Anathema
Book 1 of the Trivallyn Saga
By Peyton Reynolds
Copyright 2011 Peyton Reynolds
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
The haze of the border-mist dissipated slowly around him as he moved forward and Celdin the minstrel breathed a deep sigh of relief as the beautiful, but plague-ridden, lands of Gaal were left behind him. With the weariness he’d been fighting for days finally beginning to take hold, he paused in his step to give a long, much-anticipated look to his homelands, the wet and lush country of Dargis.
Not surprisingly, he’d entered into an area heavily forested. Massive, towering trees, mainly cedar and cypress, surrounded him after only a few steps from the border-mist, their green branches forming a high, leafy ceiling far above. The air was cool but humid, and heavy with the clean scents of the vegetation abounding here. It was raining, of course, and despite the shelter of the trees Celdin was soaked clear through to his skin within moments. It had been nearly a year now since the rains had ceased for more than mere hours at a time in Dargis, or so he had heard, but he moved through the wetness gratefully as his small brown eyes scanned the undergrowth for signs of a path.
As was the typical wayward life of a minstrel, he’d been in the western country of Gaal for the past several months, in the country of Morvay before that, and word everywhere now cautioned any who traveled outside their homelands to beware. Unfortunately, Celdin knew first-hand that these rapidly spreading warnings were not mere tales. He had lost his traveling companions, a juggler and a word-weaver, only days ago to a rogue band looking for coin and food, and had barely managed to escape with his own life. The attack finally convinced him that he had little choice but to return home if he wished to continue breathing, despite his lack of professional success among his fellow Dargasians. When it came to the realm of entertainment, foreigners always proved the most interesting to behold.
He was familiar with many of the woods in Dargis, particularly those here in the southwest corner of the country for he’d spent much of his youth in these areas, so he had little trouble promptly locating a small, thin walking path that led the way through the trees and bushes. The path quickly proved nothing more than a strip of deep mud, his boots sinking in nearly up to the ankles with each step. Undisturbed, Celdin kept on, continuing to take deep breaths of relief at finding himself upon his home soil once again. He’d nearly come into contact with the plague in Gaal several times, and wholeheartedly felt that he’d used up all of his luck just making it back to Dargis alive and relatively unscathed.
In a haze of fatigue he pushed on beneath the ceaseless rains for what seemed hours, finally realizing that, if memory served, reaching a town before nightfall would be unlikely. He began casting an eye about for a place to spend the night, plodding onward as the cloud-filled sky above slowly began to darken into twilight.
At last he spotted a cave only a few paces off the path, and quickly discerned that it would provide adequate shelter so long as it was not home to a bear or similarly unpleasant creature. He was forced to bend his head and shoulders to enter, and he sniffed the air while doing so. No animal scent greeted his nostrils, nor could he see any signs of past meals or spoor upon the dark sand that made up the cave’s floor. Satisfied, Celdin settled into the dry warmth.
Knowing he was as likely to grow a third arm as he was to find any dry timber, he relinquished fond thoughts of a fire and dug through his pack for some hard cheese. Like everything else, it proved wet, but was adequate enough sustenance to keep his hunger pains from growing too severe. Finishing his meager meal, he curled up in the back of the cave beneath his sodden cloak and closed his eyes. Traveling the past several days with very little rest, the deep comfort he felt at arriving home gave his exhaustion the free rein it needed to draw him quickly into slumber.
Dig.
The minstrel’s eyes reopened suddenly, and he sat up and looked searchingly about the cave in the near-absolute darkness. Empty. Frowning slightly, and suspecting a simple trick of the winds, he lay back down and again closed his eyes.
Dig.
Springing up into a rigid sitting position, he again searched the darkness around him, fearing that the solitude of recent days mingled with the grief over his lost friends was perhaps driving him mad. But again, the cave appeared empty but for himself and his few belongings. Exhaustion winning out over unease, he was readying himself to lie down a third time when the voice spoke again, a resounding command that seemed to speak within his very mind.
Dig, Celdin.
He had only a brief moment of paralyzing fear before being overcome by a sudden daze. Turning his gaze to the floor of the cave, the small man plunged his hands into the damp, cool sand and began pulling away at the topmost layers precisely where he’d lain his head to rest. In a very detached manner he wondered at his own actions.
The cave was silent, both inside and outside the minstrel’s mind, as he continued to dig, until finally he sat back on his heels to take a rest, having no idea how much time may have passed since he’d begun. The hole he’d dug before him was now several feet both deep and wide, but he’d pulled nothing but sand and more sand from its depths. His fingers, he noted interestedly, were swollen and bloody from his efforts.
Dig.
He jumped, and felt himself begin to tremble. Nearly in a hysterical frenzy now, Celdin thrust his hands back into the hole he’d created and continued to tear away at the sand. Only moments later, he felt his fingers strike something. He increased his pace even more, then stopped and squinted down in wonder at what he’d unearthed. The darkness of the cave had now been pierced.
Emitting a faint, shimmering green glow was a shard of what appeared to be crystal, nearly as long as his forearm. Its radiance pulsated, strengthening and growing brighter with his every breath. Transfixed, he stared at his discovery, his mind strangely devoid of thought, before finally reaching a hand down to grasp it.
He cried out and dropped the shard quickly to cover his eyes as a great flash of blinding light exploded at his touch. He paused, listening to the absolute silence as he waited for his sight to return, his mind suddenly and abruptly released from the odd daze which had gripped it. Finally, his eyes cleared. Blinking furiously, he stumbled back on his heels in shock.
A few paces before Celdin stood a tall man, naked and shivering, his scraggly, tangled black hair hanging down into his face. In his hand he clutched the gleaming green shard, its light now an even beacon in the darkness.
