The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (16 page)

“Come on
then,” the prince said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go . . .”

—A cry of
alarm burst from the front gate, causing both of them to rush to it. They
arrived just as the portcullis opened, revealing an exhausted and disheveled
rider entering the courtyard. Anders leapt to catch him as he slumped from his
quivering mount.

“An elf!”
Anders exclaimed in surprise and called for water.

The elf’s eyes
fluttered and he managed to speak, his voice raspy with fatigue. “The king, I
need . . . to see the king . . .”

Gaze locked
eyes with the prince and realized they were thinking the same thing. What would
cause a messenger to drive himself so hard?

Anders called
guards to carry the elf to the king and to care for the horse, which appeared
on the verge of collapse. Gaze stood rooted to the spot until Anders tilted his
head towards him, inviting him to come. Grateful to be included, he hurried to
follow as they wound their way into the castle. Moving through corridors and
climbing stairs lit by torches, they reached a small door that led to the king’s
study. The prince entered without knocking, and ushered the guards in behind
him. When Gaze stepped into the small library, he slid off to the side to
better observe what happened.

“Father,”
Anders said, his voice quick with urgency. “We have a messenger from the
elves.”

The king,
dressed in the cloak of his station, looked much like his son, except that his
hair and beard had gone white and his nose had a crook in it. Catching sight of
the limp form in the guards arms, he rose to his feet and rushed around the
desk. “Place him on the chair, and fetch water.”As the guards left, the king
knelt by the semiconscious elf. “You may speak,” the king said.

The elf
struggled to reach into his pack and withdrew a small round parcel. “Only works
two or three times,” he managed to say. “You must touch it first, your
majesty.”

His message
delivered, the elf succumbed to fatigue and slumped into the chair. No one
moved except the king, who rose slowly to his feet and unfastened his cloak. He
covered the elf with the thick garment and withdrew to his desk. He hesitated,
and then unwrapped the package to find a glass orb pulsing with energy. A note,
stamped with the crest of the elves, lay tied with another sealed letter beside
the shimmering ball. Lifting the note he read aloud.

“King Drayson,
touch the orb and look into its depths, and then read the letter.” He stopped,
his eyes going wide. “It’s signed by the Oracle!”

Anders took a
step forward. “This appears to be important, father. Should I summon Graden?”

The door slammed
open and Anders younger brother burst into the room. Shorter than Anders, he
looked just like him, with the same dark hair and boyish face, but he lacked
the facial hair. Not as good a soldier as his brother, he was still a better
leader—and they constantly teased each other about it.

“I heard there
was an important message from the elves?” he said, pausing to catch his breath.
“Did I miss it?” Then he caught sight of the elf in the chair and asked, “What
was it?”

The king shook
his head and pointed at the orb on his desk. “It’s from the Oracle, and I’m
supposed to touch it.”

“Then it
should be fine," Prince Graden said, stepping closer to peer at the glass.
"She has proven her loyalty, as her mother did before her.”

Anders readily
agreed and the king nodded before taking a deep breath and reaching for the enchanted
orb. Holding it like it might burn him, he gazed into it . . . and gasped. The
brothers rushed to their fathers' side but froze as the king’s face drained of
all color.

“What is
happening?!” Graden demanded.

“I don’t
know!” Anders responded, his fists clenching at his sides.

The kings
breathing became ragged, and tears glistened in his eyes . . . until suddenly
he snapped back and dropped the orb. Leaping to his feet, he wrapped his arms
around his son's necks, emotion wetting his cheeks.

Unsure of what
to do, Gaze shifted his feet as the brothers hugged their father and demanded
to know what had happened. Regaining his composure, the king took a step back.
Swallowing hard he said, “I watched you be torn to pieces before my eyes.”

Anders looked
at his father in surprise. “You saw us die? Is that all?”

The king shook
his head, his expression dark and foreboding. “Some sort of evil army swept
into our kingdom, destroying everything. You rode out with our men to try to
stop it, but were knocked aside like leaves in the wind.”

Graden shook
his head in confusion. “Is it some sort of prophecy?”

For the first
time Gaze stepped forward, drawing all eyes to him. “It must be a combination
of different magics, and is without question the work of the Oracle.”

The king
furrowed his brow and sank into a high-backed chair. “I agree Gaze, but I still
don’t understand. What does this message mean?”

Anders stabbed
a finger at the letter on the table. “Perhaps that has the answer?”

The king blinked
and reached for the envelope. Breaking the seal he unfolded the pages and read
it to himself. Gaze swallowed his impatience and counted the seconds until the king
put the paper down and slumped back.

Anders snatched
the scarp of parchment from the desk and Graden moved to stand next to him.
Together they read the note, their expressions changing to disbelief.

“
Evacuate
?!”
Graden exclaimed. “This is madness!”

At that moment
the door opened and two guards entered with water for the messenger. Flashing a
warning look at his sons, the king rose to his feet and moved to the elf's side.
“Take the elf to a secure room and have him rest." He frowned and added,
"And post sentries.”

Once the
guards were gone Gaze asked, “May I read it?”

Anders glanced
at his father, who nodded wearily and said, “You know we can trust him.”

Gaze inclined
his head in gratitude and moved forward to take the note. In smooth, flowing
script it read:

My dear King,

It is
supremely vital that you believe this message. We are fortunate that the Oracle
has created the orb of prophecy for you to see for yourself what is coming. In
recent months we have all experienced a plague of terror that brought many of
us to the brink of war. This unholy fear was inspired by an assassin of
Draeken, the demigod of chaos. Its purpose was simple; divide our races so we
would be easier to destroy. We have the Oracle and a few brave souls to thank
for the death of this assassin, and the return of our hope.

In its
wake we have come to the understanding that Draeken has gathered an army of
billions which will sweep the land, slaying all it encounters. You have seen a fraction
of this fiend invasion in the prophecy orb, and from one who has also received
the vision, you have my sympathy.

The Oracle
has informed us that we have a slim hope of survival. We are to gather the
races to Azertorn and the Giant’s Shelf, where we will defend our existence. We
will not win, for they are too many, but it has been foreseen that if we gather,
we might delay our extinction long enough for Draeken to be destroyed. His
ultimate demise will end his invasion, and will withdraw his army. A force has
already been sent to perform this task.

Our
prayers and lives ride with them, and our hope reaches out to you. If you wish
your people to live, you must evacuate and join us to defend Lumineia. Within
weeks they will invade your country from the east, and you will not be able to
stop them.

Evacuate,
and some of you may live. Stay, and all of you will perish. At best you have five
weeks until they begin to slay your people.

With all our hope,

Ayame Ser’Tármaril,

Queen of the elves

Gaze felt his
knees go weak and he sought a chair before he embarrassed himself.
An
invasion? Evacuate? Billions
?! The thoughts echoed around his mind as he
struggled to grasp the enormity of the information.

Graden broke
the stillness, “Do you think we should believe it?”

The king grunted
and scratched his beard. “I saw it, and . . . I
think
it's true.”

Anders frowned
and stood, beginning to pace. “Do you have any idea what this will take? How
are we supposed to evacuate hundreds of thousands on the claim of a
letter
?”

The king shook
his head, his voice haunted, “I saw them die, Anders, in the most terrible way
imaginable. I cannot allow that to happen while I sit on the throne.”

Graden rose to
his feet, his jaw setting into a line that Gaze knew well. “Are we doing it?
Evacuating our people?”

The King sat
and stared off into space long enough for Gaze to realize he was holding his
breath before he nodded.

“Call the
general and order the evacuation,” the king said to Graden. “If we are going to
do this, we had better do it right. Dispatch runners to the eastern towns and
villages first, and then send the warning to the rest. If they are west of us,
have them gather at the Blue River or Tallendale, if they are east, have them
gather here, and they will depart together. Make sure they are told to bring
food and water for several weeks, but don’t let them delay. I want every eastern
village empty within a week.”

