Path of Kings

by James Dale

  Jack's reminiscences were almost exclusively centered on his two brief encounters with Princess Annawyn. He spent hours describing the beautiful Doridanian maiden to his cellmate. He told the Jahrkirin of the first time he'd seen her, the way the sunlight had looked on her fiery auburn hair when she'd walked into the Tower of the White Horse. He spoke longingly of her sea-green eyes and the sound of her lilting, musical voice, of the graceful way she walked and sat and smiled and of the single, brief taste of her tender lips. Simply whispering the name, 'Annawyn,' was a magical incantation sufficient enough to push back the oppressive darkness, if only for a little while.

  For Maelcain, it was the memory of his homeland possessing the ability to dispell the gloom and free his heart from the monotony of their confinement. Like Braedan's recollections of the beautiful princess, his descriptions of the myriad colors trapped in the ice flows, of the sun rising after three months of perpetual night, and the simple joy of returning to his Staal and the warmth of the community cook fire after a successful hunt were the giant's mantra against the darkness. When those memories were not enough to chase away the gloom, the Jahrkirin would simply produce the three small stones and fill the cell with their soothing, yellow light.

  "Tell me about the Tears." Jack asked on one such occasion. "What are they? Where did they come from?"

  "It has been handed down among my people," the giant began, gazing into the soft glow of the stones, "that when Yh‘Adan looked upon the destruction the battle with Yh’gar had caused on the earthe, He gave himself up as a hostage against creation. When He entered the fallen Arch- Angel's camp and saw the hatred burning in Yh’gar's eyes, He wept with grief, knowing there was no hope to redeem his soul. Where those tears fell to the earth, they became these three stones."

  "How did the Vestir'nah come by them?"

  "Not all of the angels who followed Yh’gar were irrevocably damned by their allegiance with him. A few, though the number was small, repented in their hearts when Yh‘Adan came among them. It was one of those angels, Lamediel by name, who recovered the Tears and fled while Yh’gar was busy crucifying his captive. When the transfigured Yh‘Adan rose on the third day, Lamediel sought Him out and offered the Tears as repayment for his sins and re-admission into Heaven. Yh’Adan forgave him his sins but He would not allow the repentant angel admittance back into his Father's kingdom until he found suitable inheritors for the stones, a people who would use them to begin the healing of the earthe.

  "For centuries Lamediel searched tirelessly through the lands for a people worthy to take the stones, but the races of the earth were too scattered and weak to withstand the burden accompanying Yh‘Adan’s Tears. Then one day, while journeying far in the north, Lamediel found a fledgling race of giants living at the top of the world. He saw in the bastard offspring of his brothers the necessary strength to master the stones and made them caretakers of the Tears."

  "Wait a minute." Jack interrupted, "If your people were once worthy of Yh’Adan's Tears, how is it you became outcasts?

  "We were not always outcasts." Maelcain sighed, "There was a time in antiquity, now so long ago it is remembered only by Bahrah'nahir, when we were faithful caretakers of the stones; when we used them in the way Yh‘Adan intended. But the power of the stones was great and eventually my ancestors were corrupted by their strength. Soon they began to use their power to subjugate the other races. When Yh‘Adan saw how we were abusing His tears, He took away much of their power. Enough so the other races; Ailfar, Hiru and Men, with the aid of the newly formed Staffclave, succeeded in throwing off our yoke and driving us back into the wasteland of the north. That is when we became the Jahrkirin, when we became Vestir’nah. For the next thousand years, no one but the dark-King Graith offered us anything more than revilement and swift death, and that brief alliance was worse than all the centuries of hatred and fear bestowed upon us by the Children of Yh.

  "I mean to change that Jha'ak," Maelcain vowed. "With your help I will break the curse lying upon my people. Perhaps then, Yh’Adan will restore the stones to their full power and the Jahrkirin may again use them for their intended purpose."

  "If the Tears of Yh’Adan are still powerful," Jack asked, "why did Senicael let you keep them?"

  "Because he does not know I have them," Maelcain replied with a sly smile, "When we were ambushed waiting for you and I discovered Senicael was still alive, I…swallowed them."

