Mantle: The Return of the Sha

by Gary Bregar

  “Is that right?” the guard said. “And just what are you going to do when we don’t?”

  “I’ll tell you…” Dorian began.

  “It’s all right, Dorian,” Lizabet said, raising her hand and smiling at him.

  Now looking back toward the two guards, she removed her smile and said, “Sirs, my name is Lizabet Abbot, sister to the queen and sister by law to the king. I assure you that he will receive us—for it is my sister, Bella, who he has come to save.”

  “How do we know you are who you say you are?” the second guard asked with a doubtful look on his face.

  “Look around you,” Dorian said. “Why else would we come to this forsaken place?”

  Lizabet raised her hand once again. She could see that Dorian was irritated with the soldiers, and understood completely. They had been traveling under stressful circumstances. Although the moss of the forest provided them with simple directions, they had still been leery of Locks and the trip through the Hidden had been very nerve-racking.

  “You already know that what I say is true—it is written in your eyes. And while I appreciate your service to the king, I will appreciate your service all the more, once you have provided us escort to see him.”

  The guards stood silent for a moment, studying them. Reluctantly, the first guard said, “Eh, so be it…we’ll take you to the captain. He can decide what to do with you. Unsheathe your swords and drop them. You won’t be needing those.”

  Lizabet could see Dorian in the corner of her eye, preparing to comment on this, and calmly took her sword from her belt. She dropped it to the ground and turned to Dorian, nodding for him to do the same. He did, and rode toward the guards, passing them so that they took up behind.

  ****

  As they rode through the rows of pitched tents, the soldiers became quiet and stood watching them as they passed. Murmurs could be heard throughout the men, and Lizabet was certain that she had heard her name in their whispers. Some of them would surely recognize her from Obengaard, although they might only be few. It wasn’t often that she had wandered out of Bannister Castle, and only those men who had business within the castle walls would likely be certain of her identity. And, after all, she was covered from head to toe with dirt and grime of all colors—they all were. This was a stark difference from their appearance in the castle.

  When the guards came to a stop, they instructed them to dismount and escorted them into the captain’s tent.

  Once their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, they saw the captain, his uniform in perfectly clean and tailored condition, standing over a large map table. There were small crystal spheres lying on the map in various places, flat on one side to steady them. They balled up out of the map, giving the appearance of a mountain range with perfectly curved peaks.

  As they walked farther into the tent and closer to the map, Lizabet could see that some of the spheres were of different colors. The spheres in the south were of a gold color and the spheres in the northern areas were all clear (including their current location). There was one sphere that lay deep inside the Skite Kingdom—it was pitch black. Another stood on the edge of the Skite border, not far from their current location—it was colored gold.

  “Ah, Miss Abbot and Mr. Bellows,” the captain said as he turned to them.

  His expression was not one of joy. The Abbot girl and the Bellows boy were nothing more than a distraction. One that he could’ve done without.

  “You know them, Captain?” the first guard asked in surprise.

  “They are the runaways from Bannister—do you not know?” the captain said in a sarcastic tone.

  It so happened that finding them was also a distraction that he could have done without. Lizabet, sensing this, stepped forward to him and held out her hand for him to shake.

  “You are correct, Captain,” she said, “I am Lizabet Abbot and this is my friend Dorian Bellows. We also travel with a Loper who waits outside, although I would rather discuss his situation directly with the king. Might we have the pleasure of your name, sir?”

  She gave her best smile, which she knew would lighten him. It seemed to work, and the captain became more visibly relaxed immediately. He offered his own very brief smile, but it seemed eerily unnatural on him.

  “A Loper, eh?” he said. “I can’t imagine how that came about, but you are free to take that up with the king if you wish. I am Captain Hawkins.”

  “That is my wish, Captain. May we see him? The king, that is.”

  Captain Hawkins seemed to consider this for a moment before saying, “The king is quartered at the Outland Post not far from here,” he said, “but you will not find him there. He has gone into Skite to negotiate for the queen.”

  “Alone?” Lizabet asked in shock.

  “Yes, but I assure you that he went against all objections. He was determined to go, and would not be stopped.”

  “How will you know that he has not been killed outright?” she asked, still grappling with what this might mean.

  “It’s quite simple, really,” Captain Hawkins said as he looked down at the map and pointed to one of the spheres. “He is here.”

  “That crystal is the king’s location?” she asked. She had never heard of magic such as this.

  “Yes,” he said, “the crystal will remain gold while he is traveling—while his location is changing. The map will follow all armies when the crystals are placed.”

  “How is it that the crystal follows the king at all then, if it is fixed on armies?” she asked.

  “A crystal is always assigned to the king by the war maps,” Hawkins said. “The maps consider the sovereign to be no different than an army, even when he is alone.”

  “Or she,” Lizabet interjected. “The sovereign might one day, once again, be a queen.”

  “Yes, yes—or she,” he grumbled back.

  “And what are the others?” she asked.