Graden nodded,
but didn’t move. After a moment Anders asked, “What would you like me to do?”

The king shook
his head. “We don’t have enough time to get everyone out. Anders and I will
ride with five hundred of our fastest cavalry. We will do our best to delay the
invasion.”

Shocked, Gaze
exclaimed, “Five hundred against an army that size?! You will be less than an
ant to them—”

The king threw
him a look and he fell silent. “I know, Gaze, but if we can burn forests or
destroy bridges it might give our people the time they need. A single hour
might mean hundreds or even thousands of lives." He flashed him an odd
look. "And you had better join us.”

Gaze’s jaw
dropped open at the order to include him, and Anders took a step forward to
protest, but the king smiled, “We may need your magic—” He ignored the gasp of
surprise from all three of them and continued, “Yes, I know about it, so don’t
act so surprised. We will need all the firepower we can muster.”

Anders
recovered and bowed. Whirling, he swept from the room, grabbing Gaze on the way
out. Gaze was about to speak but Anders held up a finger, waiting. After a
moment Graden stepped out of the room. Anders caught him and hugged his younger
brother. “Be safe, brother,” he whispered.

Gaze looked
away, uncomfortable by the personal moment. Then Graden caught Gaze’s arm,
pulling him into the embrace. “You too, Gaze,” he said, his voice thick with
emotion. “Be safe, and protect my brother as if he were your own.”

Gaze gave his
word and the three separated. Graden gave them a determined nod and departed,
his heels clicking on the stone as he strode away. Gaze and Anders watched him
disappear down the corridor and Anders turned towards Gaze with an explosive
sigh.

“I guess we
won’t find out who's the better spearman,” he said, and Gaze shook his head in
response. “Why don’t you go pack while I inform the cavalry?”

“I will see
you in the morning,” Gaze said, and left Anders standing in the hall outside
his father’s study. Moving through the castle, he felt an odd weight settle onto
his shoulders and he found himself moving faster to escape it. Bursting into
the night air, he took several deep, settling breaths.

How is this
possible?
he thought as he swallowed and began walking towards the main
gates. Struggling to cope with what threatened his homeland, he came to a halt
next to the practicing range.
Can anyone survive such a thing?
he
wondered, but he was afraid of the answer. Like the wind had shifted and he
could sense the coming storm, he knew the truth.

In the deepest
part of his heart, a sinister voice whispered
no
.

Part II

Three weeks and four days until
Draeken's army reaches Azertorn

Chapter 13: A Light in the Dark

Two weeks had
passed since Gaze had watched the king look into the prophetic orb, and he had
passed the point of exhaustion days ago. Up before dawn and riding until dusk,
the king, Prince Anders, and the veteran soldiers of the fifty-second cavalry
had pushed themselves to arrive at the border between Talinor and Griffin,
warning every village they passed to evacuate. Marked by a range of squat bare
hills, the border sat a few miles west of the dark forest of Orláknia.

Picking up the
pace, they followed the road as it left a large strip of forest and began to
climb into the foothills. As it leveled out, they came to a low pass that
opened into the eastern kingdom. The king came to a stop at the highest point
in the road and squinted downhill, but the last glimmer of light had faded and
they could barely see in the cloudy night.

“We’ll camp
here for the night,” the king said, weariness robbing his voice of strength.

Easing himself
out of the saddle, Gaze followed Anders as the prince led his horse to a flat
boulder on the side of the road. With orders to forego a fire, he chewed on dried
meat as he rolled out a blanket and lay down. The prince was not far behind
him. Sighing in relief, Anders relaxed his body on his own bedroll.

A chill blew
through the camp, causing the men to shiver and draw their blankets tighter,
but Gaze and Anders were protected by the rock.