Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  "Your highness!" Rozon exclaimed under his breath.

  "What you are saying is madness," Father Thomas said. "Duren can't be trusted and he can't be reasoned with. You know that as well as I do."

  Several heads began to turn in their direction. Rozon saw them and sat down again, motioning for Father Thomas to do the same. Rozon's voice was not much more than a whisper when he spoke.

  "I served your father, God rest him, and now I serve you, but what you are proposing is madness. No good can come of it." It was obvious he was making an effort to control himself.

  Delain looked at him, then shifted his attention to Gawl. "You think that I act the fool as well?"

  Gawl didn't reply right away. "You're a good man, De-lain. But yes, I agree with Siward and Jerrel. If you had your head brought to Duren on a pike, it would make no difference. Our situation is bleak, I grant you that. The Mirdites and my Sennians will probably get here only in time to bury us. But I say this to you ... I would sooner

  use my last breath to spit in Duren's face than spend one minute under his thumb. I say attack the Orlocks now. We'll deal with Duren when the time comes."

  Delain shook his head and was about to speak when Mathew began talking. When he looked back on it years later, he was unable to explain where he got the courage to do so.

  "Duren hates for the sake of hating."

  Everyone at the table turned toward him. Mathew felt the words catch in his throat, but he pushed himself to go on, speaking slowly and deliberately.

  "He loves nothing, and he wants—not for any reason, but for wanting alone. One of the things he wants is death—for you, me ... everyone in Elgaria. Delivering yourself to him won't change anything."

  Delain's smile was benign. "But how could you know this?"

  "It's hard to explain," Mathew answered. "I've felt his mind a number of times now. I know how that sounds, but I swear on the honor of my name, I speak the truth to you."

  The prince raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. "Ah ... the ring. Father Thomas has been telling us about it. I arrived too late to see what you did. I mean no offense, Mathew, but—"

  "I was there, Delain, and I saw it with my own eyes," Gawl rumbled. "So did Siward—excuse me, Father Thomas. There's no exaggeration in what we told you."

  "And that is the ring you spoke of," the prince said, pointing to the ring hanging around Mathew's neck.

  "It is," Father Thomas replied.

  Mathew slipped the leather cord over his head and pulled the ring free.

  "May I?" Delain said, holding out his hand.

  Mathew hesitated. He was aware several people around the room were watching. He placed the ring in Delain's palm.

  The prince turned it over and looked carefully at the writing on it. "The old language," he mused, half to himself. Then, to everyone's surprise, he placed the ring on his finger. Father Thomas immediately started to get up, but Gawl restrained him, putting a hand on his forearm.

  "Am I supposed to feel anything different?"

  "There's generally a slight tingling in my arm."

  In truth, what Delain had just done made Mathew an­gry, surprisingly so, but he held his tongue and kept his expression neutral.

  "I feel nothing."

  "It doesn't seem to work with anyone else, except Mathew," Father Thomas said tightly.

  Delain held up his hand and said, "My apologies. I should have asked your permission before doing that." The prince pulled the ring off his finger and handed it back to Mathew.

  "Explain to me, Mathew, how you were able to do those things Father Thomas and Gawl told me about. I confess that all this talk of magic rings is difficult to accept."

  Almost a full minute passed before Mathew answered.

  "The truth is... I don't know. It's a matter of thinking about something and then making a picture of it in your mind."

  "I see. Could you turn this goblet into gold, then, if you wanted to?"

  "No. I don't think it works like that," Mathew answered.

  "What about creating a hundred catapults for us to use in an assault?" Rozon asked.

  Mathew knew what a catapult was, and he had a rough idea of how it worked, but the skepticism was so plain on Rozon's and Delain's faces, he closed his mouth without saying a word.

  Delain watched him for a moment, then said, "Would you excuse us, please?"

  Mathew got up from the table and crossed the room, looking neither right nor left.

