Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

by William Robert Stanek

  Seth broke the surface, only for an instant, only long enough to fill his lungs with air and calm the red-hot fire in his chest. Then storm-tossed seas pulled him under again.

  Great-Father, I cannot fail. My need is great! he called out in despair.

  Seth? called out a voice weak in his mind. Seth?

  His thoughts spun. He reached out; a hand found his.

  Br’yan?

  Yes. Kick harder, I’ll need your help. I can’t do this alone. Grab on, hold on, don’t let go… Just a little more… Just a little more… Seth, you must help me.

  With Br’yan’s help, Seth crawled onto the small section of wreckage. He lay on his back, panting, for many long minutes. Exhaustion nearly carried him away to sleep, but he fought to maintain consciousness. Did anyone else survive?

  I’m not sure, I saw you get knocked into the sea as the mast crumbled, and I panicked. Everything after that is a blur. The ships are all gone. Fire and water took them.

  What about Sailmaster Cagan?

  Seth, I don’t know… It seems he went down with the Lady L, said Br’yan. He paused, his mind filled with obvious anguish. How did they know we had begun the journey? There were so many, so many…

  Seth found sudden resolve. We survived Br’yan. We have not failed yet… Wait. Did you feel that? The anguish, the sadness.

  That’s me, Seth. I’m sorry, I’ll shield my thoughts if…

  No, someone is out there… Seth turned his thoughts inward and sought to concentrate his will. Then he groped outward with his mind, straining to maintain his strength while he searched. Galan? Yes—yes, it is… By the Father, she lives!

  Seth pressed his weight against tired arms and sat. He stared into the inky darkness of a largely overcast night sky. He saw little, his mind filled in the pieces. Wait, someone else is with her… She’s holding Everrelle afloat… Galan won’t last much longer. She’s exhausted.

  Frantically, Br’yan and Seth paddled with their hands through choppy waters. It seemed with waves slapping against the makeshift raft, they barely moved at all. Then suddenly two dark shapes appeared out of the gloom. Everrelle, barely conscious, was near death and brave Galan was utterly exhausted from the struggle to keep two afloat in turbulent waters.

  The night passed with eerie swiftness. Seth awoke to find a midday sun. Images from the previous day seemed a crazed blur, but the ache of his body told him it had all been real. For an instant, Seth felt sure he was alone, and then he saw the others. They were the last survivors. Frazzled and haggard from battle and exposure to the sea only four lingered in life, only these four that had escaped. Now, faith in their service would take them to safety or deliver them from life.

  Still exhausted, Br’yan and Galan slept. Everrelle, weak from blood loss, slipped in and out of delirium. Seth turned bleary eyes to the sun, its warmth on his face felt good. He remembered now that during the night he had prayed for the day to end the bitter cold. He removed his cloak, which was still mostly wet, and allowed the sun to chase away any remnants of the night’s chill. Then he worked to bind wounds that were already festering.

  Each of his companions had many injuries—bruises, scrapes, lacerations—which proved to him how desperate the battle had really been and how miraculous it was that anyone still lived. Everrelle was by far in the worst condition. Her right hand was missing four fingers. Seth was sure she must have reached out to block a blow and instead met the steel of a blade. Using strips of cloth from his robe, he did the best he could to wrap her hand. He hoped it would help stay the infection. He turned to Galan next, Br’yan afterward. His own wounds he bound last.

  Scattered debris from the great ships that the dark deep waters had claimed during the night was all around them. Seth worked against fate to gather what he could. As he worked, he thought of Cagan standing defiantly at the helm of the Lady L. He told himself that was how he wanted to remember the kind sailmaster and all the others that had perished with him. In the end, his search turned up an invaluable prize, a water bag. Half full, but still a water bag. He put it beside the one Br’yan had managed to escape the Lady L with, and thanked Great-Father for his good fortune.

  The day grew long. The utter exhaustion that held the others found Seth. Unwillingly, he slipped into delirium.

  Days passed. Everrelle’s condition worsened. Seth, Galan and Br’yan took turns at the healing art, but, weak from battle and hunger, they could offer little. Unbelievably, the raft held together with little more than prayers had kept them afloat through those endless days.

  Seth had held the hope that land was just over the next crest of the rolling waves or just beyond the next horizon. Br’yan and Galan had also been hopeful. But days of nothing save dark waters had tainted that hope and the possibility of safe landfall waned. Now Seth could only lie idle with all his energy drained. Only his training kept his mind semi-clear and his thoughts open. I am Brother Seth of the Red, First of that order, Queen’s Protector, he repeated many times in his mind.

  He sought to cleanse his mind of questions he didn’t want to answer. Nonetheless, the questions came. The ambush set by King Mark at the hand of Sathar the Dark had been too well planned. How could the enemy have known their plans so precisely? Was there a traitor among them? Had there been a traitor on the Lady L leading the enemy to them?

  No, it can’t be, it just can’t be. The thought of a traitor having been among them was too painful for Seth to consider. Brother did not betray brother. No, I must focus. Seth returned to the cleansing meditation.

