Into the Madness

by Richard H. Stephens

  Revenge.

  Solomon’s Brother

  Alhena didn’t know how much longer he had. His years of inactivity with regard to employing his magic had taken its toll. As the former Wizard of the North, he had lived for over a century and a half. Physically sustained by his aptitude to slow the aging process, his magic had given him the time he required to search out and train his successor.

  Responding to his predecessor’s vision of Helleden’s invasion, he had left Dragon’s Tooth twenty-four years ago to provide King Peter with aid. It was then that he had decided to change his name and alter his appearance. There was nothing to be done about his peculiar white eyes, but the addition of the long, wispy beard had served him well. There weren’t many alive who knew him from his previous life, so his identity shouldn’t have been an issue.

  He hadn’t counted on King Peter recognizing him. It had been a sad day when the wise king died upon the Plains of Lugubrius, fully aware of his identity, but in agreement that Alhena dare not tip his hand.

  Peter’s son Malcolm had ascended the throne and proved a benevolent king. He displayed unwavering compassion toward his subjects, but as his father feared, those qualities were to be his greatest weakness. He cared too much.

  Alhena smiled. What an odd thing to think. Someone caring too much, but it was true. To be king, one had to be tough. For a kingdom to survive and prosper, it must be run with the greater good in mind. If that meant certain individuals suffered as a result of furthering the designs of the masses, then grave decisions had to be made.

  What an ideology. He shook his head. He’d slipped off topic again. Something he did more often these days. He returned his mind to the person scowling daggers at him. “Ah yes, Sadyra. You were saying?”

  “That I need to strangle you.”

  Alhena held his hands up. “Whoa. No need for violence. Remember, I am a wizard now.”

  “If I had an arrow for every time you’ve said that since we left Gritian.”

  “Ha ha. Sorry, my dear. My mind is preoccupied with many things these days. I tend to forget what I am doing. Please forgive me.”

  Sadyra crossed her arms and looked away, indignant. She snapped her head back and leaned into him on the stone bench they shared in the Baron of Apexceal’s private gardens; her sudden movement making him flinch. “I said, we need to find a better place to make a stand against Helleden. Apexceal is a fine fort, but twelve-foot-thick walls won’t prevent him from bringing the sky down on us.”

  Alhena pursed his thin lips and nodded, pulling at his beard. “No, Sadie, you are correct. Conventional defenses provide us little protection. Our only advantage is our naval superiority.”

  “Pfft. Fat lot of good a ship will be when it’s resting with the fishes. We can’t fight someone if we don’t know where they’re attacking from!”

  Captain Thorr paced along the garden path behind the bench, listening to their conversation. The well-dressed man stopped in front of them, his boots polished to perfection. “We have several fine brigs at our disposal, but they all share the same weakness. They burn.”

  Pollard, the Songsbirthian giant, stood beside Sadyra, a common position he had taken up recently. He nodded his agreement to the only man bigger than himself in all of Zephyr.

  “Och, me ship’s tougher ‘n ol’ blow ‘ard’s firestorm. Weathered it up ‘n the Bay a few weeks back, did she not? Gerrymander will show ol’ windbags who’s tough.” Olmar, the bandy-legged helmsman, crossed his colossal forearms atop an ample belly.

  “Hah!” Pollard slapped Olmar on the back. “Show Helleden what a nice addition to the reef she makes, more like.”

  “Bah!” Olmar’s bushy brow knit together. He hocked and spat into a flowering bush across the cobblestoned path.

  Captain Thorr shot Olmar a disgusted look and turned his attention back to Alhena. “If we are caught in the harbour, I’m afraid Pollard has the right of it. Yet, if we take to open water, we’ll be of little use to the chambermistress’s forces. What does Chambermistress Arzachel think?”

  Alhena chewed his lower lip. “That is a good question. She is still brooding over her part in the Chamber’s corruption. She is finding it hard to accept responsibility for the role she played in its deception.”

