The Chronicles of Aurion Read online

  The three voices rose in eerie unison. “Saj Gor Amun!” A flash of blue light emitted from the great sapphire stone held in their midst. The mages groaned. The stone satisfied the bulk of the magic’s cost, but a small wave of pain still trickled through them. Three pale orbs of violet energy shot forth from their hands. The spheres raced towards the keep’s parapet like a bow shot. There were one, two, and then three violent explosions as the orbs thundered against the keep. A chain reaction of concussive force detonated as the power spheres rocked the stone walls of the keep. Even those that tried to dive away from the blast were sent flying. Many of the archers were cast down from their high perch and were dashed upon the stony ground below. The rain of arrows had ceased.

  “Now!” shouted Vaudrin, his command rising with the accompanying voices of his officers. “Charge!”

  Like the energy that bolted from the hands of the mages, the Ki’Roten force surged forward. Abandoning their defensive stances, the knights quickly routed the king’s foot soldiers in an aggressive maneuver. The Ki’Roten simply outclassed their enemies in armor and more importantly, skill. The army of King Teremiss the Third was no more.

  As Vaudrin stood upon the field of battle, he observed the wreckage. The dead and dying were everywhere. Most of those men had served Teremiss, but many had been under Vaudrin’s command. All of this for a stone, he thought. His disapproving eyes swept back across the carnage once more as the battering rams were wheeled into place. Soon the creaking and groaning of the wooden wheels and axles would be replaced by the pounding echo of the siege weapon’s onslaught. Vaudrin was one step closer to realizing the Queen’s mission. Yet with the gate about to fall, his mind wandered. Not to the promises of riches and eternal glory that awaited him, but instead his mind drifted into the dark and secret places where doubt whispered and blasphemy waited, where she waited.

  The wooden gate of Teremiss Keep crashed to the ground and the Ki’Roten forces flowed into the fortress. Vaudrin’s captains would find King Teremiss the Third, and if he didn’t hand over the stone, it would be taken. Teremiss was a proud and stubborn ruler, but he was harmless, and now they were about to assassinate him. They weren’t even going to do it for any of the usual reasons to depose a king. He wasn’t a tyrant or even a threat; he was actually a good and just king. Unfortunately, he had something that Queen Yezreth wanted. Now, like so many others, he would die.

  Vaurdin’s eyes remained closed as he stood there in quiet contemplation. Beads of sweat trickled down through the crease in his furrowed brow. Rays of the afternoon sun glanced off his damp gray hair while he dreamed of the end—his end.

  The fantasy ended. His well-trained ears picked up the coming commotion quickly, forcing him back to his miserable, tormented existence. Vaudrin slowly opened his tired eyes. There before him, the raucous crowd of soldiers approached with a lone prisoner.

  The prisoner was nearly a head taller than most men and he sported a chubby build. The mop of curly blonde hair bounced around as the mob prodded him forward. His stately clothes said royalty, but his boyish face suggested otherwise.

  “Who’s this?” demanded Vaudrin with a scowl.

  Captain Galyon was quick to reply. “King Teremiss, sire.”

  Vaudrin’s eyes and pursed lips revealed his skepticism. “Teremiss the Fourth, maybe,” he said.

  “Is it not enough to attack my house, kill my men, and rob me? Must you insult me too?” spat the young king.

  “Whoa there, boy. You brought this on yourself,” said Vaudrin. The lies came out so naturally now, and he hated himself for it.

  “Brought this on myself?” snapped Teremiss, his freckles nearly lost on his reddened face.

  Vaudrin continued the charade. “That stone of yours belongs to Queen Yezreth.”

  “That venomous bi—” started the king before a leather wrapped fist slammed into the side of his face. His head snapped violently to the right. The sucker punch sent the youth teetering for a moment before he caught his balance. After regaining his footing, he lunged at the soldier he thought had assaulted him, but the crowd restrained him.

  Vaudrin spoke up before things got any further out of hand. “Enough!”

  “You think I don’t know,” snarled the young lord as he wiped blood from his mouth. “Your queen seeks things in the dark, things that haunt men.”

