The Marenon Chronicles Collection

Chapter Fifteen





Julian Hobbes stood on the roof of the inn breathing the cool night air deep into his lungs as he gazed upon the castle of Farlaweer, which was illuminated by the starlit sky. He fingered the golden key, the device that would open any door in the castle, including the one to the king’s chamber. There was no question where the medallion was kept. It hung proudly, perhaps stupidly, around the neck of King Morgan. That is, until he was asleep. Julian knew the habits of his brother, and he knew them well. He had been in the king’s chamber a few times when his brother had begun his reign. For the brief time that he put up with Morgan’s arrogance and condescension, Julian became familiar with his ‘kingly’ routines.

Morgan was an early-to-bed, late-to-rise sort of person. He never let the struggles of kingship or worries of the realm get to him. When the sun faded, Morgan was ready to be finished with the day. He’s probably already sleeping like a baby, Julian thought. Morgan had been that way since they were children.

The medallion would be resting on a table next to his bed along with several royal rings and an oil lamp. Getting to the table and taking the medallion would be no problem. The only problem that Julian could foresee would be getting past the tight security throughout the castle. Two guards would be stationed outside the king’s chambers and taking them down quietly would be no easy task. It was a mission of stealth. He could not be seen, heard or sensed in anyway. Fortunately, Julian knew every part of the castle by heart. He knew the guard’s routes, the times they passed by certain points and even when they were allowed a bathroom break. As a teenager, several years after his father began his rule as king, Julian would try to sneak to his room from outside the castle without being seen. The first few times he got caught and could have even been killed, sneaking around a guard like he did, but he never got in serious trouble. Instead, he tried and tried again to see if he could actually do it. Once he figured out the routes and positions of all the guards, it became all too easy for him. It had been a long time since he had done such a thing and he was going to a different part of the castle this time. He hoped the guard’s routes had not changed too much.

He sniffed the air again and could smell the eastern winds blowing from the Ocalan River. The time was right. He left the roof of the inn and made his way through the vacant streets and to the castle. Marenon’s moon was high in the bright, clear, night sky, illuminating his path. Most people were inside their homes by this time. No person would see him, just as he wanted. He pulled his dark cloak close to him and the hood shadowed his face. To a person from any sort of distance Julian would have looked to be only a shadow moving briskly. His sword clung to his back and his dagger hung at his belt underneath his cloak. He hoped that there would be no need for the sharp weapons tonight, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use them if necessary. He was no cold-blooded killer, but he would kill to protect his identity and his life.

If anyone recognized him sneaking through the castle, the Dunarians would be implicated and there would be a campaign set against them. They could not take an all-out war against the king and his army. It would be the end of the Dunarians. Julian knew it was worth the risk, however. Every member of the council knew the risk and was willing to accept it. Having the medallion was key to winning any sort of fight against the Stühocs. It was the only way to create the weapon.

Julian wondered again about the weapon. The thought of something that could make a small group of people take control over a large world made Julian shiver. He almost didn’t want anything to do with such a thing, but the notion of taking down the Stühocs sounded good. Surely, it would be worth it. Surely, they would be unstoppable. Yet, being unstoppable is what scared Julian the most. That much power could easily corrupt. Julian thought specifically of Ward Holden. Could Holden be trusted? Was there a chance that he would use it against anyone other than the Stühocs? Julian shook away the thoughts. He didn’t need to worry too much yet. The Dunarians only had possession of one medallion, which was last in the custody of Garland Ainsley and now, hopefully Kaden Osric. If everything went as planned, they would have two that night. If Julian’s hired mercenaries paid off, then they would have three. There were only three more after that.

Another medallion, the orange-jeweled relic of power, was to the northeast, possessed by the Nestorians in Voelif. Nalani was currently planning a mission to steal it from them, and if Alric and his group did well in obtaining the medallion from the Anwyns, then perhaps they would serve well in stealing from the Nestorians. It would be pricey, but worth it. The last medallion, the Erellens held close to them. The Erellens probably thought the Humans didn’t deserve to have the medallions.

It was a known fact that Humans were not supposed to exist in Marenon. The Stühocs did not belong in Marenon either. Some Humans came to Marenon when they died in their previous life and according to Erellen history, this had only been happening for the past several thousand years. There was no account of a Human coming to Marenon after dying of old age, or for any natural reason, but only when their life had ended prematurely. There was no explanation for this. It was a mystery to Humans and Erellens.

