Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Remain and die?” asked Evgej. “What honor is there in that?”

  “It is the same as I would do for my queen and our land. It is the sacrifice of oneself for the greater good,” said Seth.

  “As it would be for me also. For now we are locked in a stalemate. We wait for King Mark’s forces to cross the mountains. We expect he will strike Avenwood and Rivenwood first. It is there we plan to engage him. He will wait until all those behind him lie dead, then he will come.”

  “His forces will continue to grow in strength, while you wait—”

  “So do ours. The time will come soon enough.”

  “Yes, soon,” answered Seth distantly.

  “But have you not considered bringing the battle to him? It could turn the tide against him.”

  “Ahh, Evgej, you must consider the forces in opposition. It could not be that easy. We would not invade another’s lands. It is not our way.”

  “But you are at war!”

  “Yes, there is honor even in times of war.”

  “Your enemy does not seem to be following any code of honor.”

  “For our people it is personal. It is our way. It is the way the Great-Father and Mother-Earth gave us.”

  “But they would not wish you to be destroyed for your honor’s sake.”

  “We are peaceful by nature. We still could not. If we are to be destroyed, then it is by their will alone that we shall go.”

  “In the Blood Wars—”

  “It was not our doing,” said Seth, interrupting.

  “Are these mountains neutral territory?” asked Valam, who had been listening intently to the flow of the conversation.

  “Yes.”

  “How many passes are there through the mountains?”

  “There are but two that are wide enough for an army.”

  “Hmm—” Valam raised his eyebrows as he said it.

  The discussion continued, at times growing heated and at times progressing slowly, but always flowing with the emotion of the four men who spoke and listened with greater wisdom than most.

  Late in the afternoon the next day, the island city of Leklorall lay on the horizon, growing larger with each passing moment. The size of the city baffled Valam’s mind. No city of the kingdom compared to it, not even the free city of Solntse. Even at this great distance he could see spiraling towers that shot up into the sky, which amazed him.

  Earlier in the day, they had finally come to Lake Clarwater. They were completing the remainder of the journey with an escort of many more ships than they had begun with. Valam and Evgej stood motionless watching the sailmaster, who sat cross-legged at the rear of the sloop, eyes closed and hands resting calmly on his lap. The sloop was moving by itself or so it seemed. Seth had explained, “It is really quite simple—” Evgej had cut him off saying, “But the current flows in the opposite direction!”

  “The direction is of no importance. The sailmaster instructs the ship and the ship listens. Quite simple.”

  The answer to this question still wandered through the back of Valam’s mind as they floated up to the docks near the palace. The palace was a glowing array of twisting structures and turrets that formed an outward and upward spiral. “She is indeed magnificent!” exclaimed Valam and Evgej almost simultaneously.

  A cry of welcome sounded from their greeters. A multitude clad in many colors lined the pathway through the central courtyard, yelling and cheering. As Seth passed those who wore the red of his order, they began chanting rapidly in their tongue, a song of the returning champion.

  As they mounted the long sweeping staircase into the palace, strange, mystical instruments greeted their every step with a simple series of musical sounds that together created a peaceful, flowing melody. Upon reaching the last stair, the double doors to the court slowly opened inward. The raised dais to the throne was suspended in mid-air by a series of pillars that followed the contour of the sloping floor. In a semi-circle behind the dais were tiers of seats; many elves filled the chairs, each dressed in a different color representing their order. The only exception was a single line of gray representing those of Liyan’s order seated to the rear and those clad in the red of Seth’s order that were posted throughout the room.

  In the center of the dais, seated upon a transparent, delicately carved throne was the Queen-Mother. Valam recognized her from the images of the mind-link. She was even more beautiful in person. She radiated pure perfection. A feeling of kindness and love flowed into his mind. For the first time in his life Valam was in total awe. When Seth introduced him, Valam could do nothing but gracefully kneel and lightly kiss her hand. He was at a complete loss for words. The Queen-Mother had the same tantalizing effect on Evgej. He, too, was at a loss for words, as he stared deeply into her eyes.

  A cry of rejoicing and release from remorse burst into their minds. “My Son!” cried the Queen-Mother, reaching out to all with her mind. A smile touched the queen’s lips as she regarded Seth. The two exchanged a wordless conversation, only obvious to the observers by the change of expressions that filled their two faces—sadness, hope, joy, thanks, and love.

  Chapter Eleven

  The meeting progressed very well after Captain Brodst apologized for his rashness. After all resolutions were made, they parted for the evening, having come to decisions on many topics. The decree went forth that same night. An assemblage of the High Council, the Council of Keepers, and the leaders from all members of the alliance was being called. All nobles would be welcome. They would also seek the advice of the Priests of the Father, the Priestesses of the Mother, and the Priests of the Dark Flame. The decree also said that anyone not in attendance by the declared time would be held in contempt of the alliance and face persecution accordingly, an insurance policy against the Minor Kingdom’s probable ban.

  Lord Edwar Serant and Captain Ansh Brodst departed for the detainment area where the assassin lord was being held. Lord Serant admired the captain’s strength of mind, but he scoffed at his foolish arrogance. It was one thing to be arrogant if you could justify that arrogance, clearly another to claim it when the right to proclaim it had not been earned. He could see a promise of great things to come in Brodst; with a nurturing of his talents, then perhaps he could proclaim arrogance.

