The Dread King: Book One of The Larken Chronicles

by R. L. Poston

  The winds blow gently from forest to shore.

  The moon shines brightly, and the sun no more.

  The desert to meadow, and the meadows to sand.

  Walls shall crumble throughout the land.

  The three will join, and all shall be one.

  The world will weep when sleep is done.

  “There’s more, but that’s all that I can remember.”

  They were surprised when one of the Elves accompanying Elerdan recited,

  “Darkness rides the wind.

  He searches for his own

  The lost is found.

  Reaping what is sown.

  Ice is warm.

  The three are one.

  Blade will die.

  Stone is done.

  At final battle, at the final test.

  The three stand together, only one will rest.”

  Silence fell after the last word. Elerdan broke it, saying, “It is an old prophecy. It is said that it came from a meld before the Dark One destroyed the land.”

  “But what does it mean?” asked Daniel.

  “We don’t know for sure,” answered Elerdan. “The ‘One’ may be the Dark One. The three that will be joined together may be Stone, Crystal, and Blade.”

  “What about the shifting winds?” asked Larken. “The farmers swear that the wind shifted to the east this summer.”

  “It did,” said Joseph. “My dad’s a farmer, and I’ve never lost the habit of watching the sky. The winds did shift. That’s what caused the drought.”

  “The winds did change,” said Elerdan, “but no rain fell on the desert. We don’t know what that means. Neither do we understand about ice being warm or the lost being found.”

  “The line about ice being warm could mean that the weather turns so cold that ice seem warm in comparison,” offered Gahen. “I’ve heard the first part of the poem. I always thought it was just a nonsense rhyme to put babies to sleep.”

  “Not nonsense,” said Elerdan, “but we don’t understand it.”

  The company resumed their cold and wet march to catch the Shropanshire army. The weather turned steadily colder, and the driving rain did nothing to lighten their moods. Their gear became sodden despite their attempts to keep it dry. The paths that they tried to follow became ribbons of mud. Meadows turned into marshes, and hills into slippery slopes. As a result, they often walked, leading their horses through unstable mire. Nevertheless, the company dutifully slogged through the cold and muck, lacking any other choice.

  Larken kept revisiting his choices in his mind. At the same time, he tried to make some sense of the prophesy. At one point Larken realized he was arguing mentally with himself and making no sense whatever. “Oh, great!” he murmured to himself. “Now I’ve also got to worry about going crazy.”

  Gahen turned to look at him. “Talking to yourself now?”

  “Sorry, Gahen,” Larken apologized. “I feel like I have to make a decision, but I don’t know which is the right one. I’m not even sure of who I am anymore. If I try to be rational, that’s not me; it’s the Elven meld. If I give in to my feelings, that’s not me; it’s the Dread King. I just want to quit and go home.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Gahen. “How about this—when we get to the army, let’s both resign and go raise pigs.”

  “Raise pigs?” asked Larken. “Why pigs?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gahen. “I don’t know anything about pigs. But how hard can it be? It’s got to be easier than Warding.”

  Larken laughed, and, taking that as his cue, Gahen started making detailed plans about buying pigs, building a farm, raising pigs, and eating ham in a thousand different ways. After a while the entire party, except for the Elves, joined in on the plans.

  “Why do they talk this way?” asked one of the Elves to Elerdan.

  “Observe the way that Gahen watches Larken,” Elerdan answered. “See how he talks to make Larken forget his worry. He is wise to do so. We must help where we can.”

  * * * * *

  After two more days of travel, they overtook the rear guard of the Shropanshire army. That evening found Larken and Gahen huddled in a tent with Jaris, two more Warders, and two Healers, one of whom was Taz. The tent kept out most of the rain, but the wind was buffeting the tent’s sides, and everything was either damp or wet. Gahen had just finished filling Jaris in on a few details of their experience, when Melona hurried through the tent’s entrance.

  Larken was at a loss for words at first, but when Melona came to sit beside him, his tongue loosened. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Melona gave him a look that would have stopped most men from further comment. “I’m assigned to the expedition as a Healer,” she said. “I AM a Healer, you know.”

  Larken ignored her words, the fire in her eyes, and the complete silence in the tent. “You shouldn’t be here. We’re headed for a battle. This is no place for you!”

  Before Melona could respond, Commander Jaris exploded, “Sub-commander Larken!”

  Larken suddenly realized that he had overstepped his authority. “Yes, sir?” he said.

  Jaris’ quiet statement left no room for doubt of his anger. “Sub-commander, you have no authority to question Healer Melona’s presence, either here or elsewhere. If you have a legitimate concern that her presence jeopardizes the success of this campaign, please bring it to me. In the meantime, please keep your comments to yourself. We’ll talk more of this later.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Larken. “I apologize. I seem to be on edge lately.”

  “We’ve noticed that, sir,” interrupted Gahen, tactfully changing the subject. “In fact, one of my first requests is for a Healer’s examination of Warder Larken. He has been uncharacteristically irritable since we left the Elven Council.”

  “Warder Larken,” asked Jaris, “what say you of this?”

  “Gahen’s right, sir,” said Larken. “The further north I go, tenser I feel. I feel like there’s a pressure building within me that’s going to explode.”

  “Is this connected to the invasion, the weakening of Talent, or the meld?” asked Jaris.

  “Yes, to the first two,” answered Larken. “And, to answer the question you didn’t ask, it feels like the power that I battled at my Bonding. I think that, as the Dread King blocks off normal Talent from the Source, he widens the channel that he and I share. Or maybe there’s just more power available since others aren’t using it. Anyway, I can hardly keep myself from using my Talent now. I don’t know how much longer I can keep control.”

  Turning to Melona, Jaris asked, “You, Healer Melona, know more about Warder Larken than most. What do you make of this? Will a Healer’s service help?”

  “I think that we could ease his anxiety,” said Melona hesitantly. “But to do more than that might be dangerous both to him and us. On the other hand, it may be dangerous not to try. I guess, if we have to make a choice, we should try to help before he gets worse.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” said Jaris. “Not only for his sake, but for ours too. Many of our Warders have lost most of their Talent, and the rest of us are losing Talent at a rate that will soon make us too weak to be effective. If you can help Warder Larken, you might be able to help the rest of us, too.”

  “The Healers also have been affected,” said Taz. “Melona and I are the only ones here that still have enough Talent to be of any help, and we won’t last much longer. That’s another reason for trying to help now.”

  Larken was shocked. He had been aware that the other Warders were losing strength, but he had not realized the Healers were being affected as much. “You mean that all Talent is being destroyed? Healing, too?”

  For a moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the shrieking of the wind outside and the beating of the rain on the canvas. Finally, Jaris spoke in a low, slow voice. “I’m afraid so, Sub-commander. In a few days, you may be the last Talent left to us.”

  Larken was suddenly overwhelmed by both the enormity o
f the situation and shame about his self-absorption with his own problems. He cupped his head on his knees and rocked as his emotions combined with his Talent-fed need to strike out at something almost overcame him. His body went rigid with his attempt to keep control over the hunger within him to succumb to his Talent. Melona placed her hand on his back, but it felt too intimate, too dangerous to be in contact with her. He lurched to his feet as he felt his control slipping. He felt ready to explode and trapped at the same time. The hunger for the use of power was surging within him. The tent was too confining. It seemed to smother him. With a groan, Larken stumbled out into the rain and the wind.

  As Larken left the tent, a sudden gust of wind caused the roof of the tent to buckle and sent a sheet of pooled rain down over him. That was the final insult. His rage ran free, and his control snapped. Larken whipped out his Blade. It shone with a blazing blue light. Jabbing it toward the clouds, Larken released a bolt of pure energy that carried his rage with it. The bolt sheered through the clouds, but the clouds remained. The wind whipped around Larken, and a new spate of rain hammered into him.

  Reeling and lost in his rage and frustration, Larken fell to his knees, stabbing his Blade into the ground for support. Crying out in rage and helplessness, he lashed out with another bolt of energy and rage. This bolt stabbed deep into the earth. It blasted a deep channel through the rocks and dirt before it was absorbed by the substance of the ground. But his burst of naked Talent also hammered against another barrier that had nothing to do with up or down or place or time. It touched, but did not break a barrier that felt evil. Larken felt the barrier and suddenly understood.

  Raising his head and summoning all his power and will, Larken sent all his Talent and energies against the barrier and felt it weaken before his onslaught. Summoning his Talent again, he sent yet another blast downward. This one broke through the barrier to the power that lay behind the barrier. Larken felt that power awaken. Larken afterward couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but it was as if a monstrous bear had half-awoke to find itself confined and confused. The gap in the barrier was closing again, and the power that he had touched was fading into sleep.

  Larken knew that he had to help. Summoning all his rage, letting it build within him to the bursting point, he sent another blast of desperate power through the closing gap to the thing that had awakened. This time it roused fully and shook itself from sleep. It felt the barrier and was puzzled. It touched the barrier in several places. Then, finally understanding, it shredded the barrier with almost negligent ease. It shrugged off the blocking of the channels that normally led from itself to the world of men. Tracing the power that awoke it, it encompassed Larken’s mind and considered the darkness it found there. Larken went instantly still. This was a test that he could not influence. If the power found him flawed, it might cleanse him of both Talent and life. He was utterly defenseless before its seemingly infinite power.

  Larken realized that he had awakened the Source. He sensed it act with purpose and intelligence. He couldn’t tell if it was a human-type intelligence or only the intelligence of a great, powerful beast. He did know, however, that he was caught in the grip of an awesome power as it considered what it was that had disturbed it. It had been displeased at finding itself confined and had acted to end that confinement effortlessly removing the barriers that had confined it while it slept. It examined Larken, his thoughts, and his experiences. It considered his nature. Larken almost breathed a sigh of relief when he felt its comprehension that he had been the remedy, not the cause of, its confining slumber. He felt it examine the bonds that he and the Elves had put around the core of darkness within him. Then it moved to examine the darkness behind the bonds, which were no barrier to its gaze. Larken almost fainted in relief as he felt it judge that Larken was worthy of existence. It quickly moved through his mind, recreating and reinforcing the bonds which confined the darkness within him. From the rest of his mind, it erased the shadow of despair and doubt that had grown within him in recent weeks. It renewed his strength and healed his mind and soul of almost without effort.

