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

by Woodward, William

  “Who is?” the king asked, alarmed to see his grandfather in so much pain.

  “Your enemy, my boy. Who else? If you are to prevail, you must fight him. You must go to your people. You cannot sit idly by and let the one whose name I dare not utter blacken the world with his stench.”

  “I am trying!” Laris wailed, “but I am so weak. I do not have your strength.” The room shook again, causing one of the candles on the floor to tip over.

  “Nonsense! You and I are the same. If not for that strength, you would already be dead.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Your body is being poisoned. Your thoughts are being twisted.”

  “But how?”

  “His will is invading your sleep. Your wine is—” The room shook so violently this time that dirt began to drop from between the planks in the ceiling, dirt mixed with bits of stone and dead insects. “One of your advis—” His grandfather put his head in his hands. “I can’t hold him!” he shouted. “He’s too…strong!”

  Debris showered all around, and then the second candle winked out, plunging Laris into absolute darkness. “Wait!” he cried. “Which advisor? Which one?” But there was no answer.

  The king felt himself falling through the floor, being drawn down by some unseen force. Gripped by a fear greater than any he had ever known, he began flailing about, searching for something to hold onto. “Grandfather!” he yelled.

  Finding only empty air, he went tumbling end over end, hurtling through an abyss of glowing red eyes and whispering voices. He fell…and he fell…and he fell. Time became meaningless. A year might have passed, or a single second—it was all the same to him. The whispering grew louder, and more frantic, taking on a hungry quality that chilled his bones. The eyes, which now resembled stars in a night sky, pressed in on him from all sides. I’ve had this dream before, he thought. Many times. Hundreds of times. Why do the stars bear down on me so? What do they want?

  The nearer they came, the harder it was for him to breathe. It felt like he had metal bands around his chest, squeezing ever tighter. Laris, the voices whispered. Laris. Laris. Laris! Unable to endure any more, he covered his ears, squeezed shut his eyes, and awoke with a start in his bed.

  Later that same night, long after most decent folk were asleep, the king went to visit his old friend, Fenton Maldigar. Fenton was both intelligent and wise. He would know what to do.

  Laris studied the chessboard with his chin cupped in his hand. He was having a hard time concentrating, so he just moved another pawn.

  Fenton stared at him with obvious irritation, rheumy eyes looking like they wanted to close. “You can’t move there,” he wheezed. “That puts your king in check.”

  Laris glanced at Fenton, then back to the board, and shook his head. “Oh, so it does. My apologies. I’m afraid I’m not much in the mood tonight.” Fenton barely had the strength to sit up, and was still managing to give him a sound trouncing. Laris had wanted to discuss the dream, but was having trouble getting the words out. He knew if he said it aloud it would sound crazy. Perhaps it was.

  With a long sigh, Laris moved the pawn back, picked up his goblet, and began to sullenly sip his wine. Better to sort it out on my own, he decided. The burgundy came from Fenton’s private stock. It was not as fine as Laris was accustomed to, though for a wine of its age and label, had surprisingly good body. At least I know it’s safe, he thought. After setting the goblet down, he moved a knight over his beleaguered line of pawns, and waited for Fenton to systematically decimate his defenses.

  When Laris returned to his room, he poured the wine that had been brought to him with his evening meal out the window to the gardens below. He didn’t want to alert whoever was poisoning him by leaving the glass full. Whoever might be poisoning me, he reminded himself. Until he verified the inscription on the amulet, the dream’s validity remained very much in question. Could be he was just a foolish old man with a head full of nonsense. I’ll know tonight, he thought, feeling a flicker of excitement.

  He didn’t expect to run into anybody, not where he was going. Nevertheless, just as a precaution, he decided to wear a disguise. After trying on several different combinations, he eventually settled on a simple gray cloak that Fenton had given him for his sixty-third birthday. Good old Fenton, he thought. He’s the only one left who truly understands me.

