The Silvering of Loran (19 page)

“We do not wish to delay you from your responsibility to protect Gervest,” said Topen. “In fact, we insist that you perform that duty well.”

The two captured guards looked at each other, their faces filled with confusion, as a fog of colorful shards of light illuminated the gap between them.

* * *

“I
’ve always been a bit envious of this northern view from your balcony,” said Loran. She lingered and admired the outlying mountain range and the lake poised serenely a comfortable walking distance from the rear entrance of the castle. “It makes it easy to escape into the tranquility of the land . . . at least, in our thoughts.”

Rolam joined his sister at his balcony. He took a few moments to enjoy in the view that he had long taken for granted, but through the freshness of Loran’s eyes.

“The others are expecting us,” said Rolam.

“I know,” Loran replied, while her eyes continued to scan the horizon.

“I do not blame you for your hesitation,” said Rolam. “You must feel a great weight on your shoulders.”

Loran turned away from the pleasing view to face her brother.

“My experience with the silvering has taught me much,” she said. “The silvering pond is alive, and for all of its power that flows through us, there is also a sense of trust that comes with it—trust that is betrayed every time evil touches it.”

Loran returned to the center of her brother’s chamber. He soon caught up with her.

“What are you saying?” asked Rolam.

“I don’t know really. This is so very new to me. I just feel this overwhelming . . .
desire
to protect the silvering pond.”

“From who?”

“The touch of evil,” she replied. “But to be clear, I don’t know if these are feelings of mine, or those I received from Topen.”

“Now, is not the time to sort this out,” insisted Rolam. “We must not linger any longer.”

Loran snapped into focus from the pensive state that had seized her mind.

“Yes, you are right. We must hurry.”

* * *

S
everal dozen of the invited guests to Gervest’s ascension lingered in the hall, near the closed entrance doors of the receiving room. Inside the massive chamber, Gervest preened while seated on the sovereign’s chair. He pulled and tucked at every corner of his attire. His garish display of wealth must be perfect before he would allow his subjects near him to offer their congratulatory wishes and gifts.

The changing of Gervest’s guards took place as Penlaris positioned himself nearby, in the shadows. The two guards being relieved noticed an unusual silence from their replacements, but not their glazed eyes or blank stares when they crossed behind Gervest. Once the old guards vacated the room, all was in order, and the fresh set of Gervest’s protectors positioned themselves dutifully by his side.

Two lowly castle retainers manned the entrance doors. They waited attentively for instructions to admit the servile crowd. After what appeared to be an eternity of grooming by Gervest, they spotted the wave of his hand—that commanded the opening of the doors. They sprung to their duty and pulled the wooden doors inward.

When the doors cleared the view into the hall, only Kelamar and Topen stood across the entrance. Positioned behind them were five of Kelamar’s castle guards, who prevented the invited guests from approaching the chamber.

Topen left the others at the entrance and walked alone into the receiving room.

“Seal the chamber,” Kelamar barked to the doorkeepers.

Without hesitation, the two who minded the doors began to push them closed. As soon as they were confident of their momentum, they slipped through to where Kelamar stood outside the receiving room and finished pulling the doors shut.

Gervest’s anger ignited as Topen began his trek towards him.

“Who do you think you are?” yelled Gervest—his voice reverberating throughout the chamber.

“Forgive my intrusion,” said Topen, as he continued to march toward Gervest. “I only wish a moment of your time.”

Gervest rose swiftly from his chair and Penlaris worked his way closer to him.

“Ah, Penlaris,” said Topen. “I was hoping to speak with you as well. Since it seems you are never far from Gervest’s side, this seemed like an opportune time to catch you both for a little talk.”

“A little talk?” Growled Gervest. With pleading eyes, he spun to Penlaris. “Destroy this fool!” he ordered. “Or I will.”

Topen arrived at the bottom of the stone stairs that led up to Gervest. Penlaris made no aggressive motions, and merely studied Topen for his intent, which irritated Gervest even more—driving him to action. He dug a blackened stone from his pocket and raised it menacingly at Topen.