The minstrel shot to his feet, barely noticing as his head bounced off the roof of the cave as he took a staggering step back. He watched as the man made a slight, unsteady move forward. Celdin tried to speak, but both his mind and body now felt strangely numb, and he managed only an unintelligible murmur.
The stranger looked up slowly at the sound, his hair falling away from his face to reveal glittering green eyes, eyes that stared at Celdin in heavy silence.
The royal city of Vasos appeared ahead upon its hilltop in the gray sky like a welcoming embrace to the band of forty men moving through the light drizzle toward it. At their head rode Prince Kaymin Numont, heir to the city and commander of the small company returning from the neighboring country of Corrado. Spotting their approach, the city watchmen sounded the bugle and hastened to open the massive stone gateway, allowing the prince to lead his men into the royal city without pause. Although sodden and weary from the journey, Kaymin kept his horse at a steady gait and pushed on toward the castle, knowing his father was likely waiting anxiously for word of both his safe return and the report he’d give concerning what had occurred in the desert country to the east.
The passers-by upon the cobbled city streets hastily cleared the way to make passage for the men, and it took only minutes for the band to enter into the castle grounds. Giving the soldiers leave to adjourn to their barracks, Kaymin halted his mount in the center of the courtyard, tossed his reins to the stable hand who had rushed out to meet him, and dismounted. Turning, he was unsurprised to see a tall, thin young man adorned in long white robes observing him silently while standing midway down the bridge which led into the castle.
“Good day, Jian,” the prince called, wiping the rain from his eyes and nodding to the wizard as he started forward to meet him.
“It is good to see that fate has kept you well, my prince,” Jian returned evenly. “Welcome home.”
Kaymin forced a bland smile. He was entirely aware that his royal wizard was in fact furious with him, and no wonder, for Kaymin had ridden off on the mission without him. Come to think of it, he didn’t think his father was going to be very pleased with him regarding the matter either.
“Thank you,” he finally replied, hoping to sidestep around the issue for as long as possible. “I trust my parents are inside?”
They crossed the drawbridge together and entered into the cool, stone walls of the castle as Jian replied. “They are praying in Terek’s Chapel,” the wizard informed his prince, seeming to glide smoothly along the floor beside him.
Kaymin held back a sigh of frustration and continued on silently, the only sounds to be heard the heels of his boots as they clicked across the polished floors. Once they’d descended down into the underbelly of the castle, the prince pulled open the heavy wooden doors that led into the chapel and stepped inside, Jian trailing noiselessly along behind him.
The small house of worship was lit by hundreds of gleaming candles, giving a heavy, musky scent to the air which was nearly stifling. Kaymin walked up the aisle between the many glossed wooden benches to the front of the chapel, where his parents sat alone, silent and in prayer. Stopping, he whispered a few words of homage to his lost God, Terek, before sliding onto the bench next to his mother.
Her large brown eyes, so like his own, opened slowly as she turned to him. “Kaymin, you have returned!” she exclaimed, a smile lighting her features.
The prince noted the strained look that remained about her eyes and nodded toward the altar. “I can see by your face that the silence has not been broken.” Although truly, did she still expect it to be so, after so long?
Queen Sikara Numont’s smile faded slowly and she gazed down at her hands. “It is only a matter of time. We must continue to hold onto our faith.”
Kaymin watched her for a moment as she seemed to shrink and be swallowed into her modest gown of blue silk. Nearly twenty years of silence from not only their own God, but from the other five who were worshipped in other parts of the world, was enough to test anyone’s faith. Indeed, it sometimes seemed as though the members of the royal house were nearly the only people left throughout all of Dargis who still believed their God would someday return to them. Although admittedly, some members of the house believed in this much more strongly than others.
“Yes, of course you are right, mother,” the prince finally replied, a perfunctory response. Never would he forsake his silent God, but factoring in recent events, he had grown extremely doubtful that Terek any longer had an ear tuned to the plights of His people.
King Gwilym Numont stood suddenly, looking past his wife. “Welcome home son. I trust you were met with success in your travels?”
Kaymin rose to face him and began backing into the aisle where his wizard waited. “Yes, father. We were able to track and reclaim the supplies that were stolen from our borders by the Corrado soldiers.”
“Any losses?” the king questioned, moving past his wife and into the aisle to join his son. The lines in his face appeared harsher in the shadowy light of the candles, and his expression was grim.
Kaymin paused, knowing full well where his next statement was going to lead them. “In the interest of self-preservation, we were forced to kill several of King Rivenor’s men.”
King Numont pursed his lips together in a frown. “So, blood has finally been shed. I fear where this will lead.”
Kaymin felt his temper rising. “Yes, blood was shed, but not frivolously or without necessity. This was hardly the first occurrence of our supplies being pillaged, and it was long past time we sent a clear message to King Rivenor that we will not stand by and continue to let it happen!”
“Indeed, son. But there is much to consider, such as why these supplies are being taken in the first place. Zane Rivenor is a young king, but in the three years since his crowning, he has never before shown us the slightest amount of hostility, and has complied with all the import and export laws that his father and I devised during our shared years of reign.”
“It would appear that he now believes himself to be above those laws,” Kaymin retorted angrily, “for I doubt that he can speak any justifiable cause to excuse his violations.”
“If only Terek would send to us a dream,” the queen interjected suddenly. She raised her head to look at them, her brown curls falling about her shoulders to frame her face.
King Numont’s features softened as he turned to her. “My heart, I’ve no doubt that He will provide to us His divine guidance when He deems we require it. But until then, we will simply have to do what we believe to be right.”
The queen nodded slightly and turned back to face the altar, her eyes closing as she resumed her praying.
