Marked (28 page)

Protect us, oh Mother Helaun, Foundress of our Order of Tirsar, with your goodness and compassion. Deliver unto these good men and women your blessing and protection.

The Sergeant stood in the center of the group and shouted to his men, “Soldiers! Defend this position with your lives until we return. Do not let those bastards take one step into this cave with those filthy feet of theirs. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” the men answered in unison, saluting Mortuc.

“Morgen, come here.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” The veteran Lancer stepped forward and stood at attention.

“You hold the highest rank; I am leaving you in charge of the group. The entrance to the cave is not very wide. Line up five across and defend it together, and have the rest form the second line of defense. Use your bows first. Don’t let them come in here under any circumstances.”

“Affirmative, Sergeant!” exclaimed Morgen.

The Sergeant gripped Morgen’s shoulder. “I trust you, Morgen.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Major. I will not let you down.”

Mortuc looked him in the eye, nodded, and turned away.

“Lomar, Kendas—you two come with me.”

“At your service, Sergeant!” the two rookies responded in unison.

“Someone needs to loan you their armor. We’ll probably have some trouble in there.”

“Right away, Sergeant.” They headed for their comrades who were already taking off their gear to give to them.

The Sergeant now looked at Aliana. “It would be better if the two archers stayed here, Aliana.”

Jasmine, clearly displeased, protested. “We must go with our Healer Sister and protect her. It is our duty.”

“The Sergeant is right; you would be more help here, defending the entrance. We need your skills with the bow,” said Aliana, looking at her two sisters who looked back at her with faces marked by worry.

“If that is what you are telling us to do...  then that is what we’ll do,” conceded Jasmine. Olga lowered her head in a gesture of resignation.

Aliana nodded, fully conscious of her sisters’ concern over not being able to go with her and protect her. She knew they would do whatever she asked of them, but it would upset them greatly to be forced to let her go. If something happened to her, Jasmine and Olga would carry in their souls forever the guilt of having failed in their duty.

Let’s hope I survive this expedition... for me and for them.
She hung her bow and quiver over her shoulder.

Mortuc lit a torch made of reeds and tallow and walked off unceremoniously. Behind him, Lomar and Kendas followed with determination while at the same time checking their weapons. Lomar shot a farewell glance in Jasmine’s direction. She caught sight of him and, with a sincere smile that lit up her face, she lowered her head to say goodbye to the Lancer. Lomar returned the smile and headed into the blackness of the cavern.

Gerart took another torch and gestured for Aliana to go ahead of him so he could bring up the rear of the group.

They were all absorbed into the pitch darkness of the cave, chasing after an uncertain clue, an almost inconceivable hope that there they would strike it lucky and find the missing Haradin... and he would be alive.

Behind them, the line of defenders prepared themselves to hold their position until the expedition returned.

After silently advancing into the blackness for a time, the group arrived at the back of the cave. All eyes combed the dark walls and ceiling surrounding them, searching for any sign of danger that might be lying in wait. In the deepest shadows of this part of the cave was a massive, rectangular stone with a finely polished surface that looked like pure marble. An almost sparkling blue-black color, it sealed off what looked like an entrance in the granite wall.

Aliana examined the shiny object by the light of the torch; the perfectly shaped stone looked out of place in this cave amidst the curved, eroded, natural contours of everything else there.

“Someone would have to have carved this huge slab of stone and put it here; it cannot possibly be a natural element of this cave. It was placed here for a reason,” she declared.

“It seems to have been sculpted by an expert artisan to cut off access to the other side through the opening that was in the wall,” confirmed Gerart.

“Well, let’s try to move it together. It looks heavy but I think we can manage it. I’m not about to let this slab of rock stop us now that we’re here—even if I have to move it with my own head!” proclaimed the Sergeant.

The four men pushed the enormous stone with all their might. But it didn’t budge. They tried again, giving it everything they had, leaning the entire weight of their bodies into it and pushing furiously. Even with all that effort, it absolutely would not move, not an inch.

“By the beard of Jonas the Cowardly! It can’t be!” roared the Sergeant.

“Exactly! We should have been able to move that. Even if it were solid granite it’s not so big that all of us together shouldn’t be able to move it,” reasoned Gerart.

“I think there’s something here we can’t see; something mystical that is escaping our senses. A force of arcane origin...” Aliana inferred.

“Magic?” asked Lomar, surprised.

