“What, did I wake you from a nap?” she bristled. “Of course it’s important, Your Ancientness.”
Sebastion let his fangs show in a smile, and then quickly put on a serious expression as the image of the Ancient One turned to him.
“Sebastion, I am disappointed in you. I had hoped you would have her under better control. Now, I see all of you gathered here except young Navon, and what is most disturbing, I can no longer sense his spirit. What has happened?”
Sebastion could only shrug while holding his hands out to the side.
Emma approached the glowing figure, hands clenched at her side. “That’s the problem. We don’t see him either. According to the wolf pups, he and Moonlight have been taken away by your Deluti Spirits. You should have warned us.”
“What do you mean? And who is Moonlight?” He stared off into the forest before turning to the elder wolf. “Silver Star, may I question your young ones?”
With a bark of command, the pups moved forward to sit at the feet of the old Deluti High Lord. He stared into their eyes for a short period of time, and then released them. They rose and returned to their parents, no longer whining.
The Ancient One paced back and forth with a look of concentration on his face as he pondered. “Which one of the Councilors inhabits the amulet that Navon wears? He is not ready. What is the purpose of the bond to the she-wolf? This changes everything.”
“Stop babbling, old man, and explain to us what is going on,” Emma demanded.
He turned to the ogre, as if he hadn’t heard. “Sebastion, I must ask that you travel to the Capitol and present yourself to the King. Princess Sofia of Dahlian will arrive soon to fulfill an agreement between the two nations. My vision is unclear, but I sense that the Princess is next in line to receive an amulet. One of the Dukes is planning something, and I have to assume he is an agent of my brother. He will do anything to get his hands on one of the amulets. Tell the King I have sent you to be her personal bodyguard, and warn him of my brother’s return.”
He ignored the fuming Emma and turned to the elder wolf. “Silver Star, my old friend, the fate of your daughter and young Navon is now out of our hands. The Deluti spirits have activated the Arches of Rineron. We cannot interfere or aid them in any way.” The Old Man paused as he raised his eyes and gazed to the south. “They must have passed through the first arch. I now sense Navon’s spirit far to the south in the land of the Shadhuin Nomads. If he and Moonlight survive their trial, they will return to the north through the Shadow Mountains. Wait for them there.”
Finally he turned to Emma with a look that caused her to step back. “And you, my favorite little tree climbing assassin, will accompany Sebastion to the Capitol, find out what the Duke intends, and then contact me again. Stay out of sight and stay out of trouble if you can.”
Before she could respond, the image of the old man returned to her talisman, leaving her and Sebastion to stare at each other in consternation.
“That went well, don’t you think,” Emma beamed. “Did you hear him? He said I was his favorite! C’mon Sebastion, let’s take care of the wagon and get going. The sooner we arrive at the capitol, the sooner I can find out what the Duke is up to.”
Sebastion shook his head and chuckled as they broke camp.
***
Navon, Moonlight at his side, stepped through the first arch as the last words of the Deluti spirit followed him. “Remember, young Navon, others will look at the world with a different eye than yours, but it does not mean they are without honor.”
The world they entered resembled nothing he had ever seen before. Rolling hills of grass as far as the eye could see, with scattered stands of short, bush like trees. At this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of leaves they had if any. The sun shone directly overhead in a cloudless blue sky so expansive, Navon suddenly felt very insignificant.
Sweat formed on his brow, and he could feel beads of moisture trickle down his spine. Moonlight’s tongue hung out, panting. A sweltering wind at their backs brought with it a sound like a blacksmith’s forge combined with a stampede of cattle. Navon spun around to be confronted by the source of the noise. Fire! A wall of flame over ten feet in height stretched in both directions as far as he could see. In front of that wall were hundreds of animals of all shapes and sizes, running for their lives.
His legs had already reacted to the sight, and started pumping before Moonlight’s mental image of running burst inside his mind. The faster animals pulled alongside and passed them by. Moonlight stubbornly stayed by his side even after several attempts to send her a command to run ahead and save herself. Not used to running in this kind of heat, Navon could already feel himself slowing down.
His lungs struggled to keep up, and his legs felt like burning stumps. Mixed in with the sound of the fire were the screams of the animals not fast enough to outrun the flames. The temptation to look behind was not enough to overcome the fear of what he might see, until Moonlight sent him a mental warning.
Navon took a chance and craned his neck around to look. Not far behind, a beast, larger than any bull back at the keep, bore down on him. He also saw that they were losing the race to the fire. The skin of the beast blistered and turned black as he watched. Somewhere he found the strength for another burst of speed, or did the ground begin to slope downward? Ahead of them appeared a solid line of dense vegetation with animals bunched up against it trying to force their way through.
The sound of screaming animals as they clawed at each other and at the barrier, combined with the roar of the flames behind him, threatened to overwhelm his mind. He could not think. Was this the end? If it hadn’t been for Moonlight, Navon would have stopped and given up right there, but her constant mental encouragement kept him going. Maybe he could find a way to climb over the top without being trampled by the frantic animals trapped there. The forgotten beast behind him had a different idea. Just before they reached the hedge, the beast’s nose appeared between Navon’s legs and with a powerful thrust of his head, propelled Navon over the barrier to land in water.