  The cloak had a large hood that, when up, covered his face in shadow. He raised it and stared at his reflection in the mirror. No good. It was obviously still him. After being king his entire adult life, he was finding it difficult to appear as anything else. What could he do?

  As he walked back to the wardrobe, his eyes lit on the staff. Ah, he thought, the Staff Of Ordoni. Elkar had said it could shoot fire, but Laris suspected it would serve as an old man’s walking stick just as well. It certainly didn’t look like much. If Laris had been out for a stroll and had seen it lying beside the trail, he wouldn’t have even bothered to stop and pick it up. It was thin, crooked, and no more than four feet long. Perhaps that is why he had always doubted what Elkar had told him about it. Shoot fire indeed, he thought.

  When next he stared into the mirror, he looked, to his disappointment, still very much like a king, only now he was a king with a cloak and a staff. Perhaps his bearing was the problem. He judged it to be too kingly by half, too proud and self-assured. Let it go, he told himself. Let it all go.

  With a slow exhalation, his back became stooped, his shoulders slumped, and his chin dropped. Now the disguise was complete. You look a thousand years old, he whispered to his reflection, feeling more than a tad unsettled. He hadn’t been honest with himself about how frail he’d become. No matter, he thought with a deep yawn. If the dream is true, I’ll soon be better. But first…I do believe I need to lie down. Just for a bit. Just long enough, he told himself as he crawled back into bed, to regain my strength. It seemed all he did lately was sleep.

  Voice from the Grave

  Gaven and Trilla gawked at Andaris, clearly taken aback.

  “His eyes were covered by skin?” Gaven finally asked.

  “Yes, but he could still see somehow. Look, I know how this must sound. That’s why I didn’t tell you right away. It’s just…it was so real.”

  Trilla’s noble brow crinkled, her normally bright eyes lost in fog, her mind beset by tender memory.

  “You okay?” Andaris asked.

  “What…oh, I’m fine,” she said, giving herself a mental shake. “I don’t know. It just makes me sad I guess, thinking of Ashel.”

  “What worries me,” Gaven said, “is that this is some kind of message from Ashel about the future.”

  Andaris tried to laugh, managing only an uneasy chuckle. “But that’s impossible. I mean…he’s dead.”

  “Yes,” Trilla said, her tone turning ominous. “He is. But don’t you believe in an afterlife? If there were a way, I have no doubt Ashel would find it. He was always terrified of death. I don’t know about your world, Andaris, but here visions are taken seriously, and they usually come in the form of dreams.”

  “It did seem real,” Andaris admitted, thinking back on the dream with a shudder. “Though why contact me? Why not you or Gaven?”

  Trilla shrugged and sighed. “I must admit, I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “So if it really was him,” Andaris said, “then what do we do?”

  “As I see it,” Gaven replied, “we can’t afford not to take it seriously. We must assume the enemy is close, and that they are tracking us. We must assume that those were not chance encounters.”

  “But what if it was just a dream, and it means nothing?” Andaris pointed out.

  “Possible,” Gaven admitted. “Though if that’s true, then how could you know what Trilla’s father looks like, and describe in such detail the Lost One’s army?”

  Andaris frowned. “You mean that’s how they really are?”

  “By all accounts,” Gaven answered. “So…either it’s a remarkable coincidenc
e, or you had yourself a vision.”

  Just thinking about it made Andaris feel weak. He must have grown a bit pale, for Gaven and Trilla eyed him with concern.

  “Either way,” Gaven said, “I think we should proceed as if this is the case.”

  Trilla nodded. “We’ll need some horses. We no longer have time to skirt the main roads. They found us anyway, so we might as well be riding.”

  “If we rise early and push hard, we should be able to reach Mindere by sometime tomorrow morning,” said Gaven. “Once there, we can stop by a town, or maybe one of the larger farms, and buy some horses and restock our supplies.”

  “Mindere?” Andaris asked.

  “Mindere’s the kingdom that separates Sokerra from Nelvin,” Trilla explained. “Which is where we are now.”

