by Brian Murray
Zane looked at Rayth’s drained face while he stroked Aurillia’s long, black hair. He did not know if the former axe-wielder could hear him but he spoke to him anyway.
“Rayth, we won. I thought you would want to know. Your city is free again, and your efforts and bravery will never be forgotten.” He paused. “I love your daughter and intend to marry her, making her my queen. I would dearly love to drink with you on our wedding day. I know you would be a proud man. You’ve raised a daughter whom I love deeply and would never do any wrong by. I wish your consent to our marriage. I am Zane, King of Rhaurien, and I want Aurillia as my queen.
“Do you hear me, Rayth? I want your daughter to be my queen. I know she wants your consent so you listen to me, you stubborn mule, you’d better live so I can ask you for her hand. I don’t want it said by anyone that I, Zane, did not face Rayth to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Do you hear me? You’d better live so I can at least ask you.” Zane fell silent. He slowly rocked back and forth on the chair, stroking Aurillia’s hair.
Unnoticed, Rayth clenched his fist and a small smile crept onto his blue-tinged lips.
***
Downstairs, Thade and Tanas calmed Ireen and Megan and they spoke softly together. The women did not move far from their men, for now they felt safe and secure. After a while, Ireen rose and walked into the kitchen where Emyra and Dax sat in silence. Seeing the princess enter, Dax rose and smiled. She walked up to the old warrior and kissed him on the cheek. With a tear threatening to flow, she looked into the man’s violet eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Without a second thought, Ireen stepped in closer and gave him a hug. Gone were her fears of the older warrior—he had done what he promised he would do, he’d brought Thade back to her.
Dax smiled and warmly hugged the girl. “I promised I would bring my boy back. And I always keep my promises.”
“Thank you,” was all Ireen could say.
***
Upstairs, Aurillia awoke from her doze and grinned when she gazed up at Zane’s smiling face. She turned and looked at her father, then back at Zane.
“I would like to talk to my father, please would you bring some tisane.”
Zane smiled and Aurillia rose to let him stand up. He kissed her on the forehead and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. Aurillia knelt beside the bed and gripped Rayth’s rough hands.
“Father, I know you can hear me,” she whispered. “Zane has asked me to marry him and I love him deeply. I want your consent to marry him please. So, you must wake up and get better so you can give me away. Do you hear me, Father?” Tears rolled down the young woman’s face as she lifted her father’s hand and kissed it. Holding his hand against her cheek, tears flowed onto them. She closed her eyes. “Please Father,” she whimpered. “Please.” Rayth’s index finger moved and she felt it gently wipe away a tear. She smiled. “That’s it, Father, you get better and give Zane your consent. You’re the strongest man in the Kingdom, and you can live through these small scratches.”
Moments later, Zane re-entered the room and Aurillia grinned at him, her violet eyes reddened from crying. “We’ll wait. He’ll be better soon and then you can ask him.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Zane lied, unsure whether Rayth would survive and if he did, he was not looking forward to asking him. The two would remain in the bedroom throughout the morning, thick curtains blocking out the early sunlight.
***
On the Grey Path of Wandering Souls, a lifeless place between Paradise and Yallaz’oom, a solitary man wandered aimlessly. All around him was grey: no colours, just bland, homogeneous grey. The man felt himself being drawn towards a mountain in the distance. A mountain of jet black rock stood large against the grey horizon. The young man stopped, sat down, and with his face cupped in his hands, sobbed pitifully. Next to the man a woman appeared, dressed in white, with silvery white hair. The man felt Her presence, looked up, but continued to sob at her feet.
“Do you want to make amends for some of your crimes?” she asked, her voice musically sweet.
“Yes,” whimpered the man.
“I cannot lead you along the path to Paradise, but at least you can start on the road to redemption.”
“Anything, ask anything of me.”
“Some travellers will need to journey through the Mines of Moranton and you can guide them to the Realm of Yallaz’oom. Only by completing this deed will you start along the road.” Her almost white eyes were full of compassion, yet tinged with sorrow. Her expression remained calm and even on the Grey Path, her skin appeared milky white with glowing, rosy cheeks.
“Where is this place, and who are the travellers?”
“You know the place. It is the place of utter evil. When you lived, it was the place you craved to visit. You will know the travellers when you meet them. Guide them well. You must learn a route through the mines and lead them to the Realm of Yallaz’oom.”
“I will, that I promise.” The enormity of the mission did not immediately hit the young man, as his thoughts were elsewhere.
“Be warned, betray these travellers and your soul will be damned for all eternity. Complete this task and you may find mercy.”
“Forgiveness from a father?” asked the young man hopefully.
“That I cannot promise, but it may happen. You chose the path of darkness in life and now you could start to amend your choice. Choose well and you may find forgiveness.”
“I will, I promise. I will do as you ask.”
The woman disappeared and the man continued to wander the Grey Path alone. He spent many days silently debating what to do, how to get into the mine and then how to map a course through it. He spotted several Keepers and a simple plan struck him. . . one step at a time. Within an hour, the Keepers found him, put him in chains and march him towards the mines, the Mines of Moranton, within the Black Mountain of the Damned.
