He had no answers and only an ever-growing stream of questions. These questions remained inside the hollow shell he called himself. He did not doubt his decision to join Eloy over Maluuk. He knew he would rather die for the true High King than become a puppet to the parody. He only feared that the parody might have the final say after all. In these darkest moments he remembered Geralt’s vision. How he hoped beyond hope the man’s visions were more than a drunken stupor. Could such a thing be true? When he looked within himself, all he saw was doubt. Yet he would not let the spark within him die.
The following day Ulric gave the command for them to march. They traveled by land around the southern edge of Lake Leviathan. In a steady march they advanced up the thin strip of land known as The Spine. How he wished for words to say to Izel who accompanied them, but what could he say? What could be done to reverse the horror that had taken place. Besides, the pain in his own heart felt too great a burden to overcome.
It didn’t take long before they reached the first of many ruins. He couldn’t turn his gaze from the rubble that was once Levia Landing. The town in its former glory had carried valuable trade from Kingshelm. It, along with all other cities in Leviatanas’ territory, had been leveled when Maluuk first marched his army little more than a year ago. Each day of their journey northward was a reminder of the devastation that was wrought onto his home. The barren roads and burnt villages all cried for a sense of justice that never found an answer.
Is this truly all there is? Will the strong and corrupt always win? he wondered. Like the towns, he felt his cry was shouted out into an empty void.
As they neared the end of the long journey north they passed the port of Jezero. Its ruins were a monument in the far off distance. The place was a reminder of his failings long ago, how he too could have been like this Ulric who served Maluuk. As they passed by, spring rains began to open from the heavens. The small band of captains led by Ulric pushed forward, soaked to the bone. Lancelin and Izel served as their disheveled guides. Their captors neither spoke nor acknowledged them unless it was about the road ahead. Mere morsels of food were given as a measure to keep them going. The endless marching finally ended when at last they reached the crossroads, the barely treaded path into the mountains to their left and the smooth road to Leviatanas straight ahead. All stopped when Lancelin motioned the way down the remote road.
“We will go to Leviatanas first,” Ulric said.
“Then you will be making your journey longer,” Lancelin complained.
“But you see, young prince, it’s exactly the road we must take. There is something there that we need, and you are going to show us.”
Dread filled him. The truth was he had not returned to his home since the day of its doom. To return was too painful, too horrendous a thought that he had buried it deep within his soul. Even the possibility of seeing his father and mother… what the Felled Ones might have done to them, to all of them who called Leviatanas home.
“I can wait here. Just tell me what you need, and I can give you direction,” he said lifelessly.
A look of recognition crossed Ulric’s face. He realized the young prince feared his home. “No, I think it best you come with us. Don’t you want to see your father and mother again?”
Lancelin swallowed hard, knowing he would have no choice but to obey. Onward they went, past the meadows filled with trickling streams. Past the rotting corpses of both village and villager. They followed that dreaded road until the very walls of Leviatanas loomed before them. The city coiled upward to the top of the mountain chain it rested on. The once proud city of shining domes and fluttering banners now stood an abandoned haunt. Mold and vegetation were its only living inhabitants. Tattered fabric swayed gently under an ashen sky. He grit his teeth at the swelling agony in his chest. Every step closer, every breath, was leading him to face a reality he fought to avoid.
They passed through the gates that hung on their hinges in disarray. Wild jackals scattered into abandoned homes as the scent of intruders flooded their nostrils. Tattered remains of victims long dead lay in the streets. An eerie silence, broken only by a haunting breeze, greeted them. They ascended the spiral roads until they stood before the palace gates. Flashes of that fateful day flashed before his eyes. The same doubtful journey that he carried now. Yet that day something had broken into his reality. Eloy had restored his father, and all the gloom that had enslaved the city was overthrown. Now, standing before the gate once more he couldn’t help but feel the painful irony of the moment.
