“I thought the only way to get in there was to die,” Derlin spoke up, confused. “There is one more entrance, a Wall of Glass. One can enter through this Wall, and thus pass freely between sides.”
The old gleam of adventure lit Tarthur’s eyes, as he remembered what Tustor had told him. “I’d like to see if I could enter,” he ventured, then amended as Dalin glanced his way, “that is, if we are going there.”
“I don’t really think you want to try,” Dalin said softly. “Those who try to enter, and cannot, face a peril worse than death. They slowly go mad, and are tormented until they die. I had a friend once… but that is a story for another night. We should all be turning in, as we have a long day’s journey tomorrow.”
That night, Tarthur fell almost immediately asleep. Before doing so, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there were some very important lessons in the story of Tivu, and he truly felt sorry for him.
Tarthur woke the next morning, and he was pleased to see that his friends were hardly feeling any effects of the hangover. As he stretched and got up, he noticed that Dalin had already made a fire and was cooking some coffee and eggs. Tarthur noted with satisfaction that the eggs were the good kind, the ones with cheese and peppers and potatoes in them. Dalin smiled as Tarthur met his eye. “Since we will be traveling fast, I didn’t want to burden the horses with a lot of food, so I decided we might as well eat it now.”
Tarthur was always one to enjoy good meals. “Now I know what Morty feels like getting served every day, instead of having to do the serving all the time like us.”
“I’ll allow you to cook dinner tonight then,” Dalin replied with a smile. “Since you have so much practice, it should be good.”
“Derlin will cook lunch then?” Tarthur’s question came out even though he hadn’t really wanted it to.
“There are many more important things to think of than food,” Dalin chided mildly. “But if you must know, we can stop and eat a couple of biscuits as soon as we reach the end of the forest.”
Dalin started to pack up camp as Tarthur and Derlin scrubbed the tin dishes. They were now working more efficiently together, and in no time the horses were saddled and ready to go. As they were riding along Tarthur started to think that things were going pretty well, and they would be talking with the elves in just a few days. Tarthur had never imagined that they would meet elves. With their force alert and ready, the king could be warned, and soon they would be prepared for the Death Lord when he came. They would steal the Water Orb, now that Tarthur had the power to control it, and there would be a golden age of peace and prosperity that even the Dark One could not ruin. Right at that instant, however, he was proven very wrong.
Dalin never saw what hit him. The goblin’s ill-timed attack, however, cost him his life. Had he waited for the proper signal, all three of the riders could have been subdued without trouble, but as it was, he now lay dying with Tarthur’s sword protruding from his chest. Tarthur wrenched the dripping blade free and brought the flat down on another’s head, saving Derlin a considerable amount of pain, as the latter was still in shock. Once alerted, however, Derlin sprang into action, as his horse crushed another attacker’s skull. Years of being friends had taught Tarthur and Derlin many things, and one of these was how to fight together. Granted, they were not superb warriors, but both had good instincts, and more than a few skills. They were protecting each other’s backs as three more goblins fell. There were only two goblins left, and they seemed to be more cautious now, waiting for something.
Their leader stepped out of the brush, catching Tarthur off guard. What was a man doing with these goblins? Raising his hand toward the boys, he started to mumble something. Immediately, their limbs started to feel heavy, and time seemed to go in slow motion. Tarthur’s sword felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds. The friends toppled from their horses, bags of stones unable to move.
The leader smiled. Cursing something at the goblins, he made a gesture at the boys and another at their horses. Tarthur’s eyes cried out, but his body was powerless to do anything. Just who was this man? Grinning, the dark warrior scooped up Dalin’s body and shoved it on his horse.
