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

by Woodward, William

  Wedding Bells

  Andaris opened his eyes to the bright, cheerful sound of ringing bells. The bed in which he lay was big and comfortable, four-posted and tall. He groaned as he sat up, feeling as if some deranged gnome were thumping against the back of his head with a hammer. Someone had taken the liberty of dressing him in a long flannel nightshirt. He hoped it hadn’t been Trilla, though supposed he couldn’t really object if it had—after all, he had already seen her naked.

  What happened, he wondered, placing his head in his hands. He couldn’t recall. He was so groggy…as though he’d been asleep for days. Think, he told himself. The last thing he remembered was riding with Gaven and Trilla towards Sokerra. He was sick. It was raining. And now he was here…. We must have made it, he thought. Inviting the gnome’s wrath, he straightened his neck and looked around the room.

  An elaborate mosaic covered the floor, colorful tiles depicting what he could only assume was a Sokerran battle of great renown. Bathed in brilliant sunshine, the far wall opened onto a balcony supported by six stone pillars. Inlaid into each, gleaming sharply in the morning light, narrow rivulets of gold climbed the stone like ivy, crossing and re-crossing before twining together at the top beneath a circlet of silver leaves.

  The view beyond the balcony was just as lovely. Clean blue sky shone above a myriad of reflecting pools, glassy surfaces clustered intimately within an exquisite landscape of manicured hedges and vibrant flora. Lifelike statues stood at the center of each pool, benevolent faces peering up at the heavens, searching for enlightenment.

  The bells rang out again, reverberating through the crisp dawn air with celebratory fervor. Bells? But why are there-- His breath caught. Wedding bells!

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Andaris put on the robe and slippers left for him on the nightstand. As he stood, a wave of dizziness washed over him, filling his vision with brief pinpricks of light. He held on to one of the bedposts, waited for the room to stop spinning, and darted out the door in the direction of the bells.

  When he stepped into the courtyard, he stopped and stared, for the cathedral was easily the most beautiful structure he had ever seen. Set within its polished, pale-green walls were a total of twenty-four stained glass windows—scarlet slits sparkling like rubies in the sunlight. From the corners of the building rose four steeples made entirely of worked ivory. The bells that rang out so joyously did so from within the ornate lattice atop each slender spire.

  Andaris tried his best to look amiable as he neared the cathedral’s twenty-foot tall doors. The guards eyed him with disapproval, but allowed him to pass, conical helms hugging their brows, rectangular shields erect.

  He walked in with a thumping heart, feeling nauseated. Apparently, traipsing about like a lunatic wasn’t the best thing for a person in his condition. Not that he had a clue as to what that condition was, mind you. For all he knew, he was skipping tra la la along the brink of death, about to take that final, fateful dive into oblivion. Ah well, he thought, too late now.

  The cathedral was full near to bursting with all manner of folk. Its redwood pews could seat thousands, and yet not a space remained. He would have to stand in the back with the commoners, which suited him just fine. Having been raised on a farm, he was used to the musty stench of hard work, and to the unpretentious pride that came from earning a living with your hands and your heart.

  Of course those with royal blood enjoyed the closest seats. The king and queen posed like peacocks in gaudily bejeweled thrones on either side of the main dais. The rows closest to them overflowed with people clothed in the latest and most expensive fashions. Many of the women wore large, garish hats, the broad brims seeming specifically designed to block the view of those seated behind them. The closer to the front, the bigger and brighter the hats became. “Look at us,” they seemed to say. “Look how stunning we are.”

  Andaris shook his head, finding it all remarkably silly. In the end, he thought, they’re just bones in the ground, like everyone else. It was then, as he averted his eyes from the spectacle, that he saw Gaven. Occupying a place of honor not far from the king and queen, the big man’s nose was no doubt full of much prettier scents than his own—though you’d never guess it by the scowl that he wore.

