Swords were flying everywhere and it wasn’t easy for Garinor to break through the combatants. He nearly lost an eye to a haphazard sword swing when he ducked low and then came up fast near the others. He kicked the prince’s guard behind the knee, giving the Daggerfist the advantage, then scurried on north and out of the fray.
He knew the prince was taking Tomli northeast and when he set upon that direction he noticed a clear trail of footprints in the dust. It looked new and it must have been made by the prince and his men, so Garinor followed it.
His fear for Tomli pushed him hard, and yet it took roughly two hours to reach the place he was trying to find. At last the cave came into view, but so too did five of the prince’s guard. They sat around on rocks, talking in hushed voices, trying to pass the time while they awaited the prince’s return.
Garinor glanced around and saw a series of large boulders along the northern ridge. He kept low and passed from one stone to another, then skirted along that ridge, hiding deftly behind the rocks. What he needed, however, was a diversion so he could get into the cave without being caught.
He hefted several small stones and then lobbed them over the five guards. The pelting sound on the ground startled the men and they reacted instantly by investigating the area. Only one remained behind.
Garinor skulked up to the man and crouched behind him. The cave entrance was only steps away. Garinor did the only thing that came to mind. He drew in a deep breath of air and he screamed.
The guard sprang to his feet and fell to the dirt. Garinor sprinted into the dark cave, unable to grab one of the unlit torches that waited in a basket near the entrance. He doubted he would have had any time to light it, anyway. He dashed headlong into the rocky hallway and continued running until the sunlight no longer reached inside. He pressed his hand to the clammy wall and felt his way further along, all the while listening for the guards coming after him. But they didn’t enter the cave.
The cave was so dark and quiet that Garinor felt as if he had been buried under the mountain and forgotten. The air grew colder the further he went. The ground sloped gradually upward and stalactites hung down, occasionally cracking him on the head in the utter darkness.
After some time, there was a dramatic change. The blackness of the air turned into a misty gray, which blinded him in contrast. Tears rolled from his eyes as he strained to focus on the room he had entered.
The chamber was large and circular with a domed ceiling. The air was frigid here and it made him tremble. As his eyes adjusted further, he could make out shapes sprawled on the ground. Those shapes resolved into countless human skeletons, all of which were sprawled out with one arm reaching toward the center of the room where a stone pedestal was the only structure.
“Halt!” called a bitter voice off to his left. And though he could tell the man had shouted, it carried to him as more of a whisper in the strange atmosphere of the chamber.
Garinor didn’t turn toward the voice, for he was scanning the pedestal. There, rising from its center, tall and proud, he saw the scepter. It drew his attention sharply and not so much because it marked the culmination of his quest, but because his best friend stood beside it, one arm reaching out to grasp it.
“No!” Garinor shouted, running forward. The prince, waiting off to the side, let loose the dagger he had been holding and it sunk into Garinor’s shoulder. He cried out and fell, but his eyes remained focused on Tomli.
Garinor hadn’t gotten there in time. Tomli touched the scepter.
A strange pale light oozed out of the scepter, mixing with the grayness around them. He heard Tomli call out in blinding agony and Garinor watched in horror as Tomli’s features melted away, after which his skeleton clattered to the ground amidst all the others.
“Tomli! No!” Garinor struggled to push himself to his feet and drag himself forward to the scepter. In the distance he heard the prince’s sinister laugh.
“Go ahead. Join him! Touch the scepter and share his fate, foolish boy.”
Garinor squinted at him. The prince was now holding a lit torch, but its light was subdued by the strange misty glow in the room. It didn’t make the prince any easier to see.
Garinor grabbed the dagger and wrenched it out of his shoulder with a rigid cry. He held it in his hand tightly and in the swirling gray light he couldn’t help being reminded of the Daggerfists. There he was, clutching the dagger just as tightly as the talismans the members all wore about their necks. And there, they had acted to protect him. Tomli had acted to protect him. Garinor had to do something.
He considered throwing the dagger at the prince, who now stepped closer, leering down at him. But his shoulder was in too much pain for him to concentrate on aiming a throw.
Moments later, the prince reached down and pried the dagger out of his hand, then turned it on him. “Get up, boy. It is your turn now.”
Hurting too much to protest, Garinor pushed himself to his feet and worked his way to the scepter. At least he would die next to Tomli. That much was a mild comfort for him. With his uninjured arm, he reached out and his fingers touched the iron scepter.
Garinor looked back to the prince, determined to bore into his mind as he died. But there was no wrenching pain or agony. He stood there for a moment and nothing happened. Not even the prince moved.
The same light that had drifted out of the scepter when Tomli touched it now lit again. But instead of falling listlessly about, this light shot upward toward the ceiling and then expanded until the entire chamber was aglow in the pale luminance.
“Chosen One,” said a voice unlike anything Garinor had ever heard before. It sounded more like a chorus of men and women shouting in unison than any single entity. It chilled him to hear it. “You have come to the altar but the hour is late,” the Voice said.
“I know. Tomli, he—” but he couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet.
“This is the moment of destiny, Chosen One. You were Chosen by the heir to empower this scepter and to therefore possess the power to restore the light of truth.”
“Chosen by the heir?” Garinor asked. “But the prince can’t be the heir, can he?”
The scepter emitted a mild tremor and Garinor looked at it fully for the first time. The iron handle was composed of three rods braided together and carved with countless runes. The top was crested with a clear crystal dome, but within the dome, just underneath the lip of iron that held it in place, was a smattering of tiny gems. The crystal refracted them and made them seem much more impressive. Garinor recognized some of them as rubies, topazes, emeralds, sapphires, and moonstones, but there were others he didn’t know. As he stared, the rubies lit with a strange brilliance that rose up and snaked away from Garinor, seeking out the prince, who had still not moved from his position. It was only then Garinor realized time had frozen.
The emeralds glowed next and their light wafted around him and cushioned him with an eerie warmth. He could feel it as if it was a soft cloth but he knew that it was only verdant light. Even as he considered this, the sapphires took on a ghostly hue and the light floated down right beside where Garinor was standing. The blue tendrils enwrapped Tomli’s remains solemnly.
Realization struck Garinor then as he stared. “Tomli was the heir. Not me.”
“That is correct,” said the Voice. “He was not destined to behold this scepter, but to behold the kingdom at his Chosen’s discretion. It was you he chose in all his actions and you who was therefore meant to claim the power of the scepter.”
“But—” he shook his head, trying to understand. “If Tomli is dead, then what choice is left to me? Only the prince can remain now if the heir is gone.”
“That is also true.”
Garinor’s brows wrinkled in bewilderment.
“This scepter,” explained the Voice, “receives its power from the soul that touches it. But you are special in that you could have chosen among the three principals of the prophecy. Now, however, a decision has been taken from you.”
Garinor’s eyes drifted back to Tomli’s glowing skeleton and he wished he had gotten there sooner.
“One soul has already been offered to this scepter,” said the Voice. “But only one soul is needed. You, who have touched the scepter, can offer your soul.”
“Where are you going with this? If you only need one soul, what good would it be for Tomli if I gave up my… own. Wait… Are you saying that I can exchange my soul for Tomli’s?”
“As the one Chosen by the heir, you have the power to choose the next phase of destiny. However, every choice has its consequence.”
Garinor considered these words and he wondered what he should do. He could choose to live, where he might spend the rest of his life trying to bring about the prince’s downfall. Or he could offer his soul so Tomli might live and rule instead. “But what guarantee is there that giving up my soul would free Tomli’s?”
“It is the way of destiny.”
“And why can’t the prince’s soul be taken instead? Surely he deserves death more than I.”
“One has died already and one touches the scepter. The exchange could come only between them and only by the one Chosen to hold the scepter.”
And so it was that Garinor was left to decide between Tomli’s life or his own.