BUREAUCRACY
“Well, I’m sure it is not all that bad,” Warren said, attempting to lead the immovable Zelin and Addyean out of the room. “You know his majesty is not feeling well, and he has many pressing matters to attend to.” Warren’s face lit up as if a brilliant idea had just occurred to him. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow, his majesty will be more rested and…”
“If we could just see him for a moment,” Addyean interjected. “I’m sure he would be well pleased to hear what I have to say. As I’ve already explained, my position as royal spy warrants certain…”
Warren’s tone was bureaucratic. “I have told you there is no record of you being any more than royal gardener, and until I find otherwise, I have no choice but to…”
“You were not even employed here when I left. Just talk to the king and he will admit me. I promise.”
“King Garkin is ill today, and he is asleep. But I give you my word of honor as chancellor to the king that I will tell him of you and let him decide whether or not to admit you when he awakes.”
“Make sure you do,” Zelin spoke for the first time, seriousness in his voice. “Or we may all be very sorry.”
Addyean and Zelin got up and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Not until they were very far away did the sound start. It was quiet at first, and hesitant. It slowly gained in frequency and volume, and then it turned hysterical and shrill to the ears. It was the sound of Warren laughing.
* * *
Warren’s laughter had died down to a chuckle by the time he had walked to his secret basement. Those trusting fools! It had taken all he could do to not explode with laughter when the old man had talked. “Make sure you do, or we may all be very sorry,” Warren said with mock seriousness, a parody of the old man’s facial expression. He was happy that he had delayed them until tomorrow. Tomorrow, so far away…Warren could devise a million ways to get the ailing king out of the castle by tomorrow. Then the elated man simply lay down on the couch and went to sleep.
The dreams had all started about two years ago. Back then, Warren had been a poor farmer’s son, and a farmer himself. Warren, who had always been a little on the selfish side, was feeling sorry for his state of existence one particular day. He was doomed to be a farmer, and a poor one at that, as his father had never been particularly thrifty. Combined with that, his land never was very good in the first place, and there was a drought in the country. While in this state of mind, Warren lay down in a cornfield, and he came to Warren. He always comes to those crying out against their lot in life, and willing to give anything to change it. The Death Lord Darhyn, while his body was in a comatose form, was still able to send out his mind to choose some who could do his bidding. Darhyn, still in control of the Water Orb, promised to make Warren great. He foresaw that Warren’s unrestrained ambition could be a powerful tool, free for Darhyn to mold and temper to use to his own ends. Darhyn had sent the rain then, showing his power over the Water Orb. But the rain had only come to Warren’s fields. Warren’s now comparatively fertile land produced twenty times as much as farms around it. Soon Warren was in control of the whole region. Through more dreams, the Death Lord had revealed to Warren what to do and say, as he climbed his way through the king’s court. And now to be king! Such a thing was greater than…and then the dream started.
Rising through the blackness of Warren’s mind, a shapeless shape began to emerge. The formless black spoke:
“Warren, I am pleased,” the face inside the faceless cowl said. “You have handled yourself well today.”
Warren’s visage twisted into a crude smile. It was not often that his master gave him praise. The dark shape he smiled at was only visible because it seemed to swallow up the light around it. The next time he spoke, Warren was filled with a dread chill. The words were
not spoken, they were just felt. It seemed to Warren that every time he met with his terrible master, he learned something new and frightening about him. Warren sometimes thought he was doing it just to remind him who the power was. Ah, but soon, things would change.
“It has come time for there to be a new king over the world. Do you know who that king will be?” The Death Lord’s question was ridiculous, yet he asked it anyway.
“I believe it will be me, lord,” Warren said without flinching.
“Yes. This is how you will accomplish it. Tonight, you will give a vial of poison to the king. This poison will make him deathly ill for three days, and then he will die a rather unpleasant death. Tomorrow morning, early, you will get all of the important and trusted members of the Council and take them with you on your journey. You will travel to the healing spring at Treshin. It is at least a five-day trip if you have to travel slowly because of the ailing king. Since you and all of the other people capable of making decisions will be away, my enemies will not be able to begin a mobilization.”
Warren nearly squealed with delight. “That is brilliant, master.”
Darhyn continued, annoyed. “There is more. The poison is made so right before he dies, the last person he sees will seem glorified and absolved of all faults. That person will be you. When he sees you thus, he will proclaim you king. As King Warren, you will not only delay the mobilization, you will stop it entirely. My armies will sweep over the land, and soon you will rule over all other races also. Now, to make that poison, first you take a pinch of fireweed…”
* * *
“What are we going to do now?!” Addyean was irate. They had just been told that King Garkin had left and was on important matters of state. The guard who had thus informed them had also said that the king was attending to these matters indefinitely, and might not be back for quite some time. Addyean of course had not believed him until Zelin had used his powers to ascertain that the man was indeed telling the truth.
“I sense some danger,” was Zelin’s reply. “But as I know neither what is wrong nor how to fix it, I am not exactly sure what I can do.”
“Well, one thing is for sure, we can’t just do nothing, which is what we are doing now. We need to decide on some course of action. Time is not critical yet, but by waiting, we are losing our advantage.”
Zelin nodded. “I agree. I must seek out the gurus that live in the Eternal Vale. I hope they will be able to offer some aid. Meanwhile, you must make contact with King Garkin. I know he is a good man. He will not deny help, but he will have to see the danger it poses to his kingdom.”
Addyean’s question made Zelin ponder. “But how will I find him?”
“I will probe the guard’s mind.” Zelin stood still for a minute, his concentration growing. A crimson ray of light that Addyean knew to be Zelin’s life-force suddenly streaked from his temples and flew down the hallway. Addyean caught the lifeless body as it slumped to the floor. He waited, scarcely daring to draw a breath. If Zelin lost control of himself, or if the soldier’s mind was too strong, Zelin could very easily die. Addyean knew that the risk was much reduced for one of Zelin’s abilities, but still, you never knew…and to lose Zelin, one of the last of the old gurus still living in the world…
The crimson streak arced back into the room, and straight to Zelin’s forehead. Within seconds, his fingers and limbs started to warm up and regain their color. Zelin coughed, and soon was sitting up by himself. He finally spoke. “The guard actually believes they are on state business. He saw a party of about fifteen or twenty men riding out early this morning. He doesn’t recollect seeing the king, but it was still dark, so his vision was probably impaired. They were heading east with a little southward twinge. You should be able to catch up and observe them within a day as they were traveling slowly.”
“So it is a parting then?” Addyean said the last with a sad but wistful tone. “Yes. I will try to meet you after I have secured help. Do not fail.”
Addyean’s stance was so firm, it could have been chiseled out of pure stone. “I will not.”
* * *
The captives were not treated badly according to their captor’s standards, but to them they were being manhandled. Although, Tarthur reflected, if we are their captives, they probably don’t really care what we think. Since their capture, they had been tied to a saddle for the first few hours of each day. After they were fed a barely nourishing lunch, they were made to walk until after sundown. This had been going on for nearly three weeks, and when he could think clearly, which was rare, Tarthur realized they had been making good time going to wherever they were going. And Tarthur was not at all sure that he wanted to go there. All these thoughts passed before Tarthur as he was eating a kind of hard bread for his lunch. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of bread it was, it was filled with raisins and some grains he had never seen before. He assumed that it must be nourishing, because it was all that was keeping him going.
“What is this bread called?” Tarthur hollered to the grim, black clothed man. Tarthur didn’t really want to talk to him, but anything was better than the monotony he faced every day.
“It is nishei. And I told you not to ask any more questions. Don’t you remember?”
Tarthur did not remember. He remembered very little during the past few days.
“So where are we going?” Tarthur liked irritating the evil man. Tarthur could tell he was evil, that much was easy. Tarthur never was one of the more respectful types in normal times, and being dragged about certainly wasn’t helping things. Had Tarthur known the atrocities this man was capable of, he might have acted much differently. As it was, the man simply bashed Tarthur on the side of the head with his chain mail fist. Dalin and Derlin looked on helplessly, each bearing their own bruises and cuts from the last time they had tried to help Tarthur.
