The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  “Wait,” he said. “We need light.” He retrieved Zyll’s key from his pocket and searched the darkness for warmth. He found it in Kaië. Drawing from it and combining it with his own, he funneled their energy into the key itself. The key began to glow, emitting a gentle light that illuminated the area immediately surrounding them. For a moment, Marcus imagined the world had disappeared and only he and Kaië remained within this solitary sphere of light.

  “You haven’t told me why Jayson would be arrested,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray his thoughts. “You’d think Lord Fredric would reward him for trying to save Dokur. And why did Ivanore run away from her own father?”

  Kaië continued walking and Marcus followed. A few short minutes later, a thin line of light appeared directly in front of them. A door! Kaië hurried ahead and glanced through the lit crack.

  “Lord Fredric’s council room. It’s empty.” She started to open the door but hesitated. “It was the baby,” she said at last.

  “Baby?” said Marcus in surprise. “What baby?”

  “Ivanore and Jayson’s son—Fredric’s legal heir,” explained Kaië. “On the night Jayson was exiled, Fredric swore he would kill the child the very next morning.”

  Forty-five

  ord Fredric’s council chamber was a hexagonal-shaped room with wood-paneled walls reaching three stories in height to a stained glass ceiling. Each wall bore a full-length scarlet banner bearing an image embroidered in gold thread: seals of the royal family. In addition to the door through which they had entered, there were two other doors as well.

  “That one leads to the main hall,” said Kaië, indicating the door opposite them. Then, pointing to the other, “That door opens to a private stairwell leading to the throne room on the second floor.”

  The room was lit in colored hues filtering through the fragments of glass in the ceiling. Crimson, sapphire, and golden beams burst like a rainbow in midair. As Kaië passed through this brilliant ray, Marcus caught himself staring at her, for the light cast an aura about her as though she were an angel—the light her halo. Sensing that he had fallen into sudden silence, Kaië stopped and turned to face him. For that moment, as he gazed upon her face, he imagined he had indeed been transported to some heaven.

  “Are you coming?” asked Kaië, her face blushing with the unanticipated attention.

  “Wait,” said Marcus. “I’m confused about what you said. I read in the island’s history that Ivanore was kidnapped after Jayson’s exile. But you claim that Fredric threatened to kill their baby, so Ivanore ran away.”

  “That’s right,” replied Kaië. She headed for the door opposite from where they had entered.

  Marcus followed. “So, where is Ivanore now?”

  As they approached the door, they heard voices outside the room.

  “Someone’s coming!” squawked Xerxes. “Hide me! Hide me!”

  Kaië and Marcus slipped behind one of the tapestries just as the chamber door opened. A guard entered, posting himself beside the tapestry. Two men followed.

  “Is he mad?” said an elderly man wearing scarlet robes. “What could possibly induce him to walk right through these gates knowing his sentence is certain death?”

  Kaië whispered into Marcus’s ear. “That’s Lord Fredric, and the other man is Chancellor Prost.”

  “It matters not why he has come,” said the Chancellor, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. “His plot to usurp your authority will be foiled soon enough.”

  Chancellor Prost was thin and frail looking, with a sculpted beard and graying temples. He held his right arm level with his chest. Perched on his arm was a small gray bird with a red band around its leg.

  “Plot?” said Lord Fredric. “What plot? He has come alone, has he not? And what of his message concerning an enemy fleet off the coast? What think you of that?”

  “If there were ships, our tower guards would sound the alarm. No, your Lordship, Jayson means to deceive you and to take from you your crown.”

  Kaië took Marcus’s hand and squeezed it. Though no words were spoken between them, Marcus knew that she felt the same concern for Jayson that he did.

  Lord Fredric continued. “That may be, but even so, I wish to speak with him myself.”

  Chancellor Prost held up an emaciated hand and pointed his bony finger at Fredric’s chest. “I must protest! As the keeper of the law, it is my duty to provide order and protection to you and the entire realm. This man is a criminal! An enemy to Dokur! He deserves no mercy!”

  Lord Fredric sat in an ornate chair bearing a royal seal and contemplated the words of his Chancellor. Then he straightened himself and called to the guard.