  “Watch your mouth, boy!” shouted one of the soldiers as he prepared to throttle the prisoner.

  “Let him speak!” bellowed Vaudrin, halting the soldier’s assault.

  Blood mingled with spit as the fiery youth spoke. “Oh, Yezreth is trying to usher the old ones back to Aurion, but they’re no gods, at least not the ones you once believed in—Vaudrin Lightwell.”

  In his surprise, Vaudrin asked, ““How do you know me?”

  “Everyone knows about the mighty Ki’Roten and their fall from grace,” jeered Teremiss with a mocking bow.

  “Fall from grace?” asked Vaudrin, pretending to not understand.

  “The once noble warriors of the light, led into darkness by their devilish mistress,” answered the King. “Come on, don’t play stupid. You can see it. And you are about to bring her another Elder Stone, you fool.”

  Vaudrin called his bluff. “You presume to know much for someone so young.”

  “My father taught me more about those stones than you or that wicked queen of yours will ever know, and it is because of fools like you that we had to scatter them,” snapped Teremiss.

  “I find it hard to believe that you purposely put one in the hands of that weasel Allabath,” replied Vaudrin.

  “Ah yes, well you can rest assured that no one ever entrusted anything important to that scoundrel. His father however, was a good and honorable man. Sadly, he’s dead.”

  “Well then, you will be disappointed to know that we have them all now,” said Vaudrin as he glanced at the stone held by a nearby cleric. His eyes were drawn to the seemingly living depths of the great topaz gem.

  “You still take me for a fool,” replied Teremiss as he shook his head.

  “What do you mean?” questioned the commander.

  “You and I both know where the fifth gem is, and it’s not in Kiskarn,” said the king with a grin.

  “Why the smirk?” asked Vaudrin.

  “Because I know something your queen doesn’t. She will never fulfill her dark oath,” he answered, his smile unwavering.

  Vaudrin studied his young face. “What oath?”

  “Goodness, you’re dense! I see why the great stories always skimmed over the bits about your intelligence. Apparently I presumed too much,” said Teremiss.

  “Calling a man stupid when he holds your life in his hands makes you pretty stupid too, your youthful majesty,” quipped Vaudrin without missing a beat.

  “Well played, sir,” laughed Teremiss. “But my life was already forfeit once Yezreth realized a stone was in my possession.

  Vaudrin said nothing, instead he just watched and waited.

  “Oh, I suppose you want to listen now?” asked Teremiss rhetorically. “I don’t fear you, Vaudrin, because I know you are already at war—with yourself. Your convictions eat you alive. It is all over your face, in your eyes, and your furrowed brow. We both know that trying to take the fifth stone from them will begin a war that Elder Stones alone cannot stop. We both also know that if she were able to recover the fifth stone, that the hell she would unleash upon this world would be far worse than any war man could conjure. Even as you fit the noose for my neck, you pull it tight around your own. But there is hope, and that is why I don’t fear you, Vaudrin Lightwell. I know that in this hour, you are that hope. So let us hasten this final chapter of darkness, and begin your path toward redemption, oh great champion of the light.”

  Vaudrin remained silent, but the slow nod of acknowledgment followed.

  Teremiss was resigned to his fate. His last words were, “Go ahead, hero. Kill me, take the stone, and end this, but remember one thing…when the day com
es, you will only have one chance. When it comes, take it.”

  His final words were cryptic to all—except the two of them. Vaudrin understood exactly what he meant, and it was unsettling. He thought about what he must do next as he relieved Temeriss of his burdens. The words lingered long after the blood was wiped from his blade. You are that hope...you will only have one chance. When it comes, take it…

  It was the year of 7290…

  The dark haired beauty twirled a streak of silver hair around her finger. Her dangerously attractive smile showed a youthful exuberance and not so much as a dash of innocence. She dared him to maintain eye contact, as the form-fitting gown struggled to contain her womanly figure. She used her perfect posture as an excuse to accentuate her curves even further.

  The decorated warrior closed the door behind him as he entered the chamber. He forced his eyes to meet hers. Lovely pearls, as blue as the ocean, stared back at him intently. He knew those eyes. He knew they were dangerous. Like the deep seas they resembled, he could get lost in them, and he promised himself that would never happen again. But oh, how he wanted to - he didn’t just want to get sucked into the vortex, he wanted to dive in. Her eyes offered endless promises. They were full of excitement and power and fury—and danger, and she knew it. They were the eyes of a professional.

  Her silky smooth voice caressed his ears with a gentle touch. “Come here, my champion.”

  Vaudrin took a deep breath and began to slowly walk toward her.

  With a teasingly playful voice she said, “Don’t be so shy.”

  He tried to stand firm, but his voice faltered, “I…I’m just tired, your Majesty.”

  “You’ve been working so hard for me,” she said as she rose up before him. “Perhaps it’s time for you to sit back and let someone else do the work for a while.”

  Vaudrin tried to glance away from her enchanting eyes, only to have his eyes betray him further. He knew he should look away, but he didn’t want to. Finally, he urged his eyes back up to her face, but those inviting eyes revealed a hunger, in him and in her. A discordant sense of euphoric dread washed over him as her fingers traced the gray stubble on his cheek.

  Vaudrin’s voice cracked, “We shouldn’t—”

  “Wait any longer,” Yezreth moaned as she silenced him with her finger. She offered up a mischievous smile as she freed the clasp that held her ensemble together. Her devious smile was intoxicating, her decadence overwhelming. He knew his only defense was to turn and run, and he stayed.

  6

  The Fifth Stone

  The seas had been calm for the last leg of the journey, but the rough surf jostled the small galley as it worked its way toward the inlet. It wasn’t enjoyable, but at least it was behind them now. Unfortunately, due to what the captain nonchalantly called legal concerns, they were forced to bypass all the legitimate ports along the coast. Instead, the Red Dawn set its sails for the rugged river inlet known as Maeriv’s Crossing. This meant that after a certain point, the ship would be forced to anchor, leaving Arden and Absell to continue up the river alone, until they could reach higher ground.

  The man’s gruff voice startled Arden. His heart leapt within his chest. The jolt of nerves sent the worn travel sack tumbling out of his hands. He was so rattled, he entirely missed what was said to him. Instead of answering the question, he scrambled to retrieve his leather sack from the ship’s deck.

  “Yar sure is a jampy falla arn’t cha,” pointed out the rough voice.

  Arden lifted his bag from the polished planks, then his eyes found the strange little fellow before him. Malfi was quite rugged, but still a scrawny chap. He had half of a toothy smile and pale yellow eyes, but the oddest bit about Malfi was that big round head. It seemed like it should just teeter-totter and roll right off his shoulders. Many of his fellow mates suggested that when the creator sized him up for a head, he must have mis-measured.

  Malfi threw his hands up in the air and took a step back before carrying on, “Well now, I ain’t ganna hart cha, mate. Sattle dawn. Jast want cha ta know we’s almost reaty ta put dawn anchors.”

  “Sorry, sorry. You just caught me off guard, lost in thought you know,” was Arden’s timid response. Where in Aurion was that accent from?

  “Seems ta happen more than not,” remarked Malfi as he gave the student of the priesthood a disapproving look. “Either way, ya gat about twanty minutes ‘fore yer off.”

  That was the end of the exchange, which was still longer than Arden felt comfortable with. After weeks aboard the Red Dawn, he had expected to become more comfortable with the crew members, but that just wasn’t the case. Absell seemed to handle all of this far better than he did. It gave him a great excuse to hide in his studies whenever Absell wasn’t teaching him, but that luxury was over now, as they prepared to make land.

  For most crews, the prospect of docking deep within a fjord would be disappointing and even nerve wracking. The combination of the river’s shallow waters and the narrow waterway would prevent all but the smallest of vessels from being turned about for the eventual departure. That didn’t bother this crew though. It seemed as though nothing really bothered the mates of the Red Dawn. The lack of a true port would be a downer for these guys, but at least they had rum, and no shortage of it. Now some of them might be eager to wander away from the river’s bed to find one more inviting, but ole Captain Edgar Ponterossi would not be having any of it.

  It was apparent that there were at least two things that he understood very, very well. The first was that his ‘legal concerns’ were quite legitimate. As one of the last remaining sea barons, Captain Ponterossi’s head was worth a great deal in the nearby kingdoms of Elroet and Calavance. That meant that being this close to the great kingdoms of the east was dangerous, so he must keep a low profile. The second thing he understood well was who his benefactors were. At the present time, Absell was it. The elder priest made it abundantly clear that in order for the terms to be met, the Red Dawn must stay on long enough to bear them back across the seas to Karthusa.

  It was rather unusual for both a captain and a crew of sea brigands to sit in any one place for more than a day or two, especially without people to cheat in games of chance or booty to plunder. Yet Captain Ponterossi and the Red Dawn would sit here awaiting their return, even if it took months. The payout was far too great to pass up.

  The sharp and surprisingly sophisticated voice of the captain cut into his Absell’s concentration like a knife. “The mules are packed. You two had better be off.”

  “Ah, yes. All the supplies that I detailed?” Absell asked.

  “All of them,” was Ponterossi’s terse reply.

  “The waterskins?” asked the priest.

  “Packed,” answered the captain as he removed the oversized crimson cap.

  “The bushel of kiyai?” asked the priest as he continued through his checklist.

  “Packed,” he answered as he ran his fingers through his oily black mane.

  “The rapier?” asked Absell, oblivious to the captain’s growing irritation.

  Ponterossi took a deep breath and replied, “It’s all packed.”

  Then Absell asked, “And the small cedar lock box, you’ve packed the lock box, haven’t you?”

  “My mercies, mate! It’s all packed, all of it!” snapped the captain, as his hand naturally gravitated towards the blade that hung from his hip.

  Absell finally realized that the Captain’s patience had come to an end. Despite the promise of a great payout, pirates were dangerous folks. Especially the most infamous ones, like Captain Edgar Ponterossi. Absell would normally start apologizing profusely, but fortunately he realized it would only make matters worse. So the unnerved priest gave a slight bow of acknowledgment and quietly tucked his leather journal into his sack before turning toward the ramp.

  As they parted, the captain shouted one final word to Absell. “When the river finally turns north, look to the east, and you’ll find your road.”

  The captain plac
ed a hand across his brow, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. His eyes watched the priest make for the river’s stony bank. The unscrupulous captain cared not for the safe passage of the priest or his companion; he was fueled only by greed, and with that motivation he cast his prayers to the winds, where one of his seventy-three gods might answer.

  Absell paid no mind to the captain at this point. He was already familiar with the route he would take, and quite frankly, he was pleased to be rid of the Red Dawn for a while. It was time to head east and find what he was looking for: the lost stone of Lorenathi’Liluon. So the little fellow grabbed his mule by the reins, and began walking along the river’s edge, with Arden at his heels.

  “Please tell me we are not going all the way to Kiskarn,” asked Arden, as he ran his fingers through his curly red mop.

  “Oh heavens no,” laughed Absell. “We are going to Girielle!”

  “The last battle, the fall of Girielle?” asked the wide-eyed youth.

  “Indeed, my boy. Queen Yezreth waged war against the elven city of Girielle in an attempt to attain what she believed to be the fifth and final Elder Stone,” replied Absell.

  “Wait, I thought there were only five stones,” said Arden.

  If only Arden could have seen the grin on his master’s face. “So did she my boy, so did she. It was the Mage Wars; it was the Fall of Girielle; it was the year 7291.”

  The fortress shook with each thundering blast of magic. Scorching balls of fire and orbs of violent energy cascaded upon the elven city of Girielle. Stone and mortar gave way and crumbled under the barrage of magical attacks.

  “Lord Liluon, we cannot hold the defenses much longer!” shouted the elven captain.

  “Have the evacuees reached Salios?” came the commanding reply.

  “Not yet my lord,” answered the captain.

  “Has there been any word from the Elhmstein or the Brotherhood yet?” asked the king.