Revelation, page 13
As it moved, it seemed as if the stranger simply drifted along some invisible current of air, barely making any motion as he entered. When the tall figure passed through the filaments of light streaming down from the ceiling, a glint of gold glimmered from under his hood. With unseen eyes, the visitor seemed to glare down upon the three companions.
The cold room grew more frigid with the unknown visitor’s presence while a strong foreboding filled Aaron’s thoughts. The stranger casually raised his hand and the shackles fell from Aaron’s wrist and ankles, clanging to the stone floor.
“Come with me!” The stranger’s voice echoed against the stone structure and carried a sense of power mingled with despair. Aaron felt a strong grip on his body, as if the air itself forced him to stand and move toward the door. He fought against the unseen power but no matter how much he struggled, he kept walking toward the door. Braden and Lorik stood to charge at the strange intruder, having obviously forgotten the chains which bound them to the wall. With a sudden stop, they came up short and fell with a thud to the floor.
Any struggle against the unseen power which forced him toward the door proved futile so Aaron relented and joined the stranger as he moved out of the room. Braden still struggled against his bonds, while Lorik just watched in anguish as Aaron stepped through the threshold.
Aaron followed his guide along a dimly lit corridor. Torches hung in sconces along the wall, several paces apart, and provided enough light to navigate the passage. He didn’t believe his captor needed the illumination they provided. The corridor looked as if no one had walked along its floor for a century. Small clouds of dust, kicked up by his movements, hung about his ankles in the stillness of the hallway, slowly settling again as he walked along the passageway.
Though faded and worn, ancient pictures decorated the wall, and depicted scenes of lavish, fertile farmlands, villages and a majestic, towered castle overlooking the entire glorious scene. Occasionally Aaron tried to resist the pressure that forced him to move, but the power of his guide was more than he could overcome.
The artistic grandeur that adorned the corridor seemed out of place in the dark, musty castle. Some of the paintings had fallen from their supports and were left on the floor, broken and forgotten. Others hung precariously on the wall. The entire scene brought a feeling of despair to Aaron as he looked upon an ancient glory long gone. He wondered if the castle portrayed in many of the paintings was actually the fortress where he and his companions were now being held as prisoners. The picturesque landscapes, painted with such care and skill, seemed to Aaron to resemble the same region as the Waste. A sense of hopelessness tried to steal his courage, as doubts crept into his thoughts that they could ever break out of their incarceration. He rejected the thought and steeled himself to either escape or die in the attempt.
His guide led him to a large, ornate double door on the left wall of the passageway, with majestic scenes carved into the heavy mahogany. Unlike the rest of the castle, the door leading into the room beyond was well kept and polished. Its hinges were oiled and rust free. It stood in stark contrast to everything he saw. He also noticed that another, wider corridor led directly away from the ornate doors; it was also well lit and well maintained. Aaron’s mind raced with the possibility that the second corridor was the main hall out of the castle.
“There is no escape,” the hooded figure spoke as if perceiving Aaron’s thoughts.
Aaron turned his attention back to his guide who lingered before the large, mahogany door. Above it, engraved on a gold plaque, was the image of a sword, encircled by a crown tarnished and covered with dust.
The guide raised his hand slightly. When he did, the two doors swung inward, revealing a large chamber, extravagant in its décor and brightly lit. At the back of the room, opposite the doorway, a large circular dais held a massive marble throne. Pillars of marble lined the walls, holding the arched ceiling high overhead. On each pillar a torch blazed in glorious light, while between each of the pillars bronze, oil-filled basins flickered with fire, their smoke rising up and venting through small openings in the ceiling high above.
Unlike the hallway, no pictures or tapestries decorated the room. What hung on the walls was a massive collection of armor, weapons and other items that Aaron could not identify. An impressive collection, Aaron thought, until he saw his own sword! Next to it hung Lorik’s blade as well as Braden’s battle-axe. On a small table, directly underneath the display were the three satchels given to them by Dalyn, looking undisturbed, as if they still contained the articles within.
