by Mark Tyson
“Our family is merchants and traders. We were with them traveling from Symbor to Gondolan, where we were to board a ship to Silverston,” Aela said.
“We were on a ferry that got blown into Lake Trenan by some terrible force,” Jot added. “We fought the waves and ended up coming ashore. We walked for leagues until we saw the lights of this village.”
“It is strange that we set off on the ferry in summer and when we got here, it started snowing. How is it snowing in the summer?” Aela asked.
“It’s not summer. It’s the first months of winter,” Gondrial told them. “Tell me, when you left Symbor, were you going west or south to Gondolan?”
“That’s a silly question. South, of course,” Jot answered.
Gondrial gave Shey a strange look, and then he drew his sword on Jot. “Gondolan is little more than a ruin, as is Old Symbor. You two are not merchants. No one would travel that route through the Sacred Land. The Defenders would never allow it. I happen to know that Silverston trades directly with Symbor anyway, far to the east of where you say it is.”
Aela and Jot looked at each other with confusion. “We have no cause to lie,” Jot said. “We have no idea what you are talking about.”
Shey put her hand on Gondrial’s arm so he would lower his sword. “You traveled from Lux Enor through Old Symbor?”
“I have never heard of Old Symbor. We always just knew it as Symbor.”
“Are you saying you traded in the Sacred Land?” Gondrial asked.
“What is the Sacred Land?” Jot asked. “Once again, we traveled from Symbor, stopped briefly at the Temple of the Oracle. We then traveled south, boarded a ferry to cross the Snake River on our way to Gondolan.”
“The Temple of the Oracle!” Shey said. It suddenly dawned on her. “They are describing the countryside before the war!”
Gondrial sheathed his sword and surveyed the buildings around him. “There.” He pointed. “Over there a house is burning a fireplace. Why don’t we go and talk over a nice warm fire and get out of this snow.” He led them to the house. The door was not locked when he tried it, but it was barricaded with furniture from the inside. “Hello,” he called. “We are friendly if anyone is in there. We won’t hurt you. We can protect you.”
“Go away!” a voice called back.
Lady Shey stepped up. “We only wish to know what is happening here so we may help you. Please, sir.”
“Wait one moment.” There was rustling and moving of furniture and then a round face peered out of a crack in the door. Shey smiled She kicked Gondrial, who was standing there with his mouth open. He, too, smiled.
The round-faced man opened the door and admitted them. “You don’t appear to be one of them,” he said.
Lady Shey let her night vision drop as soon as she entered the well-lit room. She looked around at all the lanterns and candles scattered here and there, almost haphazardly. Candles were burning on top of books, on all the tables, on about every flat surface she could see. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but you had the door barricaded as if you were hiding from something, yet you have a source of light in every corner.”
The round-faced man looked at her. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but do you live in a cave, under a rock, perhaps?”
She gave him a blank face. She wanted him to know she was not amused. After all, she did have to put up with Gondrial, and he was much more clever.
He must have noticed her mood. “The light keeps them away for the most part. Some of them have a way of coming out of the shadows.”
“What exactly?” Gondrial asked.
“Things, creatures, spirits, all of them out of the Sacred Land, mostly at night, mostly deadly. I am the mayor of this village and one of the last to stay behind.”
“Where do they go? This is the first I am hearing of them,” Gondrial said.
Jot walked around the room, and the round-faced man eyed him suspiciously. “Your manner of dress is strange, friend,” the round-faced man said.
Jot smiled. “Oh, is it? I wear trousers and a cloak just as this man does.” He gestured to Gondrial.
The man made a feeble attempt at a smile. “Aye, but yours is of a style gone by.”
Aela stood behind Shey, and Shey moved to where she could keep an eye on both Aela and Jot. Their manner of style was of a time gone by, in fact. She had not seen it since before the War of the Oracle. She was sure of it.
“What is your name, Lord Mayor?” Gondrial asked, trying to get his focus off Jot.
“Hmm, what was that?”
“I asked your name.”
“Oh, it’s Kambor.”
