by Kel Kade
“That is almost poetic,” Adsden mused.
Fierdon said, “Many poems end in tragedy. Pray this one does not.”
Adsden grinned. “Your prayers are fitting in that garb, but still I cannot see you as a priest.”
Fierdon muffled his laughter. “My father tried to get me to join the Temple. He said it would look good for the family and maybe convince some of the critics that I was, in fact, not the spawn of a demon.”
“You did not care for the idea, I take it.”
“No, the Maker must have had a hand in this”—he stroked his face—“or he did not lift a finger to prevent it. Either way, I figure I have sacrificed enough.”
Adsden checked the time dial again. “Some say the Maker punishes those who do evil. I have often wondered how he will take my measure.”
“I did not think you a believer,” Fierdon said. “Besides, Hespion has only benefited from his hatred and greed.”
“I cannot say that I believe, but I do sometimes ponder these things. Perhaps the Maker intends to strike Hespion down, but he has raised his hand so far, the blow has not yet fallen.”
Fierdon chuckled. “Then, I do not wish to get between the Maker’s hand and his intended victim.”
Rezkin had tried to sleep, but his head ached more and more as the colors swirled madly behind his closed eyes. When he delved into meditation, even the stone resting on his breast did not calm them. He was in such a state now, seeking the peaceful drift of mingling hues, hoping to hear the melody they sang as they pulsed and whispered in harmony. His people were all about the city, now, and he had this one place to himself. This was where he could rest. This was his sanctuary.
The settlers had spent the past few weeks exploring the mysterious city and palace. The refugees had either claimed or been assigned dwellings close to the central square, but a few desired more private accommodations on the outskirts. Some of the nobles took up residence in the palace, but several saw this as an opportunity to claim the larger estates. While most of the refugees considered their circumstances to be only temporary, some seized upon the chance for a new beginning. The more optimistic had dreams of a glorious future for the Kingdom of Cael and sought important roles within it.
The palace was a magnificent structure that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Corridors were far larger than those of Ashaiian buildings, and they twisted like the tangled roots of a marglow tree. Just when one thought to find himself back where he started, he would enter an entirely new hall on the level above or below. Even though the largest tower was at least nine stories above the ground, no one had found any stairs. While the corridors did not appear to be inclined, and even a cart would not roll away, every level could be accessed without ever ascending a flight. For this reason, the explorers were not exactly sure how many levels composed palace, and their best estimates were based on the windows that could be seen from the outside.
Within the palace were a seemingly endless number of chambers for residences, offices, workshops, kitchens, and washrooms. There were some rooms for which no one had any practical explanation. In fact, the entire upper level consisted of such rooms. Twenty-seven chambers, each nearly as large as the receiving hall in the palace of Ashai, occupied the upper level. From the outside, the tower most definitely was not large enough to contain so many vast chambers. The walls, ceiling, and floor of each of the chambers were covered in crystals, although these crystals held no glowing power. While the perimeter of each chamber was level with the door, the floor swirled downward like a river eddy toward the center, ending at least ten feet below the starting position.
On other levels, strange rooms had gaping holes in the floor with matching holes in ceiling. Some of these holes were merely hand width, while others were large enough to swallow a horse. Within the holes was naught but endless darkness. No matter how long the explorers peered into their depths, they could not see the levels above and below. Kai ordered these rooms blocked off to prevent anyone from accidentally falling into the black pits. In other rooms, what appeared to be extensive aqueducts twisted in serpentine form, at times rising to the ceiling before twirling back toward the floor and then terminating, with no obvious purpose, at a wall.
By far, the strangest room was the largest hall on the ground level. It appeared to be the throne room, although neither the nobles nor mages were entirely certain of this. After first encountering the hall, Rezkin had ordered everyone to stay out of the room for reasons he had not explained. He had even gone so far as to order the ghostly shielreyah to keep curious eyes and wandering feet from accidentally disobeying his orders. No one felt comfortable being in the presence of the wraiths, much less garnering their attention, so they stayed away.
“I do not care for the room you have claimed as your own,” Kai grumped as he waited for his liege.
Rezkin roused. “Then it is good that this is my room and not yours,” he retorted as he strapped on his sword belt.
“Indeed, but it is hardly fit for a king,” Kai argued, glancing around the eerie space. “I am not sure for what it is fit. It is disturbing,” he muttered as he ducked beneath a stone shaft that extended at a sharp angle from the floor to one of the walls.
As he straightened, he rocked back to avoid colliding with another of the odd structures. The entire room was filled with angular pillars that jutted from the ceiling, walls, and floor in random directions, each just barely missing the others. It looked as though someone had stabbed dozens of giant swords into a box from every side, and he was standing on the inside. Some of the monstrous spikes were composed of the same stone as the citadel, while others were massive clear crystals, each probably worth more than an entire kingdom.
“I like its unpredictability,” Rezkin confessed. “No one can be certain of where in the room I will be. I could be over there on the floor beneath that pillar, or I could be up there on the ceiling.”
“Yes, but it lacks any comforts,” Kai said.