  “That would be King Cergio’s armies coming out of Bore,” he replied, as he pointed to a cluster of gold crystals in the south, not far from them. “It would seem that they have nearly arrived. The crystals in the Domin Sea and at the Red Islands are ships from Tongar. The black are the Skites, although I do not put much trust in that. The magic in the maps is very old, and while I do find them useful, I do not trust that their magic is resistant to all forms of deceit.”

  Lizabet was fascinated by the map, but thought it risky to keep such a thing on the front lines.

  “Captain, why do you have this map here?” she asked.

  “There are three such maps in Forris; one at Obengaard, one map that follows the king—it presently remains at the Outland Post—and, of course, the map that you see before you. I assure you that the map itself would not provide information to our enemies, if that should be your concern.”

  She considered this, and thought best to leave the subject alone. After all, if nothing else, she knew that, for the time being at least, Zander was alive. That was at least something in their favor.

  ****

  King Zander hadn’t known what to expect as he rode into Skite. He was relieved to see that the Dark Weed hadn’t covered all of the land. That was important if they would be dragged into Skite lands to fight. But there was enough of the vile weed to direct him on a path to his wife. He could only hope that it was not leading him to a trap—and his death.

  As he rode, he came upon more tar pits, just as those they had encountered on the Hobble Road. These, though, were much larger. He could see by the torch light and the light of the moon that scattered about were the skeletal remains of the unfortunate animals that had wandered too close to the Dark Weed. He could make out the shapes of birds and frogs, but others he could not identify. They had been consumed by the weed, stripped of life, with the bones left as evidence of the weed’s indifference.

  He saw Iron Trees scattered about as well. Some stood as tall as twenty-five feet and others were much smaller at only a few feet in height. The smaller of the trees were dark gray in col
or. He realized that they had not rusted yet. They were newly formed.

  He now began to see the Dark Weed on both sides of his path stand partially upright, exposing the green and brown of its blades to him. His horse reared slightly, keenly aware of the danger that surrounded it. Zander began talking to the horse, comforting it, assuring the animal that all would be well. It was a Noble horse—one gifted by King Cergio, so it would not understand his words, but perhaps it would understand his tone. He hoped that his reassurances would not amount to lies.

  He was about three hours out when he spotted light on his path not far ahead. His heart began to race as he approached the light that stood out on the barren wasteland. The farther he had gone into Skite, the worse he had felt. Although he couldn’t quite put a name to it, the feeling he got in this place reminded him of sadness, dread, grief, and anger. All of one’s worst and most feared emotions had been wrapped up together by evil itself.

  The weed led him to a large clearing. He could tell by the sound of his horse’s hooves on the ground that he was now riding on top of the weed itself.

  He could see Balki now. He was standing next to his horse at the other side of the clearing, holding a torch. He did not see Bella.

  As he continued to ride toward Balki, the ground beneath him changed once more. He was no longer riding on the weed, and could once again hear the sound of the horse’s hooves on rocky sand and dirt.

  “That is quite close enough, Majesty,” Balki said.

  It was Balki that the king saw speak, but it was not Balki’s voice. This voice had a horrible gurgling sound to it and Zander knew at once that he would be speaking with the inflock.

  “I would see the queen,” Zander said, bringing his horse to a halt.

  “My apologies,” the inflock replied.

  Balki guided his horse, moving to his left and revealing Bella, who had been sitting against a boulder behind him. Her hands appeared to be tied behind her back and she had a rag tied around her mouth to prevent her from speaking. Although she looked worn, Zander let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her. She was still alive.

  “What is it that you want?” the king asked.

  “You know very well what I want,” the inflock said in its gurgling voice. “And I warn you not to cross me with false ignorance. We do not have time for such games.”

  Balki began to walk toward Zander, and as he did, the light of Balki’s torch revealed the box containing the Crown of Forris, resting on a small flat rock near the ground.

  He was still too far away for Zander to make out his face clearly.

  “You already know what is to happen next,” the inflock said.

  King Zander got down from his horse.

  “How do I trust you to release the queen if I comply?” Zander asked in the most commanding voice he could muster.

  Balki brought the torch closer to his face so that Zander could clearly see him. He wasn’t sure if Balki had done this intentionally for effect or not, but he could briefly see the haggard, aged face of Balki Touro.

  The boy had been so young!

  For a moment Zander considered whether Balki was even alive. Has the inflock washed him away completely? he wondered with a brief feeling of pity for the boy.

  “Majesty, trust is such nonsensical rubbish!” he howled. “Trust carries no guarantees with it—it has no value. You can no more trust me than I would you.

  “If you give me reason to kill you—you will be dead,” he went on. “But that is not my purpose. My purpose is only to retrieve a thing of great value that you have stolen from Lord Menagraff. If it should become necessary to dispose of you to accomplish this, I assure you—I will.”

  Zander had no response. He already knew that he would open the box if it came to it, and had thought long and hard about the events that would follow such a thing. But he had finally resolved that he must fight his battles as they come. The greater war would take place with or without Bella at his side, and her death would accomplish nothing. He would not sacrifice her life in vain.

