King Garazor Toradian urged his steed forward along the rutted mountain trail, feeling as though he were a dead man. Faster. They had to move faster. The horse knew the trail, but the darkness made it wary and slow. Above, the stars shone down peacefully, ignorant to all troubles on the earth below.
He looked back at his companion. Valmar’s face was difficult to see, but he sensed the other man’s urgency.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Valmar said. “We should have brought the lantern.”
“Yes, we should have,” Garazor half-growled, angry at himself. He had wanted to come as quickly and quietly as possible, perhaps catch the nearby village unawares. But with every passing moment that was wasted with slow steeds, he knew his folly. The sentinels would know they were coming, whether it was in the heat of the day or the dark of the night. Secrecy was lost, and his decision to not bring the lantern was only slowing them down.
“We’ll bring one next time,” Valmar promised. “That is, if you intend to make a habit of coming up here in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not certain there will be a next time,” Garazor murmured, partially to himself.
His heart hammered in his chest. Every step brought him closer to his goal and his doom. What he was about to attempt was foolhardy in the extreme. One did not make a deal with the devil and walk away unscathed. He knew the stories, had seen the prison with his own eyes. He understood, to a very small extent, the gravity of what he was about to ask. Once the Arnyr knew his purpose, they would not wish for him to continue his visits, of that he was certain. He had one chance, just this one, and he was determined to try, even if it meant his expulsion from their community and a curse from the devil himself.
But he could see no other alternative.
There was dark movement on the path ahead. A figure emerged from the trees and uncovered a lantern, bathing the trail in light. Garazor’s horse started and stamped in surprise.
“Who goes there?”
Garazor blinked against the sudden light. “King Garazor of Aleria, and my companion, Valmar Roth.”
“You are known to us,” said the sentinel, whom Garazor recognized. The man was young and tall and wore his leather armor with pride. He frowned.
“You are not expected,” he said, scrutinizing them. “And it is very late. I’m afraid you must now return—“
“I must speak with your Elders at once,” Garazor interrupted. “It is a matter of great urgency.”
The sentinel continued to frown. “They will be sleeping,” he said. “You must come another time.”
“Please,” Garazor said, desperation filling his chest. “Please, it must be tonight.” He reached into his purse to withdraw a couple of coins and then remembered that the Arnyr did not take kindly to bribes.
The sentinel shook his head, standing firmly in the trail, barring the way.
“Let’s go, Garazor,” Valmar said. “There’s no honor among these villains. There is nothing they can offer us that will help you.”
The sentinel glared at Valmar.
Garazor ground his teeth, then tried a different tactic. “Do you have a wife?” he asked the sentinel, who appeared taken aback by his question.
“Yes,” he said.
“And children? Do you have any?”
“One.”
“Then you will understand my predicament,” Garazor said, doing his best to appeal to the man’s sympathy. “My wife and newborn son are dying, and nothing my physicians have done has changed anything.”
He took a shaky breath, seeing Ithena in his mind’s eye, pale, fragile, and the tiny baby, hardly moving. Their lives depended on this, on his ability to speak with the Elders. He looked firmly at the sentinel. “I have come seeking the Arnyr’s aid.”
“Our people are not physicians, King Garazor,” the sentinel said. “We cannot perform miracles.”
No, Garazor thought. But he whom you guard certainly can.
“I would speak with your Elders,” he repeated.
He remained on his horse, hoping that to the sentinel, he appeared regal and firm. His heart beat rapidly in his chest.
Finally, the sentinel gave an impatient sigh. “Very well,” he said. “I will take you to them, but their wrath is upon your head.”
“Thank you,” Garazor said, trying not to let his relief show in his voice. The first obstacle: passed.
“But your companion and your horses must remain here,” the sentinel said, gesturing at Valmar. “He is to go no further.”
Garazor nodded and Valmar sighed. “I suppose I should have expected that,” he said. “Stable boy, that’s all I’m good for.”
