“I’m sorry to bother you,” Addyean said as he shook the water off of his cloak. The resounding crack of thunder burst through the walls of the small house. “I’m sure it is nothing, but a minute ago I felt a tingling of something strange.” Zelin nodded gravely. If Addyean had felt something then it was powerful indeed. True, the farmer-spy had only felt a tingling, and Zelin had seen much more because his magic sense was so much more fine-tuned, more acute. That meant many others had felt it, and the boys were now in great danger.
“What you felt,” Zelin explained, “was Tarthur using the Water Orb. I am sure others have felt this also. I must journey now to the Eternal Vale and summon the Council of Gurus. They must be informed of these events that are happening if they are not already. Have you found any evidence against our Baron Ercrilla or are you going to make a favorable report as I predicted?”
This last sentence revealed the true reason Addyean, advisor to King Garkin and Royal Gardener, was in Krendon. “The only crime I find against him is having a son,” Addyean admitted, referring to Mortimer.
“Good,” Zelin acknowledged. “We will go to the king and tell him that the Water Orb is back, and advise him of all that has transpired here. Also, we will ask him to prepare his army, because if the Dark One is asleep… we could attack and regain Fire, and we can’t let him keep control over the Water Orb. I will accompany you to the castle, but then I will take my leave.”
“What about the boys?” Addyean questioned. “They could be in trouble, and they might be the keys to this whole business. We can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”
Zelin nodded. “You are right, but we both must be off to do our duties, and there is no one else here that I can trust to accompany them. We can trust that Tustor will guard them, though. In the flash of time, I saw them with a strong protector. I wish that we could wait for them to return to Krendon, but I will send a message to Tustor to have them rejoin us later. We need to warn the elves too, since Breshen is so close to the Dark One.”
Addyean thought about it for a moment, and then had to acquiesce. “It’s settled, then. Let’s hope they are safe.”
With that the two hopped on their horses and rode off into the rain.
* * *
In the northernmost corner of the Savannah plain, a storm always raged. Now was no exception. Nothing real could live there. In the summer the heat beat down, drying and cracking the earth, burning any feeble traveler who was brave enough, or stupid enough to wander so far from home. In the winter the cold burnt like dry ice and the snow fell. It was not white snow like that which fell elsewhere, but dirty brown snow, poisoning the earth. In the summer the snow did not melt, it evaporated, robbing the land of any moisture that it might inherit. There was no spring, no autumn. Only the extremes of winter and summer existed. Castle Rathskellar stood as a lone sentinel on this plain where nothing stood. The wind whistled through the all but abandoned fortress. A few black Dwarf sentries nervously paced the battlements. Far away a young boy used the Water Orb, and the Death Lord stirred in his grave.
* * *
He was flying. Flying on the clouds far above the earth. He did not know what flying was like, he had never flown before. He could not describe the feeling, indeed he would never try; it was the kind of feeling that transcended explanation. Mere colorful words abruptly paled when used to inadequately portray the feeling. The wind raced past his sleek and powerful body. The cool moisture of the clouds replaced his sweat. Flying this way took no energy. Power that was not his flooded through him, making him feel strength like he had not felt for a long time. He was traveling steadily southeast, a journey he had begun a while ago. Up in this euphoria time really didn’t matter. He knew where he was going. He passed a small farmer’s hut, but the people didn’t even glance up at him. If they did, he was sure they would not see him anyway. Then he saw his destination jutting out from the surrounding forests. Higher than any mountains anywhere else in the world the sentinels of the Eternal Vale loomed before him. He knew if he tried to resist going in, he would have no choice. He and this Vale were inexplicably bound to collide. It was not, of course that he did not wish to go there. It was the most peaceful place in all of Daranor, where the Creator took his own when their time in the world was up. It was set apart from the world, and no mortal could enter it.
