by Dan Zangari
“Honey,” he called as he entered, looking around for his wife. But Karenna wasn’t there.
Locking the door, Cornar hurried to an oversize bed. It was a little too luxurious, but that’s what Karenna wanted. It was carved from dark-brown wood with speckles of gold, with tall posts on each corner.
Cornar knelt beside the bed, pulling out a lockbox from underneath it. Now, this was a safe place for the weapons. He unlocked it with a key, and then gently secured both the serrated dagger and short-sword. Cornar couldn’t bear losing them. Those weapons were precious.
Once the weapons were secured, Cornar walked across the room to a doorway leading bathing chamber. It was time to clean up. He had gotten sweaty too, but not as bad as Gregan in his plate armor. Cornar didn’t like wearing plate. Yes, plate armor afforded greater protection than chain mail, but so did barsion magic. Most plate wearers wore chain mail beneath the clunky armor. But why do that when you could have barsion covering you? It seemed a silly thought. If there weren’t mages around, he saw the logic behind wearing plate. But who traveled into hostile territories without a mage? That was foolish.
* * * * *
Cornar walked back through his bedroom, wearing a semi-formal tunic and pants, both made of green silk. He briskly exited the bedroom and descended to the first floor, this time traveling down the circular main staircase that led to a vaulted foyer.
At the foot of the stairs a double doorway on the right led to a private study. Both doors were wide open as usual. Cornar used the room mostly for reading.
He trotted across the foyer, toward a parlor opposite the stairs. It was a large room with a hearth at the far end. Beautiful furniture—crafted with flowery designs—was arranged in a square throughout the parlor. The furniture was from Arbath, a faraway city in the Kingdom of Los. Each of the pieces was like the bed upstairs, opulent.
“Uncle!” a voice called from behind him. Cornar spun. His nephew was in his study, standing beside a thick desk. Ordreth was youthful, in his mid-twenties. His face was round, like Cornar’s. Ordreth wasn’t as tall as Cornar, but he was built like his uncle, a hearty young man.
“Ordreth,” Cornar said with a smile, hastening into the study. He hugged his nephew and then placed his hands on Ordreth’s shoulders. “You seem excited,” he observed.
Ordreth blushed. “I’m gonna do it, Uncle.” He sounded determined. “Here, let me show you.” Ordreth dug into his pocket and pulled out a small black-velvet pouch. “It was finished three nights ago. I had Nath help me with the design, and it’s perfect!”
Cornar laughed, shaking his head. Oh, what would it be like to be young again… I do hope he took her wishes into consideration. He motioned to the pouch. “Well, let’s see it.”
Still grinning giddily, Ordreth reached inside the pouch, removing a feminine cobalt ring inlaid with a golden sapphire. A betrothal band.
“It’s beautiful,” Cornar said.
“Tomorrow night,” Ordreth said, “I’m going to ask her. I found the perfect place, overlooking the southern shores of the island.”
Cornar smiled. The last time he’d seen Ordreth this excited was when he’d finally allowed his nephew to join him on one of his adventures. In fact, that’s when he’d met her.
“I’m sure Sharon will like it,” Cornar said.
“I’m certain, too,” Ordreth said, slipping the ring back into the pouch. “She had drawings of what she wanted, or so Nath said. Nath saw her one night, and she was looking at the pictures longingly. When I told him and Tilthan about my plans, Nath said he’d swipe them from her diary. So, he did.”
Cornar cocked his head. That was daring.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ordreth said. “Yes, she’ll probably be upset, but in the long run, she’ll get what she wanted.”
Shaking his head, Cornar turned aside. Ordreth was young. But Sharon did love him… No matter. “Let’s see if your aunt has breakfast ready,” Cornar said.
Uncle and nephew walked side by side through the large house. They wound through a couple of hallways until they reached the keeping room overlooking Cornar’s vineyard. The keeping room was divided into a sitting room and a dining area. Chairs and sofas were arranged near the windows. A table ran the width of the room on the opposite side.