  “That dizzy cow!” Sadyra jumped to her feet. “While she sits there feeling sorry for herself, the devil himself marches over the Wall. Once his army is south of the mountains, the rest of the kingdom will fall. The safest place in Zephyr will be the Torpid Marsh.”

  “Och, no lassie. I ain’t to be goin’ there again. They got big bitin’ bugs.”

  Alhena glanced from Sadyra to Olmar. He couldn’t help smiling at the way they carried on. Neither one had a filter, and he had no wish to ever change them.

  He let his white eyes fall on Thorr. “While Sadyra’s feelings may be a bit rough regarding the chambermistress, she has the crux of the matter. We cannot afford to sit here and let Helleden come at us. We must act before it is too late.”

  “We’re all ears if you know a better way to prevent the inevitable,” Captain Thorr said.

  “I say we march up Redfire Path and meet the demon army head-on,” Pollard declared, clutching the hilt of his sword. “It’ll take more than a trident-bearing devil to cut me down.”

  Alhena forced a smile. Good old Pollard. Brave until the moment his heart stops beating. Perhaps not the deepest thinker, though. “Aye Pollard. That course may soon be the only road left to us. I do not doubt that between you and Olmar you will take down half the demon horde. Unfortunately, that leaves the other half, not to mention the Kraidic host Helleden commands. No, we must find another way.”

  “Strike the ‘ead off the serpent, I say. That’ll stop ‘em good.” Olmar grumbled and spat into the same bush.

  “Olmar!”

  “Sorry, cap’n. Gots me dander up ‘n all.”

  Alhena started to speak but the garden gate squeaked, admitting a serious looking Larina, Rook, and Samuel Io—the deceased Vice Chambermaster Solomon’s twin brother. The first time he had laid eyes on Samuel, Alhena was taken aback. Had he not witnessed Solomon’s body lying dead in the Chamber complex he wouldn’t believe Samuel was not him.

  An increase in activity rose beyond the gate—the chinking of armoured men marching along the cobblestone street.

  Samuel strode up to the bench, his face haggard.

  Sadyra held out a hand to help Alhena stand in the presence of the baron.

  “Gentlemen. Sadyra. Please, no formalities here. Alhena, sit.” Samuel motioned to the bench and assumed Sadyra’s spot next to Alhena.

  The baron clutched Alhena’s hands, peering deep into his eyes. “A scout has just come in bearing grave news. Helleden’s forces will be on us by the morrow!”

  Mase’s Legacy

  Melody shivered in the biting wind sweeping down from the heights of Mount Cinder. No matter how she adjusted her cloak, the cold found a way inside.

  Darkness caught them still around the oak tree, leaving them no chance to safely walk the horses back to Redfire Path—the drifting snow had erased all signs of their passing.

  The flames of their small campfire jumped in the wind, but there was no fear of setting anything else ablaze—there was nothing left to burn. How Silurian rustled up a pile of useable branches, she had no idea.

  Silurian erected a tattered tarp acquired in Cliff Face to cut the wind but it didn’t make much difference. If not for the extra heat radiating from her staff, they would surely freeze to death before morning. As it was, they would be lucky to get any sleep.

  Sitting close together, they hung onto her staff with one hand. She frowned and searched the darkness beyond the fire’s glow. Something deep inside her felt strange. At first, she put it down to hunger, but she wasn’t convinced. Perhaps a malaise coming on. They had travelled through the mountains without adequate clothing. Even with the rags they were given at the baron’s residence, their journey out of the mountains had been in t
he face of an ever-present, winter wind.

  She shivered. Silurian must’ve felt it. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She gave him an appreciative smile but his eyes were closed.

  A peculiar red spark, emanating from the usual orange-hued runes at the base of her staff, caught her attention. It had never done that before. Depending on the spell, the staff shone orange or light blue. Orange meant heat, blue signified cold.

  Tilting her head, she reached out a finger to the ruby glow. Before coming into contact with the rune, the sensation bothering her stomach intensified. She jerked away, breaking Silurian’s hold.

