Marked (25 page)

“That man truly does have a powerful personality, and a great magnetism.”

“I hope someday I’ll develop just a fraction of that magnetism and strength...” said the Prince.

“You envy the Sergeant?” asked Aliana, surprised.

“I have to confess I do. Everyone respects him. Not only do they act on his orders without hesitation, they would just as readily die for him. They’d follow him into hell itself if he commanded it,” stated Gerart.

“They would die for you as well.”

“Not for me... they would die for the kingdom, for the crown of Rogdon. For the country. It’s not the same thing.”

“And for you, too. You are the Heir of Rogdon. There is not one soldier who would not give his life for you.”

“I know, but that’s not what I’m talking about. They would die for what I represent—not for who I really am.” The Prince dropped his head.

When he looked up, the expression on Aliana’s face told him she understood.

“I want nothing more than to gain the respect of these men. But not because of the title I hold. What I desperately want is the kind of respect the Sergeant has earned. A man of the people, with no title. To inspire that kind of respect, that level of admiration among the men.”

“The men’s respect is earned. There is no other way to get it.”

“I know. I am making my best effort to act correctly and to make the right decisions in difficult times. I am putting my whole being into it. Still, I’m missing something... Maybe it’s that I don’t have the charisma it takes... Oh, how I envy his disposition, his strong personality... I just don’t have the imposing presence that he does.”

“Remember, we’re still very young, Gerart. Part of the respect the Sergeant inspires comes from his years of experience. From the bitter years of wars and bloodshed. In each and every one of his stories, behind every single one of the countless scars that mark his body. He has lived so much, and his experiences earn him his rank. Our inexperience, on the other hand, is the fruit of our youth. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that. No one is born a victor of battles; it comes with experience.”

“Maybe that’s true, but I would give my right arm for the men to follow me the way they follow him.”

“Patience, young Prince; soon they will.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I am convinced of it,” affirmed Aliana, looking into his eyes.

“Thank you for your kind, generous words. You have no idea how much better you’ve made me feel.” Gerart raised his hand to his heart.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I know it seems far off now, but the day you long for will come—before you expect it will—you’ll see.”

“Let’s hope you’re right—but I’m not so sure.”

“Why do you doubt your potential?” 

“Can I trust you, Aliana? Can I trust you to be discreet?”

“You have my friendship... so of course you can trust me, Gerart.”

“I’m not sure why, but sometimes I feel like I’m not ready to face what’s expected of me. Especially when I’m in the presence of men of great internal fortitude like my father or the Sergeant. I’m the Prince, and someday I will be the King, but right now I feel like I don’t have the knowledge or the charisma necessary to fulfill my commitments—my duty to the kingdom. I don’t know if I really have inside me what it takes to be the leader they’re expecting me to be.”

“I understand. Your doubts are only natural. We all have them,” she said as she encouragingly placed her hand on the young man’s arm, all the while fighting to suppress her emotions.

“Even you? You who were chosen, who possess the talent of healing—the blessing of the gods?”

“Even I. Fortunately, in the Temple of Tirsar I found the support and the help I needed to learn to use the Gift and develop it. But even so, I doubt myself too. I wonder whether or not I’ll be able to heal the next wound or illness I’m confronted with. It’s a battle I have to fight all the time. Sometimes we will succeed; other times we will fail, but we should not doubt ourselves. Instead we must learn and keep fighting.”

The Sergeant appeared from out of the shadows of the night and, taking off his helmet, sat down beside the Prince, dropping to the ground like a heavy sack.

“For the love of Vangor’s nuts! This has definitely been a day to forget. We’ve been through pure hell today,” he sighed bitterly.

“That we have,” agreed the Prince, lowering his head.

“We lost good soldiers today. Brave young Rogdonians. Let’s hope their lives were not lost in vain.”

“I want to assure you those lives were not senselessly wasted. Those brave Lancers died serving their kingdom and they will save many other lives.”