Soon he caught his first glimpse of it. The gentle rolling slopes of the Vale were bursting with green. He was glad to be home. Then, slowly, an intrusion came into him, wrapping itself around his body, alien, but soothing. The force became stronger and he recognized it. Come to me, I need you, it said. He didn’t want to leave the Vale, especially after he had gotten a glimpse of it, but he knew this force was too strong to resist. Reluctantly, Tustor let go, and was dragged back to the earth.
* * *
In the council chambers of the merfolk, Dalin waited impatiently as the rain pattered on the window. Small drizzles flowed down the pane to collide with other tiny drops to form larger drops. This continued until the drops broke open when they abruptly met the windowsill. Around him sat the higher members of merfolk society. Directly to his left was a gruff, red-haired warrior named Forn. Forn was second in command of the armies of the merfolk, and sat directly to the right of Truin. Out of the thirty or so mermen seated in the chamber, Dalin recognized only these two and Chairman Eor. Chairman Eor was in charge of the council when it met to elect a new merwizard. The current merwizard was usually in charge of the council but whenever the merwizard could not meet, the chairman took over.
Dalin’s tired body sunk into his comfortable chair even as his mind sunk deeper into thought. The conversation dragged on and he wished he could inform the council of the events around Breshen. Dalin, however, knew something of politics and he knew that his plea for help would be rejected back in his face before he could finish if he spoke before they chose a new merwizard. So he waited and the storm raged.
Dalin listened on for a few hours while members spoke for or against certain candidates. During the whole time though, he never heard Truin or Forn speak. It appeared this was not a military matter. Time dragged by, Dalin dozed off, and the storm outside raged.
It was the huge boom that caused the rumbling thunder to seem mediocre in comparison that finally jolted him awake. The merfolk’s deliberations abruptly stopped and all heads looked up in confusion. For an instant Dalin thought that they were all under attack, but there was no time to wonder. Chairman Eor quickly dismissed the council and everyone headed out the door, or under it, in the case of the mermen. Truin grabbed a menacing looking pike and motioned for Dalin to arm himself similarly. The pike was too big for him, but he had brought his short sword. He tucked the leather scabbard into his belt and was off.
The pitter-patter of raindrops and the splash of Dalin’s running mingled with the shouts of the excited mermen of the council to create quite a din. Dalin rushed past the inundated shoals of the residential section of the city in a vain effort to keep up with the fast moving mermen.
As he glanced to the side, he caught sight of frightened children and their mothers expectantly poking their heads out of windows, trying to catch a fleeting glimpse of what was happening. They stayed hidden in the recesses of their doorways, and were it not for Dalin’s sharpened elven senses he would have not seen them at all. Not that merfolk were a cowardly race—indeed far from it, but the combination of their revered leader’s death and these unexpected circumstances had made them cautious.
What Dalin saw as he crested the rise would never leave him. He could never have guessed it would happen, or even could happen. Derlin and Wera stood flanking a figure that Dalin would never have believed to be the boy he had seen earlier. He was surrounded by an aura of fiercely glowing white light and even floating a few inches off the ground. Dalin could not even begin to describe the exhilaration he saw in the other’s eyes. Tarthur seemed only partially in control of himself, he was lashing out in a strange tongue in words, or sounds rather,
that transcended understanding. Dalin reached out to stop him, but the touch sent a searing pain through his arm. He tumbled to the ground and the impact forced him to look down.
Deep within Tustor’s watery grave the water swirled and lurched. Soon bubbles reached the surface and the water churned more rapidly. Then the middle started to swirl. Faster and faster it swirled, the whirlpool growing increasingly bigger. The vortex was now a few feet across, and growing rapidly. It seemed that the water was draining from the pool and joining the whirlpool. A merman appeared in the center of the maelstrom. Beams of light were dancing across the core of the tempest. Dalin saw that this merman was slightly bigger than the rest but was still turned away from the now enlarged crowd of onlookers, so none could discern his identity. The wind whipped Dalin’s hair about his head and he felt the cool water strike his face. It was still raining, he thought distantly.
Then with a jerk the merman was brought around to face the crowd and the collective gasp of excitement mingled with amazement reverberated throughout the entire shoals. Tarthur collapsed into the arms of Derlin and Dalin almost fainted as well. Dalin was staring straight into the eyes of Tustor, the now revived merwizard.
His arm started to throb and his knees turned to water. This time he did faint. The joyous cries of the mermen were the last sounds he heard as he went spiraling into the void.
A REALLY MEAN GUY
When Tarthur awoke, he was laying in a bed with fresh sheets. A bouquet of sea flowers whose aroma drifted up to his nose reminded him of where he was. Tarthur groaned. He had taken a stupid chance, he realized. But it had all paid off. Tarthur assumed the merman he had raised was the merwizard. No, he thought, he knew it was the merwizard. The understanding he had seen in those all-knowing eyes had told him so.
But he had seen something else in those eyes as well. Power? There certainly was power there, but that was not it. Fear then? It certainly looked like fear, but what would one so obviously loved and empowered as the merwizard have to fear? Then Tarthur realized it was sorrow, sorrow at not being able to depart peacefully. Tarthur had never realized that someone would not like to be resurrected. Being young, he naturally assumed that people would want to live forever.
Tarthur looked down and found a tightly wrapped bandage on his arm. It was wrapped maybe a little too tightly—his fingers were turning purple. As he started to gingerly unwrap the bandage, the door opened and Dalin walked in. Tarthur could tell he was angry.
“Well,” he said. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” “Aaa…no?” Tarthur guessed.
“I think you do,” Dalin pressed, “and I want to know who you really are.” It was not a question.
“I already told you,” Tarthur replied, trying to sound as firm and commanding as Dalin, but somehow falling a little short. He didn’t owe this man anything. Tarthur sat up.
“Oh, right,” Dalin said. “Then Wera taught you how to make Air Bubbles?” “Yes,” Tarthur said uneasily.
“So what is the first thing you do?” Dalin asked.
“Um…I’m only supposed to tell that to Zelin,” Tarthur stammered out lamely, but defiantly. Dalin’s backhand hit him so hard and unexpectedly that he was knocked to the floor.
“You fool!” Dalin lashed out. “Zelin knows how to make Air Bubbles. He also knows that only the mermen can use them. I want you to tell me who you are and what you are doing here right now!”
“Alright,” Tarthur said. He was still in shock. He knew that information was very valuable, and to give some away to someone he didn’t trust was dangerous, and stupid. But, Tarthur realized, he would need friends and allies in the coming days.
“My name is Tarthur. My friend’s name is Derlin. We live in the town of Krendon, in the Hawk Mountains.”
“Yes,” Dalin said. “I know where it is.”
“Before I tell you more,” Tarthur probed. “I want you to tell me why you are here, and something about yourself.”
“If I tell you about myself, and a secret, and give you proof of this secret, will you tell me who you really are?”
“Yes,” Tarthur said, this time without hesitation.
“My name is Dalin. I have some standing in my community as a military leader. I came here to visit my old friend Truin.”
“And your secret?” Tarthur asked.
Dalin took off his hat and tossed his long hair back. Tarthur noticed that his brows were slightly slanted and his ears seemed rather pointy. “I am an elf,” he finished simply.
Tarthur was astonished. He had never seen a real elf before, only in drawings and of course, he had heard all sorts of stories about them, their ability to hide in the woods forever, and their famous archery. The longbow! Dalin had carried a longbow with him. Tarthur knew this was indeed a secret. Neither he nor Derlin would have guessed it, but the more Tarthur looked at him, the more he seemed to fit the profile. He was a military leader also. Tarthur knew from this moment on he would need this person’s trust and help.
“Can I ask you a question?” Tarthur asked.
“Yes,” Dalin replied.
“Why do you keep it a secret?”
“Usually men and elves live in harmony, but elves have been living in seclusion lately. And of course, you know that there are many human legends about the elves.