Moonlight landed next to him with a splash, just as the fire blasted into the line of brush with a final flare that singed their hair. The sudden silence amplified the sounds of animals splashing, attempting to cross what turned out to be a small river. All around him the water filled with the bodies of animals who had outrun the fire, but had no strength left to stay afloat.
The spectacle of death slammed into his chest like a hammer blow, and ignited the fire of his anger. Navon stood up in the water, shook his fist at the sky and screamed. “Why! …If I am to become some kind of powerful being, why could I do nothing to stop this senseless waste of life? All I did was run like all the others, only to be saved by a beast that probably deserved life more than I.” The pitiful cries of the animals in the water spurred him to action. “By the Eyes, there will be no more death this day!”
He splashed back and forth, frantically searching for animals, still struggling, he could carry back to shore. Moonlight already had a number of small animals clinging to her back as she returned to the bank. Several larger animals struggled aimlessly until he pulled them into shallow water where they climbed out on their own.
Something drove him to climb the small bank, squeeze through the blackened branches, and look for life. He pushed through right next to the bull-like beast who had saved him. Whether it had been on purpose or an accident was not important. Navon felt honor bound to do what he could for the animal.
Kneeling next to the beast, he soon realized he could do nothing. Burnt hip bones protruded past where the skin and flesh had melted away. Blackened and bleeding flesh covered the rest of the body. The only signs of life were small puffs of dust in the ash where the beast’s muzzle lay buried. Laying his hand on the beast’s head, overwhelming pain rocked Navon to the core of his being. Only the bond with Moonlight gave him the strength to pull much of the pain into himself.
The pain slowly diminished as the animal approached death. Wi
th a final shuddering breath, the spirit of the beast departed, but not before enveloping Navon in an embrace of peace and gratitude. Collapsing against Moonlight, sobs wracked the young man’s body until he fell into an exhausted sleep.
After an hour, Moonlight woke him with the need to move. Not far away, they found the burnt body of another large beast. Navon cut away enough of the already cooked meat to last them for several days and converted the stomach into a vessel for carrying water. The safest option would be to follow the river, but he wanted to be prepared if they were forced away from it.
Navon watched as Moonlight devoured her portion of the meat, and realized they would soon have to find another source of food. The meat would not last long in this heat, and he at least needed something else for his diet, such as grain and fruit.
She growled a warning as her keen eyesight spotted a small group of riders approaching from the direction opposite the river. Navon pleaded with her to hide down by the water since he worried what their reaction would be to large wolf. She finally acceded to his request, but he felt her concern over his own safety.
He waited a few moments longer before standing up as if he had just noticed the approaching riders. He had no idea what sort of a picture he would present to them as his entire body was covered in soot and mud from the river. Hopefully they would not see him as a threat. As they came closer, Navon saw that none of the riders were using reins to control their horses. They rode with arms crossed except for two who held small horse bows at the ready. He had an uncanny feeling the horses were in control.
As the five of them approached, four slowed and stopped in perfect unison. The center horse continued until it was just a few paces in front of Navon. The young rider leaned forward to stare at him a moment before demanding.
“Who you? What you do here?”
“My name is Navon d’Roddell, and apparently I am a long way from home.”
While the leader of the group paused to contemplate such a strange statement, Navon took a quick measure of the men confronting him. He judged that he would stand a head taller than the tallest one, and could take all five if it wasn’t for the two arrows trained on his chest. Still, he had been trained how to fight against men on horses, and if he could keep one of the animals between him and the archers, he would have a chance.
Slowly inching his hand toward the hilt of his sword, he froze as the horse lowered its head and stared him directly in the eye. Navon received the unmistakable impression the horse knew what he planned and was ready to defend its rider. The odds had just changed, and not in Navon’s favor.
Coming to a decision, the leader announced, “You slave. Steal long knife and bow. You with us come. The Maudwan will decide.”
“I am no thief and no slave!” Navon shouted and made a grab for his sword, but the horse surged forward and knocked him to the ground, sword flying. Two of the other riders jumped from their horses, quickly pinned him, and tied his wrists together.
Now afraid for Moonlight’s safety, Navon mentally begged her not to interfere and stay hidden, but follow at a distance.
His trial had truly begun.
Chapter Eight ~ The Scarred Mage
For thousands of years, the Deluti fortress of Bryhom dominated the western shore of the Alegro River across from what had once been called the Stagwood Forest. The Fortress was the home of Scorpios, Dark Lord of the South. Built using dark grey, granite blocks from the nearby mountains, the one feature that set it apart from other fortresses was the massive tower located in the center. The iron clad, double doors were the only known way in or out.
