Beyond The Vale Read online

  The Vale

  Book Two – Beyond The Vale

  By: Brian D. Anderson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Published Longfire Press, January 2019 Cover Illustration Gene Mollica Studios

  Copyright © 2018 Brian D. Anderson

  Dedication

  For my son, Jonathan.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  Salazar woke screaming, his body drenched in sweat and his breath coming in rapid gasps.

  The words tore through his skull like savage claws. “No! You can’t make me.”

  He leapt from his bed and ran across the room to a large mirror hanging on the wall. His eyes were a pair of black pits and his flesh streaked with veins. It was his reflection; and yet, it was not. As if he were peering into some dark realm, a sinister opposite of his own world, one where his soul had been captured, twisted, and fashioned into a thing of evil.

  You must kill them.

  Salazar stepped back, covering his mouth… but his reflection did not do the same. “Who…who are you?”

  The reflection laughed. Who do you think I am?

  Salazar shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No. I’m still dreaming. This can’t be

  real.”

  Of course it’s real. You didn’t think you could shut me out, did you?

  Salazar opened his eyes. The reflection was smiling back at him. “I never wanted this.

  None of it. I only wanted to make life better for the people. This is not what I intended.”

  Isn’t it? You are the one who murdered the king…your own father. Not I. You colluded with the High Mages. You chased your sister from Troi.

  “That’s a lie!” he shouted. “She ran because of…because of…”

  Say it.

  “Me. She ran because of me.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “You’re right. It’s all me. It’s my fault.”

  I said you were the cause—not that anything is your fault. There is no fault. Our plan has gone well. But it is not enough. There are those who would stand in our way. And they must be dealt with.

  “I’m trying.”

  Are you? Or are you too afraid, too weak to do what must be done?

  “But the mana. It must flow. I cannot do what you suggest. I am not strong enough on my

  own.”

  You are not on your own. I am with you. I have been since the beginning. Together we can accomplish anything. But you must allow me to help.

  “No. What you ask is too much.”

  The reflection sneered. So you would remain weak and helpless? You would allow those lesser than you to rule?

  Rage filled him. “I rule. No one else.”

  What of the High Mages? What of Xavier? They hold sway over you and you know it. They prevent you from ascending to true greatness.

  “But what you want me to do is…evil.”

  What is evil? Do you not already intend on killing thousands? Tens of thousands? What are a few more?

  “I do it to save Vale. If there were another way…”

  You are whining like a coward. Give yourself to me. Allow me to make you into the king you are destined to be. I will deliver you to paradise. To glory.”

  The mirror began expanding, and dark mist shrouded his reflection. Salazar spun and ran to his bed, picked up his father’s scepter, and pointed the tip at the reflection. The mana flooded into the royal weapon, causing it to radiate a pulsating blue light.

  “Stay back,” he commanded. “You will not have me.”

  Oh, but I already do.

  Salazar let loose a blast of energy, and the mirror shattered with an ear-splitting crack, sending shards of glass flying about the chamber. He breathed a heavy sigh. The reflection was gone. The danger had passed.

  I am not so easily banished, King Salazar. We will speak again soon. The door flew open, and three royal guards rushed in, P37’s at the ready.

  “Your Highness,” said one of the guards, eyeing the scene with confusion. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” replied Salazar. He placed the scepter on the bed. “It was an accident.” “Your face,” said the guard. “You are injured.”

  Salazar touched his cheek and felt a small sliver of glass protruding from his flesh. He plucked it out and tossed it to the ground. “I’m fine. Send a servant to clean up this mess.” When the guards hesitated, he squared his shoulders. “Now!”

  The guards bowed and exited the room.

  Ignoring the blood trickling down his face, Salazar crossed over to his desk and removed the box containing the crystal from the drawer. He sat heavily into his chair and cradled it in his hands, not daring to open it. For the first time, he considered throwing it away; abandoning his plan all together. Surely, his sister would forgive him and return home. He would even reinstate Drake as Captain of the Royal Guard. That would please her.

  The door opened and Xavier entered, wearing a thigh length red coat with gold buttons, a ruffled black shirt and high boots…as well as his customary smug expression. He paused and surveyed the wreckage.

  “I see you’ve had quite a morning, Your Highness.”

  “You will knock before entering my room, Captain,” said Salazar.

  Xavier bowed. “Forgive my intrusion. But I was told there had been an incident. Your well- being is my responsibility, is it not?”

  By the Ancients, he hated this man. “You are not needed. Leave us.” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Us? Is there someone else here?”

