peered over his shoulder. Even though he saw nothing, he was sure he knew what, or rather who, was there.

  The chest was lined with dragon skin on the inside as well. Peering into it, Dartan saw three dragon parts. He looked to Jarel.

  “These are three of the four pieces used to create the portal separating the dragons from our world. They also happen to be needed to destroy it.” Jarel pointed to each item in succession as he described it. “An eye to see the spell. A tongue to know the words. A claw to tear the bind.”

  Dartan stared down at the contents, still amazed at the emptiness he felt around them. “Three out of four doesn’t seem like much of a diversion for Alain,” Dartan observed.

  “Did I forget to mention? You’re going to provide the final part I need.”

  Alain’s eyes widened, and he gasped, “He knows.” Dartan looked over at him, the question in his eyes. Alain’s only answer, “We have to get you out of here. Now.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Roal stood on the city walls, a faint smile on his face. The city was spread out before him, unaware of its fate. He had found his spot. This is where he would watch the fall of the capital. He had spent the past two days on the front lines, pushing the army through every town, village, and farm between here and the border. He had left behind him a path of scorched earth and smoldering bodies.
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  His orders now were clear – no one in, no one out. That part was easy, but he was also told to wait. He didn’t have to ask for what. He knew what he was waiting on, and the only way he was able to stand the waiting was knowing he now had the best seat to watch it all unfold.

  The Northern Army. His army. True, its front lines consisted of fiercely independent Ogres, and the majority of the men were only there because their families were essentially being held hostage. Still, they were all under his command, and they were now spread around the entire city, like a second wall. The inhabitants had no idea yet, but they would soon. Roal almost wished he hadn’t killed Dartan and Logan. Almost. He would have enjoyed watching them try to defend the city.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “I’m not leaving without Aliet,” Dartan announced to the room.

  “I didn’t say anything about you leaving,” Jarel answered. “But I have the feeling you weren’t talking to me.” He looked again over his shoulder, still not seeing Alain, but now surer of his presence. “It seems perhaps I should have asked if you were alone.” Jarel turned back to Dartan, whose cheeks were reddened.

  “No reason to be embarrassed,” Jarel said. “I’m actually pleased to discover he’s here. I’d hate for him to miss this. However, I’m even more pleased to hear you mention the girl.” He turned towards the doorway and called out, “Come!” He then turned back to Dartan. “I had forgotten about her,” he admitted with a sly grin. “I assume from your outburst Alain has advised you to run from here. If you value her life though, I would remain.”

  “If you have harmed her,” Dartan threatened.

  “Yes, yes,” Jarel replied dismissively. “I’m sure there’s some threat of bodily harm you think will sound frightening, but if you’ll just look, you’ll see she’s perfectly fine.”