Dreams, Kaymin knew, were visions sent to mortals from their God or Goddess, the deity’s way of communicating with His or Her followers. Kaymin himself had been but a child of eight when the Gods had suddenly gone silent, an event that had occurred directly upon the heels of the near-destruction of the country Pellarin, the lands belonging to the Goddess Adera. Prince Numont had never before experienced a dream, and neither had any other soul in the world these past twenty years.
The king’s worried gaze stayed trained upon his wife for another moment before he took a few steps up the aisle and gestured for Kaymin and Jian to follow. “I fear we are not the only ones facing these unfortunate difficulties,” he went on in a low tone. “Reports have been coming in daily, mostly speaking of the countries Morvay and Wherry. They themselves appear to be on the brink of war.”
Jian shifted but remained silent for a long moment. As a wizard of the White Order, his homeland was the country of Wherry, its natives worshippers of Gauvin, the God of Good. Since being sent to Dargis many years ago, Kaymin knew that his wizard kept in contact with several of the other men in his order and had recently learned from them that his country of origin, though permanently held in a winter clime, was currently being overthrown by violent and damaging ice storms, storms that barraged the lands almost on a daily basis. The wizard cleared his throat and relayed this information to the king now.
“Yes, Jian, I have heard such tales myself. Add that to the floods we are experiencing here in Dargis, the earthquakes in Morvay, the rumors of plague in Gaal.” The king shook his head.
“And not a whisper from any of the six Gods?” Kaymin queried, frustrated.
“No. They are as silent now as they have been for this past score.” King Numont paused and glanced back at his wife. “I will escort your mother to her rooms now. She has been down here praying since dawn, and I fear she needs her rest. We will speak of this again later, Kaymin. Besides,” he continued with a tired grin, “I am sure you are most anxious to reunite with Avilla.” With a nod, he moved off to collect the queen, but then suddenly halted and turned back.
“Oh, and by the way, son,” he said pointedly, his tone now not unlike the one he used to pass a harsh sentence, “the next time you decide that you are above requiring the services of your royal wizard, I will be extremely tempted to see to it that you do not leave this castle again for a very long time.”
Kaymin and Jian left the chapel silently, the wizard following as the prince made his way up several staircases to his suite of rooms. Kaymin felt his cheeks flaming the entire way. It wasn’t so much that he’d wanted to escape Jian’s presence, for the respect and loyalty he felt for his wizard was in truth near to immeasurable; but Jian’s protectiveness would have limited his involvement in what had happened, and Kaymin was growing tired of being under constant and restricted guard. He suspected that Jian realized this, and that it was the only reason the wizard wasn’t attempting to further his guilt.
“Jian, do you think that the mass disappearance of the Gods is connected to what is happening in the world? The storms and earthquakes?” he asked as they rounded about a corridor.
The wizard nodded. “It would seem so, my prince, for who but they have the power to control such things?”
“But if so, then why now? They’ve been gone—silent—for years.”
“These problems have not developed overnight,” the wizard said. “However, if they continue, I suspect they will soon begin to destroy many of our resources, and if we are at war with each other as this happens, we will be unable to trade for our basic needs of survival. If these disasters continue to escalate, they may very well eventually destroy us all.”
Kaymin turned to him with a dry look as they entered into his sitting room. “You have such a delicate way of shoving a sword through the heart of the matter,” he commented.
Jian settled himself into a chair by the fireplace. “The time for denial and ignorance is past, my prince. We must open our eyes, not only to observe the problems of Dargis, but of the world. There are five other countries struggling just as we are, and all are facing troubles potentially just as tragic.”
Kaymin removed his traveling cloak and the harness that held his sword in place upon his back before he threw himself down onto a soft velvet couch. “I don’t believe we have much choice but to concentrate on only our own problems for the time being. Due to the heavy rains, we’ve been increasingly losing crops, meaning that we not only have less to feed our people, but also less to sell and trade. Plus let’s not forget the thievery of King Rivenor.” He paused. “I find it difficult to justify focusing beyond these issues right now. We have to help ourselves, somehow, before we can consider the rest of the world.”
“Very well,” Jian nodded, his eyes narrowed.
Noting the implied disapproval, Kaymin frowned as a lock of damp blond hair fell over his forehead. “Jian, I realize that as my wizard your wisdom obviously exceeds my own, but tell me, if you can, how we could even attempt to confront the problems that are threatening the world as a whole?”
“That is what the five remaining monarchies should be discussing together,” the wizard replied shortly.
Kaymin sighed. “I see your point, truly I do. But such decisions are out of our hands, and if my father chooses to focus only upon the threats directly being made upon Dargis, than I will stand behind him unquestionably.”
The wizard paused briefly, and then stood. “And I you,” he said, moving to the door and nodding slightly before leaving the room. Kaymin sat for a moment in silent contemplation before he rose and summoned a servant to prepare his bath. A short while later, he rode out of the castle grounds feeling clean and refreshed.
The drizzle had by now grown into a heavy downpour, and as the prince quickly guided his horse along the cobbled city streets, he fought to recall the last time that rain had not fallen in Dargis. Months, it seemed, perhaps a year. The country’s climate had always been wet, but if the rain didn’t break soon, the only indigenous crop they would have left to feed their people with would be mushrooms. Their beef and mutton outfits were still strong, but the rains had drowned the potato and wheat crops, foods that had always gained them a large exporting revenue. Thankfully, the Dargasians continued to trade plenty of wood, mainly ash and cypress, to the other countries, and in return gained various grains and vegetables that they could no longer grow themselves. The amount of local crops that had been destroyed by the unrelenting rains was incalculable.
As he continued on, Kaymin observed that the once prosperous, bustling streets had become lethargic and subdued. The merchants packing up for the end of the day still held most of their wares, whether they be food items or otherwise, and all seemed to wear a dejected look. Everyone was being affected by the inclement weather and the once-cheerful city had grown depressed and infirm. Knowing he could do nothing to help the situation, the prince fought at the sudden feeling of helplessness that gripped him.
