Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

by William Robert Stanek

  An internal voice told Vilmos if he were to leave now he would never be coming home again. “Midori, I am afraid.”

  The gentle woman offered Vilmos her hand and hesitantly he accepted. Her touch, sympathetic and soothing, put Vilmos more at ease. He looked up into her soft green eyes and suddenly worries and reservations about her intentions faded away. He would go wherever she would take him.

  “We have to move swiftly,” Midori said as she led him from the house. “The woods are a strange enough place with the light of day, let alone without it.”

  They had just reached the edge of the village when the sound of drums burst into the air. Midori began to run all out, dragging Vilmos behind her. “Hurry, hurry,” she said. “They come.”

  They made the trek from the village to the dark wood at a record pace, Midori dragging Vilmos behind her. Coming to a path, they took it. It was a seldom-used path, so it was largely overgrown with weeds and underbrush, but still visible to an observant eye.

  High overhead the sky was turning dark and yet they followed the little trail. Many questions flooded into Vilmos’ young mind. Where were they going? What of his mother and father? What of the bear? What of the drums?

  Several times he tried to speak, though no words ever escaped his lips. He simply followed as Midori led him along the tangled trail, holding tightly to her hand. A sickness was welling up from his stomach. He felt the whole of the world was suddenly somehow different and the feeling didn’t end as the trail did, coming to an abrupt end near the forest’s edge.

  The two emerged from the forest’s shadowed darkness. The sun had already sunk low on the horizon in front of them. Soon it would be night. A large meadow spread beyond the forest’s veil and soon they found themselves trudging across it. Vilmos could not see beyond the meadow’s brink due to the rolling hills beyond it. He wondered what they would find on the other side, or perhaps if their destination lay beyond the hills, somewhere off in the unseen distance.

  Determined now to quietly follow his silent companion, trudging on tired and sore feet, Vilmos began to wonder if they would ever stop to rest or sleep. His answer came as they marched up into the soft, rolling foothills beyond the meadow. They quickly found themselves on a rocky precipice overlooking the most beautiful sight Vilmos had ever seen—the deep valley of his imagining.

  “Hello Vilmos,” simply stated a strangely familiar voice.

  Vilmos was startled by the sudden appearance of the other. He stared at the peculiar, tiny man for a time. His skin was the color of rough leather; the face deep set with wrinkles that covered its entirety was the best indicator of his great age; hair long and black with whispers of gray neither accented nor subtracted from his appearance of age and wisdom. Vilmos stared into eyes as silver as the moonlight, and found the man had a special energy about him. It seemed like an inner flow of light and it intrigued Vilmos, and perhaps beguiled him.

  Vilmos finally responded with a timid, “Hul-lo.”

  “I am Xith,” spoke the man in a clear unwavering tone, “shaman of the great North Reach, perhaps the last of my kind, the last of the Watchers.”

  “How do you… Watchers? There is no such thing as a Watcher. That is only legend.”

  “Ahh, yet here I stand before you and you better than anyone else should know it to be true.”

  Vilmos searched his mind. The words appeared to be true, but how could it be so. The tiny man who stood before him could not possibly be a Watcher—Vilmos quickly discarded the thought. He would not judge others so hastily anymore. He had already learned his lesson once before about incorrectly judging people.

  In the history written down in the Great Book, he recalled mention of the Watchers. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find the words that momentarily eluded him. “... and the Watchers shall return from their long vigil. They shall bring word of the Coming…”

  Vilmos opened his eyes. “You do not look like one of the great Watchers. You look more like a gnome than anything else. Are you the one from my dream?”

  Xith paused and took a deep breath. “Not a dream, Vilmos, and Gnomes have not been seen in the land since Father Gnome sealed Solstice Mountain five hundred years ago.”

  “Father Gnome and Queen Elf are dead,” said Vilmos, “and Oread was cast to the four winds with her siblings.”

  Xith sat and motioned for Vilmos to do likewise. He said nothing for a time afterward and simply stared at the boy, then spoke. “History belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller’s recollection of it.”

  Far off Vilmos heard the sounding of drums again. He saw Midori nervously glance to the woods. “Why are you here?” Vilmos asked.

  “You already know the answer.”

  “Huh? I do?” said Vilmos without thinking. He slapped a hand to his mouth and raised his eyebrows. A realization entered his mind. He remembered something that had been gnawing at him ever since he had heard the shaman’s voice. He had almost recalled it before, but he had lost the thought. Now, he did remember. He knew what had been lost in his subconscious. “You were there last night, in my dream and again before. I saw you.”

  “Yes,” Xith said.

  “Then was it all real?”

  “It was very real, more real than you will ever know.” Xith leaned forward and touched a hand to Vilmos’ shoulder; the raked flesh was already beginning to fester. The shaman shook his head in disgust.

  “But, but how… How did you… and now you are here… Thank you!” exclaimed Vilmos, clutching Xith’s hand. “I remember now. I remember it all. I have seen you often in my dreams.”

  “I did only that which I must,” Xith’s voice was calm, unchanged.