Shey saw Jot slightly shake his head at the round-faced man. They knew each other! Suddenly, a memory flooded into her head from when she was an adept. When the Oracle came to the Vale of Morgoran, he called himself Kambor. She reached for her daggers, and time seemed to stand still as she moved with lightning speed. Her intention was to capture the man and hold her dagger at his throat, but as soon as she grabbed for him, he faded into thin air. She caught Gondrial’s confused gaze. “The Oracle called himself Kambor.”
Gondrial turned his gaze onto Jot. “Who are you?”
Aela moved next to her brother before he spoke. “I told you. I am Jot, and this is my sister Aela.” He drew his sword. “We don’t want to fight you. We thought you were someone else.”
“Who were you expecting? Anyone we know?” Gondrial asked. “Where did you really come from?”
“The land reawakens. What was once lost is returning. Nothing hides forever.”
“Jot, no!”
“Quiet, Aela!”
Gondrial placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Aye, quiet, Aela!”
Shey held her daggers at the ready. “You are from the Sacred Land, lost there before the war was over. The Oracle was clever to hide you. How are you to revive him?” She thought for a moment. “Who brought you back?” The tension was stifling.
Aela and Jot exchanged glances.
There was a gentle knock on the front door. Dumbfounded, Gondrial took his hand off his sword hilt and went to the door. He opened it and saw no one at first. He was about to close it when a gloved hand came from the side of the door frame and stopped him. The glove was red with a black stripe, followed by a black sleeve. “If you don’t do anything . . . rash, I think I can answer most of your questions.” From the shadows stepped Naneden, clothed in fine woolen clothing and sporting a black cloak.
“By all means.” Gondrial ushered him in with a gesture.
Naneden stepped in and began removing his right glove. He looked at Jot. “What gave him away?”
Jot bowed slightly. “His name. He called himself Kambor. I tried to stop him.”
“Oh, and how did you know these were not the two we were looking for?”
“I recognized your wife Lady Shey,” Jot said. “She is older, but that’s unmistakably her.”
Naneden’s nostrils flared, and he rounded on the hapless Jot. A previously unseen rapier blade now stuck in his chest. Jot slid off the blade and onto the floor. “Don’t call her that! She has not been that for a very long time!”
“Is she not on your side, my lord?” Aela said. Naneden had the point of the rapier at her throat as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
“Didn’t you need that fellow for something, Rikard?” Gondrial said, pointing at Jot. “Foiling your own plans again?”
Naneden pointed the rapier at Gondrial. “I am Naneden.”
Gondrial leaned into the point of the rapier. “Not to me you’re not, Rikard.”
Naneden tensed and appeared to be about to drive the sword through Gondrial’s chest. “Enough of this,” Shey said. “You two will never learn.”
Naneden put away his rapier and stood over the corpse of Jot. He uttered some guttural words that actually hurt Gondrial and Shey’s ears to hear him speak, and a black cloud engulfed Jot. After a few moments, the fallen elf stirred back to life.
“Necromancy? O
n top of all the insane, ridiculous decisions you have made, you now practice necromancy?”
“Accidents do happen occasionally, Gondrial. It comes in handy from time to time. Besides, it isn’t necromancy because he isn’t dead. He is as alive as you or me. I simply revived him. ”
“Who were you expecting to be here, Naneden?” Lady Shey asked. She had started putting the pieces of his plan together. “If Kambor is an illusion, then only his spirit is awakened.”
“Aye, or there could be a mindwielder nearby to make you think it was his spirit.”
“You aren’t fooling me. His spirit is connected to the Sacred Land somehow, and you need someone, or something, else to bring back the Oracle completely.” She could see the madness still in his eyes. For a brief moment, though, she thought she saw feeling, possibly caring. Then it was gone.
“You’re correct. I need someone else. I don’t need you.” He raised his hands, and three Spectres came in through the walls. They each looked like incarnations of black smoke animated into hideous manlike creatures. They reached for Gondrial and Shey and held them at bay. “Farewell, wifey We always knew you would die by my hand.” He pushed Aela and Jot through the door and slammed it shut.
