The Dread King: Book One of The Larken Chronicles

by R. L. Poston

  The meld gently probed Larken’s internal barrier but could find no way around it. Finding that the barrier would not give way and that the risk of damage was great if an attempt was made to break it, the meld added its own protections and wards to those that Larken had created at his Bonding. Having accomplished all that was possible, the meld withdrew and dissolved.

  The ending of the meld left Larken violently sick. He was racked with nausea, a headache, and weakness. The sensation only lasted a few moments, however, and then, mercifully, he passed out.

  * * * * *

  When he awoke, Larken couldn’t decide at first if he were himself or someone else. He had memories of events and feelings that belonged to others. He recognized immediately the bedding of cedar and hemlock upon which he lay. He could tell by their scent that they had been cut the day before. He could tell the time from the shadow of the lean-to that shaded him. He even recognized Glenera’s handwork in the deer skin blanket that covered him and remembered the day she had finished it.

  Larken lay still for a while, assimilating the memories of dozens of Elves into his own. Some were sharp and fresh, others were mere memories of memories. Some were of private moments that Larken shied away from dwelling upon. The most fascinating were the Elves’ earliest memories of Larken and his parents as they watched them from afar. He was amazed to remember his mother and his Warder guardian from the viewpoint of others. He found it fascinating to remember humans from an Elven perspective.

  Larken was relieved to find that the Elves’ assessment of him was very favorable. He was humbled by the hope they placed in him. He was disturbed, however, to find that they believed that the barrier within him hid more than childhood memories. Larken found that he could approach that thought from many angles, some of which he wouldn’t have understood before. He finally understood the Elves’ stillness. It wasn’t that they were simply still by nature. It was more than their exchange of thoughts with each other. From their melds, they assimilated many perspectives on any event, and considered any question from dozens of viewpoints. Reality to them wasn’t something that was to be reacted to individually; it was something that was to be perceived from all perspectives. Only with many viewpoints, the Elves believed, could one truly understand even the simplest aspects of reality.

  Using this perspective, Larken now understood himself as a person with unique strengths and weaknesses. He still feared the dark side of his nature, but he also understood his potential for goodness. For the first time, Larken felt balanced.

  The meld had produced many avenues of investigation for him and just as many for the Elven Council. The main question for which the meld had been created had been answered. The meld had found Larken safe, at least for the present. The barriers binding the darkness within him had been reinforced and would hold. They would block whatever was in the darkness from emerging.

  Even as he lay still, most of the memories were fading, as if they had been parts of dreams that vanished upon awakening. Larken gradually returned to the urgency of the present. Shaking off both the introspection and the blanket, he rose with the thought that nothing was accomplished by lying around in bed. Besides, the smell of roasting venison filled the air, and his stomach was demanding more attention than his memories.

  “You’re awake,” observed Gahen. “Are you going to join us for a meal?”

  Walking over to where Gahen, Daniel, and Joseph were sharing platters of roasted venison, fruit, and bread, he said, “Just give me something to eat before I starve. How long was I asleep?”

  “Yesterday and this morning. You’re making a habit of that,” answered Gahen as he handed Larken a platter. “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry,” said Larken as he sat and applied himself to the food.

  “Well, eat,” said Gahen. “Your Elven friends have been busy. Evidently, they have a contact in Sarkis. Jaris wants us to join the force going to Norland. We’re going to war.”

  Chapter 14 The Invasion

  “Oh, damnation,” muttered Gahen as their horses topped a rise in the Traveler’s Road. No one needed to interpret his frustration as they gazed at the sight before them. The Warders, after a hurried conference with the Elven Council, had returned to Wayland and then turned north, being joined by three of the Wayland Warders, some additional cavalry, and extra horses laden with supplies. They planned to join the main body of Shropanshire’s force just south of the Norland border, about three or four days’ ride east of the Traveler’s Road. They expected to be able to travel much faster than Shropanshire’s army, overcoming the army’s three-day head start. That plan was being jeopardized by the heavier-than-normal southbound traffic. Many families were fleeing the conflict in the north, bringing their belongings in whatever carts and wagons they could find.

  Now the troop looked down on a major problem.

  The Elkhorn River was a broad, slow-flowing river in the flatlands of Shropanshire. Close to the Sarkan Mountains, however, it rushed furiously through a deep, rocky gorge. Traveler’s Road continued across it by a hundred-yard suspension bridge. The bridge was sturdy enough for any expected level of traffic and should have offered a quick passage into Gaptown on the north bank of the river. Now, however, it was clearly impassable. An ox dangled by its traces over the western edge of the center span of the bridge. Its yoke-mate was not in sight, apparently having fallen into the rushing waters below. Two more oxen, harnessed behind the first one, were bellowing and stamping as they strained against the weight of the suspended ox. A wagon of furniture and farm tools lay on its side behind the oxen with the back of the wagon protruding over the other side of the bridge. Being still harnessed to the wagon, the two standing oxen could not back up. The bridge’s side cables were broken on the side near the fallen oxen, and even from where the Warders stood, they could see the strain on the other cables and the resulting slant of the bridge floor. It was obvious to the Warders that, even if they could force their way through, their obligation to protect the lives of their countrymen would keep them at the scene for some time.

