“It is also strange that he was able to use the Water Orb, without possessing it. My brother still has it out of the world. How can this mere boy use something that is out of the world? Unless, has Darhyn brought it back? The construction must be hastened—the time is rapidly drawing near.”
“It seemed as if you almost had a hold over him when the other broke it. Why don’t we destroy the free thought of his companions?” When someone talked to Marhyn, they always said we instead of you. To suggest that the queen was at fault or should try something new wasn’t usually a good idea. Being ranked as he was, Lithar took some liberty over the normal rules, still it was always better to be safe than sorry.
“That is another unusual thing. The shield seemed to be protecting the other two also. The source of this magic puzzles me immensely.”
Tyven, by his usual method of communication, slid a piece of paper over to Marhyn. It said: “Doesn’t the Water Orb have the power to control things?”
Marhyn thought a moment, and then replied. “The Orb does have a life of its own. But I think my brother has enough control over it to stop it from doing anything important. Unless, perhaps Darhyn himself placed the protective spell over them, maybe this boy can use things that don’t exist and Darhyn wants to use him for his own ends. It is an interesting possibility, and one well worth looking into. Tyven, that will be your job.”
“Since I can’t probe their minds, the prisoners are useless to me. They may, however become very valuable later, especially the boy Tarthur. I don’t care so much about the other two. Lithar, put them in solitary confinement in the newly constructed prison cells. That will break their spirits the fastest. Meanwhile, I want the mountains to be excavated and the tunnels extended. Let’s keep that gold coming. More gold is the way to keep the loyalty of our mercenaries. Admiral Tyven, I want the navy trained and ready to sail in a month. They don’t have to know how to fight yet. We will take them to our secret base and train them there. For now they just need to know how to sail. Lithar, you will stay here with part of the troops who will be the diversion. When Tyven and I leave you will, of course, be in charge.”
This plan was agreeable to the trio, so they relaxed, had the servants prepare some food, and talked for a few more hours until they had made a very, very good plan for taking over the world involving a mass slaughter of their own troops, treachery, violence, and a volcano.
* * *
The grieving knights knelt in the meadow at dawn. The sun was at the point where it had not quite risen yet, but where it still gave some light to the world below. It was October, so there was a chill in the early morning air. The knights were in a clearing just to the east of a bend in the road. Sir Stephen knelt with the rest, who were arranged in a circle around their ailing monarch. He thought, “I’m glad it’s not the middle of winter yet. It would be freezing out here,” and then immediately, “why did I think that? The king is dying and I’m thinking about winter! I’ll never make a good knight if I keep thinking about myself. There I go again!”
In spite of his inner turmoil, Sir Stephen’s exterior was unmoving. He wanted to look for a friendly face, to combat the sense of utter loneliness that he was feeling, but then he stopped himself. He would be a man this time. In the pre-dawn hours, Warren had summoned all of the knights and counselors, saying that it was urgent and that King Garkin’s condition was worsening. Warren had said that King Garkin could no longer travel, and was at the very brink of death. They selected two knights, put them on horseback, and told them to gallop as fast as they could to Treshin and try to bring back some water. Even if they rode the horses to exhaustion, it would still be a good day to go there and back. By that time, the king would probably not be alive anymore. Still—it was their only hope.
That is how all the knights got to be kneeling in the grass around their dying king. For now, all they could do was to wait and pray. It was the morning of the third day after they had set out from the capital.
Suddenly, King Garkin sat up. “I will die soon, but I see him,” he uttered in a trance-like state. “The one who will be king after me.” King Garkin pointed a shaky finger out from his body. To the horror and amazement of everyone present, the king was pointing to Warren.
Warren was compelled to speak. “Your Majesty, I am sure I am not worthy, still if you think it is best for the kingdom…”
King Garkin said, in a perfectly coherent voice, “No, not you, the person behind you!” The look of shock on Warren’s face was like none that Sir Stephen had ever witnessed before.
