Raving at anyone that drew close, the dwarf had been finally knocked unconscious with a severe blow to the head by the captain of the guard. The commanding officer had seen the reactions of his men to the newcomer and didn’t want to chance further chaos by marching the dwarf through the town square on their way to the keep beyond.
It was a useless exercise; the news had already spread like wildfire.
By nightfall, despite the admonishments and vows given, every poisonous word had been repeated until the entire castle had heard it first-hand. Destruction was upon them and every attempt at calming the populace failed miserably. Assurances that the returning patrols had seen nothing to cause alarm did little to lessen their fears and the air had been heavy with heated panic ever since. The army had been ordered to muster, more for crowd control than demons breaching the walls. Men had poured in from the countryside, tents were erected, and the show of force began to slowly quiet the masses, but only marginally.
The patrols had been doubled, to ensure that nothing was missed, but still—nothing.
The dwarf had lit the match on the pile of straw that had built up over the previous months and set blaze to the fiery doom that preyed on everybody’s minds. He had been privy to the reports coming in and felt frustrated that all of it appeared to be over nothing. There were no demons, no approaching army. All had been as it always had—quiet. His voice was nothing when compared to his father’s and brother’s, and their lack of success in dealing with the situation made him feel better for his own perceived failings.
If they couldn’t do it, how could he?
Clerics had been called to tend to the dwarf and heal his wounds, but his mind remained fragmented and destroyed; nothing they could do would restore the dwarf to his previous mental state. They let the condition of their charge be known, that the man was a certified loon, but it didn’t quell the perceived threat from beyond. He did have to concede that on the flipside, something or someone had tortured the dwarf to the point of insanity. But that could just mean that they had a lone sociopath out there with a taste for the sadistic; not a horde of demons intent on killing them all.
Merchants still trickled in with embellished stories, whispering behind the nearby guards’ backs to avoid being censured for their actions, and it only helped to preserve the tension in the air. Soldiers were restless, eyes constantly following those around them; ready to respond in an instant to any sign of danger. A curfew had been enacted, the once lively streets becoming swiftly deserted by nightfall.
So when his brother had proposed a hunting trip, he had quickly agreed despite his misgivings. He had welcomed the opportunity to get away from the castle and lose himself in the woods with only his thoughts to occupy his time. The quiver was only for show, he’d never had any intention of using it.
He shook his head and tried to divert his mind from the recent unrest, making a concerted effort to drive it down; looking to his surroundings to quiet his mind. They were leaving the farmland behind and cottages had begun to appear sporadically around him. There was an orange flicker of firelight between drawn shades indicating life, but not one soul appeared to take notice of their trek home. He could spy torches ahead, moving in multiple directions and in uniformed packs; the town guard on their appointed patrols.
A pair of soldiers appeared in the darkness ahead, swords drawn and ready to greet the two unknown shadows approaching. They relaxed when they saw that it was their sovereign’s sons stepping into the feeble torchlight.
John spoke to them quickly, relaying that they’d heard a wolf hunting near the livestock. He ordered them to get a search party formed and seek out the source of the howl, lest they begin losing cattle and panic the farmers further. They snapped to and jogged west, eager to do anything to break the monotony of their patrol.
Lancaster had been constructed at a nexus point to the surrounding lands; the castle built and then expanded upon following the end of the Freedom War, when all the races had stood united in opposition of a common foe. The initial intention behind its construction had been to serve as a meeting place, a common ground where all the races of their known world could come together and share in the rebuilding of their world. Over time each of them had withdrawn, the differences in culture driving them apart once more, leaving Lancaster in the hands of his forebears.
To make matters worse, tensions between the races had increased of late, as if the entire known world was holding its breath in anticipation of another oncoming apocalypse. From where it would strike, no one seemed to know, but it was still there, felt in the bones of the people and echoed in the cries of the doomsayers standing on the street corners spewing their unfounded obscenities with no fear of reprisal.
Envoys had been sent in every direction, seeking information from their neighbors, but it would be weeks before they returned. In the meantime, the blacksmiths were working to provision the army, hammer blows ringing long after curfew. Drills were constantly being performed, as the veterans worked tirelessly to train the new recruits. As no time table on their impending doom had been confirmed, all would have to be ready at a moment’s notice.
The castle’s defenses were being reviewed for improvements and trenches were being dug in the surrounding countryside to deter an enemy’s approach. It had been a long time since Lancaster had seen war and the constant struggle for readiness created tension amongst his father’s advisors.
The recent decline of his father’s health had forced him to increasingly rely on his older son for assistance. The generals listened to their ailing sovereign but looked to John for confirmation of their orders; something that was not lost on the aging King. It had brought back some of his father’s fire and the old man’s temperament was growing shorter by the day. As time had passed, he had seen the exhaustion on his father’s face deepen and feared that it was shortening the time he had left.
John had seen this as well and had involved himself in every aspect of the preparations, taking on more than he was able, working late into the night in carrying out the kingdom’s multitude of issues all on his own. His brother had been groomed since birth to assume the thrown upon his father’s death, and the confidence he exuded had a calming effect on all those he approached. He deferred to his father when needed but shouldered most of the responsibilities without complaint or argument.
Despite their differences, he had always been close to his brother and knew that the calm exterior was a mask hiding the nervous wreck John had become. There were occasional slips that had been unseen by the others, but noticeable to those that knew him intimately. John had needed the trip as much as he did; he needed a break too.
The increased torchlight illuminating their path made him aware of the proximity of their home. He glanced at the towering battlements, at the banners whipping in the wind and the occasional sentry passing by on their appointed rounds. The stone walls felt oppressive yet comforting at the same time. The guards both above and below marked their progress, and he felt reassured by their presence.
Movement to his left caught his eye. He saw a brief flash of purple and began to smile. Though he had grown accustomed to the protection of the royal bodyguard, he had taken it for granted that the Guardians had been with them every step of the way. He reflected on the experience he’d had exiting the forest, when the feeling of being watched had been so powerful and acknowledged what it must have been. Though he’d felt a chill, he had to admit it was probably one of the Guardians that had been watching them; not some nefarious villain cloaked in shadow. No one else would have been able to slip past them unnoticed.
They kept their distance to give the brothers their privacy, but not enough to allow harm befall them. The Guardians had superior and more intense training than the other branches of their military, their stealth tactics so refined that they were unmatched in all of the lands; or so they boasted. It was a reputation well deserved, as no member of the royal family had ever come to harm while under their protection.
T
he Guardians broke from the shadows as they approached the drawbridge and formed a protective ring around the brothers; their vigilance not diminished within the confines of their home. He looked to the guards standing at the gate’s entrance and nodded. The soldiers relaxed as they passed, the brothers’ boots thumping softly on the wooden drawbridge. They crossed through the outer gates and into the space before the inner ones. Their family crest, a lion head roaring over a shield was emblazoned upon the worn cobblestones below. They passed over it unceremoniously and into the castle beyond.
Night had fallen and the streets were empty. On a normal night, the market square would still be full of peddlers hocking their wares at people passing through, but the imposed curfew made the streets completely bereft of life. Patrols passed by and they nodded absently in their direction. After so many years of peace, the contradiction to the way things had become pained his spirit.
The keep was drawing closer and John greeted the commander awaiting them on the stone steps; word of their return having been sent ahead. Tristan felt the burden of his station refreshed and sighed heavily in response; they were home.
They ascended to the heights of the keep and the Guardians left them as they passed through the palace doors, fading back into the shadows from whence they came. The commander was talking to his brother, but he tuned it out. If it were important he would’ve been included; his upcoming place in Griedlok’s hierarchy requiring his notification as well. The bits he picked up seemed to bear on the dispersion of their forces and training reports; nothing new.
He shook his head and suddenly missed the quiet the woods had provided. Growling under his breath, he broke away and headed towards his chambers. He wanted to bathe, to be free of the sweat and grime before joining his family for dinner.
Fading back into obscurity, he rounded a hallway and disappeared, returning to the safety that his boring routines provided.
II
Merlin’s right hand reached up and adjusted his cloak wider; the blazing fire making the wool insignificant against the projected heat. Lost in thought, his eyes traced the flickering flames and he admired the white to dark orange chaos on display. There was much to contemplate, and he was trying unsuccessfully to organize his thoughts into something coherent and expressible. Watching the flames fight for oxygen seemed to help.
Leaning back, the cowl barred the firelight from touching his face, the shadows caressing his hardened features with adoration. His eyes lost focus; seeing everything and nothing. White smoke swirled across their surface; obscuring his irises completely with their intensifying waves. His mind flowed with the constant changes in the time stream, the tides of the forces in motion sweeping him along. Possible futures shifted with every minute that passed and he tried to focus on the one with the most acceptable outcome.
There were too many to process and not enough time to sort through them all.
The time was fast approaching when he would be cloaked in shadow no longer and the forced daylight would set in motion events beyond his control. His senses reached out and took in the entirety of the world around him in. He heard everything down to the ants milling in their holes, to the trees moaning at the weak moonlight. Yet he was oblivious to all, as his mind drifted along the multiple paths his future would take.
An elven woman stepped into the firelight, but he made no move to acknowledge her presence. Her lifeforce was a beacon of light pulsing with vibrancy begging to be noticed, but it was a distraction to what his mind sought, so he pushed it aside. She sheathed her composite longbow and the arrows flowed with the movement of her body, the shafts shifting slowly over the drifting ashes of the fire. He felt her albino eyes gauging him as she silently plopped down on a log to await his awakening from the entranced state.
Another light came closer as her wolf companion settled by her side. Tuskar’s ears twitched as he exchanged a silent conversation with his Mistress, then bolted to his feet and lunged back into the shadows of the forest from whence he came.
