by Kel Kade
Eventually, all the passengers with talent gathered on the deck, and Rezkin arrayed them around its perimeter with orders to focus on sensing any ward or other use of talent emanating from beyond the ship. Because they had fled Skutton from the King’s Tournament, most of the escapees were men and women of note. Of the refugees, about two-thirds were accomplished swordsmen or weapon masters, and a quarter had the talent to some extent. Two healers and three apprentice healers were aboard, including the unwilling Reaylin. He also had one life mage and two life mage apprentices, including Tieran, three elemental mages, one journeyman elemental mage, and four apprentice elemental mages. His battle mages included the unwilling but extremely powerful, naturally talented Journeyman Wesson and the battle-trained assassin of unspecified constructive talent Xa.
The remainder of the talented individuals did not have sufficient power or their ratios were not efficient enough to be considered for an apprenticeship. In fact, most of the apprentices had only entered into the positions since boarding the ship and did so at Rezkin’s behest. Nobles usually did not formally apprentice because it meant stepping from the noble class to the mage class. While mages were highly respected, it was a respect that each mage had to earn by his own merit. Many nobles did not care for the idea of starting at the bottom of the hierarchy and having to earn their way to power.
The ship had been far from shore on the first pass of the island, but on the return, they hugged the coastline as close as the captain dared. Other passengers gathered on deck out of curiosity and an eagerness borne of enduring weeks at sea. None of the mages detected anything from the island, and many passengers were becoming concerned and restless. The northern side of the island was nothing but steep cliffs without even a hint of recess.
Rezkin tilted his head as he focused nearly all his attention on the barren cliff face. For the past several minutes, he had felt … something. He was not certain at first, but the sensation grew as the ship crashed through choppy waters. A chill had seeped into his flesh, and it had gradually increased. He asked the mages around him if they sensed anything, to which they all responded in the negative. The chill clawed at his skin and then drove deeper into his muscles causing them to tighten. The bitter cold reached a sharp peak, and he could stand it no more. He knew something was different about this section of steep, rocky cliff standing before them in defiance of the sea.
Dark Tidings strode to the helm and said, “Captain, bring the ship to port.”
“But, Sire, it is a solid wall,” Estadd said, “and, as you can see, there are jagged rocks all around. We cannot get any closer without smashing the hull.”
Dark Tidings said, “I gave you an order, Captain.”
“You are the king, and I would follow your orders any other time, but I have no intention of smashing the ship to pieces and killing all these people.” Estadd spoke with unconcealed anger and disgust that Rezkin would not have expected from the generally steady man.
He held the captain in stasis with his empty, black gaze and said, “Do you think I wish to die, Captain? Do you think I wish for these people to die? I said, bring the ship to port.”
Frisha’s soft voice interrupted him. “Y-Your Majesty, maybe we should …”
“Silence!” he shouted.
Frisha snapped her mouth shut, and Wesson pulled her away.
“Captain, bring the ship to port, or I will have your men do so without you.”
The captain stared for only a moment before he had to look away. The older man began barking orders to his crew to turn the ship. A wave of unease and fear washed through those on deck, and the passengers’ confusion was clear. The inhuman being they trusted, believed in, and some nearly worshipped, would take them all to a watery grave.
Standing at the bow, Rezkin felt the cold seep deeper into his bones and tried to will his body to warm. It was a struggle to keep from shivering. Others did not seem to feel the cold, but all around, their eyes were filling with an unnatural panic. It was not the fear of sailing toward a vertical cliff through rocky waters that had them so riled. The frantic, wild eyes were the unnatural result of an intrinsic need to move away from the area. The ship’s steady motion faltered as panicked sailors began discordantly pulling at the rigging, and passengers and crew alike started screaming. They stumbled over each other as they attempted to run toward the stern.
“Halt!” the king’s voice boomed over the chaos. Rezkin focused his will and pressed back against the cold that threatened to invade his core as he intoned, “Dismiss your fears and lend me your will. I will deliver you to safety!”
