The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) (26 page)

“Kindere!” he cried.  Jarred into action by the sight of his son lying face down in the dirt, he descended the steps two at a time.  When he reached him, he turned him over, checked to make certain he still lived, then picked him up and carried him to one of the cots at the base of the wall.

Laris breathed an immense sigh of relief.  He would have to congratulate the scout for his valor.  Such bravery deserved to be rewarded.  Rewarded and, more importantly, encouraged—for judging by what he’d just seen, they would need much more of the same if they hoped to survive. 
Might even pin a medal on his chest,
Laris thought. 
But first I
need to find out what happened at that outpost
.
Hopefully Kindere knows something we can use to our advantage.

A piercing scream sent them scrambling back to the other side of the wall.  Incredibly, the shapeling that had collided with the gate twitched and started to rise, its chest holding over a dozen arrows.  They stared on in utter amazement.

“That’s not possible,” one man near Laris said, voicing what they’d all been thinking.  “It can’t be alive.”

“Archers!” Ironshield shouted, sounding furious.  “Nock, draw….”

But thankfully, just before the arrows were loosed, the shapeling gave a tremendous shudder and collapsed.  Laris prayed they were not all so hardy.  If they were, no amount of valor could save Rogar from destruction.

Two of the shapelings came forward as the others withdrew to a safe distance.

“What’s the order?” Ironshield asked.

“Let’s wait and see what they do,” replied Laris.  “We need to learn as much about them as we can.”

The first of the two was a short, shaggy thing that resembled a black-tusked boar; only it walked like a man and carried a sword.  The other was tall and skinny, with the elongated head of a serpent and the voluptuous body of a human female, shiny blue scales turning to skin just beneath its collarbone, forming a half circle above each perfectly-shaped breast.

The contrast was startling to say the least, beauty and beast hideously merged into a single living creature.  Laris found it exceedingly offensive, and wondered by what dark sorcery such a perversion of nature had been created. 

The two shapelings stared up at them with open defiance, as if daring them to shoot.  The short, shaggy creature made eye contact with Laris, then leaned down and sniffed its fallen comrade.  Deciding it was, in fact, dead; it straightened up, said something to the snake woman in a series of sharp, guttural grunts, and pointed west.

Turning their backs on the Rogarians, the two ran towards the horizon to re-join their brethren, towards the dark, looming mass of the Lost One’s army, rank after rank of which was now fanning out before a shimmering silver curtain.  Laris doubted they retreated out of fear.  From what he’d seen, fear was an emotion with which they were not familiar.

His men, however, were another story.  At least a quarter of his army, not including the decoy force, was comprised of reserves, farmers and tradesmen who had served a short stint in the military when they were young.  They were a sturdy lot, to be sure, but they were not career soldiers, and now they were being faced with something out of their darkest dreams.

Concentric Circles

T
he narrow, twisting road through the Onarris was proving more difficult than anticipated—even for the Sokerran steeds.  In places, they’d been forced to ride single file, with the craggy face of the mountain to their left and the road’s edge to their right.  They had not seen the sun for two days.  Since leaving Sokerra, there’d been only clouds, mist, and an incessant drizzle that had now turned to sleet.

So far they’d been forced to abandon four supply wagons, two horses and, to Prince Palden’s further distress, Trilla’s carriage.  The wheels of the carriage had been getting stuck in the snow, slipping on the ice, and coming far too close to the edge of the road—beyond which was a sheer drop into empty sky, into the mist which lay like a blanket between the peaks.

After moving what supplies they could from the wagons to the packhorses, they went on, climbing ever higher into the frozen limbo, the thinning air working like a sedative on their minds.  Palden found it unseemly for his new princess to be riding the back of a horse, but supposed it couldn’t be helped.  Royal protocol wasn’t so important that he was willing to endanger her life to preserve it.  Besides, with her feisty spirit, he doubted he could have kept her in that carriage much longer anyway.  She was not the type to simply smile and preen while all her decisions were made for her, some timid flower of a girl who would hang on his every word without thought or argument.  Indeed, he had the feeling the “T” in her name stood for trouble.  But, like a moth to flame, he was helpless to resist.

Only one road connected Rogar to the other kingdoms, only one overland trade route, and this was it.  The prince was gaining a new respect for the brave souls who, year after year, carried their wares across the Onarris, risking life and limb to feed their families.  Perhaps when the war was over, in the interest of rebuilding relations between the kingdoms, they could begin rebuilding this road.

At this altitude, winter reined supreme year round, encasing the earth in silence.  Andaris was thankful the army was well provisioned, for his cloak had proved woefully inadequate in the harsh environs, and the clouds looked overfull, ready at any moment to drop another layer of snow.

