“What did you hear?” Magmi rasped down to the petrified halfling. A bolt of lightning fell from the clouds, followed shortly by the rolling thunder with perfect timing.
Kyrn wasn’t fully convinced that it’d been a coincidence.
“Not much,” Biddledur slurred. “Not much at all, in fact.” He faked a casual laugh, as he pulled himself to his feet. He could see in the wizard’s eyes that it’d not been a very successful bluff. “Just a bit of Kyrn’s jokes,” he continued. “Brailen’s an elf from Castreeth!” His eyes lit as he spoke.
“And he knows our names,” Magmi sneered to Brailen and Kyrn. “Seems you’ve been eavesdropping longer than you’d like to admit, little one.”
What does my size have to do with anything, Biddledur thought. He’d grown tired of hearing that as a name. His tongue worked faster than his mind. “A bit about a necklace and a stone.” Again, he forced a chuckle. “I’ve never been a halfling for jewels,” he lied.
“Have you ever been to the West Lands?” Magmi asked.
Kyrn and Brailen both stepped forward, startled by how quickly the wizard was to let on to their soon travels.
Magmi raised his hand. “He’s heard too much entirely,” Magmi said, looking at his friends. “If the halfling is by our side, no other ears will hear of our whereabouts.”
It made sense to Kyrn, though he could tell that Brailen didn’t like the idea.
“We’ve too much already,” the golden-haired elf argued. His voice lowered to a whisper. “We still are unaware of where the Darkness lay in the West Lands.”
The Darkness; Biddledur cocked his head in thought. Could it be? There was only one way to find out. “I know where to find the Dark Lord!” he said rather loudly, raising his hand to get the taller folks’ attention.
Kyrn shuddered at the casual tone in which the halfling spoke his words.
While his hand was raised, the old wizard struck the halfling square across the cheek with his cane, collapsing him to all fours. He knelt by Biddledur and leaned in very closely, watching the halfling rub his already bruised cheek. “Never speak the names of which you do not know so blatantly,” he hissed quietly.
Biddledur looked deep into the old wizard’s eyes. “But I do know of what I speak,” he said. He didn’t know if this were a chance, his only chance, or a stupid, stupid glimmer of hope. Maybe they were one and the same. As he glanced into the wizard’s eyes, he could see a glimmer of kindness behind his overly-flagrant anger. It reminded him of the goblin slayer. Kneel before those who will win, he remembered. He’d not cared about winning, or living even. The halfling knew if he were to die, he wanted to die free.
Again, he rose, this time only to one knee. He bowed before the red wizard. “I know you, Magmi the Great,” he said. “Or,” he stuttered, “of you, the red wizard.” His eyes follow Magmi’s when the wizard stood. Biddledur glanced around falsely, only to show the old wizard that he wasn’t being careless. “I’ve been captive to the…” He dropped his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Darkness,” he continued. “Take me with you. Please, take me with you.” He fell into a hug around the wizard’s red robes. “Use me if you must! The Dark Lord sent me to wait for you, of that I’m almost certain.”
“Why?” Magmi asked angrily. He pitied the halfling, pitied any creature that fell to the Dark Ones. Though, now was not the time to let the halfling know.
“I don’t know, Magmi the—”
“Why!” Magmi shouted, interrupting the halfling’s incessant pleas.
Kyrn stepped quickly between Magmi and the knelt halfling, helping him to his feet. He studied him for a moment. His short, curly brown hair sat atop his head like a mop. Like Kyrn’s, the halfling’s clothes had seen better days, countless hours of travel. They’d been blackened by soot or ash, no longer a recognizable material. “What’s your name?” Kyrn asked gently. “You’ve already introduced my party yourself.”
Biddledur smiled. He raised his chin with a slight sigh, relieved that Kyrn had taken over his interrogation. “Biddledur,” the halfling said steadily. “Biddledur Foltar.”
Kyrn nodded. “And why are we to believe a word you say, Biddledur? If you’re truly on their side.” He slid the butt of his glaive across the dampened wood, the rain growing heavier as the night grew old. “Why should we not cut you down where you stand?”