  They entered the detention chamber and directed the guards to wait outside. Lord Konstantin was shackled by his hands and feet to the wall, still blindfolded and gagged. Once the blindfold and gag were removed, Lord Konstantin went wild with rage. He thrashed violently, causing the chains to gouge into his wrists and ankles. He did not care. His curses and thrashing only increased with the pain. He enjoyed it.

  Lord Serant was the first to begin the interrogation. “Who sent you?” he demanded of the prisoner. He quickly received the answer: spittle in his face. Captain Brodst removed a whip from the wall and lashed it harshly against the assassin lord’s face. Lord Konstantin’s response was a deep howling cackle. Blood trickled down his face profusely, which he licked with his tongue. He smiled hideously.

  Lord Serant repeated his question, “Who sent you?” When they received no answer, Captain Brodst struck the assassin with the whip repeatedly. Lord Konstantin didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain-filled screams; with each blow his laughter increased, until it reached the threshold of insanity.

  Captain Brodst looked quizzically to Lord Serant, wondering if he should continue. Serant shrugged his shoulders and said quietly, “No.” He then motioned to the captain to grasp the assassin’s hands. The chains were just long enough; Lord Konstantin might be able to try something. Serant did not want to risk the chance. Captain Brodst firmly held the prisoner’s hands, while Serant grasped the prisoner by the throat.

  “We will get the information we seek out of you one way or another. Death will come. But one way is quicker than the other. I do not mind waiting, and since you seem to be enjoying it, we will continue this just as long as need be. So, I will ask you one more time. Who sent you?”


  “He that did.”

  Lord Serant drew his sword and held it before the assassin’s eyes, so he could look at its coldness. “I’m sure that you would enjoy it if I were to kill you now, but I will not. I am a very patient man. Why did you come?”

  “I think that is quite obvious.” His tone was one of steel. His eyes seemed to stare through Lord Serant as if he did not exist.

  Serant decided to let the captain try to persuade the man to talk. Captain Brodst ordered the guards to retrieve some hot logs from the kitchen’s fire. When they returned, he heated a dagger until it was crimson. “Strip him!” Brodst ran the blade lightly along the assassin’s bare legs, just enough so Lord Konstantin could feel the intensity of the heat.

  “Who sent you? I will ask only one more time in case you were distracted by my blade. Who sent you?”

  The prisoner offered no retort. Captain Brodst pressed the flat side of the dagger full against the other’s leg. He held it there while he repeated his question. Repeatedly he recapitulated his words and his actions with no reply.

  “Guards, get in here!” yelled Serant, as his patience thinned. He saw that the prisoner was tended to and then he and Captain Brodst departed the room, neither very pleased. Lord Serant did have an idea that he hoped might work. After a brief discussion while they walked towards the conference room, the two decided it would be a good idea to consult Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer.

  They found the two in Father Jacob’s old study, engaged in a heated conversation. “Ah, Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer, just the two we were looking for. Sorry to interrupt you,” spoke Lord Serant as he entered the room.

  “How may we help you, my lord?”

  “It is about the assassin, Lord Konstantin. He will not talk. He does not fear death or pain. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it. Can you use the power of the Father to enter his mind and learn his secrets?”

  “I am afraid I know not of such things. Keeper?”

  “I have seen nothing of it in our histories, but in the ancient books I have read of such a thing. It is something Brother Seth could have done.”

  “Seth?” Lord Serant asked, before he could recall the name. He had never met Seth, but he had heard the stories about him. “Is there then no other way?”

  “I think I have an idea. I’ll give him a taste of the death that he so dearly seeks. The Father does not welcome those who do not earn their place with him. They are sent to the darkness of the pit, a cold, unforgiving place.”

  The four then returned to the dungeon, which was an area of the castle that had been mostly unused for a very long time. The musty smell of mildew and dank waters assaulted their nostrils as they descended the stairs. All in all, the section was very small, including only six adjacent cells, but it had always been plenty spacious for Imtal. It was rare that any of the cells had an occupant.

  Father Francis began his deep concentration. His head began to sway back and forth as a trance overtook him. He faced the assassin lord and asked, “Do you wish death? It is what I offer. Take it.” His voice was compelling. “Take it,” he enticed. “Take it—take it.”

  “Yes!” screamed the prisoner, “Yes!”

  Father Francis had been waiting for his total acceptance. “Then take it!” he bellowed.

  Lord Konstantin yelled for joy. His eyes and mouth were wide as he embraced death. The after life was everything he ever dreamed it would be and the dark lord’s promises seemed to ring true. The land abounded with riches and treasures—all there for his taking. An army of faithful servants waited for his beckon call. But as he sought to claim the riches the area around him suddenly became dark and cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably. The army of the faithful became a great host of white specters that danced all around him. Their agony greeted him. They eagerly waited to drink the warmth of his newly passed spirit.

  Horror began to fill the assassin’s mind. “This is not death!”

  “Oh, but it is!” assured Father Francis.

  “This is not what my master promised!”

  “Oh, but it is. Join us,” said a multitude of withered voices. “Join us.”

  “No! I’ve changed my mind. I do not want to die. Please, please, please, oh please,” begged Lord Konstantin.

  Father Francis let the rogue’s mind linger for a time in the land of the damned. “Tell us what we want to know. Who sent you? Why have you come?”

  “No. Please, I do not—”

  “Who sent you? Why have you come?”

  “I do not know who hired me.”

  “Liar!” yelled Father Francis as he plunged the assassin back into the pit.

  “No, really. I was hired—paid in advance.”

  Father Francis left Lord Konstantin dangling above the pit. Slowly he lowered him in, while he repeated the questions.

  “They called themselves the coalition. The leader’s name was Antare. He told me that for each I killed he would give me a count of gold, save for the girl. He would triple the sum for her, but only if she were alive. If she were dead we would only get the original payment and nothing extra.”

  “If you lie!” tempted Father Francis, clearly angry.

  “It is the truth!”

  Father Francis released Lord Konstantin’s spirit. He could hold it no more. “Thank you for your help, Father,” he whispered as he came out of the trance. Captain Brodst steadied the priest as he gathered his wits. “I am fine. I am fine.”

  “You are a miracle worker; whatever you did worked magnificently! I am ever grateful,” said Lord Serant.

  “Do not thank me. Thank the Great-Father.”

  Lord Konstantin was still trying to sort out what had happened when his tormentors left the room. He had been tricked by the foul priest’s treachery. “I will kill you—I will kill you all,” he yelled as the gag was returned to his mouth.

  “I have never heard of one called Antare,” said Lord Serant as they walked down the hall.

  “It is not a person, but a place,” said Keeper Q’yer, “It is an ancient word. I have seen it mentioned in the great book. If you permit me, I will return to the council and seek their help.”

  “Of course, Keeper, go.”

  “I will return when I discover something.” Keeper Q’yer struck his staff against the hard stones of the floor and spoke the words of power, “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!” As the new head of the keepers, he enjoyed the privilege of using the old devices though the process of teleportation eluded him. Keeper Martin was the one who had taught him how to use it. Most of the other keepers feared using the device and wished it destroyed, but Keeper Martin protested, as had others before him. Keeper Martin had actually been the first one to use it in generations.

  Keeper Q’yer thought back to the time when Martin had first discovered the device. Keeper Martin had stayed up for days searching the old tomes for clues on its use. He had found them. His pleas to the council Keeper Q’yer vividly recalled. “It has survived even the purging—it was kept here for a purpose! And this is that purpose!” By using it, Keeper Martin’s wisdom was clearly shown. It was thus that he gained the respect of the council and eventually became its head.

  Keeper Q’yer remembered those days with fondness. From those times he and Martin had also come to know each other, and their friendship had grown. All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he returned to the council.

  “But why would they want Adrina?” asked Lord Serant.

  “That is a good question—it troubles me.”

  “Could you try that again?”

  “I do not think I could trick his mind again. Only willingly could I take him there.”

  “Then we shall have to try another way, but for now let him sulk. Maybe just the fear of going there will loosen his tongue again.”

  “Good. I am famished.”

  “Me, too. It is long past dinner. Will you join us, Father?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. I will join you two later. I cannot eat w
hen my mind is troubled.”

  The two watched Father Francis leave then left for the kitchen. Lord Serant was also caught up with his thoughts; maybe he had judged Captain Brodst too harshly. He was beginning to enjoy his company. The two feasted well on the food they found in the kitchen. Lord Serant grabbed a large hunk of meat and Captain Brodst a cask of ale. They were engaged in light conversation and drinking when Isador found them.

  The old nanny, who had brought up all three of King Andrew’s daughters, was fuming. Lord Serant had heard many things about her temperament. He suspected it was where Calyin got her temper.

  “Lord Serant, Princess Calyin has sent me to retrieve you. She wishes to speak with you.”

  Lord Serant looked to Captain Brodst for help. Captain Brodst smiled broadly and said, “I must be going also. I have many things to do yet today. Sorry, Lord Serant.”

  “Tomorrow morning, then.”

  Isador led Lord Serant to Calyin’s quarters and then dismissed herself. “Oh Edwar, I was so worried,” said Calyin as she ran into his arms. His presence calmed her shivers. “Calyin, there is nothing to fear. I—we are safe here. Nothing will harm you or me—nothing.” She answered by holding him tighter; feeling his warmth reassured her that he was all right.

  Gently he carried her to the bed and tucked her in. He lay there beside her, soothing her until she fell asleep. However, he was still wide-awake. He had doubts that he could not tell her about. He admired her strength too much. They each got their strength from the other. Even at times like this, he could feel it in her.

  For hours he lay there unable to sleep until finally he got up to go for a walk. He slipped out quietly, pulling the covers tight around his beloved Calyin before he went. He strolled the halls of the palace, eventually finding himself at the terrace overlooking the garden. Captain Brodst was also there, staring into the night sky.

  “Hello, Lord Serant,” spoke the startled captain.

  “May I join you?”