by S. C. Stokes
The Queen’s heartache echoed his own. Tristan recalled painfully the only time in his life he had felt this lost. Father. Remembering with a heavy heart the night he had lost his father and his home at the hands of the Wolf, Tristan felt as lost now as he had then. The difference was that now there was a Kingdom looking to him for direction. In that moment a thought began crystallizing within Tristan’s mind: I must do something. If I sit here I will go mad.
“Your highness . . .” Halmir interjected, leaning closer to the throne as he attempted to gain the King’s attention. “Your highness, are you listening?”
Tristan sat up on the Throne and forced his mind to return to the present. “I’m sorry, Halmir, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate at present.”
“Understandably so, milord.”
“This ends now,” Tristan stated, rising to his feet. “Gather the men. Half of the King’s Guard will remain here to secure the Palace, and the other half will accompany us. Call for the the Guild Warriors also—we are going to retrieve my son.”
“Going where, sire?” Halmir asked earnestly.
“I don’t know yet, Halmir, but I will soon, and when I do I will not be able to wait for the muster. We will need every man we can gather when the time comes.”
“I will give the order, sire. When the time comes we will be ready.”
Halmir turned to depart, but the First Advisor only managed to take a few steps before stopping dead.
In the center of the Throne Room a shimmering light materialized and began to expand. The golden gateway glowed eerily while the surface of the gateway itself was a shimmering pool of darkness. Tristan’s response was immediate. Recognizing the threat the portal posed, Tristan sounded the alarm. “Guards! Guards, to the Throne Room at once!”
The oak doors of the Throne Room flew open and the King’s Guard streamed into the chamber.
“Whatever comes through that portal, stand your ground. Don’t allow it into the Palace. Halmir, your orders stand. Gather the men.”
“But Milord . . .”
“Without Syrion we have no means to close that breach. If an army comes through that gateway, we must prevent our enemy from gaining a foothold here in the Citadel.”
Halmir was hesitant to leave the King’s side at such a moment of crisis, but Tristan’s stern demeanor ensured an immediate response. Halmir hastened from the room.
Dark shapes became visible through the portal and grew in size as they rushed toward the gateway. As one the King’s Guard drew their long swords and raised their shields against the unknown foe.
Two shapes burst from the portal—a woman and a man running hand in hand. At the sight of the ring of King’s Guard they pulled up short. Tristan was momentarily stunned. “Mother!” he cried aloud, the note of joy in his voice the first he’d felt in weeks. Tristan’s gaze shifted to the figure that had accompanied his mother through the portal.
“Father?” The face was unmistakable, albeit younger than he remembered. The gray in his beard and hair was gone, as were many of the worry lines and wrinkles he remembered from when he was a child, but the man before him was certainly his father.
The portal dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared, prompting Tristan to action. Shouting to the King’s Guard, Tristan commanded, “Sheath your weapons!” The King’s Guard hurriedly parted to make way for their King, who threw his arms around his parents and drew them together in a tight embrace.
“I-I don’t understand . . . What happened? . . . H-how is this possible?” Tristan stammered
“The Soul Stone, Tristan,” said Elaina. “It worked exactly as we had hoped. The Soul Smith was able to free your father’s spirit and return it to a newly formed human vessel.”
“It is good to see you, Son. I see you’ve made much of yourself in my absence,” Marcus said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m proud of you.”
Tristan shook as emotion threatened to overwhelm him completely. A tear rolled down his cheek as he hugged his parents tighter.
“Tristan, we have much to speak of,” Marcus said. “As happy as we are to see you, we have news of grave import that we must share.”
The young King nodded as he wiped his eyes. “Leave us,” he said to the Guard. “Return to your posts in the hall. See that we are not disturbed.”
The King’s Guard sheathed their blades and filed out of the room, still a little shaken at the sudden appearance of the King’s mother and the being who appeared to be the late Marcus Listar, a man that all the inhabitants of Valaar believed to be dead.