All turned their attention to the king, the dark and powerful warrior with black eyes. The words had been overly dramatic, but the katerghen had been clear on this point. The people had to believe that Rezkin could save them to break the spell. Frozen tendrils lashed at him as he focused on the minds of the people aboard the ship, even those below in the hold. Motions steadied and gazes cleared as the passengers’ panic fled. Those closest to him would later swear the man had radiated light and power. The crewmen returned to their stations and righted the ship as they confidently sailed the rocky waters toward the cliff.
Without warning, Wesson abruptly tried to dart away. Rezkin reached out and seized the journeyman’s robes. “To where do you run, Journeyman?” he asked, his voice deep and grating.
The mage’s fear-filled blue-green gaze was caught in the black depths of his own enchantment. “I-I have to get away,” he exclaimed with absolute certainty.
Rezkin pulled the mask from his face and held the mage’s attention. “No, Wesson. All will be well.”
The young mage swallowed hard as his terrified eyes blinked back at Rezkin.
A wash of cold flowed over Rezkin’s skin and through his entire being, as though he had just stepped through a doorway into winter. The cold quickly travelled down Rezkin’s arm, and when it reached the mage’s fisted robes, Wesson was torn from Rezkin’s grasp. The young mage screamed and flailed as an invisible force shoved him across the deck. Rezkin ran after him, grabbled the tousled mage from the wet planks, and dragged him away from the encroaching force to the stern. He stood Wesson on his feet and shook the distraught mage violently to break through the young man’s panic.
“Wesson! Look at me!” Rezkin said. The mage’s eyes once again seemed to focus on Rezkin’s steely gaze, and Rezkin commanded him. “Give me your will, Wesson! Trust in me. I will carry you through.”
Wesson blinked several times and gulped. Sweat beaded on his lip and brow as his frantic gaze bounced about. He noticed several people were staring at the two of them, but more people were exclaiming excitedly and smiling. Several were even running toward the bow, rather than away from it. Wesson glanced back at his employer and saw the concern and sincerity in Rezkin’s gaze. He inhaled deeply and then made the conscious decision to abandon his fears and accept Rezkin’s will as his own. For as long as he had known the warrior, Rezkin had never failed at anything he claimed he would accomplish. If Rezkin said he would get him through, then he would.
Rezkin felt the cold wash over them both, but Wesson did not seem to notice, nor was he thrown from the ship. He smiled down at the mage and announced, “It is over, Wesson. We are through the ward.”
Chapter 12
The cliff, it turned out, was not one massive wall, but two overlapping walls of rock that were several hundred feet high. Between the two walls was a deep channel just wide enough for two large ships to pass. After a few hundred yards, the channel turned back on itself and continued to where it ended in a cove surrounded by towering cliffs. A stone slab ran the length of the landward curve, and it was obvious this was not a natural feature. The flawlessly smooth platform possessed ornate stone pillars spaced at regular intervals along its length and was perfectly designed to secure several ships at a time. The Stargazer was a large merchant ship, and this dock could easily fit four or five such vessels. The entire cove might have held two dozen more ships with room to maneuv
er.
At the far end of the platform was a long, shallow ramp leading from the water into a massive cave that appeared to be a dry dock. Beyond the platform, set into the stone cliff that seemed to rise forever into the sky, were four sets of evenly spaced, massive stone doors at least thirty feet in height. They were hewn from the same stone as the cliff, and only their cathedral shape and the elegant carvings upon their faces betrayed their existence.
Above the doors and across the full length of the landward wall, was a banner of life-sized, beautifully detailed bas-reliefs depicting strange people, plants, and animals. Many of the people appeared elegant with flowing robes and long, formfitting dresses, while others were unmistakably warriors with massive physiques, magnificent armor, and wicked weapons. All of them were unusually tall, if they were carved to scale, and had smooth hair, well-defined muscles, and upswept, pointed ears. Rezkin felt possessed of reverence in this place, and he thought the other passengers might have sensed it as well. Voices were subdued as people gawked and pointed to the beautiful depictions and impressive architecture.