“I know full well you are not some frivolous heir to the throne who does not value the life of his subjects. We have a mission to complete and we will see it through. We’ll get to the summit of that mountain just as we’ve been ordered. What I don’t know is what you expect to find up there. There is nothing but snow, rocks, and a few caves where the Usik bury their dead—or so I’ve been told. I don’t know much about the customs of those green-skinned savages.”

“I understand your skepticism, Mortuc, but we must find the great Mage, Haradin, and the last we knew was that he was headed to those caves in search of an ancient relic of power.”

The Sergeant took off his gauntlets and dropped them by his feet.

“The Usik may have captured him or, even more likely, they’ve killed him. As you’ve seen, those bastards don’t like having foreigners on their turf.”

“I don’t believe he’s dead. He is a Mage with great power, able to move about completely unnoticed wherever he goes. He must be in one of the caves at the summit—maybe trapped, or wounded—but I don’t believe the Usik captured him.” Gerart shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, let’s hope he is still alive. We’ll search the caves as we ascend for traces that he’s been there. But I still think he was probably captured or killed by those barbarians from the woods,” stated the Sergeant as he scratched his black beard.

“There are several local legends that tell of ghosts and the undead living in the depths of those caves. Not even the Usik themselves dare to enter the caves at the highest elevations,” explained Aliana.

“That doesn’t sound at all appealing. I’m all right with fighting the living, but spirits?... That’s a whole other thing,” replied the Sergeant, making the protective sign of the Light with his hand.

“Those are nothing more than the myths of a barbaric people,” said Gerart, playing it down.

“But all legends are born from reality. There may be some truth in the documents we found in the Temple of Tirsar,” said Aliana.

“Aside from spirits and the undead, did you find any other important information?” asked the Sergeant, his penetrating gaze looking expectantly at both of them.

“Actually, we did find one ancient document of great interest along with other legends about the Usik. In it they described a strange Object of Power. According to what was written in the document, Ustas, a Black Usik chief who was greatly influential long ago in the tribe, lost his first-born son in a battle against foreigners from the South. So great were his pain and desperation from the loss that he ordered his son be given the most extravagant of funerals. He proclaimed that he should be buried in the highest sacred cave on Ancestors Mountain. He wanted to give him the highest possible honor so that he would travel on the backs of the great eagles to the kingdom of the spirits with the golden eyes. Blinded by grief, the chief ignored both the legends that signaled the dangers of climbing to the top of the sacred mountain and disturbing his ancestors’ eternal rest as well as his witch doctors’ warnings. He went up to the highest cave on Eagles Peak. As he prepared for the funeral inside the cave, he heard a strange sound. When he turned to see what it was, he came face to face with one of his sacred ancestors. The spirit had golden eyes and wore an enormous jewel on his hand that was emitting a bright, brownish light. Frightened, Ustas threw himself to the ground, bowing and begging forgiveness for having disturbed the sacred spirit’s eternal rest in the hopes of placating the spirit’s anger and saving his own life. The spirit looked upon him and then silently disappeared into the blackness of the cave. Terribly shaken from the encounter, Ustas took his son’s body and left the cave. He then buried him in the lower caves, far away from the spirit, fearful of inciting the fury of that sacred being.”

The Sergeant blinked slowly, processing the story. “An interesting and alarming tale. Leaves me feeling rather unsettled,” he said, not trying to mask his discomfort.

“It’s nothing more than a legend. There are no spirits and no specters with yellow eyes up there,” assured Gerart.

“Perhaps not, but there certainly is
something
up there. So it will be better if we’re prepared for that. Let’s keep in mind that very little is known about the Usik—practically nothing, actually. No one knows about their customs, their religion, or even where their towns are in that massive forest. They are a mystery, and they kill anyone who tries to discover their secrets. The fact that such a legend has been handed down is, in my opinion, quite significant,” stated Aliana.

“Why do you think Haradin went up there—to that cave in particular, I mean?” asked the Sergeant.

“Haradin was searching for an Object of Power. We know that because he mentioned it to my father before he left for the Temple of Tirsar to check the library there,” explained Gerart.