Finally Kaymin stopped and tethered his horse before a large stone house only a few streets over from the city’s main square. Wiping away the wetness that rolled down over his forehead, he skirted around the side of the building and began pulling himself up the slippery trellis. Pausing at the top, he looked through the rain-pelted window and smiled. Raising a hand, he rapped loudly upon the glass.
The woman within turned, startled, before stepping across her bedroom floor and throwing open the window. “You realize you’re free to use the front door, my love. We are betrothed now,” she said, trying to keep her look stern as she stepped back and watched him climb into the room.
“I like to surprise you,” he replied with a grin before turning and kissing her deeply.
The smile finally won out over her generous red lips as she looked up into his eyes. “I’m relieved that you have returned safely.”
“I will always come back to you, Avilla,” he replied, embracing her and running his fingers over her long, waist-length blond hair.
She paused, enjoying the moment, before responding. “Were you able to recover the stolen supplies?”
“Yes, although not without bloodshed. My father fears the consequences of this.”
She pulled back and looked at him sharply. “Are you speaking of war?”
“We don’t know. We will do whatever we can to prevent it from coming to that, of course. No one, except perhaps King Rivenor, wants to go to battle.”
She took a step back, her gaze on the floor as she seemed to think, and hopefully not about the growing puddle he abruptly realized he was leaving on the carpet. “There have been rumors in the city,” she began.
“Of what, my love?”
“Merchants from the north have spoken of a proposed treaty between Morvay and Corrado. It would appear as though they are planning to link their strengths.”
Kaymin took this in silently. His father had not mentioned this latest rumor, therefore making it doubtful that the king had yet heard it himself. This, in turn, also made it unlikely that there was any truth behind it. He said as much to Avilla, but felt his stomach give a slow turn of unease just the same.
She nodded, but continued to look worried. “I fear there is more. The people are worried about the food supply, and I predict it won’t be long before there is an uprising in thievery. I think it would be wise that something be done about this sooner rather than later.” She looked at him clearly. “I fear a panic may overtake the city. Already I’ve heard some foreswearing Terek for abandoning us in our time of need.”
“Nothing can be done about that until He decides to speak,” Kaymin said.
Avilla’s green eyes flashed at him. “It has been twenty years, and I can understand how one could lose faith in the hope of His return, but to utterly foreswear Him is something else entirely. He created us. What they are doing is a sacrilege.”
The prince stared at her for a moment. “You’re right,” he finally said. Avilla herself had been but a babe when the Gods had gone silent, but her own belief had never waned; although in a thoroughly practical sense, unlike that of Kaymin’s mother.
Kaymin caught another look in her eye, and knowing that she would not, he addressed it without pause. “I know that these last few months have been chaotic with all that’s been happening, and the future seems unclear. But we will marry, and soon.”
She held his gaze and nodded slowly.
He knew she was impatient for the commencement of their nuptials, but also that she would never say so to him, realizing that far too many problems were currently at hand and all of a greater importance than their wedding. It was but one of the numerous reasons that made him so sure she would make an excellent queen. He watched her for another moment, her beautiful face looking preoccupied with her thoughts as her green eyes again gazed fixedly down at the floor. He’d loved that face since the first moment he’d seen it, and was beyond certain that he always would.
“I love you,” he said.
She looked up and smiled softly, murmuring her reply into his ear while falling into his embrace. Finally she pulled back. “Now go. I know you are anxious to go to your father with all that I’ve told you.”
He was, but even so, some time passed before he actually swung himself back onto the windowsill. “Come to the castle for mid-meal tomorrow? My parents would love to see you.”
“Of course,” she nodded.
Kaymin smiled and then carefully climbed back down the slippery trellis. The rain was coming down even harder now, and a low roll of thunder sounded out from the east. It had grown dark while he’d been inside, and he used the lighted city lamps to see as he untied his horse's slick, leather reins before mounting and starting back toward the castle.
The city was nearly deserted but for the guards and the beggars, who littered the streets and the shadowy alleyways respectively. He rode slowly, reflecting on the things Avilla had told him regarding the state of the local populace. A panic had to be avoided at all costs, certainly, but if the rain continued to downpour as it was, they would be hard-pressed to actually convince anyone that a solution was forthcoming.
Suddenly Kaymin pulled back hard on the reins, causing his horse to rear slightly as a man stepped unexpectedly into his path. The man was tall and thin, shrouded in a long black cloak complete with a deep cowl that held his face in shadow. He held his ground a few paces before Kaymin’s horse, the shadow of his face seeming to stare up at the prince.
Kaymin’s hand moved to his belt knife even as his face donned a light expression. “You should be more wary of your steps, good sir,” he said. “I fear I nearly ran you down.”
The man’s head rose slightly and the glint of his eyes shone through the darkness. “Prince Numont,” he breathed, his voice low and defined.
Kaymin’s grip on his knife tightened, but he did not move. “Yes, it is I,” he said. He had never before held any fear at riding the streets of the royal city alone, but perhaps the times were calling for an adjustment to his way of thinking. The thought angered him.
The strange man stepped closer. “It is of great importance that we speak immediately. I have information that I must share with you.”
Kaymin’s eyes narrowed. “Information concerning what? Corrado?”
“No.”
“If I may have the pleasure of your name, stranger?”
“Of course. But first, let us seek shelter so that we can speak in both comfort and warmth.”
Kaymin sighed with impatience. “I have no time for silly intrigues,” he said, preparing to move his horse around the man.
“Wait.” The stranger turned, flashes of his white face showing from within the heavy cowl of his cloak. “I assure you, this is no foolery. If you should choose not to hear my words now, you will only risk putting your people in even greater danger.”
