Eligium- The Complete Series

by Jake Allen Coleman

  With that, the watchmen swept Cenric away. All the while, Cenric kept an eye out for the Krenon who had followed him. These watchmen might be an annoyance, but they did not pose a threat to Cenric and his goals the way a Krenon might.

  Reaching the jail, the three watchmen turned him over to the gaolers who recorded the reasons Cenric had been detained in their book.

  The lead gaoler was a stout-looking man who'd lost his left arm in some battle. Taking Cenric in hand, he set the boy down across from his table as the watchmen left to continue their patrol and begin asking for Master Jowan.

  The real Master Jowan lived in Aldmoor and owned an inn called the Frisky Flask. Cenric had grown up there, learning the rudiments of magic before Sebastian and Quiren Adelwolf arrived one day, whisking him away and opening up the way for Cenric to find his true path.

  "What's your name boy?" growled the gaoler, holding his reed above the record book.

  "Sebastian," said Cenric without hesitating. "Sebastian Headley." Not about to give his true name, he gave the first one that came to mind.

  With a scritch-scritch, the gaoler marked down the name and waved over his assistant. "Take him down to the holding pen," he ordered. "There's only the drunk in there and he's harmless. Don't want to waste a real cell on the likes of this one."

  Pulling Cenric to his feet, the man led him out of the receiving room and down a dark hallway to a solid oaken door with a wide window cut through the top half and filled with iron bars, allowing line of sight into the cell. A single, bored-looking guard stood watch outside.

  "What have we here?" asked the guard.

  The assistant gaoler shrugged, "City mouse who got caught up in some thievin'."

  "Putting him in with Taddeo?" The gaoler nodded. "I suppose that's alright then. Taddeo's harmless. Mostly." The two men laughed. The gaoler untied Cenric's hands as the guard pulled out a rusty key-ring and unlocked the door. "Hey Taddeo," he called. "You've got some company."

  Cenric stumbled into the cell as the guard pulled the door shut with a dull thud. With a clunk the lock turned and Cenric could see the gaoler trudging back down the hall, leaving the single guard outside.

  He turned around to take stock of his surroundings. The smell hit him first, with the scent of dried urine that reminded him of a dead skunk. Under that, odors of rot and decay permeated. A relatively large chamber, there were no benches or seats, just the walls and the dirt floor. The damp and odor centered on one corner of the room, lower than the others, that prisoners seemed to have adopted as a privy.

  Across from that corner, a figure lay slumped against one wall. Taddeo, he assumed. His cellmate wore brown leathers and a wide-brimmed hat covering his eyes. Underneath, Cenric caught a glimpse of a rugged beard. It had been several weeks at least since that chin had seen the edge of a blade.

  Ignoring Taddeo, he turned to consider the bars and guard outside. Free of the Krenon pursuit, it was time to consider a way out of this cell without drawing undue attention. It would not be long before the watch determined that no Master Jowan, carpenter, was to be found within the walls of Cale Donall and Cenric planned to be long gone before they returned.

  Out of the corner of his eye he considered Taddeo. With an odor of booze about him and greenish pallor to his face, it would be plausible for the man to fall ill. A small spell to create the symptoms and the gaoler outside would be forced to go for help, giving Cenric time to make his escape. Opening a few more cell doors on his way out would create enough confusion his absence would not be noticed for some time.

  Taddeo interrupted before he could begin the casting. "'Yer naught a thief," slurred the man. "Taddeo he knows the thieves in Donall an' yer naught one of 'em."

  Ignoring the man, Cenric began muttering the first words of the spell, focusing inward to collect the energies needed.

  "Naught a carpenter neither, are ye." The man let out an explosive sound, somewhere between a cough and a sneeze, breaking Cenric's concentration and forcing him to start the spell again. "Don' bother. That spell won't work on me."

  Startled, Cenric turned to look at the man and took two steps back and found him staring back with an intensity that gave the lie to the idea that this man might simply be drunk. From behind those eyes something else stared out at Cenric, something other than the man Taddeo. "C'mere boy."

