The fish, descaled but whole with head attached, stared up at Oona from the plate beside a lump of greens. Its buggy eyes and gaping mouth made her imagine the expression someone might make when stubbing their toe, and she burst into giggles.
Kitlyn raised an eyebrow.
“I’m just not used to my food looking at me.” Oona turned the plate so it stared in another direction. It smelled appetizing, so she tried her best to ignore it having a face, and dug in.
Eventually, once everyone had more or less finished eating, Astrid walked over. “We’ve got apple or cherry pie if anyone’s interested.”
Beowyn grinned. “I’ll ’ave the cherry.”
Everyone else patted their stomachs and passed.
“Couldn’t help but notice you lot are from Lucernia.” Astrid let off a sad sigh. “Right awful mess that war. Glad it’s over. Sad about the king, though. I hear the new queen’s got a decent heart. Hoping she’ll keep the peace a while. Been too much war. Damn lucky it ended when it did. We all thought Ondar was going to be dragged into it.”
“Yes. Fortunate.” Kitlyn raised her wine glass. “And I’m sure their new queen would be grateful to hear you think her heart is good.”
“Well.” Astrid chuckled. “I wouldn’t know the lady from a Lucernian seamstress, but it’s what I hear.”
“I’ve heard the new queen is quite even-headed, wise, and rather beautiful, too,” said Oona. “Men going by walk into posts for staring at her.”
Kitlyn’s cheeks reddened.
Galfred, Isha, and Bertan coughed at the same time.
“Ah, the joke’s on them then.” Astrid slapped her leg. “I hear she’s not terrible interested in men. Poor thing. Not really the kingdom one wants to live in if that’s where your heart goes. I got a lot of respect for her though. Took a lot of courage to admit it. Heard her own mother disowned her.”
“Not quite.” Oona fidgeted. “The queen mother died years ago to an assassin. You’re thinking of her wife’s mum.”
“Ahh.” Astrid rolled her eyes. “Well, ‘poor thing’ to that girl, too. Such silly people to get so worked up over that—no offense. So, what brings you lot to Ondar? Wouldn’t ya be liking to be there now that the wars over? Must feel like a different kingdom altogether.”
“It is starting to.” Kitlyn smiled. “We’re soon to return once we find what we’re looking for.”
“What be that if you don’t mind the asking?” Astrid leaned on the table. “I hear a lot of things talked about in this place.”
A loud, meaty smack came from the left side of the room.
Oona jumped and whirled to stare.
“Oof!” yelled a man in a dark green tunic, flat on his back beside an overturned chair. He rambled something too fast to comprehend and sprang to his feet.
The other man at his table also jumped up—and punched him square in the face again, but didn’t knock him down. The twice-punched man slugged his dining companion who made no attempt to block or dodge. Oona stared in mute horror as they proceeded to pummel each other back and forth several more times, neither making the slightest effort to avoid blows. None of the other patrons, the bartender, or the wait staff reacted at all. Eventually, the man in grey wobbled over and hit the floor, at which point, they both burst out laughing. The man in green, still on his feet, gestured at the bartender and blurted something while pointing at the man on the floor.
Ondar is strange.
“Idiots,” muttered Astrid. “So, what are you lot looking for? Fame, fortune? Chimera hide?”
“None of those, I’m afraid.” Kitlyn sighed.
“We’re trying to find something a bit less pleasant.” Oona picked up her mostly-empty wine glass and swirled the contents. “Have you heard anything about where an undead sorcerer might be? All we’ve been able to find so far is that he’s somewhere in the Titan Peaks.”
“In the Hall of Stolen Memories,” said Kitlyn, her voice tired.
“Oh. Well, I have heard tales of there being a lich off in the Titan’s Peaks.” Astrid folded her arms. “Nothing about a Hall of Stolen Memories, but there’s a Vale of Forgotten Sorrows. Used to be a town up that way, Wirlen’s Gorge or something to that effect. Nothing’s left of it other than death and emptiness. You two shouldn’t be anywhere near a place like that. Got far too much life left ahead of you, and there’s not much to either one of you. Find a man, have a family… find a girl, do whatever… but don’t go near a lich.”
