Marked (20 page)

They had endured an extremely difficult selection process with terribly arduous trials. Sergeant Major Mortuc had personally supervised them to ensure that only the best would successfully complete them. For six interminable months, three hundred candidates had lived together in the Iltor training camp—a fort located south of the capital in the heart of an immense forest. The place was notorious within the army for the difficulty of the training that went on there. The trials to which the sergeant subjected them in those woods, far beyond the reach of prying eyes, in the middle of a setting of such immense isolation, were atrocious.  Lomar knew that experience would remain etched in his memory for the rest of his days. It had been six months of pure hell on earth, after which only thirty of the five hundred soldiers that began the selection process managed to conquer it. And the two of them had made it; they had overcome all the obstacles, all the hardships and challenges, and had achieved their childhood dream: to become Royal Lancers, the best and most admired warriors in the kingdom. But something else—an intangible similarity in their personalities—had united them in friendship. The suffering they had endured through the entire process had created a bond between them that would last their whole lives.

Lomar noticed movement to the west. He pulled his dark hair out over his brown eyes to shade them from the bright sun which was keeping him from seeing clearly. A column of twelve cavalrymen was heading toward their camp. At the head of the group he saw the silhouette of a rider with shiny heavy armor in a radiant silver and blue with gold embossing on the shoulders and chest. He was wearing a pointed helmet with a visor that completely covered his face. From the fine mount he was riding and the splendid armor, Lomar assumed he was nobility, perhaps a count or a high official from a good lineage. Heavy armor was not used in the Corps of Lancers because it wore out the animals and constricted the cavalrymen’s mobility. The Lancers instead used breastplates over simple, light chain mail. Their heavy armor boots had also been replaced by high, leather riding boots reinforced with steel overlays that were less heavy and more flexible, and their hips and thighs were protected by lighter metal plates

Eleven cavalrymen wearing gray, silver-plated chest guards with matching arm and leg guards were trotting in formation behind the knight. All were wearing round helmets with crests of thin white feathers. Resting on the horses’ backs, next to the saddlebags, were war bows.

As the company approached, Lomar stared in silent disbelief. Those armed cavalrymen were actually... women!

“Odd group...” he said to Kendas as he pointed at them.

“I’d say so, friend...”

“They’re heading this way. That explains why we stopped here. They’re coming to join up with us.”

“Great! One more mystery to unravel!”

Kendas looked at him and rolled his eyes.

The voyage across the kingdom to get to the Half-Moon border crossing took them two weeks. Two weeks at a fast trot. When they arrived, as per regulations, they went to the large fortress that guarded the crossing. The two rookies stared at the imposing walls in astonishment. They were more than twenty yards high and three hundred paces long. Immense. The border was closed and security was stepped up due to the tense political situation. The crossing, a huge gorge between two mountain ranges, was the only passable crossing for an invading army coming from the East. At the end of the gorge, the Great Half-Moon Fortress acted as an enormous dam, controlling the flow of foreigners and enemies.

Sergeant Mortuc disappeared inside to speak with the commander in charge of the garrison. He was not gone long. When he returned he ordered the column to resume their march. They crossed over, leaving Rogdon behind and setting off on their path toward the east. Little by little they were heading deeper into hostile territory—territory controlled by the native tribes of the steppes.

Mortuc instructed four of his men to go to the front of the column as scouts. Then he called up eight other cavalrymen and told them to divide up and keep watch over the east and west sides of the column. Finally, he sent two veterans to close up the rear guard. He spurred Lightning and rode up to the knight in the shining armor with the dozen female warriors following behind him.

Lomar and Kendas were riding just in front of the strange group. When Lomar saw the Sergeant approaching out of the corner of his eye, he craned his neck to try to catch what was being said in hopes of sorting out the mystery. Curiosity was eating away at him. Though their voices were no more than a light whisper carried along by the wind, he tried to listen to the conversation between the Sergeant and the cavalryman so he could attempt to piece together whatever he managed to hear.

