The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) (37 page)

Reunion

Prince Palden and the Sokerrans galloped into Rogar’s main square, bearing witness to an incredible sight—King Laris and a few thousand others holding back the brunt of an overwhelming force.  The Sokerrans had passed the fleeing civilians on their way in, so they knew things had become desperate, but they had not expected this.  Trilla heard her father’s voice raised above the clamor.

“We must hold!” he yelled.  “For the children!”  Injured or no, Laris’ sword struck out like a snake, felling any enemy foolish enough to come within five feet of him. 

Prince Palden hesitated, stunned by what he saw.  For all his training and skill, this was the first time he had glimpsed the full brutality of war.  In part because of that training, and in part because of the man he was fast becoming, his hesitation lasted only a moment.

“Full attack!” he shouted.  “For Rogar!”  They were Sokerrans, which meant they were best when fighting from the saddle; but mounted or afoot, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Laris heard the ringing of trumpets as Prince Palden and his men ran up the steps.  He could scarcely believe they were real until they were there, streaming past behind him, filling the length of the wall with color and vitality, pushing back the shapeling army with the strength of ten thousand swords.

Trilla could only watch from below as they fought, trying not to lose sight of them—husband at one end of the wall, father at the other.  She winced as a giant, bat-like creature came swooping in towards Laris.  “Look out!” she cried.  Over the booming of cannon and clashing of swords, he couldn’t possibly have heard.  And yet, just before the foul thing buried its claws into his back, he spun and hacked off one of its wings.

Thank Rodan
, she thought.  It was amazing, at his age, that he could still move so fast.  She remembered watching him practice in the courtyard below her bedroom window when she was a little girl.  To her he had been larger than life, a mythical hero who could vanquish any foe.  Indeed, even when he’d taken on more than one opponent at a time, which was often, he never lost.  She remembered clapping her hands and waving as he smiled up at her, as he took off his helmet and bowed low.

He’d been so strong and full of life in those days, but that was before her mother died, when the world had been filled with laughter and light, when it seemed the warm sunny days of her youth would last forever.  Looking at him now, she almost felt like that little girl again, sitting high up on her window seat, eyes full of admiration and love.

The battle continued a few minutes longer before the drums signaled the shapelings to fall back.  The sudden appearance of the Sokerrans had taken them off guard, but Laris knew it wouldn’t last.  They’d return, and in greater numbers than before.  And when they did, Rogar would have to be ready.  All around him, soldiers shook hands, patting each other on the backs, exchanging words of praise.  For the first time in centuries, Rogarian and Sokerran troops had fought side by side, defending the realm against invasion.

Laris smiled, taking it all in.  The Sokerran army had always been a bit gaudy for his taste, what with their crisp gold and green banners and bright, gilded armor.  At the moment, however, they were the most beautiful sight his old eyes had ever glimpsed.

The king walked up to one of the more distinguished looking soldiers, a man with long blonde hair and a high, sloping forehead, removed his helmet, and said, “Please, I must speak to your commanding officer.”

The soldier bowed low.  “Follow me, your Majesty; I will take you to the prince.”

Laris nodded and gestured for him to proceed.  The last time he’d seen him, the prince had been an awkwardly built young man with limbs that seemed too long for his body, a lanky youth who still had the rosebud cheeks of a boy.  As they approached, Laris could see that much had changed.  Palden had matured into a fine young man, resplendent in a flowing emerald green cloak and gleaming armor.  The prince removed his helm, the sides of which had twining roses stenciled into the gold, and turned to greet him.

“We are in your supreme debt,” Laris said, coming to stop.  “I’d given up hope that our messengers had reached Sokerra.”

“They did not, your Majesty.”

Laris’ eyebrows drew together.  “Then how…?” he asked.

The prince smiled and looked down at Trilla, who was watching anxiously from the courtyard.  When Laris’ eyes met his daughter’s, his face went slack, expression becoming childlike.  Trilla’s chest heaved and her lips parted in a hesitant smile.

“My daughter?” he asked.  “My beloved daughter?”

All stood aside as he turned and made his way down the steps to the ground.  Trilla could tell he was working hard to keep his composure, as was she.  Despite her efforts, silent tears began to stream down her cheeks.  He looked so much older, walking with a limp, armor battered, face bruised and cut.

When he reached her, he just stood there, staring at her, as though she were a porcelain doll too fragile to touch.

Unable to stand it any longer, Trilla flung her arms around his neck.  “I missed you so much,” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a gruff voice.  “I drove you away, I see that now.  I allowed my pride to come between us.”

She pulled back and looked into his eyes.  “I’m sorry, too,” she sniffled.

“Trilla, my dear,” Laris said, holding his side, “will you help me into the castle?  I don’t want the men to see.”

“But why?” she started to ask.  Then she realized how ill he looked—bloodshot eyes buried into pale, clammy flesh.  She put the back of her hand against his cheek.  “You’re burning up!” she exclaimed.

“It’s my shoulder,” he told her, touching the vertical slash on the side of his breastplate. 

She wiped her eyes.  He had always been so strong, and now needed her to be strong for him.  This was no time for crying.  “Here, Father,” she said, “lean on me.”

Laris chuckled weakly and put his arm around her.  “Thank you, my dear.  You’ve always been tougher than you look, haven’t you?  Reminds me of your mother.  Rodan bless her soul.  You know…it’s strange.  Even after all these years, I still sometimes wake and, for a moment, forget that she’s gone.  Then I realize and…well…I miss her so much, Trilla.  More than I can say.”

“I know, father, so do I.”  All eyes were on them as, step by arduous step, they made their way into the castle.  A hush fell, the mood becoming tentative.  On one hand, the Rogarians were delighted to see their princess again—not to mention the ten thousand Sokerrans she’d brought with her.  On the other hand, they were deeply troubled about their king.

Doctor Terrel rushed to Trilla’s side as they hobbled into Laris’ bedchambers.  “I tried to stop him,” he told her, face flushing with shame.

She nodded and, together, they eased him onto the bed.

“Let’s get this armor off,” Terrel suggested.

Trilla frowned as they un-strapped his breastplate, noting the large purple bruises blossoming on his stomach and chest.  They paled by comparison, however, next to the six-inch-long gash on his shoulder.  The stitches had come loose, and now the mouth of the wound gaped wide, spitting up dark yellow pus.  Most of the flesh around the gash was an angry red, puffy and full of fever, but the skin on the inside was beginning to turn black.
Oh Father,
she thought,
what have they done to you?

“Wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of those ribs are broken,” Terrell told her in a matter of fact tone.

Trilla didn’t answer.

Laris’ eyelids fluttered shut and he began to snore.

Trilla turned to Doctor Terrell.  “Thank you for your help,” she said.  “Now, if you’ll give me some room, I’ll do what I can.”

“That wound must be cleansed and re-stitched,” Terrell pointed out, “perhaps even cauterized, I don’t think—“

“I know how concerned you are,” she interrupted, “but trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Terrell hesitated, weighing her with his eyes, then nodded and backed away.

Trilla pressed her ear against her father’s chest.  Despite his injuries, his heartbeat was both steady and strong.  Relieved, she laid her hands on his shoulder, and began to chant.

The Portal

Gaven and Andaris had been sitting in the middle of the hall for close to an hour now, trying to make sense of what they were seeing through the keyhole.

“There’s probably some kind of pattern to it,” Gaven said, keeping his eye pressed firmly to the hole.  “Each image lasts about ten seconds then shifts to another.  Might repeat if we wait long enough.”  He sighed and switched eyes.  “This could be what Ashel used to call a…‘displacement door.’  Supposedly, they had the power to transport a person from one point to another, much like a portal, even across vast distances.  All you had to do was walk through and,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that you were there.”

“Do you think we can use it?” Andaris asked.

“That’s what I’m hoping, but I don’t know.  There must be some way to set it on….  Hey!” he exclaimed.  “I see the courtyard and the first wall.  The Sokerrans made it!  And…I think…yes, there’s Prince Palden and Ironshield.”  But then the image wavered, and was replaced by a corridor lined with books.

They sat there for another hour or so, taking turns at the keyhole, seeing many different places, some familiar some not, until at last the images did in fact begin to repeat.

“It’s back to that room,” Gaven said.  “The one that came right before the courtyard.”  Last time he had seen something in the center of the room, but because of the poor lighting had not been able to make out what it was.  Now, however, he could see a man wearing a flowing burgundy robe leaning over a table.  Someone was on the table.  Gaven narrowed his eye.  Was he or she strapped to it?

The man in the burgundy robe whirled, looked straight into the keyhole, and headed for the door.  “Who dares invade my study?” he rasped.

Gaven felt his heart begin to race, fluttering and stumbling about like a bird with a broken wing, the rhythm becoming dangerously erratic.  There was a sudden pressure on his chest, stealing his breath.  He tried with all his will to break eye contact, but could not.  Just before the man reached the door, the image shifted and Gaven fell back.

“What happened?” Andaris asked, helping him to sit up.

“I saw someone,” Gaven wheezed, “and he saw me, too.  I don’t know who he was, but….  Oh wait.  Yes I do!  It was the man from the painting, Andaris.  The one in the burgundy robe.  Except…instead of young he…he was ancient.”

