Marked (44 page)

She had to stay alive, to breathe!

An hour later Gerart had caught up to Lomar on the trail that bordered the forest. Brokenhearted, he told the Lancer of Sergeant Mortuc’s heroic sacrifice and Aliana’s plight. With a heavy heart, Lomar then told him about how the brave Jasmine had died.

The pain Gerart experienced as he told Lomar what had happened left him barely able to speak. His throat was parched and he felt a stabbing pain each time he spoke. He swallowed, but it did not lessen the pain. It took a supreme effort to blink back the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Let me go back, Your Highness. I’ll find them,” Lomar vowed.

Gerart looked him in the eye. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to turn around and go back and rescue Aliana himself. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him in agony to go back for her. He could not desert her there like that, on her own in the middle of that dreadful forest infested with savages. In his mind he knew he had to go on, but not in his heart. He looked at Haradin, tied to the horse, unconscious and helpless. That man was the key to saving Rogdon. Without him the kingdom would perish; he was sure of that. Thousands of lives were in jeopardy.

I must stop acting like a love-struck boy and behave like the future king that I am. The responsibility of my lineage is immense, and today I will pay dearly for the price of that crown. My duty to the kingdom comes before any personal desires.

He knew that, and had to respect it. He had to make the right decision for Rogdon.

“No, Lomar. As much as I want to go back for Aliana and Kendas, that path is not possible. We must take Haradin to the Temple of Tirsar so that he can recover as quickly as possible and help our forces to fight the Nocean invasion. Otherwise we will be defeated and thousands of innocent people will and die. It is all hanging by a thread. Haradin is the priority; we must protect him. It rips my heart out to abandon them here, but there is no other choice. A pack of Red Usik is following my trail less than a half a mile behind. They will soon catch up with us.”

“As you order, Your Highness,” agreed Lomar, his expression serious.

Gerart glanced one last time to the west. He waited a moment, looking for a miracle, longing to see Aliana galloping toward him. But all he saw was a group of Red Usik in the distance, coming toward them. He took a deep breath and gave the order to leave that damnable forest—the place where his heart had been broken.

The responsibility and weight of the crown, of his lineage, had changed him forever.

He would never be the same.

Heavyhearted, he rode off toward the Masig plains.

Komir sharpened his weapons as he sat on the modest bed in his room at the Flying Horse Inn. One thought stayed firmly anchored in his mind—a thought that, try as he might, he could not erase: the mysterious energy living inside him, the nightmare with which he had been cursed... that arcane beast that awakened in critical times of need and that had had such profound effects on his life. With a skillful stroke, he swept the small whetstone along the blade of his sword in a curved motion. A weapon must always be sharp and well cared for.

Even though he hated being different, Komir had to acknowledge that if it hadn’t been for that energy he would be dead by now. On several occasions that power had saved his life. Still, he despised this “Gift”—whatever it was—that had marked him in the eyes of the members of his tribe. Even his good friend Hartz, loyal to the bone with a heart the size of a mountain, could not bring himself to mention the subject in his presence. Komir knew it was because Hartz was frightened by the power. And if someone as good as Hartz feared his magic and avoided talking about it, why would the rest of the tribe’s members not renounce it as well? 

He would always be a Marked man in the eyes of his people. Nothing would ever change that perception, no matter how hard he tried. And by now all the other Norriel tribes would know the whole story and would disown him too.

He had always wanted to be a normal Bikia. A Norriel like everybody else.

But that dream would never be realized.

He inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh.
At least I am alive. I can hate this situation as much as I want but, in the end, I am alive and I need to stay alive. Pitying myself solves nothing. This is the life I have been given and I will live it without fear. And I will reach my goal: to find my parents’ killers. Nothing will stop me; I will succeed in obtaining justice.

Komir brought his hand to his chest, expecting to find the Dark Medallion—his mother’s medallion—but in its place hung the medallion belonging to the King from the Ilenian underground temple. Lindaro now had the Dark Medallion.

