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

by Woodward, William

  “Where?” Ashel asked again, ignoring her.

  “Later,” Trilla snapped. “He needs his rest.”

  To Andaris’ surprise, Ashel shrugged his shoulders, as though he hadn’t really been interested in the first place, then turned around and walked off.

  “Don’t mind him, Andaris,” said Trilla. “His moods range from distant to sour, but he’s a good man.”

  “Hmph. A good man,” Gaven echoed.

  “He’s saved your life more than once,” Trilla pointed out.

  Gaven looked at his feet and muttered something under his breath.

  Trilla shook her head. “I’m sorry, Andaris. Separately they’re quite reasonable. Together…. Well, you can see for yourself.”

  “I understand,” he assured her with a yawn. “I have two brothers. My eldest brother Blakeland and I never got along. I guess we’re just too different. But we love one another. And if I ever really need him, he’s there.”

  “That’s it precisely,” she said, sounding pleased. “You do understand.”

  Andaris nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I need to sleep.”

  He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, it was the next morning, the sun just rising above the tops of the trees, its fiery face bearded by clouds. He got to his feet and stretched.

  “Much better!” he announced.

  Unfortunately, Ashel was the only one in camp, sitting on a log beside the fire like it was his throne, narrow face matching the cloudy sky perfectly. “How wonderful for you,” he said, staring down his long nose at Andaris, making him feel like a bug beneath a glass. “Sometime later, when it is convenient, and you are properly fed and dressed, I have some things I would like to discuss, questions that need answering.”

  “Sure,” Andaris replied. “Whenever you want. I…just let me know.”

  Ashel peered at him as though looking through him, at something behind him. “Truly, you are a cunning linguist,” he said, words dripping with sarcasm. Then he stood up and, as before, without giving any explanation as to where he was going, walked away.

  “Hey, wait.” Andaris called after him. “Where is everyone?”

  Ashel responded without stopping. “Gaven and your dog are out hunting, and Trilla is asleep, attempting to recover from the extremely arduous task of healing you.”

  A moment later, Andaris was alone, standing in the center of camp, still wearing only his small clothes. Truth be told, he had a few questions of his own—little things like where was he, and how was he going to get back?

  After poking around a bit, he found his clothes and pack stacked beside what he assumed to be Trilla’s tent, including, to his relief, his scale mail shirt. The tent was made of supple green leather, presumably to blend in with the forest, its frame consisting of four bamboo poles held together at the top by a metal ring. A wide flap covered the entrance, the sides of which were slightly gapped open. His pulse quickened. He could see her, but only a few blonde curls and part of a bare shoulder, just enough to arouse his imagination.

  I’m being a voyeur, he realized with sudden shame, pulling his eyes away. A scantily clad voyeur at that. He wasn’t normally the type to intrude on other people’s privacy. The trouble was, when he looked at her, his stomach filled with butterflies and he couldn’t think straight. Just get dressed, he told himself.

  He was pleased to discover, as he slipped into his clothes, that they had been washed and mended. Now there was only a faint discoloration where the krikken blood had been. What’s more, the bandages around his middle were gone, and the skin beneath looked smooth and undamaged. How long was I out? he wondered. He wished someone would return so he could ask.

  Trying to be patient, he wandered over to the fire pit in the hopes of finding something to eat. The embers still glowed red, but there was no food. His stomach growled, twisting into a tight knot. He felt like he hadn’t eaten for a week. Probably because I haven’t, he thought.

  Lacking anything better to do, he walked to the stream next to the campsite, sat with his back against a tree, and began to wash up. The water was cool and bracing against his face, but it did little to cheer him. He sighed, combed through his hair with his fingers, and frowned, feeling inexplicably sad as he watched the water rush past, winding its way merrily through the forest.

  Soft footsteps approached from the campsite. “How are you?” Trilla asked, smiling down at him.

  “Oh, much better,” he told her.