Topen made no movement of his own to counteract Gervest’s rage induced threat. There was no need, because Gervest’s two protectors, one on each side of him, grabbed an arm and forcibly locked them to his sides. The blackened stone that Gervest had so confidently wielded, flew from his hand and
clinked
when it hit the marbled floor. It slid forward and down the stairs, finally resting near Topen.

Penlaris acted quickly to protect Gervest and raised his hand to the guards.

“Release him, now!” he ordered.

The guards did not flinch, their blank stares oblivious to the means of their destruction that stood so perilously close. Instead, Penlaris’s face disclosed
his
surprise when he saw Rolam enter the room from the private entrance shared with the guards.

As Rolam approached Gervest, he held a stone in his hand. The silvering solution wobbling on its top revealed its power was active. Topen raised his hand and projected a wall of luminous, swirling streams of white light between Gervest and Penlaris—a protective barrier strong enough to hold for the time needed. But it turned out to be unnecessary, because Penlaris was caught off guard and he hesitated long enough for Rolam to place his hand on the shoulder of the nearest guard securing Gervest—and close his eyes. All four men left only traces of dissipating smoke when two rapid snapping sounds signaled their magical departure from the room.

Penlaris lowered his hand and faced Topen—with a surprising calm.

“How long have you known?” Penlaris asked. With the swipe of his hand, he began to transform from the older, unassuming white-haired Penlaris, to the younger, aggressive Nepsaril with the long, coal black hair that marked his natural appearance.

“Who you really are, or that you survived our last encounter?” questioned Topen. “Actually, the answer is the same, only very recently.”

“I suppose it’s not very flattering that you believed I was so easily vanquished.”

“The blackened stone you left behind was a masterful stroke. I never thought you would part with it, unless you
were
dead,” said Topen. “Who was your unfortunate stand-in?”

Nepsaril proceeded down the stairs to meet Topen at eye level, but at a respectable distance away.

“Just a common castle defender. When I destroyed the wall that brought my forces into the castle, he fell toward the ground. I snatched him in mid-air; it was an impressive catch,” he bragged.

Penlaris detected Topen’s furrowed forehead, which revealed an ache from the words he had just spoken.

“Perhaps, he wasn’t so common after all,” Penlaris noted.

“Everyone who fell had a family, a wife, someone who cared for them. If this is what it means to be
common
, we all should be so blessed.”

“You abandoned your family, nephew,” said Nepsaril. “Didn’t
you
feel blessed?”

Topen’s eyes lit up with a revelation.

“Is that why you have corrupted Gervest . . . to finally enact your revenge on Achilliam by turning an Avileen into a worshiper of the blackened stones?”

Nepsaril fashioned a satisfied grin.

“Gervest will replace you in the line of the
Listurn
, and your name will be washed from all of our history.”

“Why didn’t you just face me yourself during the castle war?”

“Because I would have been forced to destroy you,” said Nepsaril. “It was not you that I sought revenge upon—despite your misguided efforts to protect the Avileen line.”

Nepsaril stiffened up and maneuvered closer to Topen—who detected that an attack was imminent.

“But now that I have raised your replacement, I cannot allow you to interfere. I want you to know, it brings me no joy to remove you from history.”

Nepsaril swiftly brought his hand forward and released a twisted stream of red and yellow light from his palm. Topen raised the same shield of light he had projected earlier, but it began to erode quickly under the onslaught of Nepsaril’s attack. Topen brought forth his other hand and a massive fireball projected from his palm and through the protective shield. Before the ball of flame could strike him, Nepsaril halted his attack and conjured a
druinus
, a four-legged creature of fire. It swallowed the fireball in one gulp and unleashed a horrific growl as it charged at Topen. When it reared to engulf Topen in its flames, the center of the creature swirled from the massive cyclone Topen had created within it. The powerful winds roared and ripped the creature apart; the flames that were its body blew outward into the chamber.

Nepsaril pulled a blackened stone from his cloak and Topen responded with a stone from his. As swirls of black and gray smoke raced towards him, Topen used the power of his stone to encase himself in a protective, translucent covering. Topen watched the smoke from within his shield. It formed pointed spikes and gorged on bits of the shield it managed to chip away, trying to eat through its protective layers. But the two stones balanced each other, at least for as long as Topen’s silvering could hold out.

Nepsaril approached Topen, firmly grasping the blackened stone he was using to attack him.

“You have already lost, Topen. Soon your silvering will be consumed and there will be nothing left to keep the blackened stone from eating you alive.”

Nepsaril circled around Topen and watched the swirling spikes of smoke hammer at his protective covering.

“I must say, I am surprised you chose that defense against
this
stone. You must have known it would end in your death. And the worst of it, for you, is that I left the only stone more potent than the one now consuming your power. The one blackened stone that could defeat me was in your possession—after you killed my substitute during the castle war.”

Topen ignored Nepsaril’s prodding and countered with a question.

“Beyond you are there other Listurns who hold such hate for the Avileens, those who would come to this land to destroy them?” Topen asked.

“If there are, it is no longer your concern . . . but I will grant you an answer—now that I no longer need to keep you blind to my plans. When you turned your back on your family, and sought the protection of Achilliam, most in our line did not want to go to war. They did not even seek revenge when the blackened stones consumed your parents.”

“Why is it your hate is so strong?”

“Because
my
brother died with a final wish on his lips, that I do what he could not—destroy Achilliam. However, you chose your protector well, Topen. Until Gervest, I just blindly lashed out, trying to exact revenge the best way I could. Only after I realized defeat in the castle war, did I devise the perfect revenge.”

Topen peered at Nepsaril through the gaps of swirling smoke that kept him imprisoned.

“That is all I wanted to know,” said Topen, “that there are no others who will come to this land after your destruction.”

“
My
destruction? Desperate words from a man in a weak position,” said Nepsaril, confident in Topen’s fate.

“I kept the blackened stone you abandoned,” Topen revealed. “I regret that its power must now be used to destroy you.”

Nepsaril laughed at Topen’s audacity.

“I admire your nerve, but even if you had the stone, and could employ its power within the prison you find yourself, you would not use it. I know you would rather die than allow the force of a blackened stone to course through you again.”

“You are right. I will never again use a blackened stone.”

Loran suddenly appeared in the chamber, a short distance from Nepsaril. She clutched her magical stone that had rendered her invisible in one hand, and the blackened stone Topen had given her in the other.

“But I will,” snapped Loran.

Nepsaril recognized the stone Loran held. Fear consumed him and his eyes widened in the realization of his certain death. Nepsaril halted his aggression against Topen and swirled to shift his attack to Loran, but it was too late.

Loran had already raised the stone she held and focused its power toward Nepsaril. A thick twirling mass of blood-red light flew from the stone and slammed into Nepsaril’s chest. The force was so strong, it carried him across the width of the chamber and into the far wall. On impact, his body turned into a vaporous black smoke, with nothing left but a dark tracing on the wall that identified a human form. Not even the blackened stone that Nepsaril carried to his death survived.

Topen had just removed the barrier that was protecting him when Loran rushed in. She held him tightly in her arms. Despite her bravery, Loran trembled, ever so slightly, in Topen’s embrace.

“I was so scared, but exhilarated as well. I couldn’t imagine such powerful magic was possible,” she said.

Topen sought out Loran’s emerald green eyes.

“I know of none braver than you, Loran. Your strategy favored us with success.”

Loran remembered her mother once voiced that Topen was not prone to insincere flattery, but still, she felt Topen’s praise was too generous.

“My strategy may have helped to capture Gervest’s followers, but it was yours that defeated Penla . . . Nepsaril.”

Loran took a long look around the room, before her eyes rested once again on Topen.

“Is it really over?”

Topen did not reply immediately, but stared at the wall that traced the end of Nepsaril.

“I believe Nepsaril spoke the truth; there will be no more threats from my land.”