The ship drew alongside the dock, and crewmen threw ropes around the stone pillars, cinching them until the ship was held fast. Passengers and crew stood in tense silence as they waited for anyone to appear from the towering citadel. When no one appeared, most turned to Rezkin. Their sense of awe upon entering the channel and cove had distracted them from the fact that he was unmasked, but now they were looking at him expectantly.
Rezkin turned to Captain Estadd, who appeared hesitant to speak. “Yes, Captain. I am Dark Tidings.”
“But, Lord Rezkin … uh, Your Majesty, I have seen you … and him … together, at the same time, and …”
“The strikers took turns filling in for me to maintain the ruse.”
“I see …”
“Implement the security measures we discussed. The landing party will go ashore now.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” the captain said.
The two strikers were first down the gangplank, darting forward as they inspected the doors and dry dock. Rezkin already wore the guise of Dark Tidings with the tabard of green lightning bolts on a black field. The Sheyalins were at his hips, and the black blade and great axe were strapped across his back. He would have preferred to forgo the great axe, but the Eastern Mountains men had opted to stay with him until he reached his destination. The axe was a source of pride for the men and the symbol of Rezkin’s position as their chieftain. He donned the ominous black mask just in case someone was observing their arrival.
Rezkin was not the only one who had dressed for the occasion. While in Serret, Kai had taken it upon himself to purchase several skeins of thread and bolts of fabric in black and green. A wife of one of the tournament competitors who had fallen in their flight from the arena was a seamstress. Although she was from Jerea, she swore fealty to Rezkin solely because of his promise to bring justice to her husband’s murderers. Due to her efforts, and those of her assistants, all sworn to Rezkin now wore black and green tabards, tunics, or robes bearing his emblem. The hastily made garb was not a full uniform, but Kai stated that they would complete the ensemble when they had more time and supplies.
Kai and Shezar flanked the end of the gangplank. Swords were drawn, and they stood ready to strike down any encroaching foes. The king tromped down the wooden plank with his new guard in his wake. Yserria Rey, Malcius, Tieran, Jimson, Drascon, and Millins followed in two columns, and each wore a tabard of black and green over whatever armor and gear they could find. When they reached the dock, Rezkin stood tall and waited as his guards fanned out to the sides.
Wesson led Tam and Frisha down the ramp. The young journeyman was in the same grey robes he had worn when they met, but he now wore black panels with red trim to indicate his affinity for nocent and pyris power. Tam wore the same black and green tabard as the guards with the sword Rezkin had gifted him at his hip, while Frisha donned a long black skirt and fitted black tunic with green trim and a green lightning bolt embroidered over her heart. She also wore the corset-like knife belt filled with throwing daggers.
The second wave of guards followed, which consisted of soldiers who had joined the company during their escape and the tournament fighters who had opted to remain with Rezkin’s cadre for the time being. The group of ten Eastern Mountains men was among them. While the massive men did not don the tabards worn by the others, they did each tie a black and green strip of cloth about the left bicep in honor of their chieftain.
A number of fighters remained on the ship. Several were arrayed around its perimeter, along with the ship’s crew, not so much because they expected attack, but to make it obvious to any observers that the ship had not been left unguarded. The last to disembark were four of the elemental mages and the life mage, each wearing their grey robes with colored panels indicating their affinities. Rezkin knew it was no mere coincidence that Nanessy Threll, the elemental mage mysteriously associated with his former trainer, Striker Farson, was among them. The woman had attempted to hide her identity throughout the month-long voyage, and Rezkin had yet to expose her. He was interested to see what the woman would do if she believed she had succeeded in her deception. He had alerted the strikers to her presence, though, and given orders to keep an eye on her.
