A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  “I will think about it,” Salisar said. “It would be a grand discovery, but I need to ensure that nothing happens to the Promised Maiden.”

  “I understand,” Krindal nodded.

  “I assume you want me and my men to help with gathering the provisions?” Cornar asked.

  “Yes,” Krindal said. “We will need enough food to feed six hundred and a means to transport those provisions across the island.” This was going to be a big expedition; probably the largest in which Cornar had ever participated.

  Krindal and Salisar continued talking. The Promised Maiden would continue traveling along the Coastal Current, through the Kalishir Ocean. They would pass between the Isle of Merdan and the Dragon’s Maw, the large peninsula of the Mainland which consisted of the nation of Holorum. Depending on the weather, it would take them roughly thirty more days to reach Klindala.

  “Elynia was giddy at the idea. She had explored for years, but only out of her own curiosity. Now, she would pursue the secrets of the world for a purpose greater than her own self-indulgence. In a way, I consider her the first of the Keepers of Truth and Might, although we didn’t organize that Order until several hundred years later.”

  - From Origins and Oaths of the Keepers, preface

  Nearly a week and a half had passed since Iltar began training the acolytes at Pagus’s home. The training had been grueling for them. Only Pagus, Agen, and Bilda were prepared for Iltar’s all-day exercises. Most of the boys were average in their skill, and Iltar felt he needed to improve their forms and techniques rather than teach new spells.

  In that time, Iltar had studied the entire Codices of Soron Thahan. It was as intriguing as it was cryptic. Soron Thahan claimed predictions of the future, having seen visions manifested by the so-called Messenger of the Promise. Iltar deduced that he and Soron were probably experiencing something similar.

  That bothered him.

  Iltar could easily dismiss the dreams as the result of an overactive imagination. At first he had. But now there was written evidence that his dreams were more than what they seemed. Iltar didn’t want to believe it.

  Soron spoke often of the person called the Unspoken One. The Harbinger. This prophesied person was also the one to usher in the return of a god. Reflection had called Iltar that in the last dream. Iltar wondered if it was a by-product of his mind processing what he had read. But then he came across that passage Reflection had quoted.

  “The Harbinger will betray his master, slaying him in his very home. The master’s passing will go unnoticed. His death will be dismissed without consequence.”

  Rovin’s death did go unnoticed. No one ever suspected that he had been killed, at least not right away. Theories floated around the Necrotic Order, especially when other masters had disappeared several months later. But no one ever questioned Iltar’s involvement, not even the City Watch. Iltar had thought himself lucky. Soron Thahan, however, claimed otherwise.

  Supposedly, the Harbinger had divine protection. This was manifest in later writings about the prophesied hero. One such passage claimed he would stand alone against the Beast, defeating the monster single-handedly. Soron didn’t explain who or what the Beast was, but he did reference him several other times. The Harbinger would also stand alone against an army and survive.

  Soron’s predictions, however, weren’t only about the Unspoken One. He wrote cryptic foretelling about certain nations. He claimed Kildath, one of the greatest powers on Kalda, would fall. Soron had, however, accurately predicted a civil war in the Kingdom of Los. Though that prediction was accurate, Soron claimed the war was incited by a great evil, an evil the Unspoken One would face. That seemed improbable to Iltar since Los’s civil war had happened over three hundred and fifty years ago.

  All in all, the book felt a little too religious for Iltar. He didn’t subscribe to any of the religions of Kalda. They all seemed a farce. The fact that Soron Thahan was religious surprised Iltar. Most Sorothians didn’t follow any religion. The most common patronage was among sailors, but that was more of a reverence than anything else. They revered the pagan god of the ocean, Heleron, often praying to him before a voyage or pleading his aid during a storm. The latter never seemed to help.

  After finishing the Codices, Iltar was both frightened and intrigued. He had many questions. Soron Thahan wrote with such fervor that he almost persuaded Iltar that this foretold world would occur. But didn’t men forge their own destinies?

  Yes. They did. Iltar had forged his own destiny. He was not the puppet that Rovin and Cordis had tried to mold.

  * * * * *

  There were still three days left before classes resumed at the Necrotic Order. Iltar’s questions couldn’t wait till then. So, he decided to leave for the Order of Histories. Perchance, their tomes might be able to clarify references in The Codices of Soron Thahan.

  Before departing, Iltar gave the acolytes, except for Pagus, a list of exercises to perform. He didn’t trust Pagus enough to leave him alone, so Iltar took him with him. To his surprise, Pagus didn’t even complain. Compliance wasn’t a trait Pagus possessed. What was that boy up to?

  Near midmorning, both master and apprentice neared the center of the city. They rode their horses through the crowded Sorothian streets toward the bastion of scholarship.

  The Order of Histories was a large building, rising four stories. It covered an entire city block, with several wings branching off from a central structure. Twisting columns lined much of the exterior walls, with rows of windows between them.

  Iltar and Pagus struggled to find a place to leave their horses. The Order of Histories was a popular place today.

  Pagus groaned. “We should have just walked.”

  “We’ll find a spot,” Iltar reassured him. He searched the streets for empty posts where they could tie their reins, but all the places were occupied.

  “Let’s try the next street over,” Iltar suggested, guiding his horse across the way. Pagus followed silently.

  Soon they found several empty posts. They dismounted, tied their reins, and paid a nearby post-keeper the fee to watch their horses. Post-keepers were typically local residents—young boys or girls—who would watch a person’s carriage or horse on busy streets. Thievery was common in the denser parts of Soroth.

  Within minutes, Iltar and Pagus returned to the Order of Histories. They entered one of the side doors and made their way to the heart of the building, toward the lobby. It made sense to have the lobby at the center.

  “Whoa…” Pagus gasped from behind Iltar.

  “You’ve never been here?” he asked the youth.

  “No.”

  Iltar smiled. The lobby was quite grand—a giant rotunda, four stories high, with a dome for its ceiling. Curved stairwells lined the walls, leading to various floors. Each of the floors had hallways leading to the separate wings. Each wing except one was devoted to a different aspect of history. The remaining wing was an enormous library. The lobby was an impressive sight, especially the murals on the rotunda. There were four of them, each between coffered ornamentation. Much of the room was covered by elaborately crafted stonework.

  While Pagus admired the lobby’s architecture, Iltar headed to the reception area at its heart. Nearly twenty receptionists were gathered behind a circular area large enough that each could have their own desk.

  One of them—an older man with white hair—noticed Iltar’s approach and stood. He bowed his head in a gesture of greeting. “What may I help you with?”

  “I need to speak with some associates of mine,” Iltar said. “Kilan and Midal. Are they here?”

  The old receptionist hummed. He raised a finger for Iltar to wait and then moved to the center of the reception area, toward a chest-high cabinet. The receptionist shuffled meticulously through the drawers. Scholars at the Order of Histories would leave notes here for anyone who was calling on them. The notes would also include their availability if anyone were looking to hire them.

  After a moment, the old re
ceptionist returned. “It looks like Kilan is in, though he has unavailability starting tomorrow for several months. Midal is currently out.”

  Iltar sighed. Well, at least one of them is here. “Thank you,” he said, nodded to the receptionist, and walked away.

  “Do you need directions?” the receptionist asked.

  “No,” Iltar said without turning back. “I know their office.”

  Iltar and Pagus made their way to the Historical Sociology Wing of the Order of Histories, where Kilan and Midal shared an office on the third floor.

  Iltar had known Kilan and Midal for a long time. He trusted them almost as much as he trusted the men of his adventuring band. Iltar had known the two scholars since his youth. In fact, they had studied at the Sorothian Magical Order with him, before its change. Kilan was studying to be an illusionist and Midal an arpranist. They, however, didn’t graduate. Both of them dropped out of the Order when Rovin and Cordis took over.

  Iltar wound his way through several corridors and then stopped at one of the many doors in the hallway. He knocked once, then opened the door.

  To his surprise, both Kilan and Midal were inside. Why was Midal here? Both scholars loomed over a table piled with opened tomes and neat piles of scroll cases.

  “Iltar!” Kilan smiled and hurried across the room. Four years Iltar’s senior, he was shorter than Iltar—only average height—with graying black hair and olive skin a bit darker than most Sorothians. His wrinkled face was clean-shaven. His dull blue eyes studied Iltar for a moment and then glanced to Pagus. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

  “Conducting some research.” Iltar patted his pack. “May we come in?”

  “Yes, yes,” Kilan said, nodding. “Come in.”

  Iltar stepped inside. “Good day, Midal.”

  Midal simply nodded. He was a quiet man who spent much of his time contemplating, but when he spoke, one knew to listen. Not only was Midal distinguished by his quiet demeanor, but by his unique mustache. It was long, curving below his chin. Both ends were bound together by a leather clasp. It was an odd look. Most men would have kept their mustaches free.

  “That’s a weird mustache,” Pagus said.

  Midal raised an eyebrow, studying Pagus with his green eyes.

  “Try to be respectful, Pagus,” Iltar said, then set his pack on the table.

  “Is he an apprentice of yours?” Kilan asked.

  “I am,” Pagus answered.

  Kilan chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d take on another after Balden.”

  Midal narrowed his eyes at Kilan and then glanced to Iltar. He knew Iltar was sensitive about hearing that name.

  Iltar sighed and reached into his pack, removing The Codices of Soron Thahan. “Do you have time for some questions?” he asked.

  “I always have time for questions,” Kilan said, smiling. “The correct question would have been, ‘Do I have time for answers?’”

  Iltar rolled his eyes and set the tome on the table.

  Midal’s eyes widened. He leaned over the table, intently studying the volume.

  “What is that?” Kilan asked.

  “Something my apprentice found in the basement of the Order’s Record Hall.”

  “Huh?” Kilan cocked his head. “But that’s forbidden to anyone but the council, isn’t it?” The scholar looked to Pagus with amazement.

  “Codices of Soron Thahan?” Midal asked. “Is this genuine?”

  “I would assume so,” Iltar said.

  “But it looks so pristine,” Midal observed. “May I?” He gestured to the tome. Iltar nodded.

  “Hmm. Soron Thahan, you say?” Kilan said. “But I don’t recognize it. We have all of his writings here in the library. I have never seen anything like that. Are you sure it’s not a fake?”

  “Why would we keep a fraudulent tome at the Necrotic Order?”

  “Because it’s the Necrotic Order?” Kilan said with a chuckle. “Because that’s something Cordis and Rovin would have done to deceive those who would come after them.” The Necrotic Order seemed to be a sore spot for Kilan. Did he still resent the Order’s change?

  “I didn’t come here to debate its authenticity,” Iltar said. “I have some questions about things that it references.”

  “So you believe, without any corroborating evidence, that this tome is authentic?” Kilan asked skeptically. “What happened to your sense of scholarship, Iltar?”

  He did have corroborating evidence: the dreams, Reflection. But Iltar couldn’t share that with these men. They were even more atheistic than he was. Kilan would laugh him to scorn, and Midal would frown disapprovingly.

  “The verbiage is consistent,” Midal said.

  “What?” Kilan darted a glance to his scholarly associate.

  “It sounds like Soron,” Midal explained. “But what is this date? It’s implies a calendar starting over eight thousand years ago.”

  “That’s impossible!” Kilan blurted, almost shouting. The man could be quite excitable when it came to scholarship.

  “Soron claims the year seven thousand three hundred and thirty-three,” Midal said calmly. “And he would have written it over nine hundred years ago.”

  Kilan sucked in a breath, eyeing Iltar. “You look confident, Iltar,” he said warily.

  “I told you I’m not here to discuss authenticity,” Iltar retorted. He reached into his pack and removed several pieces of parchment; the drawings he had penned after the dream where he studied Reflection’s robe. “I also want to know if either of you have seen these elsewhere in the world.”

  Kilan took the sheets, carefully examining them.