The Stühocs were an odd sort. Julian had been told that they somehow jumped from world to world, trying to conquer every being they could. They had been attacking and trying to take over Marenon for several years before the Humans came. Why they came, no one knew. Who the first Human was, no one knew. It was not recorded in Erellen history and there were no known texts of prophecy ever referring to the Humans before their coming. And for some reason, in Marenon, they could not reproduce. No Human could be born. Many tried to carry on their name in this world, but it was impossible. Another sign to us saying, ‘you do not belong here’, Julian thought.

He gazed upon the castle as it came into view. He often wondered why his life was cut so short, if only to grow up in Marenon, in the castle. To some, coming to Marenon was a second chance at a new life. To Julian, it had been more like the beginning of his first life. So far, it was not the life he would have chosen, but he often reminded himself that it was the life he was given regardless of how he felt.

It had been the same story for his brother Morgan, and their father’s life had been cut short too. Ruben never had the chance to become an old man in either world. Julian would not rest until he could prove the true nature of his father’s death in Marenon. He was sure Morgan’s leech of an advisor, Spencer, had much to do with it. And Spencer may have been lying, but he had said Morgan knew the truth. Julian knew it was carried out by a group of Stühocs led by their vile commander, Maroke. But even the Stühocs were not foolish enough to execute such an act without fear of repercussion. The only reason that would have motivated them to attack without fear would be if they were already at war or if they knew there would be no consequences. There had been none. For this reason, Julian held a personal disdain for just about anyone who worked for the king and an even harsher hatred for the Stühocs.

Julian crept through the shadows along the west wall of the castle, being careful to stay between the walls and the river’s bank. The castle often received shipments from the south and other regions using the river. The embankments along the river were set in such a way that only one ship at a time could come close to the castle to dock. Trees lined the entranceway on both sides. In the event of an attack, ships would be left in the main course of the river, too far from the castle to make an effective trap. It was not the port that had Julian’s attention, however. It was what was under the port. Spring had bloomed and the heavy rains had come and gone. The secret entrance to the castle would not be fully flooded any longer. At least he hoped it wouldn’t. Julian reached the bank and searched for the direction he needed to take. No boat or ship currently docked near the secret entryway. He felt relieved by this, but slightly exposed, even though he looked to the top of the castle wall and saw no guards. Unable to shake the feeling, he took a deep breath and slid into the water until he was completely submerged.

The murky water combined with the darkness of the night made it impossible to see. He remembered when he found this secret way long ago when he was just a boy. He had been fishing and Morgan had thrown his pole into the river, laughing all the while. He had gotten nervous when Julian didn’t come up for air after diving to retrieve his pole. When Julian finally emerged, Morgan thought he had some sort of magical powers to be able to hold his breath for so long.

“Thought you killed me again?” Julian had asked.

Morgan never answered. He simply walked away, white-faced and bewildered.

Swimming the path at night took some heavy use of his memory and some precision. He swam deeper and deeper toward the castle base. The moonlight was now gone, leaving nothing to show him his way. He reached out his hand and finally felt the slimy, stone wall. He moved along to the left, until he could feel the wall disappear into an upward pathway. He swam through the passage until his feet touched stone and he began to walk slowly. After a few more seconds, his head emerged from the water and he was inside the castle wall. He pulled out his sword and with a thought it burst into flames, turning it to torchlight. It was practical magic. His father had insisted that his sons learn it since they were in a land that made it possible. Their tutor had taught them everything from making torches to picking up objects with their mind. Julian, however, took it upon himself to add a few techniques to his repertoire that would assist him in a time of need. It had been too long since he had used it, though.

Inside the watery cave, he stood feet from a marble door, which was delicately carved with a picture of a tree. It was a beautiful piece of art and Julian had always wondered who had crafted it. Leaves fell from the carved branches, but at its base lay something disturbing. It was a figure of a man on the ground, dying from an arrow wound, protruding from his chest. Next to him was a bent crown, possibly symbolizing the fall of the Human king, but Julian could not be sure. Along the walls of the tiny hallway leading to the door were images of war, monsters eating Humans, Erellens making sacrifices of the Stühocs. Julian had never understood any of the carvings. It all seemed so evil. He knew this was not the time to try and decipher who or what might have carved these images. He reached deep into his pocket and produced the golden key he had swiped from Spencer. He slid it into the keyhole of the marble door and turned it slowly. Without any force at all Julian was able to quietly open the door and slip into the castle, underground and out of sight. There were no guards in this part of the castle because few of them even knew about the entrance. Those that may have known about it considered it nothing to be guarded. Julian wasn’t sure if Morgan had ever been told it existed. Julian never told him. Spencer probably knew though, because he made it his business to know any and everything about what happened in the castle.

