The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One)

by Woodward, William

  When he reached the chair, he froze in place, mouth opening in a silent exclamation. Shamilla was as white as snow, head lolling to one side, chest still. Andaris cringed at the agonized expression on his face and, for a long moment, just stood there, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. He didn’t need to check for a pulse. The old man was obviously dead.

  Feeling as if he were in the middle of a very strange dream, Andaris bent down, picked Shamilla up, carried him outside, and set him gently to the ground. He couldn’t believe it. The old fellow had clearly been getting on in years, but still…. His heart must have given out, he thought.

  Sluggish with shock, Andaris searched the property for a suitable place to dig, of course wanting it to be some place nice. Jade began barking and pawing at the ground in a shady grove behind the cottage. Feeling sure that it had been one of Shamilla’s favorite spots, Andaris moved the little man’s body, crossed his arms over his chest, and went inside to look for a shovel.

  When he came back out, he stopped and stared, struck by the picturesque nature of the scene. Shamilla lay atop a bed of wildflowers and bright green moss, ringed by five oaks, sturdy trunks standing straight beneath a canopy of woven limbs. The effect was already sublime, but then a narrow shaft of sunlight penetrated the canopy, shining so gracefully upon Shamilla’s upturned countenance that he appeared to be merely asleep, his expression now peaceful rather than agonized.

  By the time the sun was directly overhead, Andaris sat with the shovel balanced across his knees, taking a minute to catch his breath. He had spent the morning digging, and now at last was done. It’s not right, he thought, staring at the fresh mound of dirt, thinking back on all the conversations he and Shamilla had shared. He had really gotten to know the little man during the past couple of days, and in that short time had grown quite fond of him. It felt longer than two days, both to his mind and to his heart. And now, just like that, he was gone.

  No, it wasn’t at all right, especially when just last night Shamilla had seemed so full of life. But then as far as Andaris was concerned, death was never right, even when it was expected and long overdue. To him, death was an enemy to be fought, a thief in the night, a tyrant to struggle against until your last ounce of strength and will is gone, no matter how futile that struggle becomes.

  Wildflowers would soon blanket the mound with vivid color. The thought brought a wan smile to his face, yet also made him realize the need for a marker. After a brief search of the cottage, he found a wooden plaque hanging on the wall with Shamilla’s family name and crest carved upon it. He chopped the base of the plaque to a point using his hand axe, and then pounded it several inches into the earth, stacking stones around it for good measure. Like his father always said, “Do a job right or do it twice.”

  “Goodbye,” Andaris whispered, turning from the grave with red-rimmed eyes. “And thank you...for everything.” The long hours of exercise had proven cathartic, helping him center his thoughts and work through his grief. His muscles ached and sweat poured from his brow, but all in all, certainly in the ways that mattered most, he felt much better. While digging the grave, he had decided to try and find Shamilla’s friend in Stonegarden, for his own sake as well as to let someone else know what had happened here. It seemed the least he could do, considering everything Shamilla had done for him.

  Still feeling numb, he began gathering supplies for the trip—dry provisions, the maps, a skin of water, and a purse of square copper coins. Andaris had no doubt that, under the circumstances, Shamilla would have wanted him to take whatever he needed, remembering how the old man had lamented having no family to whom he could leave his house and belongings. What Andaris didn’t take would just sit and gather dust, serving no use to anyone, presuming, that is, no one came along and looted the place.

  It wasn’t until he was on his way out the door that he noticed the crossbow hanging in the entranceway. He stared at it a moment, then lifted it from its hook. Light and compact, the weapon looked small enough to carry on his belt. Andaris marveled at the fine craftsmanship. Made of polished cherrywood, it had twin serpents carved into either side of its slender stock, darts of fire shooting from their open jaws. That alone made it a thing of beauty, and no doubt one of Shamilla’s most prized possessions, but because its curving end was capped with silver, silver into which the old man’s name was ornately stenciled; it was likely a thing of considerable value as well. Shamilla had mentioned that he sometimes took a crossbow with him when he was traveling. In fact, he’d bragged about what a fine shot he was, describing several instances when the weapon had saved his life.

  After clipping the crossbow to his belt, Andaris spotted a brown leather bag sitting on the floor in the corner. He leaned down, untied its neck, and looked inside, pleased to see that it held a number of iron-tipped bolts. He loaded two of the bolts into the crossbow, straining to stretch the cords back, and then dumped the rest into his pack.

  He didn’t really know how to use the thing, yet even so, just having it made him feel better. The next macradon that tangles with me, he vowed, is going to get a pop in the eye. Realizing that he was at last ready, he stole a final look around the room, took a deep breath, and walked out the door.

  A fierce barking stopped him as he reached the property line. Jade came running up to him, rubbing her head on his leg and licking his hand. “Where’d you disappear to?” he asked her. “Yes, all right,” he said, very glad for the company. “You may come.”

  The forest closed around them after only a few steps, blocking their view of the cottage. In a way it was a relief to leave it behind, along with all the memories that Shamilla’s death had now made bittersweet, but in a way he regretted it, for the cottage represented the only safety he’d known since leaving home and venturing into the wilderness. Jade loped along beside him, head hanging in apparent grief, making him wonder just how much she understood about what had happened.

  For the next several hours they paused only briefly to rest and eat, walking up and down hills tangled with brush, trudging through knee-deep bogs teeming with all manner of creatures that crawled and slithered, crossing over streams made treacherous by banks of sucking mud, all of it seeming specifically designed to slow their progress. Despite the difficulty, Andaris kept pushing the pace, determined to reach Stonegarden before nightfall.

  As day gave way to evening, however, and long shadows snaked across the forest floor, he was forced to admit this was not going to happen. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he stopped and peered up at the sky. “I guess we’ll have to camp after all,” he said to Jade.

  She sat down and barked once.

  He scratched her behind the ear as she rubbed against him. “At least I have you,” he said.

  Jade suddenly stood rigid, a deep growl resonating from the back of her throat.

  “What is it?” he asked. Was she growling at him…or at something behind him? He spun, and though he didn’t see anything threatening, unclipped the crossbow. As he raised it up, two ferocious looking creatures came charging from the trees, standing over six feet tall with pointed beaks and wicked, curving talons.

  Andaris fired on impulse, and to his amazement the creature in the lead dropped, the bolt disappearing between heavy black feathers. He couldn’t believe it. He’d actually hit one. One what though? Was it some kind of bird? If so, not a type with which he was familiar. But there was no time to speculate. The other creature was closing fast, screeching loudly at the death of its mate. Before pulling the second trigger, Andaris took careful aim, holding his breath and closing one eye. The catch released. The string twanged out. The bolt shot forward and…sunk into the side of a tree. Cursing his incompetence, he threw the crossbow to the ground and drew his thin-bladed knife. It seemed so small, so insignificant, against the shrieking mass of the beast.

  Just before the thing crashed into him, Jade lunged to intercept, all gnashing teeth and raking claws. Clamping the nape of her neck in its beak, it shook her like a rag doll, l
eaving deep gouges along her sides and back. Andaris knew she had probably saved his life, but also knew she didn’t stand a chance. As he scrambled to get behind it, Jade let out a sharp yelp. Using all his strength, he buried his blade to the hilt into the bird’s broad back, stabbing between its plated feathers to the soft skin beneath.

  It whirled on him as he stepped away, throwing Jade to the ground, then began pecking for his eyes and mouth.

  Jade regained her feet and leapt onto its shoulders, biting into the side of its neck.

  With an ear-piercing screech the beast slammed into Andaris.

  All three crashed to the ground, Andaris’ breath exploding from his lungs as they hit.

  It thrashed about wildly, pulling up his scale mail shirt, scraping its claws across his stomach and chest.

  Struggling to breathe, Andaris reached around its body and yanked out his knife.

  The thing squawked in surprise and reared up.