  "You what?"

  "It was the only thing I could think of," the giant shrugged. "He searched me rather thoroughly, but I convinced him I threw the stones away rather than let them fall into his hands. I imagine my brother spends every second of his spare time combing the hillsides around Gorthiel." Maelcain laughed. "When the time comes for us to leave this place, I am looking forward to telling him they were right under his nose all along."

  "When will that time be Maelcain?" Jack asked.

  "Soon," the Bahrah'nahir promised. "Very soon."

  To Jack it seemed the promised day would never come. Time passed. Days came and went in total darkness. Until the morning Senicael arrived with their ration of gruel and lingered outside their door after pushing their bowls into the cell. He'd brought a torch with him and the terrible smile adorning his visage was painfully visible through the bars. "Sorry there be no fresh meat for you," he apologized with a horrible chuckle.

  "Be gone Soul Dimmer," Maelcain sighed wearily, "We've no stomach for your taunts today."

  "I shall not trouble thee long...brother," the Jailer replied, spitting out the word as if speaking it scorched his throat. "I merely thought this manling should know Nalon-Lox has given me permission to dispose of his companion. It seems the Amarian has reached the end of his usefulness."

  Jack stiffened and the monster's grin widen with satisfaction. "That is why I brought light today," he continued wickedly. "I wished to see this one’s face when I told him the Amarian will be joining me for breakfast this morning. If you listen closely manling, perhaps you will hear his screams. Sound travels far in these corridors and I've always been a noisy eater."

  Jack launched himself at the cell door, slamming into the stout wood with a thud.

  "Careful manling." Senicael taunted cruelly, "The master wants you unharmed. If you bruise yourself, he will be angry when he awakens."

  Roaring with laughter, the Jailer stalked away, leaving them in darkness once more.

  "Maelcain!" Jack cried, beating his fist ineffectually against the unmoving door. "We've got to stop him!"

  "Yes," the giant replied, standing with a rustle of chains. "The time has come for us to leave this foul place. And your friend with us." Jack heard the squeal of tearing metal then Maelcain was beside him. "Stand back," he said quietly. "And shield your eyes."

  Jack did as he was instructed and the Jahrkirin began to chant in a low voice. The Tears of Yh’Adan suddenly flared hotly in his hands, growing brighter and brighter until the giant seemed to hold three miniature, blazing suns. Sweat beading on his forehead, Maelcain thrust out his hand, touching the iron lock of the cell door. It instantly turned to slag and rivulets of molten iron ran down the black stained wood, trailing wisps of acrid smoke. Then his hand passed completely through.

  "Bhrihna'ta'Kar!" the giant whispered sharply, withdrawing his hand from the hole where the lock had been. After willing the stones back to a soft glow, he pushed the door openly slowly, its rusty hinges squealing in protest. Jack made to push his way passed the giant but Maelcain stopped him with a firm glance. "Slowly my friend," he commanded. "It will do your friend no good if we go rushing after Senicael and alert him to our escape."

  "But..."

  "Do as I say. The stones haven't enough power to protect us against the entire Tower. We must use caution or our freedom will be short-lived and your friend will die!"

  The giant peered cautiously into the corridor and finding it empty, nodded for Jack to follow. They crept silently down the deserted passage, the Tears of Yh’Adan lighting a path wit
h their soft, yellow glow. Coming to a cavernous room with several branching passageways, the giant paused, listening. He pointed to the tunnel directly opposite them, breaking into a trot. It inclined gently upwards for about one hundred yards then branched again forming a T-shaped passage, one arm lighted by sputtering torches continued on to the right, the other on the left descending a flight of stairs down into darkness.

  "Senicael went that way." the giant said, pointing to the right. "You must follow him."

  "You're leaving me?" Jack asked.

