Princess of Wisdom: An Epic Fantasy Series (Wisdom Saga Book 2)

by W. C. Conner

  Four days later, the two of them set out to return her to the border of the Old Forest.

  “I can accompany you no more than half way, Caron,” Wil had told her. “Past that point it resists me so strongly that it actually causes physical pain.”

  When they arrived at the point that Wil could go no further, they spent one last night together locked in a silent embrace. In the morning when Caron awoke, Wil was already gone. Clutching the talisman wrapped in rags close to her breast, she set off in the direction Wil had told her to follow, her breathing ragged with tears.

  Roland, Roland, Roland, her mind repeated numbly as if counting cadence in time with her stride. I’m coming, coming, coming.

  At last the vaulted pathway marking the spot where she had entered the Old Forest loomed up before her. Since she and Wil had parted, she had tried to sleep but dozed only fitfully. Caron stopped to look back the way she had come and the tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. Wil, she thought, before turning in the direction of the roadway outside the Old Forest. I’m coming, Roland.

  A warm hand gently touched the shoulder that was shaking with the sobbing that wracked Caron’s body.

  “Caron,” came Roland’s voice, “wake up, Caron. You’re dreaming again.”

  On the floor beneath the bed, the talisman wrapped in its old rags warmed in empathy with the sense of caring and love that passed from Roland to his wife.

  The shade of Gleneagle hovered in the air before Wil, his chin resting on his open hand as if it sat on a table. “Why did you do it?” he asked in his thin, high voice.

  “I will not be parted from her forever without a fight as you were, Gleneagle,” Wil responded. The shade recoiled as if struck.

  “You told me of a sacrifice of your progeny and you named that progeny as ‘her’. The message was clear, but I will not accept that it is finished until the last bitter battle.”

  “You did not tell her?” the shade said.

  “The sacrifice will be made. Let that be the end of it. If I can affect the future of those I love in any way, then I will, and I will do it without any hesitation.”

  At the distress in the eyes of the almost transparent shade, Wil softened. “Tell me truly, Gleneagle,” he said, his voice now gentle, “Looking back, if you could have changed the future to remain with the woman you loved, would you have done it?”

  After only the briefest moment, the shade nodded and said no more before shimmering out of sight.

  15

  The call had gone out once again from the Prince to the three duchies lying within his principality.

  Yet again, the Duke of Altamont responded immediately. The duke himself had suffered dizzy spells as of late, so he sent his son at the head of his army, though it was somewhat diminished from its size at the time of the confrontation at Blackstone.

  Beramor again pledged his support, and as he had previously done, he begged for time to arrange for the proper defense of the border and caravan routes before sending his army north.

  Confirth was a different issue, for Roland was waiting outside the Old Forest at the time. As a practical matter, Gleneagle could have activated Roland’s army by fiat, but the presence of Drogol’s large contingent of fearsome Northmen made that unnecessary. Gleneagle knew Roland would lead his army to his assistance without a moment’s hesitation as soon as he returned from Wisdom, and he had sent a messenger to await his return. His one worry was just when Roland would be returning with Caron.

  “Highness,” Geoffrey said as the Prince strode up to him, “the flow of darkness-touched toward Blackstone appears to have slowed almost to a standstill. That can only mean that the rain of patches of blackness has diminished or, perhaps, ceased altogether.”

  “You can’t talk me out of this, Geoffrey,” Gleneagle said. “Whether or not the flow has stopped, my heart tells me the darkness-touched are assembling at Blackstone, and Blackstone is where we are bound.”

  “Believe me, Highness, I had no intention of trying to talk you out of it; quite the opposite. I believe it bodes well that they have assembled. It most likely means there is a head attached at last to the body of this serpent.”

  Gleneagle smiled fiercely toward Drogol who watched from a short distance away and returned the smile in kind.

