“But that’s not possible,” said Gaven. “He’s dead. We all saw it. I don’t…unless.” His mouth turned down. “Unless…it’s someone masquerading as Ashel to get to Trilla?”
Andaris hadn’t thought of that, but of course should have. What other explanation was there? Perhaps it was the head wound, or perhaps it was just general stupidity. Either way, he felt like a fool.
“Come on,” Gaven urged, helping him up, “she may be in danger. Let’s go find Doctor Terrell. He’s the king’s physician, which means he was probably one of the first people Trilla talked to after she arrived.”
When they found him, the doctor was busy wrapping a bandage around the forearm of a wounded Sokerran soldier. “She was so exhausted after healing her father,” he said, sparing them only a quick glance, “that she went to her room to get some sleep. It was remarkable what she did for him. The wound is almost completely healed. To think of the good I could do for these poor souls with even a fraction of her ability….” He shook his head and sighed. “Well, anyway, like as not she’s still up there, but I’d give her another hour or so before waking her. After draining herself like that, she must rest or risk getting sick.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Gaven, turning away, “we’ll keep that in mind.”
“Nice to have seen you again, Gaven,” Terrell called after them. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” he replied.
A few minutes later, Gaven and Andaris found themselves before the door to Trilla’s childhood bedroom. The big man lifted his fist and, after a slight hesitation, lightly knocked. They heard shuffling steps from the other side. The door slowly pulled open, and there, standing before them after all this time, was Ashel Tevellin—or at least someone who looked very much like Ashel Tevellin.
They just stared at him, struck momentarily speechless. If, indeed, this was an impostor, it was a good one, for the resemblance was uncanny. Not to say there weren’t some striking differences. There were. For instance, he was skinnier, if that was possible, and his hair was streaked with silver. The most notable difference, however, was his eyes. They were covered by a milky film, and swollen to nearly twice their original size. Molly was right, thought Andaris. They do look like hard-boiled eggs. In the dream, his eyes were covered by skin. That’s too much of a coincidence to—
“I don’t understand,” Gaven whispered. “I saw you die.”
Ashel smiled thinly. “I’m not entirely certain what happened either,” he admitted. “I was dead…and then somehow the magic brought me back.”
Andaris opened his mouth to ask him if he was still able to see, and then closed it again, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
Ashel turned his head and looked straight at him. “Yes,” he answered, “though not in the traditional sense.”
Andaris’ eyes widened. “You heard me?” he asked.
Ashel nodded. “I have been altered in many ways, Andaris. My sight has been taken, and yet with my mind’s eye, I can see some things better than before. Sometimes I can see things that are far removed by both time and distance. And sometimes, if I concentrate very hard, I can even hear what people are thinking—particularly the simpleminded.”
“I’m sorry,” Gaven began, raising his hand in a placating gesture, “but I’m finding all this a bit hard to swallow. I want to believe you, it’s just…I watched you die. We buried you. We shed our tears and said our goodbyes.”
Andaris could see how much it pained Gaven to hold back his trust, saw the deep conflict on his face. He did want to believe him, badly, but had taken his friend’s death much too hard to simply accept things at face value. He had seen too many illusions to believe the man standing before him was anything more than a charlatan.
Ashel laced his fingers together, looking somewhat amused. “The eternal skeptic, eh, Gaven? Well, I suppose I can’t expect you to have changed, too. You see, old friend, my own magic joined with the other wizard’s, making me many times stronger than before. Somehow, I don’t really understand how, that increased level of magic coursing through me brought me back.” Ashel’s face tightened with what was obviously a painful memory. “As I said, I’m not sure how it happened. I only know that when I woke, I couldn’t even recall my own name. I wandered for a long while as things gradually came back to me.”
“I want to believe you,” Gaven said, peering hard at him and frowning. “I really do. If there was just some way—”
“Ask him something,” Andaris suggested. “Something only you and he would know…but be sure to keep your mind guarded, so he can’t read it.”