Steadily, he returned to the present, slowly retrieving his mind from the flows of time. The mist cleared as his pale green eyes became aware of their surroundings. “Nothing amiss?” He knew the answer already, but it was expected of him to ask. The night would hold no surprises for them this night.
She sighed, “why bother? You already know what’s coming. So, what’s the point in me scouting ahead?”
He knew that she was not being disrespectful; they’d been through a lot together, and the trust they had in each other’s abilities was well earned. “I can’t see everything. Things slip through the cracks in my visions, while others are purposely clouded by our enemies. I rely on your eyes and ears to fill those voids.”
“You’re just trying to keep me busy,” she returned with a grin. “There’s one thing I don’t understand—.”
“Just one?” he broke in, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Her penetrating eyes narrowed. “Funny,” she quipped. She wore a black cloak with dark blue lining and black leather armor underneath; having recently been acquired and replacing the mismatched armor she had been wearing when they met. Her hands fiddled with one of her knee pads, as her teeth gnawed at her pink lower lip. “If the boy we’re looking for was one of those two,” she started, waving her hand in the direction the brothers had recently passed, “why didn’t you talk to him now? Why wait?”
He didn’t respond at first, the vestiges of his visions replaying themselves quickly through his mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the most promising, but it slipped from his grasp like grains of fine sand; forever out of reach. “It wasn’t the right moment,” he told her and felt the exasperation in her responding snort. Looking at her once more, he dropped his smile; his face stern. “His brother would have resisted, and our purpose would have been obscured with questions and blustering. Do not fret, the time is almost upon us. Before the sun sets tomorrow we will be back on the road with all this unneeded anxiety behind us.”
She looked towards the massive brute masked in shadow hovering at the edge of the firelight, his silence unnerving. His huge form was cloaked; his stance firm. He didn’t look to being paying attention to their conversation, but she knew better than to try and guess what was going through their companion’s mind. “I don’t know why you need another sword arm; we’ve already got all the brainless testosterone we will ever need right there.” She was trying to provoke a response from the overly large warrior and only got a grunt in return, much to her dissatisfaction.
The mage eyed her suspiciously. She had obviously gotten closer to the brothers than he had intended. He wanted to be near them, not arouse their suspicions or that of their bodyguards. Things could have spiraled out of his control had she been seen. Anger began to rise, and he had to quickly force it back. “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my judgment? Why do you do so now?” Her face grew lax and her eyebrows drew together, the smile fading swiftly from view. “Just see to your duties and let me worry about the rest. Two of our party are approaching from the east, why don’t you go lead them in.”
She flinched at the rebuke and got to her feet in a rush. She gave him one last glare, then turned and sprinted into the shadows.
He might have been harder on her than he needed to be, but it couldn’t be helped. Much was happening in the world and his path had to be chosen with the utmost care. Any mistakes could prove fatal to not just them, but to every living soul on this island formally known as England.
He glanced at the cloaked hulk to his left, but the towering silhouette had nothing to offer but his silent consent. Returning to his inner reflection, he widened his mind to receive the world around him. A mind touched his, probing. He welcomed it but kept it on the surface, refusing it entry to the deeper parts of his mind. It was a familiar voice, one that had spoken to him often in recent days, and now it had grown stronger as the two parties finally drew closer to one another.
Tonight would see the first piece of his puzzle sl
ip into place, the picture very slowly starting to take form in his mind. The game was about to begin, pieces would start sliding across the board, and he wondered which of them would break from cover first.
Let’s see what you got, he challenged silently, sending his voice into the netherworld.
Tomorrow would be a new day, and from it would quickly determine the course of events to come. His patience was beginning to wane, all the planning in the world could not prepare him for what came next. Yet, he forcibly quieted his mind of doubts as he sensed the three figures approaching in the darkness.
With fresh determination, he pushed it all aside and rose to greet his guest.
III
“Ye cannae keep me haur forever! If ye dornt free me, yoo’ll die!” screamed the angry dwarf, spit flying, drool dripping down the corners of his mouth. His long oily hair dangled before his face, eyes darting between strands to glare at his captors.
Three men hovered outside the door to his cell, one of them nursing a wound on his arm. They had tried once more to force wine down his throat in a futile attempt to sedate his madness; he had bitten one of the guards who had unwisely come too close for their efforts. The pleasure he felt when his teeth sank into the man’s flesh was exquisite; he wanted more. Delight danced in the prisoner’s eyes at the sight of the man’s blood trickling onto the floor.
He inhaled, prepared to let loose a hoard of new obscenities, but the air suddenly rushed out of him in a cloud of putrid funk as he gasped with surprise; an unexpected reprieve for his fellow inmates. His mouth hung loose, as if words were still coming, but there was no voice issuing forth. A sliver of drool broke free and fell to the puddle below. The short man’s face contorted as the corners of his mouth lifted into a devilish grin.
The New Age Saga Box Set Page 4