“But how’s that possible?  How could he still be alive?”

Gaven rubbed his aching chest, feeling like he’d been trading hits with a troll.  ”I don’t know, but I know I don’t want to see him again.  I swear he could have killed me, would have killed me, if the image hadn’t shifted.  Just a few more seconds and….”

“And you’re sure it was him?”

“As sure as I’m sitting here, talking to you.  I could tell by the eyes.  The flesh was withered, but the eyes…they were the same.”

Andaris peered down the hall in the direction of the portrait.  “I wonder who he is?  Or was?  Can these doorways travel through time, as well?”

“I’d just as soon never find out who he is, was, or will be.  There are dark deeds behind this.  Mark my words.”

“So what now?” asked Andaris.  “Do we keep trying to use it, or do we move on?”

“I’m not sure,” Gaven replied.  “Even if we can figure out how it operates, I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.  I could try picking the lock, but as far as I can tell there’s no mechanism in there.  Could be some combination that involves touching these symbols in a certain order.  Could be a word or phrase that has to be uttered in just the right way.”  He grimaced.  “Could be almost anything.”

“See if something happens when you touch that,” Andaris said, pointing to the center of the door, into which was carved one large rune encircled by four rings of smaller runes.

Skeptical, Gaven nodded and laid his palm against the center rune, first with his fingers apart and then together.  “I kind of doubt this—”

A light jingling filled the air and, with a flash of blue light, the area within the first circle lit.

“How’d you do that?” Andaris asked.

Gaven shook his head, looking at his palm as though he’d never seen it before.

The second circle lit.

Gaven turned to Andaris with wide eyes.  “What if I didn’t?  What if it’s him?”

The third circle lit.

Andaris glanced down the hall, ready to bolt.

“No,” Gaven said.  “I don’t think that would do any good.  If it’s him, he’d catch us before we found our way back to the water.  I’m sure of it.”

The fourth circle lit.

“Then what?” asked Andaris.

“We could try wedging it shut,” replied Gaven, “but that would only work if it opens outward.”

With a resounding chime, the glow spread beyond the fourth ring, burning off the dust and cobwebs as it went.  By the sixth chime, the entire door glowed blue.

“Come on!” Gaven cried.  “Help me hold it!”

Following the big man’s lead, Andaris put his hands against the door and pushed with all his might.  A tingling sensation ran up his arms as, to his utter dismay, the surface of the door became insubstantial and began to swirl in a counterclockwise motion.  He tried in vain to pull away.  The swirling picked up speed, going faster and faster, drawing him in by inches.  Within seconds, he could no longer see his elbows.  And then, all at once, he was inside.

Andaris found himself floating in blackness, suspended in a void absent of both light and sound.  He opened his mouth to call for Gaven, but no words came out.  He felt around with his arms, but found only air. 
Where am I?
he wondered.

He had the sense that he was moving forward.  There was, however, no physical evidence to support this.  For all he knew, he was hovering in place, caught between points in time and space. 
What if I stay like this forever?
he thought.
  What if I’m dead and this is the afterlife?
 
I don’t feel dead.  Though how am I to know what it should feel like?

Directly ahead of him, appeared a pinprick of light.  As he watched, it grew larger.  Either he was moving towards it, or it was moving towards him, he couldn’t say which.  Soon he was close enough to see that it was a door, a blue door—its surface swirling in a clockwise motion.  When he was within a hundred feet or so of the door, he began to pick up speed.  He closed his eyes right before he hit and, “whoosh”, shot through and landed with a thud on the other side.

When he opened his eyes, the side of his face was pressed against a green and gold striped rug.  He sat up and looked back, but the door was gone.  He was in a small room with cherrywood paneling.  In the middle of the room was a large, four-posted bed, the drapes of which were pulled shut.  The room looked very similar to the one they’d seen through the keyhole.  There was a chest at the foot of the bed, a wardrobe, a table with an ivory-handled hairbrush on it, a mirror—all the same…yet different. 
What is it?
he asked himself.

Then he had it.  The bedroom they’d seen through the keyhole had been covered in dust, and the drapes on the bed had been hanging in tatters. 
Same room, but different time,
he realized.
Does that mean I’ve arrived in Rogar years before the shapeling attack, or did the image beyond the keyhole show the future?

He stood and walked to the foot of the bed.  The first thing to do was to find out if he was in here alone, then try to determine where and when he was.  Making as little noise as possible, he reached out and pulled open the drapes.

Two eyes stared back at him—the button eyes of a child’s doll—a doll with blonde hair and a bright yellow dress.  He let the drapes close, then whirled about as a seam of light appeared in the air to his right.  The big man flew headfirst through this seam and landed in a heap on the green and gold striped rug.  Gaven looked back.  The opening, of course, had once again winked out of existence.

