by Dan Zangari
“I like vineyards too.” Cornar glanced to the admiral. Kaetet simply nodded in reply. “I raise brandleberries. But my friend often steals them, and his maid makes pastries out of them.” More laughter filled the mess deck. “I like reading,” Cornar continued, taking another sip of his brandy. My, it was strong! “That’s about it.”
Cornar sat down, taking another sip. This stuff was good. Why hadn’t he drunk Colvin brandy before? He looked down at his plate. The crab looked good, crab was always good. Yum!
Kalder tapped Cornar’s shoulder, leaning toward him. “Is your liquor a little too hard?” he asked, smiling good-humoredly.
Cornar winked at the brawny man, then held up his fingers in a pinching gesture. “Just a little bit,” that gesture said.
With the introductions concluded, the men and women began conversing with each other and eating their meals.
Kaescis stood, tapping his fork against his empty wine glass. Had he not drunk anything? Or maybe he’d drunk it all. “Feel free to mingle as long as you like,” Kaescis said. “We have several more courses for our meal tonight, but after that I’d encourage you to get to know Admiral Kaetet’s soldiers and crew. We have enough bunks, so if you’d like to stay the night, you can.”
The prince sat down and resumed eating his entrée. Cornar did the same. By Heleron’s Tail, it was good!
If his count was correct, there were seven courses. Seven! Cornar knew the Mindolarn Empire was obsessed with that number, but he hadn’t thought they’d incorporate it into their meals. It seemed excessive. Many of his men probably thought the same. They weren’t lowly commoners, but they weren’t fashionable aristocrats either, so feasts like this were foreign to them. But Kaescis was royalty. Did Cornar really expect anything less, even on a ship?
* * * * *
“He looks like his father,” Laeyit said, a scowl forming on her face. Kaescis nodded, pacing back and forth. Both he and Laeyit had since retired to his cabin. The guests from the Promised Maiden were still mingling with the rest of the crew. Kaescis had learned what he wanted and slipped away during the last course of the meal.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Laeyit asked.
“I’m not worried.” Kaescis stopped pacing and looked at the woman. Laeyit gazed at him warily. “He was a mere boy when it happened.”
“Children can remember much,” she said. “I can make it look like an accident, you know.” Laeyit was being foolish. Kaescis wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, not anymore. Those days were behind him.
“I can do it while we’re in Klindala,” she continued. Laeyit made a fist and slapped it against her other hand. Kaescis shook his head and waved his hand in a dismissal. “Don’t be a fool, Kaescis! I know you sense that he’ll come for you in vengeance.”
That was true. It was a concern of his; that’s why he was pacing, why he’d retired to his cabin early. “I must seek the Will,” Kaescis said nervously.
“The Will commanded you to wait,” Laeyit said, “doubtless to have him delivered into your hands. Lord Cheserith has granted you this opportunity to slay him.”
Was that it? Laeyit’s opinion was one possibility. One often didn’t know the reasons for promptings when the Will was not specific. Kaescis had to either wait, or seek further instruction.
“Well, Kaescis?”
He didn’t like being rushed, but Kaescis gave her an answer to sate her bloodlust. “Let me think this over, Laeyit. We can discuss this further on our way to Klindala.”
* * * * *
The following day, Cornar leaned against the portside rail of the Executor’s Breath. He watched as the Promised Maiden moved into position to transport his band back to their ship. They had all stayed aboard the Executor’s Breath for the night, taking advantage of Kaescis’s hospitality.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that drunk,” Nordal said from beside Cornar.
“Me either,” Ordreth said with a chuckle.
Cornar grinned. He didn’t make it a habit to get drunk in front of his men, but he would enjoy a drink now and again, usually if they were at home in Soroth. Being intoxicated anywhere else was just plain foolish. Cornar hadn’t expected that brandy to be so potent.
“Did Aunt Karenna really threaten to leave you if you didn’t quit sulking?” Ordreth asked.
“Did I say that?” Cornar asked, hoping to avoid the topic. He didn’t want to trouble his nephew with his personal problems.
