Prophecy's Daughter (The Endarian Prophecy Book 2) Read online

  After several minutes of being carried, Katya asked to be let down. As soon as the buckskin-clad child’s feet touched the grass, it was as if the near-drowning had never happened. She ran off to the side to pick a puff-weed and stopped to blow the fuzz up into the air. Then she trotted over beside Storm to gaze wonderingly up at Carol. “Are you a witch?” she asked.

  “Katya!” Kira said.

  Carol smiled. “I certainly hope not.”

  “Then why do you have a picture on your arm, and why do you dress so strangely?”

  “Katya! Be quiet and come here,” Kira said.

  “It’s okay,” Carol said, turning to look down at the little girl. “My clothes seem strange to you because I come from the far-off kingdom of Tal, where people dress as I do. As for my arm, I was burned by an evil man who drew that picture on me with fire.”

  “Ow,” said Katya.

  “Yes,” Carol said. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you be my friend, even though I have a big, ugly picture on my shoulder?”

  “Yes, I will.” Katya stared up at her.

  “And will you do something else for me?”

  “Anything.”

  “Could you keep the secret of the picture on my shoulder? It could be our special something, that only you, me, and your mom know about. Could you do that for me?”

  Katya’s face grew serious at the idea of sharing a confidence with Carol. “I promise.”

  Carol shifted her expectant gaze to Kira and was rewarded with the woman’s nod of agreement.

  Katya trotted along beside Carol’s horse as they made their way into a steep canyon at the valley’s westerly end. There Carol turned south into a crack in the canyon wall, and the way tapered to an opening just wide enough for horse and rider to pass. She paused momentarily just before the crevice. Kira motioned for her to follow, so she urged Storm into the narrow passage. The mare snorted nervously, but moved forward along the trail.

  Then, as suddenly as the narrow passage had begun, a nearly circular, cliff-walled glen swept into view in front of her. Neat furrows between broad irrigation ditches crisscrossed the farmland. She smelled the spicy aroma given off by the fruit and vegetable plants that extended off into the distance, row after row.

  High up on the cliff walls, an abundance of caves pocked the area. Rope ladders and bridges connected one to the other as if some gargantuan spider had been at work. Some of these ladders dangled several hundred paces down to the floor of the valley. Dozens of the cliff dwellers moved along the ropes.

  At Kira’s direction, Carol led Storm to a grassy meadow, removed the saddle, and hobbled the mare near a gurgling stream.

  Katya ran to a nearby ladder and scrambled up, followed by Kira, who climbed at a more dignified pace. Carol stopped at the bottom of the ladder and gazed upward. The cave from which the rope ladder dangled was a hundred rungs above her. She caught her breath. The thought of Far Castle flashed through her mind. An eternity had passed since she and Alan had made their hazardous climb down that wall.

  Taking the ladder in her right hand, she started up. It swayed back and forth as she climbed, taking on a small twisting motion as she moved higher and the weight of the ropes below her increased.

  Suddenly Carol stopped. Above her, the cliff face hollowed inward several paces so that the ladder hung suspended in the air. Fifty rungs above that gap, Kira continued climbing. Katya had already disappeared over a ledge higher up.

  Inhaling deeply, Carol resumed her climb.

  Just don’t look down, she told herself, glancing downward as she did so. A wave of vertigo shook her, then slowly passed as she forced her gaze upward once more. She focused on her task, grasping one rung at a time, stepping upward. Weakness spread from her chest into her arms, as if some force from below were leaching her strength away, willing her to let go and take the plunge.

  Then she was past the open space, and solid rock once again supported the rope ladder. Ten paces farther up the cliff, Katya leaned outward to peer down at her.

  When Carol reached the top, she stood on an expansive ledge, a short distance from where the walls of several interconnected buildings rose. The lowest level was dotted with doorways and windows. Farther along the wall, wooden ladders led up to the next level. The stone dwellings were stacked one above the other, each successive level retracting.