Andaris helped him to his feet.

Gaven nodded his thanks, walked to the door next to the wardrobe, and jerked it open.

“Unbelievable!” he said.

“What?” asked Andaris.

Gaven shook his head and stepped to the side.  Instead of a way out, the doorway led into a small closet with four shelves, atop which lay an assortment of clean, neatly folded sheets and blankets.  “A closet,” Gaven said.  “What in the blazes is going on here?  This is the only door in the room.  Unless….”  He turned around, stomped back to where the seam of light had been, and ran his hands through the air.  “Surely that wasn’t the only way into this place.  There must be some hidden door or something.  I mean…the lamp is still burning, and there’s steam rising from the water in that basin.  Someone was just in here.”

Andaris stepped into the closet and started knocking against the back wall.  “Sounds solid to me,” he reported.

Gaven pulled out his hunting knife and began tapping its hilt against the cherrywood paneling.  “I’ll make my own door if I have to!” he yelled.

Andaris opened the wardrobe, which was full of little girl dresses hanging on brass hooks, then walked to the chest.  Gaven turned over the mattresses and started banging against the floorboards with his sword.  Andaris kneeled before the chest, turned the golden key to the right, and pulled up the lid.

“Find anything?” Gaven asked.  “Cause if not, I swear…I’m about to start tearing this place apart!”

“There’s a ladder,” Andaris said.

“What?” Gaven asked.

“A ladder,” Andaris repeated, “going straight down.”

Gaven walked to the table, picked up the lamp, and brought it to the chest.

Andaris moved out of his way.

Gaven bent over and lowered the lamp into the hole.  “It goes down ten feet or so,” he said, “to a cobblestone tunnel.”

“So why would someone have their kid’s room off by itself like this?” asked Andaris.

“Who knows,” Gaven replied.  “Like I keep telling you, I don’t understand why people do half of what they do, and I don’t want to understand.  Now here, hold this.”

Andaris took the lamp from him.  Gaven climbed into the hole.  As soon as the big man had a good grip on the ladder, Andaris handed down the lamp.

When Gaven reached the bottom he said, “It’s only a few feet long.  There’s another ladder at the other end.  Stay there while I check it out.”

Andaris did as instructed, listening to Gaven’s fading footsteps, peering about with surprising trepidation as the room grew dark.  There was something about the place that put him on edge—that made his teeth itch.   A moment later, he heard the sound of a door being opened.

“What do you see?” called Andaris.

“It’s a trapdoor,” Gaven answered.  “Be right back.  I’m gonna climb up and have a look see.”

Andaris heard the heels of Gaven’s boots clomping across a wooden floor.  Then, from the other side of the wall, there came a loud knocking.  “Can you hear me?” asked Gaven, his voice muffled.

“Barely.  But yes, I can hear you.  What do you see?”

“It’s someone’s house.  The place is a mess.  Looks like they left in a hurry.  All the furniture and stuff is still here.  Hold on while I take a look out the window.”

Andaris heard him cross the floor, pause, and then come back.

“I recognize the street below,” Gaven said, sounding excited.  “We’re in Rogar proper, and only about a thirty minute jog from the keep!”

“I’ll be right up!” Andaris shouted.

“Do you need me to bring the light?” Gaven asked.

“Just hang it down the opening,” Andaris answered.

“On my way,” said Gaven.

Feeling a flutter of relief, Andaris climbed into the hole, stepped onto the ladder, and began to climb down.  By the time he was halfway to the tunnel floor, Gaven was at the other end of the tunnel with the lamp.  When he reached the floor, the lid of the chest slammed shut.  He heard it lock, and then what sounded like child’s laughter coming from the other side.

“Who’s up there?” he called.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Gaven.

“I heard someone,” said Andaris.  “Someone shut the chest and started laughing.  It sounds like…a little girl.”

“There was no one in there, Andaris.  If there’s someone in there now, they either entered the same way we did…or they’re a ghost.  Either way, I’d say we need to keep moving.”

“But what if there’s another hidden door?” Andaris asked.  “What about the lamp and the water?”

“Even if there is,” said Gaven, “we can’t take the chance.  You called out and no one answered.  You think some abandoned little girl would sit up there by herself, giggling in the dark?”

Andaris looked at the closed lid, felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and hurried to the other end of the tunnel.  “I felt someone watching me,” he told Gaven as he climbed out.  “Through one of the cracks in the lid.”

Gaven helped him up.

“Thanks,” Andaris said.

Child’s laughter echoed down the tunnel.

They looked into the hole, looked at each other, and rushed out the front door into the street.