Once the entire landing party was ashore, the military personnel split into units and headed toward each of the four grand doors. The strikers informed Rezkin that a fifth door, like the others, could be found within the dry dock, but they had not been able to open the monstrosity. The soldiers pushed at each of the doors and searched for handholds or levers to no avail. Wesson stepped up to the second set of doors in the line and thrust a powerful burst of energy at the sealed portal. The energy struck the doors with enough force to blast through five feet of solid rock, but they did not rupture as expected. The surge of energy left no mark upon the intricate carvings but rather rebounded on the young journeyman. Wesson was pitched across the dock with such force that his momentum ceased only when his body collided with one of the carved pillars.
Healer Aelis, who had been watching from the ship’s deck, came bounding down the gangplank to check on the injured battle mage. Aelis was a gangly man. With his long legs and arms and overly large eyes, set in an almost skeletal face, he reminded Rezkin of a praying mantis. The healer must have found something to repair, because it was several minutes before Wesson unsteadily regained his feet. Concerned faces followed the journeyman as he gingerly approached his king.
He said, “I would not suggest doing that.”
Rezkin shook his head and then approached the door that Wesson had nearly killed himself attempting to open. After seeing the battle mage fail so painfully, the other mages had ceased their own attempts. Rezkin examined the carvings and then reached out to feel along them in hopes of finding some hidden mechanism. As soon as he pressed his hand to the stone, a chill colder than anything Rezkin had ever experienced shot up his arm. His survival instincts nearly overwhelmed his focus when the ice approached his heart. He feared that if it succeeded in reaching the vital organ, its life-sustaining cadence would cease. Due to a lifetime of training and sheer instinct, the battle energy surged through him, and Rezkin pushed back at the cold with a tidal wave of will-induced heat.
The fire and ice clashed within his core, and Rezkin felt as though his chest might burst before the victor prevailed. He pushed against the icy assault with every vestige of his strength. He was no longer aware of the world around him. His entire being was consumed in an internal struggle for survival, and it had been very long while since he had truly feared failure. While the battle raged in earnest, all that remained of his conscious mind began to fail.
Rezkin felt his heart falter, and he knew he could not maintain his will for much longer. He thought of all those who depended on his survival and the promises he had made to them. The only power Rezkin knew he had at his disposal was the spell that lay over him—a spell designed to respond to his will, to aid in con
cealing himself and influencing the minds of others. Although he doubted the spell was intended for such a purpose, he felt he had little to lose from the attempt. Rezkin formed in his mind an understanding of himself—he, the elite warrior, the Raven, Riel’gesh, Dark Tidings, King of Cael, True King of Ashai. He focused on all that he was, his confidence, and his power to dominate. He commanded the ice to disperse.
The ice angrily surged against him in response. Just as Rezkin felt something burst inside him, the frozen flame was abruptly snuffed. His lungs flooded with air as they were inundated with a new kind of fire. His heart skittered and fluttered as it attempted to find its rhythm, and he realized he could feel the tingle of vimara flooding his system—someone else’s vimara. The stars dancing in the darkness before his eyes were replaced with red, throbbing veins before faces came into view. He felt a cool hand on his cheek, but when he turned his head, he saw not the soft brown eyes he had anticipated. Instead, overly large bug eyes stared back at him.
“My king, can you hear me? King Rezkin. Are you awake?” the voice asked, but the words did not match the lips. The bug-eyed man turned and said to someone behind him, “He is burning up. I cannot say what happened, but he is breathing again … and his heart is beating regularly, if a bit fast.”
Rezkin sat up and immediately regretted the action. The world swam before him, and he nearly toppled back to the hard ground. He listed to one side, but his short plummet was halted by a hard tug on his arm. His wandering gaze followed the length of the offending appendage to see that his hand was still resting upon the door. No, resting was not the right word. It was stuck. He tugged at his arm, but the door would not release its grip. He pulled and then pushed, and the door came free, swinging inward on soundless hinges until it came to rest against the inside wall. Staring into the black chasm, Rezkin blinked several times.