  “Send anyone along who shows up, Geoffrey. Tell them there’s a party and everyone’s invited. Snake is on the menu.” There was laughter at that comment, but Geoffrey cleared his throat to regain the Prince’s attention.

  “Sire, as you know, I have always been loyal to first your father, and now you. I have always stayed here, watching over your affairs for you, and...”

  “What is it, Geoffrey?” Gleneagle interrupted.

  “I wish to go with you this time, Highness. I have heard the tales over and over of the horror and the glory of battle from those who have experienced it, but I have never witnessed it firsthand. I would like to do that one time before I pass over to the other side.”

  Gleneagle looked at his chamberlain with an expression of surprise and, perhaps, a new respect. “Is your apprentice capable of overseeing the castle in your absence?” he asked.

  “More than capable, sire. He has, after all, been waiting a very long time for my passing. In point of fact, he is but five years younger than you, Highness.”

  Gleneagle smiled broadly. “By the powers, Geoffrey, I admire your spirit if not your judgment in this, for war is a terrible thing, but you will accompany us. Do you prefer horse or coach?”

  “My preference is horse, sire, but at my age I had better elect a carriage.”

  “From policy advisor to war advisor,” Gleneagle said. “My chamberlain rides with the Northmen and the men of Gleneagle together against a common foe. It is an event never before recorded in this principality. This may well be a battle which will be sung about for many years.”

  Geoffrey stepped down from his carriage and walked forward to where Gleneagle sat on his horse beside Drogol and Altamont’s son, Alarid. The prince looked down at his chamberlain as he stopped beside him and shaded his eyes with his hand.

  “What do you make of that, Geoffrey?” Gleneagle asked.

  Before them, far across the Crelleon Plain, the massive shape of Blackstone stood out plainly, once more the pure black it had been at the time of its creation by Greyleige.

  What Gleneagle referred to was not the fortress, however, but rather the phenomenon that lifted from its center. Looking much like a tornado, it was a whirling, undulating black tube which lifted up and up into a perfectly clear sky until it was lost from sight.

  “If it’s what I believe it to be, Highness,” Geoffrey said, “the darkness no longer falls randomly.”

  Deep underneath Blackstone, Gregory sat with his back against the stone wall of a damp cell. The small grate in the heavy door admitted no light for there were neither torches nor sunlight that far beneath the fortress. A midden pail stood next to the door in the forlorn hope the stench would somehow escape through the small grate, but there was no movement of air to make that happen.

  The pale purple glow of the leash that had been placed upon him by Styxis was so feeble that the only thing it illuminated was itself. Gregory had found he was unable to remove it whether by physical force or magic, for it denied him conscious use of his powers. He could still feel the force of the binding spell he had cast on the amorphous clot of blackness in the cave deep in the ground back at Wisdom. Styxis used him yet to maintain the spell for she could not risk the mass of hatred as a potential rival. It would be released when she was ready and able to bend it to her service. Until then, Gregory would be allowed to live.

  16

  The companions looked up expectantly as Roland came down the stairs of Three Oaks with Caron on his arm. Clutched under her other arm was the rag-wrapped talisman, the warmth of which Caron could clearly feel. Scrubby craned his neck, looking up the stairway they had just come down.

  “He’s not here, Scrubby,” Caron said softly in answer
to the question she knew would be coming momentarily.

  “He’s coming later?” Scrubby asked. The hope in his eyes broke Caron’s heart and she let go of Roland’s arm to walk over to the swineherd. She shook her head, then put her free arm around Scrubby as his shoulders visibly sagged.

  “He can’t come. It’s very complicated, Scrubby, but the Old Forest won’t let him out – at least, not for the time being.”

  “So he’s a prisoner?”

  “Not a prisoner exactly,” she explained. “He’s a guest.”

  “He’s a prisoner,” Scrubby concluded. “If he can’t get out, he’s a prisoner.”