  Hurrying to the bridge, Gahen took control of the crowd and posted one of the Wayland Warders at the near end of the bridge to prevent any further entry from that end. The rest of Larken’s party worked their way through the crowd to the wagon. Daniel and Joseph quickly forced the crowd back from the wagon to either end of the bridge, posting another Wayland Warder at the far end to keep the bridge clear. The third Wayland Warder corralled the owner of the wagon and his family at the far end of the bridge and, much to the owner’s dissatisfaction, kept him away from the wagon.

  After Gahen and Larken had quickly lashed the wagon to the bridge’s supports to immobilize it, Larken approached the oxen and, reaching out with his Stone-assisted Elven powers, put them to sleep. Now one sleeping ox dangled below the bridge, and two more slept at its edge, their heads lolling over the side. Gahen came up and quietly said to Larken, “I don’t know how you did that, but we’re not going to let the crowd think that we don’t do that every day. How did you do that?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Larken. “I’ve never done it before. I seem to have picked it up from the meld.”

  “Well, don’t ever do it to me,” growled Gahen. Seeing Daniel and Joseph standing on the other side of the wagon, staring at the sleeping oxen, he yelled, “Get over here, you two. Haven’t you ever seen oxen sleep?”

  The four Warders conferred, but no one could come up with a plan to get the dangling ox back on the bridge. At that moment, a large, barrel-chested man came striding up from the far end of the bridge. “Never seen you Warders put an animal to sleep,” he said. “I am Samuel, the engineer in charge here.”

  “Exactly, what are you in charge of?” asked Gahen ungraciously.

  “Roads, clearing mud slides and avalanches, water and sewage, building codes, snow and ice removal, and this bridge, if you are interested,” returned Samuel, matching Gahen’s glare and tone.

  “Well met, Samuel. I am Gahen a
nd I apologize for my temper. These are Warders Larken, Daniel, and Joseph. What can we do about this mess?”

  “Now that you’ve got the crowd out of the way, I can have this mess cleared in a couple of hours,” said Samuel. “This wouldn’t have happened if Gaptown’s Warders and most of my men hadn’t been pulled off last week. We usually have a guard at each end of the bridge. They would have stopped all the rest of the traffic, put blinders on the oxen, and led that wagon over by itself.”

  “Sorry about that. There seems to be a war coming,” said Gahen. “We’re on our way north ourselves, and we need to hurry. Can you clear it in less than two hours?”

  “If you can give us a clear space around the bridge, and lend me some men, we might get it done in an hour, but can you leave a man behind? We’re going to have trouble with the driver. He’s already shouting about us having to pay him for his ox when it was his fault in the first place. He tried to drive them over instead of leading them over blind. We’ve got the local constable of course, but nothing calms down a situation faster than one of you Warders.”

  Gahen agreed to leave one of the Wayland Warders behind. The Warders and cavalrymen moved the crowd away from the bridge and helped Samuel rig a make-shift pulley to lift the dangling ox back onto the bridge. Larken stayed nearby and kept a mental finger on the oxen to keep them asleep.

  Once the ox was back on the bridge, Samuel had them right and reload the wagon. Larken woke up the oxen and guided them to the other side of the bridge while the engineer directed the men to make some quick repairs to the bridge’s cables. In a little over an hour all was patched if not totally restored.

  After exchanging quick thanks with the engineer and refusing to comment on the way Larken kept the oxen asleep, the party of Warders and cavalry, minus one, resumed their journey northward. Once they were out of hearing, Gahen turned to Larken and said again, “I really wish you would stop coming up with new tricks. It’s beginning to annoy me!”

  Larken grinned and declined to answer. Any advantage that he had over Gahen was worth keeping.

  * * * * *

  For three more days, they hurried northward along the Traveler’s Road. The weather was turning increasingly brisk as they traveled north. Traveling close to the mountains, the party was treated to an extravagant display of colors as the leaves turned red and orange. They didn’t slow down to enjoy the panorama, however. They needed to make as quick a trip as possible to get to the northern regions of Shropanshire before the first snows.

  Their main worry was the speed at which Talent was weakening. Talent had been decreasing for years, but the pace had greatly accelerated in the last month. Gahen had begun testing the strength of his Talent each day, and it was obvious that his Talent was disappearing at a rate that was alarming.

  The three kingdoms had always depended on their Talented Warders to maintain safety and order. Their armies were not trained to fight without the leadership of Talented officers. Shropanshire was gathering five thousand armed men and five hundred Warders, but the Warders would be ineffective within three weeks considering the increasing rate at which Talent was diminishing.

  Larken was the exception. His Talent was continuing to grow and diversify. Use of Talent became easier and easier, accompanied by a growing desire to use it. It was a hunger that only his use of Talent could alleviate. Countering this growing desire to use Talent was the perspective that he had gained in the Elven meld, which warned him that the power of Talent brought its own seduction.