Faint chatter echoed in from another doorway. Then Cornar’s wife entered the room carrying a covered plate. Karenna was petite and elegant. Her light-brown hair hung just past her shoulders. She had a long slender nose that came to a perfect point. Her thin lips always seemed to smile. Her voice… Oh, it was tender! Always loving. She set the plate down, gazing at Cornar with love in her hazel eyes. That stare seemed to last forever. It exuded kindness, devotion and undying love.
“Well, aren’t you going to say hello to your sister?” Karenna asked Cornar. He hadn’t even noticed his sister standing beside his wife. Karenna had always been enthralling. She could completely and totally distract him. He needed that, especially in the coming days. Cornar glanced beyond his wife to where his sister, Galana, stood with folded arms.
Galana cocked her head at her brother. Sometimes people thought them twins, but Cornar was a year and a half older. Like him, and their father, Galana was tall, with brown hair and vibrant emerald eyes.
“Good morning,” Galana said with a sarcastic tone.
“Sorry, Galana,” Cornar said, rounding the table. He hugged her and held her for a moment.
“You’re fine,” she said, patting his back. “Did Ordreth tell you the news?”
“He did.”
“This is so exciting!” Karenna exclaimed. She grabbed her husband’s hand with both of her small ones. “Another marriage in the family! This is going to be the last one… until the grandchildren begin to marry,” she said with a contemplative tone. Karenna was always thrilled with the thought of expanding their family. She was one of nine, the eldest daughter. Ordreth was the only nephew on Cornar’s side, and the thought of having a new niece excited her. Especially one she knew and adored.
“Come help me,” Karenna urged, tugging on Cornar’s arm. Soon, they were out of the keeping room and on their way to the kitchen.
Kalder entered a moment after them, stern and alert. People often joked that he was like a stone statue, but Kalder had a good heart. He was a kind man and a fierce warrior, but he was disinclined to talk unless he found it necessary.. Kalder was dressed in casual attire. His light brown hair neatly combed over. “Do you need any help, Karenna?” he asked.
“You can wash the brandleberries,” she said, motioning across the kitchen. Karenna handed a covered plate to Cornar. “There,” she said, smiling. Karenna leaned forward, stood on her tiptoes, and pursed her lips for a kiss. Cornar complied gladly.
Karenna could make him forget about everything. All his cares. All his worries. Cornar needed that.
She’s perfect.
After their embrace, Cornar returned to the keeping room. He set the covered plate beside the other and resumed talking to his sister. Kalder and Karenna returned shortly thereafter with the rest of the morning meal. Then Gregan finally arrived.
The tall, burly, auburn-haired man stood like a tower, hands to his hips. He sniffed the air with a smile. “You know, Cor,” he said, “I really come here for Karenna’s cooking. Yes, we’re friends, and I do enjoy the sparring, but… I’m drawn to the food.”
The men laughed.
Everyone took their seats around the table. They ate and conversed about Ordreth’s news. Karenna was the most excited of them. She spoke giddily about the forthcoming wedding. One might have thought it was her own.
Cornar found Karenna’s excitement even more intoxicating than the thrill of the battlefield. That’s why Cornar loved her. That’s why he needed her. He was getting old. Cornar couldn’t always be out in the world adventuring.
After breakfast, Cornar and the men moved to the sitting area of the keeping room. They stared out the windows to the vineyard, where a couple of workers w
ere surveying the vines. Cornar and Karenna were perfectly capable of taking care of the vineyard themselves, but Karenna wanted to share their wealth. So, they hired help.
“Anything new happening?” Gregan asked. He sat back with his legs crossed, picking at his teeth with a metal toothpick.
Kalder shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”
“Cor?” Gregan cocked his head. “It’s been a year and a half, and we haven’t gone anywhere. I’m getting bored.”
Cornar chuckled and leaned forward. He glanced to Ordreth, who listened intently. “I’m not the person to ask,” Cornar said.
“Huh?” Ordreth piped up, surprised. Gregan had a similar expression smeared across his face.