  Cenric moved forward without hesitation, certain now he could make common cause with this creature. Settling in beside Taddeo, he did not wait for the other to speak, "What is it you want?"

  "Right now, what I want is to help you."

  "Why? You don't even know me."

  Taddeo chuckled and let out another one of those explosive sneezes, "I know everything I need to know. You're searching for something, you've got the smell of it all over you. I can help you."

  "How can you help? It looks to me like you can't even get out of this cell."

  "I'm here because I want to be here. Do you want out of here or not?"

  Cenric considered the man's offer. No creature like this gave away it's help for nothing. He needed to know more about what it wanted in return.

  "Yer thinking, 'what do I have to do in return?' aren't you? Nothing much. My Mistress gives ol' Taddeo everything he needs. You jus' come with me to have a chat with her and that'll be payment enough."

  And there it was. Taddeo was just the bait for his Mistress. Whoever she was, she'd sent this Taddeo out to gather raw magical talent. He'd heard of creatures like this on Cale Uriasz, one of the few lessons he paid any attention to. It would be dangerous, but she would be in tune with magic across Cynneweald and should be able to pinpoint the Heartstone's location.

  "Ok, Taddeo. I'll go with you. What's the plan?"

  #

  As it turned out the plan was simpler than Cenric would have expected. Taddeo apparently spent a good deal of time in the jail and had a good relationship with the guards. A relationship smoothed over with generous bribes. Within five minutes of agreeing to go with the man, Cenric found himself walking out of the jail, the entry in the log recording his imprisonment smudged away.

  As they made their way down the street Cenric glanced back at the jail, "Won't the group that brought me in wonder what happened?"

  Taddeo laughed, "Nah, city this size they'll have bigger fish to fry than the likes of you before long." Letting out another massive sneeze, he led the boy down one street and up the next until they came to the city gates on the south side of the city.

  While the gates were guarded, Cale Donall was a port of trade and no one much cared who came and went. The guards were more to keep order and respond in the event of disputes than to keep track of comings and goings. The taxmen at the docks ensured the Crown got its cut of the trade, and the taxmen got their take from smuggler's bribes, and even a bit from legitimate merchants to smooth the way. Overall it resulted in a satisfying, and lucrative, arrangement for all and a healthy, thriving economy even in the troubled times since the Dragon Wars.

  Had anyone cared to pay attention the two would have made an unlikely pair. The young boy with his long, dark hair looking for all the world like an apprentice playing hooky from his master, and the old drunk. These days, no one paid them any mind and, after an hour or so of walking, the two found themselves alone on the road as it twisted to bypass the Eibhear Bog.

  Stretching south almost to Naevean, the Bog was considered to be impassible. A maze of small islands and shallow waters, it stank of decay and death. Growing up in Aldmoor, Cenric had heard tales of Eibhear Bog and the creatures inhabiting it. Not a place decent folk would care to visit, the dangers of the Bog seemed empty to him now.

  Still, he did not expect Taddeo to lead them off the road and into the Bog. "Your Mistress lives in the Bog?"

  "Aye, lad she does. You've heard the stories?" Cenric nodded. "Well, where do you think they come from? She does not like to be disturbed and the Bog is better than any fence at keeping away unwelcome visitors."

  Taking what Taddeo told
him with a grain of salt, Cenric fell silent. Nothing had changed. Taddeo was just the tool and Cenric needed to meet his Mistress to see what she knew. Searching inward to that spark he'd lit on Cale Uriasz he sensed this path was the right one.

  Within minutes of entering the Bog, Cenric knew he'd never find Taddeo's mysterious benefactor without the old man as a guide. Leading him from island to island, Taddeo followed an unseen path he knew well, never hesitating, just trudging onward through shallow, muddy waters. Once or twice Cenric thought he saw the movement of some large beast passing through the waters in the distance. Taddeo never seemed to notice and he dismissed it from his mind.

  As the afternoon passed into evening, the moon rose high to light their path. Not that they needed it. With the fall of night, the swamp denizens were becoming active and many glowed with their own unnatural light, bathing the two travelers in a sickly green shimmer.

