Ankar Rie followed Kloe Datris through the castle halls, up winding and twisting stairwells, through corridors packed with people, and through halls absent of anyone, all the while sensing something dreadfully wrong was approaching. It was a warning that he could not ignore, one that had arrived upon entering the city and only grew stronger as he walked through the castle. His magic could nearly taste another presence, another magic at work, an evil pricking his neck hair. His head remained level as he walked, eyes alert and focused. He draped himself with his magic for protection; the memories of the attack at Illken Dor were still very fresh.
As they walked, Kloe Datris spoke in hushed tones of the events that transpired since the death of Turyn Andelline. He told the sorcerer of the change in the Queen’s behavior since the disappearance of Pal Rae, of her isolation even from the presence of her husband, of her coldness, her shrewdness, her lack of reasoning, and of her decision to rid the world of council member Wilt Oan. Bringing Ankar Rie up to speed meant releasing a lot of information in confidence, but he found it necessary if the sorcerer was to help them.
“I would be beheaded if she knew what I’ve told you,” Kloe finished. He watched Ankar nod, the agreement of secrecy in place.
“It would only be natural for a mother to react the way she has, given what she’s been through. Her losses were very tough for her. Bitterness and anger can often lead people to act in strange ways. They become so wrapped up in their ill thoughts, that they slip so far out of control they cannot tell what is right or wrong.”
“I agree. But the Queen I have seen lately is beyond your reasoning. I tell you, something is wrong with her. She has not addressed the Council at all. Will not, for that matter. She leaves her chamber during the night and I cannot find her. Then she returns and speaks with no one. This is beyond sulking, sorcerer. This is something far worse.”
“You fear for what she will do?”
“I fear for the safety of the Queen.”
“I do not take your judgments lightly,” Ankar nodded.
“I am Head of the Red Knights. My sole purpose is to protect the Royal family.” Kloe Datris stopped walking and gave the sorcerer a look of sorrow. “And the only family left is the Queen.”
Ankar studied his eyes, seeing into the man he was, reading a bit of his thoughts. The Red Knight had a deep love for those he sought to protect. He felt a sense of guilt for the death of the King and the Prince. A sense of failure, perhaps. His grief was as tremendous as his pride, so his emotional turmoil was new to him and he was fighting through the despair that would hinder his actions. The Queen was all he had left to protect now, and he was looking after her like she was one of his own children. Ankar Rie smiled to his new friend and gave him a pat on the shoulder for encouragement.
“You are doing what you can, Kloe Datris.”
The Head of the Red Knights expression was hard like stone. “I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
Kloe Datris turned and walked away then, leaving Ankar Rie to follow. He led him directly towards the Queen’s chamber, not speaking again until they arrived and were met by two other Red Knights. Introductions were brief and to the point, finishing with the Red Knights taking their stations next to the door.
Kloe Datris knocked at the door gently. “My Queen, there is a visitor of urgency. May we enter?”
No response. Kloe Datris waited a few seconds, then repeated his request, opening the door slightly first, making sure he was heard. When nothing came back, he turned to the Red Knights and whispered something, then motioned with his hand to Ankar Rie to follow him in.
Ankar walked into the room and immediately felt the presence of something evil. He quickly stepped in front of Kloe Datris and held his right arm outstretched with his fingertips glowing blue, his other hand keeping Kloe back. Something powerful was in the room. He could smell it. All his warnings were blooming before him, his magic held at bay protectively.
“Stay back, Red Knight! Call for your Queen.”
Kloe Datris’ heart pounded. He saw no one in the room. “My Queen? Sienna?”
No answer. The room looked as it should, the windows were closed and locked, there didn’t appear to have been a struggle. The bed was made, though it appeared that it had not been used recently. The two men stood at the door and saw no sign of the Queen.
Blue light pulsated at Ankar’s fingertips as the magic flowed through his arm and down to his beating heart. Something was there. His heartbeat quickened. The room had the stench of something foul. Nearly the same foulness he had encountered at Illken Dor.
“Stay alert.”
Ankar moved away from the door, motioning for the Red Knight to remain where he was. He moved slowly, working his way around dressers and tall standing mirrors, a small table and chairs, to circle the large bed only to find the room empty. He looked into the wall cabinets, the room-length closets, and around the drapes. Still nothing. Once satisfied, he walked over to a confused Kloe Datris.
“Did your men see her leave?”
Kloe Datris shook his head. “She wouldn’t use the door anyway.”