  She heard the unspoken “but.” Kneeling beside the stream, she dipped a cloth into the water and began to scrub her face and neck. “It is common,” she told him, “to feel somewhat melancholy after a healing. It is nothing to be ashamed of. And don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

  Andaris sighed again. “I’d feel better if I could figure out where I am. I got lost in some caverns, and then couldn’t find my way back.”

  She nodded and stood up. Andaris saw the pity in her eyes, which only made him feel worse. He didn’t want her to pity him.

  “Let’s go find Ashel,” she suggested. “He may know what to do.” Andaris didn’t relish the thought of talking to Ashel. He’d much rather talk to her, but he couldn’t tell her that, so he stood and followed her back into camp. Trilla went to her tent to change clothes, while Andaris sat down on one of the flat rocks beside the fire pit, doing his best to ignore the dissatisfied rumblings of his stomach.

  “Thank the maker you’re finally awake!” Gaven boomed. “I was getting bored waiting on you to heal.”

  Andaris whipped his head around as Jade and Gaven emerged from the tree line. Jade barked twice and passed Gaven with a sudden burst of speed. When she reached Andaris, she rolled onto her back. He smiled and rubbed her belly. “Hello, girl. I must say, you’re looking much improved.”

  “Hungry?” Gaven asked.

  Andaris gawked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. “Are you kidding? I’m famished.”

  Gaven took out his skinning knife and began to clean the largest rabbit that Andaris had ever seen—a male rabbit about the size of a goat. “Trilla said you would be, after the healing.”

  Andaris watched as the big man deftly filleted the meat from the bones, thick fingers moving with practiced ease. “How long was I out?” he asked.

  Gaven paused to consider. “Uh…it’s been about two days.”

  “Two days?” Andaris said with surprise. “But…how can that be? How did I heal so fast?”

  Gaven kept working as he talked. “Trilla has the Power,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. When he saw that Andaris didn’t understand, he tried to be clearer. “She has a rare gift,” he continued.

  “What do you mean?” Andaris asked.

  “She used her magic on you,” he finally said.

  “But there’s no such thing as--” Andaris stopped short, remembering the maps and the stars. He wasn’t sure what to believe any more. If it had really only been two days, what, if not magic, could account for his and Jade’s miraculous recovery?

  Soon the group was gathered around a crackling fire, feasting on succulent strips of dark meat, juicy red berries, and spiced yams. By the time the fire burned low, they sat back with full stomachs and contented expressions.

  “Never heard of the place,” Gaven told Andaris, picking something from between his teeth. “You said Fairhaven, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Andaris answered. “The old man I told you about hadn’t heard of it either. He showed me a map of a world foreign to me. The map had only one continent, yet even so, some of the names seemed familiar. Only vaguely familiar though, kind of like when you eat something you’ve never tried before and it reminds you of something you have. It’s strange. I felt sure I’d heard them somewhere, like maybe in the Shallae. But that can’t be right, because the Shallae is supposed to be a historical account of my people, telling of a time before they came to the Valley of Plenty. So unless m
y people are originally from here, how can the names come from the Shallae?”

  Andaris picked up a stick, ran the end through the dirt at his feet, then heaved a sigh and tossed it into the fire. “Now I wish I’d been more attentive in history class. I never paid the teachings of the Shallae much mind, what with all the tales concerning magic and the like. It was just too far-fetched.” Andaris stood up, walked to his pack, pulled out the two maps and, with an air of deference, handed them to Ashel.

  “Hmm, yes, these are fairly well drawn,” Ashel said, unrolling one and then the other. “The detail is lacking in certain areas, but they appear to be to scale. I have several that are similar, though mine, of course, are of a much higher quality.”

  “Have I lost my mind?” Andaris asked.

  “Perhaps,” Ashel replied, handing the maps to Trilla. “Though I don’t think so. It is much more likely that you suffered some sort of head trauma during your battle with the krikken that has made you forget who you really are, causing your subconscious to fill in the gaps with fantasy.” Ashel paused, allowing the significance of his statement to sink in.