“I’m sure it was just a drunken inference,” Kalder said, slapping his hand on Ordreth’s shoulder. “You know Karenna loves Cor. She’d never leave him.” Cornar hoped Kalder’s words would settle his nephew’s fears.
The officers of the Executor’s Breath called orders to start the process of transferring their guests. The metal poles were lowered and their clamps secured to both ships’ hulls. Soon, the gangways were extended from the Promised Maiden.
Captain Salisar pushed through the men and was the first to return to her ship. She was followed by Krindal and the necromancers he had conscripted. Then, one by one, each of the others filed onto the gangways. Cornar waited for his men to go ahead. Igan, however, stayed with him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Igan said, smiling. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Cornar clasped Igan’s shoulder in agreement.
They walked across the gangway and stopped at the crowded main deck of the Promised Maiden. The crew was busy pulling up the gangways and releasing the clamps on the metal poles from the Executor’s Breath.
“I wish Iltar was here,” Igan said. He walked over to the starboard rail and leaned against it.
“Me too,” Cornar said, grabbing the rail beside Igan.
“Do you think we’ll ever have an adventure with all of us?” Igan asked, sounding melancholy.
“Perhaps someday,” Cornar said, watching as the Executor’s Breath pulled away to a safe distance for the voyage. “Who knows, maybe this trip to Klindala will spark another adventure.”
“A majestic creature stood before me, towering above my small home. Elynia was not as grand as others of her kind, but she was still exceptional. Sunlight reflected off her glistening white-metal scales. It was a beautiful sight.”
- From Origins and Oaths of the Keepers, preface
Pagus stood with Iltar on the Necrotic Order’s grounds, mustering magic. They were in a grassy corner, not far from the dorms. The boy’s spell coalesced in front of Iltar. It was a swirling mass of orange life-draining magic, half the height of a man.
“Good,” Iltar said in approval. “Now lash it to the ground and expand it in three directions at once.”
Pagus grunted and pursed his lips, focusing on the ground ahead of him. Come on, boy, Iltar thought, you can do this.
The orange magic settled on the grass, and then three tiny spikes protruded from the mass, wiggling into the air. They stretched outward, becoming arm length strands.
“In order for the spell to be effective it has to reach farther than that,” Iltar said.
“I’m trying,” Pagus gritted his teeth. “It’s harder than it looks!”
Iltar folded his arms, watching Pagus concentrate. Then a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned as young Bilda was approaching.
The youth looked at Pagus and then hurried to Iltar. “Master Iltar,” Bilda whispered, “you’re not having us practice these two weeks, are you?”
Iltar shook his head. It was the time of year for the semi-annual break for students of the Necrotic Order. They had two weeks to go visit their families, or whatever else they chose.
“No, and you’re free to leave whenever you choose,” Iltar said.
“I am?” Pagus asked, chuckling. The magic hadn’t moved any farther.
“Not you, boy,” Iltar sneered. “Once I’m satisfied with your mastery of this spell, then you can go home.” Bilda smiled and stood with Iltar for a moment. They both watched Pagus struggle to extend the magic farther.
> “This is impossible,” Pagus said, “moving it three directions at once. A human mind can’t think like that!”
“That’s why you need to practice,” Iltar said sternly. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Does this work like the ensnaring tentacle spell?” Bilda asked innocently.
“In theory, yes,” Iltar replied, glancing to the young acolyte. “But moving a spell three directions at once isn’t like moving three tentacles at once. Most of the time you’re focused on a single target. Pagus is trying to hit three targets at once.”
“Oh,” Bilda said, and nodded.
Pagus grunted, forcing the strands of the life-draining magic a little farther than before, but it wasn’t far. “I give up!” Pagus yelled, throwing his hands into the air. The spell dissipated within seconds, orange particles rising into the air and disappearing.
Iltar sighed, shaking his head with disappointment. For all of Pagus’s ambition, he couldn’t even finish the exercise. What am I going to do with this boy? Iltar frowned.
“I want to learn new spells!” Pagus shouted. “Not rehash old ones over and over in stupid variations.”
“Most new spells are going to be variations of what you already know,” Iltar retorted. “Channels of magic are like the individual streams of a reverse delta. They branch from the most basic of spells. That’s why we teach you to master the basics.”
Pagus sighed and averted his gaze. He didn’t look happy. Of course, he rarely did when he failed. The boy didn’t cope well with failure.
“You can keep practicing or you can go home,” Iltar said. “I’m sure your father will want to see your progress. I’ve already sent him a letter with spells he should request you perform.”
Pagus bit his lip. Anger was swelling within him.
“Master Iltar knows best,” Bilda chimed. Though he sounded timid, he was trying to be brave.
“Oh, quit sucking up, Bilda!” Pagus shouted. The young acolyte flinched.
“Just go, Pagus,” Iltar said, waving his hand in a dismissal. “You need a break.” Pagus glared at Iltar, contempt oozing from his eyes. He stared at his master for a moment and then stomped off.
“He doesn’t like to listen, does he?” Bilda asked, looking up at Iltar. Iltar shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“It can’t be that hard, can it?” Bilda asked.
“It can,” Iltar said, and started walking the opposite direction as Pagus. Bilda trailed behind him. The boy seemed eager to learn something new from Iltar. “You’re trying to split your focus three ways at once. It’s not like firing one way, then another and another. Some mages think a ‘simultaneous’ spell can be cast by firing each direction in rapid succession. It might look like simultaneous, but it’s not.”
“I see,” Bilda said, now alongside Iltar.
“The current requirements of the Order only involve learning how to split a spell in three directions. But, in my opinion, three is just a stepping stone toward becoming a full-fledged mage.” Iltar continued walking towards the center of the Necrotic Order without sharing any further insight.
“What are you going to do, Master Iltar?” Bilda asked. “For this break, I mean.”
Iltar took a deep breath as they reached the fountain at the central courtyard. He stared at the water for a moment before answering his pupil.
“Rest and relax.”
* * * * *
Rest and relaxation were exactly what Iltar had intended. After the students of the Necrotic Order vacated the grounds, Iltar left his private office on the second floor of the Main Hall. It was late in the evening, and he was eager to get home.
Iltar walked the corridor where the other council members had their chambers. Their doors were all shut, except Alacor’s. The grandmaster’s office was at a bend in the hallway. Both double doors were ajar, allowing the faint chatter inside to be heard.
“… can’t believe it! This is foolish!” Jalel snapped.
Intrigued, Iltar stepped up to the doors, but stopped alongside them. He didn’t make a habit of eavesdropping, but when it came to Alacor and Jalel, he couldn’t help but be interested in what they were scheming. Both of them were snakes. Sneaky. Conniving.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Alacor retorted. “The plan has been set into motion.” Jalel grumbled under his breath. “I am eager to discover the truth. And this is the best way to go about it.”
“Fine,” Jalel said, and sighed. “I just wish you had trusted me with the matter. Can we really trust Jahevial to report everything?”
“Mm-hmm.” Alacor was probably nodding in the affirmative.
Jahevial? Iltar wondered. Where have I heard that name before?
“We’ll know what’s happening when,” Alacor said. “I picked up a new tevisral during my sabbatical seven months ago. One can relay a message instantaneously across any distance.”
“Like an Ul’thirl?” Jalel asked. What was that? Iltar had never heard of such a thing. And that name sounded strange.
“No. It’s less complicated. I don’t think our brethren at the Hilinard have reached sufficient skill to duplicate such wonders. They have, however, made magnificent strides in crafting tevisrals in the last decade.”
People crafting tevisrals? Iltar thought that knowledge was all but lost. And the Hilinard… wasn’t that the place mentioned in the letter to Rovin—
Footsteps echoed out into the hall.
They must be leaving, Iltar thought, and then strode past the doorway, as if he were casually passing by the office.
“Iltar,” Jalel barked. Iltar stopped, looking over his shoulder. Alacor and his younger brother entered the hallway. Alacor locked his doors while Jalel eyed Iltar.
“Yes, Master Jalel?” Iltar asked, his tone was mocking to say the least. He considered Jalel far from deserving of that title.
Jalel scowled at his tone. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Finishing some reports,” Iltar said flatly. It was the truth. He had written several letters to his students’ parents informing them of their progeny’s progress the past several months. Iltar made a point to send them out, unlike the others who only sent word if there was trouble with their pupils.
“Not eavesdropping, were you?” Jalel narrowed his eyes.
Iltar raised his brow, feigning exasperation. He really didn’t have to feign that emotion, as he often felt exasperated when dealing with Jalel. The bastard was as arrogant as he was annoying.
“I always walk this way,” Iltar said. “And I think if Alacor didn’t want his conversations overheard he would close his doors.” Iltar turned around and continued down the hall. The curve straightened out, and the hall emptied into a grand three-story welcoming room, made of polished gray galstra. The hallway turned into a balcony that ran along the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the central courtyard of the Order’s grounds.
While stepping onto the balcony, Iltar glanced out the windows. His eyes were drawn to movement near the Record Hall. He stopped and squinted. A man wearing a black robe walked away from the guards. The guards saluted him and then resumed their post.
Who is that? Iltar wondered, still narrowing his eyes at the man. As the man drew nearer to the Main Hall Iltar could see his features clearly. It was none other than himself! His hawk-like features were unmistakable.
Pagus! Iltar growled inwardly. You fool—
Footsteps echoed from the hall behind him. It was probably Alacor and Jalel. Iltar couldn’t let them onto the stairs. They’d undoubtedly see Pagus dressed in Iltar’s illusion.
That would be disastrous.
Iltar spun, hurrying back into the hall. He almost ran right into Jalel. Alacor wasn’t around. The grandmaster had probably gone the other way.
“Forget something?” Jalel grunted.
“Actually, I wish to speak to you for a moment,” Iltar said, gesturing back down the hall. “But not here. Your office? Or mine?” Jalel raised an eyebrow.
“We
ll?” Iltar asked.
“I suppose,” Jalel said reluctantly. He slowly turned, sauntering back down the hall.
Iltar sucked in his breath and glanced over his shoulder. He could see the illusion of himself crossing the courtyard near the fountain. What on Kalda was that boy thinking?
“Are you coming?” Jalel asked.
“Of course,” Iltar said, returning to the hall.
They passed Alacor’s chambers, and Jalel stopped at the doors next to his brother’s office. Jalel fumbled for a key and opened the door. The office wasn’t extravagant by any means, but it was still splendid. Jalel was a pain at times, but he did have good taste in furniture. Yet, that was not enough of a redeeming quality to make him likeable.
Iltar stopped at the doors and Jalel took a seat on a velvet couch.
“You know,” Iltar started, “I didn’t get to hear your opinion on Master Krindal’s venture.” Jalel looked at Iltar with cold eyes. “I know your brother’s stance,” Iltar continued. “But what is yours?” Jalel didn’t respond.
Iltar sighed. “Nothing to say, Jalel?”
“My opinions are my own,” Jalel said contemptuously.
“All right,” Iltar said, and shrugged. “Have a good break.” He bowed and exited the office. He hurried back down the hall but didn’t see his illusion through the windows.
That bought Pagus enough time, he thought. But he couldn’t leave just yet, not without exposing Pagus.
Iltar took one look at the grand welcoming room. No one was present. Not even the guards. That gave Iltar an idea. He retreated back down the hall toward Jalel’s office. Jalel had locked it and was walking away from Iltar.
Good, Iltar thought. Taking note that no one else was around, he whispered an invisibility spell. White-blue particles wisped about him, and within seconds Iltar vanished from sight.
Now invisible, Iltar sneaked back into the grand welcoming room and quietly strode toward the foyer leading to the entrance of the Main Hall. Once near the entrance, Alacor approached from an adjoining hall. The grandmaster reached the doors ahead of Iltar and opened them. Perfect, Iltar thought and slipped through the opening before the doors closed.