“We are heading into hostile territory. We must stay alert, Sir,” the veteran sergeant told the knight.

“Are you expecting trouble, Mortuc?” he asked.

“In these plains we should not be in too much danger, Sir. The flatlands are inhabited by nomad tribes, the Masig, but they will not bother us if we are respectful. However, farther up we will come to an endless forest; inhospitable, immense... and there, if we dare enter, we will surely be attacked by the Usik tribes that inhabit them. They attack foreigners who cross through their domain; they are extremely fierce and ruthless. Going into their territory is not a good idea, Sir...”

“I understand, Sergeant Major.”

“Are you sure that is where we should be headed? Could we not detour around the edge of the forest?”

“Unfortunately we are heading for Eagles Peak, in the mountain range that goes straight through the heart of Usik territory, in the middle of the great forest.”

Sergeant Mortuc let out a deep sigh.

“That is the territory of the Red Usik, one of the most violent tribes. The Usik consider those mountains to be sacred; I believe that’s where they bury their dead—or at least that’s what I’ve heard. We will have serious trouble if they find us there... And it isn’t possible to get to the mountain from the southern part of the forest. We’ll have to go through their territory, a bit farther north, and then head south until we get to the base of the mountain. Very risky, Sir... extremely risky... even for a small column like ours. If we are discovered, there is very little chance we’ll get out of that forest alive...”

Lomar, who had been furtively listening in on the discussion going on behind him, felt a chill run down his spine. He looked at Kendas, who was on his right, looking back at him with eyes full of concern.

The knight persisted. “I understand the danger the mission entails but it is of vital importance that we get to Eagles Peak.”

“What is the final objective of the incursion, if I may ask?”

The knight glanced at the amazon riding next to him. The woman nodded, as if giving her consent that it was time to reveal the reason for this dangerous mission.

“We are looking for Haradin, the great Mage. We believe he is at Eagles Peak, and he needs help. It is crucial that we find him and take him back to the capital. War could break out at any moment and his assistance is vital to us,” the knight openly explained.

“Uh... I understand, Sir. I’ve known the Mage for a long time; I consider him a friend and think very highly of him,” affirmed Mortuc. “I know that he’s disappeared—rumors have been flying in Rilentor. How certain are we that he is there?”

“Not at all certain, I’m afraid, but we have indications that would suggest he is.”

Mortuc thought for a moment. “So, we don’t really know if he is there or not, or if he is still alive. We are running a great risk, yet we have no certainties. We are endangering the lives of all these fine soldiers.”

The knight nodded. “I am aware of the risk the mission entails. But we have found significant evidence that he is in those mountains. It is a risky operation, but necessary, Sergeant Major. War is about to break out with the Nocean Empire. Mirkos the Erudite, our kingdom’s other great Mage, has been urgently summoned to the capital. It is imperative that we locate Haradin; Mirkos alone will not be able to hold out against the enemy Sorcerers. They will beat him. The situation is critical, Mortuc. To a large extent, the future of our kingdom depends on us finding Haradin alive. It depends on this mission ending successfully.”

“Damn! Damn it all! I was not informed that the political situation was so desperate. Great balls of Ulkor the Cuckold!”

“It is indeed desperate, Sergeant. That is why we must take the risk.”

Mortuc nodded. “In that case, we will have to try to slip in and get back out as stealthily and quickly as we can. If they find us in that dense forest we’ll have serious problems, you can bet your life on that,” assured the Sergeant.

“That is why we are going in with a small detachment. If we took an entire regiment we would be spotted before we even stepped foot in the forest.”

“Let’s just hope we aren’t discovered, or this will turn out very, very badly.”

He spurred Lightning and rode to the head of the column.

Lomar gulped and looked at Kendas. He was shaking his head.

The two rookies could feel the fear drilling into the pit of their stomach.