And then he remembered what just have happened.

An event of singular and immense importance.

Komir did not yet understand that what have occurred would radically change his destiny. Two paths, running parallel to one another but as yet unconnected, had crossed, united into a single passage. An unbreakable, mystical bond had been forged. Two independent, apparently unrelated destinies of two very different beings from different places and with different purposes in life, had been forever joined in that crucial moment. Spanning time and space.

It had begun with an unusual fog.

Komir had watched in disbelief as the fog came out of nowhere, rising up to surround him, swallowing up everything around him as it became ever more dense. Feeling as if he were falling into a deep sleep, he immediately had unsheathed both of his weapons and then attempted to hide, unsure of what was happening.

The Ilenian medallion around his neck had began to emit white flashes. It felt... strange... as if it were feeding off his internal energy, his... essence. Komir had no idea what was happening or why, and it frightened him. His muscles were tense; his nerves on edge, his mind alert.

And then, before his astonished gaze, a young woman had begun to take shape.

She, too, was wearing a large medallion around her neck. The object, as if it had come from the deepest reaches of the earth, was emitting intense brownish flashes. Komir studied the young beauty. She was stunning, with an aura of serenity and goodness. Komir’s initial fear was slowly being replaced by a feeling of peace.

The young woman had completely captivated him.

What he had experienced next have left him utterly confused. Not only was he not able to understand what had happened but he could also never have imagined the incredible significance of the moment. The only conclusion he could come to was that it had something to do with the arcane beast that had a hold on his soul. And the only thing he knew for sure was that the medallion he was wearing had immense power; that somehow, in the midst of this tangle of dream and reality, it had used his energy to communicate with the young woman with the golden hair. He understood nothing more.

The two Ilenian medallions had been communicating from a great distance and had formed a bond between them, and between their wearers.

Between Komir and Aliana.

Between their destinies.

But Komir did not yet understand this, nor could he believe what had happened. Turning it over and over in his mind, he questioned what he had experienced; wondered who that beautiful girl with the enormous eyes the color of the sea could have been. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fathom any of it... He could have sworn the girl had been there, in his room, right in front of him... but that was impossible. What had happened with the medallion? The young woman had been wearing one very much like it. There was a link between the two medallions.

He hesitated a moment, thinking that—perhaps—it had all been just a dream. But, no; he was sure that young woman had been real. She was no figment of his imagination.

Then something else dawned in his mind. An idea. No, a certainty.

He had to find that young woman and learn what had happened.

He had to discover the meaning of it all.

He
knew
it.

Several knocks on the door brought Komir out of his reverie. He opened the door to a disheveled looking boy, no more than fourteen years old, who presented him with a message. The handwriting was clear and neat; elegant, even, written by someone well-accustomed to writing with a quill.  He read it closely, taking his time to make sure he understood the symbols before his eyes.

The note was short and direct, and Komir was indeed able to understand it.

Komir, we urgently need your presence in the Temple of the Light. Please excuse the haste as well as the lateness of the hour but this is a matter of most extreme gravity. Hurry, please.

Father Dian

Abbott, Temple of the Light

As he read the brief note, Komir felt as if the icy claws of fear had latched onto him, freezing his heart cold. He immediately thought of his friends... Hartz and Kayti were at the Temple... they had left at the break of dawn and still had not returned. Something bad must have happened, otherwise Dian would not have sent someone for him at such a late hour. He was instantly struck by a feeling of strong apprehension. Trying to remain calm, he reminded himself that he did not really know what had happened or the gravity of the situation. He clenched his fist, unintentionally crumpling the message. The news did not appear to be good, but thinking about every catastrophic possibility would solve nothing.

He gave the boy a small tip and sent him on his way, then went to get his weapons and chain mail.

It’s probably nothing serious.
Komir knew he had to make every effort to calm the waves of uneasiness beginning to churn in his stomach.