Again the hooded figure spoke in a rough, commanding voice, “Enter!”
The command would not be refused, and Aaron was forced to move into the throne room. He proceeded directly to the throne. On the large, marble chair sat the figure of a man. He was tall, perhaps seven feet in height if he stood, with ghostly pale skin. From under heavy brows, piercing blue eyes scowled at the captain as he approached the dais. The enthroned man had an air of strength and, without knowing the figure who sat there, Aaron knew that he wielded great power.
The cloaked figure that escorted Aaron into the throne room moved to one side of the throne and took up a position on the right side of the royal chair. “Kneel!” the guide spoke, and Aaron was forced to his knees. The frustration of being completely controlled by the command of his captor infuriated him. Aaron possessed exceptional willpower and determination, and he hated the thought that he could be so easily manipulated. He struggled against the one who spoke the commands, wishing to get to his sword which hung out of reach upon the wall. No matter how hard he struggled against his assailant, however, he could not free himself from the grip that held him.
“Well, Captain,” the man on the throne spoke, his voice ancient, deep, and possessed a quality that nearly beguiled Aaron into thinking the man could be trusted. “Welcome to my home.” Despite the sound of his words, the one enthroned fixed his malevolent gaze upon the captain. “So this is the great protector of Celedon,” the man mocked as he rose from his chair, “kneeling before me like a cowering dog!” A wicked laugh echoed across the hall as the tall, pale figure walked closer to Aaron. “Perhaps the master was incorrect, perhaps you’re not as dangerous as he supposed.”
Every fiber of Aaron’s body ached for freedom from the crushing grip of his captor and the captain’s mind desperately searched for a means of escape. “Who are you?” Aaron demanded. “Why have you brought us here?”
“My dear Captain”—his voice was like the distant sound of rolling thunder—“I brought you and your companions here to kill you.” He laughed a brief, evil laugh. The figure stood, towering over Aaron as he reached down and touched Aaron’s shoulder, freeing him from the invisible grip that held him down. Aaron stood and stretched the tension from his tired muscles. “Look around you, see the results of all who have crossed my domain. You might think that there is hope for you and your friends, but you will soon understand that hope has forsaken you here.”
Aaron walked along the wall with the tall man as the ancient ruler exhibited his trophies. One display housed three dwarf axes, framed against a red velvet background right next to Aaron’s own weapon. The captain guessed the weapons belonged to the three skeletons forever bound in their cell. Aaron, however, wouldn’t be frightened so easily and pressed the issue with his captor. “If you meant to kill us,” Aaron questioned, “why wait until now? You could have easily dispatched us when we were overcome by your poisonous fog. What do you want?”
“It’s not what I want that is at issue here,” said the tall, pale figure, “it is what the master wants. He has required me to take you captive, to offer you a… an opportunity,” said the tall man hesitantly.
“An opportunity for what?” asked Aaron. “It seems as if you have nothing that I desire or wish to possess that would prove to be an opportunity.”
“Ah, yes… there is one thing,” again the stranger laughed with evil malice. “I have your life.” The tall figure raised his hand slightly and Aaron felt an invisible pressure grip his throat, choking the life from him. He fell to the floor gasping to no avail, clutching his throat in vain. Then the stranger lowered his hand and Aaron could breathe again. He gasped in exhaustion, momentarily overcome with the terror of his circumstance.
“What is your offer?” Aaron panted.
“All in good time, dear captain… all in good time.” He walked back to the throne and took his position upon it. “I will return you to your two friends so you can have some time to ponder your fate. You will be sent for when it is time to discuss the master’s proposition.” The stranger waved his hand, and Aaron felt like he was hit by an ocean wave, throwing him halfway back to the door that they entered. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, amazed and dreading the power the stranger possessed. The cloaked figure, which up to this time remained motionless next to the throne, now approached Aaron as he stood up from the floor.