“The spirit’s jewel with the bright brown light?” asked the Sergeant, as if reading Gerart’s mind.

“That’s what we believe,” confirmed Aliana. “Besides, next to the ancient parchment with the legend we found a note in Haradin’s handwriting.”

Aliana took the note out of the small leather bag she wore tied to her waist and handed it to the Sergeant.

Mortuc raised the note and read aloud.

The second of the lost temples of the Ilenians.

The great Earth Temple.

At the summit of Ancestors Mountain, in Usik territory.

The power of the element Earth lies buried there.

“We will find that Earth Temple, have no doubt of that!” assured the Sergeant. “By Sostas the Miser’s beard, we will find it!” 

When the opening sealed itself off above their heads, Komir jolted. His eyes darted around nervously, fear chipping away at him. Long staircases sculpted in stone led the group to a large, gloomy oval cave. Although at first it appeared that there was no exit, on the other side of the stairs they found a stone door that had been walled in. Protecting the door were two muscular granite guards that were nearly seven feet tall, sleeping their eternal slumber as they held fast to their swords and shields. Surprisingly, the heads of the two guards were not human.

They were the heads of lions. Ferocious-looking lions.

“I’m not liking this at all... men with lions’ heads... we’re off to a bad start here,” protested Hartz as he got up close to look over one of the stone guards.

Kayti took off her gauntlet and touched the covered door with her pale hand. “Solid stone. Impossible to get through this.”

In the arch at the top of the door they discovered yet another inscription in the strange language of the Ilenians.

Komir stood in front of the blocked door and, following his instincts, presented his mother’s Dark Medallion to the symbols that formed the inscription.

Its dormant power awakened, the medallion emitted a golden flash.

The inscription above the door immediately responded, emitting a flash of the same color.

Both the medallion and the runes began to glow with a golden light that increased in intensity until it was blindingly bright—so bright that the four adventurers were forced to look away. The edges of the door turned gold, forming a brilliant rectangular border.

To the shock of the four companions, the stone door opened with a thunderous boom.

“In... credible,” stammered Komir.

“By Igrali, Goddess of the Moon!” exclaimed Hartz, still stunned. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in our mountains, I’ll tell you that right now. No one in Orrio is going to believe me when I tell them... no one...”

“There is no doubt that this medallion is an Object of Power. But we’ll have to determine what kind of power it has and what its origin and function are,” commented Kayti as she moved closer to the Dark Medallion hanging from Komir’s hand.

“I think so too... It has to be the key to accessing some sacred Ilenian site. How exciting!” exclaimed the priest.

“Please, don’t come near it,” said Komir.

Kayti held up her hands, took a step back and bowed sarcastically.

“Let’s keep going,” said Komir.

They crossed through the doorway and continued down a long, narrow staircase carved into the rock itself. It led them into a large natural cavern hewn from shining stone. In the torch light the wetness seeping from the high black walls seemed to have been preserved over the passage of time.

Hartz looked around. “I’ll be darned if those walls don’t look like they’re crying. Bad omen... really bad...”

They continued walking cautiously, going further into the depths of the mysterious grotto, their hearts beating like war drums in frightened anticipation. They came to a fork and decided to continue to the left, which brought them to a chasm. They looked up at the stalagmites hanging from the incredibly high vaulted ceiling of the cavern but at their feet they saw only impenetrable darkness, like a starless night. Kayti picked a stone up off the ground and dropped it into the blackness of the abyss. They stood still, silently listening, waiting for several long moments—but heard no sound.

“There is no bottom to that emptiness! We need to be really careful. Better make sure we know where we’re stepping or we’ll end up dead in the bowels of these caverns,” warned Kayti.

They backtracked and walked even more carefully on the path to the right of the fork. After a short while, the rocky wall that had been on their left side as they advanced suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a dark precipice.

“Careful!” warned Komir.

Everyone immediately clung to the wall to their right as they continued moving forward with extreme caution. To their dismay, a short distance ahead, the wall on their right that had been supporting them was replaced by another abyss, leaving the group standing on a narrow and winding stone path.