  Andaris stabbed the knife into its chest again and again, drenching himself in its hot, tar-like blood.

  It convulsed, spewed more steaming gore from its mouth, and collapsed on top of him.

  Andaris tried to roll the thing over, but the enormous bird was too heavy. Grunting and cursing, he eventually managed to slip out from beneath instead. Lying back, he pulled down his shirt and drew a ragged breath. When he was strong enough, he sat up and looked around for Jade.

  There she is, he thought, spotting her sprawled in a twisted heap a few feet away. He struggled to his feet and walked slowly to her, each step an agony for him. “Are you…are you all right?” he asked. To his great relief, she opened her eyes and whimpered. Her fur was matted together and her left paw was drawn protectively beneath her body, but she was alive.

  “You were very brave,” he praised, kneeling down to inspect her for broken bones. She yelped and nipped at his hand when he touched her hurt paw. “What happened here?” he asked. Still whimpering, she licked the back of his hand. Andaris sighed. “Well, I suppose this means I’ll have to carry you.” Disregarding his own injuries, he scooped her up and started back down the trail, fighting to master his pain. Have to make it to Stonegarden, he thought. It’s her only chance.

  All too soon the sky faded to black. It was a lovely evening, cool and tranquil, with a gentle breeze blowing out of the east—at least he thought it was east. The sort of evening from which he would normally derive great pleasure, perfect for sitting and thinking while enjoying a warm cup of jasmine tea.

  “Look at all the stars,” he told Jade, staring up at the heavens in awe. He had never seen such stars before. They twinkled at him with a brightness that made him feel light-headed, forming into unfamiliar constellations. “But how can even the stars be different? Unless….”

  Not wanting to think about it, he concentrated instead on keeping to the path. He would sort it out later. All that mattered now was getting to safety. Loose rocks and twisting roots conspired to trip him as Jade became like lead in his arms. The slashes across his chest burned like fire, and he could feel blood, warm and wet, running down the front of his legs. “I have to put you down,” he wheezed. But she had gone limp and didn’t respond. She’s just asleep, he told himself.

  He would have stopped then if not for the singing. A faint melody floated in on the breeze, distant voices drifting through the mist to the haunting accompaniment of a wooden flute. Andaris stumbled towards it, ignoring the forest as it danced around him in a blur. He knew he’d lost too much blood, but somehow managed to keep planting one foot in front of the other. As he struggled, his mind flashed unbidden to a memory of his family and home.

  ***

  He was eight years old, sitting on the front porch of his parent’s house--a modest dwelling with neatly trimmed rose bushes and a cobblestone chimney. His father was out by the woodpile chopping logs for the fire, thick beard covered with frost, wearing the buckskin coat that Andaris’ mother had sewn for him. Young Andaris watched with admiration as he swung the long-handled axe in a smooth arc over his head, splitting log after log with a resounding crack. Andaris had tried to lift the axe once, and had barely been able to raise its iron head off the ground. His father winked at him, and then bent to line up another log. To Andaris he was larger than life, and everything was right with the world.

  ***

  Something wet brushed against his cheek. Jade’s nose? Somehow he was still on his feet, but he was fading in and out. Did he hear a low whimper? He was so dizzy and sick he couldn’t be sure. The pain in his side was more than he could stand. It felt as if he were being stabbed between the ribs with a hot poker.

  ***

  His mother called to him from the kitchen, humming a happy tune as he entered, bustling around the place as she prepared his favorite meal of venison steaks and sautéed onions. “It’s nearly ready,” she cooed, smiling down at him. “Now go tell your father.” Young Andaris ran outside with a huge grin on his face.

  ***

  A tree branch scraped his cheek. Was he going to die after all, in this strange land, so far from home? He blinked away his tears, and still the singing grew louder, urging him on. By the time he saw the firelight flickering through the trees, he could no longer feel his legs. As he staggered into the camp, the singing abruptly stopped.

  Two men and a woman sprang to their feet, the larger of the two men drawing a broad-bladed sword.