Life had betrayed him, and here where he thought he would find true happiness and total pleasure, he found hate, pain, solitude and most of all regret. No longer was he the same man as he had been in life. Death had changed him and now, only now, could he see what he had done and feel guilty for his gruesome crimes. Alone in the realm of hate and cruelty, he found a new cause. Only here he found his courage, and here he would rebel against his so-called friends in life, and begin his path to redemption. He knew he would not be forgiven for all the sins done as a mortal, but now he had a purpose, and the Divine One gave this to him. Not the Dark One, who he had passionately followed in life, but the Divine One who he had despised. Here and now, in the dark, dank, death-filled tunnels of the mines, the man found peace with himself.
Deep within the man’s soul a light twinkled; ever so small, a mere spark, but it was there. One of the fallen Children of the Light had found his soul, and now he would act when the time came. He would act against the darkness he had so yearned for in life. The Divine One had found one of Her children and he would not let Her down. She came when the Dark One had abandoned him. Above all, the young man would never forget that.
CHAPTER 2
A new day dawned in Teldor, the morning after the night before. Following the darkness of the past night and the previous weeks, the morning was fresh and inviting like the city’s future. A rose-coloured sun emerged from behind green hills as tufts of white clouds floated slowly across the blue sky. Many of the townspeople did not yet know the city had been liberated, as the fighting had taken place at the palace and by the main city gate. Many were still apprehensive about what was to come, but the Rhaurns roused themselves to face another day.
***
Felix had been up all night at the palace, helping his friends battle against the dark force. Now at dawn he had to start his day, and with it a new life. He got dressed and shuffled down to the bakery, rubbing his black ringed, gritty eyes. Looking around, everything felt empty and cold without his father. During the early hours of the morning, as he sat thinking, he heard his mother
sobbing in her room. He thought about what had happened to him over the past few weeks and told himself he had done his best—even though his father had died.
Felix lit the oven and started to make the dough for bread and rolls. Then realisation struck the young man—everything was now down to him; not only had he to make the bread, but the pastries as well. Gazing around the bakery, Felix took a deep breath and moved with greater urgency.
Upstairs, Marva had also been awake all night after arriving back from the palace. She heard her son rise and creep quietly downstairs to the bakery. She knew the young man had to do everything by himself, but for the moment she could not face the world; she could not face the bakery. Suddenly, as a vision of Krondo appeared in her mind, she started crying again. It was only the first night, but this was the first time they had been apart since their wedding day over twenty years ago. After some time, Marva rose, silently got dressed then went to the kitchen to make the morning tisane.
Automatically, she made three mugs of hot tisane. Then she stared at the three mugs full of the steaming brew and slowly poured the contents of one into the sink. Through the vapour, she watched the fluid disappear down the hole. It was a small, solemn act, but it woke her back to life. Marva knew she would always miss her husband, but she still had Felix and he must be feeling guilty about Krondo’s death. Taking a deep breath, Marva walked downstairs carrying the tray with two mugs and entered the bakery, forcing a grin.
Felix peered up and smiled at his mother, feeling unsure of the response he would receive. Marva put the tray down on a table, walked over to Felix and kissed him on the cheek.
“There’s a lot to be done. What do you want me to do?” she asked.
The smile on Felix’s face broadened and his mother expression mirrored his. “You could help with the bread whilst I do the pastries,” he suggested with a shrug.
Without another word, Marva began to knead the dough while Felix started the pastries. During the early hours of the morning, the pair worked hard and spoke sparingly. By the time they heard the first knock on the door, they had made most of the bread required and Felix was finishing the pastries. Marva walked through to the shop and the bell above the door chimed as she opened it. Her face brightened.
“Morning, Christie,” said Marva, leaning forward and kissing the girl on the cheek.
“Morning,” replied the young woman, clearly feeling uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry to hear about Krondo,” she said, lowering her gaze.
“Thank you.” Marva blinked to stem the tears that threatened to flow.
“My mother sends her deepest condolences. She said if you need anyone to, you know, have a talk with, she would be happy to share some tisane or wine.”
“That’s most kind and I may take her up on the offer.”
Hearing the voice of his betrothed, Felix wiped his hands and walked through to the shop. His eyes and heart lit up when he saw Christie. All his troubles would now wait until later. “Morning, my love,” he called proudly.
“Morning, Felix. Now that the two of you are here, I have something to discuss with you both.”
For a split second Felix’s heart dropped, but a reassuring smile from Christie washed away his concerns.
“I’ve decided my place is with Felix, and if you want me, I’m willing to give up working at the palace and come here to help you two with the bakery.”
For the first time that morning, Marva’s face lit up with true happiness. “Child, are you sure?”
“Well, as I see it you will need someone after the Krondo’s passing and I think that job is mine, or you’ll have to hire someone.”
Felix turned to his mother, his hands on his hips and a questioning expression on his face, but he could not hide the happiness he felt from his mother. His eyes gleamed with delight. Marva looked at her son and her decision was made.
“Well, as I see it, Felix is the baker and therefore the bakery is his. So he must do the hiring.”
