The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  II

  Amysta kissed her husband and pulled him close. The king’s hands rose half-way up her back, froze, then lowered back down to his sides. He let himself be hugged, but he didn’t return it himself. She pulled away from him, then sent Revan a scathing glance; like her husband’s lack of response was somehow his fault.

  “Erik, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see me?” she ventured, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry that I failed. I was just not fast enough, they had too much of a head start. If you don’t think that I already feel guilty enough, then you don’t know me that well. I mean, that’s my little girl out there and who knows what that witch is doing to her?”

  The king shook his head, unsure of what to say.

  Revan cleared his throat. “His Majesty just woke up shortly before your arrival and he’s not feeling like himself right now.”

  She gripped her husband’s face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband? Don’t try denying it. I have spent the better part of my life with the man, and you are not him.”

  “My Queen,” he stepped forward, trying to intercede.

  “Step back and shut up. He wouldn’t be in this condition if it weren’t for you,” she snapped.

  He bowed his head and held his position; from a certain point of view, she was absolutely right.

  Erik stirred. “I’m sorry, I wot that myself should wot whom thou are, thy brow seems so familiar. Thou almost look like her, thou wot?”

  “I look like who?” Amysta asked with confusion.

  “Guinevere,” the Elven King answered with regret. “Yet I wot better, she’s gone.”

  Hers hands went to her hips and she glared at them even harder. “Okay, who the hell is Guinevere?”

  “The wife of King Arthur Pendragon,” he answered as the king uneasily drifted a step backwards.

  The elven woman remained there for a few seconds processing, then shook her head in confusion. “What?”

  “Amysta?” asked the Elven King, his face full of relief, eyes begging for news of their daughter. Now she was really taken aback as he stepped forward and tried to embrace her. “Oh, thank the Gods you’ve returned. Have you found Bella? Did you catch them in time? Where is she? Are the clerics tending to her?”

  She flinched within his arms and Erik’s eyes burned with the rejection he was suddenly experiencing. “I failed. They were in the Deadlands and I couldn’t go any further. I’m sorry.” As she told this to her husband, her voice had grown detached, as if not really feeling like it mattered what she said.

  “I’m sorry Honey, I should’ve gone myself. Not,” he paused after seeing her glare, “that I could’ve done any better. I just wish I could have been there with you. She is truly lost then.” Erik said the last with a broken sob just underneath the surface. Tears had begun to form at the corners of the monarch’s eyes and Revan sympathized with his friend.

  He had children himself, if something were to happen to one of them—

  “My Lord, if the Phoenix had wished her dead, you’d already be burning her body on a funeral pyre. She wants her alive, and as long as that remains so, there’s always a chance of getting her back. We just have to find a way to make it happen,” he interjected into their shared sorrow.

  “What have I missed? Why does my wife pull back from my embrace? How long was I out this time?” Erik asked them, unsteady on his feet and aiming to sit down on a chair and relax his weary frame. “Why the hell am I so weak?”

  He told him everything that had happened since the last time they talked, and Erik groaned when he learned of the politicians being held as Phoenix spies. “That is so not going to go over well when I have them released,” Erik muttered softly.

  The magister shook his head. “Kind of impossible to do without admitting they were right, Sire, and that you are unfit to be their King.”

  “I’m back now, they will not dare move against him,” Amysta responded, pulling a chair up next to her husband and holding him close, as if it might be the last time they talked. Well, he understood that perfectly, because it just might be.

  “The false accusation alone will cause a stir amongst the people. Not all of them favor your husband’s rule and will side with the opposition. The last thing we need right now is a divided nation. Not if we’re to survive the oncoming hordes or get your daughter back,” he told them, looking to get through to his sovereign what he had only recently admitted to himself. The two politicians were expendable; Erik was not.

  Erik shook his head. “I can’t let them be falsely imprisoned—.”

  “Sire, they called that council meeting in order to overthrow your rule. They are traitors and their loyalty has been established, and it’s not to you. Whether it’s true or not that they’re working for the Phoenix, Arthur’s moves were calculated and spot on for ending the controversy quickly. And he exposed a possible agent at the same time.”

  “I can’t believe it,” the sickened elf groaned. “There’s no way she could be—.”

  He nodded, his own mind had been puzzling over it himself, yet he was inexorably drawn back to the fact that she did indeed claim the Seers showed Erik lying in his room sick and had lied about her involvement with the coo. “We’ll just have to come up with a way to test her, to expose her if she’s an agent, or clear her if she’s simply self-serving. Either way, we can’t just do nothing. Not with a war raging around us.”

  Amysta sighed. “Agreed. I’ll get to work on that. I’d tell you to rest,” she told her husband, “but I think you’ve had enough of that. I’m afraid you won’t be there when you wake up.”

  He had been thinking the exact same thing. “And I ordered food, but that’s when I lost you last time. Why don’t you keep him focused and talking? I’ll see about getting you both something to eat. He needs solid food if he’s going to regain his strength.”