  34

  On the cliffs Above Tremont

  It was still raining. Mathew stood under the eaves of the inn looking out at the town of Tremont. There wasn't much to see. If anything, Tremont was even smaller than Devondale. A few shops were scattered up and down the street. The roofs of the homes were still made of thatch instead of the newer tile or slate people had begun to use recently. The smell of sea air was not nearly as prominent there as in Tyraine, he noted.

  Mathew watched the raindrops splashing down in a small puddle and leaned against the doorway. He felt like a fool. Yesterday in the pass when he struck back at the Vargothans, he had felt Duren's presence and that of his sister as well. It was only for an instant, but he knew it was them, just as they knew him. He told Delain that Duren hated for the sake of hating alone. There was no exaggeration in those statements. Even in that fleeting contact, he could feel the full force of the man's enmity for him, for Elgaria—for almost everyone and every­thing. It frightened him, and Duren knew it.

  They were badly outnumbered. And now Delain wanted to give himself up to Duren to save Elgaria and his people. It was a noble plan, but one doomed from the start. Oblivious to the rain, Mathew started to walk. His father was dead. Giles was dead. And soon Elgaria would be dead too.

  There were no paved streets in Tremont, just hard-packed dirt. Mathew pulled his cloak around him, letting his long legs carry him away from the inn. It was obvious from the expressions on their faces they hadn't be­lieved him.

  He didn't know where he was going; he just felt the need to move. In a few minutes he reached the. end of the town. The street became a road that split in two different directions. A small patrol of soldiers on horseback, weary and tired, was just returning.

  He watched them approach and stepped aside, out of their way. One of them looked down and gave him a friendly grin.

  "Wet day for a walk, son," the man said.

  Mathew smiled up at him and wiped the rain from his face with his forearm. "What news?" he asked.

  "We hold. The Vargothans haven't been able to break through the bottleneck under the cliffs, though lord knows they've been trying hard enough. But we hold." There was a mixture of pride and determination in the man's voice.

  "Do you know where this road goes, by any chance?" Mathew asked, indicating the right-hand fork.

  "Up to the cliffs, I believe," the soldier said. "Is every­one in this province crazy, or are you all fond of walking about in the rain?"

  "Sir?"

  The soldier lifted his chin, indicating something over Mathew's shoulder. Mathew turned and saw the familiar figures of Collin and Akin Gibb coming up the street in their direction. Akin was still limping but considerably less pronounced than the day before. They waved when they saw him.

  "Friends of yours?" the soldier asked.

  Mathew nodded. "I'm afraid so. They follow me everywhere. Can't seem to get rid of them."

  The soldier chuckled and pulled on the reins of his horse, turning it for the town. "Don't stay out too long," he called over his shoulder. "We'll need every able body come tomorrow morning."

  Mathew waited patiently for his friends to catch up.

  "Odd day for a walk," Akin said when he got close enough.

  "That seems to be the general sentiment," Mathew replied. "I take it you two aren't just out for a morning stroll."

  Akin grinned and shook his head. "Father Thomas sent us after you. What are you up to, Mat?" he asked. "It's wet out here."

  Mathew noticed Collin
watching him. He glanced quickly at his friend, then looked away. He wasn't much good at keeping things from him. "It might be best if you both went back," he said.

  "But why?" Akin asked.

  "Because there is something I have to do and I'm not sure how safe it'll be."

  There was a silence as the rain continued to fall on the hoods of their cloaks.

  "It's the ring again, isn't it?" Collin asked finally.

  Mathew's lips tightened.

  "Well, I don't know about you," Akin said, addressing Collin, "but I love a good walk in the rain."

  "Go back," Mathew repeated. He turned on his heel and started up the road leading to the cliffs.

  He didn't have to look to know that both Akin and Collin were still there. All three walked in silence for nearly a half hour. They were thoroughly soaked by the time they reached the pass where the Vargothans lay buried. Mathew surveyed the slope that rose up to his left.

  "What are you looking for now?" Collin asked.

  "That." Mathew said, pointing to the crystal outcrop­ping above them. It was the same one Collin had pointed out the day before.

  Collin and Akin exchanged puzzled glances and turned back to him.

  "You might want to stay down here," Mathew said, starting up the side of the slope. He knew saying it was useless, but he said it anyway. Both of them started to scramble after him.

  Ultimately, he was glad they came. Having only one arm free made the going difficult. The rocks were slip­pery from the rain, and twice he would have fallen had Akin not been there. "What's so special about those crystals?" Collin asked. "There was something I saw yesterday," Mathew an­swered, half to himself, "just before ..."

  Using the partially exposed roots of a tree for an aid, Mathew pulled himself up a small incline to a narrow ledge. A rough path ran alongside it, literally cut into the side of the hill. It appeared to curve up and around to an­other ledge just above them. Because of wild shrubs and the way the hill was sloped, it would have been unlikely for someone standing in the pass to even suspect a path was there. Parts of the ledge were broken away or lit­tered with rock and debris. Mathew walked over to where the path curved back in the opposite direction. Eight steps were cut into the face of the hill. They were badly weathered and broken, but it was clear they were not put there by accident. When he climbed up, Akin and Collin followed.

  The crystals were now less than fifty feet away. There were six of them, hexagonally shaped and at least twice the height of a man. They were arranged in a perfect cir­cle, with one much larger column in the center. It ex­tended straight up, disappearing into the overhanging rock. Except for the one that had been shattered by a rock slide, they all appeared to be intact,, Mathew, Collin, and Akin stood there staring at the bizarre structure.

  "All right," Akin said. "Obviously, this is no accident."

  Mathew nodded and touched the nearest one, lightly

  running his fingers over the surface. "Do you remember

  what Father Thomas told you about the things they found

  on Coribar?" he asked.

  "Sure," Collin replied. "It was some type of coach the ancients used—a vehicle, he said, and some machines no­body knew anything about... oh, and some books too." "Not at the dinner," Mathew reminded him. "It was a

  day or two later, when you and Father Thomas told me about what he read with the other priest."

  "Right. It was about the rings the Ancients created, and there was something about. . . crystals," Collin said, characteristically snapping his fingers.

  While he was talking, Mathew took the cord off his neck and put the ring back on.

  Akin saw him do it but made no comment.

  "You were saying something a while ago, when I asked you what was so special about these crystals," Col­lin prompted.

  Mathew nodded. "A split second before I struck at the Vargothans, I could have sworn I saw a red glow coming from them. Everything was happening so fast, I couldn't be certain. I just assumed it was the sunlight or some­thing. Then when I woke up this morning, I remembered the conversation we had on the ship."

  "And you think these are the crystals that Father Thomas was talking about?" Akin asked, his tone a mix­ture of skepticism and puzzlement.

  Mathew shook his head. "Not the same ones, obviously. But you said yourself they didn't get here by accident."

  "We've seen crystals rocks before, Mat," Akin said. "Why should these be any different?"

  "I intend to find out."

  Mathew looked around and noticed a dried bush about thirty feet from them. He took a breath and formed the image of fire in his mind. A second later the bush burst into flames. At the same time, the barest hint of red light coursed through the center crystal, then disappeared.

  Collin and Akin saw the flash too.

  "All right," Akin said, running a hand through his hair. "What does it mean?"

  Mathew didn't respond right away. He kept his gaze fixed on the bush as it crackled and burned itself to char. When he finally spoke, it was measured and methodical, as if he were reasoning his way through a mathematical problem.

  "I'm not sure, Akin. But this ring and these crystals are connected in some way."

  "Connected?"

  "In Elberton, I must have used a lot of power to destroy the Orlocks. It drained me until the following day. I didn't have a lot of strength physically and then the headache came. It took me almost a full day to recover. I had no idea why at the time. The same thing happened yesterday. Immediately afterward, I couldn't do anything at all. I tried when the other mercenaries showed up, but the fact was, I could barely stand. Then I took that arrow . . ."

  "Well, you're standing now," Collin pointed out.

  "I know," Mathew said, "but I shouldn't be. That's just my point. I should be flat on my back. Only this time, my strength returned much faster."

  Collin frowned as he realized what his friend was say­ing. By all rights, Mathew shouldn't even have been able to get out of bed yet.

  Mathew reached up and undid the clasp holding his cloak, letting it drop to the ground. When he slipped his arm out of the sling and started to undo his shirt, both Akin and Collin looked at him like he had lost his mind.

  "Mat, for God's sake, what do you think you're do­ing?" Collin asked, alarmed at his friend's behavior.

  "Help me get these bandages off."

  "Are you completely crazy?"

  "I hope not. We'll see in a second."

  Collin hesitated for a moment and then started to do as Mathew asked. Akin watched, incredulous, concluding they had both gone insane.

  When the last bandage fell to the ground, Mathew turned around. There was a fresh pink scar about three inches long where the arrow had gone into his shoulder, but otherwise the wound looked completely healed.

  A sharp intake of breath from Akin and a sharper curse from Collin confirmed what Mathew already knew. He bent down, picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. Then retrieving his cloak, he threw it across his shoulders. He avoided looking at either Collin or Akin while he did

  so. He wasn't sure what to expect from them when he turned around.

  "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd never have believed it," Akin said.

  "And this is the same fellow who gets sick to his stomach before fencing meets?" Collin said. "How's it possible?"

  "I don't know," Mathew answered. "Obviously, it has something to do with the ring, and these crystals too, I suspect. But the fact is, I'm getting stronger each time I use it. When I woke up today, I could barely feel where the arrow had gone in."

  "What are you going to do, Mat?"

  "In Tyraine you said something about evening the odds."

  Neither Akin nor Collin responded.

  "Do you suppose we can see the water from up there?" Mathew asked, looking up at the hill's summit and squinting against the rain.

  "Water? Do you mean the ocean?" Akin asked, looking up as well. "I imagine it's high enough, but—"r />
  Without waiting to hear the rest of what he had to say, Mathew stepped around him and continued along the nar­row track. Collin and Akin followed. It was only a brief climb to the top, and moments later they found them­selves looking out across the countryside stretching be­low them. As Akin had guessed, the ocean was clearly visible in the distance to the east; so was the Coast Road, which snaked along the cliffs. To the north they could see the valley where Tremont was located, along with the tops of a few buildings poking out above the treeline. Be­yond that and well to the west lay Ardon Field, where the Elgarian army was camped. Farther to the west, the first line of mountains rose up that separated Elgaria from Sennia.

  "I think you should go back now," Mathew said with­out turning around. He stood there, feet wide apart, star­ing out at the sea toward the horizon.

  "Why?" Akin asked.

  "Because there's something I'm going to do. To be honest, I'm not even sure that I can, or if I'll be able to control it."

  There was a pause before anyone spoke.

  "Father Thomas sent us to get you," Collin said. "I guess we'll stay and go back together."

  Mathew nodded slowly. Knowing Collin as well as he did, the answer came as no surprise.

  Collin glanced over the ledge at the crystals and saw a red glow coming from the base of the largest one, in the cen­ter. He touched Akin's arm, pointing to it. The wind sud­denly began to pick up, whipping their cloaks around their bodies. Overhead, angry rain-darkened clouds were gathering. A distant roll of thunder pulled Collin's atten­tion away from the crystals. All of them had brightened and were beginning to pulse.

  Mathew hadn't moved. Both of his hands were clenched in fists by his side as he continued to stare at the sea. It seemed he was watching something. Following his gaze, Collin looked out at the horizon and could see the sky lit by flashes of light. Had he brought Daniel's far-sighter with him, he thought, he could have seen the storm that seemed to come out of nowhere, tearing into the Nyngary and Cincar fleets that were within an hour of the Elgarian coast.

  On board the ships, everything was in chaos. One minute the seas were calm and the next they were buffeted by tremendous winds as the storm broke in a frenzy about them. Only one person among the forty warships actually knew what was happening.