Stolen Crown
Page 9
At a gesture from Nunde, Radok seared and slew another of the Chun.
Filled with additional
Unable to resist, yet hiding its words behind the mutterings and whispering of others, the reluctant voice spoke.
But Nunde was a skilled Necromancer, and he winnowed out the unwilling words.
And then he laughed and said, “Oh, how delicious. The Usurper will be in my debt when I tell him this. But first . . .” Nunde commanded the corpse to look toward Kell and name the place where the secret dwelt, yet Valen remained mum.
Again Nunde commanded, but Valen spoke not.
“More power, Radok,” commanded Nunde, and Radok seared and slew another Ghok, and Nunde sucked up the added energy.
“Peísou moî, Valenos!”
Still, Valen remained silent.
Grinding his teeth, Nunde spat, “Someone blocking. Slay them all, Radok.”
And Radok burned and slew and burned and slew until no Chun were left.
And bloated with enormous power, Nunde again commanded, “Peísou moî, Valenos!”
And among the many voices and sibilant whispers issuing forth from the skull, it seemed that Valen began to speak—
—yet of a sudden, all voices chopped to silence.
Frustration and puzzlement filled Nunde’s features . . . and then furious enlightenment, and he cursed, and his fist smashed down on the skull; the fragile weathered bones shattered, shards flying wide. As the skull fell to ruin, so too did the frame, and it clattered back unto the table, its bones scattering as well.
Now it was Radok who cursed, for with the remains broken and strewn, he would not have a chance to perform the rite. Yet why the master had destroyed all, the apprentice did not know. Only that his mentor was enraged. And Radok’s own ire passed into dread, for he knew not what Nunde might do. Even so, and with his voice quavering, Radok asked, “Master, what passes?”
Nunde spun toward his flinching apprentice and snarled, “You fool, someone thwarted me. I know not who.”
14
Rune Stones
Among the many items Seers use to focus their castings are rune stones. There are many varieties of these arcane objects, and typically they come in sets of twenty-five stones. Yet some sets have more stones, and some fewer. But no matter the number in a given set, the individual stones in all sets have this in common: one side is blank, the other marked with a rune, but for one stone that is blank on both sides.
The stones themselves are usually small, generally no larger than a modest coin—a copper penny or such. And like a coin they are not very thick—perhaps double or triple that of a copper. And rune stones can be circular or rectangular or oblong, with smooth or rough edges and surfaces; all stones in a given set are nearly identical in size and shape, for the Seers would not have them identifiable by feel.
Typically, when reading what the day might bring, the Seer selects sight unseen a number of stones. The number selected depends upon what the Seer is trying to achieve. And, remaining sight unseen, the selected stones are then shaken together and cast before the Seer, to fall faceup or facedown. Whether faceup or facedown, the stones are read as they land, though facedown ones usually mean something that is unknown until revealed.
If some stones land faceup while others are facedown, whatever rune the facedown ones contain, typically they are in opposition to the faceup ones. If all stones land faceup, there is no conflict among the runes. If all stones land facedown, again there is no conflict among the runes. Whether a reading bodes good or ill simply depends upon which stones happen to be selected unseen, and the manner in which they fall. . . .
. . . And in a farmhouse on the island of Kell three stones lay on a table, one faceup, two facedown . . .
• • •
“QUICK,” snapped Conal, holding Driu, “fetch brandy.”
As Catlin rushed away, Gretta dipped a cloth in water and wrung it out.
Conal lifted the Seer in his arms and strode to a nearby room, where he gently laid her on a cot.
Gretta placed the cool cloth against Driu’s brow.
Even as Catlin rushed in with the brandy and a small cup, Driu’s eyelids fluttered.
Conal unstoppered the brandy and poured a jigger of the liquid into the cup. The aroma of peaches wafted up.
“Support her, my love,” bade Conal, and Gretta raised Driu just enough for Conal to give her a sip of the bracing liquor.
Driu swallowed and then coughed and gasped.