The dramatic statement caused the prince to suspect that this mysterious stranger just might be Wherrite in nature, but the royal blood flowing through his veins forced him to hear the words with some semblance of seriousness, and they therefore gave him pause. Despite the oddity of the situation, he couldn’t quite force himself to blatantly ignore the possibility of this man’s claim holding some vague possibility of truth.
The stranger stood silently, waiting patiently for the prince to come to a decision.
Kaymin’s deep brown eyes swept the street quickly before he pointed to a nearby alehouse, The Winged Donkey. “There,” he said. He may not have been the most intelligent man to ever walk the streets of Vasos, but he certainly wasn’t foolish enough to go off alone to a secluded area with this peculiar fellow.
The stranger nodded back at him once, and then began stepping lightly toward the alehouse.
Still wary, Kaymin dismounted and reluctantly followed the stranger across the puddle-riddled street. Stopping before The Winged Donkey, he tethered his horse and gave a final shake of his head for giving in to this nonsense. His hand stayed close to his belt knife as he stepped after the man.
The inside of the large tavern was dingy, lit by a few overhanging oil lamps and a fire in the hearth that was in desperate need of being stoked. The air was stale and unmoving about the dozen or so men who sat inside, and although all were eating or drinking together in small groups, only a low murmur of voices could be heard. It was an establishment Kaymin had patronized more than once before, but the once merry tavern, he observed, was now solemn and suspicious, yet another result of the circumstances that all Dargasians currently faced.
Swallowing down another flash of anger, the prince followed the stranger across the wooden floor, their boots sounding loudly in the quiet. He nodded once at the barkeep, a man who recognized him instantly, and then motioned for two mugs of ale to be brought over.
The stranger settled himself down at a table placed in a shadowy corner after shaking droplets of water from his cloak, and, once settled, reached up to withdraw his hood. His face, extremely pale and sharply defined, was one that would make any woman turn and stare, and his black hair, curling in the wetness of the rain, touched gently down upon his shoulders as if to softly caress them. Most dramatic, however, were the man’s eyes. A deep, penetrating green, they appeared as sharp and clear as emeralds.
With an impatient look, Kaymin sat down across from him and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
The stranger ignored him as he brushed his longish hair aside with his fingertips, sitting back as the barkeep deposited two large tankards before them. When they were again alone, he finally turned his gaze onto the prince.
“Now tell me your name,” Kaymin commanded. “As I spoke outside, I have no time for nonsense.”
“More raiding and murdering to be planned?” the man returned disapprovingly.
Kaymin bit down on his fury. “Your name or I’m leaving,” he snapped, making a move to rise even while wondering how this man had so quickly learned of his recent activities in the desert country.
Now the stranger looked amused. “My apologies, your highness, if I am keeping you from more important matters. It is my hope, however, that after speaking with me you will realize that there are no matters more important than what I am about to tell you.” He paused only slightly, and then bluntly continued. “I regret to inform you that you have been directing all of your energies into precisely the wrong places.”
“All right,” Kaymin said, standing up. “I’ve heard enough of this obscure blather. I think you forget who it is you are speaking to.” He took only a single step before he was stopped short by the man’s voice.
“Sit down.”
The tone sent a shiver down Kaymin’s spine, and he hesitated before turning around. The stranger’s piercing eyes were focused on him unblinkingly, and his expression made it clear that he was not accustomed to being disobeyed.
Slowly, Kaymin moved to slide back into his seat, feeling suddenly light-headed and confused. His nerves jangled when he made eye contact with the man. “Who are you?” he demanded quietly. “A wizard?”
The stranger smiled dryly. “I am not a wizard.”
“An heir?” he tried again. The man’s age was hard to pinpoint, but if the prince had to guess he’d place him to be in his mid-twenties or so, younger than Kaymin himself. He was quite sure that the countries of Wherry and perhaps Morvay had princes around this man’s age, and that the stranger simply had to be one or the other; nothing else could account for his tone and demeanor. Strangely though, his speech did not carry the accent of either of those two countries. It did, in fact, sound strictly Dargasian.
“I am not an heir,” the man said, sitting back and causing his chair to creak slightly.
Kaymin was out of guesses, so he therefore sat silently, feeling as if he waited upon the front lines of an army about to charge.
The man blinked once, not looking away. “My name is Terek. I am your God.”
Kaymin simply stared for a long moment before hissing his reply. “You’re mad,” he spat.
The man looked at him.
Despite the obvious insanity of the claim, Kaymin’s heart began to pound, and his head felt more muddled than ever. “The God Terek deserted us nearly twenty years ago,” he managed to say.
The man sat forward quickly, shadows dancing across his suddenly eerie-looking face. “Not deserted,” he corrected intently. “Kept from.”
Kaymin’s belt knife was suddenly in his hand, the blade a gleam in the dull surroundings. “Then this should put no fear in your heart,” he said.
The man moved his glittering green eyes to look down at the blade, then back up to the prince.
Kaymin watched him closely, his own gaze sharp. “You look rather uncertain for an immortal being,” he observed darkly, bringing the knife a few inches closer to his companion.
The stranger shrugged. “It is unclear to me at this time what the outcome of such an action would be. But if your faith has waned so much, then strike me now, if that is your heart’s wish.”
Kaymin stared shrewdly at him for another long moment before bringing his arm down. He didn’t believe that this man could possibly be his lost God, of course, but nor could he bring himself to actually strike out at him either.
“All right,” he finally said, his eyes small and his tone making it clear that he was determined to get to the bottom of this nonsense. “Let’s assume, for now, that I take your words as truth. Why are you here? And where have you been all these years?”