“Let’s go,” the evil man said simply, lifting Tarthur onto a horse. He then gestured for Derlin and Dalin to walk. It seemed as if he was a man of very few words. The horse bobbed him up and down as Tarthur slipped in and out of consciousness. Tarthur started feeling as if they must reach their destination soon. He knew they must be arriving at the southern edge of the world before too long. Tarthur was racking his mind for possible places that they could be traveling to. He remembered a world map he had seen once, but the details were too foggy to recall accurately, especially with all the recent blows he had taken to the head. Living all of his life on a farm, he never imagined that the world could be so big.
Suddenly, it came into view. Rising above the foothills, rising even above the Rune Mountains at parts, it loomed, dark and impenetrable. The fortress had many towers, all made of some kind of black or dark gray stone. Dark rain clouds circled the tower. Sentries patrolled the area, but one glance told Tarthur they were not human, or even close to human. The evil of the place penetrated Tarthur, and he saw Derlin shiver as well. Tarthur wasn’t sure, but he believed he could hear faint screams of terror from below the castle. No banners flew from the minarets—Tarthur immediately knew that once you saw whom this fortress belonged to, you would never forget. He also knew that the possession of it would never change. He also knew, with grim certainty, that this was their destination.
He could see in Dalin’s eyes that he knew this was their destination also. The drawbridge creaked slowly as it opened for their arrival, and swallowed them into the black pit of emptiness.
* * *
“Steady now,” came the ever nasal and annoying, yet firm, voice. “Slow and steady, that’s the way to get things done right.” Sir Stephen already hated that voice. It was not as if the bearers of the Royal Wagon were being harsh, indeed, far from it. The knights and chancellors were moving King Garkin with meticulous care and attention to detail. They were doing so well, however, that their pace had slowed to a crawl. They had been doing all right for the first part of the morning, until at noon, Warren had decreed that they were moving too fast and jostling His Majesty. Sir Terin, or Ironfist as he was cal
led, tried to argue. After all, old Ironfist had been in many a fight and seen quite a few injuries and sicknesses himself. As a matter of principle Warren had objected. Those two always had a fiery hatred for each other. It had all started when Warren had wanted to become a knight; he had tried hard, but in the end, the physical talent just wasn’t there. He was smart enough all right, but clumsy and slow. That had all been in his youth. Now Warren could make it, but his pride wouldn’t let him ask. Sir Terin knew this, and disliked Warren all the more for his stupid pride, thus the ever-occurring rivalry.
Nobody knew quite how, but Warren managed to know every detail of the illness. He knew when the king would turn purple, what things would make his temperature go up or down, and what would make him feel better for a few minutes. Since he had such a complete mastery over the disease, no one could really challenge his authority. So, when Warren had pronounced that no cure was possible, all of the king’s friends fell into mourning. Warren had let them cry for a while and he had then suggested going to the healing spring at Treshin. Legend had it that it was there the Creator had first sipped water, and it was also there that Frehu had made the Water Orb, and infused it with power. Since then, the abbey at Dun had documented hundreds of cases of miracle healing. It was said the springs would heal anyone who believed…
The scrambling of knights brought Sir Stephen out of his reverie. A tree had fallen across the path and the knights were already hacking away at it. Sir Stephen helped lift the newly cut tree eagerly. Sir Stephen still didn’t know why he had been chosen for this mission, which made him proud of the unexpected honor, and anxious to prove himself. The previous year, Stephen had taken his first vows of knighthood, and that was the last time he had seen King Garkin. From that time, Sir Stephen had a blank record. He had done nothing to subtract from the dignity of anyone, he had never spoken harshly to or about his superiors, and he had never been derelict in his duty. Unfortunately, however, he had done nothing to gain himself or the kingdom any honor either. That was why he was trying extra hard in this mission. He was concentrating so much, he didn’t even see the shadow following them.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 6