“Did find a girl.” Oona took Kitlyn’s hand and held it up.
“Oh. Is that why you’re in Ondar?” Astrid looked at them the way she might’ve stared at a waterlogged orphan kitten in the street.
Before the woman could pick her up and squeeze her, Oona shook her head. “No. We’re all right. What’s a lich?”
“That’s what I hear people call a sorcerer or wizard or sometimes even a priest who dies and forgets to sit still.” Astrid chuckled. “Just means has magic, is dead, still walks around.”
“How dangerous is this thing?” asked Niron.
“Only bones, right?” Isha tried to drink from her empty goblet, and sighed.
“One moment.” Astrid hurried off to the bar, returning soon with a pitcher of ale and a ewer of wine.
“Wait.” Oona held up a hand. “I should have water. The last time I drank more than one glass of wine with dinner I did something rather foolish.”
“Of course.” Astrid smiled and refilled Isha’s wine. She again went to the bar to get a pitcher of water and poured it into their glasses once they drained the last bits of wine. “They call the place the Vale of Forgotten Sorrows because anyone who goes there will forget their sorrows right quick.”
“Because of the lich?” Oona tilted her head.
“Yes. Word is it can control people just by looking at them. Lock eyes with it, you’re its slave. Good as dead.” She patted them both on the shoulders. “You’re far too young to tangle with the likes of that thing.”
People at another table called Astrid.
“Pardon. Let me know if you need anything more.” She smiled at everyone and hurried over to the other patrons.
Kitlyn paled. “Sounds like this has become more complicated.”
“Yes.” Oona bowed her head. “I will need to ask Lucen for guidance. He would not have led us this far if we had no chance of succeeding.”
Keal and Frith glanced at her in a way that almost called her nuts.
“Same plan as before.” Niron patted the table. “Check temples and tap houses, but don’t roam all night.”
“Captain.” Isha saluted him.
The others chuckled.
“What?” Isha set her fists on her hips. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. We’re reinstated.”
Galfred, Frith, Keal, Beowyn, and Bertan blinked at her, then all turned to Kitlyn at the same time.
“We’re trying not to be obvious. It doesn’t bother me if you pretend to be civilians.” Kitlyn smiled for a moment before her expression went somber. “In light of everything that’s happened with what my father did, if any of you wish to resign once we are back home, I would not think less of you for it.”
The soldiers exchanged looks. Anger and sadness flashed across Isha’s eyes, but everyone shook their heads.
“It would honor me to once again serve the crown and be able to take pride in doing so.” Beowyn banged his fist on the table.
The others responded in kind.
“Right then. We have work to do.” Niron’s face reddened as he forced himself up to stand.
“You should stay off that leg for a few days.” Oona hurried around the table and pressed a hand over the tooth marks on his leather-covered thigh. Within seconds of touching it, she sensed that he had no further injuries her magic could repair, though likely experienced a fair amount of pain.
He braced his weight on the table. “I will. Once this matter is attended to.”
Kitlyn finished her water and stood. “All right. I’ll try
to find someone who knows where Wirlen’s Gorge is.”
“We’ll do that.” Bertan nodded toward the bartender. “You two should stay here and keep safe.”
Oona drew a breath to protest being coddled, but held her tongue. True, he may be implying them too young to do anything on their own. However, more likely, he referred to Kitlyn being the queen and didn’t want to risk some random thief ambushing them.
“I am perfectly capable of—”
“Kit.” Oona hugged her from behind. “It’s fine. Generals don’t go out and do scouting missions themselves.”
“All right, but I’m at least capable of talking to the bartender in the inn we plan to spend the night at. Niron needs to rest.”
The captain bowed his head in resigned acceptance. Once Kitlyn paid for the rooms and started talking to the bartender, Ulf, about rumors and Wirlen’s Gorge, Oona took two room keys and helped Niron upstairs. She tried—and failed—to convince him to wait here at the inn until they returned.
