Alora: The Portal (22 page)

Regaining control over all of his citizens
had taken a toll on Vindrake’s body. The added process of separating his faithful followers from those who obeyed solely by blood coercion was both tedious and exhausting. As he suspected, those truly loyal were rare, and many of his most talented warriors and citizens failed his test. This only confirmed what he already knew.
I cannot depend on anyone but myself.

He’d extinguished some who came before him, trembling with the knowledge they could never hide their innermost thoughts from his prodigious gift of judging. Killing to replenish his energy, he didn’t relish the task as he had with Malphas. He felt no animosity toward the multitude that merely responded to his puppeteering. Though he found a number of gifted warriors whose allegiance was without question, he detested the necessity of relinquishing his control for the incursion through the portal.

Fortunately, he’d found no sign of anyone guarding the other end of the portal, for he’d seen only animal footprints in the deep snow surrounding the mysterious steaming pool with the spouting tower of water. An initial scouting party would split into groups of three and four with the goal of exploring the new realm and discovering the most promising resources.

Since Alora had spoken Tenavae, he assumed his scouts would be able to communicate when they reached the citizens of her realm. The group would carry weapons that could be easily concealed, hoping to negotiate with the native population rather than engage in conflict on their initial foray. For this purpose, each group would also carry gold coin for trade.

Vindrake knew he might eventually need a larger force to accomplish his goals in the new realm, and such a company must be carefully controlled. What if he imbued one of his commanders with the power to wield the bloodbond? Of course he would be walking a dangerous line if he allowed another to access control, even temporarily.

A thought wormed its way into his mind…
If only Alleraen had chosen to join forces with me.
He expelled the annoying idea at once.
No benefit in longing for the impossible.
Still, the notion returned, and he considered the possibility, however unlikely, his brother might finally consent and unite with him as his second in command. How long had it been since they’d spoken? Six moons? A year? He should visit him in the secure chambers immediately. Realizing it was the middle of the night, he hesitated for a moment. What matter? What did night or day mean to someone who’d been locked away for years?

With his mind made up, he hurried from his chamber, shutting the heavy wood door with a thud and turning the key to fasten the lock. He grabbed a torch to make his way through the winding hallway.

Rounding the final corner, he heard a gasp. A child, his face hooded in a bulky cloak, stood poised to ascend the stairway. The child stumbled back, perhaps preparing to retreat, but Vindrake stretched out his hand to squeeze off his airway. As the child halted, clutching his throat, Vindrake strode to bar his escape.

“Halt! Who are you? Show me your face.” Vindrake relaxed the chokehold.

The child, though too young to bear the bondmark, obediently pushed the cowl from his head, lifting a defiant chin. With pride in his bearing, despite a dirty face and an oversized cloak, he spoke in a haughty voice. “I came to see my brother, still locked away despite your promise to release my family if I performed your task.”

“Ah,
Markaeus
. Yes, yes. All in due time. At the moment your grandfather is still needed for his gresses gift.” He frowned, suddenly recalling Malphas’ words concerning Markaeus. The boy had already shown possession of the minor gift of gresses. He couldn’t be trusted near the secure chambers. Vindrake felt his ire rising. “How came you to this place alone? Where is the guard sworn to accompany any visitors?”

Markaeus took a step back, reaching in his pocket and retrieving a bit of bread and cheese. “I’m bringing my brother some food. He’s always hungry. Perhaps you don’t provide enough to keep his stomach filled.”

Markaeus’ words inflamed Vindrake for their content rather than the insolence displayed. He’d given strict orders to keep all the imprisoned children healthy and fit until the day they could take the oath of fealty. The boy was confined in the large group abode reserved for children of ten or eleven years who were deemed a flight risk. This policy had been adopted when a number of young Water Clan citizens had simply ‘disappeared’ before their twelfth birthingdays. The company of potential warriors was a valuable resource for Water Clan, customarily receiving training and exercise, along with the highest quality of meat, fish, fruits and vegetables.

Vindrake had experimented briefly with separating infants from their families at birth but found the children developed strange mal-affectations while the breed mothers often passed on to death, presumably as a result of their grief. So now he left the children with their mothers. The threat of harm to their families was an effective incentive to coerce the children with twelve years to take the oath of fealty.

Upon acquiring sixteen years, youths gifted as shamans were culled out for special education, while the others were sent to train together as warriors until the trials during their eighteenth year. In addition to selecting the most gifted in strength, weapons, and agility, the fatal matches had the further benefit of eliminating youths with gifts of judging and farsight, two gifts Vindrake found useless or threatening in light of his own giftedness.

As a noxious odor wafted into his nostrils, Vindrake flinched, raising his torch to examine Markaeus more closely. “You are filthy, and you smell of refuse! Do you never bathe?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no parents to make me, and my grandfather has lost his sense of smell.”

“Be gone!” Vindrake flipped his hand toward the exit corridor, turning his head from the stench. “I’ll attend to your brother’s nourishment. See that you never return unaccompanied by a guard. Next time I may not be in such a benevolent mood.”

Markaeus let out a string of curses as soon as Vindrake was beyond earshot and was immediately laden with guilt. He heard his grandfather’s chastisement in his mind.
You live in the presence of evil, but you do not have to behave in such a way.
How many times had he heard the words since their capture? Too many to count. Yet he couldn’t help the expletives that slipped from his mouth. He’d been so close.

Finding the hidden door had been simple; he’d noticed it while peddling his fresh fish in town. With no salt to preserve the catch, he trudged to the refuse pile to toss away his leftovers. There it was, underneath the smelly trash pile, as visible to his eye as a gaping hole.

Waiting until mid-dark when no one was about, he’d carefully rearranged the refuse to allow access to the hidden door in the ground. To all appearances a patch of dirt and stone, the door lifted easily at his touch, even without a key to open the camouflaged lock. After a brief exploration, he realized he was inside the cavernous maze comprising Vindrake’s underground lair.

Knowing his brother was confined somewhere within, he’d begun nightly excursions to search for him, but each time, he’d been forced to retreat at the appearance of the patrolling guards. Gradually, he’d mapped both his route and the patrol schedule of Vindrake’s sentries. He’d even discovered the perfect way to escape with his brother… a hidden portal in a bathing chamber.

Though his grandfather hadn’t been allowed to discuss his recent task for Vindrake, Markaeus strongly suspected the portal was involved. Summoned by Malphas due to his gifting in gresses, his grandfather had returned, weary and haggard. Since that day, his grandfather had given daily instructions to Markaeus about every aspect of portals, including how to recognize, open and seal them.

Markaeus had been careful and thorough in his planning, even wearing an extra cloak for his brother. His brief exploration through the portal had revealed a frozen world, covered with a thick snowy blanket. Markaeus had collected a small stash of cheese and stale bread to feed them on their journey. He had no idea how he and his brother would survive in this new realm, but at least they had a chance. In Portshire, their fate was sealed, especially as his brother’s birthingday loomed a mere seven-day away.

Though sad to leave behind the only parent he’d ever known, Markaeus knew his grandfather’s bloodbond would never allow him to escape Vindrake. In fact, the old man had been eating less and less of their daily allotment of food, claiming always to be full despite his growling stomach.

At bedtime his grandfather repeated the nightly mantra he’d given him and his brother since Markaeus could remember. More recently, however, his grandfather’s expression seemed sad and lonely as he said the words, almost as if he were saying goodbye. “Never doubt there is good in the world. Never believe all is lost. Always remember you were made for a purpose. Never forget my love for you and Haegen.”