Biddledur raised both hands in surrender. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “I have something helpful. Something from my master.” He pointed to the bag slung across his shoulder, and, seeing Kyrn’s careful nod, he reached slowly into his pack. He removed a small, wooden box, no larger than the jewelry container Kyrn remember his mother to have.
“A box?” Kyrn asked.
“Let me see that,” Magmi snapped. Reaching around Kyrn, he plucked the box from the halfling’s hands. He studied it closely, lifting and tilting the wooden box in the moonlight. “Where did you get this?” he asked at last.
“You…” Biddledur stuttered. “You told me not to speak of such things, Master Magmi the Great.”
And that was, apparently, enough to convince the old wizard. He quickly grabbed the halfling’s wrist and pulled him along the docks. “To the ship, immediately,” he said back to his friends.
And to the ship they headed.
***
The shipmaster had been seated in the pouring rain, waiting for the party’s arrival, just as he’d told the golden-haired elf he would. “’Bout damned time,” was all he grumbled, as Magmi stormed past and onto the ship.
It was the largest ship Kyrn had seen in person. Maybe it’d only been the closest he’d ever come to a ship. Even standing on the docks in Grimmrich kept him a good distance from the ships coming and going from the harbor. He examined the large vessel, as he walked up the slippery ramp to the ship’s deck. Etched into the side of the ship was SEA MAIDEN, in an elegant script.
Kyrn had only seen a few deckhands as the shipmaster scooted quickly past Magmi and led them below deck. He was a wiry man, thin and frail. He looked old, but moved with a spirit of youthful ease. He looked more like a barkeep than a sailor, with sunken eyes that looked tired from years of repetition. The man showed the party to their respective cabins, and the ship bounced along the seas before they all gathered in the old wizard’s chambers.
Kyrn had followed the shipmaster back above deck, and helped him carry down a few spare stools for the seemingly spastic party aboard his ship.
Biddledur sat at the edge of Magmi’s cot, while the rest gathered around on their seats, waiting for the wizard to enlighten them. He hadn’t spoken for quite some time, quietly studying the wooden box he’d retrieved from Biddledur on the docks. He ran his fingers over the etchings, the latch upon the front, holding it at various angles in the candlelight.
At last he spoke. “Speak clearly and freely now, Biddledur.” He looked at the halfling, his brows now lightened with his genuine concern. “And, let me apologize for my wicked spattering upon the docks. If even half of what you say is true, then you’re well aware of what lingers in the shadows all around us.”
Biddledur raised a brow, feeling chills run down his spine at the thought of the Black Rock Mountains. “My gut tells me to say, ‘I can’t even imagine,’” he said. The halfling looked slowly around the room at the eight eyes of his new-found travelers. They looked at him intently, and he suddenly missed home. “But, it pains me to say I know precisely what lingers in the shadows,” his voice only a hush whisper. “Allow me to steal your ears for a deal of time.”
The halfling cleared his throat and started his tale with the tune he’d heard long ago in a small, rowdy tavern, much like the Grey Whale Inn. To his surprise, the wizard hummed along with the dull tune, though Biddledur wasn’t sure Magmi knew he did such a thing. The halfling brought the party through years of travel, scouring the West Lands for a jewel that held a strange weight on Biddledur’s half-sized heart. “A tale!” he laughed during his story. “I left home, left
everything behind to chase a bardic melody.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s not just a melody,” Kyrn said.
Biddledur nodded. “I learned that all too soon, Kyrn,” he said. He cleared his throat and began again, now, taking the party to his first meeting with the green-eyed demon, Grizlok. Little did they know, he exaggerated the demon’s stature greatly, making it out to be the size of a dire-wolf or great bear. For months, he was held captive in the Black Rock Mountains, but at the time, he’d not known where he was. “I blush to tell you, but I fainted the first time I laid eyes on the Dark Lord,” he told them.
“What’d he look like?” Kyrn asked. His words came out excitedly, but, truly, he only wanted to prepare himself for what he may someday face.
“A man,” Biddledur said to himself, his eyes raised in thought. “Surprising, actually. Though, he’s surely not just a man, nor one you’d ever want to meet.”
“Strange,” Magmi whispered to himself.
