Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set)

by L. M. Roth

  “And pray tell us,” he struggled to say with proper sobriety, “how you attempt to take so many of us prisoner, when you are only one against half a dozen?”

  The woman fastened her green gaze on Felix, and smiled slowly at him with the air of one who anticipates a tasty morsel. Her smile widened into an insolent grin. Then she suddenly clapped her hands above her head.

  At once in answer to her signal, the trees around them revealed fur-clad figures, all of them holding cross-shaped bows in their hands, each bow holding a sharp tipped arrow. All of them were pointed at the little band of friends.

  The strange woman turned to Felix.

  “I think I will manage quite well,” she smiled coldly at Felix. “And my name,” she bowed ironically to Dag, “is Ylva.”

  They followed Ylva and three of the fur-clad warriors. Around them on either side and behind them were the rest of their captors. Surrounded on all sides by their enemies, they knew a struggle would be in vain.

  Kyrene’s lips moved in silent prayer, while Cort moved closer to Dag, who placed a protective hand on his shoulder. Elena followed with tightly clamped lips, her black eyes flashing as she scowled at Ylva. Ylva herself glanced back at them occasionally, a sneer visible on her partially hidden face.

  Marcus and Felix walked side by side, and risked whispering to one another in their own tongue.

  “If only you could reach Logos to consult it on the best course of action!” Felix lamented.

  “I feel the same,” rued Marcus. “Yet, we did pray and ask Zoe to lead us to the fulfillment of our quest. This must play a part in that somehow!”

  Felix shot a grimace at Ylva, who sauntered ahead of them with cocky assurance.

  “I truly hope you are right, Marcus,” he replied quietly.

  Their path began to widen, and the trees to thin out. They eventually came to a clearing and at once felt warmer. It had been so cold in the forest, where the sun had difficulty penetrating the denseness of the trees. Here in the clearing they were able to lift their faces to the yellow orb that seemed as welcoming as an old friend among the strangeness of the frozen landscape that surrounded them.

  The vista changed from forest to field, albeit laden with snow. A lake in a meadow shimmered with a covering of ice. Around one edge rose tall pines only lightly brushed with snow. Just beyond them they beheld barren trees with icy branches. Between the pines and the ice-clad trees they glimpsed a path.

  Ylva turned to address them.

  “Yonder lies the dwelling of Arvid, Thene of this land. Your life will depend on his good will. For invading his territory you must beg for his mercy. Or die. And none have yet lived who have come uninvited.”

  She smiled a slow and frosty smile that chilled them all, as if she anticipated their execution and eagerly hoped to witness it.

  “And I thought this land was cold,” Felix whispered to Marcus. “It would seem balmy compared to this woman’s icy heart.”

  Marcus agreed with his friend, but steeled himself to meet with courage whatever fate awaited him in this frozen land.

  Chapter III

  A World of Water

  The path between the pines and the icy trees broadened into a little grove. Here the snow fell softly straight to the ground, with no wind to disturb it. The towering pines enclosed it on three sides, creating a tranquil cathedral in the frozen landscape.

  Marcus felt a peace steal slowly over him in the beauty of this place. Gradually his spirit settled within him even in the midst of the uncertainty of their fate.

  Have faith in Dominio, he told himself. He permitted Zoe to lead us here, and surely He will lead us safely home.

  Ylva turned sharply to the right, away from the pines. Marcus had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that the path took a sudden turn.

  They came out of the grove of trees and looked down into a valley of surreal beauty. Here the trees were clothed in ice, ice so heavy that the limbs were bowed by the weight of it. Here and there were pools of ice that glistened over frozen ponds, and reflected the trees in their austere glory. But most curious of all were several spouts of what appeared to be steam dotting the landscape. The vapor rose in the bitter air, giving the scene an ambiance of unreality, as of some alien presence in their midst.