  It was all he could do to restrain himself from roasting the man alive with mana fire. “It is not your place to pick my words apart. Now leave…me.”

  “Yes. Of course, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect. But while I’m here, there is a small matter I need to discuss with you.”

  “Speak.”

  “The young girl you assigned to me. Linx. I am wondering what precisely she is meant to be doing?”

  “Observing.”

  “Yes. That was what the order said. Only it did not specify what she was to observe.”

  “That is not your concern. You would do best to refrain from questioning me, Captain. Do not imagine your position beyond my influence. It would behoove you to remember who you are speaking to.”

  Xavier smiled, and lowered his head. “I have not forgotten, Your Highness. But you see, the Linx girl…she unnerves my men. There is something about her that makes them distrustful of her presence.”

  “It is you I suspect who is distrustful,” he said.

  Linx was an unknown element for Xavier. She was
clearly loyal to the king, and so far, Xavier had not found leverage over her. That was the fuel which fed a man like the Captain – leverage. And with Linx, he could not find her weaknesses. Salazar doubted she had any. At least, none Xavier could exploit.

  “Sadly, trust is not a luxury a man like me can afford.”

  “Your problems do not concern me,” said Salazar. “She is to be with you, and that is the end of it. So I suggest you make the best of the situation.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness. I admit she is a talented young woman. I suppose I can find a way to benefit from her presence.”

  Salazar did not like the way he smirked when saying this. More than ever, he was determined to find a way to end the Captain’s miserable life. And Linx might very well be the key. If anyone could figure out a way, she could. He pictured Xavier lying on the floor, his eyes wide with terror, as threads of mana wrapped around his foul throat, squeezing the life from his body, bit by delightful bit.

  “Is something amusing, Your Highness?” “Yes. Very. Now, if you have nothing else…”

  Xavier lowered his head in a less than formal bow, then exited.

  Salazar glanced over to the broken glassed strewn about the floor. He must learn to control himself. The wheels were turning quickly now. He needed to keep his focus. Soon the whole of

  Vale would be looking to him for guidance and comfort. And he would be there to give it. His name would be on the lips of every man, woman, and child, known as the king who saved humankind from extinction. Where all who ruled before him had failed miserably, he would triumph. Yes. The cost was high. But after the dust settled, it would have been one well worth paying.

  Chapter Two

  Drake sat on the lush grass, rubbing the heel of his foot. His boots and jacket had been tossed aside a few feet away, along with the pack he had been carrying for more than six days now. Every step brought more heat, more unlevel ground, and more bugs intent on draining him of every last ounce of blood.

  Maliel and Lenora were talking quietly beneath a nearby willow. The Nelwyn had been eager to begin learning about aggressive forms of magic, and in return, Maliel had shown Lenora several new ways of healing severe injuries. Maliel was impressed at how quickly she was able to grasp them. For his part, he had struggled with even the simplest forms of fire magic.

  “The great Drake Sharazi laid low by insects,” he muttered.

  “Poor thing,” said Lenora, a sly grin on her face. “I thought you said this was paradise.” Drake frowned. “I was wrong. How in the hell do people live here?”

  Maliel laughed. “You’ll get used to hard ways in time.”

  Lenora joined his laughter. “Drake’s a tough one. You can bet on that. He just enjoys complaining.”

  For some reason, Lenora had not attracted the attention of the swarms of biting pests of which there seemed a never-ending supply. And the humidity didn’t bother her either. Of course, this was Maliel’s home, and he was quite happy to be back.

  “Perhaps you should share the lim oil I gave you,” said the Nelwyn. “Lim oil?” asked Drake.

  Lenora gave him a guilty smile before reaching into her pocket and tossing him a large leaf wrapped into a tight ball. Inside was a thick, odorless, brown paste.

  “Rub it on your skin,” she instructed. “It keeps the bugs away.” Drake gave her a sour look. “How long have you had it?”

  “Not long. Well…since the second day.”

  Drake scooped out a bit of the paste and began rubbing it into his arms, face, and neck. Instantly his skin cooled, and the itching from the bites went away. He moved to toss it back, but she held up her hands.

  “Keep it. I have more.”

  “I can’t believe you let me be miserable for six days!”

  Lenora moved over beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. “Don’t be angry. I thought it was adorable how you tried to pretend not to be bothered.”

  “You’re a brat. I hope you know that.” She poked his ribs. “I am not.”

  He shifted away, arms folded. “I’m not speaking to you.”

