Once again, their true situation hit him as he realized she had only suggested armor because they would be going to war at some point. Ryris swallowed hard and focused his attention back to the road, his companion gazing out at the thick forest suddenly surrounding the path. He maneuvered the wagon through the grove.
After several long moments, Kaia called out, breaking the silence. She pointed through the trees to a glade of glowing buds in the distance. Putting her hand on the hilt of her shortsword laying on the seat out of instinct, she readied herself for impending danger. “What is that?”
Ryris brought Ass of the East to a stop and squinted, peering off into the thick underbrush. It took him a moment to locate what she had seen, but when he did, his eyes glittered with delight and a huge smile spread across his face. He jumped down from the seat and dug under the wagon’s tarp, finally finding a small bucket and a set of clippers. “Dragon’s talon!”
“What are you doing?” Kaia seemed irritated that they had stopped. “We can’t waste time picking flowers.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes. And they’re not flowers, they’re rare seed pods. I can’t pass up the opportunity.” He trotted off into the woods, leaving Kaia to mind the wagon before she could object further.
Trudging through the dense foliage, the sunlight waned as the canopy above him became thicker and thicker. The light from the curved pods atop the stalks lit his way, beckoning him toward the patch. This ingredient was almost as rare as oinox teeth, and equally as valuable. Contained inside the glowing green pods were seeds that, when crushed and mixed properly with a few choice ingredients, could stop a man’s heart in seconds. The thick stalks only grew in acidic soil left behind by rotting Kenaf trees and even then the probability of finding any was slim to none. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, when one looked at what the ingredients were used for. Most people had no idea they could be harvested to make a deadly poison.
Ryris made quick work snipping the stems with his clippers, grumbling as the thorns snagged on his clothes and hair. One particularly aggressive stem dug into his collar, and as he leaned forward to clip the last bunch, tugged at the chain of his amulet—pulling it from his neck. It hung on the thick, reedy stem, swinging in the wind.
It took Ryris a full minute to notice.
~~~
He was finally alone.
Roann had managed to sneak out of the palace soon after the annoying priest took his leave. Making use of access tunnels and delivery alcoves in the basement, the emperor had stealthily exited the citadel—and the city—and soon found himself in the forests surrounding Keld.
The presumptuous cleric had irritated him to the point of anger, and he knew he needed to let off some steam. There had been a moment, when the priest had been close enough to strike, that Roann had briefly contemplated lashing out physically. But he knew that there’d be no talking his way out of the consequences. A few months ago, Roann would have felt horrible for acting so horribly—or wouldn’t have behaved in such a way at all. But he was at a new juncture in his life, and had new power in which to utilize. His destiny changed the moment his father passed, even if those around him didn’t understand how.
Tightening his grip on the bow in his hand, he stalked his prey. Hunting always relaxed him, allowed him to become one with nature. In his youth, Artol had taught him the value of all living things, and that they only killed an animal to eat it and utilize every part possible. Now, with his father gone and his morals dwindling, Roann was enjoying the hunt for the sheer thrill. He hoped whatever he killed would bleed profusely.
Locating his target—a grand buck with a majestic and sturdy rack—he quietly skulked around a tree, making sure his footfalls went unheard. Pressing his body flat against the massive, rough trunk, he peered around to make sure the deer was still in range. It stood just over fifty feet away, head close to the ground as it munched on a berry bush. Roann had a clear shot of its left flank, and readied his bow. Cocking an arrow and pulling back on the string, he held his breath.
Pain tore through his chest seconds later, causing him to drop the bow and fall against the tree, trying desperately to remain standing. The buck, sensing the commotion, turned and galloped off in the opposite direction. The emperor struggled to breathe as all his nerve endings jolted with unseen electricity. The pain was more unbearable than he had ever encountered before, much more so than what he had experienced earlier in the week. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. His body felt as if it were on fire. The pain was so intense; Roann began to wish for death. It seemed like the only way to achieve salvation from the agony.