  “Perhaps you could consider him one, Scrubby, but he is a very comfortable one. He did want me to tell you all that he sends you his best wishes, and especially to you, Scrubby. The collision of the magics at Blackstone left him unmarked physically and he looks exactly as he did when last you saw him.

  “His greatest privation has been that of companionship. During these past four years his only company has been the animals that live within the Forest and the shade of my distant grandfather. The years have passed quickly for him, though, for he has become one with the Forest and learned more about this earth upon which we live and the magics it contains than any of the rest of us could hope to learn in many lifetimes. He shared some of that knowledge with me during the time I was there. He taught me much about myself and about the Old Forest,” she paused a moment to clear her throat before adding, “not the least of which is that I am a witch.”

  At the resulting exclamation of consternation she raised her hand for silence. “I have the capability of a Lesser Witch. My potential went unrecognized before because it was suppressed by my elven heritage. Not even Wil recognized it before, but his powers have grown enormously since we knew him four years ago and he sensed my potential even before I entered the Old Forest. My particular talent is the ability to see the future; mostly the near future, but occasionally I can see distant future as well.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Mitchal said. “At least now we know you’re not crazy.”

  “Time may prove you wrong, my noble guardsman,” she said, giving him a fond smile. “I have felt of late as if I am living in a waking dream, and I fear this dream is about to become a nightmare.” At those words, her listeners turned their attention even more sharply on her.

  “Wil can’t be here to help us so he has named another to be his surrogate.” She shook the rags off the talisman and held it up before them. “I am to be his champion and he has given me this talisman to be used to restore the balance once more.”

  Kemp nodded in recognition. “It is the key that he was.”

  “More, Kemp,” Caron said. “It is much more than that. It is the key that he is, for it is his left arm, given to connect us across the distance. With this, he sees what I see and hears what I hear.” Turning her head quickly to Roland she added, “But only when I will it,” and gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Surely you only mean that’s his arm in a figurative sense, Highness,” Mitchal said.

  “No, Mitchal,” she replied. “It is his left arm, in fact. The substance is still a part of him for when I touched him I could feel its presence, but it is useless and hangs invisible at his side. He has given us the essence of himself in this talisman. Until this is done and it is returned to him, he will have no left arm.”

  Roland had been quiet the entire time, regarding the proceedings soberly. Caron had told him when they were alone upstairs that she was a witch and, though it left him with a feeling of discomfort, he had already accepted it as just another part of her, a part that had been there all along, but this was new and his protective instincts could no longer be denied.

  “Just what is it Wil’s champion has been asked to accomplish?” he said. “What is it that my wife has been asked to do?”

  Caron blushed and looked at the floor. “I don’t know for certain, Roland,” she answered in a voice so soft her husband almost missed the answer. “But I know he will do everything in his power to protect me, for he knows that I carry your son.”

  “He told you that?”

  “He confirmed what I already felt.”

  At that, Roland’s expression brightened and he reached out to gather his wife into his arms. “Forgive me, Caron. I know Wil would do nothing to harm you.” He closed his eyes as he finished the thought – for he loves you as I love you.

  “We came looking for a way to fight the darkness-touched,” Caron said after Roland released her from the embrace, “but that is not the true danger we face. The darkness that Gregory was collecting to save us has summoned a demon. Having been summoned here previously by Greyleige, it was able to make its entrance, probably at the point of the collected darkness. Even though the summoning was weak, that which summoned it has considerable power should it ever be released from its bondage. It was the demon who was the source of the seekers as well as the demons that attacked Gregory and the others here at the inn.”

  “So, did it take the darkness with it?” Scrubby asked. “I mean, the darkness that Gregory was collecting?”

  “Wil doesn’t know that, Scrubby,” she answered. “He only felt the force of the summoning and its arrival. He doesn’t know where the darkness is now, but he’s certain of the demon’s location. It has returned to where this all began.”

  “Blackstone,” the rest of them said as one.

  “And that is where I must go,” Caron said.