Julian’s fire-lit sword flickered in the darkness, revealing his path to the end. The underground of the castle had many twists and turns and the gray corridors were startlingly bare, unlike its imaginative entrance. The entrance to the tunnel so intrigued him when he was a child that he eventually ‘borrowed’ his father’s key and found his way through it. Julian would have never gotten caught if his father had not seen him placing the key back on the bedside table during the night.

“I was wondering where the key went missing,” he said. “I didn’t think I would have lost it so easily.”

Julian had thought he was going to be in a lot of trouble, but no punishment came. He quickly told his father about how he found the tunnel and that there was an entire maze down below them. Ruben smiled at him and nodded.

“It’s for our protection,” he explained. “In case we are ever attacked and need a secret escape.”

Ruben made him promise never to go down there again. Having not been there since he was young, it would be difficult to figure out exactly which entrance led to what part of the castle. Julian assumed there would be a doorway directly under the king’s chambers which was on the top level of the northwest corner of the castle. That meant five stairwells. Julian had his work cut out for him.

He thought about his direction, knowing that he came in facing the east. Making a left he headed north until he was forced to turn. Every time he made a turn in the labyrinth he did his best to make sure he was headed northwest. On several occasions he came to a dead end and was forced to turn back until he finally came to a corridor with a shiny marble door. Julian didn’t think this was the northwest most part of the castle, but he was not about to go search for the correct door. This was his first shot at entering the castle, and unless he wanted to risk getting completely lost, he knew he should take it. With another thought, the fire from his sword extinguished, without so much as a puff of smoke. He sheathed his sword, slid the key into the door and it opened as gently as the first. He quietly crouched to the floor and closed the door behind him, locking it noiselessly. The room was foreign to him. Books scattered all about, torn and maimed, while some were stacked in piles, and others untidily place on shelves. Several tables stood situated with no organization throughout the large room. From corner to corner the place was filled with dirty jars and old, rusty weapons. It smelled musky as if some foul creature inhabited it long ago, but left to never return, yet it had the look of frequent use. Having never seen this room before, Julian wasn’t sure what section of the castle he was in. He felt a sudden jolt when he heard voices in the far right corner.

He could see his exit only feet from him on the opposite wall, but the voices sounded familiar to him. They were not that of his brother, or anyone else he could quite place. He knew he would have to get closer to discover exactly who was speaking. The room was large enough for him to move in the shadows, but cluttered enough that he would easily make noise if he were not cautious. He crouched low and slowly crept his way behind a bookshelf. He peered his cloaked head around the side, making sure he was no more than a shadow if one were to look at him. Squinting past another row of cluttered tables he could finally see who was speaking. Spencer!

Julian ducked instinctively when he saw Spencer, seemingly talking to himself. Looking closer, Julian could see on the table, in front of Spencer was a wristband, silver with a green jewel in its center. The jewel shined two different lights onto the wall like a colored projector, just as it would if Julian were to use his own wristband. He looked at his wrist. The jewel was glowing green; meaning one of the council members had tried to contact him. Julian winced. How could Spencer have an identical wristband? There was no chance he had one like this by accident. That sort of object was special to the Dunarian Council. Dublin had made them himself so the council could easily keep in contact with each other. The bands were made of magic with the ability to see who they were talking to, either in the jewel face itself or through the light of its projection. One could also simply choose to speak without any sort of visual. It was the perfect way for the Dunarians to communicate secretly with one another over long distances, yet there was Spencer, chatting away on his own. But to whom?

Julian needed to get closer if he was going to hear what was being said. He moved from behind the bookshelf to a table several feet ahead. As Julian shuffled over loose papers, Spencer’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed, searching the shadows.

“What is it?” the voice said from one of the lights. Julian kept his head down, praying Spencer wouldn’t see him. He had no fear of Spencer, but being caught in the castle would force Julian to do something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do. Kill.

“It was nothing,” Spencer said turning around to the floating faces. “Rats, probably. This place is filthy. What of the Silas Ainsley situation?”

