Eranithia: The Cave of Truth: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Broc entered the throne room; it felt like the first time in years he had been in there. With his mind newly opened from being poisoned by Arnath for so long, the room seemed darker than he remembered. This room had once been bright and cheerful, but now evil filled the room like a dark fog. Broc wondered if Sol's Spirit was anywhere in the castle anymore.

My spirit is with you always, Broc thought he heard a voice say. He spun around, looking for the voice, but there was no one else in the room but the guards at each doorway. Had he really heard the voice? Or was it merely his imagination?

Broc's attention was brought to the enormous fireplace facing the throne. Walking towards it, he stared at the flames for a moment, thinking about what had happened when his mind had been jolted back to reality by the young giant. Timberfoot's club had struck his head and his eyes were opened. No longer had he been under Arnath's control, no longer were his eyes shut to the truth. When he'd seen the young giant fighting off the Forsaken, he aided him, slaying the evil creatures that had once been under his command.

At first, it was instinct to kill the Forsaken. He had been trained to kill any evil creature that would harm an Eranithian. This, of course, was when Eranithia had a king who actually cared about the people. Arnath could care less about the people of Eranithia. He had a lust for power that was insatiable. Nothing quenched his thirst for more. More money, more power, more land. Broc knew if Arnath was ever able to conquer the neighboring countries surrounding Eranithia, he still wouldn't be satisfied and would search the globe for more land to occupy.

Broc's eyes drifted to the large mantle over the fire. This wasn't the same mantle that once decorated the wall over the fireplace. The forms of Sol had adorned the old one in a hand carved pattern around its edge. This new mantle was painted black with ugly creatures of Underworld carved into the wood. At the center was the ugly face of Turmna, looking like a cross between a wolf and a boar. Broc could tell the carvings were done by some sort of magic. It was too perfect.

Broc turned away as a chill crept down his spine at the sight of Turmna's likeness. He stopped ten feet in front of the throne, crossed his arms behind his back and waited anxiously. Nothing would make him happier than to leave and work side by side with Seth and Arland or even Garandol and the twins. Dwelling in the enemy's camp twisted his stomach into knots. How would he be able to fool Arnath, one who could read the thoughts of a man better than Jennifer could? He wished Damien and Seraphim were still alive. However, if that were the case, none of this would be happening. Life in Eranithia would still be peaceful and carefree. Maybe that was their downfall.

Arnath had struck at the best possible time. Damien and Seraphim had built such a safe kingdom, no one in the land had any fears of outside attacks. Arnath was a part of that safety, having been such a great general for their army. In a single battle, more than thirty years ago, Arnath had led a defense on the shores of Eranithia and Kushen to keep their country safe. He fought alongside the Centaurs and the Elves. No one suspected he would one day turn against his twin brother, killing him in cold blood. Then to take it further and set up his nephew to take the fall. Broc was still amazed the people had fallen for such a lie.

Broc imagined Damien sitting upon the throne again. He had to hold back emotion as he did. Any sign of weakness and his cover would be blown. As he stared at the throne, he realized it wasn't the throne Damien had once sat on. Damien had sat upon a white throne with gold trim. He hadn't used a lot of gold to line the throne with. It was just enough to give it a nice shine in the sunlight. The backing had a silver eagle carved into it, just above the head. Lions heads, gaping open in a mighty roar, made up the ends of the arm rests.

Arnath's thrown was much different. Instead of white, it was painted glossy black. The ends of the arm rests were wolf heads; instead of a soaring eagle, a terrible demonic creature had its wings spread. Broc thought it looked like an Imp, but much, much larger. He wondered if it was a vampire.

Broc was beginning to doubt if Seth's scheme would work. Granted, his plan in the forest at the foothills of the Blood Mountains had gone off without a hitch. As soon as he had been recovered by Arnath's men, the rest retreated. However, because of the loyalty he unwillingly had to Arnath, he had to make everybody believe he was still loyal. Lying would be easy enough; they weren't the brightest of men. To follow Arnath so blindly and not see the evil in him was certainly a sign of idiocy, or a reflection of their own malign hearts. The only reason Broc had followed Arnath before, was because Arnath had put Broc under his own mind control.

He had wanted to kill Arnath himself after the killing Damien and Seraphim. His anger built upon each approaching footstep he heard, knowing it was Arnath on his way to the throne room. Broc could imagine himself taking Arnath by the throat and squeezing the life out of him. He silently hoped that Sol would grant him permission to take Arnath's life.

As he entered the room from a door to the left of the throne, Arnath's long, blood-red robe flowed behind him. He wasn't wearing the crown today. He must have been in the middle of something that would have gotten it dirty. Possibly beating Serina in the dungeons; whipping a slave for getting in his way; messily executing a soldier for failing him in some way.

Arnath went to the throne, took up the crown that once rested on his brother's head, then turn to receive Broc. Broc's skin crawled as Arnath embraced him like a brother welcoming him back from imprisonment. Broc thanked him as he thought he would have before. Then Arnath's dark brown eyes stared back into his green ones. Broc saw Arnath's pupils dilate then shrink back down to normal size again. It was exactly as Garandol had described. So Broc let a glazed look come over his eyes. He'd practiced it a few times with Garandol. It seemed to please Arnath as a grin stretched across his face.

"Welcome back, brother,” Arnath said warmly.

"Thank you, sir," Broc answered with the traditional bow of respect. It'd become second nature to him since it was something he had performed many times, even before Arnath assumed control of Eranithia.

Arnath smiled wider then turned and paced back and forth for a moment before speaking. He was ready to get down to business already. Broc hadn't been back for a day and Arnath was back to plotting Seth's demise.

"Seth must be destroyed, there is no question about that. He will be the downfall of my kingdom if he is not. Those twins are trouble too. Sorrel, whom I put in charge to bring you back, told me how the boy fought nearly as well as Seth. No doubt Seth trained him personally.”

Arnath rubbed his chin as he continued to pace back and forth. “And the girl, she has powers like Serina. It's a strange coincidence that they would have the same powers as Seth and Serina isn't it? There's something unsettling about this. I must consult with Engard. He will know the secret behind this mystery."

Arnath stopped his pacing and looked back at Broc. A look of sympathy came over him as he said, "You must be exhausted. Go, my friend, and rest. I will give you the week off to recover. We have much work ahead of us."

Broc bowed and started to walk out of the room like he normally would, but Arnath stopped him.

"Broc, this way. I have prepared a room for you in the castle. I would like for you to stay here as my personal guest."

Broc knew Arnath was lying; he knew exactly why Arnath wanted him there. He wanted Broc close to keep an eye on him; to see if he was still loyal. However, he knew it would be best not to argue so he bowed his thanks and Arnath sent him with a servant boy in a light blue tunic.

The boy led him up a rounded staircase into a wide hallway with portraits of past royal families. They stopped at a set of large double doors painted in red, lined with gold trim and hinged in gold plated steel. The boy opened the door and Broc entered what he knew to be Seth's old room. As the boy began to light the candles around the room he saw a large four post bed with a canopy of red silk. Purple silk was draped along the border in decorative swoops. On either side of the bed were large windows with thin white drapes, practically see-through, rustling softly in the drafty room. The sky was dark as it was nearing midnight in Eranithia.

The door shut behind him; the boy was gone. With a sigh, Broc crossed the room to the northeast corner and felt for a loose stone in the wall. One gave to his touch and a five foot high, three foot wide, section of the wall sunk about four inches into the wall and slid aside for him.

Something caught his eye before he entered the passage. He looked around but whatever he thought he'd seen was no longer there. He stared at the room for a couple more minutes, waiting to see if the apparition would reappear.

Nothing.

Still suspicious, he entered the passage backwards, keeping an eye on the room.

There were many passage ways throughout the castle, and he knew them as well as the royal family had. As head of security, he had an obligation to know the ins and outs of the castle. He'd dedicated much of his time learning every possible passage.

He followed the passage left to the end, went through the door into a wider passage. The wider passage ran along the northern wall of the castle with three doors that led to different rooms. Closer to the corners of the castle were the doors to Seth and Serina's rooms. The doorway in the center of the passage led into a long hallway that ran into the Master's sleeping chamber. It was there that Arnath murdered his twin brother and sister-in-law. It was also where Arnath slept.

At either end of the wider passage was a wrought iron spiral staircase that he knew would lead him down to the dungeons. He looked around before descending the spiral staircase to make sure no one was following him. Satisfied that he was alone, he took the stairs to the bottom where the castle was the coolest and darkest. At the end of the passage, which matched the one directly above it in width, was a heavy wooden door. He looked through the barred open window of the door and saw that the dungeon hall was empty, save for two guards on either side of a door.

He opened the heavy wooden door, attracting the guards' attention. When they saw who he was, they saluted him. Dismissing their salute with a wave, he ordered them to open the door. They complied without argument and let him into the cell.

In the center of the large cell was a beautiful young girl lying on a wooden table. She wasn't strapped down like most prisoners would be. This prisoner wouldn't be escaping tonight. She laid on the table in an enchanted sleep.

Good evening, General, a girl's voice spoke to his mind.

He didn't respond.

It's okay, General Broc, I know who's side you're on. I saw through Mark's eyes everything that happened.

Why through Mark's eyes? he asked her.

Mark is the only one receptive of me right now.

Perhaps because he is taken with you.

Broc could feel her smiling even though her face never changed. Watching her, there was only the slightest hint of a rise and fall in her body as she breathed. Sorrow began to come over him. He couldn't believe someone would have this done to their own niece.

You would know that could never be if you knew the truth, she said interrupting his emotional thoughts.

Does Mark know the truth?

Yes.

There was a long pause before she spoke to him again.

Why did you come and visit me, Broc? she asked.

She'd purposely left off Broc's title. He was a friend now, not her enemy.

I came to assure you that Seth is coming for you, and I am helping in any way I can.

I know all that, Broc. And I thank you for coming to me. But you must go. Arnath is on his way down here.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall.

Hit me, she said.

What? No!

Do it or he will kill you. I need you to stay alive to help my brother.

He just looked at her in shock. How could he hit this young girl who was already full of bruises? She'd been like his own niece, even if Arnath hadn't treated her as such. He had loved this family for years.

DO IT NOW! she screamed at him.

He stepped up to her and slapped her across the face as the cell door opened. Broc looked back and saw Arnath standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face.

"Broc, what are you doing here?"

"She called to me and I came. She was trying to control my mind to kill you. So I came to shut her up," Broc lied. He felt sick for doing so, but he knew he needed to continue his facade of loyalty to Arnath or it would be the end of his life.

Arnath glared at Serina with murder in his eyes. Broc feared he said too much and had driven Arnath to murder. Then Arnath smiled at him, pleased with his loyalty and said, "Get some rest friend. Do not worry about this girl any longer. I will deal with her myself."

Broc gave his personal salute, walked out of the cell and went back to Seth's room. Once he was there he went to one of the large windows and opened it. A small rush of cold wind bit at him. Winter was nearing. The night was clear and the bright stars lit up the sky. He closed the window, went to Seth's old desk and wrote a letter. Then he returned to the window, reopened it and whistled. Arrow swooped down immediately, as if he had been waiting for Broc's call.

"Take this to Seth," Broc said quietly. Anybody could be listening to him, so he had to be cautious.

Arrow flew away much quicker than most birds. It was no wonder the hawk could never be shot down by an arrow. No man was good enough of a hunter to shoot down such a bird as Arrow.

Broc then felt an urge he had never felt before. He sunk down to his knees and prayed to Sol.

"Sol, I haven't prayed to you in so very long, but I know you to be more real than even I am. Please give me the strength to do what's right. Give me the strength I need to do your work. I don't know how long I can do this."

A soft voice like a whisper said, "You won't have to hide for long. You are my son and I love you."