“A little on edge, aren’t they?” Marcus asked as the King’s Guard filed out and sealed the Throne Room.
“Indeed,” Tristan answered, his tone turning serious. “Your return is a most joyous occasion, but I’m afraid it comes in trying times.”
“What’s the matter, Tristan?” Elaina asked. Her voice lowered as she realized how long she had been absent from Valaar. “Where is Linea? Surely your child has been born? Are they well?”
Tristan paused. “There was an attack. Linea was wounded and Marius, my son, was taken from us.”
“They killed the child?” Elaina asked fretfully.
“No not killed—taken—they stole my child,” Tristan answered, on the verge of breaking down.
“Who took him?” asked Marcus. “Your mother told me of your victory here. I thought your enemies had been dealt with during the siege of King’s Court.” Marcus had missed much that had occurred in his absence.
“It was the Night Stalkers. A band of them infiltrated the Palace during the Midsummer’s Tournament. They slaughtered dozens of guardsmen, wounded Linea, and made off with my son, your grandson.”
“Night Stalkers?” Marcus started heavily. “Still they blight this land? I’ve had my fill of their bloody trade. Before the attack on Listarii Manor I was working with the Council of King’s Court to crush their foul organization once and for all. That is when the attempts on my life started. I always thought they had ties to one of the Great Families but I was never able to have the proof I needed to force the Council to act.”
“There is no Council now,” Tristan asserted grimly. “I believe the Mizumuran heiress to be behind the attack. It is revenge for our stripping their family of their lands and title. Without the means to pay the Night Stalkers, she nevertheless is still able to exercise some degree of sway over them. It is likely the Mizumura and Night Stalkers are somehow allied. There is no other reason a Guild, even one as old and powerful as the Night Stalkers, would wage war against the Throne.
“When we find them, we will bring the full weight of the Crown crashing down upon them.”
“If they are that closely tied to the Mizumura,” Marcus replied, “it is likely their den lies concealed somewhere in the city or its surrounds.”
“I have Sven investigating that possibility as we speak. He is attempting to trail a Night Stalker back to his den. Any success that he has will narrow our search considerably. As soon as we leave the Palace they will know it and we will be racing against time to save the Prince.”
“If we can trap them in their lair they will be forced to trade the Prince for their lives.” Elaina offered.
“That is our hope,” Tristan answered, “but we must leave them nowhere else to turn—otherwise they may kill my son out of spite.” He dropped his head with a grimace.
“Have they attempted any form of negotiation, Tristan?” Marcus asked.
“Of a sort,” Tristan answered. “They demanded I abdicate my throne and turn myself over to them. My life for my son’s.”
“And you rejected them?” Elaina asked, torn between her son’s welfare and the life of the grandson she had yet to meet.
“In principle, yes, although we have sent word to the contrary to mislead them. If I thought for a moment they would honor the agreement I would have considered their proposal, but this is cool, calculated revenge. They will not cease until we are dead and Hitomi has the throne she was hoping to gain with
her marriage.”
“Hitomi—hmpf—” Marcus began, his displeasure evident. “I never liked that spoiled child. Unfortunately, she inherited none of the qualities that set her mother apart from others. Misaki was a woman of great compassion and empathy, and her passing was mourned by all. Her influence on Hitomi might have altered much. Had she survived to raise her daughter, I doubt we would be where we are today,” he said with a wistful sigh.
“When we find her, I’ll send her to meet her mother,” Tristan said through clenched teeth.
“Tristan, don’t speak ill of the dead,” Marcus warned.
“I’m not—I’m merely stating that I’ll ensure their reunion. For what she has done to Linea, it is no less than she deserves.”
“What is wrong with Linea?” asked Elaina.
“She hasn’t left her bed since the attack. She awoke only this morning. Malus has been tending to her wounds but they were severe. Physically she will recover, but emotionally, I am not so sure. If we cannot save our son . . . I don’t know how she will cope. Me, either, for that matter. I have been lost since he was taken.”