  From the front of the building, a tall, awkwardly built man wearing a white robe raised his hands and, on his cue, a group of minstrels began to play a wedding march. The light, airy sound of string instruments echoed through the cathedral. All present watched with rapt attention as the silver doors swung wide.

  Gaven walked with stoic resignation to the entrance, and then stood in place with hands clasped behind his back, ready to escort Trilla down the aisle. Metals and ribbons adorned his borrowed jacket. Andaris wondered if they were his, or if they had been loaned to him along with the clothes. Either way, with his hair pulled back into a tight braid, and the collar of his very stylish shirt at least two sizes too small, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions, yet Gaven’s face could have been carved of granite. He stared straight ahead, eyes dull and troubled, as though watching a funeral procession.

  And then Trilla appeared, wearing a flowing white dress that fanned elegantly on the ground behind her. Her hair curled in playful ringlets about her face. Berry juice made her lips glossy. Passionflower painted her cheeks. Truly, she looked every inch the princess.

  Andaris saw tears shimmering in her eyes as she reached for Gaven’s hand, and he knew her well enough to know they were not tears of joy. When she saw Andaris, she stumbled…then froze in place, too startled to move. Gaven and Andaris locked eyes. Gaven shook his head with a pained expression…and then looked down.

  Trilla was only able to meet Andaris’ gaze for an instant, but that was long enough. I don’t want to marry him, her eyes said. I want to be with you. I love you.

  Andaris felt his heart stumble. She loved him, and he, though he hadn’t realized until that moment how much, loved her—desperately so. And here she was about to marry another.

  When the prince took Trilla’s hand from Gaven’s, a deep sorrow filled Andaris. When her little sad voice said, “I do,” that sorrow turned to hopelessness. When the prince kissed her full on the lips, the same lips that Andaris had kissed with such tenderness not two days before, that hopelessness turned to anger.

  Unable to endure any more, Andaris rushed from the cathedral, lengthened stride upon the flagstones, crossed the courtyard, and headed straight out the main gate. He ran into the tall grass, into the gently rolling hills made golden by the sun, his robe fluttering behind him. He ran until his chest burned and his legs shook, until at last he stumbled to the ground and did not rise.

  Lying there, with the pale blue sky spinning above, a part of him wished he could simply sink into the earth where it was quiet and dark and be done with it. Damn the lot of them, he thought. The whole blasted lot.

  By the time Andaris decided to head back, dusk had bruised the horizon, casting the land into deepening shadow. He knew it wasn’t fair to make everyone worry, especially after all they’d done for him. At some point, he would have to face Trilla and apologize for causing a scene. He couldn’t hide out here forever. It wasn’t her fault his heart was broken. She had merely done what she felt she must in order to save her people.

  Determined to make amends, he stood—and then spun about and dropped into a crouch. Something was moving through the grass to his left. Whatever it was…it was getting closer. He reached down and pulled out…nothing. He had no weapon, and for armor, only a cotton robe and silk slippers.

  Lovesick fool, Andaris thought, scanning the ground for something he could use. He spotted a palm-sized stone a few feet to his right. A long nose parted the grass. He dived, rolled, and came up with the stone raised and ready to throw.

  Jade cocked her head at him, as though curious to see what amazing acrobatic feat he would perform next.

  “Jade!” he cried with relie
f. She scampered to him and, with a wagging tail and merry eyes, licked him full on the face. He laughed and pushed her away. She plopped down and rolled onto her back. He scratched her stomach.

  “I certainly am glad to see you,” he told her, feeling ridiculous. “I thought there was a monster out there.”

  Jade turned her head towards the castle and barked.

  “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, noting the sun’s low position in the sky. “I should have returned hours ago.”

  While making their way back through the tall grass, Andaris considered all that had happened. “I can’t believe I’ve lost her,” he said with a sigh. “I never even had a chance.”

  But Jade just kept walking and wagging her tail, for once seeming completely oblivious. Had Shamilla been there, he no doubt would have squinted his beady eyes at him, and gone on about how proper it was that Jade was finally behaving like a normal dog. Andaris, however, was not so pleased—because he had begun to see her as more than that, more like a person, even a friend.

  Night fell as they approached the gate, the creatures of the hour heralding in the darkness with eerie calls, soulful and full of desire. Andaris shivered, grateful to soon be within the solid embrace of mortar and stone. One of the guards announced the closing of the gate as Andaris and Jade walked through, adding his own call to the cacophony without. The iron door slid into place behind them and, with a mighty clunk, locked shut.

  “Come on,” Andaris suggested. “Let’s go find Gaven.” He didn’t think it would be too difficult to locate the man. After all, he’d walked Trilla down the aisle. He was famous.

  Indeed, almost everyone they passed knew of Gaven. Unfortunately, no one had any idea as to where he might have gone. Andaris was about to admit defeat and go to bed, when a man wearing a shabby gray longcoat came stumbling down the hall towards them.

  “Excuse me,” Andaris said, holding up his hand. “Were you by any chance at the wedding today?”

  The man wiped his ruddy nose on his shirtsleeve and tried to focus his eyes.

  “I’m asking because I need to find my friend, Gaven, the one who walked Tri--uh the princess down the aisle.”

  “Yeah, I seen him,” the man surprised him by saying, his voice slurred and stinking of rum. “He’s at the Loyal Subject, or was a couple of minutes ago. I just came from there.”

  “The Loyal Subject?” Andaris asked.

  “Yeah, its back that way,” the man said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Take the second hall to the left, and then the third to the right. You can’t miss the sign. Your friend….” The man started to wheeze and cough. It took Andaris a moment to realize he was laughing.

  “Your friend,” he went on with difficulty, “was boasting that he could beat anybody in the place at arm wrastling.” He grinned, revealing a wreck of rotting stumps that used to be teeth, then covered his mouth, half hiccupping, half belching, into his hand. “I wanted to stay to see him go up against Hingar. He would have taught your friend a lesson. But the missus…. Well, you know how it is.”

  Not in the mood to be chatty, especially with a foul-smelling drunk, Andaris thanked him and walked quickly away, hoping his directions bore fruit, unless it be, that is, as rotten as his breath. Though why worry? he thought. If there’s one place a drunk can help you find, it’s a tavern.

  Shortly after taking the hall to the right, Andaris heard the sound of Gaven’s robust laughter, seeing the sign he’d correctly been told he couldn’t miss. “Is that the best you can do?” the big man roared, his voice echoing down the hall. “Why, I’ve wrestled little girls stronger than you!”

  In spite of his troubles, Andaris smiled and, with Jade by his side, stepped into the dimly lit, smoke-filled interior of the Loyal Subject. Gaven sat at a corner table with a small group gathered around. The fellow across the table from him was bald-headed and covered in tattoos, his belly even bigger than Gaven’s.

  This, Andaris thought, must be Hingar.

  Most of the group cheered on their local champion, clearly expecting him to win. Squeezing shut his eyes, Hingar strained with all his considerable might, until soon his face was the color of an overripe plum. All the while, Gaven kept laughing and spouting cutting remarks. Slowly but surely, Hingar’s arm moved downward. He sputtered and cursed, and somehow, perhaps because his reputation was on the line, managed to stop his hand an inch above the tabletop.

  With a complete disregard for his opponent’s championship status, Gaven casually lifted his mug of beer and took a drink. When he lowered it, he flashed Hingar a smirk that was as smug as it was broad, and slammed down his hand, clacking his knuckles hard against the wooden planks. Hingar was not amused. Gaven boomed out another hearty laugh, downed the rest of his beer, and turned to one of the serving wenches to order another.

  Hingar rubbed his bruised knuckles and glared at Gaven’s back. Concerned more about Hingar’s bruised pride, Andaris took a step forward. Gaven whispered into the serving girl’s ear, saying something that made her shake her head and grin in embarrassment.

  Hingar suddenly stood and pulled his saber from the sheath on his back.