“This is really getting ugly,” protested Hartz.

“Go single file and move very carefully. The path is no more than four feet wide; after that, it falls off into the depths of the cavern,” Kayti advised.

They continued their slow descent, extremely precautious and afraid of losing their footing and falling into the void. Each step took an eternity; it seemed as if they were headed to the very center of the earth or into some never-ending abyss with no return. At last, the tortuous passageway led them to a large platform made of black stone. With a sigh of relief, all four dropped to the floor, enjoying the gratifying feeling of safety.

On the far wall, a door awaited them. They left the cavern behind and crossed through the door... and instantly froze in astonishment.

Before them was a majestic room, exquisitely designed and constructed, worthy of a powerful king. The chamber had been built by expert artisans and exuded elegance.
Its dark alabaster walls were adorned by elegant symmetrical engravings in stone and gold. Great circular columns spaced out at exact distances throughout the rectangular room rose up to meet the high golden ceiling.
A warm light emanating from the shiny ceiling softly lit the entire room. Carved into the surface of the eight monumental columns were mysterious Ilenian runes. Opposite each column on an oval pedestal was a statue of a muscular warrior at least seven feet tall, dressed in bronze armor. And in place of a human head was the head of a roaring lion.

“Uh... I don’t like this room at all...” moaned Hartz as he looked at the statues. “No, sir, I do not like the looks of this. I don’t know what this place is, but it makes me really uneasy,” he confessed, holding his torch up high as he continued looking around.

“What do those monsters have on their hands? Claws?” asked Komir.

“It looks like it. They’re wearing gloves with five long, pointy blades, as if they were claws. Really unusual,” the eager priest noted, intrigued. He moved closer to the first statue to have a look.

“Any idea what those inscriptions say?” Komir asked the priest.

“Let’s see... Well, actually... I can only make out what I believe is the symbol of the guardian, and if I’m not mistaken that one is the omnipresent symbol of death... Yes, death... It is one of the few allegories we know for certain,” he explained, carefully examining the inscription on the first column.

“How comforting!” said Hartz sarcastically.

Kayti looked at him and shook her head.

“I could be wrong, but these sculptures must represent the guardians of this... underground temple,” replied the priest as he continued to study the Ilenian runes.

“It would be best if we didn’t touch anything,” advised Kayti, sending a warning glance at Hartz who, not taking the hint, looked away.

“Let’s keep going. Stay alert and be careful,” said Komir.

They took a few steps toward the far end of the great room when, suddenly, from the dimly lit shadows, a deep voice began to speak out in an unknown language.

The four adventurers froze in place; their eyes searching, their hearts beating wildly. The Ilenian runes on the columns began to shine with that characteristic golden glow, now so familiar to them, and then began to weep a thick, golden liquid. The strange substance looked like melted gold and ran down each of the columns, bathing the fierce half-man, half-lion guardians situated before them. As soon as the golden matter came into contact with the statues they began to tremble, coming to life as they let out a sound so shrill that they were all forced to cover their ears. With fear rising in their hearts, the group began backing away toward the door.

But it was sealed.

“It’s a trap!” exclaimed Kayti. “I hope I’m wrong, but I think we’d better get ready because it looks like we’re going to have to deal with those lion-man monsters we seem to have awakened.”

“But this can’t be! May the eternal Light protect us!” pleaded the priest as he looked up at the ceiling in search of a sky he could not see.

“Damn our luck! Once again we’re up against more filthy, rotten magic!” bellowed Hartz.

“Let’s stay calm!” Komir tried to reassure everyone, but his voice broke.

The first guard came down from the pedestal upon which it had been resting and slowly advanced toward the group, brandishing its deadly claws. It was moving its arms and shoulders as if trying to loosen them up. Its feline eyes shone with the golden color of the substance that had given it life. The creature’s great mane and frightful jaw would have terrified even the most daring of humans. It wore bronze armor that had grown dirty and discolored with the passage of time: a bronze cuirass over a long black tunic, with arm plates and leg plates. A long, dark cape covered its back. Moving slowly but powerfully, its size and musculature gave the impression that it was uncommonly strong. It was like a gigantic, feline demigod.