  “Bring in the prisoner.”

  Forty-six

  n the Dragon’s Head Inn, Kelvin examined the key the barkeeper had given him. Tied to it was a leather tag with the name of the inn and the number ‘3’ impressed on it. A shadow fell over him. He spun around and thrust his dagger forward, but a massive hand grabbed his wrist. Kelvin’s eyes traveled from the hand up a muscular arm covered in coarse hair to a broad, metal-plated chest. The Mardok sneered and tightened its grip on Kelvin’s wrist. A needle-like pain shot up his forearm. Kelvin cried out, but with his free hand, he grabbed an arrow from the quiver on his back and jammed its point into the back of the Mardok’s hand. The Mardok released its victim, howling in pain, giving Kelvin just enough time to scurry up the stairs.

  Kelvin soon found himself at the end of a long, dark hallway lined with doors. The door directly to his right bore the number ‘12’.

  Rapid, heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase. Kelvin ran down the hall. The numbers on the doors grew smaller. He glanced behind him just as the Mardok leapt over the top three stairs and started down the hall after him.

  “Almost there!” whispered Kelvin, encouraging himself onward. Finally, to his left he saw a number ‘3.’ He thrust the key into the lock, glancing up only once to see the distance between him and the Mardok shrinking quickly. The lock was stiff; it took all his strength to turn it. Finally the lock clicked and the door gave way. Kelvin slipped into the room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. He scanned the room and discovered three pairs of eyes staring at him from the corner.

  Tristan, Zody, and Clovis were tied together back to back, their ropes threaded around an iron ring in the floor. Kelvin did not waste a moment. He dashed to their side and began sawing at the ropes with his dagger. Clovis, who faced the wall, strained his neck to see what was happening behind him.

  “Kelvin! Thank goodness you’ve come!” he said.

  A tremendous thud shook the room.

  “What was that?” asked Tristan.

  Kelvin continued to work furiously to free his friends. “Mardok,” he said.

  Clovis began to whimper.

  “Hurry!” urged Tristan, tugging on the shredded portion of rope around his wrists. Within seconds his hands were free, and he rubbed them to get the circulation flowing again.

  Another loud thump sounded at the door.

  “Don’t just stand there!” ordered Kelvin. “Help me free the others!”

  Tristan glanced around the room. He spotted the bed, a simple wooden frame with three slats and a feather mattress. After pulling the mattress to the floor, Tristan grabbed the end of the bed frame with both hands. Bracing his legs against the wall, he pulled with all his might. The wood cracked and splintered and finally gave way, leaving a jagged three-foot beam in his hand.

  “What are you doing!?” hissed Kelvin, who had just freed Zody and was now working on Clovis. Another thud, much louder than before, thundered through the room along with the sound of splintering wood. Clovis’s whimpers turned into sobs.

  The door crumbled into a pile of tinder. The Mardok growled and lunged forward for the kill. At that moment, Tristan leaped into the Mardok’s path and shoved the wooden beam directly beneath its ribs. The Mardok’s momentum and the weight of its body instantly plunged the wood
deep into its abdomen. The creature howled in agony just as Clovis was freed from his rope.

  “Wonderful!” said Zody. “But now what?”

  Kelvin looked up and realized that the injured Mardok still stood between them and the door.

  “How are we going to get out?” cried Clovis.

  “I’m not going near that thing!” said Zody. The Mardok cried out again, and then its eyes rolled back in its head. Its massive body grew limp and crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

  “Is it dead?” asked Tristan.

  Kelvin approached cautiously and tested the Mardok’s shoulder with his foot. “It’s dead! Come on!” He stepped over the Mardok’s body and hurried to the doorway. Tristan and Zody followed, but Clovis refused to budge.

  “Clovis, you can’t stay here!” said Kelvin. “Arik and the other Mardoks could come back any second! Do you really want to be here when they do?”

  Clovis shook his head.

  “Besides,” added Tristan, “if they do find you, guess who’ll be the main course for dinner tonight?”

  “Here!” said Kelvin. He removed the crossbow and quiver from his back and tossed it to Clovis. Clovis caught it and gasped in surprise.

  “My dad’s bow!” he said. “I thought I lost—”

  “Never mind! You’re going to need it if we run across any more Mardoks—which is bound to happen if we don’t leave right now!”

  Clovis gulped and walked up to the Mardok. Trembling, he closed his eyes and stepped over the assassin’s hairy arm. Just then the Mardok’s hand reached up and grabbed Clovis by the ankle. “It’s got me! It’s got me!” Clovis screamed.

  Kelvin jumped forward and with one swift strike with his dagger severed the Mardok’s hand from its wrist. The Mardok screamed one last time and then went silent.

  The four boys did not wait around to see if the beast was really dead this time. They ran as fast as they could down the stairs and out of the Dragon’s Head Inn forever.

  Forty-seven

  n the Fortress’s council chambers, Chancellor Prost bowed in compliance with Lord Fredric’s command and stepped aside. The door opened and a guard entered, a heavy chain in his hands. Attached to the chain was a pair of iron cuffs clasped around Jayson’s wrists. Jayson carried himself proudly, even though his body bore signs of a beating. On his cheek was an open gash still red with blood, and his arms were covered with purple bruises. Marcus cursed himself for letting Jayson come alone.

  Xerxes, who was wedged between Marcus and Kaië, complained. “Drat this tapestry! I can’t see a thing!”

  “Shhh!” whispered Marcus.

  Kaië looked at him, a question on her face. With so few options available at the moment, Marcus simply shrugged.

  Lord Fredric leaned back in his chair and scrutinized his prisoner. “Has it really been fifteen years since we last met?” he said. His voice sounded sad and weary, not at all like the powerful leader Marcus had envisioned. “How strange it is that time marches on despite all our efforts to stop it. What I wouldn’t give to turn back the years if only I could.”

  “I am not interested in the past,” said Jayson. Though in obvious pain, his gaze bore down on his captor like leaden weights. “The past is dead to me.”

  “Dead, you say?” replied Lord Fredric. “So Ivanore means nothing to you. Your son means nothing.”

  “That’s a lie!” shouted Jayson. “My wife and child are the very air that I breathe! My heart would have ceased beating long ago if it were not for my memories of them. No, it is my resentment of the past that is dead, the pain you caused me that I have forgotten. That is why I have come to warn you of danger.”

  “What danger have I to fear?” Fredric laughed cynically. “If a tidal wave were to destroy my home, my land, my very life, I would be grateful! But no, my lungs are compelled to keep breathing, my heart to keep beating—though I have willed them a thousand times to stop! No, Jayson, if what you say is true, that an enemy awaits to conquer Dokur, then I welcome him!”

  “Surely you must wish to defend your people? To defend Ivanore and your grandson!”

  Lord Fredric’s gaze drifted, and Marcus noted how his eyes seemed moist. “How can I defend them?” Fredric continued wearily. “Ivanore disappeared the night I exiled you. I have been searching for my daughter these many years and have never found her.” He stood with effort and walked toward the center of the room until he stood in the cascade of color. “Every day, when the sun sets upon the sea, I die a little more, knowing that she is gone from me.”

  “She never returned?” said Jayson, his voice taut with disbelief.

  “No, though for many years I believed she had joined you in Hestoria. But now that you are here, I see this is not so.”

  Jayson pulled at his chains, his muscles straining. The guards pulled him back, nearly knocking him off balance. “All this time I thought Ivanore was here in Dokur preparing our son to lead his people one day!” he said angrily. “I stayed away because I thought it best for my son to never know his father was of mixed blood. And now you tell me they are lost?”

  A guard struck Jayson in the chest with the blunt end of his sword. He doubled over in pain and dropped to his knees. Marcus struggled against an overwhelming desire to come to his defense, but he knew that revealing himself now would only jeopardize them both.

  Once Jayson caught his breath, he looked up into Fredric’s eyes, pleading. “Why did she run away?” he whispered.

  Fredric turned his back to him. “I am ashamed to say it.”

  Jayson shouted. “I demand that you tell me!”