  At the point at which they planned to leave the Traveler’s Road, they were met by a trio of Elves. One of them was Elerdan, who explained that they had been sent from the Shropanshire army as guides to the Warders. Under the guidance of the Elves, the party left the road to cut overland. Elerdan told them that within two days they should intercept the Shropanshire army as planned. Larken was glad to see Elerdan for another reason. He had begun to wonder if his Talent could open the channel to the Source for others, but that feat was not something that he wished to attempt alone.

  After night had fallen and the group had settled down, Larken approached Elerdan with his suggestion. “Our Council has discussed that,” responded Elerdan. “Some of us who can sense the Source more directly have tried to increase the channel, but we have failed. You might be able to, but you must be aware of the danger. Your channel is most probably shared with the Dark One.”

  “Regardless, I can’t sit around and do nothing. I have to try something before Talent gets choked off.”

  “It may not be needed,” said Elerdan.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The invasion could wake the Source. Some of our Council believe that the Dark One is using small invasions to keep the Source from waking. They believe that full war will wake the Source regardless of what he does. Therefore, we do not need to unblock the channel. It will happen with the battle. Others disagree.”

  “Hasn’t the Norland army already fought the invaders?” asked Larken.

  “More than once, but the Source remains as distant. Also, the Source is more blocked closer to the invaders. Still, many believe that when the three kingdoms are united in war, the Source will awaken.”

  “It should have done that already,” said Gahen, who had joined Larken and Elerdan. “I’m less concerned about the invaders than I am about the decrease of Talent.”

  “What do you believe, Elerdan?” asked Larken.

  “I believe that, if the Source is blocked by the Dark One, it will not sense even a full war.”

  “Then we need to do what we can to free the access to it,” responded Larken.

  “That could give the Dark One an opportunity to complete what he tried before with you. I know that your Healers believe that the block in your mind is natural. Many of us do not think so. The Dark One was thwarted at your Bonding, but it is not possible that he would give up. You share a channel with the Dark One; your attempt to touch the Source more directly may be your doom. If you touch the Source, the Dark One will tempt you with its power. Since you will already be using the power, you may not be able to resist his seduction.”

  “But the weakening of Talent has been going on for years,” objected Gahen. “It doesn’t make sense that this is all a trap to get Larken.”

  “The weakening of Talent is not the trap,” said Larken. “Neither is the invasion. I was supposed to fail in my Bonding. Now, the Dark One, as the Elves call him, is seeking another way to power. The invasions are real, but he must be using them to test both the Source and me. It’s a double-edged sword. With weakened Talent, the kingdoms may not be able to repel the invasions. However, if I try to strengthen the channel to the Source, I may doom us all. If I don’t, we may be doomed anyway.”

  Gahen and Larken continued to argue. Elerdan mainly listened, but it was clear that his opinion was that the Dark One would strike against Larken if Larken tried to access the Source directly. Larken finally agreed not to try anything until they had the full support and counsel of the Warders and Healers that accompanied the Shropanshire army. That night Larken hardly slept. The hunger to use his powers buzzed within him, like an itch that he dared not scratch.

  * * * * *

  A cold rain began in the early morning before they were ready to rise. After a hurried breakfast, the party hastened on its way. The Elves did not seem to mind the rain. Their clothing shed the rain and kept them remarkably dry, but the Warders were soon soaked despite their oilcloth ponchos. Larken rode in miserable silence. He was wet, cold, and exhausted. Yet he was filled with an energy that he was increasingly hungry to use.

  The rain was joined midmorning by a cold wind from the northeast. The cold further depressed Larken’s spirits. He found himself wanting to unleash a bolt of anger at the clouds above. That thought gave him pause. Working his horse close to where Elerdan loped, he bent down to ask, “Is there any Talent that can control the weather?”

  “No,” answered Elerdan. “The weather is too large for anyone to contro
l.”

  Larken fell back behind Elerdan. Something still nagged at him. Then he remembered. Earlier in the summer, the farmers in Shropanshire and those who fled Norland had complained about a drought. They claimed that the winds had shifted. The three kingdoms enjoyed year-round moderate weather since the prevailing winds blew eastward from the sea. The farmers insisted that the winds now sometimes blew from the east to the west. Larken had not paid much attention since the drought had not been especially severe.

  Spurring his mount up to Elerdan, he asked, “What would happen, Elerdan, if the winds shifted to blow from the desert to the sea?”

  Elerdan stopped, bringing the entire company to a halt. “The land west of the mountains would become a desert,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “What would happen to the Seagrave Desert?” asked Larken.

  “Nothing, since the Dristan Mountains would still block the rain on the east side of the desert,” returned Elerdan. “Again, why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” said Larken. “I just have an itchy feeling about the weather. What would happen if the rain was not blocked by the Dristan Mountains?”

  “The desert would become meadows,” answered Joseph, who had been listening. “There’s an old prophecy about the desert becoming meadow when the moon shines at day.”

  “I remember that,” said one of the Wayland Warders. “My grandmother used to recite it to me to get me to go to sleep. It went like this: