Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (2 page)

Thain nodded. “You are very wise for a mere five
hundred and seventy years of life. Morg has been blessed
by Lendela.”

“You know the proverb, Thain, ‘A wise warrior is a live
warrior.’ So few of the daril races remain, and even though
the endarils are fewer in number than the mendar or
thrandrils, we are still the heart of a whole people. Lendela
has visited us many times in our history, and he is a
benevolent god in all ways. He would disapprove of
pessimism among us after he was present at Tych’s birth.
Such a gesture showed great honor for the royal family.”

Thain stood and Greentree slowly released his hand.
The old warrior turned away towards the door and paused.
“If Corl did battle Rangdor, let us hope it’s not the end of
us. I’m beginning to like this valley.”

“Don’t worry so much, Thain. You will see Lendril
grow into a fine young woman.” Greentree stood and took
her weapons belt down off the wall. As she buckled it on,
her sword dangling at her left hip, she led Thain out. “And
I’ll see Tych become a great warrior.” They padded down
the short wooden hallway past Cort’s room on the right and
Tych’s on the left. “Now, however, I have sword practice.
To your health, Thain.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The elder walked up the
stairs towards Corl’s little tower and the queen of the darils
headed down to the courtyard.

Greentree dodged right but tripped and fell as the sword
whizzed by. “Whoa, Tych. Don’t want to kill your
mother.”

The young endaril reached down and helped his mother
to her feet. “Sorry, got carried away again.”

“You’re only fifty-five now, Tych, and when you’re
older I won’t be able to dodge that swing. Learn to control
that now, before it’s too late. You’re twice as strong as
your peers, most of them can’t swing a blade as large as
that.”

“I know, mother. It won’t happen again. Cort’s here
for his turn.”

The beautiful woman looked around, bewildered, for
her older son. “Where, Tych?” The young boy pointed
and Cort came through a door onto the courtyard. “How
did you know, son?”

Tych laid his scabbard down on the ground and slid his
sword in, being too short to do it standing. “I felt him
coming.” With this final, stoic statement he walked away.
Greentree just stared at his back, dumbfounded by her
amazing, emotionless son.

Tych entered by the eastern courtyard door, which
brought him into the throne room. His father was having
an audience with the village representatives. All talking
ceased as the prince strolled confidently towards the
hallway behind the throne, but Morg stopped him loudly.
“Why do you interrupt us, Tych? You know it annoys me.”

Without a visible reaction, Tych responded, “It
shouldn’t, father. I live here too, so I know everything that
happens. I’m just on my way to my room. Continue, Sirs,
I have my own business to attend to.”

Tych picked up his pace and left the room before his
father could respond. Just inside the hall, stairs on his right
went up to the hallway where his rooms were. As he
sprinted up them, he began to feel dizzy. At the landing,
halfway up, before the stairs doubled back, he sat down.
He clenched his teeth as power surged through him. He
didn’t understand it and wanted it to leave. Most of the
time he managed to chase these surges away.

This time was different. With his mind he fought and
battled it, his body crackling and sparkling with energy in
the light from the window on the stairs. Images of huge
golden lizards battling smaller but more ferocious red
lizards raced blurred through his head. As he writhed and
struggled with the pain the images were replaced by huge
armies of endarils and mendar marching towards an
enormous army of the evil forangen. A cascading
waterfall, shimmering in the sun, falling into a small pond
before once again becoming a raging river replaced this.
The beauty of the scene caused him to relax his struggling
but then pain struck him like a bolt of electricity. Out of
the trees surrounding the pond broke a herd of animals, fear
locked on their faces, its power killing some of them. They
turned at the water and following them came a horrific man
on a large wolf, rabbit ears jutting from his forehead like
horns, his lower face shaped like an ape’s and a horn
sticking out from a bare grey skull. Twelve other men with
strange features burst out behind the first and froze.

Tych started pleading with his mind to fight, repeating,
“stop this, stop this” over and over again. Then the riders
stopped and seemed to look at him, surprise on their faces.
They began to laugh and the leader growled, “What is your
name of power, my son?”

A scream knocked Greentree unconscious and stunned
Cort. It was an abnormal scream, for it was mental, not
verbal. Tych’s mind had cried out for help, forcing his
father rigid in his chair and his twenty-year-old brother,
Crat, to walk into a tree. The other endarils covered their
ears, useless as it was, and turned towards the castle. Many
animals died in the valley.

In his tower Corl slowly closed the large open tome of
spells and stood. He could feel the wells of magic from
which humanoids drew their power boiling and thrashing.
Every wizard on the continent, close to one hundred
humans and darils, cursed, and then wondered at the
disturbance of their power source. Corl picked up his staff
and teleported to his grandson’s side. He could hear people
starting to take action to find Tych, lifted the young prince
and teleported with him.

The boy had become unconscious so he just lay on the
ledge of the mountain where they appeared. From here
Corl could see the whole valley but he focused on his
grandson. The strong wind up here pulled at the wizard’s
cloak as he chanted. He drew symbols on Tych as he spoke
and sang until the glowing began to fade. Stopping the
spell casting, he bent down to speak in the prince’s ear
before the energy could return to his body.

He whispered, “Feel the muscles in your toes relax.
Now move on to your feet and continue up...” He went
through every muscle in Tych’s body, encouraging him to
relax it, until he reached the head. “With your mind,
visualize a well, not filled with water, but with energy.
Feel yourself pouring your own into it.” The images in
Tych’s head matched the description, a glowing pit with
him standing next to it, the magicians’ metaphor for their
energy source. “Recognize that your bucket is as big as the
well and put it aside for the future. Once you’ve done that,
scoop up some energy in your hands and step back. Drink
it. When I count to three, return your body to a normal,
awake state.”

When Tych sat up, he was in his bed. Corl sat next to
him, staff in hand. “In a few minutes, they’ll come in here
looking for you again. I’ll tell them a story, so go along
with it. You’ve done right in keeping your torment a secret
and I’ll help you keep it that way. I’ve known all along
about your abilities. You must forget they exist, for in time
you will discover them again. Do two things: never
question me and always be guided by good.”

The young prince nodded and took a deep breath.
“Grandfather, will it always be like this?”

“No, Tych, you are just not ready to deal with it
physically and mentally. Relax while I make you forget.
As long as you are in the valley, you will not remember,
and once you leave, it will return slowly.” Tych fell back
into his pillows.

Corl once again began to weave a spell, drawing arcane
symbols over the prince and chanting. Morg sensed the
casting and directed the group of searchers to Tych’s room.
Corl finished his spell and sat next to the bed, asleep, when
the searchers entered the bedroom of Tych’s three-room
suite.

Tych sat up and greeted his father. “Sorry about that,
Corl was practicing shape-changing and scared me half to
death. I fainted and he brought me back around.”

“I felt him casting a spell.”

“So I wouldn’t have nightmares about the shape I saw
him in.”

Morg walked over to Corl’s chair and pushed it over
backwards. The sleeping wizard sat up and looked at his
son. “What was that for?”

“For scaring us after you scared him.” Morg glared at
his father.

“Yes, I suppose I should have stayed here. It’s over
now, though, and he’ll be alright.” He stood and rubbed his
back. The area glowed for a moment then he took his hand
away and picked up the chair. “The prince must rest now,”
he said to the group, “let us depart.”

Tych lay back down, totally oblivious to his white lie.
When the searchers reached the hallway, Corl took Morg’s
sleeve and waved the others towards the stairs. “Tell
Greentree I wish to see her in her chambers.” One of the
courtiers nodded and sped off ahead.

In a few minutes Greentree found them in the living
area of their suite. Before she could speak, Corl raised his
hand and began. “Tych truly believes that I scared him,
thanks to my spell. The truth is something different.” The
wizard told his son and his son’s lover the events of the last
hour.

Greentree was in tears and practically cracking her jaw
from biting down too hard. “Elef fredair thigen, fate rides
wicked. What can we do to help him?”

“There is only one thing that can be done, but I must do
it. You must not question anything I do. Many things will
happen, some evil but most good. My solution must be
recognized as final. Are we agreed?”

Greentree’s face was now set with determination. “If it
will prevent further torture, so be it.”

“It will make him more than you might have imagined.”

Once again the lawn was filled with tables laden with
food and the endarils ate. This party was for the prince
reaching adolescence. The one hundred year old Tych sat
at the top of the lawn in a chair of honor. Around him sat
his family, from Corl down to his seventy-five year old
sister, Cert, and sixty-five year old brother, Crat. The
closeness of age between Tych and Crat and Cert baffled
all of the endarils but they had decided to let time explain
it.

This time, however, existed for Tych and not matters of
fate. The feasting wound to a close and the prince handed
his plate to his servant. He stood on the stool in front of the
chair and the lawn fell to silence, the distant memory of the
powerful scream still giving them pause.

In his royal white cloak, Tych di Corl said, “It is
traditional that every daril choose his or her profession at
age one hundred, from the endarils to the thrandrils.
Tonight it’s my turn.

“Ten thousand years ago, we were alone on this
continent, but for the dragons and the animals. Now we
share it with other intelligent and not-so-intelligent
creatures. Ten thousand years ago, life was simpler. Now
we have a need for a profession none of us wishes we had a
need for—professional fighters. Following the path of my
mother and my older brother, I therefore have chosen
fighter, with the goal of becoming as great a warrior as both
of them.”

“Hail to the prince, a fighter!” cried the other endarils.
Morg stood with a box in his hand and his subjects reached
for gifts.

The king waited for attention. “My loyal friends, as a
token of my love and respect for my son, and to symbolize
my acceptance of his decision, I present him with this gift,
made by the neftir in his honor and by my request.” The
wizard turned to his son and held out the box. Tych lifted
off the lid and took out a long jeweled scabbard holding a
sword with a jeweled hilt. Holding it above his head, the
prince pulled out the sword. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires
and diamonds glinted in the lamplight and the sword shone
as polished steel does.

Morg stepped away and Tych handed his sword to his
mother. A line had formed, spiraling around the lawn. The
prince accepted each token with a respectful bow until the
di Thain family reached him. They had chosen their
daughter, Lendril, to present their gift, and when Tych saw
her, he froze. To him, she was the most beautiful woman
alive; her shimmering golden-blond hair accented her
bright jade eyes and captivated him. He had fallen in love
with her the first time he saw her. She smiled back and
only she saw the image in his eyes: they were dancing in a
rainbow of colors, laughing joyously.

Later, as the morning was just becoming bright, Tych’s
parents saw him to bed. He wanted to stay with Lendril,
dancing and kissing into the next day, but the king insisted.
“I have a surprise that will make you feel better,” he said to
encourage him to come.

Now his father sat down on the bed and took a deep
breath. “Tych, we’re going to be taking a long and perilous
journey to the homes of the mendar and then the thrandrils.
You, Cort and Crat will be traveling with me and Cert will
stay here to study with Corl. She has chosen a path that
requires it.”

“But Crat hates me, father. Isn’t that asking for
trouble?” Tych said this without emotion but his father had
to smile at the maturity of his concern.

“Crat doesn’t hate you, he’s just the jealous type.”
Greentree kneeled next to the bed. “There won’t be any
problems.”

“You said there would be a surprise when we returned.”
Morg laughed. “This is the surprise.”

“Well, who else is going? You can’t convince me that
anything which excludes my Lendril is a surprise.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention the rest of the list.”
Morg smiled a wry grin. “The di Thain family and forty
or so soldiers will be traveling with us.”

For the first time in literally seventy years, when
he broke his leg, Tych showed emotion and cheered loudly.
“When do we leave?”

“In two days. Now get some rest, you may have to do
battle during this long journey.”