  She poked him again, a bit harder. “Are you sure about that?” “Absolutely.”

  She moved in behind him and draped her arms over his shoulders, her lips grazing his ear. “One hundred percent sure?”

  Drake tried to remain still, but he could feel his resistance crumbling. “Not exactly one hundred.”

  She gave him a light kiss on his cheek, then popped to her feet. “Good.” “I never said you were forgiven.”

  “Of course you did. Now if you don’t mind, I have a lesson to give.”

  Drake pretended to be furious, shaking his head and grumbling loudly. But they both knew he could never stay angry with her. Each day he was more certain about his feelings, and less certain about the future. Despite her objections and unwillingness to so much as speak about it, the fact remained that even in victory, which was by no means a surety, they would be forced apart. The nobility would not suffer him as their king. And once Salazar was ousted, she would need strong allies. This meant marriage to another powerful family. Ignoring facts did not change them. It was how things worked in Vale. There was, and always had been, an order to society. Leaders had come and gone, and the cycle would continue long after no one so much as remembered their names. But the way people lived…that was a true constant. One from which there was no escape.

  He had been grateful that she had not tried to become more intimate. There was only so much his will power could stand. They had agreed to wait until they were in a more suitable location. Still, his limits were severely tested when she curled up beside him at night. If and when it happened, it would only result in their pain increasing tenfold when they were ultimately forced to face reality. He could deal with his own pain; years of exile had taught him how. But the idea of Lenora’s heart breaking was too much.

  As the day waned, Lenora finished their lesson, and Drake built a small fire, igniting it with a short burst from his P37. A sorry use for such a powerful weapon, he thought. When they had first arrived in this primal land, he had witnessed Maliel starting a fire by smashing two stones together over a small pile of dried leaves and twigs. Though intriguing, it made him wonder if that was the fate of Vale. Would they be reduced to the most primitive of technology once the power station was shut down? Exodus had claimed they could replace it with the machines they had constructed. But it would take time – years perhaps. Lenora would need to be strong to help them through it. But then, strength was not a quality she lacked.

  Maliel had proven himself to be highly resourceful, and Drake found his company pleasant, although his sense of humor was often confusing. The Nelwyn would burst into laughter at things in which there was nothing Drake thought to be amusing in the slightest – mostly innocuous comments Drake made about the heat or the time of day. Still, it was good not to feel the ever- present weight of Vale’s squalor and strife. And in spite of anything the future might hold, his time with Lenora was enough to make him feel young and vigorous again.

  “We will be with my people soon,” Maliel remarked, as he tossed Drake and Lenora each a varpa fruit.

  Drake frowned at the offering. He hadn’t had meat in six days and was growing tired of what they could forage. Though Lenora was not as blatant about it, he could see that she felt the same way.

  “You said that yesterday,” remarked Drake, through a mouthful of fruit.

  “Be patient. The Bomar are ever on the march. We are forced to move often to avoid them.”

  Apparently, the Bomar were ruled much in the same way as the people of Vale. A powerful upper class controlled everything. Most of Nelwyn understanding of Bomar culture was acquired through the interrogation of prisoners, with almost no interactions with common folk. Maliel explained that the people did not have much say in the way they were governed. Their Emperor, a man named Gylator, had ruled for the past ten years, having taken the throne from his father who had died under circumstances Maliel described as
mysterious, insinuating that murder was a distinct possibility. The more Drake learned about the two peoples, the more similarities he saw.

  The Nelwyn, on the other hand, had no king or queen. Instead, the elders of each tribe, of which Maliel named five – Umbri, Nambri, Samsil, Bandria, and Faron – formed a ruling council, though it only made decisions that affected their people as a whole. Most laws, of which there

  were very few, were set internally, in accordance with a tribe’s own specific needs. They had no courts or bureaucracy, not even a prison to house criminals. If one violated the law, they made some form of restitution – typically through service. Murder was almost unknown, and the penalty was permanent exile.

  “Being forced from your home is the ultimate punishment,” Maliel had said. “We Nelwyn are deeply bound to our people and land. It is why we so desperately need your help. If things continue, we will surely perish.”

  Drake had barely closed his eyes when he heard Maliel scramble to his feet. Lenora was still in a deep sleep, exhausted from hours of channeling mana.

  Drake crawled to where he had put his P37, careful not to wake her. “What is it?” he whispered.

  Maliel held up a hand to silence him, his neck bent as he listened into the night. After several minutes, he crossed over to Drake, his expression dire.