The Marenon Chronicles Collection

by Jason D. Morrow

  Without another thought, he stormed out of his bedchamber, and the guards instantly saluted him as he passed by. He made his way down several long flights of stairs and through a dark corridor that was rarely used on the west wing of the castle. The corridor led to another door, protected by two more guards. They unquestioningly began to open the door for him. The passageway beyond the door led to an annex of the castle that was completely sealed off from the rest of the structure. It took several moments for the guards to pull the wheel that latched the door shut. It was impenetrable and could not be opened from the other side, so Julian would have to leave the doors opened behind him.

  It was customary for one of the guards to accompany the king or any other high official that might be going into the dungeons, but Julian held up a hand, refusing the guard. He didn’t want anyone watching. He didn’t know how the interrogation would turn out, and he knew his own temper. The presence of an escort would encourage restraint on his part, which is exactly why he refused it. Such a refusal would be ignored were he any other person in the land. Even the military commander Robin would be denied access to the dungeons without an escort. He held out a hand and asked the guard for the dungeon keys and the guard complied without question.

  The dark, damp passage beyond the door captured a sense of eeriness. The soundless dungeon beyond would be empty of other prisoners save for one small cell. Julian took a short step forward, hating that he even had to go into such a foul place. He doubted many kings before him had even been in the dungeons. It was a place meant for dirty work with which the king should never have to worry himself. Julian was still new to all of this, and he didn’t quite trust anyone for this sort of work anyway. Sure, he had Spencer questioned by the guards, but he never expected anything from it. He had known from the beginning that he would have to face the weasel himself.

  The walk down the passageway seemed to take too long. He supposed that it was a good thing, making the dungeons so far from the main part of the castle. Only the soft echoes of his footsteps kept him company, adding to his feeling of isolation. As he walked further and further, he began to wonder if he should have had one of the guards come with him after all.

  He shook his head. No. This was his job, alone.

  At the end of the passage he came to another door. It too could only be opened from the outside. He turned another wheel to unlatch it, and it swung open with a loud groan. A blast of cold air hit his chest while the smell of Human waste and rot assaulted his nostrils. Instinctively, his hand covered his mouth and nose, trying in vain to block the odor. Prisoners of the Farlaweer dungeons never got the luxury of a bath. Although there was only one prisoner that currently stayed there, the stench had been left from the many prisoners that had been there before. A prisoner would only be given a meal once per day. The cell would be cleaned once per week. It was a filth-hole that meant only to serve as a temporary holding place for the worst of criminals before they were imprisoned indefinitely somewhere to the south of Farlaweer. He walked by many cell doors. Each of them was a simple barred cage like any jail cell Julian had ever seen. Spencer’s cell was separate, however. At the end of the row was a door, closed off to the rest of the dungeon. Julian held up the keys he had been given by the guard and inserted the correct one. Before turning the key, he took a deep breath, not knowing exactly what he would say to Spencer. He had to be confident, knowing he couldn’t go into that cell with apprehension. He had to go in full-force, letting Spencer know that he hadn’t yet ruled out the option of killing him on the spot.

  With his jaws clenched and anger swelling, he swung open the cell door. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Spencer sat shriveled in a corner. If he had not been breathing, Julian would have thought the man was dead. He didn’t even have the inclination to look up to see who might be visiting him. It was as if he didn’t care or he had given up. Three months in darkness, with hardly any food and the stench of his own excrement, had taken its toll on the man. Julian stared at him from the doorway, unsure of what to say. Would Spencer even be responsive? The man had always looked frail and grimy, but this was a new level of fragility. As much as he hated to admit it, Julian almost felt bad for him. He shook his head, pushing sympathetic emotions aside.

  This man would have us all dead if he had his way.

  “Spencer,” Julian said, his voice bouncing off the bare walls of the dungeon.

  Spencer’s head lolled slightly. He brought his hand to his eyes to shield the light behind Julian as he began to look up.

  “Who is it?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Stand up.”

  Spencer’s head simply dropped back down to his chest.

  “I said stand up!” Julian shouted.

  Spencer took a deep breath. “Julian,” he said. His deep breath turned into a chuckle and his chuckle into a laugh from the belly. It was a menacing laugh that should not have been coming from such a frail creature. Julian wanted to kick him. Whatever feeling of sympathy he may have had a moment before had all but disappeared.

  “I wondered when you’d be coming to visit,” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “Stand up, you filth!”

  It took a moment for the frail Spencer to find the strength to bring himself off the ground, but using the wall to support his weight, he was finally able to stand, slouched and beaten.

  “Your Highness?”

  “I’m here to ask you something.”

  “I’ve been asked all the questions, Your Highness,” Spencer said disgustedly.

  “You haven’t answered this one.” Julian reached inside his cloak and pulled out the golden key. “What does this key open?”

  Spencer’s eyes betrayed his knowledge of the object, but he was not going to gratify his enemy.

  “It’s just a key, Your Highness,” Spencer said looking at the floor. “I’ve seen plenty of those.”

  “You lie!” Julian said, stepping closer to the prisoner. “This key is the only one of its kind isn’t it?”

  Spencer shook his head. “I’ve seen hundreds.”

  Anger seethed through Julian’s veins. He knew the man was lying to him. “You will rot in here for the rest of your days if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  Spencer managed to look up at Julian and meet his eyes for the first time. “You mean you plan a different ending for me?” he asked dryly.

  “If you tell me what this key is for, I will consider making your sentencing easier. You won’t be sitting here in your own filth.”

  Spencer considered the king’s words then lowered his head again. “I’ve seen hundreds of them.”

  Julian raised his arm and slapped Spencer with the back of his hand. Blood instantly began to trickle from the undernourished skin on the prisoner’s cheek.

  “What does the key open?” He slapped Spencer again across the other side, this time the man fell to ground, whimpering in pain, unable to even try to deflect the blows.

  Julian bent down and pulled him up by the neck, forcing the captive to look him in the eyes. He held the man with one hand easily and with the other he pulled out his dagger from underneath his cloak. Spencer’s eyes went wide with fear.

  “Tell me now, or you will die here.”

  “You’d kill me like you did your brother?” Spencer managed. Julian tightened the grip on the man’s neck. He wouldn’t even need the knife to kill him. As he held tighter, he began to feel the throat give beneath his grip until finally, Spencer tried to wheeze out a few words. He was ready to talk.

  Julian let go of Spencer’s neck and shoved him to the ground. “This is your last chance. I swear if you lie to me again, I’ll cut your head off, myself.”

  Spencer sat himself upright against the wall, coughing and wheezing from the death grip Julian had administered. After a long moment of trying to compose himself, he looked back up at the furious king and began to speak.

  “I don’t know how much Holden told you,” he said. “All I know is that it’s a key to
a door, a door that seals information.”

  “What kind of information?” Julian asked, testing the frail man.

  He shook his head. “Information about who was on our side.” Spencer’s mouth formed into a smile, but was quickly replaced with a cough. “You won’t like what you find, Your Highness.”

  “What exactly will I find?”

  “Proof. Your Dunarian Council members are not as loyal as you think they are,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the Dunarian Council used you. Probably still are, somehow.”

  “They were in league with you, Maroke and Holden?” Julian asked.

  Spencer nodded. “Every last one of them that I know of. That is, except Kaden and your precious Nalani.” He let out another wheezing cough.

  “Where can I find this door?”

  Spencer shrugged. “The forests are filled with villages and towns south of Farlaweer. All I know is it’s in one of them just outside of the forest. Go to a small village called Homestead, northeast of Clover Mountain.” He let out another cough, thick with phlegm. “Once there, you’ll ask for a man named Wilkes. Show him the key and he’ll show you the proof.”

  “What kind of proof is it?” Julian asked.

  “Holden never showed me, he only told me what I just told you.”

  Julian nodded then wordlessly turned to leave. He stopped when he heard the disgust in Spencer’s voice.

  “You’re still going to let me rot in here?”

  Julian turned slightly, not quite looking at Spencer. “Only if you’re telling the truth. If you’re lying then I’m going to kill you myself.”

  He walked from the cell and slammed the door shut, leaving Spencer in his own waste.

  Chapter Three

  The Stühocs destroyed the entire village. They had started by torching it with flaming arrows and when they were satisfied with that, they charged into the village square. It was a farm village with perhaps two hundred people. Three of the villagers managed to escape, and one of them barely had any life left in him. The three sat huddled in the mouth of a cold, damp cave in the hills above the village. As they shivered, they silently watched the smoke of the village fluttering serenely, almost mockingly in the setting sun. Most of the fire had already gone out because there hadn’t been much to burn.

  Dink’s jaw clenched as he watched the Stühocs make camp among the ashes and dead bodies of the villagers. The foul Stühocs didn’t lose a single soldier in the conflict. Then again, it had hardly been a conflict at all. It was a massacre. Once the Stühocs had cut the number of survivors down to about fifty villagers, they started to round up the rest and tie them up with rope. Dink hadn’t been in Marenon for more than a few months, but he knew it wasn’t normal for the Stühocs to take so many prisoners. From what he had learned, the Stühocs desired mostly to kill. After watching, horrorstruck, as row-by-row, barred carriages passed through the smoldering village ruins, it seemed that they had been busy picking up prisoners all across the central region of Marenon. There were hundreds of carriages filled with prisoners. He wondered silently to himself what the foul Stühocs might be planning.

  He held a canteen to Richard’s mouth, tilting it slightly until the last of the cool water was swallowed. Richard nodded his thanks and Dink took another long look at the arrow protruding from the man’s chest. The arrow must have missed the heart because Richard was still alive, but the blood seeped through enough to show that his time was limited.

  “Don’t even think about trying to take it out,” Richard said.

  Dink nodded and glanced at Emma who sat against the cave wall, staring blankly at the village. She had not been injured, but shock was apparent on her face. He turned his head back down to the dying man.

  “What do you suppose we do?” he asked, knowing there wouldn’t be a good answer.

  Richard started to sit up straighter, but the pain was too great. With a slight groan, he slumped back down and breathed slowly.

  “You and Emma need to go north,” he said. “You’ll find safety there and you’ll be able to warn the northern villages. If you can make it to them, they won’t face the same fate as our own. They’ll at least be able to put up a fight.”

  “There were hundreds of them,” Dink said, “maybe a thousand.”

  “And if you don’t warn the villages, they will be taken by surprise,” the man let out a deep painful cough mixed with saliva and blood.

  Dink watched him sadly, unable to help him in any way.

  “It’s coming,” Richard said.

  “What is?”

  “It’s here.”

  In that moment, Richard’s eyes went wide and his body began to shudder slightly. With one final breath, he reached out to Dink, but his hand dropped to his side as he closed his eyes and fell silently asleep, breathing no more.

  Dink sat petrified. He had seen a hundred or more people die that day, but this had been the hardest. Richard had become a friend. The man had been the village leader, and all who lived there had looked to him for guidance in every aspect of their lives in Marenon. Losing him was surreal. Dink had only been in Marenon a few months, but he had found this village, just weeks after surviving the gauntlet in Canor, a sick game set up by the previous king. He had been searching for his wife and found her among the people of this village. She had been there for two years. Richard had taken her in and treated her like a daughter. When Dink showed up at the village, Richard called for a celebration feast, for they had heard many stories from Emma about Dink, and how much she wanted to be with him again. Fate had brought the two together. Dink found happiness with his wife once again and a new satisfaction with his work in the village. There was a certain peace about it that captured everything he had wanted out of his previous life. It was ironic that it had taken death to finally make Dink happy.

  Now he stared outward as the flames of the Stühocs incinerated his happiness. He cursed them for their callousness. They came in and destroyed on a whim, not caring about the sacred lives of the people. Dink wanted to help those who were taken prisoner, but Richard was right. He and Emma needed to warn the villages to the North. What good would one man and one woman be against an army of Stühocs? Trying to free the prisoners would be folly.

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead and scooted next to Emma. He wrapped one of his big arms around her and stroked her long, brown hair. She buried her head in her arms, tears flowing uncontrollably. Dink’s heart ached to see his wife in such pain.

  “Emma,” he managed, not knowing what to say. What could he say? She had just lost most of the people in this world that were important to her. He would wait. She didn’t need to be hurried. They would be traveling through the night to reach the northern villages and it would be an exhausting trip. He looked again to the smoke, then to the Stühocs below.

  In a split second, fear tore into Dink. At the bottom of the rocky hill, he could see a patrol of Stühocs slowly making their way to the top. The path they took led straight to where he and his wife sat. His sudden surprise caused Emma to look up as well, and she saw the same thing. He looked at her, wishing he could ask if she were ready to move, but it wouldn’t matter. It was time to leave.

  “We can’t let them see us,” he said.

  She nodded, wiping away the last bit of her tears as she set her jaw firmly. Weaponless, they took each other by the hand and crouched low as they moved from the mouth of the cave to the outer edge and up. Dink feared with each step that their movements would be spotted. His fear changed to terror because within seconds of leaving the cave entrance they were seen by the patrol. One of the Stühocs shouted to a few soldiers below while the other three sprinted up the path. Dink was at least relieved to be in an area where there were tall boulders in every direction. It wouldn’t be impossible to lose the pursuers. They clambered up the hill, but they were moving too slowly. The two were in good shape, but they would never be able to outrun the furious Stühocs who had battle-trained sta
mina.

  They looked in every direction searching for some place to hide or some weapon to use. Emma looked further up the hill and saw a giant rock surrounded by trees at the edge of the forest.

  “Let’s go there!” she pointed. “They might split up on the path below and pass us by.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Dink agreed. They sprinted up the hill as thoughts of survival quickly replaced the thoughts of mourning for their loss. They climbed to the peak of the largest boulder, hidden among a patch of bushes and trees. Emma stood quiet to listen, but Dink grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  “You need to run,” Dink said. “Go on without me. I’ll stay behind and distract them, while you keep running north.”

  Emma shook her head violently. “We stay here!”

  “If we stay here they’ll probably catch us both.”

  “What exactly do you plan to do?” she asked.

  Dink waited a moment and said nothing.

  “Please don’t go down there,” she pleaded.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “There are only a few of them.” He reached down and picked up a fist-sized rock. “Besides, I’ve got a pretty good throwing arm.”

  “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard!”

  “It’s better than getting caught up here,” he said. “It’s all I’ve got, do you have a better idea?”

  Emma said nothing, still angry that Dink was putting her in the position of being the sole survivor while he sacrificed himself. “What if they kill you?”

  Dink could feel her limbs shake underneath his grip. “You keep running. No matter what you hear or see, don’t stop until you know you are safe. I’ll catch up with you soon, I promise.”

  Emma squeezed him tight and then kissed him on the lips. She had lost so much, but to lose her husband would be losing absolutely everything.

  Dink held her out at arm’s length. “Go.”