  They descended with care into the valley, walking slowly on the path that was now covered with a light glaze of ice where the snow had partly melted in the midday sun, only to freeze anew with the coming of sundown. As they proceeded they drew nearer to the stream that gushed up through snow covered ground, creating little pools of water around their opening vents.

  Elena drew back in alarm, but an arrow at her back stifled the cry that would have escaped her lips. On drawing closer to them Marcus realized that the steam came from hot springs deep underground. It was not unlike the hot water that was piped into the baths that he loved to frequent in Valerium. But never before had he set eyes on their source.

  He thought the upward gush of water into the winter sky was a sight to behold indeed! Vapor spewed out into the air, only to fall to earth as tiny crystals of ice.

  Ylva stopped for a moment and frowned at Marcus.

  “Stay back from the skrells,” she warned him, “they are sacred to us, and we do not permit strangers to venture too near.”

  She quickly turned back and led them on until they came to a broad glen in the valley where there stood a structure of light blondish wood. It arose three stories high to a peaked roof. On each level was a balcony that encircled the entire floor. Letters of curious design were carved into the wooden door, in a language that Marcus was unfamiliar with.

  Ylva stood at the door and rapped on it twice, then once, then twice more. An eye appeared in a tiny slot that suddenly opened at the level of a man’s brow. The eye appeared to recognize Ylva, and the door opened to reveal a tall young man with an air of caution.

  “I bring prisoners for the Thene,” Ylva announced to the guard.

  He permitted them to enter; then abruptly left them.

  They came into a large hall of perhaps sixty feet long by twenty feet wide, with a ceiling that rose some thirty feet above it. To the right and to the left staircases climbed to interior landings on the second and third floors, from which rooms opened off the landings. The only room on the lower level was the great hall, with open fires scattered about to provide warmth.

  Ylva turned to face them with an air of menace. She drew down the hood of her furred cape, to reveal a mane of red-gold waves that fell in profusion about her shoulders. Her face now fully revealed, Marcus noted the wide brow, angular cheekbones, and narrow jaw that tapered to a sharply chiseled chin. It was an arresting face that drew one’s attention and held it. The flashing eyes, full red lips, and creamy skin were attractive in a sensual way that made promises to those its owner might wish to seduce to do her will. But it was a face that was neither delicately pretty nor entrancingly beautiful. Marcus decided she would never entice him, being accustomed as he was to the more refined beauties of Valerium.

  Ylva stood grinning at them and drew her tongue slowly over her lips.

  “I have sent word by the guard to Arvid. Soon you will see why it is not wise to enter our land as an uninvited guest.”

  They waited a full twenty minutes before the guard reappeared. During that time Marcus took note of their surroundings. The pale blondish wood of the exterior was prevalent throughout, with here and there scattered about on the walls tapestries of blue that seemed to reflect the same theme over and over: water. Water depicted as bubbling streams, gushing skrells, and cascading fountains. Indeed, the central focus of the hall was a fountain carved out of sleek gray granite, filled with small stones of black and gray over which a steady stream of water gently flowed.

  Marcus pondered on the significance of these depictions, and caught the eye of Felix, who little by little crept closer to Marcus, wary of catching the eye of Ylva.

  “What do you think is behind this water portrayed
over and over?” Marcus whispered.

  “I know not,” Felix muttered in response, “but it stokes my thirst!”

  Marcus grinned but shook his head ruefully at his friend. It was just like Felix to find the humor in even a dangerous situation!

  Just then Ylva whipped around toward them, and he quickly assumed a more sober mien. Ylva opened her lips as if to speak, but the reappearance of the guard quenched whatever she was about to say.

  “The prisoners will now be taken to the Thene, to give account of their trespassing before he conducts their execution,” he announced with a tone of gravity unmatched by the grin of malice that lighted his surly face.

  Up the staircase they ascended to the highest level. Through a heavy door carved of the same light wood they entered, their hearts pounding with trepidation. When they entered the room it was with surprise that Marcus surveyed the same tapestries with the water themes portrayed in the lower hall. Once again a fountain bubbled, but in this room it flowed from a statue carved from some translucent whitish stone tinged with a pale icy blue that Marcus did not recognize. The statue rose to a height of a tall man, although Dag towered above it by some five or six inches.