At the end of the Deluti War, Scorpios lost control of his power as he attempted to trap and burn his enemies. Being immortal, he lives forever changed by the hideous scars that cover his body. His loss of control also resulted in the complete destruction of the forest, now known as the Stagwood marsh. The evil he unleashed that ill-fated day still permeates the earth, and all life there became twisted and corrupt. The souls of those killed were forced to remain, and are constantly searching for a means of escape. Only Scorpios and a select few of his human sorcerers are able to navigate the marsh and reach the secret seaport on the south coast.
On this day, the massive stone blocks were outlined in a blue haze of the Lord’s power as it crackled down the seams to ground out through the foundation. The pristine halls of the great fortress were eerily silent as the servants huddled in whatever hiding place they thought might protect them from the Scarred Mage’s wrath. When the strength of his anger emanated from the walls in this fashion, the elders knew they would soon have to find another slave to serve him.
Scorpios, his gnarled hands resting on the waist high walls, stood unmoving at the apex of the massive tower. A soft breeze ruffled the wisps of hair that grew between the scars on his head, but it did nothing to cool the heat of his anger. With the intensity of his power directed inward, he knew the only way to prevent damage to himself was to allow some of it to bleed through his hands into the stone below.
The focus of his inner vision lay far to the east, penetrating the haze that shrouded the marsh. It ignored the ships that fought the wind and sea past the Channel Islands, and traveled the vast distance to the Shadhuin Plains where the last energies of a Deluti Portal slowly dissipated. What he saw ignited for the first time an infinitesimal spark of uncertainty in the core of his being.
He had underestimated the power of the Deluti Spirits and their ability to influence the world of the living. The appearance of the Wistaglon Palace in the natural world was a thing even Scorpios thought no longer possible. It seemed the spirits of the Deluti were active once again. Was this a sign their misbegotten plan to mix the blood of a Deluti with some pathetic human had failed, or was young Navon more powerful than they foresaw? Therein lay the foundation of his anger… uncertainty. He despised not knowing, and not being in control. His only consolation hinged on the fact Navon was now completely out of his brother’s reach.
The invisible thread of life-force tied to his human sorcerer sent out to capture young Navon, had returned to him late last night, confirming the man’s death. The young whelp must have had help! If any of those abominable talking animals were involved, he would soon find out. Those creatures constantly interfered with his plans, but once he acquired another amulet, a plan would be set into motion to rid the world of those obscene creatures.
Scorpios refused to acknowledge the incessant itching of his scars as he hurried down the stairs of the tower. Due to the power of his brother’s curse, they would never heal, and were a constant reminder of his greatest failure. He forced his vision away from the past and focused on the future. Time was of the essence, and he could not afford any more delays.
A plan began to form as he descended the stone steps and solidified by the time he reached the door to a very special room. A room even his brother did not know existed. This room contained Deluti Mirror Portals tied to every ancient Deluti structure that still existed on both continents. Through these mirrors he could reach into any of those buildings and influence the weak minded to do his bidding.
It was time for a different approach, since a direct attempt failed to capture young Navon. A rapid mental inventory of his sorcerer corps brought up the image of the perfect young man to send to the Shadhuin Horse Lords and ensnare Navon through the guise of friendship. First, he must contact his slave trader in the port city of Argo, and then the unpleasant task of attaching another life thread. Unpleasant for the young sorcerer, but not for Scorpios.
***
The Royal apartments occupied the majority of the Iron Fortress’s upper floor and were divided into separate units for the King and Queen, and each adult child. Prince Mathias made the familiar journey from his rooms to the King’s suite unaware of his surroundings, or he would have noticed the faint layer of dust and the lack of shine on the wooden floor.
The monarchy had been in the hands of the d’Rodare family for many generations, and the interior of the
Royal apartment reflected the conservative tastes of the long established family. Mathias announced himself as he entered, and then sank into the padded leather arm chair next to his father. A small fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace, and a bottle of wine with two glasses rested on the small table between them.
King Charles knew his son well enough to hold his peace until Mathias was ready to talk. A companionable silence fell over them until his son began asking his questions.
“Have you received word of Princess Sofia’s departure from the Rose Palace, Father?”
“My network of contacts is not that good, Mathias,” the King chuckled. “I do have an agent in Whitecliff who will send a pigeon when the Princess departs there for Seaside. From that point we will just have to wait until her ship is spotted entering the Bay of Salia.”
Silence once again filled the room while Mathias rose and refilled their glasses. He stood for a moment staring into the fire, the glass forgotten in his hand, before turning to face his father.
“What kind of a woman do you think she is?”
The King was tempted to poke at his son’s seriousness by asking, “Who?” but sensed that there was more to this visit than questions about the Princess. He would just have to be patient and wait for Mathias to reveal what was truly bothering him.
“I have heard that her beauty inspires bards and poets, but she has a temper and is not much interested in ruling.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is reported she never appears at court unless it’s required, but spends most of her time riding and practicing arms. If the last report is accurate, she has reached the level of a master swordsman.”
The King chuckled when he saw the crestfallen look on his son’s face, who was only an average swordsman. “Don’t worry, son. It is highly unlikely you will ever have to face her in a duel. I have heard of your prowess in bed, so confine your battles to the bedroom and you should be fine.”
The Pain of Compassion Page 8