Would Eloy somehow break into this dreaded scene and change everything? Doubt nagged at him that the High King was dead. He had done all he could to stand against this evil. Had it really not been enough to overthrow Maluuk?
The gates creaked open as two of Ulric’s men cleared the way. Inside the palace walls a last stand had been made by the few faithful guards that had remained until the end. They lay slaughtered in a careless heap before the throne room doors. Each and every one of them paying the ultimate price to protect his father. He watched with numbness as Cedric and a few others thoughtlessly kicked their corpses aside to clear a path into the great hall.
The moment had come. He would have to face his father and mother. As they entered into the desolate space nothing but a faint pale light illuminated the room from the four slitted windows behind the throne. The once spotless white walls were now grimy and stained. Invading vines had slithered up the walls and punctured one of the windows. The rain and elements had taken their course. It was not the state of the room that brought him sorrow, however. Hung from the balcony used for his father’s council swayed two bodies. Both nothing more than skeletons covered in rotted clothes. On each of their heads was a crown.
He fell to his knees as the emotions overtook him. His vision was blurred by hot tears and he could sense the vomit rising in his throat. Why had he not come before? Why had he not given them the proper burial they deserved? He had failed them, he had failed them all by bringing all this to Islandia in the first place. He heard a voice call to him. It sounded like the voice of Eloy. He looked up startled, but found it was only Ulric.
“Balzara. Where is his body?” Ulric asked.
Lancelin shook his head as if in a daze, “I… I don’t remember.”
Ulric let out an annoyed sigh. “You best try to remember otherwise we string this girl up there with them,” Ulric said pointing at his parents.
Balzara… a name he hadn’t considered since that day.
A vision flashed before his eyes. Standing before the throne in the restored state of the great hall was Eloy. His face cemented with a smile.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Eloy said.
“You told me… you told me what?” Lancelin mumbled.
“You would see it. You will see the day.”
“What day are you talking about!” Lancelin cried in hysteria.
But the vision was gone and he was back in the damp, moldy throne room.
“What’s he going on about?” Cedric asked.
Ulric squinted at him, and Lancelin could see fear within his eyes. “We should leave this place. It has a foul stench.”
The others in the group shuffled nervously at his words.
“Now I’ll ask one more time. Where is Balzara’s body?”
What was this vision about? Lancelin’s mind raced to absorb what he had seen. Had it been real or just a memory? He could feel something had shifted within him. His waning strength now felt a measure of restoration, as if new life had filled his tired soul. He stood to his feet with the knowledge that he must press on. He took one last look at his parents, at their lifeless bones suspended above. With one final bow of reverence he turned to Ulric.
“Follow me.”
He led them back outside into a small unmarked graveyard reserved for those most dreaded in society. Rain came cascading down once more as they began to dig up the grave.
“Bloody rain,” complained one of th
e captains.
“Shut up and dig. It’s a blessing you won’t have to dig up the hard winter ground,” Ulric said with a smirk.
The man grumbled and took the shovel in hand for his turn to dig. Ulric turned to Lancelin as the next round of digging began.
“Must have been hard seeing your parents back there.”
He was taken back by the offhanded comment. “Don’t even speak of them, you snake!”
Ulric sighed. “I faintly remember my father’s court as a child. Grand visitors, marvelous feasts, and, more importantly, his comforting presence. It was all so… wonderful. That is until a rival kingdom received a mysterious donation of weapons. Not long after, my father rejected a man named Maluuk… and his gift.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Lancelin asked.
Ulric’s gaze wandered back from the men digging to fix on him. “Because no matter how loyal, how kind, or how benevolent of a ruler you are, Maluuk always wins…”
Before Lancelin could respond, a crescendo of chatter rose from the diggers. Amongst the mud and muck they pulled up the bones of the dead charlatan. Something caught Lancelin’s eye that he had never noticed before. A small, silver amulet was wrapped around the wrist of Balzara. Cedric stepped forward and took the decayed arm in his hand. With one swift motion he snapped the bones in half, retrieving the amulet.