“Go ahead,” Ashel agreed, “but remember, some of my memories are still clouded. I do have blank areas.”
Gaven nodded, crossed his arms, and began chewing on the inside of his lower lip.
Andaris imagined giant gears ponderously beginning to turn. Gaven’s mind was often methodical, a trait which some people mistook for slow, yet give him enough time, and he could see through a stone wall.
Instead of becoming irritated by the delay, as he would have before, Ashel waited with a look of warm acceptance on his face.
“All right,” Gaven huffed, “I’ve got it. The first one is easy.”
Ashel motioned him to proceed.
“When we were little, what did you do to my leg that made me do what to you?”
Ashel grinned. “I used an illusion spell to make you think your leg was a serpent. When you heard me laughing, you knew what I’d done, so you bloodied my mouth and didn’t talk to me for a week.”
“Yes!” Gaven declared, making Ashel’s grin broaden. “That’s it.”
Andaris had never seen the mage smile so much. He was glad his sour disposition had improved, but found the smile as out of place on his gaunt cheeks as a red rose in a garden of ash.
The smile vanished. “Do I really look so dire?” Ashel asked.
“Uh, no,” Andaris stammered. “Just different. I’ll get used to it.”
“I suppose I can understand,” he said. “Before Jade found me, I was alone. Nobody wanted to travel with me because of the way I looked, because I was different. It scared them. Sometimes I could hear what they thought of me, and it wasn’t…let’s just say, very complimentary.
“Did you say Jade is with you?” Andaris asked, assuming he’d misunderstood.
Ashel flashed him another uncustomary smile. “Indeed I did, Andaris. She found me when I was very much in need of a friend, then helped me to locate all of you. Her sense of smell is a wonder, you know. Oh, by the way, there is something you should know about her, though I suppose it can wait until after Gaven’s interrogation.”
“The woman in the courtyard said you were traveling with a dog…I just didn’t think…. Where is she?”
Ashel gestured to the door. “In there, asleep with Trilla.”
Andaris took a step toward the door then glanced back at Gaven. “I just thought of a question that will prove he is Ashel. Do you mind?”
Gaven shook his head no.
Andaris turned to Ashel, took a deep breath and said, “You came to me in my sleep. What did you tell me?”
Ashel closed his eyes.
Andaris concentrated on keeping his mind blank, lest the answer be plucked from his thoughts.
“I warned you of the coming danger, and let me say, Andaris, how pleased I am that it worked. I wasn’t certain until now that it had.”
Before Andaris could respond, Gaven stepped in and wrapped Ashel in a great bear hug, picking him off the floor. Ashel had never weighed very much, but now felt more like a scarecrow made of sticks and hay than a man. Feeling a flutter of concern for him, Gaven set him back down, worried that he might be hurting him. “I’m sorry for doubting you,” he said, face flushed with emotion. “I just had to be sure.”
“You need not apologize for being careful,” Ashel replied, placing his hand on Gaven’s shoulder. “It has served you well in the past.”
Andaris cleared his throat.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to go check on—”
“Go ahead,” urged Ashel. “We’ll wait.”
Andaris eased open the door and, as quietly as he could, stepped into the room. Jade lay stretched beside Trilla on the bed, their heads resting on opposite ends of the same pillow. His heart warmed at the sight. When he touched Jade’s shoulder, she yawned and opened her eyes. He scratched her behind the right ear.
“I was worried something terrible had happened to you,” he whispered. “We searched, but the storm was too much.”
Her tail thumped against the bed, eyes shining with that un-canine-like awareness he’d seen so often before, as though she understood everything he was saying. She’s smiling at me, he thought.
“Now go back to sleep,” he told her. “I just wanted to make certain you were safe.”
She licked his hand and heaved a sigh…eyelids beginning to close. He stayed with them a while longer, watching over them, savoring the warmth in his breast, the inner calm of lost friends reunited—a feeling made more poignant by the precious portrait lying there before him, girl and dog perfectly framed by the bed. Eventually, Jade’s breathing took on the slow, steady rhythm of one who is fast asleep, so Andaris stood and, with a contented sigh, quietly let himself out.