Andaris peered over his shoulder, gazing at the long line of determined faces set against the cold.  Something about the scene bothered him, but something other than the obvious.  He felt an odd sense of detachment, as if he were outside looking in, as if he were staring at a painting on a wall instead of real life.  Even Gaven appeared somehow unreal, thick stubble covered in frost beneath vacant, half closed eyes.

Have to say something,
Andaris thought.  “At this rate it’ll be a week before we reach Rogar,” he blurted, his voice sounding discordant in the still air, as out of place as he felt.

Gaven cocked his head at him, but didn’t respond, his expression uncharacteristically tenuous.  Andaris looked up at the cliff with sudden apprehension, sure he’d broken some unwritten rule by speaking, committed some dire breach that would bring the mountain tumbling down on top of them.

Gaven cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry, Andaris, did you say something?”

Andaris’ mouth turned down. 
Did I?
he thought.  He felt so dazed.  Then he remembered.  “Oh yes, I said at this rate it will be a week before we reach Rogar.”

Gaven nodded, turning his eyes skyward.  “And that’s if the snow holds off.”

“Do you,” Andaris asked in a tentative voice, “feel…sort of strange?”

Gaven pressed his chapped lips together as though the question required a great deal of thought.  “I suppose so,” he admitted.  “It’s so…still.”

Andaris’ eyelids closed.  From somewhere deep within, he sensed he was in danger, so he forced them back open.  They felt stiff, like they’d been on the verge of freezing shut. 
But why?
 
They were only closed an instant.  Weren’t they?
  The first thing he saw as his vision cleared, was his stark white fingers clenched around the reins. 
Where are my gloves?
he wondered. 
I should be wearing my gloves.

An inch of snow covered both him and Del.  It was falling all around—big white flakes drifting from the clouds like something out of a dream. 
So peaceful,
he thought, and again his eyelids began close.

No!
his mind screamed. 
Death is peaceful!

And again he forced them back open, but this time it was harder.  Something was very wrong here.  He tried in vain to move his hands, to shake the reins, to do anything.  He could see Trilla and the prince—bodies as motionless as ice sculptures, thin wisps of breath escaping their nostrils. 
Must help her,
he thought.

Just then, a man wearing a black cloak stepped around the bend in the road, his movements fluid and graceful, like a dancer’s.  As he drew near, Andaris realized there was something about his face that looked…wrong.  His skin was too smooth, stretched too tight over his skull.  He walked towards Trilla with a purposeful air, reached his hand inside his cloak and pulled out a slender, wickedly curved longknife.  The blade had bluish swirl marks forged into the steel, concentric circles glinting with a silver light.

Andaris tried to call out a warning, but could manage only a dry whisper.  As the man drew close, his body began to flicker in and out of existence, disappearing and reappearing with each step he took.
He’s after Trilla,
Andaris thought
.
  Then at last he found his voice.  “To arms!” he rasped.  “The princess is in danger!”

The man stopped and stared at him, face contorting with pure malevolence.  Those closest to Andaris began to stir.  The spell was broken.

“To arms!” Andaris cried again.  “To arms!”

But the man would not be denied.  Taking three quick steps, he leapt through the air towards Trilla, traveling much faster and farther than should have been possible.

Trilla screamed and, from somewhere within the folds of her dress, produced a throwing knife.  Her hand darted out as the prince buried his sword into…nothing.  The assassin was gone, vanished without leaving so much as a footprint behind.

“Lieutenant Mudan!” ordered the prince.  “I want that man found!  Now!”

Mudan saluted and shouted, ”Sergeant Greenberg, you and your men come with me!  Corporal Donaly, you and your men head to the rear!”

The prince pulled a blanket from his saddlebags as his orders were being carried out, wrapped it around Trilla’s shoulders, and began rubbing his hands up and down her arms to try and warm her.

What must it be like,
Andaris wondered
, to wake and find a man flying through the air at you
? 
Hopefully, I’ll never find out.

“What in the blazes just happened?” Gaven bellowed.

“Yes, what did just happen?” asked the prince, sounding shaken.  Only blank faces answered him—that is, until he saw Andaris.  Palden motioned him forward.

Andaris began to dismount.

“Stay on your horse,” called the prince.  “I want to be able to move at a moment’s notice.”

Andaris sat back down, rode over to him, and bowed his head.

The prince sat astride a sleek white steed several hands taller than Del, an animal bred from the finest stock in a kingdom renowned for its horses, an animal as beautiful as Del was dumpy.  “It was
you
that woke us,” Palden said, making it more a statement than a question.

Andaris nodded.  “Yes…your Majesty.  That’s right.”

The prince smiled at his self-conscious delivery.  “Your name is Andaris, is it not?”