  His eyes popped open. “What happened?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Silurian grabbed her shoulders. “Mel, what’s going on? You in pain?”

  Melody shook her head, looking at Silurian as if just realizing he was there. The feeling lessened. The red rune had reverted to a soft orange. “Um, nothing. I-I’m fine. Just a shiver, I guess.”

  “You guess? Come on, I know you. Something worries you.”

  She didn’t want to tell him she was having some sort of intuitive premonition—at least that’s what she believed had happened. He would tell her she was being silly. Instead, she said, “Let’s see. We’re sitting beneath a dead tree, in the middle of the winter, hungry and freezing in the middle of the night, hoping the weather gets bad enough to thwart the neighbourhood trolls from coming around. What could possibly be bothering me?”

  Silurian’s expression said he wasn’t buying her sarcasm.

  “It’s nothing, really. Here, grab the staff and keep warm. It’s going to be a long night.”

  Silurian stared at her a while longer, but said no more. He pulled her in close and reached out to clutch the staff.

  The moment he wrapped his fingers around the wood, Melody doubled over in pain—the individual rune shone bright red.

  “What the…?” Silurian jumped to his feet, searching the darkness. He crouched down, looking her straight in the eyes. “What is it?”

  Melody struggled to her feet—one hand on the staff, the other holding her stomach. She glanced at the bottom of the staff, turning it in her grasp—every rune orange.

  “What’re you looking at?”

  “I’m not sure.” She held the staff out to him. “Here. Touch it.”

  Silurian stepped back. “Huh?”

  “Touch the staff.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  He placed the tip of his finger on the dark wood.

  Melody flinched and he pulled away.

  “What did I do?”

  The reaction had been instinctive. She hadn’t felt anything. “Nothing. Try it again, but get a good hold on it.”

  He swallowed and reached forward, wrapping his fingers around the shaft.

  The pain was instantaneous. Her face scrunched up, causing Silurian to relinquish his grip. Immediately, the sensation abated.

  Silurian unsheathed his sword and peered into the darkness.

  The sensation was actually more bizarre than painful. Strange enough to make her react like she was being attacked. It felt like something moved inside her.

  Silurian glanced at her. “I’m going to look around. You stay here.”

  “Wait. I don’t think it’s anything out there. It has something to do with both of us touching the staff.” She walked over to him. “Here, grab it again but don’t let go. It’s not really hurting me, it’s just…I can’t explain it.” She thrust the staff at him. “It’s never done this before. It doesn’t make sense.”

  He reluctantly grabbed hold.

  Nothing happened.

  “That’s odd. Try your other hand.”

  Silurian sheathed his sword and did as she asked.

  Still nothing.

  “Hmm. Whatever it was, it’s gone.” She studied the rune in question. It didn’t look right but it wasn’t glaring red.

  The cold air whipped up her robes. She shivered. “Let’s get back to the fire.”

  Silurian released the staff, allowing her to walk uninhibited. He waited until she settled at the base of the oak tree behind the tattered tarp, surveying the immediate area before joining her.

  He eased himself to the ground and sat with his legs crossed, his attention still on the countryside.

  “Here, grab the staff and keep warm.”

  He scanned the area twice more before moving closer to her. As soon as his hand touched the staff, Melody’s eyes went wide. He let go but she shook her head and motioned for him to grip it. Silurian’s touch sparked the bottom rune to life—the ancient etching glowing bright red.

  Nausea besieged her, more acutely than before, but she maintained her grip.

  Silurian looked questioningly at the rune.

  “Ya, I know. It’s never done that before. I have no idea what it means.”

  “But it didn’t bother you over there. Strange.” He lifted the staff off the ground and brushed away the snow beneath it. “It’s hard to tell, but I think we’re sitting right on top of mom and dad.”

  Melody frowned.

  “Do you think they’re trying to tell us something?”

  Melody’s eyes went wide.

  Silurian nodded. “If this happened a few months ago, I would never have thought of suggesting it, but after fighting the Soul and dealing with the Grimward, I’m willing to believe anything.”

