The Stewards of Reed, Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One - Ill Tidings

  Chapter Two - The Chase

  Chapter Three - Revealed

  Chapter Four - The Other Brother

  Chapter Five - The Remembered

  Chapter Six - Mother and Daughter

  Chapter Seven - A Light in the Darkness

  Chapter Eight - A Season's End

  Chapter Nine - The Right Path

  Chapter Ten - Dangerous Decisions

  Chapter Eleven - At Last

  Chapter Twelve - Fade to Black

  Author's Note

  The Stewards of Reed

  Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl

  by RM Wark

  For everyone who has ever taken a chance on an unknown author,

  and liked what they read.

  *************

  A special thanks to:

  S. Honeycutt and her thorough review

  P. Wark and his mad map skills

  *************

  Copyright © 2014 by RM Wark

  All rights reserved.

  PROLOGUE

  The man sat quietly in the corner of his cell. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago – so much so that he felt the need to shield them from the brightness of the guard’s torch whenever his daily ration of food was delivered. But it was his hands that he still relied upon most of all. His hands could see and hear what his other senses could not. His hands knew the stories of the walls, and the walls knew the stories of those who had been sequestered in the cell before him.

  The stone walls were cold and damp, and many parts were coated with a thin layer of moss that somehow managed to persist without the benefit of sunlight. He traced his fingers along the etchings in the stone. Several prisoners of old had attempted to track their days spent in solitude within the Dungeons of Cetahl – the thief for certain, the merchant, the blacksmith. But not the wizard. No, she did not mark her time in stone.

  But the wizard did not concern him, nor did any of the others for that matter. I am here for a reason, he reminded himself. Eventually, sleep overcame him and he drifted off into the land of dreams – the only land beyond his cell that he had seen in over two decades.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ill Tidings

  Though the Emperor’s throne room was quite large, it was a cold and barren chamber with few decorations save some red and black tapestries that hung from the walls. Loud voices tended to echo through the emptiness, compelling its occupants to use quieter tongues. This was just as well, for soft words did not lend themselves so readily to eavesdropping.

  The Emperor sat upon his chair of stone, staring intently at the young man speaking before him.

  “It was a starcrest stone – in a wind chime, no less – tucked away in the corner of an obscure alleyway in Bartow. I had been admiring it when I felt his presence behind me.” A broad smile appeared on Lord Cephas’s face. “The old wizard was dust before he could utter a word.”

  The Emperor scowled at such arrogant boasts. “You did not just kill any old wizard. You killed Lord Milton,” Lord Etan snapped.

  Lord Cephas’s smile faded, and his dark eyes flashed with anger. “I would have thought such news would have pleased you, Father,” he replied cooly. “The hero of the First War felled by your only son.”

  The Emperor shook his head. “Your foolish actions shall jeopardize everything.”

  Lord Cephas sighed audibly. “I have not jeopardized anything, Father. Lord Milton had a proper burial, and I took care to make certain no trace of him remained,” he explained. “The Western Wizards shall never know what—”

  “Only a fool would be so naïve!” interrupted the Emperor. “They have been searching for him all this time. I am told they already suspect we are somehow involved in his disappearance. I am told there is talk of war.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Cephas appeared unfazed by the revelation. “Lord Milton was quite old, Father. Sometimes old wizards just die. Perhaps your spies in the West should be reminded of this.”

  The Emperor did not bother to respond. He knew it would do no good.

  “Besides, I had no choice in the matter,” argued Lord Cephas. “Or would you rather I had been the one to die that day?”

  “For all I knew, you were dead.”

  Eight years had passed since Lord Cephas was sent off on his quest. And while eight years is not necessarily a long time to a wizard, it is quite a long time to a father who had expected his son to return within a year of his departure. The Emperor had sent countless search parties into the West in an effort to locate his son. Only once in those eight years did they detect the faintest presence of Lord Cephas. It offered a small hope, but Lord Etan remained troubled nonetheless. His son was still missing.

  It was just in the past week that a messenger arrived with joyous news that Lord Cephas had finally returned to the East. And now, at long last, his son stood before him. But his son came bearing ill tidings, and the joy surrounding his return was short-lived.

  The room fell silent, but the icy stares between father and son spoke volumes.

  “Did any good come of your journey?” the Emperor finally asked, rubbing his aching head. “What of the other wizard? What of your servant?”

  Selma had been standing quietly in the far corner of the throne room, staring at the floor, but she raised her head at the mention of her brother.

  Lord Cephas frowned. “I am afraid Lady Blythe proved stronger than we had been led to believe. There was … an incident.”

  “An incident?”

  “Aye. I cannot say for certain if the wizard still lives, but alas, my servant is dead.”

  Selma’s gasp was audible, as were the mumbled apologies that quickly followed. Unless specifically called upon, a servant must never utter a sound within the Emperor’s throne room. Never.

