Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1)

by H S J Williams

  “They locked us in individual cells down here,” Kelm continued. “I’m not sure why they bothered to chain us. I thought I might be able to pull out of the cuffs, but they’re just too small. What about you?”

  Gladly seizing the welcome distraction, she wiggled and strained her wrists till the edge cut into her skin. But the chains had clearly been designed for someone larger, and with a raw scrape, she slid free. “I’m out! I can’t believe that worked!”

  “Is the cell locked?”

  Lifting herself on unsteady legs, she stumbled up and explored her cell. A stone wall bordered the back, and the other two walls were built by metal bars. Kelm’s cell was to her left. The door of her cell was also barred. She found the lock, but after fiddling with it for several minutes, she gave up with a sigh. “No good,” she moaned. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rubbed her chaffed wrists.

  The silence was too hideous, so she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  But any answer was interrupted by the distant clang of an opening and closing gate. Several footsteps tramped towards them, and the light of a torch bounced across the walls of a stone passage.

  She almost let out a yelp of joy at the sight of that light. But around a corner came four figures, and all her fear returned. One walked in front, carrying the torch, and two others followed, holding the fourth figure between them. She expected them to turn into one of the many cells they were passing, but to her shock, they came right to the cell next to her. She shrank back against the wall, hoping they wouldn’t notice that she was out of her chains.

  Grumbling something, one of the guards unlocked the door and swung it open. The other two marched in, pushed their prisoner roughly to the ground and chained him to the wall. Snapping some curse at him, they withdrew, locked the cell shut, and went away.

  The metal door slammed in the distance, and the prison plunged once more into heavy darkness. She didn’t dare try to speak to the prisoner. After all, he might actually be deserving of cells and chains. A madman, a murderer, you just couldn’t tell…

  Kelm had no such fear. “Hey,” he called. “Who are you?”

  The prisoner gave a startled cry, followed by an indistinguishable curse as if he was angry the cry escaped.

  “Neighbors,” the stranger said, voice harsh and cutting. “Just my luck.”

  Yes, Tellie thought, scooting to the far side. Sounds like the mad, murdering type.

  “Sorry,” Kelm said. “We didn’t mean to intrude, but we were just brought in…er…well, do you know what this place is?”

  There was a long pause. Then—

  “Tertorem.”

  It was then that Tellie was struck by the sound of the stranger’s voice. It was a clear voice—clear and strong, not the sort one would expect to hear in a prison. Strange, it was almost familiar, but not familiar enough for her to place it.

  “Well, that’s a fittingly awful name,” her friend said with an unsteady laugh. “I’m Kelm. And you are?”

  Another interminable silence hung in the air. And then the answer came.

  “Errance.”

  7

  oOo

  These games never end. Every time I think they have run out of new cruelties, another begins. It is the way of it, the way of death.

  Aname was only a name. There could have been dozens of men named Errance. But she knew of only one, and in that moment she recognized why the stranger’s voice sounded so familiar—it was like Rendar’s, only younger and full of hate.

  No. The possibility was too much to consider. It was far too overwhelming. He couldn’t…couldn’t be…

  A hush held the cells captive since the stranger had spoken his name, but now the man spoke again, and the bitterness in his voice whipped like a lash. “You’re here to win my trust, aren’t you? In a gesture of good will, I’ll let you know now that you’d best kill yourselves the first chance you get before they decide to doom you to eternal torment in reward for your failure.”

  Stunned, Tellie sagged back against the wall and raised trembling hands to her head. She’d barely heard his words, barely noticed the cruelty of them.

  “You think me morbid,” the man said at last in a tone that indicated he really didn’t care what they thought at all.

  Kelm’s voice sputtered back into life. “Um. Uh. I…I don’t think we are who you think we are, and we’re not working for anyone if that’s what you’re saying. We don’t have a notion who you are.”

  Tellie’s tangled senses knotted and unknotted before bursting out into four words. “Prince Errance? Of Aselvia?”