The knights turned as one man. As Sir Stephen looked into the rising sun, part of the sun was obscured by a black shadow. The shadow walked deliberately, and steadily. As he came closer, Sir Stephen saw the shadow turn gradually into a man. As the man approached the king, Sir Stephen wanted to do something, but a restraining hand on his shoulder checked him. It seemed this man was well known.
The man walked to the king, and dropped to one knee. He reached inside his jacket and brought forth a flask of something clear. He opened the flask, and gave it to the king. As King Garkin drank the contents, color started to return to his cheeks and he visibly seemed to gain strength. Soon he was well enough to stand. Suddenly he collapsed into the arms of the mysterious man. Sir Stephen was stepping forward to help when suddenly he realized it was not a fall. It was an embrace. Sir Stephen was just close enough to hear the king’s whisper. “Thank you, Addyean.”
A NEW FRIEND
It had been two days since Tarthur had last seen his friends. Some gruff-looking goblins had separated them and sent them each to a separate prison deep within the mountain. Before going, the trio had made plans that if any one of them should escape, they would immediately proceed to the king and tell him of all that had happened. Breshen was too far away, Dalin said, and they might be able to meet up with Zelin at the capital. They had also reaffirmed that no matter what Marhyn said, they were to remain her sworn enemy. Being reminded of their capture and ordeal just to make it there certainly helped Tarthur forget her apparent kindness to him and listen a little closer to the screams of absolute terror that periodically radiated from the darker parts of the citadel. The friends had said what they hoped weren’t last goodbyes and proceeded to follow the goblins. The goblin that brought Tarthur to his cell wasn’t like the two he had dealt with before. This one was rude and uneducated, certainly of the rougher sort. It definitely seemed as if Tarthur’s red carpet treatment was now over.
Actually, in the last two days it seemed as if his captors had almost forgotten about him. Each day, he received food from a slot in the wall, but he had seen no other sign of any life. Worse yet, he had tapped on all of the walls, to no avail. The cell itself seemed to be both poorly and newly constructed. The walls were not all that thick, and the dirt was still fresh. From his limited knowledge of these things, Tarthur guessed that the cells had been made recently.
In his cell, thoughts began to go through Tarthur’s mind. In all he had heard about the famous adventures, he had never bargained for this. He began for the first time to wonder, what happened to the vanquished? Why did he not hear their side of the story? Tarthur had never dreamed that in his life he would be anything other than a conquering hero. With the beginning of this quest, his spirits had risen. Now was his chance! But some things he had not bargained for. Tarthur assumed they would go to the merfolk and become instant legends, conquering all obstacles. But now here he was, rotting away in some jail far from home, without a chance of getting out. The thought that he might never see his best friend again was almost more than he could bear. The usually overconfident Tarthur was now depressed and alone. He and Derlin had grown up together; they had been in every scam imaginable together, and now they might never do anything together again. He wished he could just go to sleep and wake up in Krendon, and have it all be a dream. He promised that if that happened, he would never again be ungrateful. Heck, he’d even kiss Morty if only he could be back there. It seemed to Tarthur that
these cold, uninviting, catacombs would be his tomb. Tarthur slumped down, buried his face in his hands, and cried.
In the days that followed, Tarthur’s spirits rose slightly. He had managed to use the heel of his boot (which, fortunately for him, his captors had not taken away) to clear a small hole in the wall. The diameter was a good half meter by now, and it was fairly deep. Having no other plans of escape, and being observed by his captors only infrequently, he was able to spend all of his time with this project. The food, while not what one would call nourishing, certainly gave him strength enough for his task. Thinking of the consequences of not succeeding made Tarthur pound at the weakest part of the cell with a vengeance. So it was that on the eighth day of his incarceration that something quite extraordinary happened. Tarthur fell through the floor and landed on someone.