“Too strong,” muttered Catlin. “Should have cut it with water.”
But then Driu’s eyes flew open and she took the cup and gulped the remainder down and held the vessel out for more.
After a second tot, she sat up.
“What happened?” asked Conal.
“I am not at all certain,” said Driu.
Gretta said, “Someone was searching for Rígán, for Reyer; at least that’s what you said.”
“Yes,” replied Driu. “He was evil, abominable, and using
Catlin moaned, and raised trembling fingers to her mouth.
“I managed to hold him at bay,” said Driu, “but then his power increased tenfold or more, and I could not stop him.”
Conal growled. “You mean he knows were Reyer is?”
“Perhaps, though I think not.”
“But you said—” began Gretta.
Yet Driu pushed out a hand to stop her. “Just before I swooned, someone else came and aided me. Whether he succeeded or failed, I know not, though I think he prevailed over the vile one.” Driu paused for long moments, gathering her recollection. Finally she said, “Yes, I am certain he prevailed.”
“Even so,” said Conal, “we must remain on ward. I’ll alert the men. The Dylvana, too.”
As Conal left the room to speak with the farmhands, Gretta headed for the stables. There she gathered up Rígán and Alric and folded them into her embrace. When she finally released them, she stood and smiled down at the twain. Reassured that things were all right, they grinned up at her with gap-toothed smiles, for each had lost two front teeth, being at that age.
Back in the kitchen, Driu looked down at the three rune stones she had cast for the day. Her set consisted of twenty-seven rough rectangular black stones mined from the heartstone of the dark mountain the Dwarves called Aggarath in the Quadran, one of the four mountains of Kraggen-cor, or Drimmen-deeve as it is known by the Elves. These rune stones had served her for many long years, for Magekind, with
But now Driu peered at the three dark stones lying where she had cast them. Among the meanings of the faceup one was Death or a Soul After Death.
Driu turned over one of the facedown stones: Aid, Strength. And in this case, Hidden Aid, Hidden Strength.
Driu turned over the second facedown stone: Protection. Defense. Both of those hidden as well.
Of the malignant presence, Driu had not a glimmer as to who it might have been. Yet of the one who had come to assist her, there was something familiar about his touch.
And then she smiled unto herself. Ah. Of course. It would be him.
15
Demonspawn
Scholars have long argued over the makeup of the Planes. Are there just three? More? Where resides the world of Vadaria, the world of Magekind? Is it on the High, Middle, or Low Plane? Is it on a Plane of its own? And what of Grygar, where Demons dwell. Or of the Dragon world of Kelgor. And are there many more worlds we know nothing of? Many more Planes? And if there are others, who rules them? Adon? Gyphon? Naxio? Garlon? Some other god?
This much is known: there are three principal Planes�
��High, Middle, and Low. Adon reigns over all of creation, and certainly the High Plane is His. Gyphon rules the Low. As to the Middle Plane, Adon holds sway, though Gyphon is not without followers. It is the Middle Plane wherein lies the determination of who commands all.
Gyphon is jealous of Adon’s rule, and He contrives to have supreme authority. One of His means of trying to conquer Mithgar and thus assume dominance o’er all is to sow dissent and conflict upon the middle world, and He has many agents to do this: Black Mages, Demons, Fiends, others, along with Rûcks and Hlôks and Ogrus and other Foul Folk.
Much is known of Black Mages and Rûcks and Hlôks and Ogrus, and a bit about Demons—after all, a Gargon is of Demonkind—yet a Fiend is the least known of these fomenters of discord and struggle. Some common folk tell that a Fiend is likely the get of a true Demon upon a Spawn of Neddra—whether it mated with Rûck, Hlôk, Ghûl, or some other Foul One, that no one can say. But Scholars believe a Fiend is a commingling of Human, Demon, and Foul Folk blood. No matter the which of it, the creation of Fiends is an evildoing of Gyphon.