“Come!” the hooded guard spoke and Aaron was once more forced against his will to follow the guide. He was led out the door and back toward the cell.
As long as he didn’t fight against the power of his jailor, he found he could walk with relative ease. Hoping to find answers to the many questions that encompassed his thoughts, Aaron attempted to converse with his guide. “Tell me,” he began, “what is this place?”
Silence was all Aaron received in return.
Again he tried, “How is it that you are in this dismal region of the world? How do you survive without proper sources of food and water?”
His guide seemed unaffected by the questions and remained silent, leading him down the hall.
Once more Aaron pressed the figure with a question, “Who are you?”
This time the figure stopped, turned to Aaron and peered at him from under his cowl. “I am dead,” the strange creature replied, hoarse and melancholy.
Then Aaron’s guide drew the hood back off his head, revealing the face of a man, once regal and strong now faded, pale and worn. Upon his brow he wore a crown of gold, dim and tarnished with several jewels of various types: emeralds, rubies, and sapphires embedded in the circular adornment. He bore the look of a man bereft of life, dead yet not, real yet almost faded beyond recognition. To Aaron the man’s eyes were vacuous, sunken, and lacking any sense of focus or recognition.
“Who are you?” Aaron asked again.
“I am he who once ruled this land, the lord of this castle and caretaker of all the lands around us.” His voice carried such a note of despair Aaron could not help but grieve the circumstances of the one who stood before him. “I suffer this fate, along with all the members of my realm who now live only in mist and shadow and continue to suffer for my crime.”
Aaron could not imagine what possible crime could have sentenced a man to such a plight. “What happened… what did you do to bring this horror upon yourself?”
“I joined forces with evil against the… against the…” At this point, the creature shrieked in grief and anguish with such a pain-filled cry that Aaron fell to his knees in terror, clutching at his chest as if his own heart would burst. The sound echoed down the halls and corridors of the castle, sending the mournful sound to the very edges of the outer court. Trembling in agony, he continued, “I cannot say; the master forbids I speak the name of the vanquished one.”
“Can you not flee from this prison?” Aaron was dismayed and perplexed at the creature’s troubles.
“You do not understand! I am of this land, and from this land I cannot flee. My subjects who followed in my folly and failure are, as you saw them, the shadows and mist of the swirling fog. We are bound for all time to suffer, as are all who give themselves to the master.” The creature’s voice was one of despair as he spoke slowly, in fits of pain.
“Who is this master? Is he the one enthroned in the room we just left?” Aaron wanted to continue the dialogue, but his guide slowly pulled the cowl over his face, showing nothing but the glint of gold from the tarnished crown and again pointed down the hall. This time, however, the gripping power that forced Aaron to walk was gone and the captain could move of his own free will.
They continued silently until they reached the room where Braden and Lorik waited anxiously, still bound in chains. The creature opened the door with a slight wave of his hand, and motioned for Aaron to enter. Aaron did, looking at his guard with a new found pity. The robed figure clasped the irons onto the captain’s wrists and ankles. As he did so, he bent low to whisper, “Do not trust any gift from the master!” Turning, he glided from the room, closing the door behind him, a hideous wail echoing through the castle as the figure disappeared down the corridor.
Braden looked at the captain with deep concern. “What happened? Are you all right? Who was that terrible creature?”
Lorik drew closer to Aaron. “Captain,” he said. “You must tell us all that has happened. We heard a shriek that gripped us to the bone.”
Aaron nodded. “Give me a minute,” he said as he sank down to the floor. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms to keep warm. “Here is what I know,” he began. Braden and Lorik listened with rapt attention as he told them of the strange situation of their jailor, of the figure on the throne, the power he possessed and his allegiance to someone he called master. “I don’t know who this master is, however,” Aaron continued.
“What of this bargain?” Lorik asked. “What did he say would be the opportunity that would be offered?”
“I don’t know,” Aaron replied. “He did say that he possessed the power to destroy our lives, implying, I guess, that if we don’t take his offer, we’ll be killed.” Aaron paused for a moment. “One thing is certain, I do believe that he means to carry out the threat against us, and he wields the power to do it.”