Felix stared at his mother with utter shock on his face. As far as he was concerned, the bakery was hers and he would work for her. Smiling, he turned to Christie. “So what can you offer the bakery?” he asked, his voice stern.
Christie gave Felix a glare; he instantly knew what the look meant. Felix had seen his mother give that look to his father many times and it meant, ‘Dumb ass, don’t say another word!’
Marva laughed at the look on Felix’s face and said, “I think what he meant to say was, ‘welcome aboard’.”
Felix glanced at his mother and then Christie, with his mouth gaping open.
“Son, you had better close your mouth or you’ll collect flies,” said his mother, and Christie giggled.
Felix again looked from Christie to his mother. Shaking his head, he did not say another word and returned to the bakery. From the shop, high-pitched laughter rippled from the two women. Felix then realised what he had gotten himself into—two women would now boss him. He smiled to himself and thought there were no better women in the world he would rather be bossed by. From the shop, Christie called, “Where is my order?”
“Women!” was all Felix could say as he bustled about, collecting together the order for the palace.
***
After Christie left the shop, Marva returned to the bakery, smiling broadly. “Now that’s a girl I can get on with.”
Felix turned to his mother and saw no sarcasm in her eyes. “Good,” he replied.
“You’d better go and see your friends today. They looked after you well. And on your way can you stop at the Church of the Divine One and see if you can book a funeral for your father.”
The plain, matter of fact tone in his mother’s voice surprised Felix. “Ma, do you want to do that? I can watch the shop,” he offered.
Marva smiled a ‘thank you,’ and nothing more was said.
***
Christie skipped along to the palace but the lack of people on the streets surprised her. But she remembered; she was one of the few to know the city had been liberated. Teldor was free! She had left the Flying Vessel Tavern before Rayth was brought back, and had returned home to her mother, where she met Felix and received the news . . . Now all she wanted to do was shout the good news, at the top of her voice, but she did not.
Only at dawn did she decide to go back to the palace, knowing all the household staff on duty the night of the invasion had been killed. She approached the gates of the inner wall leading to the palace and noticed there were no Royal Lancers on duty. In their place were two burly-looking warriors carrying double-headed axes. One of the warriors stepped out to block her path.
“Who are you?” asked the warrior; his voice as gruff as the man appeared.
“My name is Christie and I’m the queen’s maid.”
The guard stared at the girl and turned to his companion standing by the gate, who just shrugged his shoulders in response.
“What’s in the bags?” demanded the axe-wielder.
“They’re full of bakery products for the household to break their fasts.” The guard stood glaring, not saying a word. This annoyed Christie. “Are you just going to stand there, you oaf? I’ll leave it to you to explain to the queen why she has no bread to break her fast with.”
“There’s no need for attitude, young lady,” snapped the axe-wielder, smirking.
“Well then, you’d better escort me to the kitchen and you can ask if I work there.”
“Only our company cook is working there, and I’m sure he does not know you,” sneered the guard with conviction.
“You listen to me,” countered Christie, stepping in close to the guard and prodding his chest with her finger. “I have got to do my job, as you have to do yours. So I would suggest that you either let me in or go and find someone who can vouch for me. I would suggest the queen, but she’s not the most pleasant person in the morning before her tisane—believe me, I know.”
The outburst rocked the guard and again he turned to his companion, who was desperately tryin
g to hold in his laughter. Again, the warrior just shrugged; he was not getting involved.
The guard shook his head. “Wait here,” he ordered, then spun on his heels and marched towards the palace.
Christie was in no mood to wait and followed the warrior. Passing the other guard on the gate, she just gave him a look and he just smiled nervously. She continued on.
The axe-wielder realised he was being followed and turned to see who was behind him. He sighed deeply.
“You’re going the wrong way, oaf,” said Christie, pointing to the kitchens. She strolled ahead with the guard in tow, cursing under his breath with every step. Leading the way, Christie entered the kitchen and stopped. The scene she faced horrified her—complete chaos and bedlam. It was all the young woman could take, and at the top of her voice she screamed, “What the hell is going on?”
All activity in the kitchen quickly ceased. Two men who were squabbling at the oven stopped and another two who stood by the door doing nothing turned to face the young woman. The axe-wielder, who had followed Christie, slowly edged backwards out of the kitchen; he did not want to get involved.
“Right, who’s the cook?” demanded Christie, her voice a controlled shrill.
A hulking man next to the oven nodded in response. “Me, ma’am.”
“You!” barked Christie, pointing at the cook, “prepare the breakfast for the household, and do it now. You,” she added, pointing to one of the men who were loafing around. The man pointed to himself. “Yes you. You go and put a white coat on, then go through the household and see who is home.”
“And you,” said Christie, pointing to the other man. “Start getting the trays ready.”
Both men just stood there looking at the cook, then turned their gaze back to the young woman standing in the doorway.
“NOW!” screamed Christie.
Both men collided into each other before scampering away to follow their orders. Seeing the woman staring at him, the cook started busying himself by the oven before she snapped at him again. “You,” said Christie, pointing to the last remaining man. “What do you do?”