Silas Ainsley?

A deep, gruff voice answered the question. “He escaped me. Osric killed the boy before we could capture him.”

Julian finally managed to look up and was horrified at what he saw. Floating in the green light was the vilest face he had ever known. It was the face of the one who had been responsible for his father’s death; the one who led the company to attack the king of Marenon. Spencer was conversing with Maroke. Rage began trembling through Julian’s veins as he stared at the floating head. This confirmed everything. Spencer was behind his father’s murder!

“That means he’s somewhere in your part of the country,” Spencer said nodding to the other image. The image was blocked from Julian’s view by Spencer’s head, but the voice sounded too familiar. Who else could he be talking to?

“There’s no way to know if he survived the gauntlet,” the voice said.

“If he is who the Erellens say he is, he survived it,” Spencer said. “If he isn’t who they claim, then this whole operation is pointless anyway.”

“Not completely,” Maroke said, impatiently. “The boy is just a backup plan. When we get the medallions we won’t need the boy.”

“Yes about that,” the other voice said. “Garland Ainsley is overseeing operations, waiting to see if Kaden will bring Silas back. He will soon get suspicious and will begin searching for the boy.”

Who was the other person Spencer was talking to? Was Kaden dead?

When Spencer shifted his weight, Julian could see the face of the other floating voice and he almost wished he hadn’t. Ward Holden! A wave of anger hit Julian like a tsunami. Why was he conversing with these two? The interim leader of the Dunarian Council was supposed to be totally against the Stühocs and here he was, giving out key information to the enemy about The Reckoning!

“I assume your men are ready for Julian?” Holden asked.

“I have extra guards at every possible entrance,” Spencer said.

Not every possible entrance, Julian thought.

“He will not get anywhere close to the medallion tonight,” Spencer continued. “I made sure to have my key on me when he paid a visit earlier today. The key was missing by the end of our meeting, just as planned. He will be dead by morning.”

“Very good,” Holden said. “His defiance would be getting in the way of our work if he were still involved. The king still knows nothing?”

“It’s no secret the king and his brother have ill-will toward each other, but he would not condone a killing such as this,” Spencer answered. “You know how he reacted when we told him of his father. He knows nothing of Julian’s arrival.”

The two heads nodded their approval. Julian wanted to chop off Spencer’s head where he stood, but revealing his location would not serve him well. He wondered who had been trying to contact him through the wristband. Could it have been Holden, making sure he was continuing with his plan?

“Is Kaden Osric secure?” Holden asked Maroke.

“He is secure with no chance of escape,” he answered.

Julian grinned for a moment. Knowing that Kaden was still alive was good news, but his capture by the Stühocs was bad, very bad. He wondered why they hadn’t killed him already. Are they going to try and turn him?

“Very well,” Spencer said. “I will contact you when we have dealt with Julian. He is the last real threat we have in carrying out our operation.”

“And I will keep you informed on our search for Silas, and if Julian contacts me,” Holden said.

“Maroke,” Spencer said. “Your troops need to be ready in the coming days. It will not be long until we have every last medallion.” With that, he placed his hand on the green jewel and the faces disappeared. Julian ducked under the table as Spencer walked by, placing the wristband back on his wrist and under his sleeve. As Julian watched Spencer open the door to exit, he noticed a portrait in the hallway of a lion, lying down with a lamb. He smiled with relief, realizing exactly where he was. The door had always been locked in the past. In that dark, cold and messy room he sat five levels directly below the king’s chamber.

He sat upright; being sure his head was against the gray, inconspicuous wall. He touched the green jewel on his wrist, waiting for Holden to answer. Within moments, Holden’s face appeared before his own. It took everything in Julian not to curse him with all the evil words known, but he held his composure.

“Someone had tried to contact me earlier,” Julian said.

“Yes, that was me,” Holden answered. “Where are you?”

“I’m just inside the castle.” He took a deep breath acting as if he had just been running. “I am in the southeast corner, about to make my way towards Morgan’s chambers. I’ll be taking the southeast stairwell and cut across through the middle,” he lied. “I know the routes; there will be no problem. I’m still on the second level now.”

A smile crossed Holden’s face. It was one that Julian may not have been able to place if he had not just witnessed the man’s betrayal only moments before. But he knew the smile to be that of victory. As far as Holden was concerned, Julian had just given himself up. As far as Julian was concerned, he had just saved his own life.