Ulric took the amulet, giving it a careful inspection. Lancelin could see a shining gem in the shape of a crimson crescent moon set in dark stone.
“What is that?” he asked.
Ulric gave him a cautious eye before tucking it into his tunic. “What we came here for. Now are you going to lead us to this cave, or do we have to get violent?”
Lancelin looked over at the disheveled and tired face of Izel. She stood exhausted and downcast in the grip of a soldier.
“You know more about these matters than you are letting on. How would you know of Balzara unless Maluuk had told you? Why do you even need us to find this cave? Your master dwelled there himself at one time.”
Ulric’s face turned to a snarl. “We may know what to look for, but I have never traveled these lands. Nor do I know all my master’s ways, so either lead the way or watch us slaughter your friend.”
There was menace behind the words, Lancelin knew, but something else lay there too. Resentment. Ulric was just another puppet. For the first time he could see that the man standing before him was not unlike him when he first encountered the powers Balzara held. Only Ulric had come to believe there was no other choice but to serve this monster Maluuk.
“You don’t have to do this, Ulric. There is another way.”
“What did you say to me, dog?” Ulric asked as he sent Lancelin to his knees with a kick. A crack of thunder rang out with a burst of rage.
“I was once like you. Stuck serving a master I despised for purposes I deemed noble. What does he hold over you? A loved one? A promise of power? A better world in the end? Open your eyes, Maluuk leaves nothing but destruction in his wake. Do you think he won’t lead you down the same path when this is over?”
“Shut up!” This time it was a knee that sent Lancelin reeling in the mud. A faint squeak of protest could be heard from Izel. Rising to his feet, he raised a hand of comfort toward her.
“You know it’s true, Ulric. I see it in your eyes. You don’t want to do this, but you think there is no way out. I thought the same until… him.”
“You don’t know me. What difference does it make? We both serve a master and one of them is dead. I’d rather keep my life than wallow in the mud.”
“It makes all the difference,” Lancelin muttered. “Do you not see what becomes of Maluuk’s servants? Corrupt monsters that feed on their fellow man. What kind of gift is that!”
Ulric stood silent in the dying light. His chiseled face beaded with drops of rain. Behind his eyes a hint of doubt stirred, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“Bind and gag him until we reach the mountain pass. I don’t want to see him again until he’s needed, understood?”
Cedric nodded and moved toward Lancelin with a quickened pace. He felt pity for this man. He had a glimpse of being free, but chose the shackles instead.
Another dull day loomed overhead. The sky was the pale gray of sorrow without tears. The scraping of rock underfoot echoed off the jagged cliffs surrounding them. Lancelin stood at the head of their party leading Ulric and his men to the cavern they desired. The cave was a place he had no desire to see again, but neither was Leviatanas. In all of this he had accepted there would be many such things he dreaded to face but must do so despite his resistance.
The haunted valley opened in front of him. The gnarled, leafless trees still stood sentinel in the silent pass. The mouth of the cave welcomed them with its familiar jagged teeth. His captors stopped in quiet reverence and awe of the place. Ulric stepped forward as the first to break the stupor that clung to them.
“Light some torches,” he ordered to a few of the men standing near their supplies.
They scrambled through a pack and assembled the needed light. Without waiting for the others, he motioned for Cedric to withdraw Dawn’s Deliverer and follow him. The two men set forth. The faint light radiating off the Dawn Blades disappeared in the dark of the cave.
What could these men want with this cave? Lancelin pondered. His eyes caught sight of Izel being dismounted from her horse. They had kept him away from her for most of their journey. Ulric was smart and took no unneeded risks. The young woman from the Dreadwood looked road weary. Her eyes a dull red behind dark bags. Despite the lack of privacy, she mourned the loss of Zuma day and night. He felt a pang of guilt. If it wasn’t for him she would never be here enduring all this.