“We will find him, Tristan” Elaina said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll move heaven and earth if we need to.”
Tristan nodded. “I’m glad you are here. I have sorely needed your counsel. There are few of my advisors who are willing to disagree with me should the need arise. I almost tore King’s Court apart searching for Marius. I’ll need you to intercede if I should lose myself again.”
The young King looked about. “Where is Syrion? Is he not traveling with you? I haven’t heard from him since his messenger arrived.”
His parents’ faces were crestfallen. “What messenger?” Marcus asked.
“Over a month ago a messenger arrived from Khashish. He brought word of your victory at the Everpeak, and he carried a number of sealed messages. One from the Shah, addressed to me, personally. One was from Syrion, addressed to me, and a third from Syrion, addressed to Ferebour. I don’t know what it contained, but Ferebour packed his possessions and left immediately, traveling to Sevalorn as a passenger on the Kashishian vessel.”
“So you haven’t heard from him since?” Elaina asked.
“No, why? What happened?” Tristan asked.
“Your brother engaged a new foe in battle,” Elaina said. “I tried to aid him but you know how impetuous he can be. Before I could reach him he assumed his Dragon form and dove at his enemy. The being opened a portal and before Syrion could react he plunged through the open rift and was lost to us. The portal closed as soon as he had passed through. We had hoped that perhaps it had led him here, but that is clearly not the case.” Elaina clasped her hands in distress.
“As of now we have no idea where your brother is,” Marcus concluded. “We can only hope he finds his way back to us.”
“That is poor news indeed. I had been hoping for his assistance against the Night Stalker threat. I find the timing of their attack very convenient. Doubtless Hitomi—if it is Hitomi—waited until he was otherwise occupied to strike against us. After she witnessed his power in Belnair she would be a fool to attack the Palace. She must have known he was absent.”
“She won’t know I have returned, though,” Elaina stated grimly. “That will give us an advantage.”
“It certainly will,” Tristan answered, taking heart. “You mentioned a new foe, one that was able to best Syrion. What manner of man could have done so?” Tristan asked, remembering the power Syrion had manifested in the battle of King’s Court.
“Not a man, Tristan. No human could match an Astarii in the mystic arts. The wizard he faced was of another race entirely. They call themselves the Glaciadal. We believe them to be the creation of Apollos—his most faithful and fanatical followers. We had thought them extinct as no one had seen or heard from the Adal in centuries. They were hunted to extinction.”
“Where did they come from? You mentioned a portal—did they travel here from another world?” Tristan asked.
“Perhaps, but it is also possible that they have been in hiding on Sevalorn. The mountains in the north would have provided a sanctuary for them. With the aid of their magic to survive in the harsh climate they could have gone undetected.”
“If they have hidden so long, why surface now? Their master is long dead and this world serves Alphaeus as the Allfather. What are they hoping to achieve?”
“That is not technically true, Tristan—” Elaina began.
“Which part?” Tristan asked, a little confused.
“Apollos—he is not dead,” declared Marcus.
“Nonsense—he fell before Mythos and Alphaeus rose to power. You told us as much when we first encountered the Disciples of Mythos. The sons slew their father and usurped his dominion. Didn’t they?”
“So I thought, Tristan, but now we know better,” Elaina countered, looking at Marcus.
“How?”
“Because I came face to face with Apollos in the Soul Forge. It was he that manned the Forge and restored your father to life. In exchange for saving Marcus’s life, Apollos made me prepare a cure for him. It allowed him to sever his ties to the Soul Forge and gain his freedom. Apollos walks the stars once more, and he has sworn vengeance on those who wronged him. The timing of the Adal’s appearance cannot be a coincidence. They know their master has returned and they grow bold.”
“What are we to do?” Tristan asked, feeling emotionally exhausted.
“For the moment, nothing,” Marcus answered. “We must speak with the other nations of Sevalorn. We will need to unite together against the Adal. Alone we will be hopelessly crushed.”