Kloe Datris moved hurriedly over to the far wall next to the closet. He pulled on a torch bracket and a small section of the wall swung in. “If she left this way, my men would know.”
Together they walked into the secret tunnel where two of the Red Knights stood on watch. Kloe Datris went to work questioning them on the whereabouts of the Queen. They never saw her leave. Kloe believed them. He told them to remain, and report to him when the Queen returns. He began to step back in the bedroom, but Ankar Rie thought otherwise.
“Hold on,” the sorcerer stopped in the doorway, Kloe turning back to see why. But Ankar Rie could see what the others couldn’t. It was magic. Clear as footprints in the sand, leading out of the Queen’s chamber and down the tunnel. The scent was terribly foul. The magic was strong, he knew. Whatever had passed that way from the room would surely be able to sense his own presence. Which is why it fled, he thought.
“What is it?” Kloe stared down the tunnel. “What do you see?”
Ankar Rie knelt down and rubbed one hand across the stone block flooring. He closed his eyes and concentrated, reading the magic for expiration. The air was still stirring with the scent though, meaning that it was fresh. Ankar Rie opened his eyes quickly and stood.
“Whatever was in the Queen’s room, left just before we arrived. I can only assume that the Queen was with it.”
“We saw no one,” a Red Knight replied quickly, the other nodding at his side.
“Its power may be strong enough that it cannot be seen, should it choose to be so.” Ankar turned to Kloe Datris, their faces were mirrored concern. “I need you to be on full alert. The Queen is in grave danger. Wait for my return. Do not follow.”
Without waiting for a reply, Ankar Rie moved quickly away, feeling the scent of the other magic growing stronger.
When Wilt Oan opened his eyes it was nearly midday. He awoke with a start, jumping to his feet before he even remembered where he was. But it all came back to him quickly as he saw the bodies. He had to get out of there now. Before it was too late.
He bolted for the door and ran, not knowing where he was going; it really didn’t matter at this point. Oan knew if he stayed there long enough, whatever it was would show up again and he might not be so lucky then. He had to find Kloe Datris and tell the Red Knight what he saw; he knew of no one else he could trust. The Queen herself demanded his death. Or rather the creature posing as the Queen. But it didn’t matter. For everyone else, she was Sienna. And her word stood.
Wilt Oan ran through the narrow corridor as fast as he could, passing like a ghost by the flaming torches hung in brackets, breathing hard from his mouth as the sweat beads along his wrinkled forehead began to trickle down his worried face into his thick white beard. He passed by a series of thin cracks in the wall that he knew to be an outline to another room or passage. An untrained eye would miss it completely, but Oan was more experie
nced than most when it came to the hidden corridors.
The castle was full of secrets. Rooms and tunnels were not excluded.
But just as Wilt passed by the secret doorway, something else brought him to a skidding halt. About ten yards ahead of him the corridor angled to the right. Along the curve he saw a shadow on the wall heading directly towards him. Wilt panicked. He backpedaled as fast as he could, turned around and ran back to the door outline and frantically began searching for a trigger to open the door. Pressing the stone blocks around the frame seemed like a logical idea, but none budged. He looked down the corridor to see the shadow growing. In moments the figure would round the curve and he would be spotted.
Out of anger, the old man pushed the door. To his surprise, the section of bricks slid inward. Instantly Oan was pushing his way into the room and closing the door behind him. Seconds later, with his back pressed against the door and his breathing held, he heard the footsteps of someone rushing past without slowing. Oan went back to breathing hard again, relieved, and more anxious than ever to be free of the tunnels.
He remained standing for a few moments as he was busy thinking, and he took notice to what his eyes were seeing in the room. Books. Shelves of huge leather-bound books. In the darkened interior, he could see that he was in a library of some sort. He had never known of hidden books in the castle; it had several libraries hosting thousands of books. But this one was different. This one was important.
Realizing its need for secrecy, Wilt Oan moved away from the door and stepped further into the gloom. He was astonished by the volume of pages the books held. Sliding one off the shelf, he blew a sheet of dust off it before regrettably sneezing. He opened the old cover and began to skim through. The pages were so frail, so old. The ink was faint and the dialect proved the book to be hundreds of years old. In the dark, he could barely even see the print. But he knew he had stumbled upon something precious. Something he should not know about.
He carefully made his way into the room, finding a small table near the center, with two small chairs and a lantern. Lying next to the lantern were two flat stones which he struck together to spark the fire in the lantern. The dim light lit the room from wall to wall, floor to low ceiling. Wilt Oan smiled. Starting at one end of the room, he proceeded to skim through each book with fascination. It didn’t take him long to figure out that he had found a treasure of history books. The Lineage books were packed with events and people long since forgotten, but important nonetheless.
