by R. T. Cole
“You’re not sorry,” she accused Draven. “You only love gold. That’s the only reason you’re here.”
“It might interest you to know that there’s more to me than that, my dear,” he replied.
She scoffed at him. “I doubt that,” she retorted. “I wanted to find my sister. I wanted to rule next to Zane. We wanted to find the Mystical...” She caught herself before revealing anything further. She took note of the look in Draven’s eyes. They were wide in astonishment.
“Apparently, there’s much more to you as well, isn’t there?” he concluded. “You speak of the Mystical Artifacts. Mystical Weapons is the more common phrase, is it not?”
“I have nothing more to say to you,” Dirce swore.
Draven smirked. He had discovered a bit of information that wasn’t intended to be shared. Very interesting, he pondered. Stepping back from the cage, Draven offered the final word.
“You might want to rethink that course, my future Queen. You’re going to be here for quite some time.” Walking away, he made sure to leave the torch behind to offer her some comfort; then, he turned and said, “It would be nice to have a… friend, from time to time. Wouldn’t it?” Draven said with that infamous combination of a lustful gaze and ominous smile.
Dirce paid no mind to the comment, though she was partially thankful for the light of the torch by her cell, even knowing that it was no genuine parting gift. She had trouble sleeping through the night, waking every few minutes at the sound of leaky water in the dungeon hall or the squeaks of rats as they fought for the remains of any food they could find. She needed to get out of there. With Zane gone, her first priority was now her freedom; after that, she’d track down the weapons that she and her former love planned on hunting down before all went downhill. At the same time, she’d finally find her sister.
Oh, Lamia. You were so much better at this than I, she thought to herself. She had one more trick up her sleeve that could possibly get her freed from the prison, but never fully mastered the technique like Lamia did. Focusing on all of her pent up rage for Kelbain, she felt the change start to happen.
Keep going, she urged herself.
As quick as she started, she had completed what she set out to do. Before reverting back, she called out loudly.
“Guard!” her voice booming as if it were entirely different.
CLANK
A wave of satisfaction enveloped her entire body, and she smiled widely. She heard the footsteps approaching fast, and she turned her smile into a look of anger and frustration.
“My King! What’s happened?!” the awestruck guard asked.
“That woman is free! She tricked me and locked me in here! Let me out immediately!” Dirce demanded in the most perfect Kelbain-like voice. To the guard, she looked the part of his King; a feat that only a Changer could maintain. She was a true Illusionist, after all.
“Yes, Your Grace! Right away!” the guard said, still shocked at what was happening. He shook as he grabbed the key to the cell, and again as he unlocked the door, releasing the fake-Kelbain. “Shall I alert the other guards, Your Grace?”
Dirce smiled. It happened fast: she grabbed the man’s dagger from his belt and touched it to his throat, dragging it until she saw red pour out, just as the torch on the ground finally died out.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely before tossing the man into the cell she had previously occupied. Hurrying down the dark corridor, she remained as “Kelbain” in case she came across any other guards. Tucking the dagger away, she approached the gate at the top of the stairs and opened the door, only to be met by Draven. Acting quickly, she yelled at the man.
“You fool! She’s gone!”
Draven turned a sheet of white. “What?!”
“Get the men and find her now! I want my Queen back in her cell before morning!” she assumed Kelbain would say.
Draven shook his head in frustration. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he said as he left to find proper soldiers for the task.
The fake-Kelbain smiled and walked away. She knew the ins and outs of the castle, including passages that would lead outside and straight to the stables. Making her way around, she passed by the bedchamber that she and Zane shared, though refused to stop and wallow any longer. After a short time, she found her way out and obtained a horse. She quickly reverted back to her true self and rode towards her destiny.
Chapter 19
WISDOM OF THE FORESEER
It had been almost a week since King Victor’s funeral. The master-at-arms had assumed his grandfather was at peace with his old friends in Volsi by now, drinking heavily and sharing tales of their accomplishments in life. As he trained Angelia’s men and women the past few days, he wondered whether or not he would finally pack up the courage to visit the Foreseer’s shop in town. However, today was different: today was the day.
Andemar had put it off for too long already, and he was especially guilt-ridden over the fact that he may have been able to help in the war sooner, had he visited the man earlier on. He wanted to confide in his wife about his troubles, but did not want to worry her; she finally had him all to herself at home, and if he brought this up, she may have immediately dismissed the idea. It probably would’ve been better to be honest, but he convinced himself that he was protecting her.
Liar, his subconscious chimed in. This wasn’t about protecting Maryn, or even his kids, it was about keeping this a secret from everybody. The moment anyone found out that he was visiting a Foreseer, he knew he’d feel ashamed. He spoke many times about hating Sages and what they’ve turned the world into; he didn’t want to seem like a hypocrite.
But, it was Grandfather’s dying wish, he told himself. I have to see this through.
CLANG!
The sudden impact of the soldier’s practice sword startled Andemar. He had drifted in and out of his mind during the entirety of the morning training session.
“Are you alright, my Prince?!” the friendly soldier asked with worry.
“Fine, just fine,” he dismissed. “Let’s get back to it.”
Andemar felt at home when practicing with the soldiers of Angelia. He’d rarely used his skills to fend off any worthy opponents in the past, but knew that he could fight if necessary. Many years before his father became king, Andemar took part in the quelling of a small rebellion in the city. Thasus led the charge, of course, but it was Andemar who gained the most notoriety from the battle; while Thasus went straight for the rebel leader, brandishing Archangel with ferocity, Andemar took on a small group of men on his own. Word was that there were seven men, though Andemar himself forgot how many there actually were. On the streets of Angelia, the townsfolk began to grow worried as the men surrounded him; Andemar surprised them when he drew his two short swords and took them head on. As he dual-wielded Phanes and Thanatos with precision, the rebels soon learned that the Palidor man was not one to be trifled with.
A soft smile exposed itself on Andemar’s face as he remembered that day. The part of him that enjoyed the thrill of battle was short-lived however, once he remembered his father’s nature afterwards. That was around the time that Vandal prohibited his sons from taking part in any open battles, or anything that would endanger them, again. While this came easier to Andemar the moment he had a family of his own, it was tough for him in the beginning. Just like his younger brother, Andemar also relished the thought of being useful to his family, his home, and his people. He couldn’t help but wonder why he couldn’t just be satisfied with his current position; he had everything he wanted, or so he thought.
CLANG! CLANG!
The eager soldier knocked Andemar to his ass this time. The man rushed to Andemar’s side, nervousness splashed across his face. He apologized profusely, but Andemar waved it off.
“It’s alright. I am not myself today,” he admitted. He addressed the entire group afterwards. “Let’s call it a day, everyone. I’ll see you all again first thing tomorrow.”
After the group of men and women d
isbanded, Andemar gathered his swords and made his way out of the castle, to the other side of the city, with determination.
This is it, he told himself. Time to meet the Foreseer.
Before heading to the street with the Foreseer’s shop, he changed his clothing into a disguise that would conceal his identity as the Prince of Angelia. Throwing on some simple cloth over his body, as well as a generic tunic over that, he approached the shop. Seeing the sign again, the same sign that drew his attention the last tine he passed by, cemented his decision. He walked through the door, triggering a bell at the top of the threshold. He jumped, only because he didn’t expect it, but he knew that the man inside would now be aware of his presence. Taking in the sights of all the trinkets and junk within the shop, he almost immediately regretted his decision, but vowed to stay in the name of his grandfather.
“Hello, Prince Andemar,” a voice from the shadows said.
Andemar turned towards the voice to see a man dressed in gaudy robes from head to toe. He had an unkempt grayish beard and a slicked back head of hair of the same color. Andemar noticed that the man looked to be around the same age as his father, perhaps in his early 60s.