“And we have sent word to the Celestial City,” Elaina added. “If Apollos plans to move against Creation, we will need the Allfather and his aid or we will all perish.”
Marcus raised a hand. “For the time being we must focus our efforts here, on our family. We must rescue your son and find your brother. Then we can begin to form a plan to deal with these Adal. Fortunately, they do not appear to be in a hurry to do anything other than build their city.”
“City?” Tristan asked.
“Indeed,” he answered. “They have taken control of the plains north of the Elkhan and are fashioning a grand city. It is a most impressive spectacle, Tristan.”
“Well, we will turn our attentions to them in due course,” Tristan replied. “In the meantime you must be famished—let me send to the kitchens for something to eat. We can continue this discussion over an evening meal.” Tristan guided his parents towards the door. “There is a great deal we must speak of.”
“What did you have in mind?” Marcus asked.
“You have been where all go but none have returned. What was it like to be brought back to life?” Tristan asked.
Marcus laughed. “Not as grand as you might suppose. I don’t believe I was ever truly dead. My spirit was trapped in that Soul Stone. I never passed into the next plane of existence. When I was released I saw a gateway. It was grander than anything I have ever before beheld. Then before I could take more than a few steps toward it, I was torn away. The next thing I knew I awoke in this body, with your mother standing over me.”
“Fascinating,” Tristan replied, shaking his head. “Come, I’ll see if the kitchen staff can’t rustle up a side of boar for you, Father. Being King has brought with it a few privileges after all.”
“Boar on demand?” Marcus replied. “I could get used to this. Lead the way my boy.”
Chapter 22
Empyrea
Syrion focused his mind, seeking to channel the energy that coursed through his being. Mastering the arts required to open a portal had proved more difficult than he had supposed. Kalifae made it seem effortless—whether across the clearing or between entire worlds, the Empyrean sorceress was able to move with ease.
At first the studies had fascinated Syrion, and in days the pair had visited half a dozen worlds. In each instance their stay was only momentary, but Syrion quickly found himsel
f pondering the immensity of the heavens and the worlds numbered in its vast expanse. Each was different from the last—on one world they traveled through a lush rain forest crawling with creatures Syrion had never before encountered, like flying creatures the size of his fist that sought to suck the blood from his body. Scurrying creatures moved from tree to tree plucking the bizarre but enticing purple fruit.
On another world Syrion watched in wonder as a mountain spewed fire and ash into the air. Molten rock poured down the mountainside and ran in rivers across the surface of the world. The “volcano,” as Kalifae called the mountain, would spew forth ash and lava in impressive bursts. “On other worlds these volcanoes erupt only once every few hundred years, but here on Tempestus the surface of the world has been damaged, and it now shifts regularly, causing tremendous upheavals beneath the world’s surface. Here in the superheated climate the streams of lava can run for hours without cooling, and in some places the heat is so extreme that there are lakes of fire that never cool. Unfortunately, we cannot survive in such climates—only the elementals of Tempestus can survive the extreme heat.”
“Elementals?” Syrion asked.
“Creatures like the one you faced at King’s Court. Only creatures such as those can survive in the extreme conditions here. We ourselves will expire if we remain too long.”
Syrion nodded and Kalifae returned them to the verdant jungle clearing that had become familiar to him over the past few weeks.
“I don’t understand how you are able to move us so readily between worlds, Kalifae. Why can I not channel the power necessary to do so?”
“That is what I am trying to teach you, Syrion. It is not a matter of power but of precision. Empyreans move between worlds with ease, as we were taught by Apollos himself. These places are familiar to us, and ever since Apollos taught us we have moved freely within what was once his domain. I am able to conjure the portals with ease because these places are familiar to me. To travel somewhere you know and are familiar with is simpler than to attempt to open a portal to a world you have never been to. Such an act is dangerous and foolhardy—I would not recommend it.”