Tarthur’s constant digging had weakened the structure of the cells that Marhyn’s goblins had so carelessly built. When it could stand no more stress without the support of the wall, the floor collapsed. He brushed himself off and checked for injuries. There were none, fortunately only part of the floor had collapsed. Tarthur heard a loud groaning sound. Startled, and a great bit disappointed, Tarthur realized that he had not broken free as he had intended to, but rather, simply fallen into another person’s cell. At least this was better than being alone. As he helped the man to his feet, Tarthur wondered just how much assistance the man could give him.
As he looked at the old man uneasily, Tarthur decided to begin rather frankly. “My name is Tarthur. I’m sorry I fell on you.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you are now,” the stranger said, looking around. “But where are my spectacles?”
“Well, they are on your head,” Tarthur said, confused.
“What are?”
“Your spectacles.”
“Why,” he exclaimed with surprise. “So they are! Dratted things are always trying to hide from me. I’ll have to apologize, I’m a bit forgetful.”
Tarthur replied good-naturedly, “I’m sure you are.”
“Are what?”
“Forgetful.”
“Who is?”
“You are!” Tarthur, never a patient one in any case was beginning to get angry.
“Whoa,” he replied. “You must not get too angry. I have to tell you that I am a little forgetful.”
Tarthur decided not to get into that again, but rather to start completely over. “I’m sorry I fell on you. My name is Tarthur”
“Me too,” he added, still referring to Tarthur’s first statement.
“So what is your name?” Tarthur pushed further.
“Tarthur. I just told you.”
Tarthur let his head sink into his hands once more. Getting anything useful from this man would prove a long, difficult, and frustrating task. Tarthur took a deep breath and started.
Over the next few days, Tarthur learned that the man’s name was not Tarthur, but in fact Yan. Yan didn’t remember much concerning how or why he was imprisoned, or how long he had been there. Tarthur wondered if Marhyn had done something to his mind to inhibit his thinking. Talking to Tarthur seemed to improve Yan’s mind, for soon he became much more aware of his surroundings. On the third day since their meeting, Tarthur decided that he needed to tell Yan about his problems and see if they could escape. At first, Yan was against the idea.
“They’ll kill you,” The old man said plainly and without emotion. “I know.”
“The guards will notice the hole in the cell soon enough. What do you think they’ll do then? Serve us a roast beef dinner? Invite us to tea? No, they will punish us for trying to escape, even if that is not our intention. The walls are probably weakened by the fall. Besides, I am important to the world outside.”
When Tarthur had told Yan of their quest, and the “world outside,” Yan had seemed skeptical that such a place existed. It seemed to Tarthur that Yan had spent all or most of his life in Marhyn’s prison. He had only faint memories of sunlight and bright colors. Animals and happiness were beyond him. Tarthur felt sad for Yan, and vowed to get even with Marhyn and do what he could to stop her, if he got out. When he got out.
“The world outside needs me,” Tarthur continued, unsure if it was true or not. If it wasn’t, Tarthur didn’t mind lying. “I have control over a thing that is very powerful. It is called a Water Orb.” Yan stirred faintly at the words, as if trying to recall something hidden. “There are powerful armies out there. They can defeat Marhyn.” Tarthur wasn’t even sure they were at war with Marhyn.
“Oppose the Dark Lady? Impossible! And defeat her!” Yan broke off into a sort of quiet hysterical laugh.
In the end, Tarthur’s constant talk of the world outside convinced Yan to try to escape. They made their plans for right after the next ration of food, and settled down for some rest. Tarthur wondered if it would be the last time he fell asleep and woke up.
Tarthur awoke just in time to see the goblin put some stale bread and putrid water into the slot that served as the only means of interaction with the outside world. He saved the bread and drank the water hurriedly so as not to gag on the rotten smell. He then took a piece of bread from his store and consumed it. Tarthur kept five pieces of bread at a time, and when a new one came, he ate the oldest and saved the newest. He realized this gesture was largely symbolic— the bread was stale and moldy in any case, but Tarthur wanted to do everything possible to attempt freshness. Tucking the bread away in his vest, Tarthur hopped down into Yan’s cell. The old man was receiving his bread and water also, and he too put it away for later. Tarthur waited in silence until he heard the footsteps of the retreating goblin fade into the darkness. He turned to Yan.
