Chapter Eight:
Phantoms of the Past

 

 

 

 

Vilmos ran for what seemed hours—if not days. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a glimmer of white fangs. The next instant he smacked into the ground in pain. Xith glared at the creature perched on Vilmos’ chest, about to rake his head from his shoulders. A blue-white flame shot out from the shaman’s hand, striking the creature full force, engulfing it in flames.

 

Vilmos tossed the screeching beast off him. It slumped to the ground and did not move again. Feeling helpless, Vilmos looked worriedly to Xith, his body frozen to the ground, his mind not allowing him to move. He could only see the faces and watch. A tingling sensation surged through his arm, perhaps the letting of warm blood across cool skin.

 

“Come on Vilmos, snap to it!” yelled Xith as he dispatched another of the creatures. He called out with more words, but frantic howls snatched them from the air.

 

A creature dropped down beside Vilmos. Its eyes moved to the ground where its companion lay and it lunged. Instinctively, Vilmos threw up his shield, barely in time as the creature’s claw struck the barrier and glanced off.

 

The raising of the shield was as the turning of a switch that brought awareness to Vilmos. He searched for Xith, only to find the shaman was gone. Three creatures circled him, watching his every move, waiting for the right instant to pounce.

 

In alarm Vilmos cried out, but no answer came. He was afraid. Something might have happened to Xith, though he didn’t know what or how. He watched the beasts carefully as they came for him one by one, shivering increasingly with each successful reflection.

 

“Xith!” he shouted with all the strength of his voice.

 

No answer came.

 

“Xith, are you hurt?”

 

Again, nothing.

 

Fear built within Vilmos, if Xith was dead so was he. He couldn’t possibly survive where the shaman had failed.

 

More of the creatures came. They surrounded him. Gradually they crept forward. Their stench overwhelmed his senses—it was the putrid odor of rotting flesh. “Xith? You can’t be dead!” shouted Vilmos, “You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had! Come back! Please!”

 

As if in response, a knifelike claw broke through his magic shield, ripping into his shoulder and then his side. The pain was excruciating, filling him with anger and fear. His thoughts turned to Xith. Suddenly he could feel the anguish Xith must have felt at the end.

 

“For this you shall die!” he shouted.

 

A flame sparked from outstretched hands, striking one of the beasts dead in the chest, and in a burst of flame the creature died. Surprised at the power that surged in him, he shouted, a wicked smile touching his lips. He released the power within again. Two attackers fell.

 

He whirled around to face the last of the attackers. He didn’t know how but he detected terror in their expressions as they started to flee. “You shall not run away from me, foul creatures!” he said with a loud booming voice as flames bright and deadly sprang forth from outstretched hands. “I have arrived!”

 

The creatures’ last sounds were agonized cries of pure pain. He almost pitied them but that thought didn’t last long.

 

 

“Adrina, stop!” yelled Emel, “This is madness! Talk to me!”

 

“It’s here! I know it’s here—it has to be!” Adrina grabbed Emel before he grabbed her. “Trust me like you did once before—trust me!”

 

Emel stopped protesting and helped Adrina search. The ground was bloody, but the bodies of the fallen knights had already been taken away. The pursuit through the palace continued—near and far shouts could be heard but there were no sounds of skirmish. “What does it look like?”

 

“Round, I think—silvery. It glowed.”

 

“Glowed?”

 

“Yes, glowed! He held it in his hand. I think he was rubbing it or squeezing it. He might have been whispering something too—I’m not too sure. Everything happened so fast…”

 

Emel extinguished the torch he held and started extinguishing the other torches that now lit the area clearly. Adrina helped, shouting, “Yes, that’s it!”

 

Soon the hallway was shrouded in darkness. Emel and Adrina waited as their eyes adjusted, then began to search again.

 

Emel talked as he searched. “You never told me about a second visit from the Lady.”

 

“You never asked. You were too busy playing captain of the guard.”

 

“Too busy? Too busy? What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know we had to restructure the whole of Imtal Garrison? Three squadrons of trained soldiers are not easily replaced—and throughout it all, I and the other officers had to contend with the families of the fallen.

 

“After the first hundred or so the faces of the mourners become the same, but you can’t let them be the same or you lose what little compassion you can continue to muster. It’s not easy and it’s not that anyone ever told you it would be easy. It’s so effortless to lose yourself and there’s no one there for you as you are there for others. So yes, I was busy playing—”

 

Adrina stopped searching and put a hand on Emel’s arm. “I didn’t know. I assumed—I assumed… I missed you on the return to Imtal. It wasn’t the same. I wish I had been there for you. The attack on the elves wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to try to make everything right.”

