“I will go prepare to leave at once, though I fear I will not know what to do should I fail,” Linaya said.
“Do just as I have asked,” Garret replied softly. “Wait for me, and I will come to you.”
“Do you promise?” Linaya asked. “Can you promise me you will be OK? Can you promise me we will be together again? Can you promise me that I won’t be burying another man I love this season?” She no longer tried to suppress her tears. “How can you be so sure that all will go as you plan?” Linaya then demanded.
Though Garret knew the reality of the situation, and was aware he could promise no such thing, he replied as honestly as he was able, knowing that Linaya would not accept a promise that was a lie.
“You know I cannot promise, but I am sure we shall see each other again. The gods watch over you and I. Why should they bring us together for such a short time only to see us ripped apart again if we are not to be reunited? I have to believe that what I am doing is right. I have to believe that you will again be in my arms. It is the only thing that gives me the strength to carry on. Though I must fight this battle to save my kingdom, it is for my love of you that I will fight when there is no fight left within me. Gorandor as my witness, no blade or bow nor fire-breathing demon will keep me away from you forever,” Garret barely whispered, tears threatening to escape his own eyes. “We have to win this battle.”
“Very well,” Linaya stated simply as she rose from the desk.
Reaching up to kiss Garret upon the cheek, she changed her mind and instead grabbed the large man’s chin and pulled their mouths together for a long, passionate but saddening kiss. Releasing his lips, Linaya turned and strode out the door without so much as a goodbye.
*****
An hour after sunrise the night-time chill began to burn off Valdadore as Mordal approached the great white walls of the capital city of this realm. What he’d heard was true: Valdadore was an imposing structure built to have every tactical advantage, but that was to keep armies at bay, not single men. Mordal eyed the immense stone walls as he approached, assuming that come nightfall he would have to scale one of them. However, as he neared the city he discovered quite the opposite. People by the hundreds were pouring both into and out of the city gates, and large tents and canopies had been erected recently outside the walls as if everyone prepared for a festival. There appeared to be only a pair of guards at the gate, and as such Mordal could not believe his luck. Valdadore seemed completely unaware of the impending doom already marching towards it. Though he had planned on finding the gates drawn and barred, here they stood open without so much as a question being asked to all that entered. Mordal had thought this portion of his mission would prove difficult, however he was beginning to believe he would be well on his way back home before the week’s end.
Passing through the gate unhindered, Mordal sauntered up the cobbled streets of Valdadore, looking for suitable accommodation and getting a feel for the city. Something was amiss, though he saw no signs of increased patrols or even extra guards upon the walls. He did not see any garrisons of soldiers marching through the city in preparation to leave, and he thanked Abernash for his good fortune. Valdadore lay open to him like a common whore, and as such Mordal planned to carry out his task this very night. But first he needed to plan an exit strategy.
For hours Mordal rode the streets on his black stallion memorizing the layout of the city. The task it seemed would be made even simpler following the completion of his mission for from every entrance into the castle complex a road stretched straight across the city in each direction to the outer wall. It would be a straight run from the castle to the outer gate if he ran into any trouble. If he didn’t, then Mordal decided he might just relax in the city for a few days before returning home to collect his reward. Valdadore was incredibly clean, and even felt welcoming to a man of his nature. Assured all was in order, the assassin grinned. Pulling on the reins, he led his mount back towards the poorest looking tavern he had seen whilst he explored.
*****
As promised Seth allowed Marina to return to her congregation to spread his orders as more followers filtered into and out of the temple throughout the day. Knowing his time was limited, Seth needed to devour every piece of literature in the vault before midday, before he needed to begin preparing his own troops to leave the city. That being so he put Sara, Borrik, and Jonas to work alongside him, searching through the scrolls and tomes left behind from ages past.
“I don’t know what they may have called the method, but look for anything that deals with applying magic to weapons or other inanimate objects. They might call it imbuing or enchanting or something else entirely so pay close attention, but read as quickly as you are able,” Seth told the others before they each went to work.
What Seth did not expect was that barely five minutes into their work, Borrik thrust a tome into his face, his clawed hand covering most of the pages.
“My prince, I believe what you seek is here, or rather not here for that matter,” Borrik stated in his deep, gritty voice.
Taking the tome from Borrik, Seth carefully began at the top of the page, deciphering the ancient handwritten script as best as he was able. By all accounts the book appeared to be a journal of sorts accounting the life and actions of a man named Findalt and had been written by a priest of Ishanya. The further Seth read, the more he realized that Findalt was not a common man but one blessed by the goddess, like himself. The man was a mage of great power, though at some point his power was lost to him. The last lines of the second page Seth read, held the secret that Seth hoped would unlock the means by which he could recreate the method of infusing weapons and armor with magical abilities. They said simply this:
Findalt, having lost the source of his power, fears too that he will forget how to use it properly once restored. I think him gone mad in the absence of his blessing for he shows me a small leather tome, explaining to me that with the last of his power he wrote the secrets of his abilities within the palm-sized pamphlet. However upon swearing to protect it with my life, I open the tome to reveal page after empty page. Ishanya, having forsaken Findalt, has broken both his mind and soul. Though sworn to my duty, I shall protect the small tome of black leather as if it were of immense value, and shall pass on the duty to another when my time is ended. A promise sworn shall be a promise kept.
Seth could not believe his eyes as his mouth dropped open in disbelief. Each of his companions stood silently staring at him, each wearing their own version of a questioning look. It seemed impossible, though again Seth felt Ishanya’s hand playing with his destiny. Reaching behind his shoulder, Seth gave the strap that held his breastplate in place a swift yank disengaging the buckle. Allowing the armor to dangle loosely, Seth slid his hand and arm beneath his armor to the pocket in his trousers. Despite it appearing useless until now, Seth had not yet managed to decide to discard the thing he now extracted from his clothing. Pulling his hand free he held out before him a small leather tome. It was the same leather tome that, as a priest, Borrik had committed murder to collect for him following an order given to the priest by the goddess Ishanya herself. Seth was sure the scripture he had just read held the answer to unlocking what was written upon the apparently blank pages. Flipping the small, worn book open with his finger, Seth showed those in attendance the blank pages within.
“With the last of his power, he wrote the secrets of his abilities,” Seth repeated.
Pulling a small portion of power from the reserves he held from his battle with the insect-like Zoombas, Seth released it into the small book in his palm. Watching with his vision of the gods, Seth witnessed as the power danced along the surface of the book for many long seconds, as if seeking a point of entrance. Then all at once the transformation occurred. The cover rippled as a small golden glyph appeared upon the outermost edge of the pages which themselves began to pulse at first with a dull pink light, slowly growing in intensity and depth as the color changed gradually from pink to red and then
again to purple. As the intensity of the purple glow reached its climax, it appeared briefly as if the pages burst into unholy fire before the flames and pulsing light extinguished. Written clearly upon the pages now were both words and symbols, but they were written with threads of magic, hidden from the eyes of everyone over the ages and everyone currently in the room. Everyone but Seth.
As his companions looked on with expressions of either confusion or defeat, Seth flipped through the pages, assuring himself that he would not have to repeat the process for each page. Then without so much as looking up at those around him he gave his instructions.
“Sara, find a room to rest and sleep through the day. You have training tonight. I know none of you can see it, but I have reading and other work to do. Borrik, make sure the men come to the temple here at midday when they have retrieved all that I ordered earlier and I will see them prepared and send them on their way. In the meantime, have everyone rest and eat as best as they are able. I need to be alone.” Seth said leaving no room for questioning or debate.
Without so much as a response, Seth’s companions left him to his own devices, each of them realizing the importance of the discovery he had just made and the tremendous burden upon him for his role in the upcoming battle. Alone, Seth stripped his breastplate off completely and rested it upon the floor. Sitting on the floor as well, Seth leaned against the wall and began to read the small tome. As he did so, his vast mind cataloged each passage, linking them together, making sense of the scribbling of a mage long dead and gone. Several symbols were described and depicted within the book. Each of these represented the pattern created by the life-force within it. Each one of them he could recreate out of pure power; each of them he learned how to attach to an item; each of them a secret worth a million lives.
Seth finished the book in less than an hour and sat soaking in the new knowledge and understanding of how the power worked within each and every thing upon Thurr. Even the wind was born of life power, though so vast was a single breath of wind that the power within it was too subtle to see unless you studied it for vast amounts of time. Seth had not done so, but fortunately his predecessor had. Apparently the mage had been long of life for he had studied many things. In the tome he shared only a small fraction of his knowledge, but it was imparted in such a way as to give the reader a much greater understanding of the power he wielded. Seth needed to test his new insight, and looking to his breastplate beside him, he found his first subject.
Having his first test already securely in his mind, Seth withdrew a small portion of his power and, forcing his will upon it, stretched it into a strand no thicker than a hair. Then carefully Seth began to lay the strand upon his breastplate, slowly and delicately so as to not break the strand itself. Loose in the world the power was like the thread of a spider’s web, infinitely fragile. Breathing too hard could even break the delicate strand. The power too seemed to be sticky in a way, as if it wanted or needed to be contained within something of purpose, for as soon as the strand touched something solid it bound to it immediately. Several times Seth was forced to re-consume the power, recreate the strand and start anew. Finally however, after many attempts, with sweat beading on his forehead from the concentration, Seth laid the last of the strands into position and inspected his work. Comparing the tiny, delicate symbol on the breastplate with the one etched permanently in his brain, Seth was satisfied with his work. Now that the foundation was laid, Seth poured more power into the symbol and watched as its aura expanded to encompass the entire breastplate, wrapping it within a protective layer of magic. His task completed, it was time to test his enchantment, which was called ‘retribution by fire’ by the mage Findalt.