Dawn cheerfully greeted Komir. They ate their rations and, following along the cliffs, the three adventurers continued on their way to the great Egia Lighthouse. The coast was strikingly beautiful... beyond breathtaking... beneath the radiant sun in the middle of an indigo sky with barely a cloud.

When the group arrived at the massive door of the wall that surrounded the lighthouse tower they found it locked. There was no way to get inside; they would have to scale the wall. They left their swords, sacks, and capes against the wall and, with the agility of a cat, Komir agilely climbed onto Hartz’s shoulders. Kayti took off her helmet, shoulder pads, and the bottom part of her heavy armor, then clambered over both Norriel men, reaching the top of the wall. From there, she was able to help pull Komir up. Finally Hartz grabbed onto his friend’s bow and pulled himself up.

Dropping inside like sneaky thieves in the middle of a heist, they headed straight to the doors of the tower, but these too were locked. So they climbed up to the first window, forced open the grille, and slipped inside the grand structure. They were in a large, simple room containing two large pine tables, each with eight chairs. It was a military room, and comforts were nonexistent. Against the four walls were weapons racks filled with a perfectly arranged arsenal. Spears, swords, shields, bows, and arrows. Everything impeccably maintained, used for equipping an entire regiment.

“Magnificent arsenal they have locked up here,” said Hartz.

“For times of war, I would imagine,” replied Kayti. “This tower must be used for preventing attacks on the city from the north and keeping an eye on enemy fleets.

“Let’s go up to the fire in the upper level,” Komir suggested, his voice tinged with excitement.

The three climbed the interminable spiral staircase without stopping on the intermediate floors that were used for housing archers.

A dying fire was burning in an immense brazier. It was fed by large logs of firewood that had been carefully piled in the entrance hall. In the brazier were now only a few white-hot embers, fighting to hold on in spite of having no more fuel to devour. The view from that height was absolutely breathtaking. Miles and miles of gorgeous, blue ocean on one side and infinite plains with beautiful landscapes of green meadows and small forests on the other. The city of Ocorum rose up a little farther south, its merchant port in full swing. Dozens of commercial ships were entering and leaving the great inner harbor and, from this distance, they looked like tiny walnut shells barely moving on a tideless stream. Surrounded by a tall, sturdy wall, the city seemed to be within the reach of their hands.

“Now what?” asked Hartz. “What do we do?”

“I really don’t know,” said Komir. “This is the right place, though; I’m sure of that. I immediately recognized the lighthouse and the cliffs Amtoko showed me during the ritual. According to her, the images showed my destiny, or my mother’s medallion’s destiny—the place the medallion wanted to return to...”

“I presume Amtoko must be some kind of mystic but why would a medallion want to return to this lighthouse?” asked Kayti, confused. “Does this object have a will of its own, some form of existence—of life?”

“Amtoko is more like a witch... at least, that’s what I would call her,” said Hartz, distrustfully. “At any rate, I don’t believe the medallion—though pretty—has a will of its own, and certainly not a life. But it could be enchanted, and I don’t like that at all—even if it was your mother’s, Komir...”

“All I know is what Amtoko showed me: this lighthouse. She said it could be the origin of the medallion; maybe even its final destiny.”

“Well, I am not about to contradict your Norriel witch. So, what secret are we searching for here, then?” Kayti inquired.

Hartz shrugged his shoulders.

“We are looking for some clue... a document, an object, anything strange... anything that could tell us why the medallion pointed in this direction, and what it all has to do with me and with the death of my parents,” Komir concluded.

“I don’t understand it... but I’ll keep my eyes open and see if we have any luck,” Kayti added.

“We will,” Komir assured hopeful.

“Could I please see the medallion?” asked the young Initiate of the Brotherhood.

“What for?” Komir replied defensively. 

“I just want to have a look, that’s all.”

“Let me guess… You want to check to see if the medallion is an Object of Power. And if it is, you want to try to get it for that Brotherhood of yours. Right?”