  At the same instant, Larken felt the dismay of the one that had tried to confine the Source and appropriate its power. Larken felt the Source turn its attention to this one. Still linked to the Source, Larken knew in an instant who this one was and what he had tried to do. The Source batted the presence of the Dark One away with a negligent display of power that was incomprehensible to Larken. Larken marveled that, even in the unspeakable disapproval that the Source felt for the Dark One’s actions and plans, the Source felt no anger for even the one who had tried to control it. Instead, the Dark One was simply removed from its presence in a single moment by a power that knew no equal and that now was awake and free from its slumbering confinement. Larken felt his world fill with the Source’s presence again as the walls around its power disappeared as shadows before the noonday sun.

  As the power was renewed in the world of men and Elves, miracles of healing and hope also appeared. Everywhere Warders and Healers felt the renewal of their Talent, purpose, and strength.

  In the campsite where Larken still knelt, the rain slackened and then stopped as the wind shifted to a gentle breeze that held the promise of dry weather.

  As Larken stood and removed his Blade from the ground, he found that those in the tent now stood outside it, trading amazed looks among themselves. Gradually, their exclamations of surprise fell silent as they turned to watch Larken. In answer to their unspoken questions, Larken saluted them with his Blade, took Melona in his arms, and spun her around in celebration.

  “Larken,” she cried when she had caught her breath. “What just happened? Our Talent is back!”

  Larken felt a hand on his shoulder. Releasing Melona, he acknowledged Jaris.

  “Larken,” Jaris asked, “do you know what just happened?”

  “Yes, sir,” Larken answered. “Algowinon was right. The Source was asleep, but now it’s awake. He was right about the Dark One also. He was trying to block the Source from all others. He couldn’t block me because we used the same kind of channel, and, as he blocked others, more power was available to me than I could handle. But it backfired on him. Somehow, my loss of control woke the Source up.”

  * * * * *

  There was much gaiety in their camp that night. Jaris declared that the proper order was to celebrate first and to figure out the answers in the morning. Messages were flying through the night by pigeon and by Elven telepathy. Warders, Elves, and Healers were rediscovering their powers at a level that they hadn’t experienced in months. Everyone wanted to tell everyone else what he had felt in that moment that the Source had awakened. Everyone wanted to hear Larken’s story about what happened. Knowing that his people needed the celebration, Jaris let them celebrate and did some celebrating himself. For the first time in months, Jaris allowed discipline to relax.

  Songs, dancing, and merriment filled the camp, but the highlight of the evening for Larken was a long slow walk that he and Melona took outside the camp late that evening. Returning to his habit of shielding his mind from others’ transmissions, he gave Melona his full and devoted attention.

  “Larken, you realize that you are now a legend,” Melona said softly.

  “A legend that still can’t figure out how most things work,” replied Larken. “I guess this is the stuff of legends, but, somehow, I feel like I’ve been abducted into a role that isn’t me. I know that doesn’t make sense, but what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think that I should get credit for all this. All I’m trying to do is to not mess things up. Does that make any sense?”

  “Only because I know you,” Melona answered. “Mom and Dad will be so proud of you. They always believed that there was more to you than anyone understood.”

  “Maybe,” said Larken, staring off into the night. Then turning to Melona, he asked, “Melona, when you were angry with me that night before we left, why were you angry?”

  If Larken hadn’t gripped b
oth of her hands, Melona would have turned away. Instead she lowered her head to avoid his gaze. “Oh, nothing, I guess,” she murmured. “I was just being silly. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Larken.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” said Melona as she smiled up at him.

  “You know that I’ve always loved you, don’t you?” asked Larken. “I mean, I can’t say all the things that you want me to, but I do love you.”

  At this Melona hugged him. “Oh, I know you do, and I know things have been hard for you. Last year you were an apprentice to a small-town smith. Today you’re being hailed as the savior of Talent and the three kingdoms. It’s a wonder that you even remember who you are.”

  “It helps that you’re still here,” said Larken.

  “And I always will be,” answered Melona.

  * * * * *

  Larken awakened the next morning, feeling refreshed and energetic. He couldn’t remember feeling this well since he had come to Sarkis. The day had dawned clear and cool, and even the horses seemed in a good mood. Larken was surprised to find that no one was getting ready to move. Finding one of his fellow Warders, Larken learned that a message had arrived early in the morning that the invading forces in Norland had fallen into chaos and had begun an unorganized retreat. The Norland forces were now driving them from their borders.

  Larken joined Elerdan and other Elves in a meld that enabled them to communicate with a similar group in Norland. The communication was brief, since the effort to maintain the channel over that length was strenuous, but the communication was clear. The invaders were returning northward and eastward along the route by which they had arrived. The danger to Norland was over.