A few moments later he left the room, prepared to face whatever the problem was, armed to the teeth, just as Master Warrior Gudin had taught him in his village so long ago.
A man who prepares himself for danger and combat has a better chance of victory.
As he walked quickly toward the door of the tavern where several clients were enjoying a drink, he saw the stout and affable Bandor, the innkeeper, who greeted him.

“Is everything all right? Are you expecting trouble?” he asked Komir, pointing at the weapons he was carrying.

“I hope not. But it’s better to be prepared, my friend.”

“Well, good luck, then. I hope it all goes well,” said Bandor, just a hint of worry on his face.

“Oh—just one thing—if Hartz or Kayti show up, would you please tell them I’ve received an urgent request and had to go to the Temple of the Light; tell them to meet me there.”

“I certainly will do that, Komir,” said Bandor as Komir disappeared out the door.

It was well past closing time. Night was descending over the streets one by one. Bandor hurried to finish cleaning the inn. All the chairs were on the tables and he was hastily sweeping the dirty floor, knowing the faster he swept the quicker he’d finish and could enjoy a much deserved rest. Norma, his hardworking but ill-tempered wife, had already finished scrubbing and organizing the inn’s common room and had retired to their room after barking a few orders which Bandor, as usual, promptly ignored.

Why on earth he had ever married that woman he still did not understand. She was bossy, mean, and not very attractive. Not exactly the kind of woman one has in mind when looking for someone with whom to spend the rest of their days. Of course, it was not as if he was exactly a prize. He knew he was not very handsome, but he was big and as strong as an ox. He was also hard-working, at least compared to the clientele that regularly visited their establishment. But he had hundreds of defects, and Bandor was well aware of all of them.

Honestly, he had married Norma for one simple, important reason: that woman’s heart was as big as a mountain. The rest of her attributes paled in comparison. Even now, after more than twenty years of marriage, Bandor felt like he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth since that wonderful woman had chosen him to be her husband.

The Goddess of Luck takes care of things.

Several loud knocks on the door brought him back to reality.

Who could it be at that hour? He immediately thought of the young Norriel, Komir, who had so quickly left the inn looking awfully worried.

“Who’s there?” he asked from behind the bolted oak door.

“It’s Hartz and Kayti. Let us in, Bandor,” came the urgent request from a voice the innkeeper immediately recognized as Hartz.

He opened the door.

Hartz and Kayti rushed in, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on their foreheads. They looked like they’d been running away from wild dogs.

“What in the world happened?” Bandor asked, shocked to see Hartz’s bleeding wounds.

“Where... Where is Komir?” asked Hartz, ignoring Bandor’s question, still panting as he tried to catch his breath. He sounded upset.

“Komir? He left quite a while ago.”

“Damn it! Did he say where he was going?” The Norriel looked completely distraught.

“Yes, he actually gave me a message for you. He said that if you came back I should tell you he had to go to the Temple of the Light for something extremely urgent and that you should meet him there.”

“The Temple of the Light at this hour of the night?” asked Kayti skeptically.

“Yes. He left here loaded down with weapons—which was a bit strange, now that I think about it. But he definitely said he was going to the Temple of the Light,” said Bandor.

“I think it’s a trap,” said Kayti.

“I do, too,” said Hartz, his heart in his throat.

“Some young lad brought him a note, if I’m remembering correctly, and after Komir read it he grabbed his weapons and left for the Temple,” explained the innkeeper, looking from Hartz to Kayti and back. “What? Why the long faces? Is something going on?”

“I’m afraid so, Bandor,” said Kayti.

“He has no idea he’s headed into a mortal ambush,” said Hartz.

Bandor’s face went pale and his eyes widened in fear.

Overcome by unbearable grief over his inability to help his friend, Hartz turned around, opened the door and, at the top of his enormous lungs, he screamed, “Komir, it’s a trap!”