The Reborn King (Book Six) by Brian D. Anderson

that you do not know…cannot know,” she explained. “And once I have done what must be done, I will be changed.”
    Linis regarded her with concern. “Changed? How?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “This is a decision I must make. I ask only that you convey a message to Felsafell when next you see him.” Her words had a sense of finality. “Tell him that I am sorry. I wish I could have explored the rest of our world by his side. Please let him know that I will always treasure the memories of the odd little hermit who protected and cared for me throughout the long years. But most of all tell him…tell him that I love him.” Her tears were beginning to flow. “Now go. You must not delay.”
    There would be no discussion of the matter. Linis could see that. Basanti’s mind was fixed and her path had been chosen. Whatever she had decided to do, it would come at great cost to her.
    Linis quickly packed a few essentials and had Therisa show him to the passage.
    “This will lead you to just beyond the walls,” the old woman told him. “The brush is thick around the exit and should conceal you well.”
    He thanked her and went to find Basanti and Aaliyah in order to say farewell. But they had already departed.
    “Do you think they will succeed?” he asked Therisa, even though he knew she did not have the answer.
    “Perhaps. If she is the Oracle of legend. But it sounded as if she will sacrifice much to do so.” The old woman handed him a bundle of changing cloths and a skin of milk. “But you must focus or your task. Jayden’s mother is mistress of this house. Her child must be kept safe.”
    He steeled his wits and cleared his thoughts.  She was right. Whatever Basanti was planning to do was not his concern at this moment.
    All his attention must be concentrated on getting Jayden to safety. Would there be foes awaiting them along his path? And if so, how would he deal with them?
    That was more than enough to be thinking about at present.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Gewey, Nehrutu, and Felsafell halted just as the Vrykol fortress came into view. The curtain wall Gewey had destroyed when last here remained scattered in massive black chunks about the yard, indicating that no one had yet attempted to repair it. He hoped this meant that the place was still abandoned.
    They stood perfectly still, listening intently for several minutes before approaching. Dotted around the landscape were numerous sections of black stained earth where the ashes of Gewey's victims still lay. The memory of that night flashed through his mind. His vengeful fury back then was almost beyond reckoning. Only Kaylia’s love had been able to prevent him from completely abandoning his humanity.
    The cage where the human slaves had be en imprisoned was still there as well – its twisted door on the ground a few feet away where he had tossed it aside. How terrifying he must have seemed to them. He wondered if the people he had freed ever had nightmares about the wrath of Darshan. Or did they see him as their liberator.
    “I hear no enemies about,” Felsafell said in a half whisper. He regarded the shattered wall and the empty Vrykol cloaks. “You must have been a truly awesome spectacle when you did this.”
    “That’s not exactly how I’d put it,” Gewey responded somberly.
    The stench of death still lingered in the calm air. Hundreds of the Reborn King’s foul creations had dwelt here, and it would be years, if not decades, before the ground was clean and pure again.
    “This was once a beautiful place,” remarked Felsafell, sharing Gewey’s revulsion. “When my people lived, this was a center for art and music. It stood for thousands of years and produced wonders the like of which would make the gods themselves weep for joy.” He closed his eyes, a distant smile on his lips. “During the spring months, the honeysuckle and lavender perfumed the breeze just as evening fell. The musicians would join the painters and sculptors