  She took in the monstrous yet shallow cave. Carol could see more dwellings within other clefts in the cliffs. Ladders were everywhere, some of rope, some of wood, some spanning gaping chasms.

  She followed Kira until they passed through a doorway into a large room. Two small lamps provided lighting. As Carol’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that the lamps consisted of a hemp wick floating in a bowl filled with some type of oil. Except for several colorful pads that lay in a circle around the hearth, the room was empty.

  “Please wait here,” Kira said. “I will bring Dan.”

  As Kira departed, Carol seated herself on one of the comfortable pallets, rubbing her fingers across the cloth, seams, and woven patterns. The covering was made from a type of refined plant fiber, although its texture was different from that of cotton. The weave felt full and rich.

  As she pondered this, three shadows darkened the doorway. A statuesque man wearing green breeches and a yellow shirt stepped forward, followed by Kira and a grandly plump man in a bright red robe. From what Carol had observed of the other members of the tribe, these brilliant colors were the primary dyes the cliff dwellers used.

  The heavyset man leaned heavily on a gnarled staff.

  “I am Dan,” the taller chief uttered in a deep, soothing voice, extending his hand as he did so.

  Carol stood to take the outstretched hand. Dan’s eyes were the same brown, flecked with gold, as Kira’s and Katya’s, but far more penetrating. His face was etched and weathered by wind and sun, making his age difficult to judge. She guessed that he must be in the midst of his fourth decade.

  Dan motioned for her to resume her seat and then sat down on one of the cushions beside her, as the larger stranger plopped down on another. When Carol looked up, she saw that Kira had departed.

  “Let me introduce my chief adviser, Darlag,” Dan said.

  The crimson-clad man nodded his head. Carol studied him. His face was as round as his body, his hands large and puffy. His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” Darlag said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Darl manages to help me keep things in perspective,” said Dan. “Despite his intellect, which I daresay is even more massive than his bulk, he refuses to see the darker side of life.”

  “Bah,” said Darl, waving a hand dismissively. “Dan only uses me to test the strength of new ladders or rope bridges. If I can make it up or across them, then Dan figures they can handle any number of others.”

  “Then I shall feel much safer when next I climb out on them,” said Carol.

  “Kira tells me that I have you to thank for my daughter’s life,” Dan said. “I am forever in your debt.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Given the circumstances, anyone would have done the same.”

  Dan shifted topics, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “As you can see, we Kanjou are a peaceful people. We farm, we build, and we live among these high walls. Our cliffs and the priesthood who watches over us have long protected us from the aggressions of the outside world. You are one of the outsiders who have come heavily armed into this land. We have watched as you cut down trees and use animals to drag them back into your canyon. Your arrival has caused many a concerned voice to be raised at council. The most prevalent of these fears was that your people would attack us, steal our crops, or even take our valley. But if you are representative of your people, perhaps we can put those concerns to rest.”

  He turned to look at Darl. “Do you have any questions to ask our guest?”

  The fat man eyed her. “What are you run
ning from?”

  The directness of the question took Carol by surprise, but she answered in kind. “We have indeed fled another land. My father was a noble in a distant king’s court. When the old king died, the monarchy fell to his despotic son, who set about eliminating all perceived threats. We left to avoid war.”

  “Will that king pursue you here?” Darl asked.

  Carol paused before speaking, considering her response. “I don’t believe he could, even if he wanted to. We have come a long way, crossed the Mogev Desert, a journey that has taken many months. I think we are well beyond his reach.”

  Darl leaned back. “Then I, too, place myself at your service and welcome you as a friend.”

  When the meeting with the men came to an end, Carol spent another two hours in pleasant conversation with Kira before the woman escorted her back down the ladder to where Storm was hobbled.

  Carol said her farewell and swung effortlessly onto Storm’s back. With a wave, she turned and trotted out of the valley. As she reentered the narrow fissure that formed the only entry or exit from the cliff dwellings, an uneasy feeling caused her to turn in her saddle to look back over her shoulder.