As the creature approached them, it let out a ferocious roar that made Komir’s blood run cold. In one powerful leap it pounced on Hartz. The Norriel, with almost no time to react to the assault, blocked the impact of the beast’s claws with his sword. The monster forcefully kicked the huge Norriel in the stomach, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees in pain.

Komir and Kayti immediately reacted by attacking the beast. Komir’s spear went straight for the creature’s heart but, with cat-like reflexes, it managed to deflect Komir’s strike with its metallic claws. Kayti, however, was able to stab it in the armpit. The guard let out a hair-raising roar and took several steps back. Out of the wound sprang an odd, thick, blackish-gold blood. Komir attacked again but the monster took another mighty leap and dodged the sword, jumping onto the Norriel and knocking him down with a powerful blow. In pain and trying not to let fear take over his mind, Komir defended himself from the floor.

For the love of Ikzuge, this beast is too strong!
He was trapped against the marble floor, with the creature trying to rip through his neck with its fierce jaw. Luckily, he managed to turn away in time and the beast instead sank its teeth into Komir’s shoulder, which was covered by his chain mail. In spite of the protection the armor provided, Komir felt the fearsome fangs scraping over his flesh as they punctured his doublet and coat.

He felt an intense pain.

My shoulder!

All of a sudden, the beast released its bloodied prey and roared in pain.

Kayti had stabbed it in the back with her spear, piercing its armor with a powerful blow.

Komir rolled to the right and drew his Norriel sword and his hunting knife. The beast was still walking, blinded by fury from the pain of its wounds. It was now preparing to pounce on Kayti. She picked Komir’s sword up off floor.

“It won’t die!” exclaimed Komir, wincing.

The beast struck Kayti; she flew across the floor.

“How do we kill it?” yelled Kayti, gasping.

A silence full of uncertainty followed the question. It was broken by another roar from the mighty beast.

“Its head! Cut off the lion’s head!” came a frenzied shout from the priest.

Komir looked at him, not understanding.

“It’s a wild animal and you’re just enraging it by wounding it!” shouted the priest from the corner where he was hiding, holding both torches.

Komir thought for a moment, then signaled to Kayti and Hartz—who had recovered—that they should distract the beast. The redhead nodded and, standing up, she vigorously attacked. Livid, the beast swatted at her, but she fended it off as best she could. Hartz moved in and stabbed the monster with a strong thrust, pushing it up against one of the columns. He put the full weight of his body against it to trap it there. Kayti took advantage of the moment and, leaping and spinning in midair, she thrust her sword into the beast as Hartz held it against the column. The thick, blackish blood splattered her white armor. Without hesitation, Komir moved in next to the monster. He leaped forward and made a perfectly aimed slash across its throat, skillfully decapitating it. 

The lion’s head rolled grotesquely across the room. A split second later, the beast’s body collapsed lifelessly on the floor, never to rise up again.

Komir let out a sigh of relief.

A bit of color returned to Kayti’s pale cheeks.

So, there was a way to kill those Ilenian monsters...

“We got it, Father!” confirmed Hartz.

Three new monsters came out of the shadows, roaring loudly; it was an agonized roar, as if they could sense their fellow guard’s death, as if there were still some shred of humanness in them.

Kayti prepared to face off with them. As she watched them approaching, spread out across the wide hallway with their strapping, inured bodies and those sinister jaws, she was gripped by an uncontrollable feeling of panic. But seeing her two companions preparing themselves for the head-on collision with a look of resolution calmed her; her faith in the ability those two Norriel displayed in combat filled her with a renewed sense of courage. She had confidence in her skills with a sword—and certainly in those of her two companions. Her fear gradually dissipated until it finally disappeared completely. Her muscles relaxed. They would get out of this mess. As she heard Hartz letting out the Norriel war cry at the top of his lungs, her own fierceness was reborn. Without another second of hesitation, she launched an attack, following the Norriel’s charge.