The Reborn King (Book Six) Page 7

  With level determination, she turned away and opened the door. Without glancing back, she strode down the front steps and past the crystal statue, stopping only when she was a few feet away from the half-men. They regarded her with emotionless black eyes before moving aside.

  The Vrykol in the center hissed a whispered order, and in an instant Kaylia was surrounded by black cloaks.

  “You have chosen wisely,” it said.

  The stench of death caused her face to contort. “As long as you leave my son in peace, I will give you no trouble.”

  “Your son is of no interest to us at present,” the Vrykol replied. “It is you we need. Should our master require him after Darshan is dead, it will be a simple matter to fetch him.”

  When Darshan discovers what you have done, she thought, he will tear your spirit apart like wet parchment.

  “You have me now,” she snapped. “If you intend to take me, then lead on. Your words are empty and unwanted.”

  Without reply, the Vrykol spun around and started toward the gate. Kaylia felt an icy hand pressing into the small of her back. She loathed to be touched by these creatures, so she quickly matched her captor's pace. Again she wanted to reach out for Gewey, but even without Aaliyah’s block, she could feel that the Vrykol would have prevented it.

  “Do not bother,” said the Vrykol, anticipating her thoughts. “He will not hear you. By the time he learns of your fate, my master will have already placed his head on a pike.”

  Rage boiled up from deep inside, but she forced it back and remained quiet. Basanti would come to her aid, she was sure of it. And then they would pay dearly for their folly.

  * * * * *

  Basanti watched from the window as Kaylia and the enemy disappeared beyond the shattered gates.

  “What do you plan to do?” asked Linis.

  “I plan to rescue her,” she replied flatly.

  “How can we help?” asked Aaliyah. Her tone did not conceal her fury.

  Basanti looked down at the baby in her arms. “Linis can help by taking Jayden to Valshara. He should be safe there until Kaylia returns.”

  “You cannot hope to challenge the Vrykol and the half-men alone,” Linis protested. “I shall go with you.”

  Basanti handed the baby to Linis and shook her head. There was a sad smile on her lips. “I will not be alone. Aaliyah will assist me.” She met the other woman's eyes. “But only if you agree to do precisely as I say.”

  After a long pause, Aaliyah nodded.

  “But I still cannot understand how you hope to defeat so many,” Linis contended. “Even with Aaliyah’s help.”

  “There is much about me that you do not know…cannot know,” she explained. “And once I have done what must be done, I will be changed.”

  Linis regarded her with concern. “Changed? How?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “This is a decision I must make. I ask only that you convey a message to Felsafell when next you see him.” Her words had a sense of finality. “Tell him that I am sorry. I wish I could have explored the rest of our world by his side. Please let him know that I will always treasure the memories of the odd little hermit who protected and cared for me throughout the long years. But most of all tell him…tell him that I love him.” Her tears were beginning to flow. “Now go. You must not delay.”

  There would be no discussion of the matter. Linis could see that. Basanti’s mind was fixed and her path had been chosen. Whatever she had decided to do, it would come at great cost to her.

  Linis quickly packed a few essentials and had Therisa show him to the passage.

  “This will lead you to just beyond the walls,” the old woman told him. “The brush is thick around the exit and should conceal you well.”

  He thanked her and went to find Basanti and Aaliyah in order to say farewell. But they had already departed.

  “Do you think they will succeed?” he asked Therisa, even though he knew she did not have the answer.

  “Perhaps. If she is the Oracle of legend. But it sounded as if she will sacrifice much to do so.” The old woman handed him a bundle of changing cloths and a skin of milk. “But you must focus or your task. Jayden’s mother is mistress of this house. Her child must be kept safe.”

  He steeled his wits and cleared his thoughts. She was right. Whatever Basanti was planning to do was not his concern at this moment.

  All his attention must be concentrated on getting Jayden to safety. Would there be foes awaiting them along his path? And if so, how would he deal with them?