“I’m just interested, that’s all. Of course, if it is an Object of Power I’d like to study it a bit but never with the intention of taking it from y—”

“It’s mine and it stays with me.”

“All right, Komir. I’m just curious. It’s nothing more than that. It is absolutely not my intent to snatch it away from you.”

“I hope not. But please stay away from it.”

“As you wish...”

They split up and searched the entire tower for hours without resting, but found nothing of use and not a single clue. Night was falling and they had not come up with anything. Komir was beginning to doubt they were in the right place, and he knew his friends were doubting that, too.

Suddenly, he heard a loud creaking sound in the lower part of the tower. Alarmed, he stood still, listening intently. The door of the tower had been opened, and he could hear the sound of footsteps coming from the bottom floor.
Damn it! Someone is coming! Better go back up with the others.
Komir hurried back up the interminable stairs from the room in the middle of the tower he had been searching. When he got to the entryway to where the brazier was, he found Hartz watching over it, looking worried. He held up one finger, and Hartz nodded.

The two Norriel stood on either side of the door, their backs to the wall. Kayti silently slipped to the back of the room, in the shadows next to the brazier. After a few long moments of tense waiting, a figure came through the door of the entryway and Hartz quickly put a dagger to his neck and held the unsuspecting intruder from behind. Komir pointed his sword at the untimely visitor’s face.

“In the name of the Light! Don’t harm me! Please!” babbled the man in pure desperation. “I am just a humble Priest of the Light—I am not even armed!”

“What are you doing here?” asked Komir threateningly, never lowering his sword.

Voice trembling, the frightened priest replied. “I... I am in charge of keeping the fire in this great brazier alive and burning so that... so the beacon continues to shine, night and day.”

“A priest is in charge of that task?” asked a surprised Hartz, still holding the dagger against the poor man of faith’s neck.

He was shaking now. “Yes... yes. It is the responsibility of the Temple of Light in times of peace. In times of war... it is the army that takes care of maintaining it.”

Komir lowered the sword when he saw the priest was indeed unarmed. Hartz withdrew the dagger and freed him so he could move.

The priest stopped trembling. “Thanks be to the Light! That was quite a scare you gave me—my poor heart almost stopped! What are you doing here? Are you thieves? Aren’t you rather young to be walking the path of darkness? There is nothing of value to steal here except for the weapons... and stealing from the army of Rogdon is not a brilliant idea...”

“We are not here to rob you... and our age is none of your concern,” replied Hartz, his head held high, his chin up as if personally insulted by the comments.

“Perhaps you can help us,” said Kayti, coming out from the brazier room. “I am sure you know this lighthouse better than anyone.”

“Yes, young soldier... that’s true. I do know it, very well. I have been keeping this fire burning for many years, taking care to make sure everything is in perfect order, and performing any necessary maintenance.”

Komir pulled out his mother’s medallion that was hanging around his neck underneath his chain mail and showed it to the priest. The man of faith was probably no more than twenty springs old; thin with brown eyes that shone with intelligence. His black hair was cut short and he was wearing a thick brown habit that covered him from neck to ankles, leaving exposed only the worn-out sandals covering his feet.

The priest examined the medallion closely.

“Interesting jewel. Exquisite artisanship... quite old. This precious gem is very rare; I’ve never seen anything like it... truly intriguing. Very special...”

“We are looking for any document or object—even something hidden—we might find here in the tower that is tied to this medallion. In your years in the tower have you ever seen or noted anything strange—perhaps something mysterious or incomprehensible?” inquired Komir. Knowing how strange his question sounded, he was not holding out much hope.

The priest thought for a moment and then slowly answered.