Oona checked his leg wound again, but didn’t sense any further ability to help. She knew many injured soldiers had taken weeks to recover from battle wounds even at the temple of Orien in Cimril. The priests’ magic had made the difference between death and survival, but serious injuries didn’t disappear instantly. Though Kitlyn’s wound had been mortal, it amounted to only a small slice, deadly because of its location, not for the amount of injury.
She headed across the hall to her room, removed her sword belt, armor, and boots, then sat on the side of the bed, praying to Lucen for guidance.
30
In the Shadow of Titans
Kitlyn
Over breakfast the next morning, they discussed what they had learned.
Ulf, the bartender and owner of the Anvil, had told Kitlyn the previous night that traveling to Wirlen’s Gorge would only take about four hours by horse. The soldiers had heard all sorts of rumors about the ‘lich to the east.’ Several innkeepers thought it pure rumor. A few believed it, but had vastly different opinions of its danger. Isha heard from a shopkeeper who thought the ruined town had no supernatural curses at all, but likely served as a base of operations for dangerous thieves who used the stories as a defense tactic.
All the soldiers who had spoken to people who believed the lich real received similar information to what Astrid provided. It seemed that most townspeople feared the undead sorcerer’s ability to take over the mind of anyone who looked at it.
“I can help.” Oona closed her eyes for a moment. “Last night, I prayed for guidance, and I believe Lucen heard me. I know things I didn’t before.”
“Such as?” asked Niron.
“The people are mostly correct. Voldreth does have the ability to control us, but it’s not simply from looking at him. It is magic he must try to use. I think if we spot him from a distance and he doesn’t notice us, we’ll be safe. Also, I had a vision or dream that I had gone back to Cimril and spoke to High Priest Balais. He taught me a way to use Lucen’s light to guard a person’s mind from impure thoughts.”
Galfred blushed and squirmed in his chair. “What sort of impure thoughts?”
Kitlyn looked away so she didn’t laugh at him.
“Demonic magic. The influence of darkness taking over.” Oona tilted her head at him. “What other sort of impure thoughts would there be?”
Beowyn roared with laughter. Isha’s face went red and she succumbed to laughter as well.
Galfred shrank in on himself.
“Oh.” Oona shook her head. “Those thoughts aren’t necessarily always impure.”
“How’s that?” Galfred swallowed hard. “Not impure?”
“It depends on who you are having those thoughts about. If it’s someone you love, someone you’re married to, they’re not impure.”
“So that means general random thoughts about every girl he sees still count as impure?” Bertan clapped Galfred on the back, grinning.
“That counts as being seventeen,” muttered Niron.
Oona huffed. “Well, as long as he doesn’t act on them, I’m sure Lucen understands being young.”
“Right.” Kitlyn patted the table. “So you were saying you can protect us from mental enslavement?”
“Yes… but unlike my light which lasts a while on its own, I need to keep thinking about Lucen’s protection. Balais told me the magic becomes weaker for everyone I shield.”
“How dangerous is this lich other than mind control?” asked Kitlyn.
“All sorts of rumors.” Frith rolled his head around, making his neck pop a few times. “Much of it could be nonsense.”
“I’ve fought living skeletons before.” Beowyn speared a sausage on his fork and held it up to his mouth. “Fast with a blade but not too strong and pretty brittle. One good wallop and they fall apart.” He bit off half the sausage.
Oona surgically sectioned off a piece of her eggs and ate them.
Kitlyn pictured summoning a jabbing rock spire that launched a Nimse like a catapult stone. If this lich turned out to be as brittle as Beowyn claimed, she could deal with it. Then again, if the creature lacked in physical strength and toughness, it would likely protect itself with other means. Sorcerers trafficked in demons, so they may well have to contend with one of those. She looked over at Oona, who appeared quite calm.
May Lucen protect us.
A few hours by horseback to the east of Imbrec brought them to the forest’s edge.