Kyrn could tell what the halfling had said about the Dark Lord bothered the old wizard; however, Kyrn was too invested in the halfling’s tale to interrupt further.
And so, Biddledur carried on. He talked of his failure of locating the stone after over a year’s search. He described the fear he had returning to the far corner of Einroth, to the Black Rock Mountains, to face the Dark Lord’s wrath. Again, he slightly exaggerated the extremes of his imprisonment. And, when he mentioned the goblin slayer, he described him perfectly. “He was so quick and agile,” he started. “Sliced two goblins’ heads clean off! At once! He stood in the shadows on the other side of my dark cell, and when he removed his hood, I saw him clearly. His black hair rippled like the waves we ride upon now, past his shoulders. He looked weathered. I could see it in his green eyes. So tired. His face was clean, though, touched only by two scars.”
Brailen interrupted the halfling. “One across his left eye?” he asked. The golden-haired elf took Biddledur’s drooped mouth as an answer. “One across his lip.”
Kyrn, too, noted the halfling’s confused stare. “You’ve heard of him?” Kyrn asked.
“His name is Alathain,” Brailen answered. “Though, ‘goblin slayer’ is a mockery of this man. He lived with us in Castreeth,” he continued. “One of the council’s elleinor found him half-dead as a child, in the woods near the Crystal Caverns. He brought him back to the city. He fit in oddly well, in fact, and he learned quicker than even the pure elves of the new Castreeth. King Glahlan took him as an apprentice.” Brailen clenched his teeth, angered as he spoke of the traitorous king. “We’d not heard from him in a handful of years. It makes sense, now, hearing Biddledur’s story. The false king Glahlan turned his hand to the Darkness.”
“Maybe you’ll see him again soon,” Biddledur put in. “I’m sure you don’t want to. But, I know better than even you. The Dark Lord has control. I’m not afraid of death any longer. I’d rather die at your side than remain a prisoner to that foul man and his giddy pet.” He set his eyes upon Brailen. “If Alathain is afraid of death, he’d choose the Dark Ones.”
“Alathain doesn’t fear death,” Brailen said.
“Kneel before those who will win,” Biddledur whispered.
Brailen questioned him with a sharp humph.
“Just something Alathain told me,” Biddledur answered. “The first and only time we met. A part of him still holds true. I could see it in his eyes.”
Brailen tilted his stool back on two legs, leaning his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and pictured home. He could smell the herbs of the Ivorrose Garden, glowing with its bright liveliness, hear the rushing rapids of the river flowing beneath the bridge. He opened his eyes when he felt a light tap against his arm.
Magmi had pushed the box in his direction.
Brailen took the box in his hands. He’d forgotten about it. Forgotten it was the reason Biddledur was even with them in the first place. The golden-haired elf studied it briefly, knowing that his limited knowledge of the Black Order would prove useless. Still, he slipped his thumb beneath the wooden latch and tried to pry it open.
“It won’t budge,” Biddledur scoffed. “I’ve tried countless times.” He stood from Magmi’s cot. “This is just the way of the Dark Lord. He’ll give you a box with no key and expect you to put it to use.”
Magmi the Great laughed. “The trick is not in a key,” Magmi said, “but in the mind. You must know, before you can do.”
Brailen handed it down the line to Kyrn. He didn’t study it. Like Brailen, he placed his finger beneath the lock and flicked it open. He looked up with a smile, hearing Biddledur gasp.
“How?” the halfling asked. “I’ve tried everything. Even smashed the stupid thing!”
Kyrn laughed. “It took me a while to grasp, too,” he told the halfling. “A long time ago, a set of trinkets were enchanted for the king of the forest, when Castreeth still held power within Einroth.”
Biddledur quickly hopped back on Magmi’s cot, happy to be the recipient of the stories now.
“He had them enchanted by a great wizard.” Kyrn slipped a quick wink to the old wizard. “They’re bound to him and his.”
Biddledur realized that he’d landed alongside another lord, much unlike the one he’d been forced to serve before, and he’d no idea if they stood the slightest chance against the Darkness. He bowed his head to Kyrn and the others, though, his heart upbeat with his decision.