  The face was that of a woman with strong features: a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a mouth curved in a benevolent smile. She was clad in flowing robes carved with such precision from the stone that they had the effect of falling regally about her. Out of her hanging sleeves stretched hands held out as though in blessing, and it was from her hands that the water streamed into the fountain.

  But they had only a moment to perceive the statue for the Thene was waiting for them, and it was to him they must give their account.

  Seated on a high-backed chair of the prevalent light wood set on a slightly raised dais, the Thene was a man of about fifty winters. He sat erect and proud in his chair, like some ancient king faced with the peasants of his realm, his face impassive. It was a face heavily lined and weather-worn, as though the harsh climate had imprinted itself upon him. His heavy lidded eyes were as small and bright as a bird’s, and gave the impression that, like an eagle’s they saw far and wide and missed little. Like a bird’s beak was his nose, large and sharp at the end, and his small mouth looked as if it had been many years since it had broken into a smile.

  When he spoke, it was in a deep voice graveled with age, yet strong and inflexible as an eagle’s talons.

  “Who are you, and how do you dare to enter Jytte’s Land uninvited?” he thundered as he glared at the little band of travelers.

  Elena gasped, only to be quickly hushed by Kyrene’s soothing voice, and Cort moved closer to Dag. But Marcus stared unflinchingly at the Thene. He dared to address him.

  “My name is Marcus Maximus, the son of Valerius Maximus, the great General who led the Imperial Army of Valerium to many great victories. My companions and I were led here on the current of the sea and took shelter from the harshness of the winter clime. In my great country of Valerium, whose realm extends far and wide, it is considered only right and noble for hapless strangers to be extended the utmost in gracious hospitality. Who are you, may I ask, and what manner of barbarian are you, to detain innocent travelers in this way?”

  The guard and Ylva gasped in astonished outrage that any would dare address the Thene in such a manner. Elena cast shining eyes at Marcus, and Kyrene smiled her proud approval. He heard a snicker escape from Felix, not suppressed this time, as though he openly applauded the courage of his friend.

  But the Thene merely blinked at Marcus, while his face remained impassive. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words. Then he spoke.

  “Boldly spoken, stranger,” the Thene pronounced gravely. “My name is Arvid, son of Arne. I am no barbarian, but the protector of the sacred realm of Jytte. This is her land, and few are permitted to enter it, and none are permitted to leave it, lest her secret be made known and our world overrun by strangers treading on her holy ground.”

  Marcus digested this statement with a sickening heart. What the Thene left unsaid was that he intended to have them executed, just as Ylva had threatened.

  Chapter IV

  A Father’s Fame

  Marcus wished heartily that he could consult Logos. But he could not draw the sword from its scabbard without attracting the notice of the guards.

  Arvid, however, was speaking.

  “It is my custom to execute at once those who invade our realm. For if they are not dispatched at once, I fear they will discover the secret of Jytte, and that is a risk I dare not take. Yet, I am a just man, and you have shown courage in your defense. I would hate to put such a brave man to death, and he the son of a warrior whose name I have heard, even in our tiny realm.

  “For it is necessary at times for our people to venture outside of our homeland to purchase supplies that we lack in Jytte’s Land, and many are the tales that our young men bring back on their return. And the valor of General Maximus is known even beyond the borders of your Empire.”

  And Arvid extended a bow to Marcus. He heard a hiss, and turned his head with the speed of a lighting bolt to where Ylva stood glaring with venom at the band of friends.

  “What troubles you?” the Thene inquired of the angry girl whose chest heaved in indignation.

  “It is our law, O great Thene, to take the lives of those who trespass on our sacred ground. And you would excuse these invaders? Is that not weak?” Ylva spat the words out from between tightly clenched teeth.