“Okay,” Tarthur said firmly. “I will tell you why we are here. A few days ago I had a dream. In this dream, I did something great, and terrible. I battled monsters out of my worst nightmares, even the Death Lord himself. I copied some strange words on to a scroll. Zelin instructed Derlin and me to come here and talk to the merwizard about it.”
“What else did you do in your dream?” Dalin pried, somehow relaxed now. “When I read the scroll, huge water waves came crashing down on everyone, but I was still dry. I guess because it was water Zelin sent us to come up here and talk to the merwizard.”
With that, Tarthur realized that he still hadn’t completed his task, and rose and dressed himself to go find Tustor.
Tarthur blinked as he stepped out into the glistening sun. The day was warm and the autumn rays felt good on his face. The gentle rolling of the tide caressed his ankles as he walked behind Dalin on the route to Tustor’s shoal. He seemed to walk a little taller now, and the mermen treated him with a little more respect. He could sense it in the way that they smiled at him, in their gentle “hellos” and their warm pats on the shoulder. He could see that he was not just accepted, but admired as well.
Tustor the merwizard’s shoal had four occupants who rose to greet them when they arrived. Truin shook Tarthur’s hand quite firmly and motioned them to the last two comfortable seats in the shoals. Derlin was occupying the other one.
The fourth person, a maid pouring kokhor for Tustor and Truin, quickly finished and left as Tustor waved toward the door in dismissal.
“Well, Tarthur, it looks like you have stumbled onto something quite big,” Tustor said breaking the ice. It was the first time that Tarthur had heard him speak. The voice was strong and manly, but not overly gruff. Instead, it had more of a firm gentleness to it. “I will be honest with you,” Tustor said. “You need not worry; this house is safe from prying ears.” Tarthur liked the voice. It commanded honesty, but mostly it just commanded. Tarthur was glad Tustor was on his side.
“Well,” Derlin said with a hint of pride, and laughter, “Zelin told us to come talk to you and we couldn’t let something as small as you being dead interfere with us.”
“Ah yes,” Tustor said with a chuckle. “But you were very lucky. You see, Tarthur, Derlin explained everything that has happened on your trip so far; yes, everything. I must congratulate you on that pie, nice job. I believe the power you wield is sufficiently less than you believe. The Death Lord has the power to call the spirits of people who do not absolutely reject him and talk to them or use some of his power on them.”
“Are you saying that I am one of his own, because he was able to contact me?” Tarthur was incredulous.
“Since the Death Lord has not been around for a long time, the races have all but forgotten about him. In a sense, you have just never been taught better. Then again, perhaps he thought that he could persuade you to become one of his. In any event, we will probably never know. What you have found is just the spell controlling the Water Orb, and nothing else. I am guessing that you were able to use the spell to control the Orb because the Water Orb really is in the Death Lord’s possession.”
Tarthur’s face betrayed puzzlement “But why me? Of all the people in the world, why did he call me?”
Tustor shrugged. “We may never know for sure. It could have just been random. Perhaps we will find out some day.”
“I’m sure you could go ask the Death Lord if you wanted to,” Dalin broke in with a smile that hinted at his cleverness.
“Good idea,” Derlin carried the joke further. “But, why don’t you go ask him for us, Dalin. I’m sure he’d answer you. And if he didn’t, you could always tickle him until he had no choice but to answer!”
Tustor’s hand attempted to silence the others, who were now rolling with laughter. The laughter in the room was infectious. Soon everyone was laughing at the stupidest things, whether or not they were funny. The effects of unbridled laughter, of course, were magnified when one is drunk, and there had been no lack of festivities the previous night. Derlin and Dalin had each managed to drink a thimbleful of kokhor, while Truin had consumed several gallons. The effects of kokhor were far reaching and usually lasted into the next morning, with the hangover occurring sometime that afternoon. Soon, however, Tustor was back in control and the jokes were quickly forgotten.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 4