  “What do you want of me? Why have you returned?” Vilmos searched for a clue that would somehow indicate the shaman’s intent. He continued to gaze into the shaman’s eyes, and a feeling of exhilaration swept over him.

  “We will camp here tonight. Get some rest, Vilmos,” said Xith, “tomorrow I will answer your questions. Do not worry, for there is nothing to worry about. All fears are behind you for a time. You will sleep peacefully this night. Sleep, young Vilmos.”

  Overcome with sudden fatigue, Vilmos found a dire need for sleep. Xith motioned with his hands and a fire appeared. Its warmth carried with it a healing touch and as soon as Vilmos lay down on the hard ground next to the fire, he fell asleep.

  “Midori, come here. Let me look at you,” said Xith, after a brief lull, “it has been a long time since I last saw you.”

  Xith stretched out his hands to greet Midori’s. The two took a seat beside the fire opposite Vilmos. Xith’s silver eyes glowed with joy in the firelight. He was obviously pleased at how Midori had grown. The years had surely developed her.

  “Yes it has. I have not seen you since that day long ago when you left my dreams. I was only a child then,” somberly stated Midori.

  “Yes, you were. You have grown into a fine woman and have learned very well. I am proud of you,” said Xith matter-of-factly. His words of praise the absolute truth. He was indeed proud of her achievements, although he was not completely surprised by them. He had seen great promise in her when he had chosen her.

  Midori’s lips rose into a knowing smile. Xith had been her greatest mentor. She respected him deeply for it and held his approval in the highest regard. “Thank you, Master Xith. I am honored by your kind words. Do we go together to Tsitadel’?”

  “No, I am afraid the circumstances have changed. I must take Vilmos with me. There is another that I must take to the secret city, one with greater need. But that is not for some time now. There is much to be done before then, so much to be done before then…” his voice trailed off. He heard drums sounding in the distance again.

  Midori honed in solely on the one part of the statement that struck her as inconceivable. “With you? Not with the others?” she asked, a spark of fear entering her mind.

  “Yes, I am afraid so. You should return now, there is much to do. We wi
ll meet again soon. Do not fret. There is nothing to worry about. Just explain to the council that I was wrong.”

  “But, you’ve never been wrong.” Midori didn’t know how she could tell the council Xith had been in error. No one would believe her. She knew something was drastically wrong, and an alarm sounded in the corners of her mind, though she tried to remain calm.

  “I am an old man and old men should be allowed an occasional misjudgment. Besides times are changing. Tell them, I know they will believe you. Mention nothing of what you have seen. Clear the thoughts from your mind. Believe in me, Midori. What I do is for the best,” said Xith, his words flowing freely.

  “I do believe in you, my friend. I will do what you say.” Midori took his hand and added with an emotion-filled voice, “I will not fail you.”

  “Please go. And take my blessing with you.”

  “I will worry about you my friend,” Midori said. “Will you be safe?”

  “My child,” began Xith, using a soft-handed tone, “of course I will come to no harm. There is no need to worry. Time is short, dear Midori. I have a great deal to say. Listen well.”

  A short pause followed while the words echoed in Midori’s mind, there is no need to worry.

  “Promise me you will forget what you know and what you have seen. Think of the boy no more. He is under my care. This alone should ease your woes. A great change is sweeping across the land. Great events are beginning to unfold. Things even I can only wonder at. The Kingdom of Sever is no longer safe. Do not return here.

  “Take my mount. In the saddlebags, you will find several weeks of dried rations and three scrolls. The first must go to Master T’aver, you should know where to find him and yes, dear, I recall your dread of the swamp. I have inscribed that scroll with a special seal. The seal can only be broken by his hand.

  “Still, choose your messenger with utmost care. This message must reach his hands. He must know what to do when the time comes. The second scroll you are to read only after you have departed the council. Do not read it before then. Among its instructions it lists the time when you should open and read the final scroll. Under no circumstances are you to read it before the appropriate time.

  “Go now and take my blessing with you, it is for you that I fear the most.” Xith’s face grew dark and shadowed. “Watch your way with care, and I will see you many more times.”

  “Many more times,” Xith repeated, waving to Midori as she departed. Then he looked to the heavens and sighed.

  Nestled among a few shining stars under an otherwise cloudy sky, a pale and somber gibbous moon shone down. He bedded down beneath his thick blanket, his worries turning from the girl who ran away into the stark, hostile unknown to the boy, Vilmos, who was cradled in the known.

  Taking the boy to Tsitadel’ would have proven the easiest route, though he had already followed this path to its end in his mind. No, this path was reserved for another.

  Xith had other plans for the boy, and in this he must not fail. He did not know if he could cheat fate, or even if it was wise to try, but try he must.