  That was more than enough to be thinking about at present.

  Chapter Seven

  Gewey, Nehrutu, and Felsafell halted just as the Vrykol fortress came into view. The curtain wall Gewey had destroyed when last here remained scattered in massive black chunks about the yard, indicating that no one had yet attempted to repair it. He hoped this meant that the place was still abandoned.

  They stood perfectly still, listening intently for several minutes before approaching. Dotted around the landscape were numerous sections of black stained earth where the ashes of Gewey's victims still lay. The memory of that night flashed through his mind. His vengeful fury back then was almost beyond reckoning. Only Kaylia’s love had been able to prevent him from completely abandoning his humanity.

  The cage where the human slaves had been imprisoned was still there as well – its twisted door on the ground a few feet away where he had tossed it aside. How terrifying he must have seemed to them. He wondered if the people he had freed ever had nightmares about the wrath of Darshan. Or did they see him as their liberator.

  “I hear no enemies about,” Felsafell said in a half whisper. He regarded the shattered wall and the empty Vrykol cloaks. “You must have been a truly awesome spectacle when you did this.”

  “That’s not exactly how I’d put it,” Gewey responded somberly.

  The stench of death still lingered in the calm air. Hundreds of the Reborn King’s foul creations had dwelt here, and it would be years, if not decades, before the ground was clean and pure again.

  “This was once a beautiful place,” remarked Felsafell, sharing Gewey’s revulsion. “When my people lived, this was a center for art and music. It stood for thousands of years and produced wonders the like of which would make the gods themselves weep for joy.” He closed his eyes, a distant smile on his lips. “During the spring months, the honeysuckle and lavender perfumed the breeze just as evening fell. The musicians would join the painters and sculptors in the grand courtyard, allowing the visual splendor to inspire them to unimaginable heights of creativity and subtlety. So masterful were they, the sheer magnificence of their works would cause the night blooms to issue forth.”

  “What are night blooms?” asked Gewey.

  Felsafell opened his eyes. “Night blooms were the pinnacle of my people’s creative ingenuity. At least, that has always been my opinion. Our horticulturists spent centuries cultivating and combining various species of flowers. Ultimately, the night bloom was born. It looked much like a rose, though with longer and more complex petals. And the colors…” He sighed. “They were enough to shame even the splendor of heaven. When the musicians played, the blooms glowed with a faint, pure light that would change with the mood of the music. Each flower was different, but rather than a chaotic swirl, it melded and took form – increasingly growing in beauty as the songs progressed.”

  “I’ve never heard of them before,” Gewey said, now even more disgusted by the scorched and disfigured scene before him. “I wish I could see some.”

  “They are long extinct,” Felsafell explained sadly. “Without gardeners to tend them, they soon faded away.”

  “A great pity,” said Nehrutu. “Your words remind me of the flowers and gardens of home.”

  Felsafell smiled. “I hope you will show them to Basanti and I one day.” He turned his attention back to the fortress. “But first we must complete the task at hand.”

  Beyond the wall and broken g
ates, the interior was pitch black. Even with his god’s eyes, Gewey struggled to make out anything other than shadowy shapes devoid of detail. Felsafell reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crystal sphere, which he rubbed his hand against. Like the elf globes, light emanated from its core.

  “A remnant from the distant past,” Felsafell told them, before anyone could ask.

  Unfortunately, the light only revealed stark walls and bare floors. It seemed that Vrykol had no interest in décor, nor even furniture. Gewey glanced to his right where a staircase led to the upper floors and was tempted to explore.

  “There is nothing there of value,” remarked Felsafell, as if hearing his thoughts. “What we seek is below.”

  He led them deeper inside through the labyrinth of passageways. There were no doors on any of the rooms, and upon inspection it became clear why. There was nothing there – only bare stone walls.

