Fate: Part Two

Fate: Part Two

 

Chapter Three

 
 
         Two days passed without a sign of Alaric. Honoring his agreement, Attican began to pack for the journey ahead. Isabel had decided, after much persuasion, to leave her baby son behind with Calvus and a female cousin of Attican's.
         The three of them left after breakfast; it took Xander a while to coax Isabel into leaving. She had difficulty leaving the baby now that it came down to it. She kept saying how lonely she was as they dragged her out of the house and onto the road.
         It would only take the remainder of the day to get the capital; Khuur was on the outskirts, so it was only a short walk. After that would be the difficult part. They would have to somehow convince the king to let Alaric go free, which was nearly impossible.
         Isabel walked in silence, ignoring the two men completely for an hour; she didn't even notice that her companions were talking about her.
         “Is she usually this out of it?” It was Attican who spoke, and his voice was worried.
         “No, she's not,” Xander said, just as concerned as Attican. “At least, I've never seen her like this before. You shouldn't have taken her baby away from her; it only made her worse.”
         “We couldn't bring him with us, now could we?”
         Xander ignored the statement. “You're a fool for making this deal. You shouldn't have promised her anything. You know as well as I do that we can't free Alaric. We're as likely to be captured and thrown in the dungeons ourselves. Or killed.”
         “I think that's what she wants,” Attican said softly, sighing and frowning.
         Xander took an involuntary deep breath. “Attican?” he began. “Why are you doing this? We barely even know you, and you're a mercenary. You won't be paid.”
         “I know that,” he paused, probably trying to come up with a good enough answer. “To be quite honest, I don't really know. I feel like . . . like I have to do this for some reason. Like there's something important I have to do. That and I know how Isabel feels, and I want to help her.”
         “Maybe it's fate,” Xander suggested. “Maybe you were meant to help her.”
         “Maybe.”
 

* * *

 
         The palace was heavily guarded that evening, more so than before. Perhaps the king knew that something ominous was going to happen that night. At least ten guards marched up and down each hallways, and five guarded the staff's room alone; it would be impossible to steal the king's prized possession now. Or so he thought.
         A lone figure made his way through one of the many heavily guarded hallways, using the shadows to sneak along without being seen. His new black clothes made it all the easier; no one saw him coming.
         The first guard died without a sound, his throat having been cut by the thieves blade, the second with a knife in his back, and the third by some sort of magical attack. Deciding to test out his new spells, the wizard killed the fourth with a killing spell and the fifth by mentally torturing him.
         The remaining five were more difficult to slay. One of them happened to see the thief, and the other four were alerted. In a matter of seconds, five armed men charged forward to face the wizard.
         But he was ready. Drawing a knife from his belt, the wizard threw it at the first, and the unlucky guard collapsed without a sound; number two met the same fate. Using his magic, the thief killed three and four in an instant.
         Five was challenging; he closed in with his sword, forcing the wizard to cross blades with him; however, the guard was easily bested, and the thief flung him to the floor, pushing him against the floor with his magic.
         Smirking, the wizard pulled his hood back so that the remaining guard could see his face.
         “You're . . . you're the prisoner. The one who had the staff! How did you escape?” The guard clutched at his throat; something invisible was choking him.
         “Where is the staff being kept?” Alaric demanded.
         “I'll never tell you!”
         Alaric raised his arm, and as he did so, the guard was lifted off of the ground. As he began to squeeze his fist, however, his victim squirmed in his grasp, screaming and flailing about in agony.
         “Please! Don't hurt me!” the guard choked. “If . . . I tell you . . . will you . . . spare me? Please!”
         “Fair enough,” Alaric said, releasing the man.
         The guard rubbed his throat before speaking. “Around the . . . corner, down the . . . hall, and on the right . . . near the . . . palace entrance.”
         “Thank you,” Alaric replied, but instead of sparing the guard, he once again raised him off the ground, squeezing out the man's energy until he was nothing more than a rag doll.
         With that finished, Alaric made his way towards his goal.
 