“I was going to tell everyone next week,” Cornar said reluctantly. “But I suppose I’ll tell you two now.” He glanced to Ordreth and Gregan. “I’m retiring. I promised Karenna that after this last trip I would be done. She wants us to do more things together, and I’m getting old. I realized that when we were escaping that fortress…” He trailed off, thinking of how he had almost died because he was too slow, even while enhanced with magic. Enhancing magic only amplified your capacities; it couldn’t restore your physical prowess to what it was, not if it was waning.
“You’re joking!” Gregan blurted. “What about this morning? You were landing blows like a wild man.”
Cornar laughed. He wasn’t feeble yet, but he didn’t want to grow old while out adventuring. That would get him killed. Then I’d never see her again… “No, I’m not joking.” Cornar quelled his laughter. “I’m leaving Kalder in charge of our little band.”
Kalder quietly nodded. The weighty responsibility heightened his stoic demeanor.
Cornar had trained hundreds of men and women over the years. Many of them joined him on his adventures with mages of Soroth. Some had died on those adventures while others had left his band for various reasons. But, about fifty remained.
“It’s not going to be the same,” Ordreth muttered. He looked sad, his excitement over his engagement deflated.
“You’ll all go on without me,” Cornar said with a grin. “I’ve trained you well.”
“Nearly all of us go on these adventures because of you,” Gregan said, his tone almost angry. “We trust you. We know you’ll protect us. We’re loyal to a fault.”
“Don’t you trust Kalder?” Cornar asked, gesturing to the burly man.
“I do, but you bind us together,” Gregan retorted. “You’re the man who brought us all together. You keep us together. You can’t just leave.”
“I can’t?” Cornar laughed and leaned back. “I’m not immortal. I can’t go on, charging at the head of our small army. I’m getting old, Gregan.”
“Cor deserves a life without danger,” Kalder finally spoke up. “I don’t like it either, but we’ll all get used to it.”
Gregan grunted, looking at Kalder. “You don’t really mean that. I can tell it in your voice, Kalder. You don’t believe it.” Kalder simply stared at Gregan.
“Just keep this to yourselves,” Cornar looked at the three of them. “I’ll tell everyone next week.”
Gregan sighed and folded his arms, his mood foul. Ordreth nodded solemnly. Would the others react this way?
Kalder had been somber when Cornar told him. But that was typical of Kalder. That was often how he reacted to ill news. Kalder had been a sober child. Perhaps it was his upbringing as an orphan. Cornar and Galana were orphans as well, yet they had known their parents. Kalder didn’t have that luxury.
They all sat quietly, watching the workers in the vineyard. This was not how Cornar had envisioned their day. He could feel an actual divide in the room. Would that division creep into his little band? Cornar had worked so hard over the years to cultivate camaraderie. Would his decision to walk away shatter it?
Cornar hoped not.
My Chosen, they are faithful to me in all things.
I have tried them, proven their obedience.
They have achieved the pinnacle of life.
To them I grant all my power.
- 10th Verse from the Feast of Sorrows
As Iltar’s wagon emerged from the forest, the morning sun warmed his face, contrasting with the cool spring breeze blowing from the eastern shores of the island. Hegdil sat beside him and drove the wagon. Filly, the black horse, trotted, his horseshoes clanking against the stone highway. Chatter from behind reached Iltar’s ears; the acolytes were teasing each other. Iltar, however, contemplated the ride through the forest.
That dream was still fresh in his mind. Though the forest, the various dirt roads, and the highway were fine, the destruction he had witnessed still haunted him.
Why would I dream of such things? he thought. And that man who looked like him. There was something eerie about that reflection. Iltar shook the thoughts aside, turning his attention back to the road.
The wagon moved toward Soroth, amid riders on horseback and horse-drawn carriages. A merchant caravan was up ahead, probably from the western side of the island. Farmers there sold their produce here in the capital city, a more profitable market than any other city in the west.
After a short while, Iltar’s wagon neared the city gates. Soroth was a modest city compared to those Iltar had seen in other parts of the world. But Soroth was home and held a special place in his heart. Iltar didn’t remember much of Tor, the city of his birth, except for the hustle and bustle of its citizens. Soroth was much quieter. Although the city was a major port, the docking district was mostly on the southern side of the city. There were piers and wharves along the northeastern edge, but not many.
The location of the docks caused a divide among the citizens. The northern half of Soroth consisted of neighborhoods and shops. It was the more attractive part of the city. The wealthy lived there. The farther south one went, the less affluent the city became. The southwest side was the worst.
Soroth enveloped most of the southeastern corner of the island that shared the city’s name. With a population of nearly two hundred and fifty thousand, the city was the largest in the nation, which consisted of sixteen other, smaller islands. The islands of Sarn, Silgarn, and Sereth—each half the size of Soroth—had one large city and several smaller towns scattered along their coasts.
Pagus was from Sarn. The rebellious youth was a member of one of their Royal Families. That boy, Iltar thought. What was he up to? Pagus had been mingling with the older acolytes recently, the apprentices of several council members of Iltar’s Order.
Iltar’s wagon slowed, and he braced himself as it came to a halt.
The merchant caravan up ahead had arrived at the northern gate. City watchmen in brown plate armor inspected the various wagons. After the guards finished their search, they waved the caravan through. Each of the other riders or carriages stopped briefly, but the traffic behind them continued without coming to a complete stop.
“Purpose in the city?” a guard asked, studying Hegdil and Iltar. “Oh—Master Iltar! A pleasure to see you.” The guard bowed, then raised his faceguard. He looked familiar, but Iltar couldn’t remember his name.
“We’re just dropping my pupils off at the Order,” Iltar answered, and the guard waved them on.
Hegdil flicked Filly’s reins, and the horse trotted through the gate. “Did you boys eat all the tangrils?” Hegdil asked over his shoulder.
“Uh… yeah,” one of them replied sheepishly. Hegdil sighed and flicked Filly’s reins again.
After a short while they reached the gates of Iltar’s society of mages, the Soroth Necrotic Order. The wrought-iron gates within the pale-gray galstra walls were drawn shut.
“Agen, go open the gate,” Iltar called as the wagon came to a halt. The young acolyte complied, leaping out of the wagon and pushing first one side open, then the other. Hegdil flicked Filly’s reins, and the horse pulled the wagon inside.
The Soroth Necrotic Order’s compound covered four city blocks, arranged two by two. Buildings made from pale-gray galst
ra dotted much of the compound. Some of the buildings were vacant. At one time they had housed classrooms for students of the various magical arts, but not since the Order had changed. One of the buildings had been converted to a dormitory for the current acolytes. In Iltar’s youth, there had been no dormitories.
Iltar’s wagon rolled down a short road that wound around a statue. Hegdil stopped the wagon along the roundabout in front of a pathway leading to the Order’s Main Hall. The boys all jumped out of the wagon and hurried across the grassy lawn. They waved goodbye to Iltar, hollering thanks to him.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait?” Hegdil asked Iltar.
“I’m sure,” Iltar said, climbing down from the wagon. “Go to Pagus’s estate home. See if he’s there. If not, maybe one of his servants knows his whereabouts.” Hegdil nodded somberly. The groom had obviously been looking forward to another pastry. Iltar should have kept some up front. “Here,” Iltar said, reaching into the pocket of his tunic. He pulled out several small coins and handed them to Hegdil. “Go find yourself a snack.”
“You’re kind, Master Iltar,” Hegdil said.
Iltar nodded with a grunt. “I’ll be here most of the day. If there isn’t another storm, I’ll borrow a horse and ride home. Whatever you find out, come back and tell me.”
“Yes sir!” Hegdil said, flicking the reins. He rode off, leaving the grounds of the Necrotic Order.
Where should I start my search? Iltar wondered, scanning the grassy grounds. He eyed the Order’s stable, down a road which ran along the wall, but shook his head. Pagus wouldn’t be there.
All was quiet around him. The acolytes had dispersed, either entering the Main Hall or making their way to their dormitories.
Iltar’s gaze fell upon the Main Hall. The entrance to the four-story rectangular building was guarded by two men wearing leather armor and holding fanisars. He could ask one of them, but they’d report it to their captain. That would eventually get back to Alacor, and Iltar didn’t want that. He’d search for Pagus on his own.