“Yes, mistress.” And he dashed off.
“Queig, you definitely have an interesting idea of beauty,” he heard his mistress mumble. A huge grin of crooked and pointed teeth showed in the reflection of a nearby sword. This would be an interesting day at the market.
***
His head pounded from the inside out. A steady drumbeat was all Gantha could feel. The rest of his body ached as if he had been in battle with no armor but the enemy had only blunt objects to attack him. His skin was clammy with sweat.
A knocking at the door rattled him even more.
“Go— Go away.” The sound of his voice even came out funny.
The knocking came once more, and then a key turned in the latch. He was barely able to get his eyes focused on the door as it opened. Niava grinned a devilish look.
“Wake up, my elf ssstud.” She slithered into the room. His hands grabbed for the covers, which twisted around him. As he fumbled, Niava set a cup on the nightstand next to the bed.
“Being modessst, are we? After lassst night?” She blew him a kiss. Gantha’s head spun even more, not sure what to make of the statement. “Drink that. You’ll feel fresssh in about five minutesss. You then have another ten to clear out of the room or I’ll have to charge you.” She winked and slithered out the door, closing it behind her.
Gantha froze. Movement caused aching. The pause let his mind catch up. Slowly he turned his head and looked at the cup. Each movement he made was calculated and precise. The less pain, the better. He sat up. Pause. He reached for the mug. Pause. Brought the cup to him. Pause. And then looked down into it.
If he didn’t suspect better, Gantha would’ve said the cup was full of blood. The liquid was thick, red, and smelled of feet. He was already feeling like horse dung. What did he have to lose by trying this cure-all?
In one quick motion, he gulped it down. The liquid was warm, sluggish, and tasted like liver with a hint of cherry. But Gantha managed to slurp the rest with a grimace. He waited. Then set the cup back down.
Suddenly a fire came alive within him!
Both hands went to his throat, as though he were choking, wanting to relieve the burning. He was on his feet, pain and ache forgotten, as he madly searched for some water to drink. Luckily, a pitcher sat on the far side of the room. His fingers fumbled for the handle, found it, and hoisted it to his tender, fiery lips.
Water gushed over the sides of the pitcher, down his throat but also down the front of him. About half he drank and half he wore. The burning simmered as water doused it, but as the torrent ceased, it began again.
Gantha dropped the pitcher and rapidly looked around the room. His mind decided it should move, maybe even run. There had to be more water somewhere in the room. He ran around the bed, looked under the bed, beside the bed. Nothing. Fire still smoked his insides.
As he stood, determined to run out on the balcony, the door opened again. Gantha stood and watched as Ra’na entered. She looked at him peculiarly.
“Help…fire…” Gantha rasped, holding his throat. She grimaced, took something from her pocket, and forced him to swallow it. Instantly the fire went out. The council member stood still, not sure what had happened. His mind did a system check of his body. The headache was gone. He felt well-rested—maybe more alert than normal. And his throat felt fine.
“What…?”
“Niava’s wake-up sauce is a little too hot for the elf throat. Usually she provides soothing tablets to her clients that might need them,” Ra’na said as she started gathering up some of his things. “Perhaps she forgot yours.”
Gantha was still in a bit of shock. He flexed his hand, rolled his head around, and stretched. He felt great. The wake-up juice made him feel the best he had in days. “Wow.”
Ra’na smiled as she continued to grab some of his stuff. “Okay, you really need to vacate the room or she will charge you, no matter how much she likes you.”
***
Minutes later, they were all down in the bar. Lourak had just had his second cup of wake-up sauce with minimal effect. Niava was busy rousting out her other tenants who were trying to sleep in.
“So where are we headed?” Gantha asked.
Ra’na tugged at Lourak to start moving.
“He always does this. I wish Niava would make a stronger dose of that stuff.” Ra’na looked back at the council member, and then realized he’d asked a question. “Oh, um…we will head toward Aladedas. I think Ynob resides just outside of it, but I should be able to find out the exact location from someone at market.”
