by Pamita Rao
Published by P.S.R. Publishing Limited
Copyright © 2015 Pamita Rao
All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE - Freddic
CHAPTER TWO - Creed
CHAPTER THREE - Elora
CHAPTER FOUR - Alaira
CHAPTER FIVE - Creed - The Ritual
CHAPTER SIX - Alaira - The Tavern
CHAPTER SEVEN - Nimah
CHAPTER EIGHT - The Search
CHAPTER NINE - Three years later
CHAPTER TEN - The Prisoner
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Alaira - The arrangement
CHAPTER TWELVE - Alaira and Freddic – Lake Tamaha
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Horace and Klink – The Griesmal
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Elora - Tireol palace
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Alaira - Groigad
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - The Enchanted Forests
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Trolls
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - The Frozen Sea
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Evil within
CHAPTER TWENTY - Death
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Gates of Heaven
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About the Author
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
Freddic
Planet Myrth
High above the cliff tops, away from the thundering waves and rough seas buffeting the coast, ferocious winds caused an eerie howl as they passed between trees, scaring the night beings into hiding. Lightning bolts lit up the dark sky, displaying an array of dense, interconnecting clouds that towered vertically in air, as if ready to strike those who chose to cross beneath.
In the darkness of the night, guided by the dim light of the Myrth moon, three carriages jostled and rumbled on the wet path of the woods, racing to the castle against the swirling mist. Freddic held onto his hat as the stony walls of the south tower of the castle came to view. The tower resembled the grip of a sword, and the circular head resembled a pommel. Although Freddic could not see the east, west, and north towers, he knew that they had a similar structure, creating a feel of four mighty swords surrounding the castle, an intimidating image to anyone who wished to harm the king.
As his carriage moved forward, he could see a flag with a crest encompassing a tree, at the base of which rested a dragon. It fluttered high up on the south tower and reflected the power of Tireol kings, as did thousands of lamps that lit up the castle walls. It was well known that each wall surrounding the castle was built by a single stone and held together with no other material but itself.
History marked that the great king Balthasar, during his reign many years ago, had built the castle with thousands of workers. They had spent day and night, through flood and rain, to complete this monument, as the king wanted it to be a gift for his ailing wife, where she could live and die in peace. Even now, when Freddic saw the tower peeking into the sky, he marveled at the work that had gone into erecting such a massive structure.
The carriages slowed as they approached the large iron gates of the south tower.
“Stop the vehicles at once!” shouted a guard from the Iron Gate.
Freddic reined the horses, bringing them to a gradual halt, taking his time to observe the security. The other carriages stopped alongside his. Two guards donning metal armor approached them.
“Who are you, and why are you here tonight?” shouted one of the guards.
“My name is Freddic, sire. I bring here the finest liquor in all of Tireol,” he said, bowing his head in respect while holding his hat to prevent it from blowing away in the wind.
The guards looked to one another in confusion. “We were not informed of any liquor expected in the castle tonight.”
“But, sire, it’s the day of the ceremony. How will the guests dine without liquor?”
The guard’s brow furrowed. “Who owns you?”
“No one, sire. I am not a slave but a merchant. In my village we prepare the finest liquor for the aristocrats.”
The guard moved towards the carriage and stopped to observe a seal that was embossed on the side. It had an image of a mountain range drawn in the center of two circles. Similar seals were marked on the horses.
“That is our family seal, sire. One cannot be too careful these days. Well bred horses are rare, and there are many thieves looking to steal from us.”
The guard approached the front of the door and tapped. “Open it. Let us see what you have in here.”
Freddic dismounted from his horse and opened the door for the guard to see.
The second guard moved forward. “What do you see in there, Felix?”
“Barrels,” said the first guard, tracing his hand on the wooden barrel and tapping on the lid with his sword. “Open it.”
Freddic’s eyes went wide in fear. “But, sire, it’s for the aristocrats. They may not take it well if their precious liquor is exposed to the outside air.”
The guard pinned Freddic with a stare. “I said, open it.”
Freddic had learned never to speak out of turn to the king’s men. He and everyone else in Nimah village had managed to stay away from the king’s wrath due to a treaty they had signed with the aristocrats. Very few in Tireol knew about this treaty; else they would have followed its lead.
It was due to this that Nimah village managed to remain anonymous, secluded. They would supply the aristocrats with as much liquor as they needed, as long as the aristocrats kept them safe from the king.
Freddic turned towards his friends in the other carriages, who were now being pulled down from their horses by two other guards. The sharp edge of a sword slightly pierced the skin on his neck as the guard prodded him to follow through with the order to open the barrel.
Freddic hesitated. They could not live without the liquor, and to make liquor, they needed the entire village of Nimah to stay safe. But exposing the liquor to the air outside would spoil it. The liquor was to be opened and served immediately. If the aristocrats saw the barrels had been opened, it would not sit well for the treaty his father had signed. If anyone in his village were to be held responsible, it would be on him.