Braden spoke up. “Captain,” he said, “in some of our ancient legends, there are stories of creatures that wielded great power and had the ability to bend the minds of the unwary. It is said when the King was overthrown, the usurper divided up Celedon and gave authority to his mighty demons that fought with him. It could be that the one enthroned here in the Waste is one of those demons. If this is true, he cannot be trusted. An ancient proverb of my people says, the one who reaches out to take an evil offer will forever be bound to evil.”
“This might be our only chance to escape this trap,” Aaron replied.
“If taking an offer from one who is evil is our only hope, then we are without hope,” Braden surmised. “I would rather die in my virtue than live a tortured life forever in debt to this villain.”
Aaron looked to Lorik. “Is this your response as well?”
“Captain,” Lorik responded, “I have followed you for many years and you are my captain, but I will not subject myself to the rule of this viper.”
Aaron was grateful for the courage of his two companions, but he did not want to miss an avenue of escape. “Perhaps, if we went along with this proposition, we can escape and make our way out of this land.”
“I can imagine that such a proposal was thought of by our mournful jailor,” Braden said. Then he glanced toward the three skeletons. “I would rather be like them than like that hooded wretch.”
“Captain,” Lorik’s voice was gentle and compassionate, “You and I both know that you cannot compromise with evil. If we agree to the bargain I’m afraid that our lives will forever be lost to the power of this place.” Lorik sighed. “Besides, if we do agree with our captors, it is quite possible that we will lose any chance of finding the Book of Aleth.”
Aaron knew in his heart that Lorik and Braden were right. There could be no compromise. Aaron looked at his sergeant. “Well, I agree with you. I think I would rather die looking for the truth than have to live a continual lie.”
Lorik nodded in agreement. “Yes, I believe that this book holds the key to understanding all that we’ve seen and I am willing to follow you to retrieve it or, if it should happen, to die in the attempt.”
Aaron looked to Braden. “Is this your thought as well?”
“Captain,” Braden said. “You are a person of destiny. I’m not about to turn aside now. And,” he continued, “I am sure that your destiny is not to end your days in this dungeon.”
Aaron smiled with gratitude. They all sat in silence, their minds anchored on the hope of escape, though it looked like there was little hope for that. His mind drifted and he imagined holding the Book of Aleth in his hands, and he feared that their captivity would prevent him ever knowing the truth. The sound of the wind echoed through the cracks and holes high in the ceiling as if they sang a mournful dirge for the captives.
Time wore on and through the broken slats above them Aaron watched stars grow steadily brighter in the evening sky. They had been in the cell with no food or water for at least a day. A sense of hopelessness crept into his thoughts as the night wore on. He drifted in and out of sleep as thirst began to take its toll. He was hungry as well, but his years of training allowed him to simply ignore the pangs that rumbled in his belly. Lorik was sound asleep as well as Braden, who tossed about with fitful dreams.
Aaron’s bones ached as he shivered against the cold stone, though they huddled together to conserve whatever warmth they could. Deep into the night, as darkness filled their frigid cell, the door opened and the hooded figure that had first come to them stood silhouetted against the dim light of the hall. The jailor moved into the chamber and stood silent as he peered down upon the three lying on the floor.
Aaron could see the glint of gold encircling the brow of the stranger but no other facial features were visible under the heavy cowl. “Come!” the figure commanded and Aaron knew that it was time to hear the opportunity that would be offered. His chains fell from his ankles and wrists and Aaron was free to move on his own, no power was used against him.
He slowly stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and massaging his arms and legs to work out the stiffness in his joints. He shivered in the cold cell and felt weak from dehydration. With staggered steps he followed his guide into the hall. He was led down the same corridor, to the same double-doors, and entered into the same extravagant room which housed the raised throne. Upon the throne, the tall, pale man sat waiting for Aaron’s arrival.