“There is a strange inscription in the second basement—in the subfloor... Let me explain. In the base of the tower, beneath the big spiral staircase, there is a trap door that leads to the basements—though you probably didn’t notice it. It is hidden under a rug that has a table and two old chairs on it. The basements are two levels below ground and are stocked with all sorts of provisions, from food to wood for the winter. In the second sublevel—the deepest—in a little room at the back, there are some strange symbols etched on the floor that form an unusual circle. They’re covered with the filth that has accumulated over time because it’s been ages since anyone has gone into those basements. Well, except for me... The symbols, or runes, aren’t noticeable if you aren’t carefully examining the floor. From what I can tell, the etchings are in an ancient language, a language that died out thousands of years ago. The language of the enigmatic Lost Civilization. The Ilenians.”

They all looked at the priest, stunned.

“Lost Civilization? Are you referring to the civilization that supposedly ruled the continent before the dawn of mankind?” asked Kayti.

“Exactly, Miss—I mean, Soldier... I see you know the legends of Tremia, our beloved continent. The civilization that existed on the continent from time immemorial and that disappeared completely, leaving hardly a trace of its empire.”

Hartz scratched his head in confusion.

“I don’t want to appear ignorant but we Norriel have no knowledge of any such civilization. According to our legends, the Norriel have always lived in the highlands—from the beginnings of time. We know nothing of lost civilizations.”

“That’s not unusual. Very few of the testaments of those first colonies of antiquity or of the discoveries about the Ilenians made in western Tremia have been preserved. From what we know, several black monoliths of massive proportions have been found. They have smooth, polished surfaces made from an unidentified material similar to marble... it absolutely glows... and according to legend, it has strange, magical powers.”

“Scholars from my kingdom have evidence of similar monoliths, in the eastern part of our continent, but they were lost with the passage of time. In fact, very little is known about that mysterious civilization, and what is known is a mix of myth and reality,” Kayti explained.

“Here in the West some inscriptions in an unknown symbolic language were discovered in the depths of a handful of hidden caves. Fortunately, they’ve been preserved; scholars of that time period copied onto parchment everything that was discovered. They are now in the Royal Library of Rilentor. I myself have closely studied them and have visited some of the caves where the symbols can still be seen. It is an absolute shame that almost all traces of the Ilenians have vanished over time.”

“I haven’t ever heard a thing about them. Obviously it is not part of Norriel tradition. Is that civilization the one that built this magnificent tower?” asked Komir.

“No, it was not. The Lost Civilization, the Ilenians, disappeared more than three thousand years ago. This marvelous work of architecture was built some three hundred years ago by Auguste the Wise, King of Rogdon—one of the most learned monarchs with whom we have ever been blessed, and a great benefactor of the Arts and Sciences. He erected it as a symbol of the kingdom’s intellectuality and prosperity, for the enjoyment of his subjects and the envy of rival kingdoms. At that time, the capital of the kingdom was Ocorum, not Rilentor. And, the tower does hold a mystery...”

“A mystery, you say? What?” Komir was intrigued.

“More than a mystery, it is a little-known fact... The spot on which it was built—”

“What’s special about it?” interrupted Komir very interested.

“The great tower was built on top of one of the last millennial monoliths. A mystifying monolith—as black as night, shiny, and about three times taller than an adult male. An Ilenian monolith. It was sacred to the ancient people of the region. They worshipped it as if it were the representation of a god, because it apparently possessed some sort of beneficial... magical ... qualities.”

“And did it? I’m sure it couldn’t have. It was probably a hoax,” objected Hartz.

“The common belief is that it was true; that the monolith was able to cure illnesses and diseases. However, King Auguste the Wise, a man of faith and great intellect—a man before his time, I might add—decided to put an end to that ancient pagan symbol the ignorant nation adored. His glorious vision was that all beliefs based on superstitions and not on knowledge would disappear from the kingdom so that they might progress from being a tribal and superstitious people to becoming an advanced monarchy. So he ordered that the monolith be destroyed and that this great tower should be built in its place. A lighthouse whose eternal light would illuminate the men and women of Rogdon toward a future of wisdom, art, science, and culture. He was undoubtedly a visionary although, the way I see it, his methods were misguided.”