Revelation (16 page)

“Captain”—Lorik hefted his chains in despair with anguish in his voice—“I should have alerted you sooner… before this happened.”

“Sergeant, I don’t think that we would have been able to escape. Even if we had all been alert, it was the fog that overwhelmed us.” Aaron couldn’t stop thinking about the figures he observed in the mist. Like swirling lights or iridescent ghosts, he remembered what appeared to be the shapes and sights of people. “Braden,” he asked, “do your stories or history ever tell of creatures that dwell in the mist and fog of this region?”

Braden was silent for some time. “No Captain,” he whispered, “I don’t remember anything about such ghostly visitors.” He paused again. “What do you think will happen to us?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied. “We’ve been captured and not killed and that is reason enough to think that there is more that our captors want from us.”

With nothing else to do but wait, they sat as near each other as their iron chains would allow. While Lorik examined the rings around his wrists and ankles, hoping to find some means of manipulating the locking mechanism, Braden studied the room, stopping to stare at the three skeletons across from them. In a swirl of agitation, he shouted, “Captain, our packs our gone!”

Aaron looked at the dwarf with puzzled amusement. “Braden,” he spoke with some sarcasm, “captives are seldom given the chance to keep their gear.”

Lorik just shook his head. “It’s unlikely that we’ll see those things again.”

Aaron continued, speaking with greater seriousness. “We are left with just our garments, and, if we actually escape, we might have to travel the Waste without food or water.” He said as he tugged at his restraints.

Braden groaned. “Captain,” he said, “there is nothing in this region that will sustain us. Even with my knowledge of plant life, if we were to try and cross the expanse, I will not find anything of value to eat. I fear that our quest will die right here.” Braden sighed with resigned despair.

“You don’t know that,” Lorik retorted. “What makes you think we won’t escape?”

“Do you see those skeletons?” Braden asked. The other two nodded. “Those three are dwarves—or at least they used to be.” Braden spoke with trepidation. “If they were captured as we are, I would guess that they tried to escape and found that there was nowhere to go.”

“How do you know this?” asked Aaron.

“Dwarves don’t take well to captivity, Captain. It would be unthinkable that three dwarves together in this place would have simply accepted their imprisonment. No, I am sure that they would have attempted to escape—and failed.”

“But you don’t know that all three were together,” protested Lorik. “It could be that they simply were captured at separate times in the years past.”

“No, I am certain that they were captured together. All three are wearing clothes that the dwarves of the Kanton Mountains would wear,” Braden said. “I imagine that when the mountains were overrun, in their haste to escape they came through the Waste. It happened several hundred years ago, and the condition of these three speaks for the long years their bodies have been here.”

Aaron, his head still pounding from the effects of the fog, thought about their situation. “One thing is for certain,” he said, “we will need to escape… even if we don’t find our gear. We may have to trust our fortune in the Waste, but from this point on, we watch for an opportunity to leave.”

“Captain,” asked Lorik, “how are we supposed to escape?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Aaron said, “but an opportunity will present itself if we are waiting for it.”

Just then the cell door opened, its rusty hinges protesting loudly, creaking as the door slowly swung inward. A tall, shadowed figure, his head and body covered with a black cowl and robe entered the chamber. Only his white, bony hands protruded from the folds of the garment, with long, claw-like fingers that gripped the door with one hand and a tall staff with the other.

As it moved, it seemed as if the stranger simply drifted along some invisible current of air, barely making any motion as he entered. When the tall figure passed through the filaments of light streaming down from the ceiling, a glint of gold glimmered from under his hood. With unseen eyes, the visitor seemed to glare down upon the three companions.

The cold room grew more frigid with the unknown visitor’s presence while a strong foreboding filled Aaron’s thoughts. The stranger casually raised his hand and the shackles fell from Aaron’s wrist and ankles, clanging to the stone floor.

“Come with me!” The stranger’s voice echoed against the stone structure and carried a sense of power mingled with despair. Aaron felt a strong grip on his body, as if the air itself forced him to stand and move toward the door. He fought against the unseen power but no matter how much he struggled, he kept walking toward the door. Braden and Lorik stood to charge at the strange intruder, having obviously forgotten the chains which bound them to the wall. With a sudden stop, they came up short and fell with a thud to the floor.

Any struggle against the unseen power which forced him toward the door proved futile so Aaron relented and joined the stranger as he moved out of the room. Braden still struggled against his bonds, while Lorik just watched in anguish as Aaron stepped through the threshold.

Aaron followed his guide along a dimly lit corridor. Torches hung in sconces along the wall, several paces apart, and provided enough light to navigate the passage. He didn’t believe his captor needed the illumination they provided. The corridor looked as if no one had walked along its floor for a century. Small clouds of dust, kicked up by his movements, hung about his ankles in the stillness of the hallway, slowly settling again as he walked along the passageway.

Though faded and worn, ancient pictures decorated the wall, and depicted scenes of lavish, fertile farmlands, villages and a majestic, towered castle overlooking the entire glorious scene. Occasionally Aaron tried to resist the pressure that forced him to move, but the power of his guide was more than he could overcome.

The artistic grandeur that adorned the corridor seemed out of place in the dark, musty castle. Some of the paintings had fallen from their supports and were left on the floor, broken and forgotten. Others hung precariously on the wall. The entire scene brought a feeling of despair to Aaron as he looked upon an ancient glory long gone. He wondered if the castle portrayed in many of the paintings was actually the fortress where he and his companions were now being held as prisoners. The picturesque landscapes, painted with such care and skill, seemed to Aaron to resemble the same region as the Waste. A sense of hopelessness tried to steal his courage, as doubts crept into his thoughts that they could ever break out of their incarceration. He rejected the thought and steeled himself to either escape or die in the attempt.

His guide led him to a large, ornate double door on the left wall of the passageway, with majestic scenes carved into the heavy mahogany. Unlike the rest of the castle, the door leading into the room beyond was well kept and polished. Its hinges were oiled and rust free. It stood in stark contrast to everything he saw. He also noticed that another, wider corridor led directly away from the ornate doors; it was also well lit and well maintained. Aaron’s mind raced with the possibility that the second corridor was the main hall out of the castle.

“There is no escape,” the hooded figure spoke as if perceiving Aaron’s thoughts.

Aaron turned his attention back to his guide who lingered before the large, mahogany door. Above it, engraved on a gold plaque, was the image of a sword, encircled by a crown tarnished and covered with dust.

The guide raised his hand slightly. When he did, the two doors swung inward, revealing a large chamber, extravagant in its décor and brightly lit. At the back of the room, opposite the doorway, a large circular dais held a massive marble throne. Pillars of marble lined the walls, holding the arched ceiling high overhead. On each pillar a torch blazed in glorious light, while between each of the pillars bronze, oil-filled basins flickered with fire, their smoke rising up and venting through small openings in the ceiling high above.

Unlike the hallway, no pictures or tapestries decorated the room. What hung on the walls was a massive collection of armor, weapons and other items that Aaron could not identify. An impressive collection, Aaron thought, until he saw his own sword! Next to it hung Lorik’s blade as well as Braden’s battle-axe. On a small table, directly underneath the display were the three satchels given to them by Dalyn, looking undisturbed, as if they still contained the articles within.

Again the hooded figure spoke in a rough, commanding voice, “Enter!”

The command would not be refused, and Aaron was forced to move into the throne room. He proceeded directly to the throne. On the large, marble chair sat the figure of a man. He was tall, perhaps seven feet in height if he stood, with ghostly pale skin. From under heavy brows, piercing blue eyes scowled at the captain as he approached the dais. The enthroned man had an air of strength and, without knowing the figure who sat there, Aaron knew that he wielded great power.

The cloaked figure that escorted Aaron into the throne room moved to one side of the throne and took up a position on the right side of the royal chair. “Kneel!” the guide spoke, and Aaron was forced to his knees. The frustration of being completely controlled by the command of his captor infuriated him. Aaron possessed exceptional willpower and determination, and he hated the thought that he could be so easily manipulated. He struggled against the one who spoke the commands, wishing to get to his sword which hung out of reach upon the wall. No matter how hard he struggled against his assailant, however, he could not free himself from the grip that held him.

“Well, Captain,” the man on the throne spoke, his voice ancient, deep, and possessed a quality that nearly beguiled Aaron into thinking the man could be trusted. “Welcome to my home.” Despite the sound of his words, the one enthroned fixed his malevolent gaze upon the captain. “So this is the great protector of Celedon,” the man mocked as he rose from his chair, “kneeling before me like a cowering dog!” A wicked laugh echoed across the hall as the tall, pale figure walked closer to Aaron. “Perhaps the master was incorrect, perhaps you’re not as dangerous as he supposed.”

Every fiber of Aaron’s body ached for freedom from the crushing grip of his captor and the captain’s mind desperately searched for a means of escape. “Who are you?” Aaron demanded. “Why have you brought us here?”

“My dear Captain”—his voice was like the distant sound of rolling thunder—“I brought you and your companions here to kill you.” He laughed a brief, evil laugh. The figure stood, towering over Aaron as he reached down and touched Aaron’s shoulder, freeing him from the invisible grip that held him down. Aaron stood and stretched the tension from his tired muscles. “Look around you, see the results of all who have crossed my domain. You might think that there is hope for you and your friends, but you will soon understand that hope has forsaken you here.”

Aaron walked along the wall with the tall man as the ancient ruler exhibited his trophies. One display housed three dwarf axes, framed against a red velvet background right next to Aaron’s own weapon. The captain guessed the weapons belonged to the three skeletons forever bound in their cell. Aaron, however, wouldn’t be frightened so easily and pressed the issue with his captor. “If you meant to kill us,” Aaron questioned, “why wait until now? You could have easily dispatched us when we were overcome by your poisonous fog. What do you want?”

“It’s not what I want that is at issue here,” said the tall, pale figure, “it is what the master wants. He has required me to take you captive, to offer you a… an opportunity,” said the tall man hesitantly.

“An opportunity for what?” asked Aaron. “It seems as if you have nothing that I desire or wish to possess that would prove to be an opportunity.”

“Ah, yes… there is one thing,” again the stranger laughed with evil malice. “I have your life.” The tall figure raised his hand slightly and Aaron felt an invisible pressure grip his throat, choking the life from him. He fell to the floor gasping to no avail, clutching his throat in vain. Then the stranger lowered his hand and Aaron could breathe again. He gasped in exhaustion, momentarily overcome with the terror of his circumstance.

“What is your offer?” Aaron panted.

“All in good time, dear captain… all in good time.” He walked back to the throne and took his position upon it. “I will return you to your two friends so you can have some time to ponder your fate. You will be sent for when it is time to discuss the master’s proposition.” The stranger waved his hand, and Aaron felt like he was hit by an ocean wave, throwing him halfway back to the door that they entered. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, amazed and dreading the power the stranger possessed. The cloaked figure, which up to this time remained motionless next to the throne, now approached Aaron as he stood up from the floor.

“Come!” the hooded guard spoke and Aaron was once more forced against his will to follow the guide. He was led out the door and back toward the cell.

As long as he didn’t fight against the power of his jailor, he found he could walk with relative ease. Hoping to find answers to the many questions that encompassed his thoughts, Aaron attempted to converse with his guide. “Tell me,” he began, “what is this place?”

Silence was all Aaron received in return.

Again he tried, “How is it that you are in this dismal region of the world? How do you survive without proper sources of food and water?”

His guide seemed unaffected by the questions and remained silent, leading him down the hall.

Once more Aaron pressed the figure with a question, “Who are you?”

This time the figure stopped, turned to Aaron and peered at him from under his cowl. “I am dead,” the strange creature replied, hoarse and melancholy.

Then Aaron’s guide drew the hood back off his head, revealing the face of a man, once regal and strong now faded, pale and worn. Upon his brow he wore a crown of gold, dim and tarnished with several jewels of various types: emeralds, rubies, and sapphires embedded in the circular adornment. He bore the look of a man bereft of life, dead yet not, real yet almost faded beyond recognition. To Aaron the man’s eyes were vacuous, sunken, and lacking any sense of focus or recognition.