Marked (38 page)

The door creaked as it opened; Guzmik, seated behind his carved oak desk, looked up from the missives he had been examining. His personal assistant came into the spacious, brightly lit room. The luxurious office was located on the second floor of the west wing of the stately mansion, a beautiful villa in the Nobility District of the bustling mercantile city of Ocorum. It was immensely ostentatious, an incontestable indication of the social position and wealth of its illustrious owner. The majority of the manors built in the elite area of the prosperous port city belonged to the nobility of Rogdon and to the rich merchants that had forged their fortunes through maritime commerce. Even though the city could not compare to Rilentor in terms of power and influence since Rilentor was the residence of the court, it did rival it in terms of wealth.

The vast mansion had extensive gardens that were surrounded by a high stone wall that protected it from curious onlookers. A personal guard made up of a half dozen experienced, stern-faced soldiers dressed in black and yellow zealously guarded the gate of the main entrance. Patrolling the interior gardens around the house were two crews of additional personal guards, protecting both the property and its owner.

Guzmik was obsessed with security; he had, after all, much to hide and protect. The inhabitants of the opulent residential area showed little interest in their new neighbor, who was apparently a rather reserved merchant from the south. He did not get out much, with the exception of his visits to the markets and the port which were no doubt related to his textiles business. One detail that had surfaced was his generous donations to the Temple of the Light, which the other inhabitants appreciated and even praised. But what no one had noticed was that, even though his name and his social position were known to all, no one could describe him with any degree of exactitude—because no one had ever seen his face. Guzmik was a faceless man, a shadow in elegant clothing. It was absolutely essential that he operate in secret, with complete discretion, so as not to raise any suspicions regarding his business.

And Guzmik’s “business” was covert and highly dangerous. He served a very powerful master whose schemes he carried out without hesitation. For some time now he had been operating under the most absolute secrecy, acting as an intermediary—or executioner, depending on the situation and his master’s orders. He dealt with spies and agents, Noceans as well as Norghanians, always looking to serve his own ends—which he kept well hidden. “The best ally of a shadow is always darkness,” he thought to himself as he motioned to his servant, summoning him.

His elderly, emaciated personal attendant approached the desk and knelt before his master.

“Have you found them?” whispered Guzmik anxiously as he rose from his armchair.

“Yes, Master. They are at the Flying Horse Inn, in the Trade District, west of the city,” answered the servant, struggling to his feet.

“What were you able to find out about them?” Guzmik asked, unable to hide his eagerness. “Who are they?”

“I’ve been spying on them for several days, ever since they arrived in the city—just as you asked, Master. Two of them are Norriel. The young one with the emerald eyes and brown hair is quiet and moves with a feline agility. My instincts tell me he is a capable warrior. He calls himself Komir. His companion is a strapping young man who answers to the name Hartz. It is plain to see that his physical strength is considerable. They are uncultivated lads from the highland tribes in the North, beyond the borders, from the mountains that lead into the North Sea. Their behavior, their clothing, the weapons they carry and the strange language they speak give them away.”

“Norriel savages, eh? They are rather far from their lands, though it is not terribly unusual to see people of their race here in the coastal region. Rogdon is the nearest
civilized
kingdom for them, and from what I hear they tend to come here to earn money as mercenaries,” reasoned Guzmik.

The servant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Guzmik squinted, lost in thought, unconsciously rubbing the recent stab wound to the collar bone he had suffered that had not yet healed.  “That would explain their weapon skills. They are good fighters—very good for being so young.”

Those rotten bastards killed my men—seasoned, experienced mercenaries. They’ve cost me a fortune. That Komir fellow... he was the one who threw the dagger that almost did me in. I had them; I was about to cast the spell that would have killed them... Next time our paths cross I will make sure they die in a sea of suffering.

“The woman, on the other hand... ,” continued the old man, “comes from a kingdom in the Far East... Irinel... just as you suspected. And her guttural accent confirmed it. Her name is Kayti, from what I was able to learn. Her armor is from the Custodial Brotherhood; it’s what the Initiated Soldiers of the Order wear. However, something does not fit, Master. Her sword is not the typical sword of an Initiate. I was not able to see the blade but the gold etchings on the hilt and the gems encrusted on the pommel and cross guard are of great value. A simple soldier could not afford such a weapon; it’s much too valuable,” he explained, pointing at the exquisite sword Guzmik wore on his belt.

“You have always had a gift for noticing the most minute details and gleaning useful information from them. I probably would not have even noticed that disparity. Good work! If she is not just a regular Initiated Soldier... then what is she? Is it at all possible that she is, in reality, the White Soul?” Guzmik pondered aloud as he looked out the window, a cold, hard expression on his face.

“That is a possibility, Master. She is the only survivor of the group and that sword is the sword of a nobleman. But it could be they have misled us, sir. There is also a chance that the White Soul perished in the ambush as we thought and the young woman took his sword,” the assistant speculated.

