Ruin Mist:

  Keeper Martin's Tale

  Robert Stanek

  * * *

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Robert Stanek

  Maps

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER ONE: THOSE DESTINED

  CHAPTER TWO: THE WINDS OF CHANGE

  CHAPTER THREE: IT BEGINS

  CHAPTER FOUR: DISCOVERY

  CHAPTER FIVE: REALIZATION

  CHAPTER SIX: PERMISSION

  CHAPTER SEVEN: MEETING

  CHAPTER EIGHT: GUIDANCE

  CHAPTER NINE: AMBUSH

  CHAPTER TEN: FIRST LESSONS

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: DECISION

  CHAPTER TWELVE: VANGAR FOREST

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE BOTTOMS

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REST'S END

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DISASTER

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: PASSAGE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: PAST THOUGHTS

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: AWAKENING

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: MAGIC SHIELD

  CHAPTER TWENTY: REFUSAL

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: CROSSING

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: ALDERAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: PRISONERS

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: BUSHWHACKED

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: CONQUEST

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: FULL CIRCLE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: BATTLE

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: LAST PLAY

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: PARTING WAYS

  People of Ruin Mist

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Ruin Mist Chronicles

  Ruin Mist: Keeper Martin's Tale

  Copyright © 2002 by Robert Stanek. First Edition, October 2002

  Reagent Press

  Published by Virtual Press, Inc.

  Cover design & illustration by Robert Stanek

  ISBN 1-57545-042-9

  Also by Robert Stanek

  Ruin Mist Chronicles

  Keeper Martin's Tale

  Elf Queen's Quest

  Kingdom Alliance

  Fields of Honor

  Ruin Mist Heroes, Legends & Beyond

  Magic Lands & Other Stories

  Sovereign Rule

  Praise for Ruin Mist

  "A gem waiting to be unearthed by millions of fans of fantasy!" "Brilliant… an absolutely superior tale of fantasy for all tastes!" "It's a creative, provoking, and above all, thoughtful story!" "It's a wonderful metaphor for the dark (and light) odyssey of the mind."

  "The fantasy world you have created is truly wonderful and rich. Your characters seem real and full of life."

  THE REACHES

  THE KINGDOM

  Preface

  In 15 BD, the Watcher, Xith, is recorded as saying that "History belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller's recollection of it." This is the truth of the matter, and why Keeper Martin, head of the lore keepers, chose to pen his own version of the histories of Ruin Mist before and after the return of Dalphan the Wanderer. Through keeper Martin's gathering of history from various individuals, the story of Ruin Mist is retold in these pages. Keeper Martin would like you to think that his version of the history is the only truthful and correct account but then again, history belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller's recollection of it.

  Chapter One: Those Destined

  Sunrise loomed across the horizon, pale as jasmine and mostly obscured by dark, feral clouds. The early morning air held an unusual chill and Adrina gathered her light shawl more closely as she stepped out onto the catwalk atop the wall. A stout breeze blew long strands of hair across her face. The hair, black as the receding night, flowed to her waist and while it was normally braided and folded over her left shoulder, it wasn't now.

  Summer must surely be at an end, Adrina surmised, for the breeze came from the North and not from the West Deep.

  Adrina walked to a place where the wall jutted out and cut its way into High King's Square. Behind her the palace parade grounds were empty and silent, as was the square before her. The silence seemed a shroud over the whole of Imtal clear to the Braddabaggon foothills. Many stories below, the city's residents would soon awake. The square would fill with sounds as merchants began to unpack their wares. Palace guardsmen would muster for breakfast. City and palace would stir to life.

  Yet Adrina preferred the empty moments just before all this happened, for the silence echoed the aching of her heart. She pressed her chin into the palm of her hand, her elbow glued to the stone framework of the wall. She sighed mournfully. The palace was truly dead, all real life having long since been gnawed away.

  She could have passed the day dreaming about things beyond the gray stone edifice, the cold palace wall, with its portcullis tucked cleanly out of view. She had sauntered through many a day thus, envisioning magnificent journeys to the four corners of the land.

  Great Kingdom had many holdings. High Province in the North—the far, far North—where amidst mountains of ice and stone the rivers boiled and filled the air with blankets of fog. South, beyond a forest of great white trees called giant birch, lay South Province with its capital city enveloped by the majestic Quashan' valley. East through the Kingdom along the East—West road were the Territories, divided east and west. The untamed Eastern Territories were awaiting discovery. The Western Territories held but two Kingdom outposts: 'Zashchita and Krepost'. Traders claimed the walled city of Zashchita was caned from the very trees of the forest and its building lifted so far into the heavens that they were lost in the clouds. Beyond Zashchita lay Krepost' and her ferryman who took travelers across River Krepost' so they could begin the climb into the mountain city, and where afterward the gatekeeper may or may not chase them over the cliffs into Statter's Bay and to their deaths.

  But today Adrina was frustrated to the point of tears. She wouldn't pass the day dreaming of things she may never see. She didn't understand what difference the passing of a year made. Why did it matter so that she was a year older? This year seemed the same as the last.