 

“Look who’s talking. Do you know what you’ve done, stirring up the household and appointing Garette Timmer as Myrial’s protector? Swordmaster Timmer is furious and says his family is humiliated.” Emel pulled away from Adrina’s touch, his hand coming to rest on a thing most unnatural. He picked it up and wondered at the radiance of it.

 

“I don’t always think before I act. You should know that by now, Emel. Myrial does deserve to be housemistress though. She’s always been there for me as you were—even when I was lost to the world around me. I will speak with Swordmaster Timmer. You’ll see—”

 

“Is this what you saw?” cut in Emel. “Because I think it must be.”

 

Adrina took the strange glowing orb in her hand. “It is,” she said. “It is.”

 

 

As the frenzy in his mind passed, Vilmos stood silent and still. He was shocked, simply amazed at what he had wrought for many long minutes. Tears rolled down his face and his words were drowned in sobs.

 

He sank to the ground; he was alone. Xith was gone without a trace—and he had become a monster, no better than those he had slain. The force of the raw energy flowing through him seemed a drug in his mind.

 

It took quite a while, but finally he rose to his feet and wiped away his tears. The wounds in his side and shoulder ached but luckily were not too deep.

 

His thoughts returned to concerns about Xith. He thought perhaps the creatures dragged Xith’s body off to feast on. He began a search that took him well into the evening.

 

As night arrived deep and dark in the land, he set up camp in the grove. Although he wasn’t really hungry, he ate all of what little rations he had. He made a bed among the boughs of the great fallen tree.

 

He was unaware of the tiny seedling nestled within the tangles of the shattered trunk and once proud roots, nor was he aware that it was the spirit of the great tree itself that told him to start the warding fire. He only knew that the horses were gone, Xith was gone, and he was desperately alone in a place that was completely foreign to him.

 

He knew little of Under-Earth, and what little he did know alarmed him. This was the place where the land called Rill Akh Arr existed, and within its shrouded forests lived the shape-changing beasts of the night—the Wolmerrelle. He had faced the Wolmerrelle before in Vangar forest—before he had barely escaped with his life.

 

But thoughts of the Wolmerrelle weren’t as frightening as thoughts of Erravane, the leader of the Wolmerrelle. Erravane would want revenge and her revenge may not be that of death. As Xith had told him before, there were worse things than death. He believed this wholly and without question now.

 

Troubled sleep found him a short while later. The dreams playing out behind his eyes were of the past—a past that he had hoped was behind him but wasn’t.

 

 

“No word from South Province, sire,” repeated the page, fraught with fear of possible retribution.

 

“What do you mean there is no word? Did you not deliver the message to Prince Valam?” returned Andrew, his voice weak and the vigor lost from his tone. It had been a long, trying day and he still had court audiences to look forward to.

 

“I delivered the message into the hands of his highness myself, he read it, said nothing, then told me take my leave, sire, nothing else.” The messenger, who had already been visibly nervous, trembled vigorously now.

 

“He told you to leave?”

 

“Yes, sire, he did, sire,” insisted the page.

 

Andrew waved his hand to dismiss the page, but still struck with fear, the youngster didn’t move. “You’re dismissed,” hissed Chancellor Yi, “leave before His Majesty directs his displeasure.”

 

Chancellor Volnej gulped for air as King Andrew directed his gaze at him. He attempted to look away, setting his eyes on the retreating form of the frightened page, but this did no good.

 

“The report,” stated Yi, putting the king’s apparent will into words.

 

“Yes, the report,” responded Chancellor Volnej, settling uneasily into his high-backed chair.

 

Just then, Keeper Q’yer was admitted to the council hall, and momentarily Volnej was forgotten. “Keeper Q’yer, what brings you to lower council?” asked Andrew, in his inquisitive tone, a bit of vigor returning to his tone at the expectation of good tidings.

 

“It will be ready for tomorrow’s noon council, sire,” said Keeper Q’yer.

 

Andrew’s downtrodden eyes lifted slightly. “Good, very good.” The king graciously motioned for the keeper to take a seat at the table—the invitation was more a following of etiquette than anything else; Keeper Q’yer now held a seat on the upper council and whatever was said of import in the lower council was always relayed to the upper. “Will you not stay with us, Lore Keeper?”

 

“I am afraid I cannot, Your Majesty, the Council of Keepers await my arrival,” and with that, Keeper Q’yer departed the council chamber.

 

Soon afterward, Andrew turned his gaze back to Chancellor Volnej.

 

“Sire,” began Volnej, “I am afraid the news is not entirely what we had hoped for. They are savages sire, savages all.” One of the council members cleared her throat. “Sorry, I know of your place of birth, but you know the point I was attempting to make.”