  Taddeo pulled up short, raising a hand for Cenric to stop. Looking around, Cenric couldn't see anything about this part of the swamp to distinguish it from the miles already traveled. "What is it? Are we there?"

  "Quiet," hissed Taddeo, cocking his head to listen. For his part, all Cenric noticed were the slithery sounds of nocturnal predators passing in and out of the murky waters. As the minutes passed, Cenric found himself growing impatient. There was nothing in this swamp more dangerous than he and he wanted to get on with it.

  Finally, Taddeo's body relaxed and he turned, grinning, to Cenric. "'Ere were an ghrandadon passed by. Lucky for us it didn't hear you."

  "What's a...what you said?"

  "Ghrandadon. Never you mind. Suffice to say its nothing we want to trifle with. Leastways not out here with nowhere to shelter. Get yerself to a rocky cave and pull the roof in on yerself when ole man ghrandadon comes calling, that's what they say. It's gone now, that's what counts."

  Jerking his head for Cenric to follow, the old man resumed his trudge through the swamp. Only a single island from where they stopped to let the ghrandadon pass them by Taddeo paused again, a funny look on his face. Before Cenric could ask him what was the matter he let out another monstrous sneeze. It dwarfed all that came before and Cenric was certain he saw a globule of greenish snot fly from the man's nostrils.

  The boom of that sneeze echoed back and forth across the swamp and a flock of nesting birds flew up into the air with a screech. Closer in, a pair of brown-furred marsupials poked their heads up and chittered at the two of them before scurrying away. A cacophony of noise and upset rippled through the swamp in the wake of the sneeze.

  A moment later it all went still, as if the entire swamp and drawn its collective breath. That silence lasted only a moment before a grunting, dragging sound filled the void.

  Taddeo looked at Cenric, terror in his eyes. "It's coming," he whispered. "The ghrandadon."

  "What do we do? Run?"

  Taddeo shook his head, falling to his knees. "It’s too close. We're done for."

  Looking towards the sound Cenric could not see the creature yet, but he could sense the enormity of what was coming. Hoping they were far enough from the city that the Krenon would not be able to pinpoint his magic, Cenric focused inside and prepared a spell taught to him during his first trip to Uriasz. The wizards would not approve him even knowing of the spell's existence. He was long past caring about their approval.

  Steeling himself to release the spell, he did not have to wait long for the ghrandadon to emerge from the swirling fog. A thing of nightmares, it rose up over them, saliva dripping from a double row of teeth lining its cavernous mouth. Tail whipping back and forth, the beast bellowed a challenge.

  It would be upon them in moments and Cenric heard old Taddeo gibbering beside him. Facing this ancient creature, Cenric felt his own terror rising up inside. Were he anyone else, this would be the end of his journey.

  Uttering the final words of power, he sent the energies of his spell into the ghrandadon, knocking it backward several yards. Stunned, the beast shook its end and roared again. Cenric paused. That should have killed it. He had underestimated this beast.

  Now it was angry.

  Roaring, the beast charged again and Taddeo screamed in terror. He rose, splashing through the shallow swamp waters in an attempt to escape. It was on him in moments, mouth opening wide. Fascinated, Cenric watched as the ghrandadon consumed the old man, crunching bones replacing screams of agony.

  Within seconds it was over and the creature turned to Cenric. Breathing heavily, Cenric considered his options. That had been one of the strongest spells he knew. If that could not stop the ghrandadon...

  It charged, roaring once more. Panicking, Cenric reached out to the darkness that had followed him since his casting on the wizard's island. Help me! He cried out in his mind.

  Always, it responded. It had never done that before.

  The ghrandadon was almost upon them when the darkness swept around Cenric, collapsing on the creature. In moments the darkness encapsulated the bellowing creature. Cenric watched in awe as the darkness collapsed in on itself, crushing the ghrandadon in its smoky interior. A note of panic and then fear entered into the ghrandadon's screams, only to be replaced with pain.

  With a final crunch, the beast fell silent and the darkness dissipated revealing its corpse floating on the surface of the waters. Silence fell over the marshy waters and Cenric heard his own heart beating. As it slowed, the sounds of the swamp returned.

  Alone in the darkness, Cenric ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. Which way to go? His chances of finding Taddeo’s mistress on his own were slim. Searching deep inside he connected with the spark. Eyes closed, and head cocked he floated for a moment, feeling for guidance. His eyes popped open.

  That way.

  Cenric trudged through the swamp for an eternity. Or maybe it was just the one night, he wasn't sure. Hour passed on hour and all he knew was the damp cold seeping through his boots and the feel of slime. Time and again he fell, until he was covered in ooze. Once he thought he heard the sound of another ghrandadon nearby. It ignored him, he was a creature of the swamp now. Its brethren.

  At last he could go no further. Cenric fell to his knees as the first sliver of dawn turned the black sky a deep purple. Pitching forward, unable to stop himself, he closed his eyes, preparing to settle down into the ooze.

  His head hit dry ground instead, the gentle feel of cool grass caressing his cheek. Confused, he lay there for a moment luxuriating in the sensation before consciousness fled.

  #

  When Cenric finally woke, it was full daylight, sometime in the late afternoon he guessed, and he lay upon a grassy knoll. Dragging himself to a sitting position he could not tear his gaze from the tower standing tall a few dozen yards from where he'd fallen. Magnificent, it shimmered in the sunlight. Growing from the earth like a silver tree, the tower reached high into the sky.

  Scrambling to his feet, he peered back the way he must have come the night before. A wall of fog hovered not far from where he stood. He guessed the swamp lay beyond that fog. It ended abruptly at the edge of the grass and extended far into the sky, no doubt masking any view of the tower.

  Stories about the Bog never made mention of any tower. Walking over, he laid a hand on the side. Smoother than any stone, there were no visible joints. It seemed to be made of a single piece. Was it a truly a tower or the petrified trunk of some long-dead tree? If a tower, he could see no way inside. Running a hand along the wall, he began to circle the structure, hoping to find an entrance.

  Halfway round, his search was rewarded. A small alcove broke the seamless nature of the tower and three steps led up to a door. A door with no handle and no discernible way to open. Looking at it for a brief moment, Cenric shrugged and made his way forward. He had come this far, now was no time to be shy.

  Knocking three times, he took a step back down and away from the door, waiting. Minutes passed and he counseled himself to patience. It was, after all, a big tower. It might take the o
ccupant some time to reach the door.

  At last he couldn't take it any longer and wrapped on the door again, louder this time. Again, he waited. but to no avail. Considering the door, he reviewed his litany of possible spells. Not knowing much about the tower beyond his suspicion that it was the dwelling place of Taddeo's unknown patron, he proceeded cautiously.

  Closing his eyes for focus, he uttered three words of power that should suffice and released the power of the spell into the door. An explosion of light threw him back and he bounced on the grass.

  Pulling himself up, he glared at the door. A magical lock, and a powerful one at that. Someone did not want to be disturbed. Knowing what he was dealing with now, he gathered his strength and prepared a second, more powerful spell.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The clear voice rang like a bell in the afternoon air.

  Startled, Cenric lost the spell and spun toward the sound. She took his breath away. Taller than most men, her silver hair hung to her waist, points of her ears peeking through at the sides. Clad in a flowing dress that matched her hair, she appeared ageless.

  His sight dimming, he felt a fog rising up inside his mind and then all went black. Drifting, floating along, he felt a presence probing his thoughts. He reached out for the darkness to anchor himself and for the first time since Uriasz found emptiness. Panic welled up inside him before this new consciousness overwhelmed everything. Peace returned, consuming all.

  Some time later, Cenric found himself inside the tower walking down a long, twisting corridor, the silver lady beside him. He had no memory of entering the tower. Swirling, multicolored lights danced on the walls, illuminating the way. Beyond the lights, fog obscured his view but parted as they moved along, reforming behind once they passed.

  That voice. Where did it come from? Oh yes, the silver lady was talking. His muddled brain strained to catch the thread of her words. He sensed the conversation had been going on for some time.