“I’m sorry,” Andemar attempted to remain ‘hidden’. “I am not who you think I am.”
“Oh, but you are,” the man said, smiling as he crept out of the shadows and into the light. “I have seen it.”
Andemar scoffed. “Alright,” he confessed. “You could’ve seen me approach before I changed my clothes. You could’ve seen me anywhere in the city at any time.” He obviously wasn’t impressed yet.
The man smiled again. “I am not a normal Foreseer, young man. I am not just a Watcher, able to peer into the future. I am a Pathfinder and a Sensor as well. I am a true Foreseer.”
His gusto almost annoyed Andemar. He had to remind himself why he was there in the first place.
“What I should call you then, true Foreseer?” Andemar asked mockingly.
“Call me Horus,” said the Foreseer. He motioned toward the seat in the middle of the room. “Please, sit,” he invited Andemar.
Andemar was intrigued, but still a bit skeptical of the man. He sat down anyway.
Horus sat down opposite Andemar, leaning back in his chair in a relaxed state. “What can I do for you, Prince Andemar?”
Andemar suddenly put doubt and mistrust to the side, as his mind filled with things that he wished to know. Despite his previous feelings, Andemar blurted out the first sensible thought that found its way out. “Where are my brothers?”
Horus lifted his head, eyes pointed to the ceiling, deep in thought. It took a moment until Andemar realized that Horus left an arm outstretched in front of him, with his hand open. Andemar sighed, reaching into his clothes for some coins and handed them to the Foreseer.
“Much appreciated, young man,” Horus said without lowering his gaze. “This business is a dying investment.”
“Unbelievable,” Andemar muttered under his breath.
A few moments went by and Horus finally lowered his head and spoke. “Your younger brother has been harmed,” he said simply. “But, he is alive and well.”
“What?! What happened?” Andemar demanded.
Horus’s face turned cryptic. “He will be fine,” he said calmly. “He is perfectly safe with his travel companions.”
Andemar shook his head, starting to realize that he may only get half-truths from Horus. “What of Thasus?” he asked.
Horus concentrated harder this time. As he stared at the ceiling, he twitched a couple of times, much to the notice of the Prince, and then lowered his head again. Fear clouded his features, which alarmed Andemar. Horus stared straight ahead and closed his eyes this time. After a moment or two, he opened his eyes wide with realization.
“The North is vast, young Prince. It took some tine to find your other brother.” Locking eyes with Andemar, Horus said, “He is in grave danger.”
First Rudimere, now Thasus, Andemar thought. What is going on?
“Tell me how to help him,” the young Prince said, restraining himself from becoming alarmed.
“You can’t help him,” Horus said sadly. “He must face this challenge on his own. Soon, he’ll be in a place even I can’t see.”
“What does that mean?” Andemar asked in confusion. Before the Foreseer could answer, Andemar inquired, “Will he die?”
Horus closed his eyes again for a moment. Shaking his head again, he said, “All three of your futures are clouded by change.” As he opened his eyes again, he looked at Andemar and stated, “It’s up to all of you to shape it to your own will.”
Taking that advice for what it was, Andemar could only feign satisfaction at the man’s powers so far. Horus was able to tell him only vague information regarding his brothers; he thought maybe he would fare better asking about his grandfather’s words.
“Horus,” Andemar began. “My grandfather, the former East King, Victor, told me right before he died that I should come see you. He started to tell me something of the Sorcerer’s War: something about the ‘will of Ragnarok’.”
Horus flinched. “That’s nothing,” he ridiculed Andemar. “Uhh, you need to leave now. Yes, that would be best. Thank you for your patronage, but I am about to close for the day, you see.”
“Wait,” Andemar demanded. “This is the main reason why I’ve come to see you. You need to tell me what this is about.”
Horus was basically pushing Andemar out the door at that point. “My Prince, you are not ready. Please leave,” he pleaded.
Disappointment washed over Andemar. It had all been for nothing. The days wasted on his reluctance about coming into the shop; his grandfather’s dying wish... No, Andemar resolved. He turned toward Horus before heading out the door.
“My grandfather told me to come and see you because he said you’d help us in the war. The least you could do is respect the final wish of your king,” Andemar guilted him.
Horus looked down in sadness. He told Andemar, “I try not to get involved in the strife of men. I can only tell you this for now,” he started. “Soon, the Northern houses will be at war with each other; unless someone can stop it.”
Chapter 20
THE FROZEN WILDS
So far, so good, Thasus thought, despite the situation. A part of him thought he’d be made to walk from the Frostford to the Frozen Wilds, while his captors rode by horse, but he was allowed to sit atop one himself, though not without restraints. His horse was kept behind Grenna’s, while Jorga took the rear of the convoy. The Prince’s hands were bound tightly with ropes that Lord Brock personally fastened. Thasus imagined that Cale considered this an act of honor, but he made sure to let the Lord of the Frostford know how he felt about the situation. After he used his forehead to break Cale’s nose, he was pretty sure that he left a lasting impression with the Brocks.
A smile crept across Thasus’s face. Even in the face of death, he would continue to laugh it off. He didn’t fear the inevitable, though he often wondered if he’d be sent to Volsi or Mistif afterwards. He may have lived his life honorably when it came to defending the city of Angelia in years’ past, but still he wondered. It was hard for him to grasp the concept of living eternally amongst other warriors in a place as revered as Volsi, though he hoped he would get the opportunity to see his grandfather again. Thasus tried not to dwell on such things, but it still bothered him that he wasn’t in the city to see the man in the end, and he was sure that Rudi felt the same.
Again, he let himself smile a bit. He hadn’t thought of his brothers since before his sentencing. He never would’ve said it to them in person, but he hoped that they would continue with their duties and not let his death linger on their minds for too long. Though, it was Rudi that he truly worried about; he was keenly aware of the way he treated his younger brother for so long. He needed to become strong, he internally defended himself. At times, Andemar would take Thasus to the side and scold him for making Rudi’s life miserable, as their father constan
tly did enough of that. He’d counter and they’d argue, but Thasus knew in his heart that he could’ve been different.
He shook his head, disagreeing with his overly emotional thinking. Must be because I’m about to die, he assured himself. In reality, Thasus hadn’t fully accepted his fate just yet; he accepted that he was about to face the killer of one of the most famous heroes in all of history; he also came to terms with the fact that this killer was a creature of legend, but perhaps it was just that: legend. This led to his skepticism of the “all-powerful” Fenrok. He imagined that there was something out there in the Wilds, something dangerous, but refused to believe the unbelievable stories he’d heard. The stories themselves came from unreliable sources, at best; His father had told him of the foolish groups of men that put together hunting parties, in order to take on the mighty Fenrok.
“The only reason we have these stories to tell, is because of the cowards who fled the beast while their comrades were torn apart,” Vandal had informed his son.
“So, we’re to believe the word of fools and traitors then?” Thasus countered.
“One can only speculate. Still, it’s best to be forewarned, son,” Vandal cautioned. Thasus felt that he should’ve taken heed of the warning sooner, at least in regards to the entire North.
It would be just as easy to be executed by the Gargan sisters, as much as by some fabled creature, he considered. Pondering on this, he decided there was at least one thing for certain: Lord Brock believed in the tales. He counted himself lucky that he had an opportunity to battle an animal to win his freedom, rather than challenge his captors. One sister, he felt he could take on, but both of them would pose a formidable threat.
“We’re here,” Grenna said abruptly.
They had ventured far off the fork of the Fool’s March paths. They now stood in front of a large forest, rife with dead trees covered in snow. What Thasus observed next shocked even him: the edge of the forest seemed to form a veil of snowfall that separated itself from the direction that they had traveled from. Past the veil was the endless blizzard that he had heard so much about, raging on with deafening winds.