  Seth, came the whisper into his mind.

  I am Brother Seth of the Red, First of that order, Queen’s Protector. I must maintain clear thoughts…

  SETH?

  Yes, my brother, I am still here.

  Seth, what will it be like in this land of Men? asked Galan.

  Still lost in his meditation, it took Seth a moment to slip back into reality, a task accomplished only after Galan repeated her question. Seth said, It will be different, far different from anything we have ever seen that is for sure. Long ago our people often journeyed to their villages and cities. Our lands and cultures were close together then. It had been a peaceful time, but then came the Great Wars. The last and most devastating treacheries were the Race Wars during which Man drove all their distant cousins away. Into the far corners of the world we fled and never in over five hundred years have we ventured back into their lands.

  Seth felt Galan fight to remain coherent. Galan asked, What did you learn during those many weeks you studied them? Do you really think they will help us? Or will it all be for nothing…

  Her faith was waning and Seth knew this. Once we explain what is taking place, it will be their cause as it is ours. They must aid us. But it could take a long time to explain. These Men,—Seth said the word with distaste—prefer to stay out of the affairs of others until they are sure they have a marked interest in what is taking place. They often wait until it is too late.

  Seth, began Galan, there was a serious note in the unspoken voice, there is something I should tell you that I haven’t, something I overheard—

  —I do not wish to know thoughts that I was not meant to. Some things are best left unknown.

  `Like why you prepared for a journey to the lands of Man even before Queen Mother consulted High Council. And why your lessons began even before we learned of Sathar’s return.

  A chill swept up and down Seth’s back as he pictured Sathar the Dark in his mind’s eye. He was unsure whether he should voice the truth or not—but what did it really matter anyway?

  There is much more in peril than our homes and lands. Queen Mother knew this.

  Seth, I grow tired. I must rest. Will you play the image Brother Liyan gave to you, the image of the green forest? I wish to dream…

  Some hours later, Seth looked to Galan, who was still sleeping, and wondered if dreams of the forest still swept through her mind. In his mind’s eye, he saw her as she had been in Kapital. Poised with her hand
on her hip, she seemed to be waiting for him. The image faded though like so many others before it and soon he was back staring out into the expanse of the open sea.

  He knew little of the sea and winds, but, unlike Br’yan and Galan, he had been on the canals of Kapital with Sailmaster Cagan. He used a makeshift hook and tied bits of colored cloth to it, then cast out his line, a length of string from his robe. Over these past days, he had enjoyed no luck and while it truly seemed there was no life in the deep sea, he was not about to give up.

  A hazy dawn eventually gave way to day as the sun made its inevitable climb. With irony, Seth remembered now that he had once prayed for the day’s arrival to end the bitter cold of night. But the night didn’t steal precious moisture from his weary body, the sun did.

  The day gradually grew hot and dry. Seth found that his thoughts were beginning to wander. He maintained consciousness, but only barely so while he cast the line out and pulled it in slowly, as he had once been shown. He tried to hold on to the image of Galan as she had been. Strong and true.

  At one point, out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Br’yan moving about the raft, but inevitably as the sun beat down upon him, thirst and hunger took over. His thoughts began to wander and shift despite his best efforts. Seth attempted to clear his thoughts, but this required a complete conscious effort, which, under the torment of the blistering sun, with strength draining from his body little by little, Seth could not give it. He could only mourn the loss he could do nothing to regain. He perceived himself as a hapless child. He, First of the Red, with all his knowledge and skills could not resolve their dilemma.

  Seth soon found himself drifting back to sleep.

  We’re in danger, warned Br’yan. Krens!

  Seth came alert in an instant. It seemed he had just closed his eyes, but then he took note of the light of a virgining day on the horizon. Then suddenly Br’yan’s warning registered in his mind. By the Father! Galan, Everrelle!… Everrelle?

  Galan awoke. Everrelle didn’t. For some reason one of the great gray beasts began attacking the bottom of the raft. Br’yan pulled in the fishing line. Seth noticed there was something on it. Seth asked, You caught something?

  Br’yan started to reply, In a way—

  Br’yan’s voice was drowned out by Galan’s scream. Dear Father. Everrelle, Everrelle?

  Galan directed thoughts to Seth. The infection, it’s worse… Then she turned back to Everrelle. Stay with me, stay with us, don’t go. ‘We’ll survive the journey together,’ you said. Hold on, promise me you’ll hold on…

  Another of the gray beasts that lurked just beneath the surface of the water nudged the raft.

  Get Everrelle away from the edge! exclaimed Br’yan.

  Days without food meant exhaustion. Galan too was exhausted, and the exhaustion only magnified her alarm and her panic. Seth could see it in her eyes. He directed Br’yan to crawl to the other side of the raft and help Galan with Everrelle. Then he concentrated on angry thoughts and sent them into the minds of the dark shapes beneath the water.

  The raft shook as it was buffeted by tail and fin. Angrily and relentlessly, Seth, Galan and Br’yan beat at the dark shapes until the raft shook no more. The three stood quietly, huddled together, and stared into the dark waters.