Important enough to be kept locked away in a hidden vault.
Wilt Oan closed the heavy book and looked around the small room. So much information! He sat with a great awe and wondered how many others even knew the room existed. Not many, he thought. He smiled proudly, rising from the table to place the book back to its origin when the war horn sounded from the courtyard. Its horrendously deep bellow blew out suddenly and Wilt Oan jumped. He knew the horn, knew what it meant, and thought that he would have to find another time to read the books. The Queen had begun the march for the Lyyn Forest. The war was starting.
He moved to the door and cautiously opened it. No one. He stepped into the corridor and looked around. The horn blasted out again, followed by a thunderous cheer from the men heading into battle. There was no time to delay the war now, he knew. All he could do was find Kloe Datris and rid themselves of the Queen’s imposter.
Gathering his composure, the old man sprinted away in hopes of being able to succeed.
Ankar Rie moved cautiously through the secret tunnel like an animal tracking prey when the war horn sounded. He didn’t slow, he understood what was happening, and that none of it was in any relation to what he needed to do now. His fingertips were glowing with blue light, as his senses kept his magic ready for an attack. He could smell the scent of something ahead of him, something powerful, something smart, something waiting. Anyone else would be walking into a trap, he thought. But he was ready. Whatever it was, it was close. And it knew he was coming.
He rounded a corner and walked a few yards when the smell of death hit him. He tracked it down and discovered a room full of bodies. He carefully entered the room. Bodies lay with expressions so terrible that Ankar had to look away. He felt traces of the other’s magic in the room as well. It had been there recently. Its tracks were everywhere, especially over the bodies spread across the floor. The magic was strong in the air; whatever it was had just recently left.
Ankar’s head tilted slightly with curiosity.
Or was it still here?
The body barreled into Ankar Rie so fast that his magic had not time to protect him. Instantly he was flung to the other side of the room, slamming hard enough into the brick wall that it spider-webbed with cracks. Before the sorcerer could rise, he shielded himself with magic and his hands flared with blue heat, shooting back behind him. He turned quickly, but no one was there.
Ankar could feel another presence in the room. He stayed against the wall, his eyes searching the room for a trace of magic, his body calm, his mind focused. As his head was still looking off to his right, another attack came from his left near the door. But Ankar was ready this time. Faster than the eye could follow, he dropped to his knees, as a table shattered against the wall above his head. He sent fire spewing towards the doorway where a shadow stood withering. Ankar watched his blue shards miss their mark as the figure disappeared.
He stood to his feet quickly, staring into the empty doorway. Nothing moved. For several long moments Ankar remained motionless, his eyes focused sharp, his ears listening intently for anything. But his senses failed him, and the only thing he thought of then was that it was getting away.
Ankar Rie moved cautiously to the doorway, inching his way out into the passage, finding nothing when he looked in both directions. His senses were telling him that he should turn right, and with barely any hesitation, he did so. Running down the narrow passage, his magic’s intuition helped him track the scent of magic like an animal. Several turns with long corridors, down a set of steep, winding stairs, finally to an exit door. He stopped there, expecting a confrontation once he opened the door. He prepared himself, then moved the door.
Ankar pushed the brick door open until he found himself outside at the base of the castle where it was quiet and hidden in shadow. The Caltar Mountains were to his right and a shallow hillside leading down to a small groove of trees lay ahead of him. He saw no one. He stared down the hill into the trees, looking for anyone, for the slightest brush to move. Nothing.
He knelt down and placed his hands upon the cool grass, allowing his magic to trace the footprints. Almost as clear as the sky above him, he could see traces of magic in the grass heading down the hill. Ankar Rie raced away in pursuit, his fingers tingling with anticipation.
A series of tall bushes surrounded the pocket of trees, and as Ankar Rie approached them he heard something rustling the branches. Someone was walking towards him. He stepped back a few yards, arms stretched forth, fingers slightly bent and glowing blue. He wouldn’t think twice; he wouldn’t give it a chance.
Suddenly a scrawny man stumbled out, looking disoriented and scared. Ankar lowered his arms as the man began rambling on about something. His words were slurred and far too quick for Ankar to decipher.
“Sh. Hold on. Take a breath.” Ankar tried to calm the man down, not wanting to frighten him further. He wondered how long the man had been in the bushes to accumulate such a smell.