  With a quick glance around at the faces of the others, Roland spoke, “Then that is where we must go.” And the rest nodded their agreement.

  “Highness, my senses cannot detect the presence of Gregory’s collected darkness, but my instincts tell me it is near.” Eldred looked out toward the woods that stretched away to the west of their compound. “We will continue to search for its location. Should we find it, we will do what we can to disable it, or to ensure that it remains contained at the very least. If we focus our combined potentials as we did before at the battle at Blackstone, we should be able to accomplish what is needed. Perhaps we could even immolate it as Gregory and his associates did at Three Oaks.”

  “Your skills and experience certainly exceed mine, Eldred,” Caron said. “If Gregory’s collected darkness is still around as you believe, I can only hope you will be able to remove it as a threat. The powers know this demon is threat enough by itself without that collected darkness to add to it.”

  “Caron, we must depart at once if we are to make the crossroads tomorrow,” Roland said from where he sat on his horse which had become restless as she talked.

  Eldred bowed as Caron turned and mounted her horse. With a wave of farewell, she spurred it to a canter and headed east accompanied by Roland and Mitchal. They were joined by Kemp and Scrubby as they rode past Three Oaks, leaving Albrecht and Angela standing in the road waving them on their way.

  As the riders gained the far side of the narrow valley, the two remaining behind turned and walked back into Three Oaks, more than content to stay in Wisdom. Albrecht relished the prospect of trading stories with the good townsfolk of Wisdom. Angela relished a surcease to being constantly on-call to Caron.

  17

  Styxis sat in the chair historically occupied by the High Altarn of the Wizards’ Guild and scowled across the large hall toward the double doors at the far end. Her brooding made the demons serving her restless; their mood reflecting that of the demoness they worshipped. Bones with scraps of raw meat still attached were scattered about the floor of the room and several of the demons would pick one up from time to time, sniffing to see if there was enough flesh left on it to bother with before throwing it back on the floor with the rest.

  Beside Styxis stood a monstrous demon; fully nine feet tall, it had short legs and an enormously long torso with arms of a length in keeping with the torso. Its back and belly were covered with coarse black hair as were its impossibly muscular arms, while its red, hairless head suggested that of a vulture. I
vory colored tusks grew upward from its protuberant chin toward a nose almost as wide as its mouth. Small, glittery, coal black eyes that had a pale purple light within them looked out upon the surrounding demons with scorn.

  “There is a presence,” Styxis said, addressing herself to the monster beside her. “It has recently emerged from hiding. It is one I have felt before, but cannot be for it should have been destroyed in the conflagration. It is weak at this point, but it is dangerous.”

  The monster blinked its eyes but otherwise registered no reaction. The demoness turned toward the monster, the yellow flame leaping in her eyes. “It must join us or die,” she said. “Take your most reliable brothers and see to it.”

  With a bow, the demon turned and started toward the door.

  Mitchal sat near the horses, sharpening his long sword as was his wont when on the road and in uncomfortable surroundings. The last time he had been at this spot, one of Roland’s men had been darkness-touched and it had taken the best part of a day to hunt the resulting fiend down and dispatch it. Mitchal had no desire to be only half prepared should anything like that happen again. Kemp sat off to his side, leaning back against a large oak tree with his eyes closed, listening to the whetstone as it hissed along the already razor sharp blade. “I’m surprised you haven’t ground that down to the size of a blade of grass,” he said good-naturedly.

  Mitchal smiled. “This blade of grass has saved the princess’s life as well as mine more than once,” he replied, “but it only does that when it’s sharp. That’s why I work on this sword as diligently as I work on myself.” And he did, indeed, work carefully on himself, for every morning before the others arose, Mitchal could be found alone in a secluded spot working his exercises of the sword. After an unbroken hour of forms and lunging, parrying and jumping, he would return to the encampment as breakfast was being served, streaming with sweat whether it was a fair summer day or cold winter morning, so violent was his workout.