The Spectres moved in closer. Black swords appeared to form out of their forearms. Gondrial went for his sword and met the first Spectre’s blow, deflecting it. Shey used her daggers and caught the second Spectre’s attack. The third pushed its way through, making a terrible, ear-aching scream. Shey drew in essence and abated its attack. Gondrial, leaped to her side, tried to help her. “No, don’t fight for me. Fight with me!” Shey said.
“My pleasure,” he said. Shey was aware he was drawing in essence, but she was not prepared for the blackfire that ensued from his hand and covered the Spectre.
“Where did you learn to wield the blackfire?”
“I picked it up at Brightonhold when I almost lost my ability to wield. Morgoran showed me—well, he didn’t mean to, but he did.”
“Use it again!” Shey said as she pushed the second Spectre off her again.
“I can’t use it for long. It’s like lifting too much weight too soon. Each consecutive time is more of a struggle.”
“Use it wisely, then.”
The third Spectre never returned, and Gondrial drew power for a second blast. This time, the Spectre he fired at didn’t appear too wounded. It closed in on him and began to grasp his head. He screamed in pain. The Spectre on Shey caught her, too, and all of her life force started slipping away through its hands. Time was up. She felt like she couldn’t fight it anymore, and she began letting go.
A searing white light appeared out of the darkness, and Shey felt the life returning to her. Cascades of white light burned over her, stabbing into the Spectre like giant yellow-white snakes, striking it and traveling through it. The remaining Spectres screeched in pain, and then they were both enveloped in pure white light. Shey had to look away. When the light faded, the Spectres were gone and standing in the doorway were Vesperin and Fayne.
Chapter 11: Fear of the Dark
Vesperin moved to help Lady Shey, and Fayne went to Gondrial. Vesperin said a short prayer over Lady Shey, and she felt her strength returning. “So this is where you two ran off,” she said.
Vesperin glanced over at Fayne. “Not exactly. We were heading into the Sacred Land.”
“But you left before we did. You should have already been there by now,” Gondrial said.
“We did reach the Sacred Land, but Loracia led us back here tonight. We were supposed to meet a man and a woman in trouble and rescue them from evil. I didn’t think it would be you.”
Shey rubbed her left arm where the Spectre had gotten a good grip on her. “Your story sounds familiar, wouldn’t you say, Gondrial?”
“Aye, I think we rescued your man and woman in trouble.”
“Where are they? We are all supposed to go to the shrine together,” Vesperin said.
“It’s starting to make more sense to me now,” Shey said. “They need true clerics of the goddess of life to bring back the Oracle. It can’t be done with necromancy or any other magic Naneden and Toborne possess.”
“Necromancy!” Vesperin said. “Who do you know that would use such a vile magic?”
“Aye,” Gondrial said, ignoring Vesperin’s question. “They are opposites. Two clerics of death and two clerics of life. It will take both to restore the Oracle.”
Shey answered Vesperin. “Naneden was just here, and the two people you were to rescue were here as a trick, a trap for the two of you. They are clerics of death, clerics of Aedreagnon, Goddess of Death and Destruction.”
Vesperin stood from helping Shey. “No, this cannot be. Loracia herself is instructing me. We are trying to cure the Sacred Land once and for all. Its renewal is bringing back all sorts of evil creatures from the War of the Oracle. We have to stop it.”
“Listen to yourself,” Gondrial said. “The evil is coming back, but the power of the Sacred Land is not bringing back all the good people who fought in the war.”
Fayne spoke up. “Of course it isn’t. Loracia would never allow it. Only the purveyors of death dare to stir up the dead.”
“Loracia has given us these two staves.” He showed his staff to Gondrial. “They are what led us to the Spectres attacking you tonight. They magnify the power of our prayers.”
“Aye, because you need enough power to resurrect the Oracle,” Gondrial quipped.
“I am not going to resurrect the Oracle!”
“No, you both are. Actually, the four of you are.”
Shey had never seen Vesperin actually get mad before, but Gondrial had managed it. “Vesperin, where is this shrine you were supposed to go to? Can you take us there?” Shey asked.
“It’s here in Roseshade. The village was built around it. During the War of the Oracle, it was a place to heal the dying.”
“Like somewhere you might resurrect someone,” Gondrial said.
Vesperin sighed, clearly tired of Gondrial’s prodding. He had regained control over his anger and said nothing.
“It’s in the Temple of Loracia, the largest building off the village square,” Fayne said.
They all trudged through the snow to the temple and entered it. There were still no other people around, and Shey wondered if Naneden had frightened them away with the Spectres.
“Here,” Vesperin said, “on the altar of the shrine.” He pointed to a slot where something was supposed to fit. He went ahead and rubbed his finger over the slot.
A noise at the door drew all their attention. Gondrial and Shey drew their weapons.
The door flung open, and Veric was there at the ready.
“Father? What are you doing here?”
“Seemingly, we are all here for the same reason,” he said.
Ianthill followed Veric through the door, and then he closed it against the cold. He turned around. “What have you discovered?”
Gondrial motioned at Vesperin. “Vesperin believes Loracia has led him to this shrine in order to perform a ritual that will cure the Sacred Land. Is that about it?”
“A bit simplistic but essentially correct,” Vesperin said.
Ianthill began to examine the east wall, rubbing his hands along the seams. “Morgoran and I discovered at By’temog that this village was the home of Migarath and that this building was originally his private residence, which means . . .” he hit some sort of magical catch built into the stone wall, and a stairway sunk down into the floor near the alter, “that this small quaint village has the original Migarath Portal, but it wouldn’t link to the By’temog portal, and I am assuming it would not link to the Vale portal, either.”
Veric peered down the dark stairway. “Assuming the portal is even still there. It may not link because it has been moved or destroyed.”
“What does that have to do with resurrecting the Oracle?” Gondrial asked. “When did you and Veric meet up? When did you even get into the Sacred Land? I don’t reme
mber you leaving.”
Ianthill started down the stairs. “Don’t worry about fool questions now. We are almost out of time.”
“Typical,” Gondrial said. “Out of time for what?”
Ianthill got halfway down the stairs and then walked back up into the temple. He took a lighted torch out of a wall sconce, and he paused for Gondrial. “The altar,” he pointed to it, “contained one of the last remaining soul gems. The highlord’s scepter expands so you can place the stone into it.”
“A soul gem?” Gondrial asked.
Lady Shey shook her head. “We used to have one when we were adepts, remember? A soul gem is an enchanted crystal that reveals what is hidden.”
“Oh, that. We used to leave messages to each other and use the gem to read it. I remember now,” he said. “What happened to our gem?”
“I still have it tucked away in the wall near the White Tower,” Lady Shey answered. “Unless someone discovered it.”
“You have a soul gem in Old Symbor?” Ianthill looked excited.
“If it’s still there in the ruins of the wall, aye,” Shey said. “It has been quite some time, and also, Old Symbor is in the Sacred Land. The essence that enchanted the gem is probably gone.”
“It will save me the trip of getting mine, though. Morgoran can renew the enchantment on yours if we can find it.” He took a step toward the stairs again and motioned for Gondrial and Shey to follow. “When the Oracle was at court, he had a spell inscribed on one of the walls of the Symborian king’s throne room. A spell that can only be read with the scepter and gem. We think the spell is the key that will unlock the tomb of Golvashala, the Oracle.”
Shey made sure Vesperin and Fayne were both following and then watched as Ianthill lit each of the sconces by hand. “The Oracle had all this in place before the war? He knew he was going to lose?” she asked.
“The Oracle was a seer, of course, so, aye, he knew about his initial defeat. What he also knew that we didn’t know was how powerful the Sacred Land was to become and the virtual demise of the mindwielders, two predictions that would allow him to come back now and take everything he wanted then. All he had to do was find a way to lock himself away and wait.”