Valandra: The Winds of Time Cycle (Book 1)

by Tristan Vick

  Entering the palace from a side entrance, I say, “Which means, the sooner we get to Lisette the better.” The last thing I want is Dragoron attempting to harm Lisette in any way. Or worse, turn her into a rodent just to satiate his sadistic fetishes.

  Just then some palace servants turn the corner and approach us. Bethriel whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “Stay close and act casual.”

  Right when they are about to pass, Leif gives Bethriel a shove and says in a loud voice, “Keep moving wench!”

  The servants scurry past without so much as a sideways glance. Once they’ve cleared the hall, I hit Leif in the armored shoulder.

  “You call that acting casual?” I grumble in a low voice.

  “What?” he deflects. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  In the periphery of my vision I see Bethriel rolling her eyes, but she bites her tongue as she doesn’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves by bickering noisily.

  We keep close to Bethriel, who guides us down one of the back passages of the palace, our armor clanking as we shuffle along behind her. Leif and I peer out of the slits in our helmet’s visors, but it’s nearly impossible to see a thing out of them. Palace knights always have the most ornate armor of all the Royal Guard, which is great as a fashion statement but not very practical.

  Walking along, I think to myself that it’s a wonder that we’ve gotten this far undetected when, all of a sudden, Leif hits his shin on something. His legs go out from under him and he falls face-first into the stone floor. Crashing to the ground, armor and all, Leif kicks up a ruckus that’s bound to draw attention to us.

  Concerned that we might be found out, I poke my head up and scan our immediate surroundings to see if Leif’s commotion has alerted anyone to our presence. Fortunately for us, it doesn’t appear anyone heard his clamoring about.

  “Quiet!” Behtriel orders, scowling down at Leif, who sits up next to her looking rather disheveled by his whirlwind somersault.

  “It’s not my fault,” Leif gripes, sliding up the visor on his helmet. I can’t see a darn thing out of this bloody contraption.”

  I turn back toward my friends, but something catches my attention and I stop dead in my tracks. I swallow a nervous gulp and try to speak. But barely a whisper escapes my lips. “Um, guys...”

  “You could have gotten us discovered with all your tumult and incessant griping!” says Bethriel accusingly.

  “Gee, lady, you think after I rescued your cute little hide from the dungeon you’d be a little more grateful,” Leif fires back as he gets back onto his feet.

  “Guys?” I repeat, still being as discreet as possible. Bethriel is about to say something back to Leif when I grab her by the top of her head and redirect her face toward the object Leif tripped on. She smothers her mouth with both hands just in time to prevent a fearful gasp from escaping.

  Realizing something else has our attention, Leif stops his blathering and looks at what we’re gawking at—and in typical fashion—lets out a frightened holler. “Holly jeez!” he shouts, jumping back several feet.

  All three of us stand staring up in astonishment at the behemoth Juggernaut towering before us. It stands at least nine or ten feet tall with its back against the wall. It’s conveniently situated between two massive pillars so as not to be easily noticed in the dim passageway. If Leif hadn’t tripped on its steel foot, we would have walked right past it without so much as realizing we came across one of the legendary automatons of living armor.

  Juggernauts are an ancient war machine developed by the dwarf machiners in the first Great War against the army of the dead. Thirty years ago, they proved a most effective weapon against the army of the dead. Perhaps even too effective. After several months of their deployment, the death toll on both sides of the war shot skyward. Nearly eight thousand soldiers perished in the first Great War, which was nearly one third of all the able men in all of Valandra.

  The machines, as the dwarves called them, were tireless. If damaged on the battlefield, they were quickly mended and repaired. Although the mages of Koroth wielded great mystic powers, they couldn’t have imagined the drain that battling the automatons would have on their resources.

  With their magic nearly depleted, and no time to recharge their reserve, they could no longer keep their army of the dead going against the Juggernauts. Eventually, Koroth agreed to the terms of a ceasefire, and a truce was called. The fighting officially came to an end when the Grand Magus of Koroth sealed the army of the dead back into the Nether realm.

  “I thought these things were all gone,” Leif says, kicking the machine’s foot.

  “Don’t do that,” Bethriel cries, tugging on Leif’s arm and jerking him back. “It might activate itself and tear all our heads off.”

  “I’m pretty certain it needs a magic amulet in order for that to happen,” says Leif, thumbing over his shoulder at the empty chest cavity where the mystic crystal that powers it would go. “Still,” he continues brushing back his brown hair, “it is a little disturbing seeing one up close. It makes me wonder what Dathrium is planning, keeping a war machine in his basement.”

  “You and me both,” I tell him.

  Bethriel rubs the back of her neck, inspecting the machine’s armored faceguard one last time to make sure not a single ember of mystic energy lingers in its metallic body. “At least it’s dormant for now. Without its energy crystal, it won’t be moving around anytime soon.”

  Leif expels a pent up sigh.

  Before we know it, Bethriel has started down the hallway without us. Leif and I pull down our visors and trail after her, pretending to escort our “prisoner” through the main palace.

  Heading through the side wing of the main hall, we come across two Royal Guards. “Halt!” the first guard says. “Where are you taking this prisoner?”

  “Lord Dragoron’s chambers,” Leif says in a deep voice masked with authority. “He’s not finished playing with his favorite wench, if you catch my meaning.” Leif nudges the guard with his elbow to our dismay and then lets out a billowing laugh.

  The guards, who eyeball us suspiciously, eventually step aside and say, “Move along.”

  Once inside, we head into a long corridor. Without so much as looking over her shoulder, Bethriel addresses Leif. “Call me a wench one more time, and I’ll cut off your balls.”

  Leif looks at me with a shocked expression. “She wouldn’t? Would she?”

  “I wouldn’t test her,” I say.

  Upon reaching the end of the long passage we hook a left and then head up several flights of stairs. Halfway up the stairs, Leif pauses and, resting against the wall, complains, “I hate stairs. I mean, I really, really hate them.”

  “Chin up,” I tell him. “We’re almost to the top.”

  At the top of the stairs we proceed down another hall to a large set of double doors in the middle of a large passageway. The passage is massive, with a gallery running the entirety of the right side replete with royal crests on the walls, famous armor of past kings on display, and a glorious central chandelier which lights up the crimson carpet beneath our feet.

  Bethriel signals us to stay put and Leif and I take up positions to watch for any signs of trouble. While we stand guard, Bethriel crouches down and checks the lock on the door. Finding it secured, she fishes out a lock pick from her dress and begins to work the lock.

  “These are Lord Dragoron’s chambers,” she informs us in a quiet voice as she finishes picking the lock. Nodding her head for us to follow after her, she pulls down on the handle and it clicks. Smiling at us, she pushes open the door wide open. The massive door creaks on its hinges. Looking at us, she says, “Come along,” and then boldly heads inside. Leif and I follow after her and shut the door behind us.

  Once all three of us are inside, we glance around the room, but it appears to be mostly empty. All except for a crystal wine decanter and a couple of wine glasses sitting on a round table near the foot of the bed.

  “This way
…” Bethriel says, guiding us to the large bed with a heavy oak frame. Pushing on the bed’s frame with all her might, she grunts, “Help me move this.”

  “Move it?” Leif asks, pouring himself a glass of wine. “Move it where?”

  “There’s a secret passage beneath this bed.”

  “And how exactly do you know that?” Leif inquires, taking a swig of wine. He raises an eyebrow and holds up the glass to inspect, as if impressed by the vintage of wine, and then turns to see both of us staring at him.

  “Do you mind?” Bethriel says, urging Leif to hurry it along. Quickly, he puts down the glass and takes his place by her side. I take the other end of the bed and, working together, we slide the bed to the wall, revealing a dark stairwell beneath it.

  All gazing into the black void that descends into the palace floor, I ask, “So, where’s it lead?”

  “I don’t know,” Bethriel replies. “I’ve never actually been down there. I merely stumbled upon Dragoron coming out from the floor one time and realized it must lead to some underground secret chamber.” Bethriel points a slender finger at the dark menacing mouth of the secret passage, “If your friend is being held captive, I would bet anything that she’s being kept down there.”

  “Fantastic!” Leif mumbles, his voice unable to hide the sarcastic undertones which allude to his reluctance to enter a mysterious black hole in a madman’s chambers. “If it’s not man-eating snakes and shape-shifting witches, it’s dungeons and secret torture chambers.”

  I turn toward the dark stairwell and draw out my sword. I’m all ready to head into the menacing dark pit when Bethriel quips, “Maybe I was wrong to threaten to neuter you, Leif. Apparently, you never had any balls to start with.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Leif looks over at Bethriel with hurt look. I can tell her words cut him to the core.

  “Oh, ha-ha. Very funny,” he replies.

  Bethriel smothers a snicker with her hand, as he falls into her trap, and then plays to Leif’s weakness. “After you, prince charming,” she says, gesturing toward the dark opening in the floor.

  Still determined to impress Bethriel, Leif puffs up his chest. To salvage his image of chivalrous masculinity, he draws his sword out and takes a bold step forward. “Follow me.”

  I step aside to allow him room to pass. Sudden, Leif stumbles and, unable to brace himself, tumbles down the stairwell, his armor clanging the whole way.

  I let out an exasperated sigh and roll my eyes.

  “Is he always like this?” Bethriel asks me.

  “Pretty much.”

  Without any further delay, Bethriel and I head single file down into the dark shaft to see if Leif is all right and find Lisette.

  29

  Upon reaching the landing at the bottom of the rocky stairwell, Bethriel and I find Leif laying sprawled out on his back. He lets out a painful moan, so at least we know he’s still alive. Even so, he looks the worse for wear.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, bending down to help him sit up. I figure there’s no need to whisper, since I’m fairly certain Leif alerted the entire palace to our presence.

  Once he’s sitting upright again, Leif twists the helmet on his head so that it’s the right side around again. He groans. “Other than a bruised ego and perhaps a broken rib or two, yeah, I’m just peachy.”

  Kneeling next to Leif, I look down a dark tunnel the burrows into the ground before us. It looks like the mouth of the Earth’s darkest and most terrible cave. With only the light coming from the open stairwell and the chamber above us, I say, “Stay vigilant. We don’t know what to expect down here.”

  “Probably a fire-breathing dragon,” Leif quips.

  “Dragons have been extinct for at least a century,” Bethriel says, as she takes an unlit torch hanging on the wall and dips it into a pot of lamp oil which sits at the foot of the staircase. “The last of the Syrakkian dragons were hunted to extinction long before the first Great War.” She looks at Leif. “Hand me your knife.”

  He takes out the armor’s steel dagger from his belt and gives it to Bethriel. “What do you plan on doing with it?” he asks.

  “Some of the rocks in this cavern wall have quartzite in them,” she informs him.

  Squinting at the cavern wall, I can see that she’s right. By the checkered layout of the quartzite rock it seems they were built into one section of the wall deliberately.

  She strikes the back of the blade against the wall as though she were slashing at an enemy. Instantly a spray of sparks lights up and rain down on the torch.

  As soon as the sparks touch the cloth of the oil-saturated torch, it flares up with a bright flame. “This way,” Bethriel says, tucking the blade into the sash on her belt. She heads into the dark void of the tunnel holding the glowing torch.

  Leif looks at me as though he wants to ask who this woman really is. I struggle with whether I should tell him that she’s secretly one of Queen Sabine’s top spies or if I should simply let everything unfold in due time. Ultimately, I decide there’s a place and a time for such explanations, and this isn’t one of them.

  The tunnel is long and winding, but it never branches. The dank passageway winds deeper and deeper underground, and I can’t help but feel that it will take us far so below the palace that we’ll enter the forgotten depths of the Under Realm, where the Goddess El Lunaria’s arch nemesis Vulcanus, the fire demon, resides.

  After traveling in the dimness for what seems like forever, we finally come to the end of the tunnel. At the end is a massive oak door reinforced with banded steel. It’s hefty enough to withstand a battering ram, which suggests that whatever is being kept behind it is of utmost value to Dragoron.

  From beneath the doorway comes the soft glow of candlelight, and Bethriel signals to Leif and me to hold up for a moment.

  Bethriel finds two lamps hanging on either side of the doorway and lights them with her torch. Afterward, she douses the torch and then whispers, “Whatever we find on the other side of this door, just know I’m grateful for the privilege of having met you both.”

  “You make it sound like none of us are getting out of here alive,” says Leif. His voice wavers with the strange cocktail of anxiety and adrenaline, but he puts on a brave face for our benefit.

  Without replying, Bethriel gives him one last solemn look, then grabs the iron ring on the left side of the door and pulls. It doesn’t budge. Leif steps up and helps her. Leaning back, with their combined weight, they slowly swing open the door. Once they have it open halfway, we scan one another’s faces one last time and then, taking a deep breath, we boldly step into the room.

  What awaits me on the inside is a massive underground chamber lit by lanterns and candles of all manner and size. The room is filled to the brim with all kinds of sinister looking contraptions and devices. Some of them look as though they are used for torture. Others look like old parts of Juggernauts. Some of the devices I’ve never seen before. Even so, it still gives me an unsettling feeling. My stomach grows leaden with worry for Lisette.

  Further into the room is a series of racks with glass tubing that carries a series of luminescent liquids. There are green, blue, and yellow liquids being pumped through the tubes up to a large beaker where they mix together. The intermingling liquids form a radiant cyan that is almost blinding to behold.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “I don’t know about you,” Leif says as he starts to unfasten his armor, “but this place gives me the creeps.”

  “You and me both, Mr. Ericson,” Bethriel says.

  When Leif begins to shed his bulky armor that we stole from the guards, I think it’s time for me to do the same.

  “I couldn’t stand another moment in this stuff even if I tried,” says Leif.

  I know exactly what he means. It’s heavy, hot, and damn uncomfortable. There’s no mobility and it gets awfully sweaty.

  As I undo the straps, Bethriel comes over to me and helps me off with the chest plate. Once I have it off I hel
p Leif with his. After a few moments, we’ve piled all the armor into a heap off to the side of the room.

  Once I’ve stripped down to my knickers, I can’t help but feel a little bit naked without my leather armor. That’s when Bethriel calls out to us. “I’ve found something.”

  Leif and I rush over to her and find her standing before a massive wooden table. Behind it stands a rack full of all manner of weapons and types of armor. It’s probably all the belongings they’ve collected from prisoners.

  “Jackpot!” Leif says excitedly as he rushes to fetch some new kukri blades, a few daggers, and some leather vambraces.

  I find some nice leather armor. It’s a set and looks elfin by design. I slip over the torso guard, which is like a lightweight breastplate, but much easier to fit into. It bends and flexes but it still thick enough to stop a blade.

  After I’ve secured my top, I put on some leather vambraces and matching shin guards. There is fine tooling to the leather, again, all elfin in design. After that, I slip on a leather cuisse, which resembles a heavy leather skirt that protects my bare legs.

  Leif, having fully dressed in lightweight armor like my own, brings me over some knee-high boots and asks, “These your size?”

  Inspecting the boots, I smile. As it turns out, Leif has good taste and knew exactly what I would have picked. “Yes, these will do. These will do nicely,” I tell him.

  As I sit down on a dusty stool next to the table to put them on, I catch Bethriel watching me intently out of the corner of my eye. When I look up at her she merely chews on her bottom lip and twirls a strand of her blond hair around her finger. After a moment of gazing into each other’s eyes, she smiles at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she replies mischievously.

  Leif suddenly raises a hand to silence us. “Did you hear that?” he asks us.

  “Hear what?” Bethriel asks.

  We strain our ears to catch whatever it is he thought he heard when, after a brief silence, a weak voice calls out to us from the room. “Leif?”