  The Queen nodded and stroked her fingers down her husband’s thinning arms. “You look so thin.”

  He backed out of the room and left the two alone. Who knew when they’d be able to speak again? He didn’t need to intrude now that explanations were out of the way and she was aware of what was going on. He’d have Jarel bring them their dinner, he needed rest himself. A week of sitting silently in that chair, resting or not, had put a serious cramp in his lower body and he needed to stretch and relax his muscles, lest he end up a hunched over hermit relying on a cane to move around.

  Shaking his head, he found the aide and relayed his orders, then pushed past and headed for his chambers. The entire affair had exhausted him physically and mentally; he needed a break.

  III

  The instant he stepped through the cave’s entrance, the air seemed to change. It felt heavier; like walking through water. After a few steps, it suddenly lessened and he was able to move more freely down the dimly lit corridor. He should have brought a torch of some kind, why hadn’t that occurred to him? He couldn’t make light just spring into existence like so many of the others he traveled with; he had to do things the old-fashioned way.

  He didn’t know how long he traveled but he did notice that his surroundings had begun to lighten a bit. The air was less musty and began to take on a stale scent; like a room that hadn’t been opened in a very long time. The cave was slowly widening, and he could now see a large cavern just ahead.

  His heart was pounding. Is this where it started? Would he immediately be thrown right into these tests? Cautiously, he made his way forward, eyes searching the cavern for any movement or sign of what came next. The chamber was tall and there were air holes cut in several places along the roof. What little light he had was streaming through those vents, served the dual purpose of providing air and illumination at the same time. There were torches fastened to the walls, covered in cobwebs and looking overly brittle to carry around. As he brought out his flint and steel, he wondered if they’d even light. The flames flickered a bit, but the torch held, and he hesitantly
lifted it off its frame to light the others.

  As the cavern came to life around him, he was taken in by the ancient yet powerful feeling that emanated from everything around him. Hanging from the ceiling was an old chandelier with hundreds of melted candles adorning it. How had it been lit? There were no ledges, walkways, or ladders that he could see. Did someone magically light them upon entering? Even then, how would they change the candles once spent?

  Too many questions and no one to give an answer.

  Along the walls were four very large fifteen-foot doors with runes carved into each. The designs were intricate and in the center of each was the shape of a sword where the corresponding blade could be fit inside it. Above each was a symbol, and he knew by sight that they were the four elements. They were positioned as if on points of a compass and he marveled at each as he walked along the circular room lighting the fragile torches.

  In the center was a dais. It was waist high and along the top were more of the ancient runes. There were four depressions, each in the direction of one of the doors along the walls. It appeared that something fit into each, but he had no clue as to what. There was a marble hand rising out of the center holding a magnificent sword, for which some distant memory recalled instantly; Excalibur.

  He wished Melissa was here to tell him what the runes meant, maybe they’d shed light on what he would be expected to do; he hated going into this blind. Taking a look around, he set the torch back into its former place, and started undoing the scabbards tied to his waist. Setting each one down on the dais, he looked at each door and tried to figure out which he would try to open first.

  Heart, mind, body, soul, that’s what she said, each one corresponding with an element. He could only assume that fire meant heart and since he always considered that his strongest feature, decided it might be best to start there first. He grabbed Dragonslayer from the dais and walked slowly to the door with a flame above the sword. Slowly, he lifted the blade and made sure that it was indeed the right fit. Then, with trembling fingers, slid it firmly into place.

  After a slight pause, a loud thud came from behind the door and it very slowly began to swing inward. Though the room was lit, none penetrated the darkness being revealed beyond. It was as if it swallowed every bit of light and refused to let itself be seen. That didn’t help calm his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he slowly stepped into the awaiting shadows and the darkness beyond.

  IV

  Tristan opened his eyes, a strong light piercing the blinds and making his head ache. Throwing his hand up, he tried to keep it from making it worse, but there was a bounce on the bed and his hand wavered; making it rapidly flash instead. “It’s too early for this.”

  A small boy was bouncing between his legs, banging on his blanketed calves. “Papa, you promised to take me hunting today!”

  He groaned and looked to the other side of the bed. Willow was sitting up, her eyes focused on a book she’d been reading the night before. Her gray hair had very few light strands of blonde left in it, and the crow’s feet around her eyes deepened as she glanced his way through her glasses. “Don’t look at me, you’re the one that made that promise. You get to keep it. I’ve got more than enough to do without traipsing around the woods all day.”

  “Okay kiddo. Just give me some time to wake up, okay?” he asked the little boy, pushing back his covers and swinging himself up. His shirt had ridden up his larger belly and he pulled it down to cover his exposed waist. His back was hurting and when he stretched out his arms, he felt a pull in his back. Looking down at his liver spotted hands, he flexed them experimentally and finally pulled himself into a standing position.

  “Yay!” the boy screamed enthusiastically as he jumped off the bed and fled out of their bed chamber.