Garazor slid off his horse, knowing that Valmar’s complaints hid the fact that he was disappointed not to be allowed into the village. In the half dozen times they had visited Herstett, his companion had had to remain outside the walls. The Arnyr defended their privacy with a fierceness that seemed strange for such an isolated community, but Garazor understood why. He had seen them, their true selves, and knew why they hid. It was a wonder to him that they had trusted him with their secret, and for their trust he respected their privacy. It galled Valmar, though, not to know why his friend must continue along without him.
Garazor handed the reins to Valmar and clasped his companion on the shoulder. They were nearly the same height, though Valmar was a couple of inches the taller, a fact with which he had teased Garazor about since their youth.
“Thank you,” Garazor said. “I know you have your own problems, Val. It means a great deal to me that you came on this foolish errand.”
“You are my lord and my friend,” Valmar replied. “Foolish errands or no, I would follow you to the end of the earth. Even if it means waiting alone in the dark on this God-forsaken mountaintop. With the horses.”
Garazor nodded, then paused. There was fear in him, a fear that he had not voiced since they had left the palace early that morning.
“If…”
He hesitated, not knowing whether he could find the right words. “If I do not return, Val, watch over my family. Especially ‘Thena.”
Valmar stared. “Of course, but…why would you not return?”
Garazor forced a smile and turned to follow the sentinel. “No reason. It was a foolish fear.”
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The sentinel led Garazor into an audience chamber, one of the many caverns beneath the ground in which the Arnyr lived, and left him there to summon the Elders. Garazor hardly minded being left on his own for a few minutes. His mind was too caught up in worry for his wife and son. He might already have been gone too long. Perhaps they had passed on to the city of light and peace, never to be troubled by mortal cares again.
He forced the thought from his mind. No. They were still alive. He was going to save them.
The Elders, when they arrived, were courteous as always, but Garazor could sense their displeasure. He bowed to each of the four and thanked them profusely for meeting with him at such a late time. Their ire somewhat sated, the four Elders sat in their designated seats on the floor, and Garazor joined them.
“So, tell us, King Garazor,” said Aras Irli, the oldest and most wrinkled of the Elders. She drew her woven shawl more tightly around herself. “Why have you requested this audience so urgently at such an unusual hour?”
Garazor swallowed and did his best to calm his racing heart. In a trembling voice, he explained his wife and son’s condition, how the birth of this second child had taken a much more dramatic toll of her body than had been expected. The boy had come early because of it, and was struggling to live. Nothing his physicians could do helped either of them. So, in his desperation, he had come to the Arnyr for their aid.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Why do you think we would help you?” Aras Bree asked, his young face in a frown. “We are not healers. These conditions you describe are regrettable, yes, but natural. Trying to stop them would be like trying to stop the sun from setting.”
“The power that you seek exists only in legends,” said Aras Pennerit haughtily. “Our people have lost much of what they once possessed. It is only rarely that one is born with these gifts, and we have not had one in generations.”
“I see,” said Garazor, his heart sinking. That had been his alternative plan, to see whether it was possible to avoid what must be done. He knew that the Elders’ wrath would descend on him as soon as he mentioned what he had been planning to do all along.
He took a deep breath.
“Tell me if I am mistaken, but there is someone who still possesses that power. Someone who would be able to aid me if I asked.”
The cavern was as silent as the stone around them. Aras Irli cleared her throat.
“That is ill-conceived, Garazor,” she said. “And impossible.”
“No one has ever crossed that bridge,” said Aras Bree. “Our founder forbade it.”
“He forbade you,” Garazor corrected. “There is nothing in your statutes that would forbid me or one of my kind to enter. You cannot enter because it is the same power that keeps them contained and you from entering. But if you sent me, I could enter, I’m sure of it.”
“This is madness!” said Aras Pennerit. “Even if we were to allow it, you would be completely vulnerable. You would have no defense. They would tear you apart in moments.”