Rezkin shook his head. “Not true. Tam provided me with several blankets and soft padding. There is a garderobe … at least, I think it is a garderobe …”
Rezkin paused as he considered the small chamber.
“Spirétua Syek-lyé, how may I be of service?” the shielreyah asked from directly behind the striker.
Kai leapt away, striking his head on a pillar he was certain had not been there a moment ago. He scowled and rubbed the quickly forming lump while glaring at the wraith. He did not recognize this one, and that also irritated him.
“Shielreyah Manaua, is that a garderobe?” Rezkin asked as he pointed to the doorless chamber.
The phantom warrior paused, presumably to consider the translation. Rezkin had the feeling the wraith was searching his mind for the information it needed to fill in the blanks in its vocabulary. The specter inclined its head. “Yes, Spirétua, it is used for such a purpose.”
“Thank you, Manaua. That will be all,” Rezkin said, and the specter disappeared. He turned back to the striker with a grin. “So, I have the luxury of my own personal garderobe and plenty of fresh water.”
Kai eyed the other feature in the room, the one he had pointedly avoided. He considered it to be even more disturbing than the stone blades that pierced the chamber. Down one entire wall flowed a curtain of water from the ceiling to the floor. That in itself would not have been so disconcerting except that the water seemed to appear from nowhere and then disappeared just as mysteriously, much like the shielreyah. None of the stones around the water were dampened by its flow or spray, yet Rezkin had no problem washing in the phantom water. Additionally, the water had not been present when they first discovered the room. It had not appeared until Rezkin had taken up residence in the chamber.
“Are you certain it is safe to drink and bathe in that water? If it really is water,” the striker muttered.
“It is water, Kai, and it is clean and fresh. You are welcome to try it for yourself,” Rezkin said with a pleasant smile.
Kai noti
ced that Rezkin had been smiling often, too often. The smile never reached his eyes and was even less convincing than the one he donned when playing the role of the pompous courtier. That one, at least, had been believable—unless you really knew the man. Kai and Shezar had been keeping close watch over their king, and both had seen fleeting moments when the young warrior appeared pained. It was particularly worrisome because they had been witness to recent training incidents when Rezkin had endured brutal injuries without a flinch.
The so-called training was far more intense and, quite frankly, insane than anything either of the strikers had endured. The young man did not give up until he looked like the walking dead, and he never reacted to the pain. Persistent in his Rules, Rezkin claimed doing so would expose weakness and vulnerability. Kai and Shezar both openly applauded the young warrior’s fortitude, but the healers were always disgruntled. Rezkin’s injuries were invariably far more serious than they appeared. The healers complained that they could not effectively treat a patient who would not admit his injuries. The strikers and Rezkin’s closest friends were concerned the same was true with sicknesses of the mind.
Rezkin dropped to the floor from his perch on a crystal beam above Kai’s head, and both men departed the chamber. Just after they crossed the threshold, a stone slab appeared in the previously empty doorway, sealing the room. Kai knew that no one would be able to enter the room without Rezkin—at least, no one in their party. The striker was still not convinced the dead city was safe or unoccupied. They were already aware of the presence of seventeen elven wraiths. Who knew what other insidious creatures lay in wait?
The two men strode on silent feet toward the dining hall.
Rezkin said, “Have they been found?”
Kai said, “No, even with the mages’ help we have discovered no trace of them.”
“Make this our number one priority,” Rezkin replied. “Three people have disappeared, and we have no idea how, when, or to where.”
Kai cleared his throat. “Four.”
“What?”
“A fourth has gone missing, just a little while ago. We do not know that she has disappeared, though. She could be lost or forgot the time.”
“From where?” Rezkin said.
“Like the others, we do not know. Her parents thought she had gone to visit a friend. The friend thought she had changed her mind and stayed home. The last anyone saw of her was about an hour after dawn when the family finished breakfast.”
“Also one of the passengers who boarded in Serret?”
“Yes, just like the others,” Kai said.
Rezkin’s head pounded harder, and his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. When he opened them again, he realized he had stopped walking, and Kai was looking at him with concern. Rezkin shook his head and said, “Reiterate my orders that no one is to travel alone. Perhaps we should assign everyone partners.”
“That would be difficult. These are not soldiers. They have personal lives and tasks to perform. I doubt many would comply if we tried to force them to stay in assigned pairs at all times.”
“Outworlders make no sense,” Rezkin muttered. “They will not do the simplest things to keep themselves safe. It is like they do not want to survive.”
“Unlike you,” Kai said, “who could go missing, and none of us would be the wiser. You disappear regularly and practically right in front of us. You refuse to stay with your guards, and you explore unmapped chambers alone.”
“The shielreyah watch over me,” Rezkin said.
Kai growled, “Have you considered that they may be the ones taking the people?”
“They have denied any involvement,” Rezkin said.
“I do not know why you place so much faith in them. You probably think it more likely that I am taking the people.”
“Are you?” Rezkin asked as a knife stabbed his brain.
Kai said, “I am going to pretend you did not just ask me if I am kidnapping people.”