  One by one, fatigue overwhelmed them. Br’yan was the first to collapse, Seth the last. Silence followed.

  Galan broke the long silence, with a very soft whisper, Everrelle is gone… She promised she’d hold on, she promised.

  Seth didn’t answer immediately. Sleep was trying to lull him. He felt Everrelle’s passing, but could do nothing more than wish her a safe journey. After a few minutes, he directed a response to Galan, Sleep, my brother, save your strength.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Return

  “Father Jacob, will she be all right?” demanded Captain Brodst. His heart pounded rapidly in his ears, a lump swelled in his throat. He paced back and forth, and waved a torch haphazardly about in the air, paying little attention to the water and muck that dripped from his uniform. The young Princess Adrina, her face deathlike, was his only concern.

  He feared the worst for Adrina as her face grew ashen. He was positive King Andrew would have his head for this. His despair grew, so did his anger and frustration. Again, he yelled at Father Jacob who apparently was not listening to him. “Father, will she be all right?”

  Father Jacob had worked frantically ever since Captain Brodst had rescued Adrina from the murky waters of the mire. Although a male, he knew the art of healing well and had attempted to work its miracles on her almost immediately. Yet he was growing annoyed by the captain’s repeated inquiries and this distracted him.

  “Perhaps, perhaps,” he hissed back at the captain, “if you give me some silence!”

  Keeper Martin touched a hand to the captain’s shoulder and said, “Do not worry so. Father Jacob knows what he is doing. Give him some room and the silence he asks for, then trust in him and Great-Father.” Then he returned the captain’s cloak and sword belt.

  Captain Brodst took the belt and cloak and donned them. He chased off the reassuring hand. He didn’t want to be soothed. He wanted Adrina to regain consciousness and to ensure this, he whispered numerous pleas to Great-Father.

  There was doubt in Father Jacob’s mind as he continued to labor over Adrina, his healing abilities were not as great as those who were of the Mother. Jacob would have offered his soul to have a priestess of the Mother stumble across their path if he hadn’t believed that somehow he could save Adrina—after all, she had been in the presage. All he had to do was to overcome his doubt.

  Instinctively, Father Jacob had laid Adrina on her side and managed to clear some of the water from her lungs, still she had not regained consciousness, nor did she breathe. Father Jacob could not touch enough of the Mother’s will to draw upon her powers to cure. Only after special prayers were sent to Great-Father to give him the extra strength necessary did Jacob begin to chant the incantation—the ancient litany of life and healing. He wouldn’t think it odd that fate had brought him to this path until sometime later as he reflected upon this happening.

  Erase doubt, he reminded himself, think only of healing and life. He continued the rhythmic chanting.

  A noticeable shift swept across Adrina’s features, her chest rose once and then fell as her body convulsed. Soon Father Jacob heard the strangled sounds of the girl choking on water still in her lungs. He slapped her back repeatedly and forced her to cough.

  Adrina choked on the water she spit up, and gasped frantically for air. She inhaled deeply and rapidly. Violently she vomited the mixture of water and mud she had swallowed—Jacob never broke the rhythmic tone of the litany of life and healing. After a moment, Adrina stopped her convulsing and regained her senses. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached up to embrace Father Jacob.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes briefly against the tears and let the elder hold her.

  “Blankets! Get me some blankets, now!” said Father Jacob. He was clearly drained of all his strength. His face was pale and wet with perspiration. He sighed, he had done it, he had succeeded. “We must keep her warm. She will need to get some deep rest soon, and in a warm, comfortable bed.”

  Silence prevailed for a time afterward as Jacob’s words settled on those listening—they must get through this damnable mire and reach the elusive castle somewhere in the distance. Night had settled upon them somewhere during the journey through the mire or perhaps in the frantic moments following Adrina’s near fatal accident. Only Father Jacob truly knew how close Adrina had come to death’s door, for he was of Great-Father and Great-Father knew all, especially in matters of death.

  With unsettling certainty, Father Jacob knew that an unseen evil had been at hand. Great-Father had sensed it and so had he. He raised his crossed stave, the holy symbol of his office, in one hand and thrummed it defiantly at the empty air. Not far away to the south, gazin
g into the magical orb in his outstretched hand, continuing his eternal watch over the destined few, Xith whispered words of protection for the priest and for the girl. It was the same warding spell he had cast as the sea sought to claim Seth; the same warding spell he cast about himself and the boy now as he raced urgently toward destiny.

  The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches II

  Keeper Martin’s Tales

  BOOK TWO

  ROBERT STANEK

  Table Of Contents

  Book 2

  CHAPTER ONE: PASSAGE

  CHAPTER TWO: PAST THOUGHTS

  CHAPTER THREE: AWAKENING

  CHAPTER FOUR: MAGIC SHIELD

  CHAPTER FIVE: REFUSAL

  CHAPTER SIX: CROSSING

  CHAPTER SEVEN: ALDERAN

  CHAPTER EIGHT: PRISONERS

  CHAPTER NINE: BUSHWHACKED