On a day long past, such a terrible creature came upon a Seeress—Seylyn was her name—living alone in a tower in the Grimwall nigh the Elvenwood of Darda Galion. And he took her and spewed some of his vile seed in her, and then turned into a great Fell Beast and flew away upon leathery wings.
And Seylyn went mad.
Yet Lian Elves came upon her, and took her unto their care. But in spite of their healing arts, they could not cure her. Instead they sheltered and cared for her.
And from this horrible mating Seylyn grew large with child, and she bore twins—male and female—yet she never regained her sanity, and died of terror some ten years after, screaming in unassailable dread.
Among the Elves was a Silver Wolf named Greylight, and he “imprinted” both of the twins, and shape-shifters they became. Yet they could see the aethyr, for Seylyn’s Mage blood was in them, and so they traveled to the college of Mages in the City of Kairn on the island of Rwn and there they learned many things,
The boy remained on Rwn for many long years, growing into his fullness, and he learned even more. . . .
. . . And in the throne chamber at Challerain Keep, this Seer, this Mage, this shape-shifter, this Demonspawn . . .
• • •
DALAVAR TOOK A DEEP breath and opened his eyes. He stood, and, bearing the circlet, he went among the dust-laden tables and toward the far end, and, at a small gesture, the doors opened as he approached.
Sergeant Deyer and Corporal Lann turned in surprise, and they bowed to the Wolfmage as he passed.
• • •
“ORDINARILY, I WOULD AT most tell you little of this, but—”
“What do you mean, you would not tell us?” growled Lord Raden. “If you have found an heir, we demand to know just who it is, and where.”
“I will say who but not where,” said Dalavar.
Hein turned to Lord Cavin. “How do we even know if he’s telling the tru—?” Realizing what he was about to ask, the mayor clapped his mouth shut, and, cringing down in his seat, shot a terrified glance at Dalavar.
Lord Cavin took a deep breath and said, “Your reason, Lord Dalavar?”
Dalavar stood and said, “There are those who would slay him, if they but knew. Hence, the less who know, the safer he is, until his time has come.”
“But surely we here in the council—” began Viscount Axton of Harth, but his gaze turned toward Mayor Hein. “Ah, I see what you mean.”
Hein puffed up as if he had been insulted, and surely he had been. But he spoke not.
“This I will say,” said Dalavar. “You asked for an heir, and there is one—someone you do not, did not expect. ’Tis Reyer, King Valen’s own son.”
A gasp went ’round the chamber, and Hein said, “But he is dead. Reyer is dead. He burned with the Queen.”
“Not so. ’Twas a ruse,” said Dalavar. “He was spirited away. Yet, heed, Arkov knows, if not now, he will know soon. This I have
“Then we must bring him here, where he will be safe,” said Raden.
“Nay,” said Dalavar. “’Tis better he stay hidden at a place where he is well protected. When his time comes, he will make himself known, and there will be a call to arms. Prepare for that day, my lords. Stand ready.”
“But when?” asked Lord Aarnson.
“And how will we know him?” added Baron Fein.
“You will know him by his birthmark, and he—”
“Birthmark?” asked Mayor Hein.
“The claws of a griffin,” said Raden. “Everyone knows that Reyer was born with the right forefoot of a griffin on his own right shoulder.”
“The size of a large penny-coin,” added Cavin.
“Well, I didn’t know,” huffed Hein.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Raden.
“Well, birthmarks can be falsified,” said Aarnson.
Cavin nodded. “By a skilled needle hand with the right dye.” He turned to Dalavar. “Is there aught else?”
“Aye,” replied the Wolfmage. “In addition to the mark of a griffin claw, he will bear the King’s seal, Valen’s ring, and one who is unimpeachable will vouch for him. By those three things you will know him.”
Dalavar stood, and Lord Cavin asked, “Who is it will vouch for him?”
“You already know this person, and you will know his word is true. I will say no more.” With that, Dalavar strode from the chamber, leaving a babble behind.
Moments later, seven Silver Wolves streaked down the mountainside, ready to be quit of this overcrowded place and back into the clean woodland environs of faraway Darda Vrka.
