Alora: The Portal (Alora 2)

Charles nodded, but by his expression, Kaevin knew he still had reservations about the plan. Kaevin started when his father’s forceful hug nearly choked him and put pressure on his tender rib.

“God-speed. Know that my thoughts and prayers will be with you and Alora and Arista.”

Kaevin returned the embrace, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“When do we depart?” Arista interrupted. “Since my brother will go home tonight, can we leave on the morrow?”

“Charles will determine the group’s departure when Jireo is well enough to go. Do not forget your promise to obey him in all things.” Graely’s tone was gruff, but his mouth kicked up in a half smile at Arista’s obvious enthusiasm.

As Kaevin grasped Alora’s hand for the transport, he heard Arista prattling on to Beth about the expedition. Did Arista say something about finding treasure? I must have a serious talk with her before we embark.

~ 13 ~

Regaining control over all of his citizens had taken a toll on Vindrake’s body. The added process of separating his faithful followers from those who obeyed solely by blood coercion was both tedious and exhausting. As he suspected, those truly loyal were rare, and many of his most talented warriors and citizens failed his test. This only confirmed what he already knew. I cannot depend on anyone but myself.

He’d extinguished some who came before him, trembling with the knowledge they could never hide their innermost thoughts from his prodigious gift of judging. Killing to replenish his energy, he didn’t relish the task as he had with Malphas. He felt no animosity toward the multitude that merely responded to his puppeteering. Though he found a number of gifted warriors whose allegiance was without question, he detested the necessity of relinquishing his control for the incursion through the portal.

Fortunately, he’d found no sign of anyone guarding the other end of the portal, for he’d seen only animal footprints in the deep snow surrounding the mysterious steaming pool with the spouting tower of water. An initial scouting party would split into groups of three and four with the goal of exploring the new realm and discovering the most promising resources.

Since Alora had spoken Tenavae, he assumed his scouts would be able to communicate when they reached the citizens of her realm. The group would carry weapons that could be easily concealed, hoping to negotiate with the native population rather than engage in conflict on their initial foray. For this purpose, each group would also carry gold coin for trade.

Vindrake knew he might eventually need a larger force to accomplish his goals in the new realm, and such a company must be carefully controlled. What if he imbued one of his commanders with the power to wield the bloodbond? Of course he would be walking a dangerous line if he allowed another to access control, even temporarily.

A thought wormed its way into his mind… If only Alleraen had chosen to join forces with me. He expelled the annoying idea at once. No benefit in longing for the impossible. Still, the notion returned, and he considered the possibility, however unlikely, his brother might finally consent and unite with him as his second in command. How long had it been since they’d spoken? Six moons? A year? He should visit him in the secure chambers immediately. Realizing it was the middle of the night, he hesitated for a moment. What matter? What did night or day mean to someone who’d been locked away for years?

With his mind made up, he hurried from his chamber, shutting the heavy wood door with a thud and turning the key to fasten the lock. He grabbed a torch to make his way through the winding hallway.

Rounding the final corner, he heard a gasp. A child, his face hooded in a bulky cloak, stood poised to ascend the stairway. The child stumbled back, perhaps preparing to retreat, but Vindrake stretched out his hand to squeeze off his airway. As the child halted, clutching his throat, Vindrake strode to bar his escape.

“Halt! Who are you? Show me your face.” Vindrake relaxed the chokehold.

The child, though too young to bear the bondmark, obediently pushed the cowl from his head, lifting a defiant chin. With pride in his bearing, despite a dirty face and an oversized cloak, he spoke in a haughty voice. “I came to see my brother, still locked away despite your promise to release my family if I performed your task.”

“Ah, Markaeus. Yes, yes. All in due time. At the moment your grandfather is still needed for his gresses gift.” He frowned, suddenly recalling Malphas’ words concerning Markaeus. The boy had already shown possession of the minor gift of gresses. He couldn’t be trusted near the secure chambers. Vindrake felt his ire rising. “How came you to this place alone? Where is the guard sworn to accompany any visitors?”

Markaeus took a step back, reaching in his pocket and retrieving a bit of bread and cheese. “I’m bringing my brother some food. He’s always hungry. Perhaps you don’t provide enough to keep his stomach filled.”

Markaeus’ words inflamed Vindrake for their content rather than the insolence displayed. He’d given strict orders to keep all the imprisoned children healthy and fit until the day they could take the oath of fealty. The boy was confined in the large group abode reserved for children of ten or eleven years who were deemed a flight risk. This policy had been adopted when a number of young Water Clan citizens had simply ‘disappeared’ before their twelfth birthingdays. The company of potential warriors was a valuable resource for Water Clan, customarily receiving training and exercise, along with the highest quality of meat, fish, fruits and vegetables.

Vindrake had experimented briefly with separating infants from their families at birth but found the children developed strange mal-affectations while the breed mothers often passed on to death, presumably as a result of their grief. So now he left the children with their mothers. The threat of harm to their families was an effective incentive to coerce the children with twelve years to take the oath of fealty.

Upon acquiring sixteen years, youths gifted as shamans were culled out for special education, while the others were sent to train together as warriors until the trials during their eighteenth year. In addition to selecting the most gifted in strength, weapons, and agility, the fatal matches had the further benefit of eliminating youths with gifts of judging and farsight, two gifts Vindrake found useless or threatening in light of his own giftedness.

As a noxious odor wafted into his nostrils, Vindrake flinched, raising his torch to examine Markaeus more closely. “You are filthy, and you smell of refuse! Do you never bathe?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no parents to make me, and my grandfather has lost his sense of smell.”

“Be gone!” Vindrake flipped his hand toward the exit corridor, turning his head from the stench. “I’ll attend to your brother’s nourishment. See that you never return unaccompanied by a guard. Next time I may not be in such a benevolent mood.”

*****

Markaeus let out a string of curses as soon as Vindrake was beyond earshot and was immediately laden with gui

lt. He heard his grandfather’s chastisement in his mind. You live in the presence of evil, but you do not have to behave in such a way. How many times had he heard the words since their capture? Too many to count. Yet he couldn’t help the expletives that slipped from his mouth. He’d been so close.

Finding the hidden door had been simple; he’d noticed it while peddling his fresh fish in town. With no salt to preserve the catch, he trudged to the refuse pile to toss away his leftovers. There it was, underneath the smelly trash pile, as visible to his eye as a gaping hole.

Waiting until mid-dark when no one was about, he’d carefully rearranged the refuse to allow access to the hidden door in the ground. To all appearances a patch of dirt and stone, the door lifted easily at his touch, even without a key to open the camouflaged lock. After a brief exploration, he realized he was inside the cavernous maze comprising Vindrake’s underground lair.