The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) (39 page)

Ashel flashed him another uncustomary smile. “Indeed I did, Andaris.  She found me when I was very much in need of a friend, then helped me to locate all of you.  Her sense of smell is a wonder, you know.  Oh, by the way, there is something you should know about her, though I suppose it can wait until after Gaven’s interrogation.”

“The woman in the courtyard said you were traveling with a dog…I just didn’t think….  Where is she?”

Ashel gestured to the door.  “In there, asleep with Trilla.”

Andaris took a step toward the door then glanced back at Gaven.  “I just thought of a question that will prove he is Ashel.  Do you mind?”

Gaven shook his head no.

Andaris turned to Ashel, took a deep breath and said, “You came to me in my sleep.  What did you tell me?”

Ashel closed his eyes.

Andaris concentrated on keeping his mind blank, lest the answer be plucked from his thoughts.

“I warned you of the coming danger, and let me say, Andaris, how pleased I am that it worked.  I wasn’t certain until now that it had.”

Before Andaris could respond, Gaven stepped in and wrapped Ashel in a great bear hug, picking him off the floor.  Ashel had never weighed very much, but now felt more like a scarecrow made of sticks and hay than a man.  Feeling a flutter of concern for him, Gaven set him back down, worried that he might be hurting him.  “I’m sorry for doubting you,” he said, face flushed with emotion.  “I just had to be sure.”

“You need not apologize for being careful,” Ashel replied, placing his hand on Gaven’s shoulder.  “It has served you well in the past.”

Andaris cleared his throat.  “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to go check on—”

“Go ahead,” urged Ashel.  “We’ll wait.”

Andaris eased open the door and, as quietly as he could, stepped into the room.  Jade lay stretched beside Trilla on the bed, their heads resting on opposite ends of the same pillow.  His heart warmed at the sight.  When he touched Jade’s shoulder, she yawned and opened her eyes.  He scratched her behind the right ear.

“I was worried something terrible had happened to you,” he whispered.  “We searched, but the storm was too much.”

Her tail thumped against the bed, eyes shining with that un-canine-like awareness he’d seen so often before, as though she understood everything he was saying. 
She’s smiling at me,
he thought.

“Now go back to sleep,” he told her.  “I just wanted to make certain you were safe.”

She licked his hand and heaved a sigh…eyelids beginning to close.  He stayed with them a while longer, watching over them, savoring the warmth in his breast, the inner calm of lost friends reunited—a feeling made more poignant by the precious portrait lying there before him, girl and dog perfectly framed by the bed.  Eventually, Jade’s breathing took on the slow, steady rhythm of one who is fast asleep, so Andaris stood and, with a contented sigh, quietly let himself out.

Inferno

K
ing Laris watched the shapelings with a deep scowl as they clawed their way up the ever-rising mountain of flesh.  His scowl softened into a faint smile, however, as he ordered fifty barrels of hot oil dumped over the side.  Closing his eyes he listened, as if to the sweetest of music, to the agonized shrieks coming from below.

“Archers!” he cried.  “Loose!”

The flaming arrows arced through the air like phoenixes sent from above, swooping down to save Rogar from destruction.  The shrieks took on an otherworldly quality as the swarming ranks of the enemy turned into a blazing inferno.  The cries of agony reached a frantic crescendo, wavered a moment on that last dying note, and then were forever silenced.

Many of the men began retching up their breakfast as greasy black smoke billowed over the top of the wall.  Feeling the waves of heat wafting past him, Laris was reminded of a time when a terrible plague had gripped the land, when the flesh of those unfortunate enough to be infected had literally rotted off of the bone.

In a desperate attempt to contain the plague, great bonfires were kept burning day and night, fueled by the wasted remains of those who had fallen victim to its cruel, seemingly indiscriminate touch.  Entire families were lost.  Rich or poor, it made no difference.  Death came to them all.

Laris felt his stomach turn, the pungent stench of burning flesh searing his nostrils and watering his eyes.  Without the oil, the shapelings would have soon been able to do away with their ladders and climb atop the backs of their fallen right to the top of the wall.  Bile rose in Laris’ throat, but he just smiled, gritted his teeth, and swallowed it down.  The Lost One was not going to march his army across Rogarian soil without first paying a very hefty price.

Taking advantage of the lull, the king called for an emergency meeting of his senior staff.  Prince Palden and Trilla were there and, to the stern-eyed disapproval of many of the officers, so were Gaven and Andaris.  Four sconces lit the room—a cramped space reminiscent of a bunker.  The walls and ceiling seemed to press in on them, and even here, deep within the heart of Rogar’s ancient stronghold, they heard cannon fire.