When Kyrn raised the lid of the box, he found the inside lined with a bright burgundy felt, matching Magmi’s robes. A fine touch, Kyrn laughed. The box was empty, but the lining was indented into the diamond shape of the Stone of Ezroch. He fumbled through his pack until he felt the great weight of his ancestor’s heirloom. It fitted perfectly within the box, as it were meant. The lid sealed with a solid click, only to be opened again by his own hands. “Safe as it’s been for a long while,” he said.
Chapter Thirty
The Way of Shadows
Alathain climbed from the window of his room and scaled the outside of his master’s sandstone temple. The rocks were warm beneath his fingers and the sun blistered down, as he seated himself upon the flat roof of the building. In the distance, lush forests of the West Lands bordered the Grey Sea, and an ocean of green overtook the lands. It reminded him of home. If he could still call it that. It hadn’t mattered. This was his king’s bidding. He would follow him into any darkness, this proved no different.
A few miles out from the temple, Alathain could hear the echoing of clanking steel and grunted shouts. The orcs of the West Lands had been at war, tribe against tribe, for years. Part of him wished he were there with the ferocious warriors, one of the few civilized races of the world that he’d not yet tested his blades with. Since they’d arrived at the master’s new temple, Alathain had spent the vast majority of his days, legs dangling from the roof of the temple, cherishing the distant grunts of the Orcish Wars.
***
In the confinements of her small quarters, Lady Abellia drifted off, not truly reading the words on the pages she’d flicked through. Over the past week, Alathain, for some reason unknown to her, had begun sneaking books into her room late at night. She’d woken up to find the first laid carefully on her nightstand. Its spine read, Recorded History of the Great War. Perhaps he’d thought reading of her father’s early triumphs would raise her hopes, keep her strong. It’d done nothing more than keep her up late into the night, smearing the ink on the pages with her tears, as she read about her young, heroic father.
After the third or fourth book had been sneaked into her room, Abellia decided that sleep could wait for her. She sat in a small chair in the corner of the room, held tightly by the cloak Alathain had slipped over her in Baron’s Roost. She watched Alathain peek through as he creaked open the door to her chambers, but he knew the way of shadows. He spotted her before he’d even entered the room, and he gave up his quiet footsteps.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“I could,” s
he answered wryly. “Though I thought I’d thank you for… whatever it is you’re doing.”
Alathain snickered. Her words were polite and lady-like. Words she’d practiced for her future when she was a child, no doubt. He considered himself an expert liar, a title he’d never been referred to by, and that was because he’d never been caught doing so. He could see through her. “The only information you’ll squeeze from me, my Lady,” he continued, “is what you’ll read in these books.” He set the book he carried onto her bedside table.
He watched her twitch in her seat, knowing she’d been outed.
“I can’t bear this anymore,” she said, her eyes beginning to water. “I’m so scared. But it hurts even more, not knowing what to be afraid of. I feel like I’m on a distant leave from home, forced from my comfortable council chambers.” She wiped the tears from her reddened eyes. Her heart was a conflicting state of grief; she missed her family, worried for her brothers, was torn whether to believe her father had discovered her disappearance or not. Every time her door was opened she jumped in fright, not knowing whether the man cloaked in black would walk through her door, or his green-eyed pet, though she hadn’t seen either since she was formally introduced. Her heart sank every time she felt relief seeing Alathain’s scarred face. She felt relief at the sight of her captor.
Alathain leaned against the wall and crossed his arms at his chest. “You’re strong,” he said. “But don’t mistake me as weak-minded, cool at heart. I’m keeping you occupied and in place. As were my orders.” He found a slight sense of enjoyment as Abellia’s eyes hit the floor. “Your story is no different than any others,” he continued. “Your father’s, brothers’, even mine.”
“Don’t compare me to yourself,” she hissed.
Again, he laughed. “Everyone’s shoulders feel heavy while they walk in their own shoes,” he said. “But to the common eye, you’re only living another life. Many have suffered worse fates than you.” He made his way to the door, his feet the only noise against her silence. “I never had the chance to be as naive as you are, and sometimes I envy that,” he said. “Attune yourself to the darkness. It’s much easier that way.”
A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 24