  Midal, however, looked up from the tome. “What questions did you have, Iltar?”

  “Well, have you heard of a title called ‘the Unspoken One’ or ‘the Harbinger’ in any religious contexts?”

  “We’re not theologians, Iltar,” Kilan quipped. Iltar raised his brow at Kilan, but the man was studying the drawings.

  “No,” Midal answered. “But if this is related to Thahan, you’d best research his religious background. Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “I believe Soron was born during the reign of the Karthar Empire. There was a unified religion during that time, called Cherisium. A lot of religions have splintered from it since then. Cherisium’s influences have been prevalent in most of the societies that developed over the last thousand years. The most—”

  “I know this symbol,” Kilan interrupted, pointing to the sheet he held. “A triangle with a wide base, seven dots on the inside, and three lines beneath. I saw it at the Hilinard in Mindolarn—the capital, I mean, not the nation.”

  The Hilinard? Iltar mused. That was thrice he’d heard the name. Mindolarn, huh? Perhaps this is tied to Krindal’s quest. Symbols from Mindolarn, and a Mindolarn prince. Interesting…

  “Are those symbols from the book?” Midal asked.

  Iltar shook his head. “I transcribed them from elsewhere.”

  “Well,” Kilan said, and sighed. “It looks much like the symbol. There are some minor differences.” He cocked his head at Iltar. “It’s a little sloppy. If I could see the source, I could say for sure.”

  Well, sure, Kilan, let me invite you into my dream realm to study the robe of the person who looks exactly like me. Oh, and don’t mind the yellow sky. Damnation!

  “May I see those?” Midal asked. Kilan handed them over, but took the tome.

  Seeing the scholars engrossed, Iltar waited to ask his next question. He glanced to Pagus, who patiently waited, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. The boy looked amused by the exchange between his master and the scholars.

  “I agree with Kilan,” Midal said. “It looks like one of the glyphs etched into the floor of the Hilinard.”

  “These others I don’t recognize, but we have a colleague who specializes in symbols of ancient cultures. I can show them to her if you’d like.” Iltar shook his head. He didn’t trust anyone besides his friends with such information. Someone else would a
sk too many questions, pry into his motives. These men wouldn’t.

  “I also wanted to know if you’ve heard of something called ‘the Crimson Eye’ or a group called ‘the Chosen,’” Iltar said.

  “Like what was referenced in the preface?” Midal gestured to the tome in Kilan’s hands.

  “Yes,” Iltar said. “This Crimson Eye must be an object—maybe even a tevisral. And a powerful one at that, from what I could discern. Although, it could be some kind of force.”

  “Hmm,” Kilan said, flipping through the pages.

  Midal frowned. “I’ve not heard of either of those.”

  “I have other questions,” Iltar said. “I know Kilan’s marked as unavailable starting tomorrow, but are you available, Midal?”

  “Unfortunately, I am not.” The scholar sighed. “I’m here only because I needed to find some reference material. I’ve been working for the Duke of Seriel the last few months. The research is… ongoing,” he said in a perturbed tone. Since Midal wasn’t one to become annoyed by research, his tasks under the duke must be absurd.

  “Do you know when you’ll be finished?” Iltar asked. Midal simply shrugged.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Kilan chimed in, closing the tome. “Too bad I’m busy; otherwise I’d be more than willing to help. The book itself is intriguing enough, and I’m not talking about the contents. Its craftsmanship is… unusual, to say the least.”

  “How long are you going to be gone?” Iltar asked.

  “Six months. The Order of Histories would like to verify some records in Kildath, and I’ve been assigned to return with copies.” Kilan didn’t sound excited.

  Midal’s tasks could take who knew how long, so Iltar would need to wait six months for Kilan. Six months wouldn’t be too bad. Unless Reflection plagued his mind at night, urging him to fulfill his destiny. Iltar hadn’t had any more dreams since that first night at Pagus’s home, but he knew they’d come.

  “You cannot wait,” a voice echoed faintly, but none of the others seemed to hear it.