“In there,” the man yelped, pointing into the bushes. His eyes were wide and his breathing was faster than his broken sentences. “In…there. It goes…must get…help.”
Ankar pointed to the castle. “Get going, while you can.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
The man rushed past with a smile, obviously shaken up. Ankar steadied himself, drawing his offense to his fingertips again, then moved in cautiously.
The man was nearing the castle walls when he looked back to see Ankar disappear within the foliage. Seconds later, his
body dropped lifelessly to the ground, and the spirit of the Mrenx Ku fled like a shadow back into the castle.
Wilt Oan’s sweat was racing down his wrinkled face into his white beard as he hurried through the tunnel on his way to find his friend. He was scared knowing that he wasn’t alone in the passages, and what would find him would also kill him. He had to remain cautious, but could not afford to act slowly. The war march was starting, and he knew very little could be done to stop it with him in the secret passages.
As he thought of being in the secret passages, he began to think of finding the secret library. Though he didn’t read every book, he understood there were many secrets kept in those pages. Every family had its secrets, he thought. The Andelline’s should be no different.
His train of thoughts then led him to the family itself and what secrets they would keep. He was discovering many as of late. One of which in particular didn’t leave his mind: the Queen was dead. And as he began to think of her death, he drifted off to her son’s and her husband’s deaths. The entire royal family was now deceased. With his brain firing thoughts and speculations faster than the old man could reason and rule out, he began putting an idea together that was making sense.
It started with the Queen’s death. She was the last one. It made no sense at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it did.
The Queen was needed. Who else would not be a suspect in the King’s death? It had to be her. But why? Why would she…?
But even before he had the question out, he was reasoning out the answer. It was the demon. It needed her to do it. Why? Because it… It was the Andelline bloodline! The demon would be destroyed if it came in contact with the blood!
He remembered skimming over something about the bloodline in the Heritage book. It had to do with a power that was now living inside the King’s blood. But it only now made sense.
The demon could not assume the King’s body, nor the Prince’s, and so it had to use the Queen! And once the King was dead, and the Elves were to blame, the demon had no further use for her.
Wilt Oan could feel his heart beating against his ribs with adrenaline as his skin crawled in excitement. He was right. He had to be. Wilt Oan slowed his feet to a stop, realizing he had just stumbled upon one of the keys to unlock the biggest secret of all. He bolted back towards the library then. It would be in the books, he knew. There he would find the necessary confirmation.
The old man tore through the dimly lit corridor like a young man, reaching the secret door quickly, rushing into the library and searching through the massive Heritage book as if it was going to save his life. Page after page, the old man searched, his eyes racing from one line to the next. Finally, after nearly an hour of searching, Wilt Oan found what he was looking for. Before him, written centuries ago, was the proof. He was right. The Andelline blood was the key.
He closed the book instantly and rushed away into the corridor, sprinting for the nearest exit out. His heart pounded, his skin chilled with bumps, the whole of his body climaxed with astonishment. He would have to take Kloe Datris down to the library to show him, to prove to him the secret. The Red Knight would have to read for himself to believe him.
Wilt Oan’s pace quickened as he rounded a corner and saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He reached the door and slowly pulled it back, carefully seeing into the castle’s hallway. There were a few people walking away from him and no one coming. He stepped out of the tunnel with relief and excitement. He could barely contain himself.
Find Kloe Datris and tell him what I discovered. Tell him of the Queen first, then the whole story. Make him understand. The rest would have to be discussed.
Wilt Oan had not felt so alive in a long while.
He turned a corner and was met by a small group of men. He didn’t make eye contact; he didn’t even slow his approach. Another level and he would be near the Queen’s room where he could send word to Kloe Datris. He was close now. He need not draw any further attention to himself.
A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Four men stood with angry faces, eyes gleaming of surprise, but not any that would do him good.
“Where do you think you’re going, old man?” a voice snickered.
“I have business with the Queen,” he spit back hastily.
But the men were circling him now. “As do we. Thanks to you.”
Before Wilt Oan, peace keeper to the Races for decades, could figure out what the other was talking about, he felt a blunt object strike him in the head. As his head dizzied, he fell into the arms of two men. He could barely make out them speaking of some reward that they would now be collecting from the Queen.
Wilt tried to speak, tried to warn them that the Queen wasn’t who they thought she was, tried to tell them to stay away from her completely, but his eyes were drifting into a swirling blackness.
As the old man passed out, the four men dragged his body away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN