The Restored King (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 4)

by Richard Fierce

  Jovanna collapsed onto the ground.

  Dying wasn’t at all like she thought it would be. It felt more like being sleepy. The absence of fear, pain and regret was comforting.

  I will assist you, a voice in her mind said.

  Jovanna briefly felt magic, old and powerful. And then the last of her strength faltered and everything went black.

  “Some of life’s challenges must be faced alone. The real test of your convictions will come when no one is watching and you must answer only to yourself.”

  —Aramis

  CHAPTER six

  He walked along a desolate road that wound its way through a dead valley. The dry grass, yellows and browns, crunched beneath his feet. In the distance, smoke rose lazily into the sky. He didn’t know where he was; he only knew he had to get somewhere he couldn’t remember.

  He felt nothing. His muscles did not tire; his skin did not sweat; he was neither hot nor cold. He walked for what seemed like days, though he could not tell the passage of time. He did not see a sun or a moon in the sky, though the atmosphere seemed to always be illuminated.

  After an eternity, he drew close to the source of the smoke. An abandoned town. Most the buildings were blackened husks. The smoke was filtering up into the air from the chimney of the only intact building. He walked to the building and paused at the doors. The place appeared to be a temple. He felt drawn to it. This was the place he needed to be.

  He pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was dark. A few scattered lanterns, all of them sputtering into death, provided a dim flickering glow. Several empty tables and chairs filled the room. In the far corner of the room, one table was occupied. A figure was sitting in the shadows. He walked to the table and stood before it.

  “I knew you would come,” a female voice said. He didn’t recognize it.

  “Why am I here?” he asked.

  “You are broken,” the voice answered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are many who don’t.”

  He paused. The answers were cryptic and confusing. “Please explain.”

  The woman laughed. “They are all impatient like you. You are broken. Your mind has been severed. It happens to most of you.”

  “Most of who?” he asked.

  “The servants.”

  “What servants?”

  “My, my. You are a bit slower than the others. The servants of Mordum.”

  “I’m not one of them,” he said.

  “Do you bear the mark? Do you summon the blade and the armor? Do you call upon the power that flows from the mark? Then yes, you are one of them.”

  That made his stomach lurch. “I use the tools for my own means. That doesn’t mean I obey him.”

  “You are here, aren’t you? Only those Mordum commands can come to this place.”

  He looked around the room. There was nothing to indicate the place was different from anywhere else. “Where am I?”

  “You are here.”

  “Where is ‘here’?”

  The woman leaned forward into the light and smiled. “You are in the place between life and death.”

  “I’m dead?” he asked, panicked.

  “Not quite. Mordum doesn’t let his servants out that easy.”

  “So, I’m alive, then?”

  The woman pursed her lips. “That’s not quite true either. You are in the middle of the two, dangling precariously. Only the strong make it out of here, if that’s what you want to call it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once you’ve been here, you’re never the same.”

  “How so?”

  “Do I look like a sage? I cannot give you all of the answers.”

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m a sentinel. I guard the path to death.”

  “How do I get out of here?”

  “Through the door you entered.”

  “No, I meant—” he sighed. “How do I get out of this place? Not this building. This place between life and death?”

  “You have to die.”

  “What? You said only the strong get out.”

  “I did. Death is not for the weak. It is for the strong. Death brings clarity. Power. Wisdom. And … madness. Most cannot handle it.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” he said. When he tried to remember where, his thoughts grew muddled.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Someone said it. I-I can’t remember who.” He shook his head as if that would help clear his mind.

  “Be that as it may. It’s not important.” The woman stood up and came around the table. She was shorter than he was. Her face was one that time had aged beyond years. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t attractive either. When he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing but his own reflection.

  “Brace yourself,” she said. “This is going to hurt.”

  By the time he realized she was holding a dagger, she had already plunged it into his chest. He expected there to be pain, but there was nothing. She hesitated, then she pulled the blade out and stabbed him again. Still, there was nothing. They stood there for a moment before she finally pulled the blade out.

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “What is?” he asked.

  “Apparently Mordum has … different plans for you.” She sheathed the blade at her hip. She stepped closer to him and kissed him. It was a deep, passionate kiss. He was so taken aback, he merely let it happen. As he regained his wits and tried to pull away, he couldn’t. And then she began to blow into his mouth.

  The air was heavy and began to choke him. He fought to push her away, but they were locked together at the lips. In her eyes, he saw himself struggling. He saw a shadow pass between them. His vision darkened and his strength failed him. And then he was falling. He fell through the floor and into darkness.

  —

  Aramis opened his eyes. He was lying in a bed, an extremely comfortable bed. He sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes. He groaned. Every muscle in his body ached. He felt as though he’d been struck with hundreds of stones.

  “You’re awake.”

  The voice startled him. He looked around confusedly. A veil covered the bed. He could make out the shape of someone, but he couldn’t tell who it was. The veil parted and Lynessa peeked in.

  “Lynessa? What … where am I?”