“That’s not the word I would use to describe it but, yes, I’m talking about an enigmatic power that’s affecting this stone that we don’t understand... that we can’t perceive.”

“Magic? You’re joking, right? Magic? Well, shit!” Mortuc spit on the ground in disgust. “That’s all we need—Usik by the thousands, skeletons and tombs all over the place and now that damnable magic... And it invariably brings with it an infinite number of complications. What the hell do we do now? Damn it! Damn it all to hell!” bellowed the Sergeant, highly irritated by the presence of arts he could not for the life of him understand.

“Help me examine the stone with the light from the torch,” suggested Aliana.

She carefully inspected the perfect detail with which the slab had been sculpted. Its entire surface was smooth and even; there was not a single imperfection. Not even the best artisans in the kingdom could have carved something so perfect. She took the torch from Gerart’s hand and looked closer at the black surface. No symbols. No runes. She moved the flame closer, then touched it to the stone to see if the fire had any effect on it, though she was quite sure it would not. Unexpectedly, when the flame licked its surface, the stone responded by briefly emitting a golden glimmer. Startled, they all jumped back and looked at one another in disbelief.

The rock sparkled! Why? How was that possible?
Fascinated, Aliana withdrew the torch. “Hmm. Interesting. Really interesting!” She turned and looked at the group standing behind her. “It reacted to the fire!”

“But stone doesn’t react to fire,” maintained Kendas, “at least not in my town. Pardon my small-town logic, but cows give milk; pigs give ham and bacon. And rocks most definitely do not give golden flashes.”

“True enough, farmer. This stone seems to possess some kind of power, and it reacted to one of the four elements,” explained Gerart.

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but four or
five,
depending on the legend or folklore that you subscribe to,” Lomar hurried to point out.

“What is that fifth element you’re talking about? I’ve always thought the four elements were Fire, Water, Air, and Earth,” said the Sergeant.

“From what I understand there are legends and even documents that mention a fifth element, Ether—the Spirit, the fifth essence... more subtle and lighter; more perfect that the other four, it governs the rest,” responded Lomar, tracing a symbol in the air.

“By all the Ancient Gods and the Light that replaced them! Some soldier you turned out to be! Stop listening to all that cheap hogwash you find in the library and apply yourself to your discipline and abilities as a soldier, you scatterbrain!”

“Don’t yell at him, Mortuc,” said Aliana, smiling. “It’s one of the beliefs of certain ancient cultures. It’s documented. I myself have seen it in our library at the Temple. I’ve read documents about that fifth ethereal element that Lomar mentioned. Even though it cannot be seen or touched, it governs the other four primary elements. It is not a widely held belief among our peoples, but the fifth element is referred to by other cultures. It’s almost a divine element; invisible, incorruptible. It has its own intelligence so, if it is present, it dominates the other four earthly elements,” explained Aliana.

“Thank you, Aliana. That’s exactly what I was referring to. My uncle Alfred lives in Rilentor, and he’s studied that as well as other interesting subjects. He’s considered to be a scholar and has told me on numerous occasions that what we are discussing is so,” noted Lomar.

“In Rogdon there have always been four elements. I’ve never heard anything about a fifth, whether or not your uncle says it’s so,” affirmed Mortuc, raising his voice.

“At any rate, it’s surprising that a soldier spends time with scholars and bookworms... He has an alert mind, this soldier,” smiled Gerart, patting Lomar’s shoulder.

Aliana continued to study the mysterious stone. “Whether there are four or five, it certainly reacted to the fire. So it would not be absurd to think that it might react to the other four elements. I’ll try wind next,” said Aliana, once again moving in close to the rectangular stone.

“Wind? There isn’t any wind in here. How are we going to try wind?” challenged Mortuc.

The Healer smiled at the quick-tempered Sergeant, then blew as hard as she could on the arcane stone. Surprisingly—with everyone watching intently, not daring to blink—another golden flash emanated from the mysterious stone. No one could move a muscle.

“Still no movement. Hmm... interesting.” Deep in thought, Aliana rubbed her chin. “It seems like it reacts to the elements, but we’re not using the right one. Haradin’s note mentions an Ilenian temple from the Lost Civilization—The Temple of the Earth. If this is the entrance to the temple, we can assume that the element we’re looking for is the same one that the temple itself is protecting. So we can eliminate Water and the mysterious fifth element, Ether,” reasoned Aliana.

“So, it’s... Earth...” deduced Gerart.

“I’ll be right back,” said Kendas, shooting like an arrow in the direction of the entrance.

“Where’s that farmer think he’s going?” growled the Sergeant.

“To get some earth, if I’m not mistaken. That “farmer” is really quick, Sergeant; it won’t take him long,” explained Lomar, trying to vindicate his friend.

“It better not...” threated the Sergeant as he sat down on the floor.

The rest of the group did the same.

After a short while Kendas ran back in with a small leather bag in his hand. Everyone in the group was immediately on their feet. The soldier approached the stone, opened the bag and poured a small bit of earth over the slab. With barely enough time for their minds to predict what was about to happen, the rectangular form emitted a golden flash similar to the two previous ones, but this one was more intense. Its brilliance illuminated the dome of the cave, blinding them for an instant. Before they could regain their sight, the heavy stone had moved to the right, leaving an opening in the stone wall.

They all stared at it, their mouths wide open.

They could not have imagined that this enigmatic passageway would lead to something that, from that exact moment on, would enshroud them in intrigue, mystery and, above all, danger.

“Well, I’ll be... That was... It’s... witchcraft!” exclaimed the Sergeant.

“I see you aren’t fond of mystical things, eh Mortuc?” the Prince smiled.

“Anything my eyes cannot understand my heart despises,” the Sergeant retorted. “I really hate anything that has to do with magic, and I’m too old to change my mind.”

Lomar and Kendas looked at each other, unable to keep from smiling at the Sergeant’s expense. The gruff soldier unsheathed his sword and, with it in one hand and the torch in the other, he crossed through the mysterious passageway with the fierce determination so characteristic of him. The rest of the group immediately followed him in. Aliana looked one last time at the enigmatic stone, wondering who had enchanted it and how they had done it. A piercing sense of unrest began to expand in her stomach, a venomous anxiety that crept up into her throat. Without another moment’s hesitation, she followed her companions through the narrow cleft in the wall.

Protect us, oh Mother Helaun. Protect us...

Grand Duke Orten of Norghana was in a wonderful mood. They had finally arrived at Skol, the fortress he’d been missing so much after two long weeks of travel from Norghania, the kingdom’s capital. Skol Fortress, located in the extreme southwest corner of the Norghana, looked out over the green prairies that unfolded to the west. Behind the fortress sat an imposing mountain range and, at its base, the blue of the grandiose Utla River. The bastion was considered impregnable; built on the slope of the mountain itself, it was protected by two formidable walls and a trench that was more than five paces wide. It had been constructed as a refuge for all the inhabitants of the southern valleys in the kingdom and served to guard the broad passageway toward the prairies along the banks of the Utla. There was no other accessible crossing into the kingdom from the southwest.

As brother to the King, Grand Duke Orten felt safer and more secure in Skol than anywhere else on the face of the earth. It was his fortress, his home. He ruled it with an iron first, and his men—whom he himself had handpicked—were the best fighters in the kingdom. The garrison was made up of eight thousand heavy infantry soldiers. With a garrison like that defending it, the fortress could withstand a siege of many months, even if faced with troops five times greater in number.

After enjoying a magnificent banquet fit for a king, Orten retreated to his bedroom and prepared to enjoy a long night of pleasure. For his personal enjoyment, Orten’s attentive and faithful royal valet had gotten him a lovely young girl from one of the native tribes of the prairies.

A Masig.

And that pleased him greatly.

Ah, yes, nothing like a wild girl from the steppes for having a good time. Tonight I will have the pleasure of taking a delicious, sweet young thing.

His men had orders to make periodic raids on the prairies beyond the Utla River. They were to go into the interminable steppes—the territory of the Masig tribes—to punish those dirty, uncivilized nomads. The assault vessels had docked just that morning, bringing back their booty from the pillaging as well as his most favorite treasure: a variety of young savages.

Those disgusting Masig must not forget for one miserable moment that their existence is tolerated only because of Norghanian benevolence. They will forever be under the subjugation of our yoke. Opposition of any kind, however minor, will be mercilessly quashed. After all, they are nothing more than uncivilized barbarians from the steppes that must be trained.