Again the man smiled that strange, eerie smile. “I know that you do not yet believe, but I will answer your questions.” He folded his arms before him on the table. “I am here because you are my Chosen.”
Kaymin raised an eyebrow. “Chosen for what?”
“Patience,” the man frowned. “I will come to that in time.”
“Fine. Then answer my second question,” Kaymin countered. “Why did the Gods abandon us?”
“We did not abandon you,” the man explained. “As I said before, we were kept from you.” Seeing the prince’s exasperated look, he sighed. “I will explain. How learned are you in the world’s history?”
Kaymin shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to give this possible madman anything else to further indulge his fantasies. He then noted with sudden alarm that the odd feeling in his head had now spread into his chest and arms, causing a strange tingling feeling.
“Very well,” the stranger nodded. “Then I will start at the beginning.
“This world, Trivallyn, was created by the God Kauric and the Goddess Lavallee, my parents. Early on in its creation, before even the mortals, they decided that they would give Trivallyn as a gift to their six children, and thus divided the world into six very diverse countries.”
Kaymin nodded impatiently. Any five-year-old knew as much.
“When they presented this world to us,” the stranger continued, “they stressed the importance of balance, that this was the most important factor in any successful world. The six of us therefore decided to divide ourselves to rule Good, Evil and Neutrality to protect that balance.” He glanced down at his mug of ale, but did not move to touch it. “My brother Gauvin, God of Good, took the icy lands of Wherry in the northwest and chose His monarchy.”
Despite his suspicion, Kaymin found himself growing interested in what this strange man was telling him, although he sharply reminded himself to keep alert. After all, what had been revealed so far was simple history and geography.
“Adera, Goddess of Good, was drawn to the country almost completely surrounded by the oceans, which She named Pellarin. My sister Charette, my co-ruler in Neutrality, took the desert lands in the east, naming Her country Corrado.”
Kaymin scowled at the mention of King Rivenor’s lands. “Desert rats,” he muttered.
The stranger raised a dark eyebrow of obvious disapproval before continuing. “My third sister, Yanoka, Goddess of Evil, took up the stony lands in the north, known as Morvay, and my brother Diamont, God of Evil, took the southwestern lands, the country Gaal.”
Kaymin nodded. “Leaving you—err, Terek, as the ruler of Dargis,” he added quickly.
The man ignored Kaymin’s slip. “Not the ruler,” he corrected. “I appointed my own monarchy for that, Prince Numont.”
Kaymin winced slightly. The man’s tone went beyond authoritative, and the prince still felt incredibly uneasy in his presence, which should not have been surprising as he was most likely in the company of one who was completely insane. “Go on,” he finally said.
The stranger shot him a dry look at the command, but continued. “After each God and Goddess chose a monarchy for His or Her country, the six kingdoms ruled Trivallyn with relative ease. You learned to trade resources amongst yourselves, and with minor interference from us, the world functioned in a rhythm that kept it at peace for nearly a millennium.”
Again, Kaymin’s mouth seemed to work of its own accord. “Until you deserted us with not even a word of warning,” he shot out. Now what in the name of all the heavens was wrong with him? His head seemed to be growing more and more muddled.
The dark-haired man smiled slightly.
“That is, if you are who you claim,” Kaymin remonstrated quickly, feeling a blush creep over his face. He looked down into his untouched ale. The peculiar feeling was still spreading, affecting the rest of his body now, but it was a painless sensation, almost pleasant. And despite the oddity of the conversation, he suddenly realized that he’d never felt more relaxed.
“Of course,” the man said. “But as I have already stated, we did not, as you say, desert you.
“Although you mortals were ignorant to the fact, we very much liked to visit this world we created. Pleasures on the immortal plane are experienced . . . differently. It is nearly impossible to explain to one without perspective. In short, however, we would come to experience the world’s great beauty, its delicious foods and intoxicating scents, like that of a sweet ocean breeze. Even despite the risk.”
“The risk?” Kaymin repeated. “I fear I do not understand.”
“When we traveled to the mortal plane, here to Trivallyn, it was required that we become mortal ourselves to actually experience its pleasures. Of course, we could return to our own plane in an instant if danger threatened, so the risk was minimal, but because we were vulnerable at these times, our visits were always therefore kept secret, from our mortals, and even from each other.”
Kaymin nodded to show his understanding, but felt inward alarm starting to break through his relaxed state. He realized that he was getting swept into the story, and he fought to retain his logic.
The stranger seemed to note this, but went on. “Our parents, Kauric and Lavallee, true creators of this world, would also journey here from time to time. And it was during one of these visits that the unfortunate happened. My Mother had come to Pellarin, Adera’s lands, for She had a special love for the ocean; and there, She was struck down by a blade meant for another. It pierced Her mortal heart, and She died instantly, leaving Her no time to vanish from Trivallyn, resume Her immortal form, and thus save Herself from death.
“My Father, in a rage of grief, then hurled fire and rock down from the heavens, destroying much of Pellarin’s beautiful lands.”
Kaymin interrupted. “But it was said that Adera Herself did this, a sign of Her displeasure with Her followers.”
The stranger laughed softly. “Adera would never have done such damage to Her lands, or to Her people, for that matter. No, my Father was the one responsible, and He did not plan on stopping there. His intent was to destroy all of Trivallyn. So the six of us went to Him, begging that He not end this world we so loved, to try and explain that our Mother’s death had been but a tragic accident.”
Kaymin leaned forward, anxious for him to continue.
“After much debate, Kauric finally decided that if the mortals of this world deserved to live, they would need to prove themselves worthy. He took each of us, His six children, and bound each of our essences into a separate shard of crystal, which were then scattered and hidden within our respective lands. Once a mortal who continues to worship us locates and lays their hands upon our shard we are released, but only in a denounced form. I am not able to ascend to the immortal plane.”
“How were you freed?” Kaymin asked. He had at last completely given in to the sensations of his body, and was now left with nothing but the voice of his instincts; this man—this God—spoke the truth. There remained not a doubt in his mind.
“A lucky circumstance,” Terek answered. “The important thing now is to locate the other five shards. I can hear my siblings whispering to me, crying for freedom.”
“And once you are all released?”
“With the release of each God those of us already freed will regain more and more of our lost power. Once we are all free . . . well, that will be discussed when and if the time comes. But have no doubt of the fact that without us, this world is soon to die.”
Kaymin’s eyes narrowed. “Then these past twenty years—”
“Have been my Father’s rule. The floods, the droughts, even these petty wars you are engaged in, are all His doing; His revenge before He destroys you all. We have watched from our crystal prisons, but have been unable to intervene, left to hear the cries for help from our people. Never forget, He does not want us to succeed, to be set free. He wishes death upon you all, the curse of His broken heart.”
“But now you’re free!” Kaymin exclaimed. “Now you can help us.”
“No,” He shook his head. “I am fixed upon this mortal plane, more still than a man, but far less than a God. Little help will come until we are all free, although even then it may not be enough to save you.”
“Then go free the others!”
“I cannot. My Father’s will is that the mortals free us, thus proving their loyalty to their creators, even after all these years of silence. I can lend aid, but I fear too much interference. It would be only too easy for Him grow angry and simply kill you all.”
Kaymin’s eyes narrowed. “Then tell me what I must do.”
Terek smiled slightly. “I have been watching you from my prison for many years.”
The prince bowed his head. “My God Terek,” he said softly, “how to amend for my earlier lack of faith?”
“By finding my brothers and sisters,” Terek answered firmly. “Of all of my followers, I have Chosen you.”
“A great honor, and one which I—”
“An honor, perhaps, but it will mark you. You will leave all safety behind when you depart, and all of your intentions must melt into one, a singular devotion and belief in the words that I speak to you now.”
“That they will,” Kaymin answered determinedly and without pause.
“Very well,” Terek nodded. “We must move quickly, for every day has my Father’s influences bringing you closer to killing one another on a truly massive scale.”
“But you need only to explain to the other monarchies why things are this way. They—”
“No,” Terek interrupted. “Unfortunately, they will not believe, as you did not.”
Realizing that he still gripped his belt knife, however lazily, Kaymin quickly slipped it back into its sheath with embarrassment. “But now I believe. Surely if you only explained—”
The God cut him off with a wave. “You believe me only because you are one of mine, and more importantly because once all pretenses have been cleared away, you are able to listen when your heart speaks to you. That is but one of the many reasons why I have Chosen you.”
The prince swallowed thickly, overcome by a wave of mixed emotions. “What do you bid me to do?” he finally managed.
“You must leave immediately, at day’s first light. And you must bring your wizard. He was not sent to you by chance.”
Kaymin thought on that for a long moment. “He is Gauvin’s Chosen.”
“Yes. Trust that the wizard Jian . . . will be of immeasurable aid.”
“If Jian becoming my wizard was intentional, then the Gods do still hold some influence, even while held within their crystal prisons?”
The God looked at him, but remained silent.
Kaymin finally realized that he wasn’t going to get a response to his question, and so he went on, somewhat uncomfortably. “Where are Jian and I to journey to?”
“I bid you first to seek out the shard of my sister Yanoka. She speaks the loudest to me.”
“Then we travel to Morvay.”
“Yes.”
“And how are we to locate the shard?”
“The shard is located within a stone labyrinth constructed long ago by barbarians. It is commonly referred to as the Maze of Madness by the natives.”
Kaymin frowned. “Why such a name?”
“I am afraid that is all the help I can give you at this time, save for the fact that you will meet others along the way. Listen to your instincts to know if they belong.” The God rose and rearranged His cloak about His shoulders. “And do not tell anyone where you are going. Not your parents, not Avilla. No one. You will likely die if you do, and sooner rather than later.”
Kaymin nodded hesitantly. “But, my God, what do we do after claiming Yanoka’s shard? Where will we need to travel to next?”
Terek looked briefly amused. “Attain the shard first. I will return to guide you, if needs be. I will not lie to you, Kaymin. It is likely you may never again return home.”
The prince bowed his head in unconditioned acceptance, and when he raised it, Terek was gone.
When Gauvin, the God of Good, came with His siblings to the world, He chose for Himself the lands in the northwest, the country of Wherry. A place of icy beauty, Wherry was surrounded on all sides, save for the Maciac Ocean to the west, by towering, snow-capped mountains that held within them the year-round wintry clime.
Gauvin’s first creation in His new lands was that of the mortal animals, such as yaks, cattle, mammoths, wolves, rabbits, and fish. Then, for the God had a taste for all things magical, He created the immortal creatures, such as dragons, unicorns and griffins.
Next He fashioned into creation His mortal men and women, and appointed a human by the name of Juthas Mithwell to head His monarchy. Also, a lucky few men were born with the gift of magic, and to them was given the city of Crysmir, situated deep in the country’s northeastern mountain ranges. The wizards and their familiars proved a highly respected but secretive lot, and only those known to carry the magical touch had ever been permitted to enter into Crysmir’s boundaries, save for the king and his successors.
It was this first king, Juthas Mithwell, who appointed himself a royal wizard, and by doing so he began a custom that was to be followed by not only the successive kings of Wherry, but also by the rulers of the other five countries as well. Since only two Gods, Gauvin and His brother Diamont, chose to create these magical persons, it then became custom for the wizards and sorceresses from Wherry and Gaal to be sent to the other four countries to assist them with their royal needs. Quickly, this became the highest honor that a magic-user could hope to achieve, for only the most talented, learned and disciplined in their craft were sent to take up the respected duty of royal wizard or sorceress.