  “Selma, leave us,” the Emperor commanded.

  “As you wish, Emperor.”

  *************

  Selma awoke the next morning to find her pillow soaked with a mixture of tears and honey wine, her head pounding. She stared blankly at the empty wine bottle, trying to recall the events of the previous night, but she could recall only the words of Lord Cephas.

  New tears erupted from her bloodshot eyes as her thoughts drifted to Wendell. Her brother – her forever protector, her last living relative – was dead. She was alone in this world. And what a cruel world it was.

  *************

  He had never been to Koman before. If he had, he would have known the village was not as it once was. Armed guards were now posted at its borders, questioning all who entered. It gave him pause for the briefest of moments, but he pressed forward. There was no use trying to sneak past the guards.

  I have nothing to hide, he reminded himself. I have nothing to fear.

  Fallon tried to ignore the hint of doubt that accompanied that final thought as he urged his horse towards the guard post. He had no weapons. He had not even brought his wand. It had seemed wrong for him to take it when his destiny was not that of a Steward.

  “Who are you and what is your purpose in Koman?” asked one of the guards.

  I must find the girl with the jet-black hair, Fallon thought. “I am looking for someone. I am Fallon, son of Tobias, of Reed,” he said.

  The guard’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Seize him!”

  Startled, Attawan reared up and was prepared to bolt, but Fallon brought his horse under control and surrendered to the guards. Although he was apprehensive, Fallon took some comfort i
n the fact that he had not had any foreboding dreams as of late. He had only dreamt of the girl, and of his quest somewhere beyond the peaks of the Atlian Mountains.

  I must find her. She shall show me the way.

  The Village of Koman was not that large, so it was not long before the guards reached their final destination – the house of Silas. Fallon could not make out the whispered exchanges between the guard and the beautiful woman who had answered the door, but he was familiar with her expression. He had seen the same look of shock upon Adam’s face when the doorman learned that Fallon had been marked on his 13th birthday.

  A dark-haired man soon appeared beside the beautiful woman. Fallon immediately recognized him as the man who had tried to kill Steward Isaiah. He felt an unexpected wave of anger rush over him, but he managed to keep calm.

  Remember the dream, he told himself. You are here for the future, not for the past.

  And then Fallon saw her – the girl with the jet-black hair.

  “What is all this commotion about, Father?” she asked, standing on the tips of her toes to get a better view over his shoulder. She froze when she saw Fallon.

  Did she just call him “Father”? Fallon stared at her in disbelief, his stomach twisting in knots as the realization of who she was set in.

  “Go to your room,” the Komanite leader ordered. “Stay there until I call on you.”

  *************

  The Emperor stared at the quill upon his desk. It was the only good thing that had come from the falcon’s arrival – a sturdy writing tool. He picked up the quill and began to twist it in the glow of the candlelight, watching as the feather turned from black to silver and then black again, depending on the angle of view.

  He had never seen anything like that bird before. He wondered if he would ever see it again. He hoped not. And as much as he fought against it, Lord Etan found himself remembering the events of that day – the day he became Emperor.

  Many an archer had tried to bring the bird down as it made its way towards Cetahl. A thousand arrows filled the sky, but the falcon deftly avoided each one. With a simple turn of its wings, the large black bird would seemingly disappear. Inevitably though, its piercing cry would fill the air, and the falcon would reappear elsewhere in the sky, much to the confusion and frustration of the archers.

  Looking through his spyglass, Lord Etan eventually spotted a note clasped in the falcon’s claw. He commanded the archers to let the bird alone. But even though the sky was no longer dotted with arrows, the falcon continued to remain aloft and elusive. The bird soared high above their heads for another hour, crying out periodically as it circled. It disappeared once more, and an eerie quiet settled upon Cetahl.

  Several minutes passed without any sight or sound of the mysterious falcon. Just as Lord Etan was about to summon a team of trackers to search for the bird, a most horrific screech finally broke the silence. The Eastern Wizard shifted his gaze towards the source of the vile sound, and found the falcon perched upon a nearby turret. How did it get there without being seen? he recalled thinking at the time.

  The bird was at least twice the size of any falcon Lord Etan had ever seen. He watched as the falcon began to survey its surroundings. When the bird’s gaze finally met his own, Lord Etan felt his blood run cold. Another shriek filled the air, and the falcon dove straight for him.

  *************

  “Why are you here?” Silas’s voice betrayed a mixture of anger, disbelief, and perhaps even fear. He stared at the young man now standing in his dining hall with his hands tied behind his back. He had seen the young man’s face before. The face of the man who could have killed his beloved daughter was not easily forgotten.

  “I … I dreamed of your daughter,” Fallon replied.

  Silas’s eyes flashed in anger. He walked towards the young man and brought his dagger to Fallon’s throat. “If you have come in hopes of finishing what you did not that night ….”