The numerous Masig tribes from the wide open plains in the southwest of the kingdom had to endure periodic punishment and control missions carried out by the soldiers of the frozen realm. The Norghanians would cross the Utla in their ships and ruthlessly assault the tribes. Young girls captured by the patrols were to be brought back to feed the Grand Duke’s ‘weakness,’ and to provide enjoyment to his officers at Skol as well. This served to both keep the savages under control and draw benefits and pleasure from them. The powerful Grand Duke rather liked this system so he made sure to keep it running smoothly.

His valet left the room, closing the door behind him, depositing next to the Grand Duke’s bed the young Masig girl, hands tied behind her back.

Orten approached the little beauty, giving thanks to the Ice Gods for his good fortune. When he got close to her, the young girl spit in his face, expelling every drop of hatred in her heart. The Grand Duke, undaunted, wiped his face with his handkerchief and smiled. Excitement was now boiling in his blood. This was exactly was he was looking for; everything he wanted.

Without saying a word he slapped the young girl. Hard.

“You damned son of a bitch! I’ll poke out your eyes and rip out your heart out if you lay another hand on me!” screamed the young girl furiously.

“Well, well! A Masig who knows the Common Language of the North! Now, that’s a real surprise!”

“You’ll get a bigger surprise if you touch me again!”

“Life does bring its share of surprises. I’d gotten reports from the patrols indicating that traders and even chiefs of certain tribes knew our language but I dismissed them as absolutely implausible. I’d always thought all of your ethnicity were illiterate and completely uneducated.”

“And I always thought people of yours were vile hyenas.”

“I see you’re a real spitfire, aren’t you?” replied the Grand Duke, looking her up and down, examining the young girl’s curves with increasing lust. “That’s how I like them! Girls from your tribe all have that untamable spirit, that visceral hatred that brings out that deliciously deadly gleam in your dark eyes. I like that... I like it
a lot.
” Orten had never seen in any woman he’d ever had before such a wild, primitive beauty as this young girl’s. She was a genuine panther of the steppes. A really beautiful panther.

He laughed, not bothering to mask the desire in his throat.

“I swear I’ll kill you, you Norghanian pig—I swear it! I’ll tear out your still beating, rotten heart, and my face will be the last thing you see before you die!” she hissed, her voice overflowing with intense loathing.

“Threaten all you want, little savage; very soon you’ll be tearfully begging me. And when I’m done with you I’ll watch as you grovel and kiss my feet.” He put his sword down on the desk of his luxurious bedchamber.

“I’d kill myself before I’d ever beg you, you son of a snow whore!”

“I have no doubt that if you had a knife in your hand you would try something, but I doubt very much that you’d take your own life. I would guess you’d instead attempt to end mine,” smiled the Grand Duke, sure of the danger an armed Masig would pose.

She took a step forward.

“Untie me, give me a dagger, and we’ll find out,” challenged the Masig.

Orten burst out laughing. “No, little girl, that will not be happening. I know all too well the kind of beasts they raise in your tribe. If I untie you, you’ll try to kill me before I can even blink.”

“I’ll gouge out your eyes the second I have the chance, you son of a mangy bitch! I swear on the sacred blood of my forefathers!”

Orten delivered another strong slap to the furious girl’s face with the back of his gloved hand.

“Shut up and show me the respect you owe me, wild slut!” The unmeasured impertinence of those little savages greatly irritated him. They did not know their place, and did not know how to show the respect their superiors deserved. Domesticating those animals was practically impossible. Only a whip was capable of reasoning with them, but it took long, hard punishment and was a total waste of time.

The young girl took a few steps back and, looking at him with an expression of intense fury that projected the hatred she was feeling, spit blood on the bearskin rug.

Orten came at her and struck her so brutally that she was knocked to the hard, stone floor.

“Let’s hear some begging now!”.              

The moon shone brightly, high in the night sky, bathing the fortress with its timid beauty. The inhabitants of Skol had been sleeping peacefully for hours. Only the sentinels and night guard were still awake. The sentinels were posted at their stations, alert; the night guard was patrolling the walls and courtyards, making their rounds and listening attentively for any sound or movement.

Orten felt an annoying tickle in his right ear that woke him from a deep, libidinous sleep. He opened his eyes, his mind not yet able to process what was happening.

“What the hell...”

Suddenly, his brain reacted. A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body.

A shadowy-looking figure, dressed in black from head to toe, had pressed a dagger to his neck. A hand encased in black covered his mouth.

Fear seized the Grand Duke’s mind and, for a moment, he thought all was lost.
I am going to die. To die!