Woodlands gave way to rolling meadows in the foothills of the Titan’s Peaks, which loomed high and close. The mountains vanished into the churning gloom of an overcast sky, taller than the clouds that enshrouded them. Bleakness in the sky made the mild wind feel colder, chilling her in spite of her leather armor and hooded cloak. Contrary to the heavy clouds, the dry air and lack of gusts suggested the day wouldn’t bring rain. Kitlyn considered walking instead so she could draw warmth up from the ground.
The ghost of a long-untraveled highway continued into the hilly terrain, its path hinted at from the occasional marker post or suspiciously flat spot in the grass. Weeds the size of small children popped up here and there, including in the middle of the road. Grape-sized insects buzzed about flat-topped flowers as big as dinner plates covered in fuzz similar to dandelion seeds.
Beowyn rode at the lead due to Niron’s injured leg, on a new horse they bought before leaving Imbrec. The captain insisted on being second. Frith rode third, with Kitlyn and Oona behind him. Isha and Galfred still shared a steed, riding by Oona’s left. Keal and Bertan brought up the end.
A mile or so after leaving the forest, the nearly-absent road went over a hill to the long, sloping downhill of a valley. The mountains blocked off the sky ahead, seeming a barrier tall enough to even hold back gods.
Soon after they entered the valley, the skeletal remains of large animals dotted the landscape. Kitlyn couldn’t identify them beyond being approximately the size and shape of cows, though the horns didn’t look at all like anything she’d ever seen before.
“Why are there so many bones here?” asked Oona.
All the soldiers echoed, “Wyverns” at the same time.
Kitlyn looked up. “Will they come after us?”
“They’d be more interested in the horses.” Isha patted her steed’s mane. “People on foot they’d probably leave alone unless ya got too close to their nest.”
“Town ahead.” Beowyn pointed.
Kitlyn stood higher in the saddle for a better view.
The bottom of the valley held the ruins of a large village, little more than loose stones outlining where buildings had once stood. Only two structures stood taller than knee high rubble, both near the farthest end. On the right, a three-story tower with a pointed roof sported several massive holes charred black at the edges. Somewhat closer on the left, a large square building that resembled a miniature castle keep remained mostly intact.
Niron whistled.
“That tower.” Kitlyn pointed. “I think the sorcerer lived here af
ter he fled Lucernia. I wonder if he destroyed this village or if some army came to kill him did.”
“An interesting question, but I don’t think its answer will help us.” Beowyn drew a large sword from a scabbard across his back.
Kitlyn grabbed the handle of her longsword. “Did you see something?”
“No. But this place feels wrong.” The big man halted his horse in the approximate center of what had once been Wirlen’s Gorge.
Oona nudged Cloud closer to Kitlyn and grabbed her hand, eyeing the area with obvious worry. “Demons have been here.”
“Are you certain?” asked Galfred.
“Do none of you smell that? The wretched fume of sulfur taints every breath.” Oona coughed.
Kitlyn shook her head. “I smell nothing.”
“Forgive me, highness. I had beans.” Frith fanned at the air behind him.
“By Orien’s beard,” bellowed Beowyn, “you speak to the queen’s consort.”
“It’s all right.” Oona cough-giggled. “At least, it’s all right if he’s merely joking.”
Frith nodded, smiling.
“Well, we are not going to find anything in this village. What we’re looking for is most likely up in the mountains.” Niron urged his horse onward, sliding past Beowyn.
The big man made a clicking sound and his horse lurched forward.
On edge from the odd energy in the air, Kitlyn kept looking around at the foundations of old buildings. Here and there, a sword, axe, or hammer lay dropped and rusted, many concealed by weeds. When they reached the intact square building, she peered in past broken doors bearing the likeness of the Steelfather at smashed chairs, tables, and a few mugs.
“Is that a tavern or a temple?” Kitlyn glanced back at him.
“Yes.” Beowyn stopped his horse, staring left. “Poor sots.”
The Cursed Crown Page 30