Gantha nodded and did his best to help with the dwarf. All he succeeded in doing was pulling Lourak out of his chair and onto the floor. The fall must have helped stir him, because he stood up shortly after, swaying a bit.
“Okay…Aye’m up….”
It took the group another hour to get on the road, half of the time trying to get Lourak back to his normal self and the other half packing up the horses. Lourak’s horse was a small breed that only stood about four feet off the ground. It was known as a Dwarf Pony, and dwarves hated riding them because it made them appear ridiculous instead of fierce. Lourak was no exception.
“Aye despise this ’ere horse. Wish ye could’ve gotten a regular molly fer me.” His face held a scowl as he saddled his mount. Once upon the animal, Lourak looked like a pouting child.
Gantha did his best to stifle his laugh.
Ra’na, who had been ready to ride ten minutes ago, turned her horse and said, “Deal with it.” She then set off at a brisk pace.
Aladedas would be a little less than a half a day’s journey.
Chapter Nine
A little cottage, tucked back off the main road, came into view. Fret trotted his horse close to the house. Woodsmoke dotted the air above the stack. A morning meal fire blazed inside. Thinking about the food that could be cooking in there made his stomach rumble and his mouth water.
Go…feed…but feed me…too. The words appeared in his mind, faint yet their meaning clear, enticing. He moved in closer.
In packing, Fret didn’t bring along any weapons. Food and some clothes. He hadn’t thought long-term. What about bandits? Fret was a village bully and no more. Outside his small world, he was lost. How would he force anyone to give him food if they didn’t do so on their own?
Dismounting from his horse, he also unstrapped the fragment. It had sharp edges but was by no means a weapon. Out of habit now, he took Lyra with him. Fret’s mind occupied itself with the thought of warm food.
He approached from the side of the house. A window looked out, but curtains hung blocking the view inside. Carefully he crept forward. Around a woodpile, Fret stopped. Stuck in a stump was a chopping ax. The blade gleamed in the morning sunlight.
Ax… Again the word appeared in his head, a hissing yet intriguing word. Fret did as commanded. The wooden handle felt firm and sturdy in his beefy hands. It took him three good pulls to free it from its stump. As it came loose, Fret almost lost his balance.
“Hey, that’s my father’s ax.”
Surprise, panic, a flash of anger soared through Fret as his eyes looked about. Not twenty feet away stood a boy of five. He must have come around the side of the house, possibly for more wood.
“Oh….” Was all Fret could manage to say.
“Are you going to take it?” The boy showed no fear.
Lie… to the boy…. Words came and faded away but gave him a shot of courage.
“No, I was just going to use it.”
The boy took two steps forward. “Well, my father doesn’t let anyone use it. It is his.”
Fret set the blade side on the ground but kept hold on the handle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He paused for a moment and thought to add, “You won’t tell on me, will you?”
Now it was the boy’s turn to pause and think it over. “No, I won’t, but you probably should be going. They sent me out for more wood. The food is almost done.” As the boy said this, he took a few steps toward the woodpile, only ten f
eet away from Fret.
Food….
“I guess I should put this back in the stump.” Fret’s eyes never left the boy.
“Father always puts it in there when he is done.” The boy began to gather logs.
Kill…. A weaker command, and Fret took a moment to question it. He raised the ax back so he could swing it into the stump, but now his mind struggled. The boy was still out of range. Why was he going to kill again?
A log rolled out of the pile and stopped against the stump. The boy was too busy with the task at hand to notice that he was almost right underneath the older boy with the weapon. It wasn’t until the kid saw the shadow that he looked up.
KILL…. The word was a bright, painful light in his head. Fret swung with all his might in a tremendous effort. It hit some resistance but cut deeper until it was through.