Inferno
King Laris watched the shapelings with a deep scowl as they clawed their way up the ever-rising mountain of flesh. His scowl softened into a faint smile, however, as he ordered fifty barrels of hot oil dumped over the side. Closing his eyes he listened, as if to the sweetest of music, to the agonized shrieks coming from below.
“Archers!” he cried. “Loose!”
The flaming arrows arced through the air like phoenixes sent from above, swooping down to save Rogar from destruction. The shrieks took on an otherworldly quality as the swarming ranks of the enemy turned into a blazing inferno. The cries of agony reached a frantic crescendo, wavered a moment on that last dying note, and then were forever silenced.
Many of the men began retching up their breakfast as greasy black smoke billowed over the top of the wall. Feeling the waves of heat wafting past him, Laris was reminded of a time when a terrible plague had gripped the land, when the flesh of those unfortunate enough to be infected had literally rotted off of the bone.
In a desperate attempt to contain the plague, great bonfires were kept burning day and night, fueled by the wasted remains of those who had fallen victim to its cruel, seemingly indiscriminate touch. Entire families were lost. Rich or poor, it made no difference. Death came to them all.
Laris felt his stomach turn, the pungent stench of burning flesh searing his nostrils and watering his eyes. Without the oil, the shapelings would have soon been able to do away with their ladders and climb atop the backs of their fallen right to the top of the wall. Bile rose in Laris’ throat, but he just smiled, gritted his teeth, and swallowed it down. The Lost One was not going to march his army across Rogarian soil without first paying a very hefty price.
Taking advantage of the lull, the king called for an emergency meeting of his senior staff. Prince Palden and Trilla were there and, to the stern-eyed disapproval of many of the officers, so were Gaven and Andaris. Four sconces lit the room—a cramped space reminiscent of a bunker. The walls and ceiling seemed to press in on them, and even here, deep within the heart of Rogar’s ancient stronghold, they heard cannon fire.
All present huddled around the conference table with stiff necks and grim expressions, staring at the colorful map carved into its surface. The map showed all of Rogar and part of what lay beyond her borders. To the east—Sokerra. To the west—the Great Waste. To the north and south—ocean. Several of the officers smoked long-stemmed pipes, Ironshield included. The smoke added to the feeling of closeness, but nobody appeared to mind, probably because it also helped mask the smell of death clinging to their hair and clothes.
Laris raised his hand to get their attention and said, “I have decided to, as this is an emergency session and time is of the essence, dispense with the opening ceremony and get right to the point. As you know, despite all our efforts, the shapeling army still greatly outnumbers us.”
Prince Palden leaned forward and struck the tabletop with his fist. “If only we could face them mounted!” he said. “Then they would see the true might of Sokerra!”
Laris grimaced. “We need options,” he snapped, “not impossibilities.”
The prince started to argue, then, cheeks turning scarlet, looked away.
Ironshield leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Prince Palden, what of the reinforcements from Sokerra?”
The prince took a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know. They should have been here by now. The fact that they haven’t arrived suggests…that they were forced to go around the mountains.”
“If that’s the case,” said Ironshield, “it could be days yet before they reach us.”
“We don’t have days,” Laris said. “Which means we have to assume we don’t have help. We’re on our own. We must come to terms with that. No more dreams of rescue. We must deal with the reality of the situation and form a strategy to suit it.”
“Let’s examine that reality,” suggested Ironshield. “We are out-manned. Elkar is dead. And we have to hold one wall for several days against an insurmountable foe. The oil was effective, but we only have enough for one…maybe two more burns. How much time does that really buy us? A few hours? A day?” He sighed and shook his head. “I, of all people, am loath to admit it, but I fear we must begin preparing for the inevitable.”