  Gaven rolled his eyes. “Oh, just spit it out, wizard, while we’re all still breathing!”

  Ashel glared at the big man. “Interesting choice of words, my oafish friend. I could arrange—”

  “Stop it!” Trilla demanded. “Can you two not go even one day without bickering like children?”

  Ashel’s eyes flashed, his spine stiffening. He opened his mouth to respond, then apparently thought better of it, and shut it again. After a moment, he cleared his throat and, with an expression that was as prideful as it was indignant, gave her a curt nod. “Now, as I was saying, Andaris, before I was interrupted, I do not believe you are insane.”

  “Well, that’s a comfort,” Andaris told him. “Then what is happening?”

  Ashel leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “As I see it, there are three possibilities. Either you have forgotten who you are, you are lying to us, or you have entered into our world through a temporal and or dimensional portal. Let it be noted that I consider the third possibility to be highly unlikely.”

  “A temporal or what?” Andaris asked.

  “A por…tal,” Ashel repeated, over enunciating each syllable as if speaking to a child. “A window between two points, two times, and or two worlds.”

  Andaris shook his head. “Sounds like something out of a storybook.”

  Ashel arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re not saying that you don’t believe in the existence of portals, are you?”

  “Well, I don’t really know. So much has happened…it’s difficult to know what to think. But yes, I suppose even with everything I’ve seen, I still have a hard time believing in magic.”

  Ashel’s eyes widened. “You’re not actually suggesting that magic, one of the most fundamental forces in the universe, doesn’t exist?”

  Andaris nodded, trying his best to look meek.

  Ashel stood up. “I take it back,” he declared. “He is mad!” Trilla started to say something in Andaris’ defense, but Ashel waved her off. “This,” he said, raising his right hand above his head, “is magic!”

  A small sphere of fire materialized above Ashel’s open palm. It floated there for several seconds, growing and shrinking. Then he shouted, “Akna vei!” and flung it at a nearby tree. It hit with a sharp crack, splitting the trunk in two and engulfing the tree in flames. A second sphere immediately followed the first, except this one was blue-white, glinting like liquid silver, elongating until it became teardrop shaped. When it hit the tree, the silver spread out, extinguishing the flames and encasing both trunk and branches in a thick layer of ice. Next, with a low rumbling, came a sphere of black. It flew through the air as though shot from a cannon, striking with such force that the tree shattered, exploding outward into thousands of tiny pieces.

  Andaris covered his face with his hands as the ice shards came hurtling towards him, certain he was about to be ripped to shreds. At the last moment, Ashel waved his arms and halted the pieces in midair, then waved them again and sent them flying back together in a blur. There was a violent gust of wind accompanied by a bright flash of light. Andaris shut his eyes against the light. When he opened them, the tree was once again whole and undamaged.

  Ashel wobbled, almost fell and, with a feverish gleam in his eyes, spun to face Andaris. “That, my ignorant friend,” he panted, “is magic!”

  Andaris took a step back, fighting the urge to run.

  “Good job, oh mighty wizard,” Gaven said. “Look, you’ve terrified him. Don’t you worry, Andaris, he’s all smoke and mirrors. You were never in any danger.”

  “You mean…it wasn’t real?” Andaris asked.

  “That’s right,” Gaven explained. “It was all an illusion. Nothing that you just saw actually happened.”

  “Not in the strictest sense,” Ashel confessed. “But it seemed real, didn’t it? That’s the main thing. You smelled the fire. You felt the heat.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Andaris’ mouth. He felt like a child after his first visit to a carnival. “Yes, yes I did,” he agreed. “And it was wonderful.”

  “You see, Gaven,” Ashel said, looking very pleased with himself, “some people appreciate my abilities.”

  “I’ll admit it’s impressive when you play with your balls,” teased Gaven, his smile large and smarmy. “You just have to be careful not to overdue it, else you’re laid up for days, having to be nursed like a wee babe.”