All was still, except Fret’s head throbbed with pain. His eyes were wide with terror at the sight before him; his mouth held back his fearful cry. The pain moved to an ache, and through that throb, another command came.
Feed…m… Although it was incomplete, his body reacted to the command. Fret pulled the fragment from his pouch and set it upon the carnage. Instantly, the blue light pulsed, and just as quickly, Fret’s pain and terror went away. The horrible act of killing was nothing but a passing memory now.
Fret would have sat for hours, watching the pulsing light, had the father not come out to check on his boy. With renewed speed and determination, Fret was on the father while the shock set in. A quick swing with the ax muted any warning cry.
This act of violence did not faze him at all, for he struck the man several times before Lyra called on him.
Feed me again. The words were stronger, demanding. Fret did not question the order. He retrieved the fragment from what was left of the boy and placed it on the father. A sigh of relief seemed to echo from the mirror piece.
Lyra’s face appeared and spoke to him. It was not her honey-and-sugar tone she had used the previous night, but Fret didn’t seem to mind. Go inside and feed yourself. Beware the woman.
And that was exactly what Fret did. Now he sat inside the cottage with the fragment at the table. The woman was gone, even though she had put up more of a fight than the other two.
Fret stared into the glowing mirror. A state of pure bliss filled his thoughts. He had satisfied its need for food tenfold. His stomach moaned, stretched to capacity. The memories of the atrocities faded away with each pulse of blue light. It was soothing and calming. It seemed like Lyra knew what Fret needed.
Fret. Burn this house. We must be going. He did as commanded. Soon they were riding away, toward the wall, the sky behind them turning black with smoke.
***
Taylon was first to realize Euphoria slumped against her horse. The ride had been hard so far, and a lulling rhythm made him doze into semiconsciousness. A bump jarred him, and that’s when he noticed the queen.
He circled his horse and yelled to Hazel. In one quick motion, Taylon dismounted, slowed the queen’s mare, and had her out of the saddle. Her eyes rolled around, and her mouth hung open.
“Euphoria! Can you hear me?” He patted her cheeks. Hazel gigged her animal, coming to his side rapidly.
“What happened?” the old woman asked, dismounting. She scrambled to his side, surveying Euphoria.
“She…she passed out on her horse….”
Hazel placed her hand on the queen’s forehead and muttered something under her breath. Taylon caught this but did not stop her. When she lifted her hand, Euphoria’s eyes were staring straight at them. Her slack expression gave way to a confused look.
“What…why?” She tried to sit up, but Taylon held her down.
“Shhh. It is okay.”
“Take your hands off me, soldier!” The voice rang with a different quality that made Taylon instantly obey.
Euphoria’s face remained shocked and outraged. Hazel reached out, but the queen batted her hand away. “Who do you think you are?”
Then to Taylon, “Tell me who this woman is, soldier!” Euphoria exclaimed.
He stared puzzled, yet deep in his mind he knew who was speaking. It sounded like the real Princess Euphoria.
“You know me. It must be some of the shock. Just lie here and you will be fine,” Hazel cooed and placed her hand on the queen.
“Do not touch me, peasant!” The queen swung at Hazel again. She stared about, looking around at her situation.
Taylon hesitated to answer. His eyes caught Hazel’s expression, perplexed and a little concerned. Hazel stood and went to her horse.
“I asked you a question. Are you going to answer me, soldier? And where is Master Kreitan? Shouldn’t he be here?”
“Um…I’m sorry…Your Majesty.” Taylon still couldn’t believe it. Before he could say any more, Hazel waved a small bottle under Euphoria’s nose. She tried to react to it by swatting away the glass vial, but the sleeping drug did its work quickly. Hazel caught her before she flopped to the ground and lowered her gently.
“That gives us a little time.” Hazel turned to face Taylon, her eyes stern and intent. “Time that you can use by telling me everything. And this time I mean everything.” Her words were hard, cold metal.