“I will not ask you again. Open the barrels.”
Freddic released a nervous laugh. “Yes, sire. As you wish,” he said. “You know how the aristocrats are. They always want what they want the way they want it.” He picked up a knife from the floor of his carriage and pried open a barrel. The guard pulled open the lid and inhaled the strong aroma of liquor that wafted into the air.
“It smells good.” He peered inside the barrel, where the caramel-colored liquid shone shyly under the moonlight. “Drink it,”
Freddic’s forehead creased. “Pardon me, sire?”
“Do you have a problem hearing? I said, drink the liquor.”
“But sire, the aristocrats—”
“I do not care for aristocrats. I work for our king, and I want you to taste your expensive liquor so that I know it is not poison.” The guard’s voice rose, and he pointed his sword at Freddic. “Is there a problem?”
Freddic thought for a moment about what he could do, but nothing came to mind. His father was a well-known and respected brewer of liquor, and they had been serving the aristocrats for a long time. Open barrels were bad enough for their reputation, but drinking any of the liquor would ruin them completely.
He watched the other guards follow the first man’s lead and hold their swords at his friends’ necks. He could not let any harm come to them. He owed his frie
nds that much for all the help they’d given him tonight.
“No, sire. There is no problem.” He wiped a pint clean on his shirt and dipped it into the liquor before taking a sip. The liquor seeped through his throat as if ignited with fire and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Freddic licked his lips, welcoming the smooth feel on his tongue. It was indeed of fine taste, and he felt proud of what they offered in return for freedom. The taste brought back many memories of the fields where he and Father toiled along with their workers to yield fresh crops, which they in turn used to make liquor.
He stopped himself from taking another sip. If the guard asked him to open the other barrels, then they would all be caught. They were so close to what they wanted to achieve and he could now allow the guards to spoil their plan.
“Please, sire, do not make me open the other barrels, or I will lose my head. I have to pay taxes on them at the end of the week.”
The guard seemed to consider this for a minute. Convinced that it wasn’t poison he turned to his friends, and nodded. The other guards released the drivers, put their swords back into their scabbards, and stepped away to allow the drivers to climb back onto their horses.
“All right, you may go in. But we want to see you leave as soon as you have finished delivering those barrels.”
“Yes, sire.” Freddic placed the lid back on the barrel and yanked the door shut. He mounted his horse as the guards opened the gate.
“We will be watching,” said the guard as he eyed Freddic with suspicion.
“We will be out of your hair as soon as our job is complete, sire.” Freddic tipped his hat, whipped his horse to a gallop, and rode beyond the gates. The other carriages followed, and the guards closed the gates behind them. Freddic exhaled his held breath and peeked behind. The guards did not follow them inside, and Freddic felt relief flooding through him. Their plan was working.
The ride to the back entrance of the castle was short. Cleaners and cooks moved in and out of the back door as the carriages slowed to a halt nearby.
“We have liquor for the ceremony,” Freddic said to a man who strolled towards them. He was big and burly, from a well-fed family; such men usually fought beside the kings in wars. Freddic wondered if this man was a spoil of war, and had to work as a slave in the kingdom.
Freddic hopped down from his horse and opened the door to the carriage. The man pulled the first barrel out of the carriage and placed it gently on the ground. Freddic stopped him when he tried to reach for the larger barrels, which were stacked at the far end of the carriage.
“Be careful,” Freddic exclaimed. “This is expensive liquor. Take them inside one at a time, carefully, before the contents spill. Here, take the ones in front first, and we will get to the larger ones in the corner last.” He pointed to the barrels closest to him. “I will bring the larger ones forward while you take these smaller ones into the castle.”
The man lifted the barrel Freddic had pointed towards and carried it inside the back entrance to the castle. Freddic looked around for any loiterers before he stepped into the carriage and tapped the lids of three larger barrels. He pried open the lids one by one with his knife and pushed them aside, peeking in.
“It’s safe,” he said.
Out of two barrels emerged boys, younger than him in age but much stronger and broader chested. They climbed out of the carriage and stretched their arms.
Freddic extended his hand into the third barrel, and a smaller, softer, delicate hand reached out for him. As he pulled the young woman out of the barrel, the most beautiful eyes stared back at him, and he sucked in his breath as he did every time she looked at him. Her lips curved into a smile as he helped her climb out of the barrel.
“Now what, Alaira?” asked one of the boys.
Freddic reluctantly released Alaira’s hand from his grasp and allowed her to address the boys. “We shall wait until the slave comes back for another barrel and enter the castle without him noticing us,” she whispered.
“Will you be all right outside on your own?” she asked Freddic. “We will not be gone for long.”
“I will be fine,” said Freddic, tying the horses as the younger boys flicked dust off their clothes. “Don’t worry about me.”
Alaira took his hand once more. “You don’t have to wait for us. We can take care of ourselves. Go back to Nimah village with the other carriage drivers. You will be safe in case anything happens to us.”