“It is time.” Yan merely nodded in agreement.
With their combined strength, Tarthur and Yan kicked at the wall. The first kick sent up a cloud of dust, but the wall showed no visible sign of giving way. They were at the part of the wall where Tarthur had judged it to be the weakest, right below the hole in the ceiling. Tarthur and Yan kicked in earnest, and soon there was a small crack. Yan began to dig this crack out as Tarthur picked up a good-sized boulder that had once been part of the roof. He motioned to Yan, and the duo picked it up and hurled it at the poorly constructed wall. The first hit made quite a sound, but didn’t do much in the way of destroying anything. So Tarthur and Yan picked it up again and tossed it violently at the wall one more time. This time it knocked a large chunk off of the wall. Progress was certainly being made.
“Wait,” called Yan. “If we keep using that big rock someone is bound to hear us. Let’s use these smaller ones. I need to rest for a while.”
Yan did look tired, and it was a good idea. Tarthur had noticed an improvement in Yan, and he seemed more rational and thinking now. Tarthur was glad for the change, but anxiety over Derlin and Dalin kept him nervous. He called the rest break short and started once more to pound the wall mercilessly.
In time, Tarthur and Yan managed to make a big enough hole for them to crawl through. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Tarthur squeezed through and helped Yan through after him. He stared into the darkness of the corridor both ways, but he saw nothing and heard only the sound of Yan’s ragged breathing.
Tarthur weighed his decision carefully once again in his mind. He knew that he must get out at all costs. Before parting, the three friends had agreed that if any one of them were to escape, they would immediately proceed to the king. Tarthur also knew that this was especially important for him; he was the one who controlled the Orb. So he knew what he was about to do was crazy, yet he still could not leave his friends there, especially not after what he had seen had been done to Yan. So he resolved to look for them for an hour, no longer, and then continue along his way.
Tarthur and Yan crept through the silence. It seemed to them to be too quiet, almost as if the whole of Marhyn’s army had already left. But this fantasy was checked when they were forced to press against the wall twice while goblins passed by an adjacent tunnel.
&n
bsp; By searching the cells close by, and calling his companions’ names softly, Tarthur soon ascertained that finding them would be no easy task. The cells were constructed in such a manner to have many cells close by, yet all of the cells close to Tarthur’s were unoccupied. It seemed that only by mere chance Tarthur had been close to Yan. Once Tarthur and Yan had searched all of the cells in their area, they decided to move into another area. Tarthur assumed that there could be no more than a few areas, and with any luck, Derlin and Dalin might be incarcerated in the same place. But the cold realism of the uninviting stone caused Tarthur to curse himself for his foolishness. They were probably dead. Who could even be sure of anything in this cold, dark, place anyway?
When Tarthur and Yan had searched three separate sections of the jail, and still found all of the cells unoccupied, Tarthur knew that it was time to go. (He hadn’t found a way out yet, though.) As he was rounding a corner, Yan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and spoke. “I know they were your friends. We may never find them again, but you know you tried.”
“Maybe just one more hour,” Tarthur purposed, knowing the hard facts as well as Yan. “We couldn’t have checked all of those cells.” As Tarthur turned to go, Yan tightened his grip on Tarthur’s shoulder.
He didn’t speak, but as he looked at Tarthur, his eyes said, “You know what you have to do.”
Tarthur just nodded once and started to go.
The attack came from on top of them. A dark figure jumped down from a previously unseen hole in the ceiling and kicked Tarthur into Yan. The force of his kick sent both the old man and the boy sprawling.
Within seconds, Tarthur was on his feet and flying into his assailant. He was relieved to see only one, but fighting was not the time for thinking. Before the shadowy figure knew what was happening, Tarthur had buried his left fist in the creature’s gut, and come down across his cheek with the right one.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 8