Since the silence of the Gods had begun, however, not a soul in either of the lands of Wherry or Gaal had been born with the magical gift. Jian, wizard of the White Order, had in fact been one of the last to have been born with the talent, and, at the age of twenty-five, he knew of only two wizards and three sorceresses younger than himself.
It was this Jian was pondering idly as he poured himself a mug of steaming tea and sat down at the desk in his private apartment within the castle of House Numont. According to his contacts back in Crysmir, primarily his old classmate and friend Mykola, the calculated number of wizards left upon all of Trivallyn was eighty-two, by far the lowest it had ever been since their creation. Jian could only assume that the numbers in Gaal in regards to their sorceresses were close to the same. Another generation or two, he figured, and there would be no more wizards or sorceresses left in the entire world.
If, he mused dryly, we even survive that long. It seemed a certainty that war would soon break out, although whether it was first to be between Dargis and Corrado or Wherry and Morvay was still anyone’s guess. Pellarin, the once beautiful and peaceful country of the Goddess Adera, now reduced to less than half its size, was currently being overrun with cutthroats and pirates. An honest man would not dare set foot within its borders, for anarchy had ruled there since the day the royal line of Sumond had been thrown down by fire into the oceans below, the day the Gods had turned silent, seemingly forever.
Gaal, Diamont’s country in the southwest, was the most diverse of the lands, and since it had little need to import supplies required for survival, Queen Jeptha Pavula, so far, seemed to be the last holder of a peaceful country. But stories were beginning to circulate, and it seemed that she too was beginning to put her hand in things as the rumors regarding the mysterious plague sweeping across her lands continued.
A sudden scratching broke into Jian’s thoughts then, and the heavy stone door slid silently open at his will. His familiar, a large white and gray wolf named Ice, padded into the room and lay down at the wizard’s feet, panting lightly. Jian murmured a greeting while leaning down to scratch the animal behind its pointed ears. Ice licked his hand affectionately in return before sleepily closing his eyes.
A wizard’s or sorceress’s familiar was both their greatest strength and their greatest weakness. The animal could not only lend needed strength and energy, but could act as an eyes and ears for its magic-user as well. But the bond shared between them was a bond for life. If either the magic-user or the familiar were to die, both would expire. And so it was for this reason that the trapping or killing of any wolf, fox, or eagle in Wherry was strictly forbidden, punishable by death. To kill a wizard, especially now that they appeared to be a dying race, was one of the most horrific crimes imaginable. He’d heard that a similar law had been applied regarding the evil sorceresses of Gaal and their familiars, cats, ravens, and snakes.
Jian was about to send the door swinging shut again when the sound of frenzied steps running and slipping along the polished corridor floor came to his ears. Since Ice was not growling at the approach, Jian assumed that it was his prince who was responsible for the racket, the only person in the entire palace that the wolf tolerated besides his master. The wizard therefore left the door open and turned his face to the opening with an expectant look.
Moments later, Kaymin came to a skidding halt in the doorway. He looked surprised to find the door open, a rare occurrence, for the wizard highly valued his privacy. He peered in at Jian curiously.
The wizard nodded knowingly and beckoned him forward. “Do come in, my prince.”
Kaymin stepped inside and quickly shut the door behind him, looking perturbed. “Jian, I hope you realize how very disturbing you are at times,” he remarked, moving forward into the room.
Jian quickly noted the flushed look on the prince’s face, the gleam in his eyes. “Is something amiss, my prince?”
Kaymin began to pace about the carpeted floor, his wet clothing dripping all about him. “I know that this is going to sound like some incredible imagining,” he began. “But I have just spoken with my God!”
Jian nodded calmly from his seat. The prince has gone mad. “I see.”
Kaymin stopped mid-stride and frowned at the wizard. “Will you please reserve judgment until I’ve explained? I’ve not lost my mind.”
“Certainly,” Jian said, getting to his feet and offering the prince his chair. “Have a seat and allow me to pour you some tea.” He hoped that Kaymin was just drunk; it would prove much easier for him to cure than insanity.
“Fine, fine,” Kaymin sighed, throwing himself down impatiently into the chair.
Jian poured the tea and handed it to his prince, attempting to get a whiff of his breath in the process. To his disappointment, he could detect the scent of neither ale nor wine. Motioning another chair over from the other side of the room, he sat across the table from Kaymin.
The prince ignored the tea and quickly began to explain his meeting with Terek.
At first, Jian was relieved to hear that Kaymin had in fact been in an alehouse, but as he continued to listen, he quickly grew alarmed at the strange tale. He stayed silent through the entire telling, although when Kaymin mentioned the fact that he was to accompany him to Morvay, and that Jian was in fact Gauvin’s Chosen, a strange, relaxing and tingling sensation began to spread quickly throughout his body. Closing his eyes, Jian gave into the feeling immediately, and moments later, any doubts he’d carried had faded.
Kaymin was paused, watching his wizard in silence as he appeared to fall into an impromptu meditation. “Jian?” he finally asked uncertainly.
The wizard’s eyes, which were the identical shade of ice blue as his familiar’s, opened and settled upon Kaymin. “I will be prepared to depart at dawn,” he said. What he didn’t say was that either his prince had not repeated his conversation with Terek verbatim, or the Neutral God had left much unsaid. The holes in Terek’s explanations were miles wide, and incredibly concerning.
Kaymin gave a strange smile, revealing both his relief and confusion over his wizard’s immediate acceptance.
“However,” Jian went on, “we will need to devise a story to tell your parents that will adequately explain our absence.”
Kaymin’s smile faded. “You are right, of course. Terek stressed that we tell no one the truth of our journey. But we cannot simply vanish.”
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