All present huddled around the conference table with stiff necks and grim expressions, staring at the colorful map carved into its surface.  The map showed all of Rogar and part of what lay beyond her borders.  To the east—Sokerra.  To the west—the Great Waste.  To the north and south—ocean.  Several of the officers smoked long-stemmed pipes, Ironshield included.  The smoke added to the feeling of closeness, but nobody appeared to mind, probably because it also helped mask the smell of death clinging to their hair and clothes. 

Laris raised his hand to get their attention and said, “I have decided to, as this is an emergency session and time is of the essence, dispense with the opening ceremony and get right to the point.  As you know, despite all our efforts, the shapeling army still greatly outnumbers us.”

Prince Palden leaned forward and struck the tabletop with his fist.  “If only we could face them mounted!” he said.  “Then they would see the true might of Sokerra!”

Laris grimaced.  “We need options,” he snapped, “not impossibilities.”

The prince started to argue, then, cheeks turning scarlet, looked away.

Ironshield leaned back in his chair and frowned.  “Prince Palden, what of the reinforcements from Sokerra?”

The prince took a deep breath and shook his head.  “I don’t know.  They should have been here by now.  The fact that they haven’t arrived suggests…that they were forced to go around the mountains.”

“If that’s the case,” said Ironshield, “it could be days yet before they reach us.”

“We don’t have days,” Laris said.  “Which means we have to assume we don’t have help.  We’re on our own.  We must come to terms with that.  No more dreams of rescue.  We must deal with the reality of the situation and form a strategy to suit it.”

“Let’s examine that reality,” suggested Ironshield.  “We are out-manned.  Elkar is dead.  And we have to hold one wall for several days against an insurmountable foe.  The oil was effective, but we only have enough for one…maybe two more burns.  How much time does that really buy us?  A few hours?  A day?”  He sighed and shook his head.  “I, of all people, am loath to admit it, but I fear we must begin preparing for the inevitable.”

Laris looked down at his palms, as though searching for inspiration amongst the thick calluses.  His eyes were sunken into the gray mask of his face and, though his bearing was still proud, there was something in the tilt of his head and set of his shoulders that whispered of defeat.

Staring at the king staring at his hands, Trilla decided to speak.  “Father,” she said with a careful smile, “I believe we may have a solution.”

Laris raised his eyes to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically blank.

“Allow me to introduce Andaris Rocaren.  He is a trusted friend of mine, and has proven loyal during our travels together.”

Andaris shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and began to recount what he and Gaven had experienced with Marla the mermaid and the waterways, doing his best to ignore the skeptical eyes of those seated around him.

Laris had heard some stories in his time concerning mermaids, and as far as he was concerned that’s all they were—stories.  He tolerated the tale for his daughter’s sake, but would not let her friend prattle on forever.  They simply didn’t have the time.

When Andaris was done speaking, he pulled out the scale and showed it to them.

Laris’ eyes widened.  “Let me see that,” he said.

Andaris felt an unexpected reluctance, but handed it to him anyway.

Laris turned the scale over and over in his hands, mesmerized.  The fact that it glowed wasn’t all that remarkable.  Many people, including himself, possessed glowstones.  There was, however, something more—a power, a life force resonating from deep within the scale unlike any he had felt before.  His skepticism vanished like a wisp of smoke in a strong wind.  What Andaris had told him was true.  The scale in his hand came from the tail of a mermaid.  There was no denying it.  He felt it in his bones, down to his very marrow.  Energy coursed through him, making him giddy.

Laris shook his head and chuckled.  “Well, why not?” he said, handing it back to Andaris.  “After all we have seen during this siege, why shouldn’t there be mermaids?”

Trilla patted the back of Andaris’ arm, beaming with approval.

“Well, Mr. Rocaren,” said Laris, his voice ringing with new life.  “The stories say mermaids are not to be trusted, but this one did right by you and Gaven, so I’d say it’s worth a try.  With the situation being what it is, we can’t afford not to take the chance.  An hour ago we had no hope.  Now we do.  You are a convincing orator, young man.  I find myself in disbelief of my belief, if you follow.  But then, after all, I held the proof of the
tale
in my hand, didn’t I?  How could I not believe?”  Laris winked at Trilla, grinning at his wit, and then turned to address her husband.

“Prince Palden, I would like you and ten of your best men to escort Andaris to the Lake of the Pines.  It’s more like a large pond than a lake, but it’s deep, fed by an underground spring.  I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it connected to one of these, so-called, waterways.  You may have noticed it on your way in.  It lies just off the east road, roughly a thirty-minute ride from here.  I think we should try contacting this Marla person from there before we go delving into the catacombs.  No telling how long it would take them to find their way back to that fissure.  The lower tunnels seem to change every time we map them out.   And even if they could find their way, I doubt your horses would make it.