  "For a short time only." Maelcain nodded, "I must create a diversion to draw the attention of the Tower away from you. There isn't time to explain. I will rejoin you as quickly as I can." Without another word, Maelcain bounded down the stairway and was soon swallowed by the darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Talon of the Hawk

  Jack hesitated for only the space of a heartbeat, then snatched up the nearest torch and broke into a run after the Jailer. The corridor ran straight as an arrow for a distance, then turned sharply to the left and down. Soon doors began to appear on either side of him and Jack stopped abruptly, struck by an overpowering sense of familiarity. Then it came to him. This was the second vision of his Elohara! Walking slowly down the hallway, he examined each of the closed doors for some sign of recognition. Where was it? Behind one of these doors was a room filled with weapons!

  There!

  Though it looked no different from any of the others, Jack knew he'd found the forgotten armory. He lifted the bolt latch, leaning his shoulder against the cold wood, and it swung inward with a loud screech. Thrusting the torch before him, he entered quickly.

  The room was covered in a thick layer of dust undisturbed in centuries. Assorted weapons were pilled haphazardly about the room as if they had been tossed aside then forgotten. He jammed his torch into the nearest pile and began searching frantically, unmindful of the clatter he made as he selected swords at random, then threw them away in disgust. Suddenly his hand gasped a leather-bound hilt and he staggered from the jolting sensation coursing into his arm.

  Pulling the blade from the jumbled pile, Jack raised the weapon to examine it in the ruddy light of the torch. It was a slim, double edged broadsword about three feet in length. The hilt was wrapped in old, crackling leather which crumbed under his touch but the weapon's cross-guard was fashioned of polished Ithlemere, untarnished by the passage of years. Engraved upon the cross-guard was the head of a hawk and on the sword's pommel, held firmly in place by a four clawed talon was a shining green stone. Running down the length of the shining blade were words written in Ailfar runes.

  "Bin'et ardendel?" Jack read. "Talon of the Hawk?"

  Gripping the sword in both hands, he walked over to the pile of weapons where he'd grounded his torch. Beside it on an ancient wooden stand was a suit of plate armor, its cuirass and shoulder plates intricately carved and inlaid with gold and silver. With a powerful overhand swing, he split the breast plate in two, its pieces falling to the floor with a crash. Jack examined the sword's edge in the light of the torch and smiled grimly at the sight of the undamaged blade.

  "Come Bin'et ardendel," he whispered, picking up the torch again. "We are going hunting."

  Jack re-entered the corridor and had only gone a few paces when he came upon a four-way intersection. Unsure of which direction to take, he stopped to quickly consider his choices. Before he could decide a cold draft of wind sent his torch to sputtering and a looming shadow appeared on his right. Though it was man-shaped and not much taller than Braedan, its presence seemed to fill the passageway. Waves of darkness emanated from the sinister form and power and terror enfolded it in a cloak of dread.

  "Come with me manling!" it commanded in a voice that made Braedan's blood run cold. "I sense a power at work below I have not felt in..." It stopped when it noticed the bared sword in Jack's hand.

  "Who art thou?" the shadow-shape asked, uncertainly creeping into its icy voice.

  Jack trembled with terror under the man-thing's searching gaze. He felt a probing darkness briefly touch his mind, then the being chuckled with recognition. "So...the Jahrkirin still possesses the Tears. No matter. Thy foolhardy attempt at flight is ended. Throw down thy weapon Son of Bra ‘Adan and return to thy cell to await thy doom!"

  "Yh’Adan help me," Jack whispered, recoiling from the menace in the dark form's command. As if in answer to his plea, the green stone in the pommel of his sword flared angrily and the hilt grew warm in his hand. Strength seemed to flow into him from the blade, awakened now after centuries of sleep and hungry for blood.

  "Bin'et ardendel?" the man-thing hissed in recognition. Suddenly a sword appeared in its own hand, a slim, single edged weapon flickering with tongues of black fire.

  "Yes! Bin'et ardendel!" Jack cried. Awash with the power coursing into him from the blade in his hand, he straightened to face the shadow-form and words began to spill unbidden from his lips. "The Talon of the Hawk knows you Morgamaal! Duke of the Seventh Hell! Be gone demon, if you value your life! Bin'et ardendel thirsts! Crawl back into your hole or I will let it drink your blood! Yharies Sinalda enne'Eoyolas! Daeon Cythora! Daeon Anath Lith' loriel!"