Andaris could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  “Yes, sire, that’s correct.  Andaris Rocaren of Fairhaven.”

“Hmm, I see.  Well, Andaris Rocaren of Fairhaven, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Andaris shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with all the attention.  “I only did what anybody would have done,” he said.

The prince’s smile broadened.  “Such modesty is rare, but tell me, how did you resist it?  I mean….”  His smile faltered.  “That was a rather nasty bit of magic.  To be awake, yet not be able to move….”  He shook his head.  “How did you overcome it?”

Andaris shrugged.  “I don’t really know, your Highness.  When I was poisoned, I was affected much in the same way.  Could be my body developed some resistance….  Though I don’t know, somehow that doesn’t seem right.”

“Go on,” Palden urged.

Andaris’ brow creased.  “Do you remember feeling like you were out of sync with things,” he asked, “separated from everything around you?”

Palden nodded slowly, as did Gaven and Trilla.  “Yes.  I assumed it was the mountain air playing tricks on me.  I see now I was wrong.”

“I think,” Andaris continued, “that may be the difference.  If you’re unaware of the danger, how can you fight it?  Because of my previous experience, I was quick to react.  In the future, you will be, too.  It might be as simple as that.”

“You impress me,” Palden said.  “I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened.  Obviously, the Lost One and his agents don’t want us to reach Rogar.  We must be hyper-vigilant if we are to prevail.”  The prince pursed his lips, considering.  “Is there some reward I can offer you?”  He glanced at Del with the beginnings of a smile.  “A new horse perhaps?”

Andaris patted Del protectively on the neck, then cut his eyes to Trilla.

She beamed back at him, her face glowing with pride and approval.

He felt his cheeks flush.  He couldn’t ask for what he really wanted, so he said, “Her safety is reward enough.”

The prince’s flawlessly manicured eyebrows raised.  “And on top of it all, he’s noble.”

Andaris’ flush deepened.

“Do not worry,” Palden said, “I think between the two of us her safety is well in hand, but truly, if there is ever anything you require, do not hesitate to ask.”

Andaris nodded.  “Thank you, your Highness.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“You may return to your place in line,” the prince said, sensitive to his discomfort.  “And again, thank you.  We are all in your debt.”

Andaris bowed and turned Del around, relieved to be off center stage.  After conducting a thorough yet fruitless search of the area, the prince gave the order to move out.  Gaven spurred his mount forward.  Andaris followed, lost in thought.  He didn’t want to like the prince, but was beginning to anyway.  Why did the man have to be so darned cordial?  He wasn’t nearly as bad as Gaven had made him out to be.  Why, under different circumstances, Andaris and the prince might have been friends.  Even Jade seemed to like him, and she was usually a pretty good judge of character.  Andaris had seen Palden feeding her scraps from the front of his tent.  She’d eaten right out of his hand, which was something she wouldn’t do with just anybody.

Speaking of Jade,
he thought,
where is she?
 
When did I see her last?
  He couldn’t remember.  “Gaven, have you seen Jade?” he asked.

Gaven looked around as if expecting her to be walking beside his horse.  “No, now that you mention it, can’t say that I have.  I wouldn’t worry, though.  She’s probably just out exploring.”

“Yeah…I know,” he said, “she can take care of herself….”  But his words sounded empty, even to him.

Within the hour, Andaris began to call out for her.  The Sokerrans took it upon themselves to carry the call down the line.  Trilla glanced back, her blue eyes troubled.  Andaris had just about decided to go look for her, when the line came to a sudden halt.

Gaven stood in his stirrups.  “They’re dismounting,” he announced.

A few minutes later, the man in front of them—a dour-faced fellow with sharp cheekbones and deep crows feet, turned and said, “There’s a ten-foot section where the road’s out.  We’re going to have to lead the horses across one at a time.”

Gaven relayed the news, then faced forward and folded his arms, tense with impatience.

“I think I’m going to hold back,” Andaris said in a low voice.  “I’m really getting worried about Jade.  It’ll take a while for everyone to cross.  This would be as good a time as any to look for her.”

“Do you really think you can find her?” Gaven asked.  “It seems foolish to separate from the others, especially after what just happened.  I don’t want you to end up missing, too.”

Andaris sighed.  “I don’t know.  But I have to try.  I can’t just leave her behind.”

Gaven set his jaw, eyes haunted by painful memory….

***

Digging Ashel’s grave while the sweet scent of morning still lingered on the air.  Folding his slender hands over his stomach, hands that were now lifeless and cold.  Placing his cherished flute on the center of his chest.  Covering him forever with earth…and then walking away…leaving him behind to rot alone—defenseless against the destructive whims of nature.