“Noble Glimpses, aroused by the alarm, issued forth like a flood from all corners of Alleble. Some were armed, but many wielded only pitchforks, spades, or nothing at all. Still, they seemed to know something of the great evil that had just befallen Alleble, and they fought valiantly. In the chaos of battle, I ran across the courtyard to the fountain. The heat was staggering, my hair began to melt, and I felt my skin sizzle and crack. The fountain was an inferno, and I knew no one could have survived… Whether it was some last evil trick in the fire, I do not know, but I thought I saw shapes of men thrashing about trying to find a way out. I looked away, but then forced myself to look back into the fountain. And for just a moment I saw the silhouette of a man, and I knew it must be my father.
“I reached then, into the fire, for I had to undo this deed and release my sire from the flames. The heat bit down hard and set to work devouring the flesh on my arms. Just as I thought I’d reach him, my father’s image vanished, and I fell away from the fountain having saved no one. I lay in agony on the very stones upon which you now stand, Aidan. The last thing I remember, above the roar of the raging flames, above the screams of battling Glimpses, and above the ringing of swords, was hearing laughter-Paragor’s laughter.”
Aidan felt like he’d been hit hard in the stomach-he was so angry and heartbroken by the Captain’s account. Aidan didn’t want it to be true. He wished that the story of Alleble was just like the other fantasies he’d read where there were heroes, victories, and happy endings.
It wasn’t fair. Things like that should never be allowed to happen. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes and traced angry streaks down his face.
“Weep, Aidan. Weep,” Captain Valithor said. “But do not despair. Paragor’s victory was not final. What he intended for evil has become the foundation for much that is good.”
“How can you say that?” Aidan cried. “How could good come from-” Aidan choked. “I mean, he killed them! He killed the King! What good could ever come from that?”
Captain Valithor’s eyes softened. He took Aidan by the shoulders and stooped to look him in the eyes.
“Aidan, if you only knew how many times I asked that very question. But I was blinded to the answer by the closeness of the pain. It was only by the passing of time that I was able to finally see the answer. You see, from the flames of Paragor’s treachery, Alleble was reborn stronger than ever, and the destinies of many in The Realm changed in such a way that they have brought about incalculable good.”
“I don’t understand,” Aidan whispered.
“There are many, even among the wise, who do not understand. But try, Aidan. Try to see. If Paragor had not committed his foul deeds, I may never have become a knight like my father. I would never have raised a new army for Alleble. Battles that were won… would have been lost. And many of the scattered kingdoms of Alleble would never have been reached for the glory of the King.”
Captain Valithor released Aidan’s shoulders. Aidan wiped away the last of his tears and said, “But, Captain, so many had to suffer.”
“You are right, Aidan, and that must never be forgotten. But though many were lost and many left behind to grieve, ten times more were rescued from futures more terrible… and final.”
Aidan shook his head. There was still so much he could not grasp.
“Take heart, Aidan,” said Captain Valithor, throwing back his cloak and gesturing toward the mountains. The sky was beginning to glow pink. “For Paragor is in exile, and the King is restored!”
Aidan smiled grimly. The Captain’s words were heartening. But also mysterious-like a riddle whose answer was maddeningly just out of reach.
“Captain, what happened? How was Paragor defeated? How did the King come back?”
“How King Eliam returned to us, I cannot say. I can only say that the King is here. And he always will be. But as for Paragor, that tale I know very well. And it is time you know also.”
Captain Valithor drew aside his cloak and removed something from his belt. Aidan knew the shape. It was a scroll.
The Captain opened the scroll and placed it before Aidan. “I will not tell you this tale,” the Captain said. “You must see it for yourself. Reach here, Aidan. Brush your fingers across the words. They are powerful. And they will live in your mind’s eye.”
Aidan let his hand hover over the page of parchment. And slowly, he lowered his fingers to touch the words. A sea of black flooded Aidan’s vision. A long sword blade sliced through the darkness. Then, there was fire, and Aidan lost all sense of where he was.
Paragal passed the throne one more time. He would not sit there. Not yet. For one task remained.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the King’s sacred courtyard, now his own sacred courtyard. A cold draft whispered and pulled at the torches in the passage. And something strange took hold of Paragal there. Looking up at that long stair, seeing the old stone, chipped and flaking, the statues of long-forgotten warriors at each landing-Paragal wondered how history would remember his deeds on this night. And he felt-what was it? Not fear. History will see me in whatever way I see fit. Anxiety, that was all, apprehension about fulfilling his destiny at last. That had to be the reason for the disquiet he felt.
Paragal strode very quickly up the stairs, passed through the white flames, and into The Library of Light. To the ninth level he climbed, past tables piled high with scrolls he’d read many times before. Finally, Paragal approached the chest of stone that lay below the window on the eastern side of the chamber.
The chest was gray like granite but as smooth as velvet. It was plain except for the latch and the large keyhole. No key, but Paragal was not concerned. He drew Cer Muryn, its blade stained dark, and delivered a great two-handed slash. The top of the chest fell away, for murynstil could carve stone like balsa wood. Within the chest was an enormously thick scroll, rolled tight in a bundle and secured by a cord. And to Paragal’s ruthless satisfaction, there too was a quill pen and a bottle of dark ink. Paragal sheathed his sword, removed the contents of the chest, and sat at a long table near the window.
The cord was untied and removed, but the scroll lay unopened on the table before Paragal. He hesitated to open it, for it represented the ultimate success of his plot and the fulfillment of his ambition. King Eliam was gone. His beloved Elder Guard vanquished without a fight. And the people? They are sheep, Paragal thought. They will fall in line or they will die like the others.
All that was left to do was to open the legendary first scroll.
If the stories were true, it would contain the entire history of Alleble. And, more importantly, the future of Alleble as well. Paragal knew that with such knowledge, his wisdom would never be questioned, his decisions could never go awry, and his reign would not end until age took back the throne.
As if in a trance, Paragal stared out the tower window. The snowcapped peaks of Pennath Ador, the mountains of glory, were outlined in deep pink. Soon the sun would rise between the twin summits and witness the dawn of a new age. Paragal waited no longer. With great eagerness, he stretched flat the scrolls and began to read.
Only a few passages in, Paragal stopped in alarm. He already knew what he was reading. Paragal turned through several pages, but it was unmistakable. He was reading the story of his own life.
It could not be! The first scroll of Alleble could not possibly be all about one Glimpse. Paragal’s mind raced. The legends claimed that the first scroll would reveal the past and the future of every Glimpse who had ever lived. How could it-? And then, he understood. Paragal went back to the first page.
He brought into his mind the image of Rucifel, the lieutenant of his rebellious horde, and suddenly, the text on the scroll changed. It was no longer Paragal’s life story. It was Rucifel’s. Paragal grinned wide. He had often wondered how a scroll-no matter how long or thick-could contain infinite lore.
Now he knew. Paragal began to think of other Glimpses. And with every name that entered Paragal’s mind, the scrolls c
hanged, revealing every moment of every life that he cared to perceive.
Paragal turned the scrolls back to his own story and began searching through the pages. He merely skimmed, for he was not interested in reliving his past. He wanted to discover his future. Paragal raced through his squiring, his training, his knighthood. He saw his recruitment by the Elder Guard and his selection to be sentinel.
Finally, he came to the account of his rebellion-the bloody events that had occurred that very night. He knew he was getting close. One more page.
But the next page was empty. Paragal’s story had run right up to the present moment, with Paragal in the ninth-level tower of The Library of Light reading the first scroll of Alleble. But there it ended. Paragal began to despair. What could this mean? Had he no future? Or was it that the first scroll was in fact only a record of what had been?
As if he were watching through a window, a vision began to unfold in his mind. He saw himself there at the table near the east window with the first scroll stretched out before him. But it was not the present moment, for he saw himself pick up the quill pen that he had taken from the stone chest. He watched himself plunge the pen into the jar of black ink. He saw himself begin to write on the empty parchment. There the vision ended.
Paragal smiled again. He had always assumed that when King Eliam wrote on the scrolls he was simply recording a narrative of what had already happened, like a bard inscribing the events of an adventure for posterity. But it was not so. The King was writing the future!
And now, Paragal thought, that power has passed on to me.
Paragal picked up the quill pen and firmly stabbed its point into the ink bottle.
He moved the pen to the parchment and began to write.
But the moment the wet point of the pen touched the page, Paragal froze. The disquiet he had felt before the stairs again took hold of him. A thought clawed into his mind. If King Eliam saw the future, then he must have known that I would betray him.
Paragal looked down at the parchment. Dark ink pooled where the pen’s tip rested. Why, then, would he allow me to take his life?
Paragal shook his head. It did not matter why, for King Eliam was dead. The power was Paragal’s now. He cleared his mind and sought to see his future.
Visions erupted in his mind, and Paragal wrote what he saw.
I will be wise.
I will be feared.
I will be powerful.
Paragal wrote these three lines and smiled for the last time.
Something took control of his hand. Paragal cried out, for he could not stop his own hand from writing. The visions that followed pierced him through:
I will never know all.
I will never be loved.
I will never be King.
Crimson light poured through the eastern window as the fierce sun rose between the peaks of Pennath Ador. Its rays splashed upon the scroll and seared the ink into the page. When the light of that dawn reached Paragal, it kindled into red fire and began to race up his arms as if he were doused in oil. The hungry flames writhed about Paragal, afflicting him with agonizing pain, but did not consume him. He flailed at the fire, but it could not be quenched. Then Paragal felt himself being lifted.
The crimson flames carried Paragal’s contorting body up, and he passed through the stone of the tower into the blazing dawn sky. Paragal saw through the flames that there were other forms captured in the fire and floating high above the courtyard of Alleble. And Paragal knew that every one of his evil conspirators was captured in the same manner as he. And the last line that Paragal had written on the scroll seared his mind.
I will never be King.
As if catapulted by a gigantic hand, Paragal and all of his horde were flung with tremendous force-an evil red scar tracing high in the sky far from the Castle of Alleble. Finally, they crashed together at the foot of a dark mountain range. The roots of the mountains smoldered like a fire left to burn itself out.
But the impact did not kill even one of the Glimpses who had been cast out. Not one of them perished from the flames or the fall. And Paragal, though he was not consumed by the fire, was changed by it. His sword could no longer be called Cer Muryn, for its blade was charred black. Paragal’s eyes, glassy with shock, flickered red. And upon Paragal’s chest, seared into his pale flesh like a brand, was a jagged scar: the outline of an inverted crown.
Beneath it were symbols from the oldest language in Alleble, in the same runelike manner as those engraved upon The Stones of White Fire. Paragal looked with disgust at the scar but grimly accepted his new name: Paragor.
“Come back, Aidan,” the Captain said gently. Aidan awoke from the vision and blinked. He could still imagine Paragor and the other fallen Glimpses smoldering at the foot of the dark mountains. It made him shiver.
“From that time forward, King Eliam regained his rightful place on the throne. He is different now, of course, and the holy purity of his countenance takes some getting used to. But he is our King, and we love him more than ever for rescuing us from the fate that Paragor had in mind. The Prince, as Paragor calls himself, and his servants, Aidan, are our eternal enemies. And though he has not waged full-fledged war against Alleble, he is massing his forces. And he is ever at work bribing, coercing, and tricking-doing anything he can to draw the loyalty of the free Glimpses of The Realm away from Alleble. And tomorrow, tomorrow we begin a quest to Mithegard to see if we can ruin the Prince’s plans and bring more of the children of Alleble back into the fold.”
“Captain, I’ve seen Paragor.”
“What?” The Sentinel looked up, his eyes narrowed, posture tensed. “Where?”
“It was in a dream I had before I entered The Realm.”
Tension melted from Captain Valithor. He sighed with relief. “That is natural, Aidan. When you read The Scrolls-it is bound to influence your dreams.”
“But it was a dream I had before I found the scrolls.”
Captain Valithor’s eyes widened.
Aidan continued. “I had the same horrible dream over and over again. I was in the ruins of a kingdom. I was captured, and Paragor told me to deny my King. I refused, and… and he killed me.”
Captain Valithor staggered backward and steadied himself on the wall of the fountain. “Aidan, I…”
“What is it?” Aidan was alarmed.
The Captain swallowed. Then he mastered himself. “Aidan, no matter what, tell no one else of this dream.”
“But, why?”
“No one! Do you understand? I must seek the King’s wisdom, for my own is found wanting in this. Remember, no one!”
Aidan’s gut churned, and the hair stood up on the nape of his neck. “I won’t tell anyone, Captain,” he whispered. “I promise.”
“Good, Sir Aidan,” he replied. And just like that, Captain Valithor seemed back to his own commanding self. He winked at Aidan. “You’ve been trained for this mission, very well trained, in fact. Now what you need is some rest.”
“But I don’t see what my part is in all this.”
Captain Valithor nodded. “Nor do I,” he said. “It is rare that King Eliam brings someone from your world to Alleble before his time. But things are changing. And I truly believe that things are drawing to a close. It is clear that the Prince and the forces of Paragory are making a last push to increase their influence in The Realm. It may be that Mithegard is a pivotal piece of the puzzle. And you, Aidan, may be another-even, perhaps, a bigger piece. Now, you have learned much. I suspect more than you are ready to know. Go back now to your chamber, for you will need your rest. I will not have you awakened at first call. No, in fact, I will set Gabby outside your door with orders to roast anyone who attempts to wake you before midday.”
17
FATEFUL PLANS
O h, this ought to be good,” Gwenne said the next afternoon. She grinned and motioned for Aidan to stop as they approached the archery range. “Look there, Matthias and Tal are at it again!”
Aidan saw two Glim
pse knights standing a step apart. Each held a long bow and had a full quiver of arrows slung behind him. The first knight was portly and older, with strands of silver lacing his long, dark hair. He hung his bow over his shoulder and reached for a bag on his belt.
“Twenty gold coins, Tal,” he said to the other. “First shaft to the bull’s-eye and closest to the center! If the swiftest arrow is not the most accurate, we draw again. What say you?”
“Agreed,” said the other knight. He was willowy and slender. Indeed, he seemed carved from the same wood as his bow. And like a good bow, he seemed supple, as if he had great power hidden within. Aidan noticed too that this knight’s skin, though pale, was more cream-colored than the ivory of the other Glimpses he’d seen, and his hair was bundled in great locks. This knight also drew a pouch of coins from his belt.
“But twenty gold coins is far too paltry a sum to be won by the greatest archer in Alleble. Let’s make it an even fifty, eh, Matthias?”
“I like your style, Tal,” said the taller Glimpse. “And I shall like your money even more! Fifty it is, then. But we need, uh-yes, Gwenne! Gwenne, come over here, if you would, and govern this contest.”
“Don’t you two ever give up?” Gwenne said. She and Aidan approached the two archers.
“Nay, m’lady,” answered Tal. He bowed courteously. “Not until it is decided who is the most skilled archer in all the kingdom!”
“Take your ground, then,” said Gwenne. She raised her right arm. Both archers turned to face the distant target. It must be at least a mile away, Aidan thought. He imagined himself shooting arrows at it-missing it, of course-and probably skewering some poor farm animal nearby.
“Ready!” Gwenne shouted.
Each archer gripped his bow in one hand and let the free hand dangle at his side. Whispers teemed among the small crowd of knights that had gathered behind them.
“Steady!”
The archers glared at the target. Muscles tightened. Fingers twitched.
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