  “Oh, right,” said Andaris. “I remember seeing it on Shamilla’s map.

  “Tinar is Mindere’s largest city,” Gaven said wistfully. “It has the best ale and…well….” He cut his eyes to Trilla, lips parting in a guilty smile. “Let’s just say the women there are not ugly.”

  “So…Tinar’s on the way?” Andaris asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Trilla answered, grinning at the two. “But remember, we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile. You can’t go around propositioning every woman you meet.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Andaris said. “I’m just looking forward to a hot bath and some decent food. No offense, Gaven.”

  “None taken,” Gaven replied, eyes twinkling. “I’m tired of rabbit stew, too. When we get to Tinar, I’ll show you around. I know this little place called the Willing Wench. The serving girls there serve the best tasting pie in all of Mindere—good enough to make your mouth water—if you catch my meaning.”

  Andaris felt his face flush. Gaven chortled loudly and slapped him on the back. Trilla shook her head and smiled behind her hand. Andaris was glad to see her enjoying herself again, even if it was at his expense.

  That night around the fire, the mood was lighter than it had been since Ashel’s death. They were, of course, still distraught, but knew they had to go on with the business of living. It was what Ashel would have wanted.

  “I was wondering,” Andaris asked Gaven, gesturing to his sword, “if you could teach me a few of the basics with that?” The big man’s blade lay on an oiled cloth by his feet, as always, when not on his person, within easy reach. “Just in case I need to defend myself,” he said. “I mean, those creatures in my dream….”

  “We don’t have much time,” Gaven explained. “Less than two weeks before we reach Rogar.”

  Andaris nodded, looking unusually earnest.

  Gaven stared at him for several long seconds, considering. “Well…I suppose I could show you a few of the basics,” he said, his expression dubious. “But how much that helps is up to you. You have to promise to take it seriously.”

  “I promise,” Andaris assured him. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I think we should stop by Sokerra Castle,” Trilla said, surprising them both.

  “Sokerra?” Gaven asked. “Why?”

  She had been gazing blankly into the fire, and now, very deliberately, turned his way. “Well,” she continued, her mouth set in an obstinate frown, “my father needs help and I can give it to him. It’s as simple as that.”

  Gaven’s eyes widened. “You’re not thinking of—”

  “Yes, I am,” she snapped. “To save Rogar I am.”

  Gaven fell silent, wounded by her tone.

  She sighed. “We’ll see,” she said more gently. “It depends on what we find out.”

  “I suppose,” he admitted, “but I don’t like it.”

  “Trust me,” she said, standing and stepping into her tent, “I won’t if I don’t have to.”

  “What was that all about?” Andaris asked after a moment.

  Gaven prodded the fire with a stick, the lines on his face deepening. “Oh, she’s thinking about marrying that little brat of a prince at Sokerra castle.”

  Andaris’ breath caught. “What? But I….” He had to work to maintain his composure, surprised to discover that the thought of Trilla getting married was like a knife twisting in his gut. “But I thought that’s why she ran away,” he eventually managed. “To avoid that.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well…then why?”

  “That’s just the problem,” Gaven growled, his anger being stoked along with the fire. “I’m forced to agree with her. You see, Andaris, she’s afraid Sokerra won’t come to Rogar’s aid because she humiliated King Palden’s son. The man’s pride is notorious. If she’s right, then Rogar might have to stand alone. The chance of Mindere or Nelvin giving aid is slim, the scant aid they could give.”

  “Though surely, if things are as desperate as you think, they will come, with or without the marriage.”

  “Don’t be so certain. Relations were strained before the betrothal was broken. Now, things are even worse. They don’t seem to understand, or won’t accept, that if Rogar falls, they fall. That if we are to survive, we must stand together. They believe it’s too far away to worry with. Why invite trouble by getting involved they say. Let Rogar fight the wars Rogar begins. Why should our sons have to die as well?”