  “Not all my magic is illusory in nature,” Ashel warned. The two men glowered at one another, and then in unison turned to face Trilla. She put her hands on her hips, a storm brewing in her eyes. They looked down, cowed by her anger.

  She’s a feisty one, Andaris thought. She couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds, and yet clearly neither of them wanted to cross her.

  When they were once again seated around the fire, Andaris coughed into his hand and said, “By the time I found my way out of the caverns, everything had changed, even the stars. Could there have been a portal in one of the caves?”

  “Certainly a possibility,” Ashel answered, his expression of cool superiority returning. “As far as portals go, one place is as likely as another. The location is the prerogative of whomever or whatever put it there.”

  “If I did get here through a portal, how do I get back? How do I get home?”

  “It’s difficult to say with any degree of certainty. Some portals close after a single use, never to reopen again. Some only open from one direction. Some are created, while others occur naturally. It’s possible you could find the answers you seek in Rogar. There is one there who might be willing to help, should he find you worthy. But even if he doesn’t, the archives beneath the castle are extensive. Many books have been written about portals over the centuries, so if by some bizarre act of fate your people did come from here, you might be able to find some mention of them. You can trace certain names back thousands of years.”

  “That’s where we’re headed,” Trilla said. “Rogar Castle—our home. It will be a long and difficult journey, perhaps even perilous at times, though we cannot let that deter us. King Laris has sent out a plea requesting aid. Our worst fears, it seems, have been realized. The Lost One and his army of shapelings are massing again, after more than two hundred years of peace, preparing to march against Rogar’s western border. You see, Andaris, Rogar guards the boundary between the four civilized kingdoms and the Great Waste.” Her eyes shone with pride, adding conviction to her words. “No force has ever breached the castle’s inner gates, yet it has never faced an army as great as the one moving against it now. It is an ancient evil Rogar stands against, the same evil that made the construction of the Eight Walls necessary more than a thousand years ago.”

  Andaris found himself becoming enthralled by her, by the soft lilt of her voice, and full red lips. What would it be like to kiss those lips? Stop it, he thought, feeling contemptible. This is ne
ither the time nor the place.

  “Throughout history,” she continued, “we have beaten back the hordes of the Lost One. Each time the evil sprouts anew, threatening us again, but this time the long peace has made us complacent. There are scarce few who were alive during the Battle of the Reckoning, and even fewer who can be of any help to us now. We are headed home because we know if we are to prevail, Rogar must stand. The reports say the scourge gathering in the Waste is immense, many times the number at the castle. The men there are strong and true, most possessing the blood of kings, direct descendents of the original Alderi Shune, like Gaven here.”

  Gaven swelled with the compliment, held eye contact with Trilla for a moment, then became self-conscious and looked away.

  “But it isn’t enough,” she said, shaking her head. “The other kingdoms must come to bolster our numbers, or I fear all will be lost.”

  The hushed pause that followed was filled by Gaven’s deep voice. “If Rogar were to fall,” he said, “the enemy would sweep across the remaining kingdoms like a tide.”

  Trilla sighed, milk-white bosoms pressing against the blue silk of her dress. “In Rogar, there is a man, a magic user, who might be able to help you. His name is Elkar.” She turned to Ashel. “I assume he is who you meant?”

  Ashel nodded, picking up where she’d left off. “He is very old, and among the most venerable in Rogar. He was at the Battle of the Reckoning, and at the time wasn’t much older than we are now, but even then his power was legendary. Without him, that battle, upon which hung the fate of the realm and possibly even the world, would have been lost. Elkar grows weaker by the year, though is still the strongest of his order. His magic sustains him. He is a great man.”

  “And kind,” said Trilla. “I studied with him for several years to develop my healing arts, and never did I have a more patient instructor.”

  “You?” Andaris asked.

  “Oh, I’m afraid it’s quite true,” the mage assured him, envy flashing across the surface of his serenity. “You see, Trilla here is a princess.”