  “Why have a fortress at all?” Gewey pondered. Even in a low whisper his voice echoed loudly, sending a sudden wave of anxiety through him.

  “Why indeed?” agreed Nehrutu.

  “I can only guess it was meant to be some sort of staging point,” said Felsafell. “But for what, I cannot say. The location they chose would shield them from most eyes. Including yours. There are certain places in this world in which the god’s vision is obscured. This is one of them.”

  Gewey considered this. He and Kaylia had been quite close by when he first detected it. And that was before he'd learned how to truly stretch out with his spirit. An ability later taught to him by Melek.

  “Then maybe it wasn’t the stones that brought them here,” he suggested.

  “Perhaps,” said Felsafell. “But it begs the question – if they were hiding, was it really from you?” He cast a worried look at Gewey. “You had no ability to see them when this place was first built. And there was no way they could have anticipated Melek's arrival. So who were they hiding from?”

  Gewey was at a loss. Now that Melek was in Shagharath, there were no more gods on earth other than himself. “The elves?” he suggested.

  “Unlikely,” said Nehrutu. “We are not as powerful as you, and cannot see as far or as clearly. They would not need to go to so much trouble to conceal themselves from us. Especially being that, other than myself, only Mohanisi and Aaliyah have significant talent with the flow.”

  “And they could certainly have captured any elves of this land who might happen along,” Felsafell added.

  Gewey thought hard, but could come up with no logical reason why the Vrykol would need to build such a fortress here. Finally, with a grunt, he pushed the question from his mind. It would have to remain a mystery for the time being.

  They continued to explore, twisting and backtracking several times until finally discovering a downward stairway. Gewey would have thought it impossible, but the air that wafted up from here was even more rank and unclean than in the rest of the foul place. The odor was like a cloud of vile pestilence that threatened to choke the very life from him. Yet, as he took a step forward, he could feel something odd. Almost like a presence – conscious and alive, but without focus or purpose.

  “Do you feel that?” asked Gewey.

  Both Felsafell and Nehrutu shook their heads.

  Once again, Gewey cursed the fact that he had to forgo using the flow. The soreness of his wounds from battling the Vrykol, though healing rapidly, was a testament to how much he had come to depend on it.

  “Something is down there,” he said warily.

  The song of steel pierced the thick air as Nehrutu and Gewey drew their blades. All three then began descending the steps with Felsafell leading the way, the glowing orb in his hand only slightly breaking into the suffocating dark.

  The stairs continued for more than one-hundred feet before ending at a long narrow hallway. Felsafell was forced to duck down so not to scrape his head on the ceiling, while Gewey had to walk slightly twisted to one side in order to accommodate his broad shoulders.

  With each step, the presence grew more pronounced to Gewey. He was reminded of the way he had felt when in the Black Oasis, only this time it was not something malevolent, angry, or even aware of him. He speculated that it might have been touched by the gods at some point. The thought excited him. Perhaps he would encounter yet another godly essence left behind to assist him. Maybe even his father. But could a god leave more than one piece of itself behind? Or could it be one of the other gods this time?

  The passage sloped downward for a few more yards before ending at an iron barred gate that proved to be solidly locked. Felsafell motioned for the others to step back. The sinews of his arms and shoulders rippled as he pulled on the bars with all of his might. For a moment it looked as if the gate would prove to be too much even for the first born, but then they heard the complaining groan of yielding metal as the hinges gradually began to bend. After letting out one final mighty grunt of exertion, Felsafell tore it completely free. Gewey winced, the high-pitched screech of iron scraping on stone sending shivers down his back and causing all the hairs on his arms to stand on end.

  Beyond the entrance was an immense natural limestone cavern measuring several hundred feet in all directions, and with a ceiling at least fifty feet high. The floor was smooth yet uneven, and the rancid air was made even more unpleasant by a sudden drop in temperature.

  “We are here,” Felsafell announced. He peered through the darkness. “And we are not alone.”

  Gewey focused and very quickly could make out three cloaked figures standing against the wall on the far side of the cavern. His muscles tensed as he prepared to charge.

  “Wait,” said Felsafell. “Something is wrong. Look closely.”

  Gewey could see that there was indeed something odd about the Vrykol. They seemed to be taking no notice at all of his sudden appearance. Instead, they were simply jerking back and forth erratically. Their weapons lay discarded on the floor a short distance in front of them.

  Cautiously, they inched towards the creatures. When they were about twenty feet away, the Vrykol on the left let out a high-pitched scream and fell to its knees. The two others spun around and began clawing wildly at the stone wall, as if trying to tear a way through.

  Gewey, Nehrutu and Felsafell looked at each another in stunned confusion. This bizarre situation continued for several minutes – then slowly, the creatures returned to their previous positions.

  Gewey took a few steps closer, motioning for the others to stay where they were. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded. His voice echoed, causing the Vrykol to twitch, but none of them answered. He repeated his question.

  The Vrykol in the center eventually nodded. “You…You…” His rasping voice was full of fear. “You are Darshan. I…I know you. I’ve seen you. You…you…destroyed us.”

  “Yet you do not flee.”

  The Vrykol began to tremble. “I…I cannot. I must not. There is no escape.”

  Without another word, the creature leapt forward, spanning the distance between them in an instant. Gewey instinctively raised his blade, impaling it down to the hilt. In spite of this, the Vrykol’s claw-like fingers still desperately sought to grab hold of his shirt front.

  “Save us,” it pleaded. “Save us and we will serve you. Yes. We will serve you and no other. Save us, and we will do anything you ask.”

  Some of the thick black blood covering Gewey's blade spilled onto the floor as he pushed the wounded creature away. However, it was undeterred. It crumbled to the ground and began crawling forward until it was groveling at Gewey’s feet.

  “Save us, master,” it hissed pitifully. “Save us.”

  The other two also fell prostrate and joined in to echo the first one's plea.

  “What is wrong with you?” Gewey demanded, unable to believe what he was seeing. Vrykol didn’t feel fear. At least not in this way. But soon their hissing pleas had degenerated even further into incoherent blubbering, spat out in sharp gurgles and vile coughs. “Answer me!” he comman
ded, but still they gave no answer.

  Finally, exasperated, Gewey raised his blade and in a swift motion took the wounded creature's head. The other two appeared not to notice and continued their pathetic wailing. Quickly, he moved in and silenced them permanently as well.

  Their screams echoed for a moment throughout the cavern before fading away. After a long pause, Gewey turned to his two companions looking shaken and mortified.

  “I don’t know what to think,” he said. “What could have affected them so?”

  Felsafell shook his head.

  “I never imagined I would be capable of feeling pity for these beasts,” remarked Nehrutu. “But that was…ghastly.”

  “Indeed,” said Felsafell. He cast his eyes along the walls, fixing his gaze on a smooth section a few yards to their right. He approached it with care and examined the surface for a time.

  Gewey stood beside him. “Is that the door?”

  “Yes,” he replied, running his finger along a barely visible cracked in the rock. “And it has been damaged. Possibly when you unleashed your wrath upon this place. The seal which protects it can only be opened by the power of heaven.”

  “Maybe the Dark Knight broke it?” suggested Gewey.

  “Perhaps,” said Felsafell. “But I think not. If he possessed the ability to do this, he would most likely have removed it completely.” He turned to Gewey. “Touch it.”

  After a brief hesitation, Gewey pressed his hand against the wall. The limestone was instantly replaced by a silver door, across the face of which was etched a circle containing the symbols of the nine gods.

  At the sight of this, Felsafell reached out to grab the handle. But the instant his fingers made contact, there was an earsplitting crack and a flash of blinding white light. The first born was sent flying several yards back and landed with a thud, flat on his back. Nehrutu and Gewey were at his side at once.