  She would have done anything, given anything, to be a little girl again, free to wander the city in her brother's shadow. Together they would wander Imtal's cobbled streets. She would pretend not to notice the press of guardsmen around them and see only those who had come out to greet them.

  A fleeting smile lit her face. She knew this could be no more. Valam was gone now, gone to South Province, gone for good, and she, Adrina, was leaving adolescence.

  The echo of footsteps against hard stones startled her. Her eyes went wide and she wondered if Lady Isador would venture to the walls. Her governess had threatened to before.

  Adrina didn't want to be reminded of all the things she should or should not do, so she slipped away to the northern watchtower. At dawn the tower would be vacant and she could be alone without fear of interruption.

  Adrina wound her way up a long spiral staircase. She stopped only at the very top to catch her breath. Here at the landing was a large, open chamber whose broad windows were normally used to keep watch on the city's north wall and the fields beyond. Adrina crossed the empty chamber to a window. The cool breeze on her face tingled her nose and brushed the sweat away.

  "No lessons today," she whispered to the wind. Lessons Chancellor Yi and Lady Isador would surely chastise her for missing them—if they found her.

  Not today, Adrina vowed, not today.

  Always more reminders of the things she should or should not do—her proper place, always her proper place. She knew all about the proper things, the proper mannerisms, the proper greetings, her proper duties, her proper place. She had even been taught, though only recently, the proper things to do to invite a man's attention. She was to begin courting. But why?

  What did she need a man for? Moreover, what would she do with one once she caught him? Was there anything she couldn't do on her own?

  Leave Imtal, the wind seemed to say. That was right; on her own, she would never leave Imtal. The palace would be all she would see for the rest of her days, but did it have to be this way?

  The wind howling in answer spurred Adrina on. "Courtship, marriage," she shouted back, "maybe it wouldn't be so bad, for surely all suitors don't live in Imtal."

  As quickly as she said it, Adrina cast the notion away. Marriage had taken Calvin away. Adrina told the wind, "No, that's not for me."

  She reveled in memories now, slipping back into the past and a time when everything seemed simpler. The minutes slipped away, and then Adrina pictured a beautiful sad face. Tears came to her eyes. Simpler times were not easier times.

  "Why mother, why did you have to go? I have never forgiven you, never, and I never will. I am all alone now. Calvin is wed. Valam is in the South. Midori went away, never to return. And you, you are… gone. What am I to do? Can you know how much I loved you? And you always in that stupid garden."

  Adrina waited. The wind howled, but no answer came.

  "Queen Alexandria was beautiful. Land and people loved her very dear," said a figure from the shadows.

  Adrina screamed; her heart stopped. Then in a sudden flood of thoughts, her young mind began to race—surely this must be a rogue come to steal her away.

  Adrina said coyly, and hoped the other knew she wasn't telling the truth, "What manner of rogue are you? My father would hardly pay ransom for his third daughter. I am of little worth."

  The robed figure still envelop
ed in shadows spoke again. "By the Mother, I never heard such a thing."

  The figure moved toward Adrina who edged closer and closer to the open window behind her.

  "Child, I will not harm you."

  "Who are you and what are you doing here?" Adrina asked, brushing back hair from her eyes. "Your face it is covered in soot. Stop where you are or I will scream again."

  "Go ahead, none will hear. I come to speak to you, Highness. I have seen you standing in this tower often."

  "Who are you?"

  "I live here. I clean. You will journey beyond Imtal. I have seen you in a far off place."

  "Seen me?"

  "In a dream… Smell the wind."

  "Smell, the wind?"

  "Child, smell it. It comes, can you not tell?"

  "It?"

  The strange woman took Adrina's hand and turned her to the window. The chill breeze was still howling out of the North. "Change, child. Sadness cannot hold forever the land."

  Adrina turned to look at the woman's face. The woman directed Adrina's gaze away and pointed to the distant horizon. Adrina stared long. She imagined she could see Solstice Mountain and the whole of the Rift Range. In her dreams, she had journeyed there. The border country all around Great Kingdom was wild, to the north especially so. The sole purpose of the elite High Road Garrison Guardsmen was to provide travelers with safe passage along the Kingdom's High Road and to shield the Kingdom from bandit incursions out of the north. Beyond High Road was a vast desert called the Barrens, a no man's land. Beyond the Barrens was the untiring Rift Range—ice-capped mountains of jagged black rock that climbed perilously into the heavens. Or so she had been told.

  "Is that where I'll journey to?" Adrina asked, turning around. The woman was gone. "Hello?… Are you still here?"

  The chill north wind howled. Adrina turned eyes filled with expectations back to the fields beyond Imtal. Calvin had told her once that in the North there were mountains that breathed rivers of fire.

  Hearing what sounded like a foot slipping across the stones of the floor, Adrina spun around. "Hello? Hello?" she called out.

  From the shadows the woman whispered, "Be careful what you wish for."

  Adrina stepped toward the woman. "What do you mean?"