  “I am an old man,” began Fredric haltingly, “and the years have softened me. But when I was a younger man, I guarded my position greedily. When my daughter married you against my wishes—you, a man of Agoran descent—I was outraged. I wanted to execute you, but my daughter pleaded for your life. So instead I sent you away. What you did not know was the extent of my jealousy and hatred of you.”

  Fredric stepped out of the rainbow of light into the darker hues of the room. “The night of your exile I threatened to destroy the child. I looked on him as a mongrel, and I cursed him for his impure blood. I was angry! My words were impulsive! You cannot know how deeply I regret them now. No doubt fearing for her child’s life, Ivanore ran away. I have not seen her since that night.”

  He lowered himself into his chair and let out a low, pitiful sigh. His hands, crooked and swollen with age, clenched the armrests. “I will soon pass from this world,” he said with resignation. “I have no heir, and the realm will become subject to anarchy. Perhaps it is better to be conquered by our enemy than to disintegrate into chaos.”

  “You have an heir,” said Jayson. “Will you not mention his name?”

  “My son is dead to me!” Fredric’s voice exploded with a force of which no one in the room thought he was capable. But the outburst took its toll, leaving his limbs trembling. He continued with restrained emotion. “I do not wish to speak anymore of treachery. I am feeling ill and will retire to my chambers.”

  Jayson tried to stand. The guard jerked him back with his chains, but Jayson could not be swayed. “Don’t you know what your hatred has done?” Jayson said. “You have driven your son to treason! Arik is behind this invasion. The scroll I bring with me testifies of it. It contains the ancient map of the Black Forest, as well as details of the invasion—written in his own hand.”

  A guard presented the scroll to Fredric, who read it silently. “My son . . . declares war on Dokur?” he said finally.

  “Yes,” answered Jayson. “And you can hate him for that as well—or you can make your peace with him and possibly save Dokur.”

  Lord Fredric remained silent for several minutes. When he did speak again, it was with the voice of a man whose soul bore a heavy burden. “Should Arik come to me, I will pardon him. But it seems that events are already in motion and war is inevitable. Yet I cannot defend Dokur,” said Fredric. “As you know, we have not been attacked in nea
rly a century. We have become apathetic. Our navy is manned with only minimal forces. Our army is scattered throughout the land. If our enemy comes by sea, as you say he will, and the tower is breached and captured, we have no way to signal our troops in the neighboring valleys. Even if we could contact them, it would take days to gather an army sufficient for battle. All is lost.”

  Jayson lowered his head, his chest and shoulders expanding and contracting in steady rhythm with his breathing. There was silence in the room, a heavy silence that felt to Marcus as a millstone about the neck of Dokur.

  “How many slaves work in the mines?” asked Jayson, raising his face to look at Lord Fredric. When no answer was given, he spoke again. “I know what you have done to my people. I have seen the mine with my own eyes. Now, tell me—how many are there?”

  Lord Fredric looked to Chancellor Prost for the answer.

  “We have four hundred Agoran and two dozen armed human guards,” said the Chancellor. He stepped forward until he stood over Jayson. The bird with the red band cooed contentedly on his arm. “Are you suggesting we place weapons in the hands of slaves?”

  “If we were to release them, surely they would join our enemies,” said Fredric. “Or they would flee.”

  Jayson rose to his feet, his chains clinking loudly. “This is their land, as well. The Agoran are a proud people. Give them their freedom, and they will fight.”

  Chancellor Prost guffawed. “Give them their freedom?! You are mad!”

  “Free them—or be destroyed. There is no other option.”

  Prost opened his mouth to protest again, but Lord Fredric held up his hand to silence him. “I have been their captor. They will not follow me,” he said.

  “I will lead them,” said Jayson.

  Prost’s face grew crimson, yet he held his tongue in check as Lord Fredric ordered the guards to release Jayson from his bonds. As the chains fell to the floor in a loud clatter, Jayson knelt before his king. Fredric, visibly moved by his action, bade him to rise. Then he spoke to the guards. “Arnot, Thyren, you will accompany this man. Gather weapons from the armory.” Then to Jayson he said, “You must go to the mines immediately. Tell your people they are free. You will need proof of my declaration. My seal, perhaps?”