  Chapter Eight:

  Guidance

  The storm clouds of early morning were blown south by strong winds out of the north and a clear bright sky quickly replaced dark clouds. Adrina rode quietly, content for a time simply to watch the scenery they passed, scattered trees, farmers and work animals in fields, and the occasional traveler. The swelling rounds of the Braddabaggon quickly replaced the green of flat open plains. Though the gentle foothills weren’t wild country, Adrina kept her eyes wide open. She didn’t want to end up like Ridemaster Gabrylle. No lowland cat was going to ruin her day.

  She thought about the long southwesterly trek to Alderan. The coastal port city, a mere day’s ride south of the Free Cities of Mir and Veter, was rumored to be beautiful beyond compare. In days of old Alderan City had been the capital of the Kingdom. Named after the first king of the land, the Alder, it was once considered the meeting place of the North, South and East.

  Adrina maneuvered her mount between Keeper Martin and Emel, and attempted to spark a conversation with Emel, though without success. She didn’t know why he was angry with her but she aimed to apologize quickly. She needed someone to talk to.

  “Emel, I am sorry. I won’t do it ever again, whatever it was. I promise,” said Adrina softly.

  “Are you at least going to tell me what you know?” Emel asked. “Or do I get nothing in repayment?”

  Before she might have decided to come clean and admit she didn’t know anything, but as she considered his question, she decided instead to feed him along. “Well, you actually didn’t help me. It was Father Jacob who did, and he already knows the plan.”

  In response, Emel spurred his mount and rode to the front of the party. Her intent hadn’t been to anger Emel, only to carry on a conversation with him. Now she felt doubly poor for what she had done. An earlier promise would be kept, she would say an extra prayer this evening to repent for the subterfuge.

  “Dear, he will forgive you in time. For now, just let him be. Enjoy the morning and the fresh air. Drink in its beauty,” said Keeper Martin.

  Adrina was aghast; the Lore Keeper had spoken to her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had already enjoyed the morning and was now becoming extremely bored. Her reply instead was an easy response of agreement, a few more hours of silence would be tolerable, but just barely so. She hoped Emel would speak to her soon.

  At midday Captain Brodst called the column to a halt. The abeyance would only be long enough to give horses and tired foot soldiers a much needed rest and to grab a light repast. Adrina was very pleased to rid her bottom of the saddle for a short time.

  After dismounting and leading her horse to where Keeper Martin, Father Jacob and a few others were gathered next to a small stream beside the road, she readily dove into her saddle bags. To her delight, she found dried beef, still-warm rolls and a skin of kindra-ale. In all the excitement she had not even remembered to eat this morning.

  While she ate, Adrina looked to the Lore Keeper and the king’s first minister. She wondered at Father Jacob’s approval of her presence. His words had surprised her then and puzzled her now as she contemplated them. Why did a man who spoke directly to Great-Father care about a mere girl? Why did a man like that do anything?

  And then there was Keeper Martin. Rumor had it the great keepers communicated in dreams and that is how they recorded the histories of all that went on in the land. Rumor also had it that Martin was unlike his predecessors. Martin was forever traversing the land. Heading over-mountain, braving the wilds of the Territories or journeying to unknown places in the Far South. Before Martin the head keeper never left the Halls of Knowledge.

  “It is impolite to stare, dear,” whispered a voice in her ear.

  Hastily, Adrina swallowed a lump of half-chewed meat. “I didn’t mean to stare. Do you know everything, Keeper?”

  Grey-haired Martin chuckled. “No, Your Highness, I don’t, though there are those who say I would like to.”

  Adrina took a sip of kindra-ale, a bitter tasting drink with an unpleasant aftertaste that was strangely satisfying. “Will you be going all the way to Alderan with us, Keeper Martin?”

  “I was planning to turn south at the crossroads and press on to South Province with the detachment heading to Quashan’ garrison, but I think I will continue to Alderan. My business in the South can wait a few days.”

  Not knowing what else to say, Adrina smiled and returned to her meal. After eating she wandered to the edge of the stream. There was a small pool here, formed where white waters rushing from upstream found themselves blocked by two large boulders. Bending down, she dipped her hands into the water of the pool. Finding it clear, she rinsed the dirt of the road from her face and neck. Then she slipped off her riding boots and dangled her toes in the cool water.

  She looked back to the soldiers milling about on the road and finding not a few stares directed her way she blushed. �
�Not a proper thing to do,” she imagined Lady Isador telling her. She quickly slipped her boots back on and pulled the collar of her riding blouse into place.

  “Adrina?” called out Emel timidly, approaching slowly. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I was just frustrated that’s all. I heard the news about your upcoming betrothal to Rudden Klaiveson. I guess I was just being petty. After all, you are a grown woman, but I thought you would’ve told me first. We are friends, aren’t we?”

  “Heard it from your father no doubt.” Adrina frowned. “I’m not betrothed to Rudden Klaiveson. I’m to visit Klaive—there’s a difference.”

  “Is there?”

  Adrina glared. “Rudden Klaiveson is days away and at the end of our journey. We’ll have no talk of him or anyone else that’ll ruin our fun. Deal?”

  Emel nodded in fast agreement.

  Hearing the heated discussion of a large group of men, Adrina turned. “What are they discussing over there?”