And Taylon told her everything. From the broken mirror, and the wraith, the wizard, to the girl. His heart ached throughout it, dwelling on the fact that he may have lost Euphoria, the Rose personality, forever.
After all told, Hazel looked at him. But as she looked at the queen, her eyes grew wide. “Look!”
Hazel pointed at the necklace, the bat pendant. All looked the same, except the stone was yellow and not a dark blue. The yellow light pulsed, shimmered like sunlight on the water. Taylon felt himself drawn to the light, his confusion inside forgotten. He wanted to touch it, cradle it in his hand.
Hazel suddenly covered up the stone with her shawl.
“Midnight Core has some dangerous properties. Number one rule is never stare at it too long when it is pulsing light,” Hazel told Taylon.
His head swirled as the fog lifted. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that I have never heard of the stone ever going yellow.”
The queen remained in silence. “What do we do now?” Taylon asked Hazel. He sat, stumped for the first time in quite a while.
“Same course of action. Zediah. He may be her only hope,” Hazel said.
“But how are we going to get her to come along willingly? Princess Euphoria could be quite the royal pain at times. She had a bit of her father’s personality.”
“Great… I can possibly keep her sedated for some of the ride, but I don’t want to drug her for the duration. It would be too dangerous.”
Taylon thought a moment and then decided. “Let her sleep some of it. Maybe we can come up with a plan later on. She can ride with me while the other horse follows.”
Hazel nodded.
This was going to be a hard track to this Zediah. Especially if the princess woke up.
***
Da’Lynn ran through Pajote Palace with intent. She had heard the news just as she prepared to return home. Another prophecy? It was absurd to think that another foretelling was coming out of the Palace of Nine.
She slowed short of the door and composed herself. With a deep breath, she entered the chamber. All other council members were present, except Gantha of course.
“Good. I was not sure the message would reach you in time,” Outhsola said, motioning to her seat. Da’Lynn nodded and followed the direction. After a moment’s pause, Outhsola stood, giving the order to the guard.
A bell rang. Again the Spoken One was in the midst of the council. He appeared as he had the day before, sullen. Silence gripped the chamber as the boy lowered his head and closed his eyes. It appeared as if he was not going to speak, but his fist clenched and his head came up, eyes opened violently wide.
There comes a blackness of fetid rain led by two.
One is of thre
e and the other is one of those three.
Mighty is the ring that holds the spirit. Mighty in that it brings war and perhaps salvation. In three cycles of the moon, doom shall reign.
On the first, birth. On the second, resurrection. On the third, death.
The One’s voice came forth, strained and angry with each syllable. But once the words left him, his tension relaxed and the prophet drifted back to his sullen, sober demeanor as if nothing had happened. He turned and retreated back into the palace.
Da’Lynn remained stunned, as did the four other members. It was Barth who spoke up first.
“Why should we even believe this nonsense? No prophecies for a hundred or so years and now all of a sudden two?”
“Councilman Barth, please remain calm. I believe none of us enjoy hearing about death and destruction, but it is a prophecy. They are to be respected and heeded,” Outhsola scolded.
“But where do we start with this one? Last one gave us a bit of a lead. This one is completely vague,” Lachad asked.
Outhsola sat, his fingers steepled in front of him as he thought. The others watched him, knowing his next words would be wisdom.
“Da’Lynn.” He paused before starting again. “You will go deliver this new prophecy to Gantha. Both have some commonalties, and maybe this human wizard can help decipher each.”
Barth looked ready to object in some way, but Outhsola turned and cut him off before he could do so. “I know your feelings on this matter. The past can haunt and destroy.”
“You know nothing, old man! My wife…my mate killed by an ignorant human!” The word came out as if he had spit because it was so vile.
“Barth, no!” Da’Lynn cried. Outhsola said nothing.
“I will not be silent! Too much injustice is overlooked or twisted! My wife, my brother Kerlick….”
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