He shot her a comforting smile as their eyes locked. She mustered up all the strength she had, yet it only produced a twitching of the lip. He was jerked from the moment by a tug on his restraints.
“Come on. Time to get moving,” ordered the guard assigned to him.
With a less than patient pull at his bindings, Lancelin began his march with the rest of the party into the depths of the cave. The damp and cool air saturated all it touched, flooding his mind with memories of where his journey had started. This was where he had brought this wretched plague on Islandia. Perhaps it was here that he could end it.
Time dragged on with the rhythmic march through the darkness before them. Only when they reached the large cavern did they regroup with Ulric and Cedric. The two men had been up to something strange. In fact, the whole cavern had a new appearance. All around symbols blazed with blue light. Lancelin followed the trail they laid until his eyes settled on a symbol shaped like a rune encrusted door. Across its face lay mysterious symbols he could not decipher. He could see all along the symbol’s edges a sharp line of cracks spread like a spider’s web. They stretched out beyond, encompassing the chamber.
What happened here? he wondered.
Ulric and Cedric stood irritated at its sight. With a chalky substance they diligently worked at marking a symbol of their own onto the stone floor. Their drawing was circular in shape, its edges were filled with mystical and dark icons and symbols. Lancelin could only grasp half of what was written, but, from what he could decipher, it was some sort of conjuring. The mystery began to click in his mind.
“What are you planning?” he snapped.
Ulric impatiently looked up at him from his work. “You marched them all the way in here? For what, so you could march them back out?” The irritation was barely restrained in his voice.
The guard in charge of Lancelin stumbled over his words, “I wasn’t sure… I didn’t… well I wasn’t sure if you’d want us to leave them alone.”
Ulric sighed. “You didn’t want to miss the ceremony? That it? Well, don’t worry it almost didn’t happen at all.”
“What do you mean?” asked another of Ulric’s men who bore the Osaka armor. “We traveled all this way for nothing?”
Cedric rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. “He said ‘almost.’ You see that symbol on the wall?” he asked.
The man nodded.
“Well, that was the source of Maluuk’s gift. Someone has destroyed it.”
A sudden fear fell over them all.
“You mean to tell us someone has the power to do that?” asked the Osaka armored man. Lancelin couldn’t help but notice the trembling in his voice.
“Maluuk’s rage toward these Islandians makes much more sense now, doesn’t it?” Ulric hissed. “He would have no power here if we were not lucky enough to capture this.”
Ulric raised up Dawn Bringer. The light from the blade illuminated the entire cavern. For the first time Lancelin could see the full scale of the cave. Cold, dark stone stretched beyond sight. In its depths pools of water sat still, a source of frigid cold older than recorded time. This was an ancient and hollow place. One that gave the feeling of being outside the bounds of time itself.
Ulric lowered the sword and stared intently at it. “The king of the Dawn Blades. Whoever wields this holds the rights to the High King’s throne and, with that, the sway over all this land.”
Lancelin narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Ulric turned to him as if he had forgotten the captive was with them. “You have heard more than you needed already, young prince. Cedric, take him and the girl back outside and make sure there is no one to warn of what is coming.”
Cedric nodded and motioned for the guards to follow. Lancelin pulled at his bindings but nothing would give. He was forced to march. He glanced one last time over his shoulder to see the somber face of Ulric fixed on them. It dawned on him that maybe this man was jealous of their fate, to escape the grip of his dreaded master. For that Lancelin could have pity, but for whatever the man had planned, it must come to an end.
All throughout the march his mind raced for a way to escape, but to no avail. Even as the light outside the cave blinded their eyes, he fought for any opportunity he could find, but none came. He and Izel were made to kneel among the dead trees. The white dirt and dust beneath him would likely be the last thing he would ever see. He could hear the sobs of Izel next to him as she was forced to the ground. Coldness filled the guard’s eyes as he stared down at them.
A New Dawn Page 11