“That is speculation,” Aras Irli murmured. She regarded Garazor with her small, bright eyes. “While your purpose is foolish, Garazor, I wonder. I wonder that it is possible for you to cross the bridge. In all our years, we have never once attempted that.”
“So you will let me pass?” Garazor asked, his heart leaping.
“When the mountains fall into the oceans,” Aras Pennerit hissed.
Aras Thranoc, who was oldest of the three male Elders, finally raised his head. He had been intently examining the stone at his feet and had not spoken a word. He met Garazor’s eyes with his own.
“You have no idea what it is you ask,” he said in a quiet voice, “what danger you could unleash on yourself and on our people. Solanus is contained, yes, but he is far from powerless. Whatever deal you believe you are making with him is a lie. He will twist the truth to his own ends. He will wrap it in shadows and secrecy until you do not know what it is you are giving away for what you want.” He gripped his knees. “You do not know what you ask,” he repeated, lowering his eyes once again.
Garazor felt despair rise in him, and with it, anger. “You will not take me to him?” he asked, his voice trembling, his face reddening.
The Elders collectively shook their heads.
“I am sorry, King Garazor,” said Aras Irli, bringing herself to her feet. “Losing a loved one causes terrible pain. It is a deep sorrow that you must now bear, and I am sorry for it.”
Garazor climbed to his feet. “I, too, am sorry,” he said, and lunged forward. He grabbed Aras Irli and spun her so that she faced outwards, holding one of her arms behind her back. With a deft movement, he swung a dagger from his belt and placed it across her neck. The other Elders shouted in outrage, rising to face him. Garazor kept the old woman’s arms tightly pinioned, but did it as gently as he could. He wanted to scare the Elders, not hurt them.
“There is no need for violence,” said Aras Irli, speaking calmly. “King Garazor, threatening my life will not save your wife’s.”
“Five times,” Garazor said, breathing heavily. “She’s nearly died five times. And you want to know why? Because of me. Because I love my wife. And for whatever God-damned reason, her body cannot bear the result. She gets weaker with every child.
“We’ve lost three children, Irli. Three. And I buried them alone because she could barely move, could not even hold them.” He blinked back tears as he remembered the tiny, twisted bodies in their silky blankets, the even smaller tombstones.
“That is regrettable,” said Aras Thranoc, moving slowly forward. “But as Irli has said, it cannot be helped, Garazor.”
“But it can!” Garazor said, stepping backwards and taking Aras Irli with him. He kept the blade firmly against her throat, but watched that his hand did not shake. He did not want to accidentally cut her with it.
“King Garazor, speaking with Solanus will only bring you further pain,” said Aras Irli. “Whatever you hope to gain, is it worth this?”
“Garazor, let her go,” Aras Bree snarled.
“Stay back!” Aras Irli said as Garazor took another step backwards. “I can feel his conviction. He is in earnest. He will hurt me if he feels it will further his ends.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Garazor said truthfully. “Just give me what I want. Please.”
“You think threatening the life of a tired old woman is any kind of threat?” said Aras Irli. “I’m old, King Garazor. Amongst our kind, I’m positively ancient. I’ve lived a good, strong life. But if my death can secure the severity of our commitment in your mind, so be it.”
Garazor hesitated. “I have no intention of killing you,” he said. “But if I must keep you a captive to speak with the king, then I will.”
“You would never leave this room alive,” Aras Pennerit growled.
“Think about this very carefully,” said Aras Thranoc. “You would have an entire city to fight your way through. We do not see combat often, but our soldiers are well-trained. And you are one man.”
“A man who has your most revered Elder in his power,” Garazor said.
“Perhaps an alternative could be reached,” said Aras Irli. “One of our own, a trained Guardian, could negotiate with the Dryr. Arrange for a meeting on the bridge, not within the prison itself. You do not enter the prison, he does not leave it. You can ask for assistance without breaking the statutes.”
Garazor paused. That did sound like an acceptable alternative.
“Very well,” he said, though he did not release Aras Irli. “I will release you and in exchange, you will set up this meeting. After this, I will leave and never return, if that is what you wish of me.”