Laris looked down at his palms, as though searching for inspiration amongst the thick calluses. His eyes were sunken into the gray mask of his face and, though his bearing was still proud, there was something in the tilt of his head and set of his shoulders that whispered of defeat.
Staring at the king staring at his hands, Trilla decided to speak. “Father,” she said with a careful smile, “I believe we may have a solution.”
Laris raised his eyes to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically blank.
“Allow me to introduce Andaris Rocaren. He is a trusted friend of mine, and has proven loyal during our travels together.”
Andaris shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and began to recount what he and Gaven had experienced with Marla the mermaid and the waterways, doing his best to ignore the skeptical eyes of those seated around him.
Laris had heard some stories in his time concerning mermaids, and as far as he was concerned that’s all they were—stories. He tolerated the tale for his daughter’s sake, but would not let her friend prattle on forever. They simply didn’t have the time.
When Andaris was done speaking, he pulled out the scale and showed it to them.
Laris’ eyes widened. “Let me see that,” he said.
Andaris felt an unexpected reluctance, but handed it to him anyway.
Laris turned the scale over and over in his hands, mesmerized. The fact that it glowed wasn’t all that remarkable. Many people, including himself, possessed glowstones. There was, however, something more—a power, a life force resonating from deep within the scale unlike any he had felt before. His skepticism vanished like a wisp of smoke in a strong wind. What Andaris had told him was true. The scale in his hand came from the tail of a mermaid. There was no denying it. He felt it in his bones, down to his very marrow. Energy coursed through him, making him giddy.
Laris shook his head and chuckled. “Well, why not?” he said, handing it back to Andaris. “After all we have seen during this siege, why shouldn’t there be mermaids?”
Trilla patted the back of Andaris’ arm, beaming with approval.
“Well, Mr. Rocaren,” said Laris, his voice ringing with new life. “The stories say mermaids are not to be trusted, but this one did right by you and Gaven, so I’d say it’s worth a try. With the situation being what it is, we can’t afford not to take the chance. An hour ago we had no hope. Now we do. You are a convincing orator, young m
an. I find myself in disbelief of my belief, if you follow. But then, after all, I held the proof of the tale in my hand, didn’t I? How could I not believe?” Laris winked at Trilla, grinning at his wit, and then turned to address her husband.
“Prince Palden, I would like you and ten of your best men to escort Andaris to the Lake of the Pines. It’s more like a large pond than a lake, but it’s deep, fed by an underground spring. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it connected to one of these, so-called, waterways. You may have noticed it on your way in. It lies just off the east road, roughly a thirty-minute ride from here. I think we should try contacting this Marla person from there before we go delving into the catacombs. No telling how long it would take them to find their way back to that fissure. The lower tunnels seem to change every time we map them out. And even if they could find their way, I doubt your horses would make it.
Most animals, no matter how well trained, become jittery to the point of panic when taken into the catacombs. It’s rumored there are creatures down there that have never seen the light of day—wretched, soulless things that slaughter whatever they come into contact with. Every few years or so some adventurous youth goes exploring, lured by treasure and fame. They seldom return. From time to time, human remains are found, half-eaten corpses preserved by the subterranean air. It’s enough to chill the blood, eh?”
Palden nodded, resisting the urge to shudder.
“So anyway, if the pond connects, and if you succeed in employing the help of this…mermaid, then we will send you and most of your number via the waterway to a larger lake west of the shapeling’s position—Lake Greenhill.” Laris’ eyes sparkled with sudden enthusiasm. “Now’s your chance to show us what that cavalry of yours can do.”
“We’ll make the most of it,” said the prince with a wide grin.
Laris turned his attention back to Andaris. “If this works, Mr. Rocaren, I shall knight you and Gaven both, for the two of you will have done no less than save this kingdom from destruction. They’ll never expect a charge of heavy horse from behind.” He made his hands into fists. “We’ll pour and light the oil as the prince and his men drive them into it. We have been given a chance, gentlemen. Let us make the most of it.”
The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) Page 35