  Gaven broke the stick he held, threw the pieces to the ground, and absently began to rub his hands together. “We were great allies once,” he said in a lower voice, his eyes growing distant. “Sokerra’s cavalry and Rogar’s footmen were the envy of the world. But somewhere along the line it all fell apart. That’s why King Laris promised Trilla to King Palden’s son, to try and repair things. If Rogar and Sokerra stood as one, no force would dare invade. Well, you know how well that worked out.”

  Andaris nodded, feeling dazed.

  Gaven leaned back and peered up at the stars. “This plan of hers is risky,” he said. “I mean there’s no guarantee the prince won’t throw her into some dark cell, and wash his hands of the whole business, much less accept. Yet…as much as it sickens me…I can’t really blame her. She has good reason to try. Truth be told, if I were in her shoes, I’d probably do the same.”

  “So you think she’ll actually go through with it?” Andaris asked.

  Gaven shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose. Once she gets an idea in her head, there’s little that can stop her. I just hate to see it happen, even if the prince does accept her offer. If you could have seen her a year ago, when Ashel and I found out she was running away, you’d understand. We literally believed we were saving her life by going with her. I’m sure you’ve noticed how bull-headed she is. She would have left with or without us. We couldn’t watch her every second of every day.” Gaven smiled sadly and closed his eyes. “We all do what we must,” he said. “Even the princess.”

  “Yes we do,” Andaris agreed.

  Allowing the discussion to end there, they sat quietly for a time, the mood seeming too melancholic for casual conversation. This was not a silence born out of awkwardness, but rather familiarity, and mutual respect. There was no need to fill the air with empty pleasantries. They felt wholly comfortable in each other’s company, staring into the fire, thinking of what tomorrow might bring.

  What is it about fire that’s so calming? Andaris wondered. Is it the warmth? The crackling sound the wood makes as it’s being consumed? The dancing flames mesmerizing the eye? Or is it merely the safety it provides that makes those other things so appealing—the life it gives, like water in a stream? Come to think of it, maybe that’s why the sound of running water is so soothing. Could it be that—

  “Well,” Gaven said, “we had better get some rest; odds are we’re going to need it.”

  Andaris nodded, spread a couple of blankets out on the ground, then lay down and closed his eyes. Gaven leaned his back against a tree, the bole of which was wide enough to accommodate his large frame, wrapped his cloak around his body, and drew his sword. A moment later, Andaris heard a soft ringing, the sound of Gaven’s sharpening
stone moving methodically up and down the length of his blade. Feeling oddly comforted by this, Andaris drifted off, his mind and heart temporarily at ease, lulled to sleep as if by the sweetest of lullabies.

  Later that evening, long after the fire had burned itself out, Andaris woke to the sound of dry leaves crumbling together. Something was moving through the brush outside their camp, no doubt foraging for its dinner. It sounded larger than a squirrel, probably a fox, or a raccoon. He peered into the woods, unable to make heads or tails of the shadows. He heard a snuffling noise off to his left, followed by the sound of sharp claws scraping against rock.

  Could be he was allowing his imagination to carry him away again, but it now seemed that the creatures of the hour rustled all around, furtive movements masked by the moonless night, eyes turned his way, condemning him for his brazen intrusion into their forest.

  Andaris shivered and pulled the blanket over his head. A pack of wolves howled in the distance. Jade walked over and lay down beside him, whimpering softly and pawing at his arm.

  He lowered the blanket beneath his nose. “So,” he said, affecting a truculent air, “now that the camp is besieged, you want to be friends?”

  She groaned, snuggled closer, and licked the back of his hand, falling asleep with her head resting on his stomach. Andaris stared at the sky for some time before sleep once again claimed him, transfixed by all the unfamiliar stars, the sight filling him with loneliness and uncertainty, a vivid reminder of just how awfully far from home he was. “Will I ever find my way?” he whispered. If there is a way, he told himself, I will. I must.