Seth looked around the room for something to test his enchantment with, his own sword having been lost in his recent battle with the Zoomba queen. Picking an ancient blade from the rack beside him, Seth stood to put a little distance between himself and the breastplate, just in case. Then, raising the sword in one hand, Seth wrapped himself in power for protection before swinging his arm down to strike his own armor. He was not even remotely prepared for what happened next.
*****
Garret remained in silence for a quarter of an hour in his study, alone. He steeled himself mentally for the day as best as he was able, though he knew much of his plan was more a hope and a prayer than an actual strategy. Like he had told Linaya, he had to succeed. An entire kingdom was counting on him, and he could not fail them. Most of all, he did not want to fail Linaya. Imagining her smile and bright, beautiful eyes, Garret strode from his study to attend his morning meeting in the war room.
Head held high and shoulders thrust back, Garret shoved the doors to the war room open, appearing to all those that looked upon him as a vision of fearlessness. Not bothering to seat himself, Garret approached the head of the table and stood behind his chair, gripping the back of it roughly, his knuckles turning white.
“I am leaving with a few of my knights to prepare the road for our unwanted visitors. In my absence I expect nothing but the impossible to be accomplished. I need an army raised, trained and equipped within no more than a few weeks. I need all provisions and citizens from outlying areas to be gathered and brought within the city for protection. I need the guard upon the wall at full alert, and fully manned. But what I need from all of you more than anything else is answers instead of questions. You all know your place in the city and in the council. Each of you knows what must be done in this scenario. We are under attack, and though I plan to march out to meet the enemy, in order for that to happen we need longer to prepare. I will go buy what time I can, and my brother sends his troops and his wife to do the same. You see…all of us must make some sacrifices this day. I am counting on each of you to ready us for war as best as we are able, and prepare the city for a siege if we should falter on the field of battle. The council will rule the city in my absence, though every resource shall be spared to my brother, the prince, if he should ask. Are we all in understanding?” Garret asked and the response was heard even outside the castle.
“Aye!” the royal council shouted as if they were of one voice.
With that Garret turned to Jordin Mason, the new Captain to the Knights of Valdadore, and gave his first direct order of the day.
“Gather my knights and meet me outside the castle in a half an hour. Come equipped, and bring a mount. We will be riding hard. Prepare for a week and no less,” Garret ordered.
Without a word, Jordin slammed his fist to his chest in salute and then sprinted out the door to do as he was commanded.
“The gods be with us,” Garret said, as he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Returning to his personal chambers, Garret closed the door behind him and leaned against it heavily. So much rested on him, and yet he could see no way to save the lives of his people. Sure, it was still possible they could win this war, or at least delay it. Many would die, though, and with Garret drafting so many into service, many who died would be young, having experienced so little yet. Others would be veterans who had seen enough blood already for many lifetimes, praying to spend the rest of their days in peace. Garret, using the power of king, was consigning innocent men to die but he could see no other avenue. It was their only hope.
Crossing the room Garret sat down upon his bed hard and caught a familiar scent. Linaya’s perfume lingered upon the sheets and for that he was thankful. At some point Garret hoped to return to sleep upon this bed, and though Linaya would be leagues and leagues away, he could still feel close to her if he closed his eyes and imagined. Removing his boots and undressing, Garret redressed in his knightly garb and donned his armor as well, double checking every strap and buckle. Selecting a sword from the collection in his room, Garret strapped the sheath to his back and snatched up his helm before leaving the room vacant, but not empty. Here there remained memories, and memories lasted forever.
Garret stepped out of the last gate of the many courtyards surrounding the palace. Awaiting his
arrival were his knights; only nine remained and fewer would be sharing in his task. Each man saluted him as he approached, and Garret returned the motion in kind. Coming to stand among his men, Garret decided to give the most painful orders first.
“Zorbin, my trusted friend, you will not be joining us on this little adventure for I have a more important task for you,” Garret stated and continued without awaiting a response from the stocky dwarf. “Go and collect Lady Linaya. The two of you are to go with all haste to Boulder Gate. You take her straight to the king, and the two of you convince the gray beard to send us aid,” Garret finished.
“What if he refuses? Shall I be knockin’ some sense into ‘im?” Zorbin asked with a grin.
“No. If he will not send aid, you are to remain there as his guest until I send you further orders,” Garret replied.
“Yes, yer majesty.” Zorbin’s thick dwarven voice filtered out of his helm.
His orders received, Zorbin left the group of knights, disappearing through the same gate Garret had just emerged from. Garret watched until his stocky friend vanished from view, then turned back to his men.
“Malik, you will be staying behind as well. You are to stay and train Princess Sara in the art of battle,” Garret told him.
“Seriously, my king? You wish me to teach a girl to fight?” Malik asked, his face a mask of disbelief.
“Watch your tongue, Malik, for if you cut her any slack, she will likely cut it out. I suggest you have a healer on hand,” Garret added.
“I will, my king, though I will try not to hurt her,” Malik promised.
The Contention Page 5