But how was this possible? An Assassin in the most impenetrable castle in the kingdom? How could they have gotten to him? It was impossible!

Fear quickly turned to terror as his mind bombarded him with a hundred frenzied thoughts. He looked at the Assassin’s face but could only make out his strange black eyes... There was something abnormal about those eyes. The rest of his face was covered by a black hood and bandana.

Orten knew he had to do something fast or he would be dead in a matter of moments. But what? What could he do?

My guards are posted on the other side of the door. I have to alert them, sound an alarm... scream... make some kind of sound... that would be enough.

He tried to push the Assassin, who was sitting on his chest, in an attempt to get away from him, but his arms were pinned down by the Assassin’s legs. It was useless.

Slowly shaking his head from left to right, the Assassin indicated he shouldn’t try anything else.

Orten felt a sense of helplessness taking him over completely. His death was a fact. Panic welled up inside him. He was finished, and there was nothing he could do. His life was coming to an end. Closing his eyes and trembling uncontrollably, he surrendered to his destiny.

But nothing happened.

He waited for a moment, sure he would feel the sharp metal pitilessly slashing his throat.

But he felt nothing.

The pause gave him a flicker of hope. Why hadn’t the Assassin killed him? He opened his eyes and instantly understood.

The Masig!

With a nod of his head, the Assassin indicated that the young Masig should approach the bed. Orten could see the girl’s hands and feet were no longer tied as he had left them when he had finished with her. It was at that very moment that he realized what the Assassin was waiting for. Terror once again overwhelmed his mind and his body.

Wait! Don’t kill me!
He desperately wanted to scream but his mouth was held shut under the aggressor’s mighty hand.

The savage from the prairies once again looked him in the eyes, but this time a triumphant glimmer shone in her ruby glare with the intensity of the sun. The Masig spit in his face.

Then the Assassin offered the Masig a dagger.

Utterly terrified, Orten pissed himself.

Without so much as a word, the Masig stabbed him in the heart.

“I told you my face would be the last thing you would see, you son of a mangy hyena!” she hatefully whispered in his ear as she pulled out the bloody blade and showed it to him.

Seeing the crimson-stained dagger, Orten knew he would die. He stammered, “No... for the... love of... the Ice Gods...”

“My name is Iruki Wind of the Steppes, you Norghanian piece of garbage, and I am killing you,” she hissed, staring him straight in the eye.

The girl raised the dagger and again thrust it into his heart. “Die, you evil beast, die!” She stabbed him again. “To hell with you, you damned pig!”

The Assassin held her arm to stop the stabbing, then took the dagger from her hand and, with a stern look, indicated she should be silent.

Iruki obeyed.

“If you want to stay alive you need to silently follow me,” he whispered in a strange, foreign accent Iruki had never heard before. “Stay one step behind me and do whatever I do.”

“All right,” she agreed.

“If I see you’re slowing me down, I’ll kill you. I’m not about to die here today,” he stated coldly.

“You won’t have to kill me, I assure you,” she responded determinedly.

The Assassin went to the half-opened window and jumped onto the window sill with feline agility. He began climbing up a thin black rope toward the roof of the tower. Iruki imitated his movements, following close after him. When they reached the roof, the Assassin waited for Iruki to complete her climb and then gathered the rope and stashed it on his back under the black cape. Crouching down, they moved toward the other side of the tower where the Assassin had another, longer rope ready for the descent.

Tucked into the shadows of the dark night, they rappelled down the thin but durable rope. It was a long, dangerous descent from the upper roof to the roof of the smaller building adjacent to it. The Assassin maneuvered with almost inhuman agility and stealth; it was as if he possessed some special ability to move without being seen. In the pitch-black night, even Iruki—who was just two steps behind him—could barely distinguish him.

Without warning, the Assassin stopped and motioned that she be still. Iruki immediately stopped and dropped down so as not to be seen. Looking up she could see a sentinel—sword and shield in hand—approaching the wall to her right. Iruki’s blood ran cold. They were being sprinkled with light from the upper rooms of the building behind them; they may have been discovered.

From the roof they were on to the wall where the guard was patrolling was a leap of more than four paces. Not an easy jump.

When the guard stopped and looked in their direction, Iruki felt a piercing coldness run down her spine, like a stream of icy water pouring over her back.

They’re going to see us!

If the guard sounded the alarm, it would all be over.

And then something extraordinary happened. Something so far outside the realm of normality that Iruki would remember it forever.