  “Help us,” Andaris managed, trying to focus on him. “Please.”

  The big man gestured to him with his sword, saying something…unintelligible, his voice sounding garbled and slurred. Andaris was trying to make sense of the unusual dialect when his ears filled with a loud ringing, drowning everything else out. He saw the concern on the man’s face…saw his lips moving…then felt himself falling forward. Jade spilled from his arms as they hit the ground, searing pain erupted through his body, and then all went dark.

  Change of Direction

  Andaris yawned and cracked open his eyes. As his vision focused, he saw a figure standing over him—a young woman. Golden curls fell to her shoulders, framing a face that was fine-featured and fair. She smiled at him, revealing perfect white teeth.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her.

  Her smile grew wider and, blushing, she laughed, a light melodic sound that filled the morning air.

  “I think he’ll be all right,” remarked a gruff voice to his left.

  Somewhat startled, Andaris turned his head.

  The owner of the voice, a burly fellow with thick arms and a broad belly, sat on the stump of an oak tree. He flashed Andaris a grin. “We thought you were dead for sure,” he said, eyes twinkling, belly shaking with hearty laughter.

  “Fortunately,” remarked a reedy voice to Andaris’ right, “much of the blood on you was from the krikken.”

  The second speaker was the exact opposite of the first. Tall and gaunt, his blue robe draped on his bony frame like a tent. Andaris tried not to cringe beneath the thin man’s scrutiny, for his eyes smoldered with a frightful intelligence.

  “What was fortunate was Trilla’s talent for healing,” the big man argued.

  “How rude of us,” Trilla interrupted. “We haven’t introduced ourselves.”

  Andaris was again struck by her loveliness, by her ivory skin and sky-blue eyes.

  “My name is Trilla,” she said sweetly, “as I am sure you overheard. The large man to my left is Gaven.”

  Gaven nodded and gave Andaris another grin, showing large crooked teeth. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, his manners belying his appearance. Three-foot-broad shoulders stretched against scuffed leather armor. He had to weigh nearly as much as a macradon, and yet something in the way he sat suggested he could spring like a cat. “And the wispy fellow to my right,” Gaven quipped, “is the amazing Ashel.”

  Ashel acknowledged the introduction with the merest of nods, choosing to ignore Gaven’s sarcasm. “And who are you,” Ashel asked, “if I may be so bold?”

  Andaris str
uggled to meet his cold stare. “Uh, I’m An…daris, Andaris Rocaren, of Fairhaven. Is my dog, Jade…is she all right?”

  Hearing her name, Jade padded up and licked Andaris on the face, slobbering all over him.

  “Okay, okay,” he said with a laugh, pushing her away. “I’m glad to see you, too.” But then he noticed the bandages wrapped around her ribcage. “Was she injured badly?” he asked.

  Trilla shook her head. “Not as badly as you. Her wounds were mostly superficial.”

  “But what about her foot? I thought—”

  “Oh, that was just the tip of a krikken claw stuck between the pads. It was easy enough to remove.” Trilla pulled the inch-long claw from a pouch on her belt and held it up for his inspection.

  Andaris shuddered, remembering how it had felt to have those talons raking across his skin.

  “You were the one I was worried about,” Trilla told him. “You lost a lot of blood from those chest wounds.”

  Andaris looked down and saw that he too was bandaged. Now it was his turn to blush, for other than the bandages, he wore only his small clothes.

  “You’re just lucky they weren’t red krikkens,” Gaven said, chortling loudly and slapping his knee. “They would have roasted ya!”

  “Yes, I suppose that would have been worse,” Andaris admitted, pulling the blanket up to cover himself. “But how did you—”

  “The feathers,” said Ashel, his tone patronizing, “the ones we found stuck to your clothes, they were black. Now tell me, exactly where is this place of which you speak, An…daris, Andaris Rocaren of Fairhaven? I have not heard of it.”

  “Oh, leave him alone,” Trilla scolded. “He’s still very weak.”