 

“I know what you were implying,” she replied.

 

“Proceed, chancellor.” The voice was that of Yi. He knew how to keep the council session flowing, one of the reasons he was Andrew’s primary adviser.

 

“Grant me two more weeks, sire. I can work miracles in two weeks,” the words said, Chancellor Volnej gulped air again.

 

“So be it,” said King Andrew, “Two weeks, no more. We have faith in you, chancellor, do not make us lose it.”

 

With those words, a motion was made to dismiss the council and all agreed. As Chancellor Yi watched the council members file out of the chamber, he noticed that King Andrew had not stirred out of his great chair at the far end of the room. The king’s eyes heavy with fatigue and his face pushed into his upturned hand showed he was nearly asleep. “A word with you, sire,” called out the chancellor, “you still haven’t been sleeping have you? What of the tonic Father Jacob worked up, did it not work?”

 

Heavily, Andrew wavered his head. “It is on days like this that we need your help, old friend.” Yi’s long face lit up at the compliment. “You provide us with strength we would not otherwise have.”

 

“Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your chambers and rested. The audiences can wait.”

 

“No, chancellor, they can not,” disputed Andrew. “If we are not in touch with our people, then we do not deserve to be their king. How else would we touch our people and know their cares and worries?”

 

“That is what the councils are for,” protested Yi.

 

“Councils know nothing of people, chancellor. Never forget that—councils know nothing of people. The people are the land and the land, the people.” The sudden glow in Andrew’s eyes was matched by the deeply respectful look on the chancellor’s face.

 

“Perhaps you could only see those of the greatest import—”

 

“—and which would those be, chancellor, can you honestly make the distinction?”

 

“There is one in particular, sire,” began Yi, “but I believe most of the others could wait.”

 

“You lead intentionally, don’t you?” Andrew lifted his chin from his hand as more of the weariness eased away.

 

“Well, I had hoped to, sire.” Yi slowly approached the far end of the table where Andrew sat as he spoke. “A huntsman from High Road Garrison rode through the night to get to Imtal to have audience with you. His mount collapsed from exhaustion at the palace gates, and from what I hear he tumbled from the animal and never looked back.”

 

“Go on,” urged Andrew.

 

“It seems two of his sons were taken prisoner when a group of Border Bandits ambushed a caravan.”

 

“Taken prisoner by whom?” cut in Andrew, a note of concern in his voice.

 

The chancellor smiled to himself now. He had peaked Andrew’s interest, hopefully he could keep it and direct it away from the audience hall, but he had to proceed carefully. By hook or by crook, he would see that the king got the rest he deserved. “By Solntse Garrison guardsmen, it seems the two sons were part of the raiding party—or so it is said. The case is exceptionally strange. The father claims they were forced into it, and he claims to be an old acquaintance of yours, though I have never before heard the name.”

 

“The father’s name?”

 

“Ashwar, but—”

 

“And the names of the sons?”

 

“Let me see, he surely sobbed through them enough…” Yi stopped, reflecting. “Keille and Danyel’, yes that’s it, Keille and Danyel’. They have already been sentenced by the Free City Council; the punishment will be dealt day after tomorrow and the punishment for thievery in the Free City is—”

 

“Death,” spoke Andrew grimly, “Describe this man called Ashwar.”

 

“Tall, broad shoulders, high cheek bones, black hair, and he wears a gray—”

 

“—Cape.” interrupted Andrew, “Correct?”

 

“Yes, you are—did I miss a detail, sire, is there something—”

 

“No, chancellor, you were thorough as always.” Andrew shifted in his chair, his eyes becoming unfocused, as if he was far away. “He was once Chief Huntsman at High Road but he is no longer there… Do we have enough time to stay the execution?”

 

“It could be managed, if it is your will. Surely, thieves can not be let off easily?” The chancellor sought to keep the king’s attention focused.

 

“Tell the Huntsman Ashwar we remember the day many handfuls of summers ago when he gave aid to a foolish boy, and we remember the debt owed.” Chancellor Yi furrowed his brow. He had not expected this. “Scribe a message to Geoffrey of Solntse, the first son is to serve seven years in the royal guard. See that he does not serve near the border areas. Quashan’ perhaps. The second son is to be fully pardoned after sixty days at hard labor, and see to it that no harm comes to the second son during this labor.”

 

“Yes sire, I will see to it at once. Will you rest now?”

 

“Yes chancellor, rest,” said Andrew, his eyes clearly showing the weight of his office.

 

Chancellor Yi hid his elation and departed with clear urgency in his step.