Rezkin abruptly changed the subject. “What are we eating today?”
Thrown, Kai said, “What? We were just talking about missing people, and now you are asking about the meal?”
Rezkin’s stomach grumbled for what felt like the hundredth time since breakfast. He said, “Talking about them is not going to bring them back, and I am hungry.”
Kai looked at Rezkin with narrowed eyes, “Since when are you concerned about what is being served.”
“I am not, so long as it is edible,” Rezkin said.
“Then why did you ask?”
Rezkin almost winced at the pain in his head, but knowing Kai was watching, he managed to hold back. He said, “Because outworlders discuss these things. Tam is always asking about what we are having for the next meal. He knows there are only a handful of ingredients on the island, yet he asks every day as though the answer will be different. It seems prudent to try to behave as they do.”
“And you are using Tamarin Blackwater as your example?”
After following the same curvy corridor and never descending any stairs or ramps, they finally made it to the dining hall that was estimated to be two levels below Rezkin’s quarters and on the opposite side of the building from the direction they had traveled. This room, at least, had reasonable accommodations, as far as furniture was concerned. The long tables and benches were carved from stone, so they had survived the test of time. Also, many of the clay and stone vessels in the kitchen were serviceable, and there were supplies from the ship to sustain the settlers.
Rezkin had managed to start the flow of water in the kitchen and bathing chambers, although even the water mages were stumped as to how it was accomplished. Not only the palace, but presumably all the buildings in Caellurum, had the potential for water to flow directly into the dwellings through small conduits. No one knew where the water came from or what forced it to flow, but Rezkin assured everyone it was perfectly reasonable. Since water was essential and the convenience so much better than lugging pails from a well, few complained.
Small hunting and reconnaissance parties were dispatched in an ever-widening array beyond the city limits, but so far, none had returned with anything larger than a fox. While the life mages had managed to cultivate several small garden plots within the city, without seeds to plant, the variety of produce left much to be desired. Fish, fowl, beans, potatoes, and cabbage were the primary staples, and everyone was ready for something more interesting to grace their plates. Still, it was better than being stuck on the ship.
It had been several days since Tam and Captain Jimson had embarked on a journey to Uthrel to resupply and catch up on the news. Although Rezkin had wanted to send one of the strikers for reconnaissance, the security of their new island home was his top priority.
Contrary to what everyone believed, Rezkin was not completely convinced of the shielreyahs’ assurances. The cool, soothing effect he had experienced in the citadel was present throughout the entire city. It was more concerning to him than the long-dead phantom elven warriors, particularly since no one else seemed to be affected.
The power of the citadel seeped into him, and if ever Rezkin removed the stone pendant he wore against his skin, the pacification of his mind and body became unbearable. He could not afford to lose his battle edge. He needed to remain alert and in a constant state vigilance. Even a single moment of complacency could lead to his demise should that same moment be exploited by an opponent.
Rezkin had considered discussing the soothing phenomenon with the mages. His natural inclination was to discover as much as possible about the unknown and potentially hazardous effect, but to do so would also expose a severe weakness. Thus far, the small stone that rested upon his breast was the only item he knew of that could enable him to stay sharp. He could not afford for a potential enemy to discover this liability.
Rezkin took his seat at the head of the table and glanced over at Journeyman Wesson who was sitting to his right. The mage had been dependable thus far, and of all the mages present, Rezkin tr
usted him the most. He thought perhaps he could at least broach the subject with Wesson. The young mage was quite knowledgeable. Wesson joined the other mages on occasion, but Rezkin could tell that he never seemed to fit in with them. Most of Wesson’s free time was spent doing his own research in the city, performing magical experiments, or going about in the company of Waylen. Being of similar age and interests, although from different backgrounds, the two had become friends during their travels.
The one activity Wesson undertook more than anything else, though, was following Rezkin. Between Wesson, Kai, and Shezar, he was almost never alone. He knew the three conspired to monitor him. They thought his mind addled or that, somehow, he was being corrupted by the wraiths. The prospect was not altogether ridiculous, and Rezkin had even wondered fleetingly about it. Sometimes his mind was filled with thoughts and feelings that did not seem reasonable. At first, he had been overcome for brief moments with the sensation of being tossed into a bottomless pond of emotions. As the days passed, he was growing accustomed to the occurrences. The hardest part had been hiding the internal flood from those around him. The emotions, which had led to uncomfortable incidents between his friends and the shielreyah, no longer consumed his mind as often as they once had.
Rezkin rubbed at his temples and caught himself, hopefully before anyone noticed. The pain was excruciating. It had been growing in intensity ever since arriving on the island. He was going to have to confide in the mage, if for nothing more than the hope of finding relief from the blinding, persistent headache. He had to fight through the pain just to appear reasonable, and he was constantly second-guessing his own decisions. His training had taught him that people could lose their minds and make poor choices when subjected to pain of extreme intensity or duration. Rezkin was experiencing both, and he did not want others to suffer for his mistakes. It would be better to confess the vulnerability to the mage than to have an enemy discover it by chance.