  Willow snickered. “You sure you’re up to that, old man? Stumbling through the woods with a seven-year-old? I have no idea why you would even agree to it, you hate hunting. Why couldn’t you teach the boy to swim? Now that’s a useful use of your time!”

  He groaned again as his back popped, and not in a pleasant way. He was slowly making his way towards the bathroom and his knees felt weaker this morning. “You know, I’d be more up to it if you hadn’t worn me out last night.”

  A pillow flew across the room and struck him in the back. “I didn’t hear you complaining one bit, your Majesty!”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t complaining now, just throwing it out there.”

  “Be careful today, your son is arriving this afternoon and he wants to show off his fiancé at dinner. I don’t need you getting hurt and missing out on that,” she called after him.

  “Did Hope tell you when she’s coming back to pick up her son? Not that I don’t love the little tyke, but I miss his mother as well,” he asked as he slid the bathroom door open.

  Willow’s voice carried after him, telling him of their daughter’s trip north and how important it was, that she’d be back when she was back. He barely heard it as he stepped before the mirror and looked at his aged face. It’d been thirty years since the Phoenix’s downfall and the jagged scar down his left cheek still looked fresh as if done yesterday. He felt older than he was and though he tried to argue against his growing limitations, he knew that there were some things he just could not do anymore.

  All-night marathons were one of them.

  He splashed some water on his face and thought back over the last three decades. He had a wonderful life, a wife, three kids, and two grandchildren. He was sure there were going to be more of those to come, he just wished they’d hold off for a bit; they were making him feel old. He popped his neck and glanced into the aging eyes looking back at him. If he was going to take his grandson hunting he’d best get to work and clear his morning schedule.

  Striding from the room after a quick bath, he threw on his cloak and walked out onto the balcony. Willow had already gone for the morning, her own duties to attend to, and he wanted to just take a minute to look out upon the castle below; have one last bit of silence before plunging right back into things.

  Griedlok was quiet in the early mornings. Gardeners were busy at work, as they always were come the light of dawn. But as far as foot traffic, that was all. They had been at peace since the death of the Phoenix and the bare minimum of soldiers were maintained as the populace strived to move on with their lives. Unlike Lancaster’s cold architecture, most of the elven houses were built either into trees, or with several surrounding each building. It appeared to be a forest trapped within the inner walls, but he knew that thousands of his citizens were sleeping or preparing to go about their days beneath the canopy beyond.

  He had gotten a message from his brother and John wanted him to make the journey back to Lancaster on the anniversary of their father’s death, but he was having a hard time even now still coping with bringing those memories back to life. He had loved his father and though the two of them rarely spoke, in the end it had been his father’s love that had pushed him on and gave him strength to finish what Merlin had started.

  Thinking of Merlin made him wonder where the mage was currently hiding; what adventure he was pursuing. Had he talked another bunch of fools into going off on another crusade? They had only seen each other once since that last battle in the Phoenix’s castle and that was to ask him to send Hope north to speak to the Minotaurs about joining Erik’s Round Table. The negotiations had been stalled and the mage had insisted that Hope could end the stalemate, bring them back to the bargaining table. They were a tribal, warrior race, and they hoped to forestall future wars by including them in the remaking of their world.

  Kore had arrived a few nights before, the grizzled veteran holding his grandson high for the whole palace to see. Tristan had smiled and greeted the old friend warmly and asked how the rebuilding of the Deadlands had been going. The orc was informative, better spoken, but there was a look in his eyes during the conversation and Tristan knew what he had really come there to see. He made the journey every few years in order to pay respect
s to the woman that saved his life during the last days of the war. Though it hurt his heart to take him there, he had finally given in and escorted Kore where he wanted to go.

  Behind the palace rose a large statue of a tall, thin, elven ranger with a ponytail and a smirk on her face. Sculpted at her side was a very large wolf, head down, mouth open in a familiar snarl. Her bow was raised in the air, an arrow notched and ready to fly. A large shrike was positioned on her shoulder; it’s beak open in an unspoken battle cry.

  At the bottom of the statue was an inscription:

  “A beloved sister, A stronger leader,

  A missed mother, A loyal and steadfast warrior,

  Here lies Kylee of Griedlok

  May her arrow always fly true,

  And her spirit inspire us all.”

  They had all been there when the statue had been revealed and he could still see the anguish on Willow’s face over the loss of her sister. She had refused to see Kore, even to this day; believing that her sister would still be with them if only he had listened and not let his pride force him into a battle he could not win. The orc had been like that from the day they’d met him, but when Kylee sacrificed her life to save his, it had humbled the Orcish King, and had fundamentally changed him forever.

  Lost in thought, he didn’t hear the person walk up behind him until arms were sliding about his waist and pulling him close.

  “I thought you had work to do this morning?” he asked with a smile.

  “The only work I have to do is with you,” a voice cooed back, startling him from his thoughts and forcing him to turn around, coming face to face with Melissa.