  “This will be quite simple,” the inflock continued. “You will open the box and I will release your queen.”

  “And you will release her immediately,” Zander said, not quite as a question.

  “She is of no further use to me, and I am eager to lose her company. You have my word, if you require such trivial reassuring.

  “Leave your weapons.”

  Zander unbuckled his sword and walked slowly toward the rock where the box lay, and as he walked, he quickly considered any and all options for an escape with Bella, if things should go wrong.

  The distance between Zander and Balki was twice that as the distance between Balki and Bella. He could see that the clearing was completely surrounded by Dark Weed. It wasn’t standing on end, but it was raised enough for him to see. It constantly changed the direction of its blades so that colors of brown changed to green in waves. This formed patterns that made Zander think that the grass might be one single being, or possibly a collective of some sort.

  When he reached the box, Balki was a short distance behind it. The king looked into his now black eyes and said, “We will not be defeated by your false king. Good will prevail, as it always has.”

  In response, Balki first grinned before his expression turned serious (and deadly).

  “Open the box.”

  King Zander knelt down before the box. He could hear Bella kicking dirt in the distance, and knew that she was trying to tell him to stop, not to open it—not for her sake.

  But to Zander it was also for the sake of his child, the heir to the throne of Forris, and his decision was made. He looked at the box, examining the engraving of the crest of Bannister that lay staring back at him. What would my father say of this?

  Taking his right hand, he ran his fingers first over the engraving, then up to the latch.

  All of my Fathers, please forgive me.

  He turned the latch.

  A quick whooshing sound could be heard as the wooden lid of the box popped open and then settled back into place, the air inside having been released after centuries of imprisonment.

  “Open it,” the inflock said.

  Zander thought he could hear joy in his tone.

  How does evil find joy? he wondered briefly, and then…Evil finds joy only in spreading evil and removing joy—nothing more. It is yet another piece to the paradox.

  With both hands, Zander lifted the lid and placed it gently on the rock, behind the box.

  Inside lay a pouch that had been sewn of solid silver. It was about the size of his hand, and seemed to glow in the light of Balki’s torch. He wasn’t given much time to gaze, though. He was still kneeling before the box and had been consumed by thoughts of what lie tucked away inside the silver pouch when Balki drew his sword and placed it at Zander’s neck.

  “Return to your horse and I will release your queen,” he said, the voice more terrifying now.

  Zander, now shaken from his daze, raised his hands and slowly rose to his feet. He turned and walked back to his horse, looking over his shoulder to both Balki and Bella as he went. He had no choice in the matter.

  When he reached his horse, he turned so that he was facing Balki, who had leaned over and placed his torch against the rock that held the open box. He then reached into the box and pulled out the silver pouch. Although Zander was some distance from him, the torch that lay against the rock shone an orange-tinted light directly into Balki’s face—and, in that face, Zander saw a smile that reached ear to ear.

  “Release her!” Zander commanded from across the clearing. “You gave your word!”

  Balki looked up from the pouch and said, “Patience, Majesty, is a virtue that you will soon find to be of great value,” he said, laughing. “Great value indeed!”

  He untied the pouch and pulled the skull piece from it. Although Zander could hardly see the details of it, he could see that it had been dipped in silver. It shone brightly, reflecting moonlight. It was likely re
flecting the torchlight as well, but Zander had the sense that it was only capturing the light of the moon.

  After a moment, Balki returned the skull to the pouch and placed it inside his coat. He then picked up the box and walked toward Bella. When he reached her, he first placed the box back in his saddlebag and then drew his sword once more as he turned to her. At first, she was certain that he would kill her at once. She had not been able to hear the conversation between Balki and her husband. But her fears were put somewhat at ease when Balki used his sword to first cut free her feet and then hands. When she removed the gag from her own mouth, she looked up at him with bold contempt. She uttered the only words that came without thought,

  “You are a vile man.”

  “I find it amusing that you think of me as a man,” he said. The sarcasm was not lost in the gurgling nature of his voice.

  Before she could rise to her feet, Balki turned from her and mounted his horse. He then turned first to Bella and then across the clearing to King Zander. Speaking to both of them, but directing his voice to Zander, he said, “You see, I have kept my word, Majesty. She is free. So are you, I suppose. However, I regret that I will not be here to enjoy watching you attempt to make use of that freedom.”

  He was laughing as he quickly rode off. As he did, the Dark Weed lifted around them, the weed that had been lying flat stood on end, forming a wall between Zander and Bella. It surrounded them completely on all sides and they were left standing in separate circles just large enough to keep them out of reach of the weed. Bella’s circle lie in near darkness, and she froze herself in place, not sure where to move.

  They were trapped.

  ****

  It wasn’t far from Captain Hawkins’ tent to the Outland Post. Lizabet, Dorian, and Pike were escorted down seemingly endless rows of tents, and as they rode through, the soldiers became silent as they passed. It may have been that they knew who she was—who they were, or it might have simply been that there was a Loper at the edge of the Outlands. Surely, none of them had ever witnessed that before.