Moving very carefully, Aras Irli nodded. “Your request to see the king, more than anything, secures that. You will no longer be welcome amongst our people.”
“Very well.”
“Now let her go, you pale-skinned maggot,” Aras Bree said, his face taught with anger.
“But,” said Garazor, placing emphasis on the word, “but, if this meeting does not work as planned, then you will allow me to cross the bridge. I will have the meeting with the king on my own terms.”
“And why would we agree to that?” Aras Pennerit scoffed. “This is the very thing we do not want you to do.”
“Because,” said Garazor, playing his final and most powerful play, “if you do not, I will tell my people your secret. I will announce it from every rooftop and wall of every village in my kingdom. They will know who and what you are, and they will come for you.”
The room was very silent.
“We should never have allowed him here!” Aras Bree cried, throwing his hands up. “I warned you he would betray us. I warned you!”
“Be quiet, Bree,” Aras Thranoc snapped. His somber eyes found Garazor’s and held them. “I expected more from you, King Garazor,” he said. “All these months, the many meetings we have had. Did they mean nothing to you? Despite all of your promises, you meant to throw away our goals as soon as you satisfied your own desires?”
Garazor frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “I still believe that someday Arnyr and humans can live together in harmony.”
“And yet your actions state otherwise,” said the older man softly.
For a moment, Garazor could not speak. The words stuck in his throat. “I—“ he stammered. “I believe in the equality we both seek,” he said. “But I cannot stand idly by as my wife and son die when I know your king could save them.”
“He is not our king!” hissed Aras Bree, his face twisted in anger.
Aras Thranoc held up a hand and Aras Bree lapsed into silence.
“Very well, King Garazor,” Aras Thranoc said. “Release Irli and we will go directly to the bridge.”
Garazor carefully removed his arm from around Irli’s neck and returned the dagger to his belt. As the other Elders muttered and Aras Pennerit left to fetch a guard, Aras Irli turned to face Garazor.
“I thought better of you, Garazor,” she said, peering up at him. “To threaten an old woman such as me betrays your desperation and the depths to which you have sunk. But tell me. If this plan of yours does not work, what will you do when your wife and son are taken from you? Whether now, or in the future, they will die. That is one inevitability that comes to all.”
“I’ll find a way,” Garazor said. “They can’t die. Not now. It’s not their time. I have confidence that the king will see me, that he’ll give me what I seek.”
“Then, on your own head, be it,” Aras Irli whispered.
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The meeting held, the deal made, Garazor left the village for the final time and returned to Valmar. It was mid-morning, and his companion aroused himself quickly from his makeshift bed.
“Are we off, then?” he asked. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Garazor’s fists were clenched, not out of anxiety, but out of fear. He feared that if he spoke, he would tell his friend everything, about the Arnyr, about the Dryr, about the Shadow King and his city of cold stone. He feared that he would say what he had needed to do to ensure the meeting happened.
And, most especially, he feared the deal he had made.
He forced a smile. “Yes,” he said. “I have a remedy for my wife and son. They will be fully healed. That is the promise made me.”
Valmar stared. “And all that from these reclusive miners?” he asked, amazed. “What mighty power do they possess that all the physicians in Aleria do not?” His keen eyes searched Garazor’s face. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Garazor’s breathing was heavy. “Nothing, Val. They are extraordinary healers. That is all.”
His companion frowned, sensing the lie. But rather than argue, he shook his head and saddled his horse.
Garazor was silent as he, too, saddled his horse. He was silent as they headed back down the mountain, silent as they rode for the capital, silent as they were greeted with anxiety at the palace. He said no word as he secretly administered the remedy, then waited until the physicians came and told him of the miraculous healing of the queen and prince. He held his newborn son as his wife smiled, and admitted a truth to himself that he had been running from.
Aras Irli was right.
On your own head, be it.
He began to weep.
Oh God, he thought. What have I done?