  The woman, her face suddenly appearing aged beyond her years, took Adrina's hand. She kneeled then and as she kissed Adrina's hand, Adrina felt the moisture of tears on her arm. The woman whispered, "I cry for the children who at the end of the journey will never be the same. Child, I cry for you. I cry because I see you standing in the midst of a killing field. I cry for the thousands dead at your feet…"

  ***

  Crying out into the darkness, alone, afraid and drenched in sweat, Vilmos awoke. His thoughts raced. The whole of his small body shivered uncontrollably. Opening eyes and uncurling his huddled form from a corner, moist with his own perspiration yet still cold from the night's chill, was a slow, time-consuming process.

  "It was only a nightmare," Vilmos whispered to reassure himself—a nightmare like no other. In the dream he had used the forbidden magic once too often and the Priests of the Dark Flame— opposers of all that is magic and magical—came from their temples to slay him.

  Vilmos stood uneasily and dipped trembling hands into the washbasin beside the bed. The cool water sucked the hurt from his eyes and mind and gently began to soothe and awaken his senses as nothing else could.

  Carefully he dabbed a wet cloth to the corners of his eyes and only then did he became something other than the frightened boy who in his dreams huddled into the forlorn corner because of the sense of security it gave him to know his back was against the wall and that nothing could sneak up on him from behind.

  Only then that he became the boy of twelve whose name was Vilmos. Vilmos because it was a trustworthy name. Vilmos because it was his father's name, who was named Vilmos because it had been his father's name. Vilmos, the Counselor's son.

  Readying for the day's chores, Vilmos pushed the last of the dream from his thoughts. He dressed quickly and slipped on his ill-fitting boots as he stumbled toward the kitchen.

  The aroma of fresh-baked black bread and honey cakes pungent in the air about the kitchen, mixing with the growling of his stomach, made him aware of an enormous hunger. The night had been unbearably long and he had not eaten since supper of the previous day.

  "Late again. You'll sleep your life away. Already an hour past first light," said his mother. She stood in front of the hearth. The words were not meant to be harsh, nor were they taken thus. They were a standard greeting.

  "I know mother, I am sorry," replied Vilmos, tossing gnarled hair to one side surreptitiously, hair that should have been combed. He started to hurry away.

  "Vilmos, where are you going?" Lillath asked. "Must I always remind you of your lessons? Someday you will fill your father's position. Someday you will be Counselor of Tabborrath Village. Now, recite the lore of the peoples."

  "Mother, do I have to?"

  Lillath didn't say anything, she just stared.

  "Can I use the book?"

  "From memory."

  "The tale of the four peoples is the lore of four kingdoms," Vilmos began, beaming with Lillath's smile upon him. "Small in number, strong of will, united they stood against powerful kingdoms of the North. Four vast kingdoms would conquer the four peoples, but the will of the four peoples was too strong. Lycya, mightiest of the kingdoms, was swallowed by barren desert. North Reach and the clans over-mountain were consumed by the twenty-year snow. Queen of Elves and all her people were washed into West Deep by the three-year rain. Only the Alder's kingdom, once the smallest kingdom of the North, survives.

  "To survive, the Alder's kingdom formed an alliance with the four peoples. Their Graces, King Alexas of Yug, King Jarom of Vostok, King Peter of Zapad and his Royal Majesty, King Charles of Sever, are the wardens of the four peoples. The four wardens maintain the alliance and protect the four peoples."

  Lillath maintained her smile. "Well, yes," she said, "that is the lore of the four kingdoms and thus the tale of four peoples. But it is not the lore of the Four Peoples. You need to take great care in your listening. Listening is the counselor's greatest skill. Each tale, each bit of lore, tells a lesson. Relate the lesson through the lore; it is the way of the counselor. Choose the wrong tale, give the wrong advice. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, mother."

  "Now tell me the correct tale and guess the lesson."

  Nervously Vilmos played his tongue against his cheek. "From memory?"

  "You may use the book if need be, at times even your father reads from the book."

  "Mother," began Vilmos, looking into her eyes with much sincerity, "is it not time to—"

  "Run along," she said. "Wood for the day's fire." There was a hint of mirth in her voice as she watched him wet his hands and settle his unruly hair.

  Vilmos briefly, but closely, studied his mother's features as he did each morning. Offset by a touch of gray, dark black hair the color of a starless night sky fell to her waist. Her face, ripened with age in a pleasant way, was deep-set with eyes of hazel that seemed always to be calling out. This morning they said, Hurry along or you'll be late.

  He looked like her not like father, thought Vilmos each morning as he did this—a father who barely tolerated him. Harsh words chased through the boy's mind. "Vilmos, why did you do that? I told you not to!" or "Vilmos, go to your room." With an occasional, "I should send him away," thrown in when his father thought Vilmos couldn't hear.

  "He is only a boy," Vilmos often heard in rebuke. "He will change in time. Give him more time." There was a deep love between the two, mother and son.

  Wood for the hearth could be gathered easily from the brambles on the edge of the thick woods near the outskirts of the village and it was to this place that Vilmos started to go, but the outside air this morning was chillier than usual and it sent a shiver racing down Vilmos' back. It carried with it sadness and a sudden flood of remembrance. In the back of his mind, Vilmos knew the real reason he watched his mother so closely. One day he would indeed be sent away, far away, because one day the dark priests would come for him.