  Despite not seeing anyone, the feeling she was being watched stayed with her as she moved out into the wide valley beyond. Only when she was back within the gorge that led to Areana’s Vale did the sense of foreboding fade.

  6

  Coldain Estate—Southeastern Tal

  YOR 414, Mid-Summer

  Sixteen-year-old Garret Coldain strode across the keep’s courtyard on the heels of the messenger who had come to him in a state of excitement. In tan pants tucked into tall riding boots, his white shirt open at the neck, the tawny-haired young lord considered himself quite the dashing figure. He knew that his father had seen more than good looks in him, though. That was the reason the earl had left Garret in charge during his absence.

  At the open gates, an ancient figure in robes of midnight blue sat astride a bay horse before the guards who blocked his way, his long gray hair and beard merging into a mane that draped chest and back. The man clutched a staff in his right hand.

  Recognition struck Garret with such force that his stride faltered. But he steadied himself against the shock and made his way past the guards. “Gregor,” said Garret, “I am surprised to see you. I had heard that you were infirm.”

  “Your eyes should put the lie to that, Lord Coldain. I have journeyed far to bring you most pressing news. Can we go someplace where we can talk privately?”

  Signaling his gate guards to let King Rodan’s former wielder pass, Garret led the way to the keep. Outside, Gregor dismounted and handed his horse over to a waiting groom. Then he followed the young lord through the entryway and into Earl Coldain’s meeting chamber. Behind closed doors, Garret motioned for Gregor to sit at the table and then assumed his father’s seat at its head, his curiosity aroused.

  “I was told that you were catatonic,” Garret said.

  Gregor stared at him through eyes that narrowed. “I tried to destroy Blalock, but he defeated me. But I had one last trick for him. I let him and the people in Hannington Castle see what I wanted them to see. A beaten and mindless old man. And all the while I waited and watched. Those around me paid me no heed. Why would they?”

  Garret leaned forward, his pulse pounding. He had not known of the confrontation between Gregor and Blalock. That knowledge added an ominous tone to the wielder’s words.

  “And what you learned brought you here, to my father’s estate?”

  “It did.” Again Gregor paused to study Garret. “It turns out that the king’s wielder, whom we have always known by the name Blalock, is really Kragan. He has deceived us for years.”

  “What? Impossible. The one from the legends died four centuries ago.”

  “So we believed. But he has dropped all pretenses and become an even greater abomination. He now walks the land, clothed in the body of Kaleal, the Lord of the Third Deep.”

  Gregor frowned. “Through the last four centuries, everyone has believed that Kragan and his ambitions to enslave this continent were dead. With his return to public view, I think that he seeks a way to dispel the Endarian time-mists that isolate our territories from Kragan’s homeland across the Great Sea. For there lies the true seat of his powers.”

  “Cannot the king stop this?”

  “Hannington Castle has fallen to Kragan’s foul army. Gilbert is dead. I barely managed to escape with my life. You are the acting head of the third noble estate I have warned.”

  Gregor interlocked his fingers. “Mine is a vain quest. There are not enough fighting men left in Tal to oppose Kragan. Even now his horde marches, overrunning one keep after another, enslaving the people and pressing fighting-age men into his army. That army is now on its way here.”

  A wave of fear froze Garret as the visualization of what Gregor had said filled his mind. Earl Coldain had left his only son as master of this keep in his absence when he had taken the gathered army of Tal in pursuit of High Lord Rafel and Rafel’s legion. And aside from peasants and tradesmen, the earl had left behind a force of only three hundred soldiers and one wielder to defend the keep and protect his family. Barely able to utter the words, Garret asked the question to which he dreaded to hear the answer.

  “How many?”

  “Kragan commands a force of well over a hundred thousand vorgs and men. Besides himself, his army also has dozens of wielders.”

  Garret felt his eyes widen despite his attempt to give no visible reaction to this news. He had known that any force that could sack Hannington Castle would be vast, but this number had not been heard of since the Vorg War, three decades ago.

  “I suggest,” said Gregor, “that you gather what forces you have, take your mother and two sisters, and flee.”

  Ever so slowly, Garret felt his sense of the man his father expected him to be reemerge. “That I cannot do. I will not disgrace the house of Coldain by slinking away with my tail tucked firmly between my cheeks.”

  “Then you and your family will die alongside your people.”

  Garret rose to his feet. “We Coldains do not die so easily. My father charged me with protecting his lands. No matter the cost, I will do my duty.”

  The old wielder leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I expected no less. Since there are no more noble estates for me to carry warning to, I will lend what strength I have against the coming horde, for what little good it will do.”

  “Thank you,” said Garret. “I will take you to a room that you may claim for your own.”

  As Garret turned and led Gregor out of the meeting room, he suppressed a shudder at the thought of bringing this news to his mother, Mina, and his two eight-year-old twin sisters, Elena and Erica. Before he performed that unwelcome task, he would meet with Commander Volker, the head of Coldain’s Guard, so that he could begin making defensive preparations. Garret would also send out a dozen rangers in search of the army of Tal, in hopes of getting word of Blalock’s treachery and the wielder’s true identity to his father. At least his father could seek vengeance.

  Climbing the torchlit stairway that led to the upper residences, the flames brought to Garret’s mind images of the keep burning. Despite his brave words to Gregor, he wanted to take his mother, sisters, and three hundred soldiers and flee this place. But his father was a man who valued duty above life, or even love. So Garret would remain in this keep and do his very best to defend it, hoping that his father had learned of the recent events within Tal and was even now marching home.

  It was a hope Garret would cling to in the weeks to come.

  7

  Areana’s Vale

  YOR 414, Mid-Summer

  In the weeks that followed, Carol returned several times to visit with Kira and Katya. Since she had delegated most of her tasks within Areana’s Vale to others, her workload had lightened. She soon had three people teaching within the settlement: Cora, a matronly woman of fifty; Dianne, a slight, blonde girl of twent
y; and David, a bookish lad of eighteen. All three had different strengths, and the children liked them. Carol was thrilled that they did not require much instruction in their duties, enabling her to devote a good portion of her time to the Kanjou.

  Because Carol’s inspections ensured that work within the vale stayed on schedule, her father raised no objections to her twice-weekly trips to see the tribe. These visits built within her a growing love for those who made their homes in the high cliffs.

  She also developed a close friendship with Darl. Carol found that he had a keen wit and a remarkable insight into people as well as a love for discussing philosophy. One day she brought one of her books with her, a tome that discussed irrigation and the advantages of certain methods over others.

  Darl was fascinated not only by the book but the entire concept of being able to record ideas in writing and leave them for others to read and study. He immediately determined that he would learn to read and write and asked Carol if she would teach him.

  The pace with which he absorbed the lessons amazed her, as Darl was soon able to transcribe an entire book in days. So hard did he work that over the course of two weeks, he used up Carol’s paper and ink. This presented a problem, especially since Rafel’s high priest, Jason, refused to give away any of his supplies.

  “My writing materials are needed in the training of my acolytes and not for schooling the cliff dwellers,” he told her, and no amount of cajoling could coax him into changing his mind.

  But Darl was not to be stopped. He set about experimenting with a variety of plant dyes and soon devised an ink that Carol thought superior to any she had seen. Paper presented a bit more difficulty, but after extracting all the knowledge he could from Carol on the subject, Darl set about attempting to manufacture his own.

  He talked Dan into letting him have the use of two workers to assist him. After several tries, he was rewarded with a form of usable parchment. Nevertheless, this was not satisfactory. As the weeks passed, his paper improved, slowly at first, and then, as if by some burst of pure inspiration, he arrived at a technique that produced a light tan material of extremely fine quality.