  Fallon shook his head. “No, sir. I would never harm her. Ever.”

  Silas lowered his dagger. “Then why do you dream of her?”

  Fallon struggled for an answer. “I am a dreamer. It is my gift,” he finally replied.

  “Your gift?”

  “I am marked. I was to be the Steward of Reed, but ….”

  So that is why you were with the old man that night. Silas stepped back from Fallon and sat down in a chair. “Go on,” he said, his curiosity piqued. Why is the apprentice to the Steward of Reed now standing before me? Why does he speak in the past tense?

  “I was to be the Steward of Reed, but my mark is not the proper mark. That is not my destiny.”

  An awkward silence followed this unexpected revelation as Silas pondered Fallon’s words.

  “Your mark was not the proper mark, so they cast you out, and you felt you had no other choice but to come to the forbidden land of banished souls, is that it?” The resentment in Silas’s voice was clear.

  “No,” replied Fallon, confused. “I left of my own accord,” he insisted. “I left on my inauguration day. I kept having these dreams—”

  “Dreams of my daughter.” Silas scowled. “Guards!” he called.

  The two men who had brought Fallon to the house of Silas quickly entered the room.

  “Take him away to the Keep!”

  “Aye, Minister.”

  “He may be untied but shall not leave save by my orders,” Silas said as he turned to leave. He paused at the doorway and gave Fallon one final look. “See that no harm comes to him.”

  “Aye, Minister.”

  *************

  Her bedroom was directly above the dining hall. Being of an impossibly curious nature, she had learned long ago that if she pressed her ear against a large crack in one of the floorboards, she could usually make out most of what was being said in the space below her.

  This finding had proven to be so useful over the years that when her mother had once suggested she move to the larger guest room, Jezebel had quickly refused.

  “I like my room, Mother,” she had explained. “I do not need more space.”

  Jezebel’s heart was racing when she finally lifted her head from the floor.

  He dreams of me? She found herself feeling both frightened and excited by the thought. She was not sure what to make of the dark-haired man who once held her life in his hands.

  He has grown more handsome through the years, she admitted to herself, but he is a Reedite. And even though he said he meant her no harm … if she had learned anything from her father, it was that Reedites were not to be trusted.

  But he dreams of me ….

  *************

  The Emperor’s eyes moved from the quill to the scar on his hand – another gift from the falcon. The scar was more than four decades old and yet still hurt to the touch.

  He had stood on his balcony, frozen in fear, as the giant falcon raced towards him with incredible speed. It was as though his legs had forgotten how to move. The most he had managed to do was shield his face with his arms and shut his eyes tight. He had braced for impact as the massive bird approached … but nothing happened. When Lord Etan finally raised his head, he saw the falcon perched upon the railing of his balcony.

  Not a single archer had had the presence of mind to defend him against the diving bird. Lord Etan had not given this much thought at the time – he had been in too much shock – but the incompetence sparked a small flame of anger in him now. It was short-lived, however. It does not matter – those men are all dead, he thought with a sigh. His mind turned back to the memory of his encounter with the falcon.

  Lord Etan had found himself transfixed by the falcon’s stare. Much like the bird’s feathers, the eyes seemed to change from black to silver at the slightest movement. Lord Etan had never seen anything like it, and he found it to be quite unnerving. Although much less unnerving in a bird than in a man, he conceded, his memories temporarily interrupted by the thought of the strange prisoner sequestered in the depths of the dungeons.


  The falcon had regarded him for some time with his shifty eyes before Lord Etan worked up enough courage to approach the bird and attempt to retrieve the note. As he reached for the note, the falcon shrieked again. The Emperor jumped at the unexpected sound, which had the unfortunate consequence of startling the bird. The falcon scratched at Lord Etan and flew away – leaving only a feather, a note, and a bloody hand behind.

  *************

  Fallon had spent so many hours alone in silence that he jumped at the unexpected sound of a knock at the front door.

  It is not dinner time quite yet, he thought. Fallon’s heart skipped a beat when the door was opened to reveal the Komanite leader.

  “Hello, Minister.”

  Silas acknowledged the greeting with a nod and stepped through the doorway. The Komanite leader surveyed the front room of the Keep, a house that had once belonged to an elderly couple who had starved to death during a blizzard several years prior. The front room was modestly furnished with a few chairs and a side table. There were no decorations save a worn rug upon the wooden floor.

  “I trust you are comfortable here?” Silas asked after a guard closed the door behind him.

  “Aye, Minister.”

  Silas sat down in a chair and motioned for Fallon to join him. He leaned forward and studied Fallon intently.

  “Does the Steward of Reed know where you are?”

  Fallon felt a twinge of guilt at the memory of leaving his vague note on the desk in Isaiah’s study. He knew it must have come as quite a shock to the Steward.