His eyes screwed shut, and blood seeped from underneath the lids. The crimson liquid also dripped from his ears and nose. He was still alone, screaming in agony in the dense forest. His body shook as if chilled to the bone, even though his skin was flushed red with wave upon wave of unrelenting heat. Vomiting near the base of the tree, he finally collapsed, his knees sinking into the muddy ground, his hands clutching at the bark to steady himself. Finally unable to hold on any longer, he curled himself into the fetal position and writhed on the forest floor.
As his body lay on the mossy ground, his hands clenched into rigid claws, his knees locked. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth as a seizure wracked his entire body. His eyes rolled back into their sockets, images swirling in his brain, sending him deeper into confusion.
Warriors, battles, shimmering weapons…magic.
Roann laid seizing on the forest floor for several moments, the wildlife casting a curious glance at the man in their presence. Gurgling sounds emanated from his throat as he choked in the throes of his violent quaking.
After what seemed like an eternity, he was granted reprieve from the episode. His body still trembled, his mind was exhausted. His bones ached in their marrow, his nose trickled with warm blood. Utterly spent of energy, he ultimately lost consciousness. Moments later, a skellin sniffed at his hair and decided to move on.
When Roann awoke, it was dusk. His clothes were dirty, his hair matted and full of burrs. Mud caked his knees, and trails of dried blood snaked their way across his face and disappeared down into his collar. He was slow to rise, sitting first to allow his senses to recuperate. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swayed slightly as a sharp pain erupted from behind his left eye. Taking a few deep breaths, the feeling finally subsided, and Roann was left to his thoughts in the middle of the forest.
He had no idea how much time had passed, or what had happened. The last thing the emperor remembered was tracking the buck—and then losing consciousness. He looked down to his side to find his ornate bow, covered with dried leaves from the canopy above. Knowing he needed to get out of the forest before he caught his death, he grabbed the weapon and used it as leverage to hoist his aching body from the ground. He would try and figure out what had happened to him when he got back to the palace. Using his bow as a makeshift walking stick, Roann slowly made his way back to Keld—the lights of the city just beginning to flicker on in the distance.
~~~
“…”
The hair on Roann’s arms stood on end and his back stiffened as he drew in a deep, surprised breath. He knew this feeling—and welcomed it, especially after the event he’d just encountered. Perhaps he would finally get some answers. Emerging from the dank access tunnel leading into the palace, he took a quick look to make sure no one was watching. The basement was empty this time of night, and he knew he was alone. Deftly moving down the hallway, he ducked into a familiar room, a menacing smile creeping over his lips.
He moved to stand directly in the middle of the arena, his footsteps clicking on the cobblestones. Racks of weapons glittered in the warm light of the lamps. With a flick of his hand, the bolt on the door locked on its own.
“…come…now…”
The prince’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He stood motionless in his place, taking even breaths in preparation. When his eyes snapped open once again, the emerald green hu
e had been replaced by a jet black iris and white. Iridescent swirls floated through the abyss of his blackened eyes, like an oil slick. One stern glance at the lamps flickering on the wall, and the flames dissipated, leaving thin wisps of smoke trailing upwards into the air.
A surge of power coursed through Roann’s body as he sunk to one knee. His eyes rolled back into his head as he concentrated his mental energy. A low hum reverberated from deep within his chest as he reached out his consciousness in search of his destination. When he made contact, he threw his arms wide, arched his back, and craned his neck backwards, his face pointed upwards toward the buttressed ceiling. The young emperor’s mouth hung open in anticipation as his entire body was enveloped in a red light. A split second later, he disappeared. The faint acrid smell of burnt ozone lingered for a long moment before the oil lamps re-lit themselves.
~~~
Roann flashed into existence within the chamber, the volcanic heat instantly assaulting him. Undeterred by the familiar oppressiveness, he wasted no time in approaching the stone font in the middle of the room. He wanted answers. After a long moment, the pedestal flickered with a familiar blue flame and he smiled maliciously, the azure fire reflecting in the black pools of his eyes. The glow illuminated the dried blood streaks on his face, imparting a ghostly visage on the young man.
“Did you…feel it?”
“Yes, Master. But I don’t know what it was.” Roann tapped his signet ring on the font, the gold clinking against the stone with precise rhythm.
“It was…brief.” The voice paused. “What…did you experience…in the forest?”
“Unrelenting pain.” The emperor stood tall, unwilling to waver at the memory of the agony he had felt. “It hit me with no warning. One moment I was about to kill a deer and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe. My body felt like it was on fire.”
“Did you have…a vision?”
“I saw a shimmering warrior. But the image was gone in a split second, replaced by more agony.” Roann inhaled deeply, the sulfuric stench of molten rock surrounding the chamber ceasing to bother him years ago. “What do we do?”
“We cannot afford…to wait. The wheel…is in motion. We…no longer have…any obstacles. We cannot…ignore the signs. It is…time for me to…return.”
Roann smirked maliciously in the the eerily-lit chamber. Decades of training, planning, and waiting had all led up to this moment. He could hardly contain his excitement.
“Yes, Master Lyrax.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Giants, while interesting specimens to observe from a distance, will nevertheless not hesitate to viciously attack if they feel provoked. With subpar intellect, poor eyesight, and aggressive tendencies, they are best left alone.
--Excerpt from ‘Compendium on Giants’, Trina Xanderfal, Anthropology Professor, Whitehaven University
After three days of travel, the companions had left the snowy Screaming Peaks and crossed into the central plains. Eight days later, they had entered the Lake Browal basin, and after a brief stop in Dungannon, only four days remained before the Heaving Marsh welcomed them with muddy, musty arms…
“Do you know why it’s called the ‘Heaving Marsh’?”
Ryris shrugged. He had honestly never thought about it. All of his time there was spent daydreaming about the moment when he could leave. “Because the stench makes you want to heave your guts out?”
“An amusing guess, but nonetheless incorrect.” Kaia’s eyes crinkled at the sides as she smiled at his response. “Tens of thousands of years ago, the area had been a deep valley. A great geologic upheaval—literally—occurred and pushed what is now the swampland hundreds of feet above where it once lay. Natural springs and rainwater over generations eventually filled in, creating the murky land there today. When the spring rains arrive, the swamp ‘breathes’, the moisture causing the land to undulate on its own.”
Astounded at the information that seemed to drip out of Kaia’s brain at every turn, Ryris sighed and smiled. “You’re really smart, you know that? I’ve learned so much history the last three-odd weeks.”
“Think about how much more you’ll know by nightfall.”
She was speaking of Phia, of course, and everything she hoped to glean from her centuries of knowledge since the war. Kaia was convinced that their only hope lay in what the ancient giant knew—or remembered. Ryris was still very skeptical that this enigmatic Phia would be able to help them.
The edge of the marsh loomed in the distance, and Ryris knew he would soon be enjoying all the wonderful aromas and scenery it had to offer. He shuddered and wished Oleana would just pluck him from the wagon seat and rapture him.
As they crossed the boundary, Ryris was immediately assaulted with the moldy, stagnant stench of the marsh. He briefly considered asking Kaia if she could go on ahead, prepared to volunteer to watch the wagon. Kaia never even flinched at the offending odor. Holding his hand over his nose and mouth, he encouraged Ass of the East to move forward into the darkness of the Heaving Marsh.
Three hours of slogging through the mire had rendered them exhausted, filthy, and irritable. The path, if you could call it that, was unforgiving and not always present. The wagon had been stuck in the mud no less than five times—Ryris stopped counting after the last incident. Though he was fairly certain he felt swamp worms wriggling within his pants, he was not about to put his hands in and check. Just as he was about to give up and force Kaia back to respectable land, she pointed into the distance, at a thin column of rising smoke.
“Phia’s house.”
Ryris squinted in the dim light, barely able to discern flora from fauna, let alone make out a building. Every bit of scenery blended together, forming a gray, dingy landscape. He reminded himself again just how much he hated the swamps as he swatted a giant insect from in front of his face.
“I don’t see anything. Just mud.”
Kaia forcibly turned his head in the direction she had been pointing. “Right. There.”
Again, the young man narrowed his eyes and tried to find this mystery hut. After a moment of searching, he finally spotted it. A single, dome-roofed structure made of mud bricks. There was no way, he thought, that a giant could live there without hitting her head on the ceiling. A faint light flickered in the hollowed-out window, devoid of glass or a proper shutter. As they continued forward, Ryris noticed a piece of fabric strung across the doorway, fluttering on the humid swamp breeze. A barrel sat against the side wall, overflowing with murky water. An animal carcass, half dissected, hung from a post a few feet from the hovel, flies swarming around in a dark cloud. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he really hoped Phia wasn’t at home.
“Stop the cart. We walk the rest of the way.”
“I’m not walking in any more muck!” Ryris scoffed, pointing to the soggy ground. “Besides, something will eat East if we just leave her here.” As if on cue, a mysterious growl floated through the air, allowing the alchemist to look at Kaia incredulously. “See? You hear that?”
“You’re imagining things.” The warrior hopped down from the wagon seat and began digging through the bed of the trailer. After a quick search, Kaia pulled her armored boots from a crate and slipped them on before grabbing her knapsack. “Phia can be skittish, and if she hears a wagon coming, she’s liable to get spooked. If she runs, we won’t see her again for weeks. She’ll recognize the sound of my armor, trust me.”
Scowling, Ryris realized that once again, he needed to rely on his companion’s judgment. Everything about this adventure was new, and he was at her mercy. Huffing, he jumped down from his seat, immediately sinking into the spongy ground. He took a moment to gather some supplies into his knapsack before tying Ass of the East to the nearest tree. Setting two buckets down on the ground, he filled one with clean water from their waterskin and the other with oats. He petted her mane as she drank from the bucket. “Be good, girl. Watch out for beasties.”
“We’re wasting time.” Kaia had already trudged on ahead
of him, using a fallen branch as a walking stick. It sunk into the mud with each step, but she didn’t pay it any mind.
Ryris followed, grumbling as his boots flooded with murky water. Every step sucked them down, and the companions had to work twice as hard to pull themselves out. In hindsight, even if they had taken the wagon, it would have never made it to the other side of the swill they were attempting to cross. When they finally made it to relatively solid land again, they were tired and sore, and more than ready to sit down and rest.
Kaia kicked her booted feet against the trunk of a giant old-growth tree to remove the sediment. Ryris did the same, instantly regretting it, as his simple leather footwear didn’t protect him against jarring blows. He yelped in pain as his foot smashed against the tree, Kaia shushing him with a finger over her lips. Her voice was a harsh whisper.
“Quiet!”
Walking in a slow, deliberate manner, Kaia made her way toward the hut. The crystal joints of her boots creaked softly with a very unique sound. Ryris now understood how Phia would distinguish her footfalls from that of any other visitor. As she neared the structure, a low gravelly voice floated out from inside the building.
“I can hear your squeaky boots a mile away, Kaia the Quick.”
Ryris couldn’t believe his ears. She had been right. As they approached, an old and pained grunt bellowed from within the hut, followed soon after by heavy-footed shuffling. The fabric floating across the door pulled back, courtesy of a humongous hand. Seconds later, ducking to exit, Phia appeared. Ryris gasped in awe.
Towering several feet taller than Grildi even with her old-age stoop, Phia was an impressive sight. Her dark gray skin was emblazoned with centuries-worth of ornate tattoos, though faded with time, her head shiny and bald. Her pants were ragged, the sleeveless shirt she wore much the same. Heavy black boots, worn and crusty, adorned her gargantuan feet. She moved slowly, her age obviously a factor. The butt-end of a large whittled tree branch rested under the palm of her massive hand, helping her to walk and feel out her surroundings. Her face was saggy and pocked, both eyes clouded over milky-white. She approached them with purpose, no hint of fear or hesitation in her movements.
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