  “You are in my personal chambers,” she replied.

  “What happened?”

  “You killed the Warlock. You must have passed out. When I came to, you were out cold and the Warlock was dead, his throat slit. I called for my guards and had them bring you up here.”

  Aramis rubbed the side of his face. The thin stubble of hair was prickly against his hand. A dull ache pounded at the base of his neck. He’d killed the Warlock? The haziness of his thoughts blotted out all the details, but he did remember bits and pieces. He’d used his dagger to cut the man’s throat. He’d saved Lynessa’s life. Relief flooded him.

  “What about Mel? Is he …”

  “He’s fine,” Lynessa said. “He refused to leave your side. It took a few hours, but I finally convinced him to leave. I told him I would watch over you as well as he would.”

  Aramis chuckled. “He’s very devoted.”

  “That’s an understatement. He’s loyal to the core of his being. His loyalty is not blind, though. Nor is it forced. His loyalty is a sincere bond pledged out of respect and gratitude. That says a lot about his character, but it speaks volumes more about yours.”

  Aramis shook his head. “I’m no different than anyone else.”

  “That’s not true. You risked your life for my people. And for me.” She pushed through the veil and climbed onto the bed. “You saved my city. You saved me.” She crawled to him on all four. Aramis was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a very thin robe, so sheer as to be transparent. His face flushed and he looked away. She pushed him down and straddled him.

  “Lynessa, I—”

  “Shh,” she s
aid as she placed her finger on his lips. “You are a hero, Aramis. Now enjoy your reward.”

  —

  The next morning, Aramis awoke feeling refreshed and well rested. The silk sheets felt good against his bare skin. He rolled over to find that Lynessa was gone. He sat up and tried to peer through the veil. As far as he could tell, there was no one in the room. He felt around under the sheets for his clothes but couldn’t find them.

  Aramis rolled out of the bed. Atop a side table, a neatly stacked pile of clothes was laid out. His boots had been cleaned and polished and set next to the clothes. As he finished getting dressed, he heard a soft knock at the door.

  “Come in,” he said. He slid his boots on and ran his hands through his hair. The door opened to reveal a servant.

  “My Lord,” he greeted formally, bowing at the waist. “My Lady asked me to deliver this to you.”

  The servant entered the room and handed him a letter. “She’s asked that you not read it until you’ve left the city.”

  Aramis raised his brow in question, but the servant either didn’t notice or didn’t know what to say. Aramis tucked the letter into his belt. “Thank you. I’d like to have a letter sent to the Lady. Can you do that for me?”

  The servant nodded. “I’ll get the items you need. I’ll return shortly, my Lord.”

  After the man left, Aramis found a tall mirror on one of the walls and checked his appearance. I need to shave, he thought. Whoever had picked the clothes he’d been given had a good fashion sense. He was wearing a dark green tunic and a pair of brown trousers.

  “My King.” Mel’s familiar voice greeted him. Aramis turned from the mirror to see his friend standing in the doorway. “I’m glad to see you are well.”

  “I’m fine,” Aramis said with a smile. “I heard you wouldn’t leave my side.”

  “I never will,” Mel said.

  The servant returned with a parchment, an ink jar and a quill. He laid them on a table and sat down. Aramis turned his thoughts to the words he wanted to leave with Lynessa. He knew what he wanted to ask her. He cleared his throat and dictated the letter to the servant. When he finished, the servant sealed the letter.

  “Please make sure she gets this,” Aramis said in a serious tone. The servant bowed and left. Aramis checked himself in the mirror one more time. “We should be able to book a ship now,” he said. “I’m sure Lynessa has lifted the city restrictions. Hopefully the people here can return to some semblance of normal life.”

  “Most of the corpses have been moved back to the cemetery,” Mel said. “What happened down there, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” Aramis replied. “It’s all a haze. The only thing I clearly remember is killing the Warlock.”

  Mel stepped in close. “It was foolish for you to attack him alone. He could have—” Mel stopped short.

  “Could have what?” Aramis asked.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Mel asked, changing the subject and peering closely.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They look black. Not noticeably, but … I can see a change.”

  Aramis frowned and looked back in the mirror. He didn’t know what Mel was talking about. There was nothing wrong with his …

  Mel was right. It was faint, but there was a black tinge to the whites of his eyes. “Gods,” he breathed. “What is that?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, my Lord.” Mel frowned.

  “Well, it’s not obvious. Hopefully it doesn’t get worse. Come,” he led Mel out of the bedchamber. “We’ve got to find a ship.”

  “Rarely is a situation forced upon us. Be aware of your power to choose, and take responsibility for what you allow to happen.”

  —Garrick

  CHAPTER seven

  Aramis and Mel found a ship heading down the coast and booked passage for a reasonable price. After several minutes of Mel complaining about not getting the food they had paid for, they returned to The Compass. The barkeep from the previous night was there preparing for the day’s business. He paused in his work upon seeing them.