* * *

 
         By nightfall, the three friends arrived in the capital city of Odon. Isabel had finally snapped out of her trance and was now striding in a very determined manner through the city and towards the palace. Xander and Attican followed her, anxious to discover what the king may say to their request.
         The three entered the palace without a problem; strange because no guards confronted them on their way in.
         The palace was also empty – abandoned. Isabel stopped, suddenly fearful. “What's going on here?” she whispered, afraid of speaking too loudly. “This isn't right. What's happened?”
         Attican strode on ahead of her, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gray eyes taking in his surroundings. “I don't know, but something definitely isn't right here.” He had walked the entire perimeter of the palace entrance without finding a thing, but when Attican turned the corner to head down the first hallway, he stopped and groaned. “No, no, no! What happened here!”
         Several dead bodies lay scattered all along the hallway, each slain in a different manner. Xander and Isabel came to investigate as well; Isabel nearly fainted at the gruesome sight.
         “Look,” Attican said, walking down the hallway and pointing at the first guard he saw. “This one was slain by a sword,” he pointed to the next, “and this one by . . . fire? What kind of a murderer uses fire as a weapon?”
         “A mage,” Xander suggested, gulping.
         Attican and Xander led the way, with Isabel remaining behind, silent and terrified. As they made their first left, the sound of steel against steel rang in their ears, and Attican cautioned for everyone to remain silent. “It seems like the noises are coming from behind that door,” he pointed towards an iron door up ahead. “Isabel, stay here for now. Xander and I will let you know when it's safe.” Isabel nodded, and the two men warily approached the door, opening it slowly.
 

* * *

 
         “Tell me where it is!” Alaric screamed, his fist clenched in anger as he held the only remaining guard suspended above the stone floor.
         The guard wasn't in the talking mood, however. “Why should I? What are you gonna do? Kill me like the others? Ha! Do your worst.”
         “Oh, I won't kill you like the others. I'll cut you open and watch you bleed to death, and then I'll bring you back to life and do it all over again until you talk. Now, I ask you again, where is the staff?”]
         “Fine, fine. It's . . . there's a secret room behind that wall over there. Push on it and it'll open. It's disguised by magic, I guess.” The guard seemed sincere. “Now will you please just run me through with your sword or somethin'?”
         Alaric grinned. “I'll oblige you.” He drew his sword and did just that, ending the man's life in an instant.
         Rushing over to the secret wall, Alaric gave it a slight push and it creaked open easily enough. There, behind the door, was the staff, glowing beneath its splendid display case; waiting for him, calling to him. But no, it wasn't the staff that called to him – it was the voice he recognized. It was a voice he had heard so many times in his childhood, a voice that had lulled him to sleep at night, whispered to him words of encouragement, and told him stories when he couldn't sleep.
         “Alaric!” The spirit of the woman appeared before him, still beautiful and gentle. “What are you doing? Destroy it now! Alaric!”
         Alaric pushed that familiar face away. “I don't need you anymore! Leave me alone!”
         “Alaric!”
         She was gone, and Alaric took another step towards the staff, reaching out his hand to grab hold of it.
         “Alaric!” It was a different voice this time; a man's voice. Alaric spun around angrily, ready to slay the nuisance, and saw Xander and another warrior-like man standing with him.
         Anyone who stands in your way is an enemy – no matter who they may be. The old wizard's words rang in his ears as he took a step forward, drawing his blood-stained sword.
         “What are you doing?” Xander demanded, bewildered.
         “Anyone who stands in my way is an enemy,” Alaric repeated, rushing forward. He swung his blade so quickly, Xander didn't even have time to react, and he fell to the ground, blood spilling from the slash in his stomach.
         Attican drew his sword as well, willing to defend his wounded companion from this newfound enemy. The warrior took a swipe at Alaric's head, missing by a hair as the wizard ducked beneath it.
         Alaric was too fast, and he brought his sword up to disarm the mercenary. Attican's sword fell with a clatter at the wizard's feet.
         Raising his hand, Alaric gripped the warrior with his magic, holding him in mid-air.
         “Alaric, no!” It was a female's voice, and it was tinged with intense fear and terror. “Stop!”
         Alaric flung the warrior to the ground, leaving him laying in an unconscious heap, as he turned to face the new-comer.
         “Isabel?”
         She was beautiful, just as he'd remembered her to be. But why was she here? She was no enemy. At least . . . He hadn't thought her to be. “Get out of here, before I'm forced to kill you!”
         “Alaric, what are you talking about? Why did you do this? Stop it! Snap out of it! Please . . .”
         “You don't understand! You've never understood me! I had to kill them.”
         Isabel's expression became horrified, her eyes wide. She had never looked at him like that before. “No, Alaric, I don't think I do understand,” She took a step towards him, reaching out a hand to touch his face, “but I want to help you.”
         “You think you can help me? Ha!” Alaric snarled, slapping her hand away. “You're only here to steal the staff from me!” Yes, he was sure of it. “Why else would you be here?” His eyes glinted with anger, and he strode towards her, pressing her against the wall she had been standing next to. “You've never wanted to help me! You've always been plotting against me!” he yelled, his hand grasping her throat.
         Isabel shouted at him, kicking to try and free herself, but only receiving a sharp blow to the head when he flung her back against the wall. She stopped struggling. “I've never plotted against you; I've never even thought of it.”
         “I did this for you! And you didn't deserve it!”
         “We came to rescue you, Alaric! From the dungeons. We didn't come to steal anything from you. I love you!” Isabel's eyes pleaded with him, begging him to believe her.
         Alaric released her throat, stumbling backwards and nearly falling. “You came to . . . rescue me?” He ran his hand through his hair, bewildered, horrified at what he'd done. “We have to destroy the staff . . .” he mumbled. “Isabel, I-”
         His face twisted in agony, his words cut off, and he felt the cold steel of a sword twisting inside of him. In front of him, Isabel screamed, and behind him, a voice whispered, “I knew I shouldn't have trusted you to steal the staff for me.”
         “Y-you!” Alaric snarled. In some miraculous movement, Alaric managed to draw his sword and swing it at the old man's head. The pain ended as the old wizard's body fell backwards, and the sword that he previously been lodged in Alaric was pulled free.
         Alaric would have collapsed had it not been for Isabel, who caught him as he fell. She dragged him away from the dead wizard; far away, and lay him down in a corner of the room.
         He couldn't see her, though; he was looking into the face of the woman spirit. She had come to him again, even after what he had done.
         “I'm sorry . . .” he whispered to that familiar face. “I failed you.”
         “No,” she replied in that gentle, mesmerizing voice. “You haven't, my son. You haven't failed me.”
         Alaric managed a smile, even in his agonized state. “I knew it. I knew it was you all along.” He paused. “But, yes, I've failed. I was weak.”
         “Alaric . . . You did all you could. It was as it was meant to be.” And then she was gone, her face replaced by the beautiful, tear-stained face of Isabel.
         Alaric reached up a hand to stroke her perfect cheek, a peaceful smile replacing the previous, agonized frown. “Isabel . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . I wasn't . . . myself.”
         “Alaric! Look at me, Alaric! Please,” Isabel pleaded, sobs wracking her body, “don't leave me. I need you. Our son needs you! You can't leave us.”
         “Isabel . . . don't cry. I'm not . . . leaving you. I . . . I love you. I'll always . . . love you.” He didn't want to fight anymore. The darkness was far too comforting, and it soon overwhelmed him.
         Isabel collapsed on top of him, unable to hold her own weight. She kissed Alaric and ran her fingers through his brown curls, until, after what seemed like hours, she was torn away from him by Attican, who had regained consciousness.
         He embraced her, comforting her. “Isabel, we need to leave.”
         She nodded in agreement. “I-I just don't want t-to leave him.”
         “It's alright . . . shh . . . Xander is alright. We're all OK, and that's what matters.” He paused. “I was wrong, Isabel.”
         “Wrong?” she questioned, looking up at him.
         “I was wrong about love. It isn't bad like I thought. You taught me that. You love even when things get bad.”
         “Yes,” she said softly. “I guess you're right . . .” Then she remembered. “Attican, destroy that staff! That's what . . . Alaric . . . wanted.”
         Attican nodded and stood, making his way to stand in front of the object that had caused so much pain. As he stood over it, it spoke to him, whispering promises of power and domination. That didn't stop him from lifting it out of its case and shattering it on the stone floor below.
 
 
 

Epilogue

 
 
         “Where are you going?”
         “I don't know yet, but I know that I have to leave now.”
         “How do you know?”
         “Fate,” Attican explained to his youngest son. “When something in your heart tells you to do something, you do it.”
         “Why?”
         “You ask too many questions, Lyn,” Attican laughed. “Now, where is your brother?”
         “I'm here.”
         Attican turned to find his older son behind him. “I'm leaving, Calvus.”
         “I heard everything,” Calvus said. He ran to embrace his father, knowing he would most likely never see him again.
         Attican returned his son's hug, and then he stood. Standing by the door he saw his beautiful wife, Analeigh. “Analeigh . . .”
         She approached him without speaking and kissed him. “Fate. Why is it your so superstitious, Attican?”
         “I'd rather not talk about it.” He smiled at past memories. “Goodbye, Analeigh.”
         “I love you,” she said as he walked away.
 

* * *

 
         “ . . . And that's why I plant flowers in the garden. Is there anything else you'd like to know?” Isabel asked, looking down at her curious son. It pained her to look at him sometimes. He looked so much like his father, but he had his mother's eyes.
         “Yes,” he said. “What happened to my father?”
         Isabel sighed. “I've told you before, sweety.” She ruffled his hair playfully and turned away.
         “No,” he said, grabbing her dress. “Tell me what really happened.”
         “Arcis, please,” Isabel replied. “I don't want to talk about it. But if you must know, he loved you very much, and he never meant to leave us.”
         Arcis wasn't convinced. “Was he like me at all?”
         “Yes,” Isabel admitted, “Very much like you.”