Haegen
. Markaeus hadn’t seen or spoken to his brother for a fortnight or more, since the last time Haegen and the other captives had been taken outside for exercise. Haegen had fought back tears while discussing the approaching bondmark ceremony though he spoke brave words of refusing the bloodbond. Markaeus had no hope Haegen could withstand Vindrake’s persuasions, for every citizen knew… to anger Vindrake was to invite death.

“Hold fast, Haegen,” he murmured to the earless stone walls of the dark, dank passageway. “I’ll come back on the morrow.”

“Alleraen. You’re looking well. I see you’ve found a way to remain fit.” Vindrake could feel his brother’s animosity crackling in the air as he paused from his rigorous calisthenics to regard his private audience from an upside down position. Shirtless and glistening with sweat, despite the chill in the chamber, Alleraen ignored his remark, continuing to push his weight up and down while balancing in a handstand. The feat was impressive, even with his gifting in strength. “Have you considered the offer I made when last we spoke?”

Alleraen walked on his hands, his dark auburn hair dangling downward like strands of twisted rope, until he was close to the iron gate barring him within the chamber. He pivoted until he faced the bars, forcing Vindrake to stoop in order to see his face.

“I have followed a tiny slot of sunlight across my chamber four hundred and eighteen times since you visited me last. During all that time, never once has your offer crossed my mind. Though you seem determined to imprison me here until I die from advanced years, you should know your efforts will be fruitless. I have not lost my conscience and never will. I assume you still haven’t reclaimed your own.”

Alleraen’s close-lipped grimace took on a bizarre and unsettling appearance in his upturned position.

“Can you not right yourself for a few breaths?” Vindrake attempted to hide his irritation. His brother’s impertinence always ruffled his composure, try though he might to remain unperturbed.
The cause is lost. Why do I continue to seek my brother’s approval and cooperation, knowing the outcome will always be the same?

Alleraen dropped his feet to the floor and flipped upright. Grasping the bars with his hands, he wedged his face between them. “Why do you keep me here alive, Drakeon? Do you divine some sadistic satisfaction from my confinement? Why not take my life and give me release from this living hell?”

“What hell? You have an easy life. You have the finest food. You have servants to attend to your needs. You have plenteous space in your quarters and neighbors with which to converse. I’ve even allowed you to venture outside on occasion.”

“Yes, I’m occasionally walked in irons like an oxen in a yoke.” Alleraen threw up his hands, pushing away from the bars. “You merely substantiate your insanity with your outrageous analysis of my imprisonment. Tell me why you’ve come so I may return to my exercises.”

“I’ve come to make peace with you… to make an entirely new offer. I’m hoping you’ll join with me out of deference, by the bond of our brotherhood.”

Alleraen’s eyes rolled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing has changed; I will not accept your bloodbond. You’ve had me tortured, and I did not relent. You tortured another before my eyes without result. It only served to confirm my opinion of your perverse nature.” Alleraen spat on the ground as the words left his lips.

“But the man had consumption; he wouldn’t have lived long at any rate. I merely put him out of his misery before he suffered too long. It was your choice that caused his torment.”

“No, Drakeon, it was
your
choice. I saw your face. I believe you gleaned pleasure from his screams. Nothing has changed… you haven’t changed. I will not take the oath of fealty.”

“This time, I’m not asking you to take the oath. I’m asking you to follow me by your own free will. To swear allegiance to me by your word alone. To be my second in command. To wield a bloodbond of your own.”

“You would set me free? Without your bondmark?” He stepped forward to once again press his face between the bars, incredulity written in the arch of his brows.

“Yes. All you need do is promise to obey me.”

“Very well… I promise.”

“You
lie
!”

He spun away. “Of course I’m lying. How could I promise to follow your commands when you’ve proven over and over again you’re aligned with evil? It consumes you. It’s eaten away at your soul until nothing human remains. Not a shred of compassion. Not a hint of love. Not a trace of empathy. I’m glad Father didn’t live to see your transformation. He would’ve hated what you’ve become with every fiber of his being.”