  “I don’t much mind ruffians in here, but I won’t stand for trouble from anyone that’s been escorted out by the Lady’s guard.”

  “I completely understand,” Aramis replied. “Though I think there may be some confusion. We were summoned to the Lady for a task, not because we are in trouble.”

  The older man eyed they warily. “What d’ye need then?”

  “We paid for a room and food,” Mel chimed in. “And as you are aware, we didn’t receive either.”

  The barkeep glared at them and pointed above the bar. Aramis noticed a sign that read: No Restitution.

  “I see,” Aramis said. “Perhaps I can explain what happened?”

  “I’m sure that ye can,” the man said, “though ye won’t find an audience.” With that, the man stomped off behind the bar and disappeared through a door.

  “Well,” Mel huffed, “I don’t think I’ve received such horrible treatment before in my entire life.”

  “You exaggerate. You were killed by a templar, remember?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Mel said.

  They turned to leave and found the way blocked by one of the city guards. “What now?” Mel muttered.

  The guard stepped into the inn and removed his helm. It was the scarred young man from the gate. He knelt at Aramis’s feet and bowed his head.

  “Please, rise,” Aramis said.

  The man stood up. “I want to apologize for squealing.”

  “There’s no need,” Aramis replied.

  “I feel like I betrayed you somehow.”

  “Nonsense. You were following orders. I respect that.”

  “Even so, you are my king. I should have warned you, at least.”

  “You are forgiven of whatever you believe you did wrong,” Aramis said. “Are you on duty?”

  “No, sir. Well, not on guard duty. I work here with my father in my off time.”

  “You should talk him into changing his policy,” Mel said, nodding to the sign over the bar.

  The youth rolled his eyes. “He’s a stubborn one. What does he owe you?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Aramis said. He gave Mel a look.

  “Can I get you anything before you leave? I assume you are sailing out today now that the port is open?”

  “Yes, we leave within the hour. Some breakfast wouldn’t be too much, would it?”

  “Of course not,” the youth said. With a grin, he walked to the back of the inn. “Have a seat,” he called back at them.

  Shrugging, Aramis picked a random table and made himself comfortable. Mel sat across from him. They stared at one another in silence. The youth came back a few minutes later with two plates of food. He set them down, then went back to the bar and returned with two mugs of ale.

  “You want anything else?” he asked.

  “No, this is perfect. What’s your name?” Aramis asked.

  “Jarrod.”

  “You obviously know me. This is my friend Melchiades. I call him Mel.”

  “It’s an honor,” Jarrod said. “I’ve never met a king before. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  “By all means,” Aramis said between mouthfuls of food.

  “What brings you all the way to Keswick?”

  “We need to take a ship back to Oakhaven.”

  “I know that. I mean, what are you doing so far from your castle? Oakhaven is hundreds of miles from here. What brings you so far from home?”

  Aramis and Mel exchanged glances. “It’s a long story,” Aramis replied. “I don’t think we have enough time for me to tell it in full.”

  “I heard about the king, your father. I’m sorry to hear what happened.”

  “Thank you. I have been searching for my father’s killer. That’s what has brought me out here. Have you heard of Red Mountain?”

  Jarrod scrunched his eyes as if trying to remember something. “Possibly,” he said after a moment.


  “It’s in the Deadlands. There is a wizard there who was guarding something I needed. That’s where we were before we came here to Keswick.”

  Jarrod’s face lit up in excitement. “You went to see an elven wizard?”

  Aramis shook his head. “No. She was a human wizard.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “No,” Aramis said, taken aback. “Why?”

  “You said she was a human wizard. I just thought …”

  Aramis nodded. “Ah, yes. No, she is not dead. If not for her, Mel and I might have been.”

  “What happened?” Jarrod asked.

  Aramis looked to the bar and eyed the hourglass. “We might have enough time. I had arrived at Red Mountain …”

  —

  “Mel?” Aramis asked. I must be dead, he thought. The smell of charred flesh assailed him. The dead Lamias were unrecognizable except for their tails, some of which writhed among the ashes. Mel reached out his hand, offering his assistance. Aramis accepted it hesitantly, still unbelieving.

  “Hurry, my Lord. We don’t have much time.”

  “How?” Aramis asked.

  “I’ll explain later. Come.” Mel pulled Aramis to his feet.

  Aramis grunted. His entire body was sore. He eyed himself and saw that his armor had cracks in various places. He wondered if he had struck his head on the ground. Certainly, Mel couldn’t be here. How could he be? How would he have gotten inside of the Nexus?

  Mel led the way through the maze of corridors. There didn’t appear to be any pattern to his navigation. “Do you know where you are going?” he asked.

  “I do,” Mel answered. “My goddess has shown me the way.”

  “Did Edria bring you back from the dead as well?”

  Mel stopped walking and turned to face him. “No. Edria is …” Mel’s face slackened in sadness.

  “What is it?”

  “Edria is dead.”

  Aramis was confused. “How is your goddess dead? Aren’t gods immortal?”