  Her brother’s words sunk in. Of course! Their mother had been gifted. Their lives had been so very different from everyone else’s. They had been running away from their legacy all these years and hadn’t known it. But what did the strange rune signify?

  “I think you’re right.”

  Silurian gave her a nervous laugh. He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected their parents to materialize from out of the darkness. Melody followed his gaze, not doubting for a second that they might indeed do so.

  She swallowed. That was silly. Mase Storms End and Zorn Mintaka were dead. If they wished to speak to them from beyond the grave, Melody was sure they would’ve tried before now.

  A wind kicked up. The diminishing flames flared and the rune’s light jumped into the fire.

  Goosebumps riddled Melody’s skin. The vision within the flames took her breath away. Silurian wasn’t kidding when he’d said she looked exactly like their mother. It was like staring at a fiery reflection of herself.

  The apparition’s mouth moved and their mother’s voice crackled, “My children. Since you are seeing this it can only mean Phazarus’ prophecy has come to pass and I have left your world. For that, I’m truly sorry.”

  Melody chanced a glance at her brother. He stared open-mouthed at the image, tears dripping off his cheeks.

  “My heart is gladdened by the knowledge Phazarus has done what he promised and watched over you. Bear that staff proudly, my love. Ward it well. I hope it serves you as well as it did me.”

  Melody looked in awe at the staff clasped in her and Silurian’s hands. Her mother’s staff!

  “My soul can rest content with the knowledge you are with your brother.”

  Melody frowned. How does she know that?

  “If things have come to pass as Phazarus has foreseen, you, my gentle son, will have in your possession an ancient sword. One that will speak to you if you follow your heart. The key to Helleden’s demise lies within you, and through him, the Soul.”

  Silurian’s grip on the staff wavered. The vision in the flames shimmered.

  “Don’t let go!” Melody said in a panic. “We’re losing her,”

  Silurian tightened his hold and the image solidified. The flames made Mase’s hair appear like it was buffeted by the wind.

  “There is one thing left to be done before the Storms End duty is complete. Travel east, up the Slither, and descend into the bowels of the earth. Seek out the Gimcrack. At its bottom lies the Tang Stone. It may be the key to your salvation.”

  The siblings looked at each other, mouthing, “
Gimcrack?”

  “Be warned. Since you have made it this far, you are most likely in grave danger. Trust only in each other. Your father and I love you.”

  A gust tore the tarp from its makeshift frame and sent it flying into the night. The campfire flared suddenly and went out, leaving Melody staring at Silurian, confusion and fear twisting her features.

  Without the fire to keep them warm, they leaned into each other, clasping the glowing staff for warmth.

  The peculiar rune neither glowed red nor orange. It had gone black.

  Assassins

  Sadyra clasped Pollard’s bicep with both hands. They strolled along the shoreline of Apexceal, admiring the fiery ocean waves ignited by the sun sinking below the horizon. A cacophony of chaos sounded behind them—hundreds of ship hands worked feverishly, loading whatever provisions the townspeople had scrounged together. She felt him try to pull away.

  “I don’t like this. We should be helping clear the city.”

  She released him. “You heard the baron. They have more than enough help. The last thing they want is a big oaf lumbering about, getting in the way.”

  “What about Olmar? He’s helping.”

  “Lunkheads are different.”

  Pollard glared at her.

  She smiled and patted his muscled forearm. “He’s Gerrymander’s helmsman. His place is aboard the ship.”

  Pollard broke her grasp and put his hands on his hips. “Then I should be guarding the perimeter in case the scouts’ assessment of Helleden’s troop movements aren’t accurate. You saw how fast that Sentinel thing moved. They could be on us at any moment.”

  “Why can’t you just enjoy the day? With me. Vice Chambermistress Gruss asked us to get some rest. I imagine there’ll be plenty of need for your derring-do shortly.”

  “Pfft. Please. You trust her?”

  “Hardly, but she is the crown regent.”

  Pollard frowned.