  “Look out!” Andaris yelled.

  Gaven spun as the blade was descending. An instant before it connected, a palm-sized stone struck Hingar across the left temple. Now, rather than splitting Gaven’s head in two, the blade whistled harmlessly past his ear and clanged against the floor. Gaven jumped to his feet and drew his broadsword, at last ready to defend himself. Hingar raised his saber, swayed, and then collapsed.

  Looking vaguely disappointed, Gaven spat on him and re-sheathed his sword. “Get him out of here,” he bellowed. “Before I gut him!”

  Andaris walked to the table, picked up the stone, and had a seat in Hingar’s chair. Several of the other men exchanged dark looks, but Gaven’s strength and Andaris’ aim were enough to keep any further challenges at bay. As Hingar’s companions dragged him out, the tavern filled with the sinister sound of low muttering.

  Gaven sat down and began to happily scoop up his winnings, taking great delight in clinking the gold coins, one by one, into his pouch. He paused, squinted his eyes at Andaris…then scooted half the coins across the table. “Good toss,” he told him. “You deserve it.”

  Before Andaris could object, the waitress walked up with Gaven’s beer. She wore a short skirt that showed all except the very tops of her well-formed thighs, and a close-fitting bodice, the straps of which were so tightly strung that her ample bosoms looked ready, at any moment, to spring forth. She had curly red hair, sapphire blue eyes, and a dazzling smile--which she now flashed broadly at Andaris.

  “It’s on the house,” she told them, setting the mug in front of Gaven. “That one’s had it coming for a long time.” She took another beer off the tray and, with a confidential wink, handed it to Andaris. “Can’t have your friend drinking alone,” she said playfully. “But then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. A man who would wear his robe and slippers to the rowdiest tavern in the castle must already know the value of friendship.” That said, she spun about, smiled back at Andaris in a very alluring way, and headed for another table.

  “Be careful of that one,” Gaven warned. “She’s trouble.”

  “Aren’t they all,” Andaris said, staring at her heart-shaped behind as she flitted from one male patron to the next, leaving a trail of lust-filled eyes in her wake.

  Gaven’s face became sympathetic. “Let’s drink to it,” he suggested, raising his mug.

  Andaris could see that he understood, so he clanked his mug into Gaven’s, and took several long swallows.

  “Ahhh,” the big man declared. “That’s better. I was getting dry.”

  Andaris just nodded.

  A shadow passed over Gaven’s face, darkening his expression. “Thanks,” he added in a more solemn tone. “For the assistance, I mean. It was foolish of me to be so careless.”

  Andaris smiled sadly into his mug and shrugged. “I owed yo
u anyway,” he reminded him.

  Gaven leaned in close and said, “Trilla didn’t want to do it, you know, but she didn’t feel she had a choice.”

  “I know,” Andaris replied. “I know she didn’t. I just wish…. I don’t know. I guess there was no other way. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Uncomfortable with the way his stomach was twisting into knots, Andaris took another long swallow of his beer.

  Gaven sighed and, using his thumbnail, scratched absently at some candle wax on the tabletop. “She cares for you a great deal, Andaris. When she thought we might lose you…. Well, you know how she was with Ashel. It was the same with you. She fought with everything she had.” Gaven closed his eyes, remembering….

  ***

  After hustling Andaris into the castle, they laid his unconscious body on a four-foot tall altar, the sacred stones of which were stacked in the exact center of a small round room with no windows and only one door. Twelve figures wearing flowing white robes filed in that door and formed a circle around the altar. After linking hands, they closed their eyes and started to chant.

  They were called the Brothers of the Light, though clearly the name referred to the unity of their sect rather than the sex of its members, for of the twelve, six were women. Trilla did not care that she wasn’t a member of their exclusive order. She demanded to be part of their circle anyway.

  Gaven would never forget the way she looked during the healing. Her sweet face, seeming even younger than usual, was strained yet determined, overwhelmed yet controlled. He’d been so proud of her that day.