  There was a moment’s pause.

  “Don’t have a clue who I am, hmm?” the prisoner said, sarcasm as sharp as a sword. “So there’s two of you, is there? Very well.”

  It was him. It had to be! It was impossible, but there was no other explanation.

  She crawled over to the side of the cell and gripped the iron bars till her fingers ached. “Errance!” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I know who you are. You are the prince of Aselvia. But…but how are you alive? They all think you’ve been dead for seventy years. I met the elves! They’re so kind, and I learned all about you, and you died, but you didn’t, and now I’m here, and you’re here, and it’s so unbelievable, but it’s true! How can you possibly be alive? There was your picture and everything, and the stories say you died. What happened, Errance?”

  She ran out of breath and waited for a response, panting. Kelm had gone dead silent, most likely too bewildered to compose a word. She peered into the solid blackness where the prisoner sat, straining to see any sign of him.

  Then he spoke.

  “Very clever.”

  He didn’t believe her. Of course he didn’t. If he’d been in this dark place since his assumed death, then he had no reason to trust her declaration. And yet disappointment dropped heavily onto her shoulders, and she crept back over to the side near Kelm and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

  Chains jangled. “Tellie,” Kelm whispered, “How do you know this man?”

  Tellie bit her lip, fearing his doubt as well. “You remember the story of the elf prince who died in Shadowshade Forest?” she said in a voice barely above a sigh. “The elves I met were there to honor him…Prince Errance was his name.” Her voice rose higher as her emotions began to knot in her throat. “Kelm, I just know this man is the same Errance, but he thinks we’re evil, and I have no idea where we are, but wherever we are, he’s here, and that’s a miracle! But he doesn’t trust us, so what’s the point? Errance isn’t dead, he’s alive. Oh, Kelm, this would mean so much to Leoren and Casara. What am I saying—this means so much to me! I was told to find the next king of Aselvia, and I have! It’s him—I’ve found the prince!” And then, unable to express herself further in words, she buried her face in her knees and burst into tears.

  “What in Orim are you babbling about?” Kelm demanded. “Did you say you were supposed to find the next king? That doesn’t make any sense! Tellie! What didn’t you tell me?”

  The only answer she could give him was a stormy sob.

  He sighed. “Honestly.”

  She was unable to stop crying for quite a while, but at last her sobs faded into sniffles before dying away altogether. Kelm did not press her at once for any answer, and the captive next cell had not volunteered a sound since. How long the silence continued could not be certain. In that deep dungeon, hours or days might have passed without recognition. It was long enough that Tellie startled when Kelm spoke again.

  “So can you explain any better now?”

  Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she managed, “Well, um—”

  The door far down the passage slammed open.

  Torchlight flickered across the corner wall, followed by one man broad enough to be two. After hooking the torch in a wall bracket, he paused in front of the Errrance’s cell, fumbled for the keys, and unlocked it. Since the light did not reach into the shadows
of the cell, Tellie listened to the guard unlock eight chains on the captive. When the guard shoved the prisoner out into the hall ahead of him, she noted that the captive was the taller of the two. Not as tall as Rendar, but still his silhouette struck her as so elvish that any last doubts about his identity fled.

  “Didn’t I just get back?” Errance asked dryly.

  The guard snorted. “The Voice has come,” he said, roughly pulling the elf’s arms behind his back and drawing a cord tight around the wrists.

  At the mention of that name, Tellie remembered the terrible man she’d met just before coming to this cell. His grinning teeth flashed in her mind’s eye, and she flinched.

  Then the guard left the elf standing alone and turned to her cell. Her hands flew over her mouth to stifle a cry of dismay as the huge man opened the door and stomped inside. She shrank back and tried to slip her hands back into the shackles, but it was too late. The guard reached for the chains and started in surprise.

  “Clever little wretch,” he growled. Grabbing her by the arm, he thrust her out into the hall next to the elf and headed to Kelm’s cell.

  Her heart ramming against her throat, Tellie turned to the elf.

  There in flesh and blood stood Prince Errance.

  Three things struck her at once. First, the orphanage matron had once told her it was improper to stare at a man with no shirt. Second, it was surely more improper if that man was an elf. Third, no one had ever told her what to do if the man looked like this.

  Scars and shadows rippled in jagged streaks across his body—burns, lashes, piercings. Red, white, dark, and light. Fresh and bloody, old and deep. Mottled bruises. Scars as thick and webbed as lace. Muscles stood out on his gaunt frame, but they didn’t seem quite right, as if they were forced to exist even while skin stretched over jutting bones. Though his face was still as handsome as in the painting, all the fair features were now hard with pain and loathing. Three thin black scars ran through his right brow and into the cheek, and his dark hair fell in heavy strands to his skeletal waist. The light of the torch reflected in his eyes as it might have reflected on shattered glass.

  Tellie stared, horror chilling her being, and she could not tear her eyes away.

  Errance stared back, and something like surprise flitted over his face. “You are but children,” he murmured.

  “Actually, I’m fourteen,” Kelm said as he was pushed up alongside them by the guard.

  “No talking ‘mongst the captives,” the guard snarled. He turned towards them, his ugly face stuck in a permanent leer, and peered into each of their faces. He looked at Tellie last. There he paused, squinting.

  Tellie looked back at him, watching the torch shadows flicker on his meaty face. A chill prickled up along the back of her neck. All at once she had no idea what to do or how to get him to stop staring at her. Her gaze darted down to the floor.

  “Well,” the man snarled. “A pretty girl down ‘ere. What’s yor name, ‘ittle princess?” He made a grab for her chin, and she stumbled back with a gasping cry.

  A shadow stepped between them, a tall and solid shadow. “Guard,” Errance said. “Leave the girl alone.”

  The guard took a pace back and considered him. Then he gave a throaty chuckle and wagged his head. “I’ve heard you have some spice. I’ll fix that.” He drew back his arm and struck Errance across the face. The elf’s head snapped to the side, and the grunt of the guard’s laughter rumbled down the hall.

  Aghast, Tellie shrank against Kelm, who moved protectively in front of her, though his whole body trembled.

  For a moment, Errance remained still, looking only at the wall. His eyes turned back to the guard first. Then his head slowly pivoted around to face him. He breathed in deep, his chest rising and falling. “You’re new, aren’t you?” he said, strangely quiet.

  The guard sneered.

  “You must be,” the elf continued softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Otherwise you would know that people have done that so many times, I don’t even feel it anymore.”

  Without warning, he dipped into a low crouch and twisted, swinging his elbow up and into the man’s jaw. He whirled back, driving his opposite knee up into the man’s stomach, and as the guard doubled over with a gasp, he took a few steps back, spun and swung his leg like a sword, smashing the heel into the guard’s temple.

  With an awful groan, the man dropped to the ground in a heap.

  Errance tossed his head back, flicking long brown hair behind his shoulder. “What about you? Could you feel that?”

  The guard gave an inarticulate moan.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Errance took a step forward and bent slightly at the waist towards him. “Listen, human, I might be a plaything for demons, but I will not be toyed with by mere mortal scraps.” He straightened and glared down at him. “Now get up and lead us on. I, for one, am never late.”

  Slowly the man stumbled to his feet and took up the torch. He held the side of his head, blood from a broken tooth or bitten tongue sliding down his jaw, and gave Errance a wide berth as he slunk forward. He motioned them on, the torch’s flames fluttering.

  Errance turned to the two children.

  Tellie and Kelm gasped and backed away, their eyes as round as saucers. Who was in charge of whom here? This elf, beaten and bound, had proven the master of the cringing guard.

  The prince looked the two up and down, his face shadowed with the departing light of the torch. “Keep close,” he said, at last. “And keep quiet.”

  He turned and walked forward into the devouring darkness.

  With scarcely a glance, the Voice had turned the warden’s small study into a wider hall of dark glass and destroyed the warden’s old desk and chair in a spiral of fire. Whether or not Yador recognized that sign of future reckoning could not be said. It could be certain that the mortal was a pale shadow of his former self, cringing at the side of the Voice’s great throne.

  The Voice drummed his fingers impatiently atop the chair arm. Errance would come in time, guard or no guard. He would have no choice, and the manner of his arrival would answer many things.

  At long last the door on the left side of the room—the very one that led to the torture chambers minutes before—opened and the guard stepped through. The Voice looked past him in an attempt to see his Prisoner, but his gleaming eyes caught sight of the blood upon the man’s mouth.

  “Oh,” he said, amused. “Did you trip and fall down the stairs?”

  The man’s face wrinkled in confusion. “The Prisoner hit me,” he blurted, his eyes widening in fear

  “Of course he did,” the Voice said, teeth baring in a hungry grin. “Now step aside, idiot, and let him in.”

  Tellie had begun to fear that the stairs would never end. Now that they’d reached the top, she wished the steps would rise on forever rather than meet whatever waited for them. But when Errance stepped through the door, she followed. Some part of her recognized the room as the same she had stood in hours before. But it was not the same. The floors and walls cast back reflections twisted and cut into horrific images, and beyond that glass writhed visions darker still, threatening to shatter through.

  Trembling, she tore her gaze from the walls and floors and focused on the flower print of her dress. But even the pretty little flowers seemed to take different shapes that concealed leering faces. A suffocating terror rose in her throat, choking away the breath to scream.

  Then she saw Errance.

  Like a banner in a battlefield, like a pillar upholding a roof, he stood proud and defiant. He did not deign to look at anything in the room, but his mere stance defied it all. No matter how wasted or broken, he stood straight, and for a moment, that was all that mattered.

  Tellie’s shaking stilled. So the Voice did not hold sway over everything here. The knowledge swelled inside her like fresh air, and though she still hunkered in the shadows with Kelm, her mind rang clear. Kelm’s hand squeezed her own, and she knew he’d recovered too. She risked a glance
at the Voice, fearing that if he turned his smile towards her, all gained ground would wash out from under her feet.

  She needn’t have worried.

  The Voice had eyes only for his Prisoner. He leaned back into his throne, hand resting under his smiling mouth and leg crossed over knee like a dandy king. For several moments he remained exactly like that. Staring. Smiling.

  And then he rose. The very movement might have sent armies into retreat, but the prisoner prince did not flinch even as his captor walked to within inches of him.

  “Always, always,” the Voice said, “you surprise me. I admit, I had hoped you’d recovered since the last few times we met, but this….” He took a step back, waving an appraising arm, and chuckled deep in his throat. “You’ve outdone yourself really. It seems each time you are torn down, you rise greater than before. I can only attribute it to your celestial light. Such a marvel it is to sustain and strengthen you.”

  He swung away and spread out his arms as if he addressed a great audience, though no one stood in front of him save the cringing warden in the corner. “My Darkness, is he not magnificent? Is he not the brightest star in this Lower World?” He wheeled back, cloak wafting like wings. “All hail the new king of Aselvia!”

  Dead silence followed his declaration.

  For a moment, Tellie did not even understand the significance of it.

  Until Errance, so still and so strong, suddenly swayed like a tree in a storm. The pillar shuddered as if struck at the foundation. The banner torn from its place. And she watched as he started to keel and fall.

  He’s fainting. Someone should catch him. Not me. I’m not strong enough. The thought vaguely flitted into her mind, but before she could call out any appeal, The Voice stepped forward, hand outstretched.

  Errance recoiled and stumbled back a few steps. Then he straightened and stood tall again, and his face became more like stone than ever.

  “What? No questions? No tears?” The Voice shook his head, eyes wide. “My, you are heartless. Don’t even want to know the details of your father’s death. Afraid I’ll tell a lie? You believed me quick enough just now. Very well, we’ll ask the witness. No one could doubt the innocence of her face!”