16
Arden Vale
In the north of Rell, the land that once was called Lianion, lies a deep-cloven ravine—a gorge—running north and south along the western edge of the Grimwall. Through this chasm dashes the River Tumble, known as the Virfla by those who dwell in this crevasse. In the north, the rift fetches up against the mountains where a waterfall plummets into the gorge; the river then runs some twenty-five leagues or so to the south, where it exits from the chasm through a narrow cleft. Out from between close-set high canyon walls roars the River Tumble—the Virfla—to cascade over a high linn and plunge into a deep pool, then rushes to crash onward. Mist boils upward from this cataract—a white curtain to obscure the view into and out of the ravine. The falls themselves stretch the width of the narrow slot, and the way in is difficult to see. Yet behind the roaring plunge lies a hidden path, always guarded by those who live within. The mist from the cataract swirls about to dampen those who pass along the wet stone roadway and up through a hewn tunnel and out into the gorge beyond.
And just inside the gorge there towers an enormous tree hundreds of feet upward, as if to touch the sky itself. Its leaves are dusky, as if made of the stuff of twilight, for it is one of the Eld Trees, brought from Darda Galion and to this vale as a seedling millennia upon millennia past.
Beneath the sheltering branches of the behemoth lies the campsite where stays the Arden-ward. And beyond it and northward stretches out the pine-laden gorge, wending alongside the rushing waters of the River Tumble. High stone canyon walls rise in the distance to left and right, the sides of the gorge at times near, at other times two or three miles apart. Crags and crevices are seen here and there, though for the most part the lofty walls are sheer granite. In the places where the canyon narrows dramatically, hewn-rock pathways are carved partway up the side of the stone palisade that forms the west wall of the valley, for in these straits when the river o’erflows its banks, the vale below becomes a raging torrent, and so these routes high along the wall were made for safety’s sake. And the gorge continues, at times through narrow, stone-bottomed slots and at other times across wide valley floors of gentle loam, with soft green galleries of sh
adowy pine forest spreading wide.
Near the north end lie fields and orchards and farmland and range, as well as thatched and whitewashed stone buildings: dwellings and storehouses and an armory and such, as well as a meeting hall.
’Tis the Elvenholt of Arden Vale. . . .
. . . And at a small table just outside the doorway of one of those thatched-roofed, stone-sided, whitewashed dwellings . . .
• • •
“HE LIVES, Silverleaf, thou sayest? Reyer lives?”
“Aye.”
“Then who is it went up in flames at the Queen’s side?”
“Trenor, child of King Bain and Queen Sarai.”
“Ah. Trenor. Died in the plague.”
“Aye, Riatha. That’s the one.”
“Clever. Was Arkov deceived?”
“So it seems.”
Golden-haired and slender, Riatha turned her gaze upon Vanidar Silverleaf, her eyes such a pale grey as to seem almost silver. “Well, then, since Reyer lives, battle will surely come; what said the gathering at Darda Galion? Do we side with Reyer?”
Silverleaf shook his head. “Thou knowest we gave up rights of succession long past, after the Time of Madness.”
Riatha nodded, for Vanidar spoke of the days when Elvenkind was yet young, and many were the struggles over power and dominance and the gathering of material things. Endless Wars were fought, and Elves were slain, and long and vicious feuds occupied many in the bitter struggles to rule as Coron—as King—over all of Elvenkind. Adonar itself became a battleground, yet Adon let no gods interfere, for He knew that His creations would ultimately come to their senses. And so they did, after millennia of destruction, for Elves are ageless, and many achieved dominance. And when it became apparent to those who potentially can live forever, they found attaining such ambitions were pointless, where the sweet taste of victory becomes naught but ashes in one’s mouth, for, strife led to strife, endlessly. One of Elvenkind finally realized the folly of dominion, for when one controls and subjugates, then free will and freedom of choice and self-determination are lost. And so, he founded a movement of change simply by saying, “Let it begin with me.”