“What you are suggesting is indeed troubling...”

“We cannot know for sure, Master, but in any case it is a question that remains unanswered.”

“I did not carry out the task my lord entrusted to me!” snarled Guzmik as he paced angrily. “The mission has not been completed. As long as anyone from that party is still alive we will not know for certain if we have killed the Messenger, the White Soul. If I killed a decoy and his entire party while the true Messenger—that redheaded woman—escaped with the two Norriel savages... it would be an unforgivable error, a mistake I have to immediately correct. My great lord’s orders are clear: I must kill the Messenger of the Custodial Brotherhood, the White Soul. There is too much at stake; I cannot afford to take any chances. I must kill them!” seethed Guzmik, swallowing the bitter taste of defeat plaguing his mouth.

“At your service, my Master,” offered the servant.

“We must eliminate the Messenger without raising suspicions that point toward us... her and those two meddlesome highlanders that are with her.”

“Will you use your Dark Assassin?”

“No, unfortunately he is not available. He went out on another mission and has not yet returned. There must have been complications...”

“A mission here, Master?”

“No, in the North; in the kingdom of Norghana. I gave up the Assassin’s services to the Nocean spy, Sumal, in exchange for a few favors in return. Diplomatic intrigue forces us to make risky deals.”

“I understand, Master. Is this Sumal trustworthy?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Guzmik. “Do not ever trust him you’ll end up with a Nocean dagger in your back. He is one of the most capable, intelligent spies on this whole damn continent. I’ve been dealing with him for a long time, exchanging ‘services’, and one thing is for sure: he is good—extremely good—at his job. At first I refused to allow him to use my Dark Assassin, but it so happened that the mission served his interests as well as those of my lord so I had to consent. It is a smart move for our needs and now Sumal is indebted to me. And that is a debt I will soon demand he repay, in blood.” 

“I understand, Master. So will we use our men, then?”

“No. This time we will use local resources so as to not draw attention. In the city’s slums on the wharf there is quite a variety of shady characters who will do anything for gold. Be sure you contract competent people or they will not succeed in eliminating them. These targets are incredibly good fighters... lacking experience, young, but the best fighters I’ve seen, and I’ve traveled a great deal and known many lands.”

“The information I have received is that an unscrupulous man named Lotus whose level of intelligence is nothing to sneer at is the one who controls the slums and most of the merchandise, weapons, and illegal goods that circulate there. He has a band of mercenaries, pirates, thieves, and assassins for hire at his service whom he uses to control the docks. He’s competent enough to control the city’s black market and right now he is the one at the top, monopolizing the power. For the right amount of gold he will carry out whatever is required of him, no matter the nature of the task,” explained the assistant.

“Fine. I want all three of them dead.  No delays, and their deaths cannot be tied to us in any way. I cannot let any suspicions be raised among the Rogdonian authorities. The last thing I need is for them to find out what I am doing here. There is too much at stake. Is that clear?” asked Guzmik, looking straight into his servant’s eyes.

“I will do as you ask, master. I will immediately put a price on their heads with Lotus.” He bowed and then turned and left the office.

This time you will die, just as my master, Isuzeni, decreed.
The outline of a bitter smile appearing on his face, Guzmik looked into the slanted eyes reflecting back at him in the window glass.

Aliana, with a knot in her throat and overwrought from the unthinkable vision before her, knelt and placed her hands on Haradin’s petrified chest. Worry over the Mage’s condition tore into her stomach.

He looks beyond help... Have we lost him forever? What a horrible catastrophe! Is there any hope he could still be alive?

Pushing aside the agonizing thoughts plaguing her mind, she concentrated on helping him. Drawing on her powers, she channeled the healing energy into the Mage. His entire body, from head to toe, was coal. Grief caught in her throat; she could barely swallow. Never before had she faced anything remotely like this. As Aliana focused, her energy began to penetrate his body, imbuing it with life and healing.

For hours she fought, attempting to free the anthracite cells from Haradin’s body. She dedicated all her power to infusing the fossilized atoms with life, but they remained inalterable. Battling, struggling with every ounce of her being, she resisted giving in to defeat. Finally, she spread the last drop of healing power left to her throughout the Mage’s body until it reached the deepest part of him. But the effort began to take its toll on her; exhaustion gripped her body and her mind, and would soon consume her. Still she continued the battle, even when she feared it might be hopeless. She had to fight, to defeat whatever evil this was.

And she did.

Suddenly, she felt a reaction. A change.

The process of carbonization began to reverse itself.

There was hope!

She would not weaken, would not give in. Haradin’s life depended on her. A failure of her powers now would be deadly for the Mage, but a prolonged period of healing would be lethal for her. She gritted her teeth and continued injecting the vital energy, repairing the carbonized cells with her Gift. It was agonizing. Sweat poured down her forehead, washing over her closed eyes. It was all she could do to stay upright.

I’m not going to make it... I don’t have enough strength left...

But she kept fighting, refusing to concede the battle though on the brink of collapsing. She was fully aware that, with each passing moment, her own life was in danger, that all her energy, her very existence, was being passed on to the patient. Feeling the Mage’s body beginning to awaken, returning to life after an infinite slumber, inspired her to continue and disregard the risk. She had to finish the reversal at any cost—even if it cost her her life. After all, she was a simple Healer; Haradin was the great Mage, the defender and protector of the kingdom. Many lives depended on his recovery.

Aliana could feel the presence of the frightening mistress of the eternal night. She was coming... her empty eyes like two wells of infinite desperation, fixed on Aliana’s soul. She was coming to collect her due, to make Aliana pay for having dared to break the sacred law of the Healers. A ghostly hand was reaching for her soul, about to snatch it up. At just that last moment she pulled away, abruptly ending the healing to keep from being abducted by the mistress of the beyond, never to return.

She collapsed on the cold floor, swallowed up by the blackness.

Familiar but muddled voices awakened Aliana. Slowly opening her eyes as she came out of a long sleep, she looked at her four companions sitting around a welcoming fire. There were speaking in whispers. The small fire was comforting so Aliana stayed quiet for a moment, enjoying its pleasant warmth. She did not know what had happened or how long she had been resting, but she was alive—drained and aching—but thankfully alive.

Gerart looked over at her, and when he saw she was awake his eyes widened. He jumped up and rushed to her.

“How are you feeling, Aliana? Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her and taking her hand, his face pained with worry.

Aliana looked back at the heir to the throne of Rogdon, drinking in the Prince’s blue eyes. His blond hair, matted with blood and dirt, gave him an aura of unusual for him; the dark circles under his eyes a testament to his increasing level of fatigue. He looked like he had aged years over the last few days.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired from the effort, but I’m all right,” she answered, trying to sit up as she looked at Haradin who was still lying on the ground beside her.

Mortuc stood up. “He is alive. A small portion of his body has returned to a more natural color and his heart seems to be beating... weakly, distant, but it’s beating. You gave life back to the Mage! It’s an absolute miracle, for the love of all the ancient gods, that’s just what it is!” exclaimed the Sergeant Major.

“We covered him and lit a fire to warm him but we have not found a way to bring him completely back. Most of his body—which still has not regained its color—is black coal but it appears to have lost its petrified state; we can move his joints now,” explained Lomar, moving in closer to get a better look at the Mage’s face.

“He seems to be suspended in a deep dream state; nothing is bringing him back. We’ve tried to wake him up but it’s as if he’s in some faraway place and can’t get back from it,” commented Kendas, his concern apparent.

“I’m going to see if I can do anything more for him,” said Aliana, kneeling beside the Mage.

She breathed in, and focusing on her reserve of energies, evaluated the power she had been able to recover. Very little. Almost nothing. The rest had not been long enough for her to regenerate the energy she’d consumed, especially taking into consideration that she had used part of her own life force. She channeled what little healing energy she still had left into Haradin’s body. She found no signs of illness there, and the reversal process was continuing to progress, albeit very slowly—but successfully.

In a matter of a few weeks, the process will have completely reversed itself. If fortune smiles on us, there will be no long-term effects of the carbonization—though that’s doubtful. He will most likely suffer some permanent damage.

Again she looked over the Mage’s body. There were still many areas that had not regenerated. They needed more time. His mind, however, was a completely different problem. It remained blocked; Aliana simply could not access it. Penetrating the human mind was always immensely difficult. Only on rare occasions she had been able to enter into contact with the mind of a patient. Unfortunately, she was finding it impossible to reach Haradin’s subconscious.

“Physically, he is all right, and his condition will continue to improve over the coming days. I will have to monitor his progress; otherwise the process of regeneration will continue to ravage his body. But no matter how hard I try I cannot access his mind, or awaken him,” she explained, her voice tinged with sadness.

“At least you were able to revive him before you collapsed. And he is still alive,” said Mortuc triumphantly. 

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it. For a moment, fearing the worst, I thought I wouldn’t succeed,” admitted the young healer.

“Do you think he’ll wake up?” asked a worried Lomar

“I don’t know. The mind and its mechanisms are a complete mystery to me. If it were just a matter of an affliction in his body, I could give you an answer. But in this case all I can do is beg the Mother Healer to protect him, and then hope he wakes up,” Aliana replied, her head down.

“Either way, we cannot stay here in this underground temple. We have to return to Rogdon,” said Gerart, looking toward the entrance.

“True. The men will have trouble maintaining their position. We’d better hurry if we want to get out of these damned mountains alive,” grumbled Mortuc.

“Let’s do a quick search of the temple to see if we can find something to make a stretcher out of for carrying Haradin,” said Gerart.

“Next to the big altar there were several lances and old flags hanging on the walls. We could use those,” suggested Kendas as he went to have a look.

“Before we set off, I’d like you to clarify something for me. What exactly is this cursed place and what the hell was that Mage or spirit or whatever it was we had to fight?” asked Mortuc.

“It looks like a subterranean temple built long ago,” answered Lomar, looking around him pensively.

“Built for whom? Surely not the Usik,” replied Mortuc.

Kendas looked at the sarcophagus and pointed inside it. “I’d say this place is a mausoleum. Built, or rather, dug as the eternal resting place of someone really important; perhaps a king...”

“Yes, it does seem to be for some kind of monarch or high priest, but from which ethnicity? Which kingdom?” asked Lomar, looking at Aliana.

“Don’t take my word as fact; this is just conjecture... but from what I’ve seen here and what we found in the temple I think we are in the presence of a King or Lord of the Ilenians.”

“The Ilenians? So, the Lost Civilization, then...” mumbled Lomar.

“I think so. But I don’t have verifiable proof and my knowledge on this subject is quite limited. That’s why I didn’t say anything about it before now. It’s just a supposition based on what I’ve seen coupled with Haradin’s obvious interest in the mysterious, long-lost civilization.”

“I am not about to dispute that. Your astute deductions have gotten us here, to Haradin,” replied Gerart, winking at Aliana.

“Ilenian... really incredible, isn’t it?” marveled Lomar.

“I know, what a discovery!” exclaimed Kendas.

“Absolutely, but now we really should get moving. There is so much at stake and this subterranean temple could have more surprises in store for us—and I have no interest in stumbling onto those by accident,” said Gerart.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Aliana approached Haradin. After examining him, she checked his clothing.

“Are you looking for this?” asked Gerart, showing her the large, beautiful medallion hanging from his hand.

Aliana’s jaw dropped as she contemplated the spectacular jewel. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The enormous round, brown-colored gemstone had more than one hundred facets and was mounted in a large silver ring. It was swinging back and forth at the end of a long silver chain. She was speechless.

“Yes... This must be the object of great power that Haradin was looking for, without a doubt. And it is probably what the spirit we defeated was so fervently guarding. I can feel the power emanating from it; it’s a natural, earthly power... immensely potent. We must protect this. Something tells me that if Haradin came here and faced all this danger to get it, its value and importance must be incalculable. And if it falls into our enemies’ hands, it could be catastrophic.”

“In truth, I don’t feel anything,” said Gerart. “To me, it’s just another pretty medallion. Lovely, yes, but just another jewel. It’s amazing how different those of us who don’t possess the Gift are from those of you who do. We live in blindness, not realizing the powers and energies that surround us... just as children playing next to a river with swift currents don’t realize the potential danger. Please, take it and look after it, Aliana. You have an affinity with these powers that we all, unfortunately, lack.” 

“Of course I’ll look after it. You can trust that I will make sure it does not fall into the wrong hands,” Aliana said as she took the jewel. She could feel an immense, ancient power radiating from the jewel.

As she held it, the medallion transmitted an odd but unmistakable sensation. She felt a tingling and an arcane feeling of pure Earth engulfing her from head to toe as the jewel covered her in an invisible blanket of clay. Even in her mouth was the taste of an earthy, minerally ocher. She now knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was the Ilenian’s Temple of the Earth. The King’s medallion must have been imbued with a power based on that primary element.

She looked at the medallion one last time before she would tuck it away in the small leather satchel she had tied to her belt. But just as she was about to put it in the satchel, a glimmer from the jewel caught her attention. This glimmer was different than the ones before that had been caused by refraction on the precious stone’s polished surface. This was unique; it was a more powerful glimmer, with a sharper, more intense brown color.   

Utterly fascinating... I could swear the gem itself just sent out a spark. This is indeed amazing!

She curiously examined the medallion again, but nothing happened.

Oh, this imagination of mine! I suppose I am going a bit crazy from all the tension—seeing ghosts where there are none. I shouldn’t let my imagination run away with me like that. Even though this is an object of great power, only a mage with a very specific knowledge could activate it. And gaining that kind of knowledge would take years and years of arduous study and practice. That is the way of magic and its unwritten laws. And those laws are unalterable.

She looked up and, before she could even turn around, was overcome by a burst of energy from within her that felt like a rock violently plunging into the calm surface of a peaceful lake. Taken aback, she instinctively looked down at her chest.

What on earth is happening? I didn’t call on my power. What could have produced that jolt?

Another bright glimmer coming from the medallion caught her eye; immediately she felt another rush of her energy, as if it were reacting to the flashes from the jewel.

It is calling on my power! This medallion is using my power! But that’s impossible...