  Truly, Marcus thought, never have I seen a maid so vicious as this one! I believe she wants to see our execution and relishes the thought of blood spilled.

  “Weak?”

  The Thene rose from his chair with a sudden abruptness that took them all by surprise. Ylva instinctively sprung back and bowed low.

  “I intended no insult,” she said with downcast eyes.

  But her lips turned up at the corners in what Marcus was certain was a sneer.

  Arvid gave her a long, measuring look of such icy displeasure that even Ylva paled, the sneer abruptly vanishing from her face.

  “Perhaps,” the Thene intoned, his eyes fastened on the girl’s face, “you have forgotten that we take the lives of trespassers only to protect our land, and not for the pleasure of the kill. I perceive bloodlust upon you: and I like it not,” he frowned.

  Ylva said nothing, but coolly returned his searching gaze with an innocent stare. Arvid looked into her green eyes, no longer sparkling with triumph at her prize, but glittering in anger at the thwarting of her schemes. Then he slowly nodded his head.

  “Yes,” he muttered, “it is there. I wish you to leave my presence now, and consider your ways with care. Jytte would be most grieved at the cruelty I see in your heart.”

  Ylva blinked her eyes rapidly; then tightened her lips until they were a narrow red line. Still she stood, as though defying Arvid. But the Thene would brook no defiance.

  “Go!” he bellowed in a voice that made Marcus jump involuntarily.

  Ylva dared not resist any longer. She bowed her head to Arvid, and turned her back to him as she left his presence. Before she was out of the room, however, Marcus caught her giving a sidelong glance at the guard who had ushered them into the room. It was a provocative look, as she smiled at him, lowered her eyes, then raised them to his and puckered her full lips in a pout. The guard responded with a cold smile and a hot light in his eyes; then cast his own eyes down so as to escape detection by Arvid.

  Ylva risked a backward glance of derision as she flounced out of the room. When she left, Marcus felt that the place seemed at once larger, yet cold and pale, as though Ylva had taken all the heat and color with her…

  Arvid turned with a majestic air back to Marcus and his friends.

  “Tell me more of your father, and of what manner of man is his son,” Arvid said to Marcus. “For I admire men of courage, and love to hear of their feats of bravery.”

  Marcus was only too happy to speak of Valerius, and to relate his mighty deeds. With g
ladness he spoke for nearly an hour of his father’s exploits, both on and off the field of battle. As Marcus told the story of a weary Valerius at the Battle of Heinbern, facing a horde of invading barbarians, fierce in their savagery, spurring his men on to fight the enemy who outnumbered them, Arvid listened with gleaming eyes to every word.

  Marcus shared the time when a bear had wandered out of the forests to the north and surprised his camp in the early morning, only to be met with a sword hurled with unerring aim by Valerius, piercing its heart, before it could charge the men. Arvid laughed aloud at the tale, and clapped his hands in sheer delight.

  “A brave man, indeed,” the Thene crowed. “We, too, have our heroes, our valiant ones. They have fought many battles, and have slain the bear and the wolf.”

  He turned to the group of companions who listened wonderingly to the exchange between Arvid and their friend.

  He studied them intently for a long moment. Then he appeared to have come to a decision.

  “It is few who have found leniency with me, once they have trespassed on the sacred land of Jytte. And those who have been granted mercy may never leave. Thus, I extend mercy to you now, but on condition that you stay and join our people.”

  Marcus and Felix looked at one another, then at the Thene.

  “It is with regret,” Marcus stated, “that we cannot accept that condition. For we must leave this land and continue our journey.”

  “But you cannot leave, I tell you,” Arvid insisted. “You must stay or die.”

  A little sob escaped from Elena’s lips, but Kyrene put a steadying arm about her. Marcus did not glance at them, but looked at Arvid alone.

  “And I tell you that we must leave and continue our journey; for to stay would be to risk the life of my father, whom you so greatly admire.”

  Arvid wrinkled his brow at this statement. His black eyes bored into those of Marcus, searching their depths for any hint of treachery.