Most animals, no matter how well trained, become jittery to the point of panic when taken into the catacombs.  It’s rumored there are creatures down there that have never seen the light of day—wretched, soulless things that slaughter whatever they come into contact with.  Every few years or so some adventurous youth goes exploring, lured by treasure and fame.  They seldom return.  From time to time, human remains are found, half-eaten corpses preserved by the subterranean air.  It’s enough to chill the blood, eh?”

Palden nodded, resisting the urge to shudder.

“So anyway, if the pond connects, and if you succeed in employing the help of this…
mermaid,
then we will send you and most of your number via the waterway to a larger lake west of the shapeling’s position—Lake Greenhill.”  Laris’ eyes sparkled with sudden enthusiasm.  “Now’s your chance to show us what that cavalry of yours can do.”

“We’ll make the most of it,” said the prince with a wide grin.

Laris turned his attention back to Andaris.  “If this works, Mr. Rocaren, I shall knight you and Gaven both, for the two of you will have done no less than save this kingdom from destruction.  They’ll never expect a charge of heavy horse from behind.”  He made his hands into fists.  “We’ll pour and light the oil as the prince and his men drive them into it.  We have been given a chance, gentlemen.  Let us make the most of it.”

As the meeting drew to a close, they stood and, following the king’s lead, saluted Gaven and Andaris.  Andaris felt his face redden as he returned the salute.  The King smiled at his discomfort, nodded to Trilla, and dismissed them.

Andaris couldn’t remember a time when he’d been treated with such respect.  He just hoped he didn’t disappointment them.  Everything hinged on Marla.  She had made it very clear what she thought of, as she put it, “their little war.”  He would just have to make her understand.  Everything depended upon it.

The small troop left within the hour, galloping hard out the east gate, up the road and into the mountains—humankind’s last hope, taking with them the faith of the realm.  They were armed with picks as well as swords, for the lake, though spring fed, sometimes froze over.

On the way there, Andaris rehearsed what he would say to Marla, the burden of responsibility sitting like lead in his stomach.  This was no game.  All of their lives were in his hands.

By the time they arrived, the mid-afternoon sun shone murkily through a gauze thin layer of clouds.  They closed their eyes and turned their faces skyward, soaking up the rays as if it were the first day of summer.

The lake, as King Laris had indicated, was little more than a pond.  Although it did prove true to its name in one respect—the circle of trees gracing its modest shores were in fact pines.

In spite of the trials to come, spirits were high, for to them, compared to the unnatural pall hanging over the castle, this was paradise.  Indeed, under different circumstances, Andaris thought it would be a nice spot to spend an afternoon, to curl up with a good book and eat a picnic lunch.

Two of the Sokerrans took out their picks and began chipping away at the ice, which fortunately turned out to be only a couple of inches thick.  They broke through with a crunch and a splash and, in no time, had a hole large enough to accommodate your everyday average mermaid.

Andaris knelt and, following a series of dramatic inhalations said, “Well, here goes nothing,” and plunged in his head.  The water was shockingly cold. 
Marla,
he thought, struggling to focus. 
It’s me.  Andaris
. 
I need you
.  C
ome as quickly as you can. 
When he jerked his head back out, Prince Palden handed him a towel.  Andaris took the towel and began drying his hair.  “Thank you,” he said.

“So,” the prince asked, still sounding skeptical, “how long do we wait?”

“I…I don’t know,” Andaris replied with a shiver.

Just then the water rippled and Marla’s torso, in all its naked grandeur, emerged.  The men stared with wide eyes and open mouths.

“What is wrong?” she asked, glaring fiercely at the prince and his men.  “Are these
Sokerrans
bothering you?”

“She makes it sound like an insult,” whispered the prince.

“No,” Andaris assured her, holding up his hand.  “These are my friends.”

Marla’s expression softened, becoming bemused.  “Then what
is
happening?” she asked.

Andaris took his time with the explanation, carefully detailing everything that had occurred since they’d last seen each other.

“I would hate to involve the waterways in a war,” she said after he’d finished.

Marla looked like a girl of about sixteen, but Andaris knew it would be foolish, and possibly even dangerous, to view her as such.  He could see the truth in her eyes, the depth of her experience staring across the long centuries at him.

“I understand your situation,” she went on.  “I just do not think I can take the risk.  You see, Andaris, we have a code that has lasted for many millennia.  We exist in peace because those who would be jealous of it do not know of it.”

“I understand your situation, as well,” Andaris said.  “And I hate to put you in this position, I really do, but we’re…desperate.  I don’t exaggerate when I say that you are Rogar’s last hope.”  He pointed to Prince Palden and his men.  “You see these people?” he asked.  “These people are from a peaceful society.  They fight only to defend that peace.  In helping them defend their peace, you help preserve your own.  If you turn your back on them, Rogar will surely fall, and I, along with countless others, will die.  The Lost One won’t stop until he has destroyed everything—above and below.”