  The Ailfar words of power assaulted the demon like a physical blow, shrinking the dreadful shadow that surrounded it. But it did not retreat. "It is not the sword of thy destiny Son of Bra’Adan," Morgamaal said slowly.

  "No," Jack replied grimly. "But it will drink your blood just the same."

  Calling upon some dark, inner strength, the demon drew itself up until its presence once again filled the passageway. "Come then," the shadow-thing hissed. "Let us see if it will serve thee better than its former master."

  Jack leapt immediately to the attack and the two combatants met with a ringing of steel. Black flames erupted from the demon's blade, answered by a shower of green sparks from the Talon of the Hawk. Powered by the strength flowing into him from the Ailfar wrought weapon, Braedan drove the demon back, reigning blow after blow upon Morgamaal's hell forged steel.

  As they fought Jack's shouts of defiance echoed down the darkened hall. "Yharies Sinalda enne'Eoyolas! Daeon Cythora! The demon countered with incantations of foul sorcery that strove to deflect the ancient words of power. Though their initial exchanged lasted only seconds, both man and demon were soon drained by the tremendous forces they hurled at each other. When neither could find an opening in his opponent's defense, they separated and began to slowly circle in the close confines of the passageway.

  "Thou art strong manling," Morgamaal admitted with grudging respect. "Galen Severa was a fool to let thee live."

  "I'll tell him you said that," Jack panted. "Before I kill him."

  "Thou cannot escape Son of Bra'Adan," the demon said, continuing to circle. "Even should thou defeat me, without the sword of thy father, without Sunheart, thou dost not possess the power to defeat my six brothers. Even now they come to slay thee. Even now they...they..."

  The demon's attention seemed to waver, then his head cocked sideways as if he caught the hint of some faint, distant sound. Soon Jack heard it as well, a muffled rumbling deep below their feet like the aftershock of a subterranean explosion. Morgamaal hissed with terror when he realized the source of the disturbance.

  "He would not dare!"

  "Something wrong?" Jack smiled, guessing Maelcain had begun his diversion.

  "Master!" the demon wailed and surged passed Braedan, sweeping him from his path with an out flung arm. "I come Master!"

  Jack watched the demon disappear into the darkness, wondering briefly what the giant had done to cause One of the Seven such distress, then he retrieved a torch from the wall and resumed his pursuit of the Jailer.

  The corridor soon branched again and he chose a passage at random. After passing through two more intersections, with still no sign of his prey, it slowly dawned on Jack he had become hope-lessly lost. Despair assailed him. He could search for the rest of his years in this underground labyrinth without findi
ng Senicael's trail, while Tarsus' life was measured in minutes.

  "Help me!" he pleaded the sword in his hands. "Show me the way!" But the green stone in its hilt had grown cold and lifeless, its power apparently spent by the battle with Morgamaal.

  Growling with frustration, he continued on.

  But Jack Braedan was not fated to spend years wandering lost in the bowels of Gorthiel. Just as he had not been fated to die on the cross of Duke Kiathan, or become a victim of the Bergaweld. At the next intersection he suddenly heard the sound of rumbling laughter, cruel and gloating, issue from the bottom of a dark stairwell on his right.

  "It is nothing personal," the voice chuckled sympathetically. "But I've never tasted the flesh of an Amarian before."

  He had found Senicael! And Tarsus was still alive!

  Jack placed his sputtering torch on the floor of the corridor and cautiously began to make his way down the steps. Upon reaching the bottom, he flattened himself against the cold stone and ventured a quick glance around the corner. The giant was speaking through the barred opening of a cell door, causally sharpening the scarred blade of his tremendous ax with a whet stone.

  "Now grim‘Hiru flesh is a different matter entirely," the Jailer continued conversationally. "There is more than enough of that lot to go around. If I take a stray guard or two, the Warden and his sorcerers do not mind. It helps to keep the beast-men on their toes. But I grow weary of their meat. They are tough and stringy as old leather. You on the other hand should be delicious. I've been feeding you well, hoping one day I would finally be granted the opportunity to compare. And what do you know? Nalon-Lox up and tells me this morning he no longer needs you alive. Unfortunate for you, but fortunate for me and my stomach."