Freddic shook his head. “I am not leaving you here, Alaira. We are all in this together.” He gazed into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen as his heart pounded in his chest. He knew she was right. He had no fighting skills like the rest of them. He was only a farmer’s son. He drove horses and delivered liquor when it was ready and helped other villagers grow vegetables and fruit. He did not know anything about the art of swordsmanship, and if he were in trouble, it would be Alaira, Horace, and Klink who would rush to save him, as they had always done. He knew he should listen to her and go back to Nimah village with the rest of his friends before anything else happened, but he could not leave them alone.
“Keep safe,” he said, taking a step back from her. “I will be waiting for you when you come back.”
A throat cleared behind them. “I do not intend to disturb you, Alaira, but we must hurry. The slave will be back.”
Alaira pulled away from Freddic as she heard the sound of doors opening.
“Do not worry about me. Finish what you came here to do.”
Freddic waited until Alaira and the boys hid in the shadows of the trees that surrounded the palace and quietly moved towards the castle in the dark, away from the sight of guards and slaves. Then he turned to the slave who was approaching him. Except it wasn’t one slave. This time, there were two of them.
“In here, gentlemen,” Freddic said, pointing to the rest of the barrels in the carriage. He waited until they moved inside the carriage and quickly motioned for Alaira to leave. Alaira and the boys ran towards the castle entrance and slid inside the door. Freddic blew out of his breath in a sigh of relief.
“Do you need help?” he asked when one of the slaves peered at a barrel for too long.
“It’s empty.”
Freddic had come prepared for this. “Oh, I must have forgotten to fill it before I came here.”
“Why would you bring empty barrels?”
“I must have brought those barrels by mistake,” said Freddic, waving his hands in the air, as if dismissing the issue. “Take the rest. There is enough for everyone.”
One of the slaves shook his head. “I do not believe you. You can mistake one barrel, but not three. The aristocrats will punish us if they don’t get every barrel they paid for.”
Freddic heard the Iron Gate open once more. One of the guards approached them.
“What is happening out here? I thought I told you to do this quickly and leave.”
“Absolutely, sire,” said Freddic. “We were having a disagreement.”
The guard raised his eyebrows, turned towards the slaves, and spoke in a low and dangerous tone. “You were speaking to a merchant?” He approached one of the slaves, who shrunk away from him and clutched the collar of his faded shirt.
“You are not paid to speak. You are paid to do your job.” The guard curled his hand into a fist and hit the man on his jaw. The slave screamed in pain and tried to move away, but the guard was having too much fun. He pushed him to the ground and hit him once more. The other slaves ran towards the guard.
“Please don’t hit him, sire. He is new here. He doesn’t know.”
The guard released the man’s collar. “Then train him. Slaves do not speak unless spoken to first. He is going to spend a lot of time here, and he must understand the rules if he wants to live.”
The others dragged the bleeding slave away from Freddic, but he refused to follow. He turned back to the guard who had hit him and screamed.
“You should have hit him, not me.” The others tried to shush him, but he continu
ed, anger simmering towards Freddic. “He has three empty barrels in his carriage. He is cheating the aristocrats.”
Freddic’s eyes went wide, and he moved away from the guard.
“Is that right, merchant of Nimah? Are you cheating us of our liquor?”
“No, no.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I brought every drop of liquor I was paid for. It is all in the barrels, sire.”
The guard thought for a moment and nodded towards the barrels. “Why are there three empty barrels?”
Freddic shook his head frantically. This was not what he had intended to happen. Slaves were not meant to question them, and hence, no one should have suspected a thing. Freddic felt like his tongue was stuck in his throat. He tried to come up with the best answer.
“I wouldn’t know, sire. We have slave helpers of our own in Nimah village—a gift by the aristocrats to help us with making the finest liquor. They were the ones who loaded the carriage with barrels.” Freddic faked anger and huffed. “Rest assured, sire, I will take account of all those slaves and get justice for this atrocity. I will pay for this heftily from my own pocket and theirs.”
The guard seemed to think for a minute, his stare softening. “You must never let the slaves speak in front of you. They are not to have a mind of their own. They are meant to only follow orders. You must learn from me,” he said.
Before Freddic knew what was happening, the guard pulled the younger slave towards him and pierced his sword into the slave’s heart. The sword went through his chest clear and sparkling, and came out from his back dripping in blood. The slave’s scream pierced Freddic’s ears as he watched in horror, the guard twisting the sword within the slave to increase pain. The guard then retracted the sword from his heart, and the slave slumped onto the ground, blood oozing out of his body onto the gravel below.
Freddic felt vomit burning its way from his stomach to his throat, and he turned away from the withering man to blanch. The slaves moved away from the body and trembled in fear. The guard wiped his sword clean on the dead man’s clothes and smiled towards Freddic, as if nothing had happened.