A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  “You have a summons, sir,” the guard said. “It came with another, addressed to the council.”

  Good, Iltar thought, fighting back a smile. He raised an eyebrow instead and made a show of reluctantly taking the scroll. He broke the seal and carefully unfurled the summons.

  “Master Iltar, it has come to my attention that my son is in need of tutorship here on Sarn. I regretfully inform you that my sister and her husband have passed, and my son must take upon himself his uncle’s responsibilities for some while. Pagus has expressed interest in furthering his studies as a necromancer and doesn’t want to lose precious time.” Iltar paused and glanced to the guard as if studying him, but he was really wondering about the ruse Pagus had created. You went too far, Pagus. What a serious implication… It will be investigated.

  Iltar sighed and resumed reading the summons. “Pagus has informed me that your Order permits one such as yourself to teach outside the grounds of your magical society. So, I cordially invite you to come to my sister’s mountain villa and resume my son’s tutelage.” Iltar skipped past certain details about the nature of the accommodations available to him.

  “My son has also informed me of your acolyte ranks and your responsibility to them. He fears that this request will be denied because it will hinder their progress. Therefore, I also invite them to my sister’s mountain villa. While my son sees to his other responsibilities, you can see to your acolytes’ instruction in the magical arts.”

  Iltar grunted, feigning irritation over the letter. He actually did it!

  “Master Iltar?” the guard asked with hesitation.

  “What did the other letter say?” Iltar asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the guard said. “I—”

  “Iltar!” Alacor shouted from near the fountain. The grandmaster was approaching quickly.

  “Iltar, did you receive a summons?” Alacor asked.

  “I did,” Iltar said flatly.

  “And?” Alacor demanded, his eyes aflame with impatience.

  “That I go to Sarn,” Iltar said. “For Pagus’s sake.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Alacor said, grumbling. He stopped in front of Iltar and glanced to Melnor. “Melnor! Melnor, get over here!”

  Melnor ceased his instructions, and all his students turned toward the grandmaster. Melnor cocked his head and gave Alacor a disgruntled look that demanded, What do you want?

  Alacor waved urgently. “Melnor!”

  Finally Melnor complied. He strode across the grass and stopped beside Iltar. All the while, his students looked on with curiosity.

  “This better be important,” Melnor grumbled. “Those bumbling buffoons were just getting the hang of the—”

  “Oh, shut your mouth, Melnor!” Alacor spat.

  Melnor blinked once then glanced to Iltar. “What’s his problem?” he asked.

  “We need to meet as a council,” Alacor sneered. “Go get Kallan.”

  Melnor pursed his lips and walked off.

  Iltar, however, remained. “Do you want me to fetch your brother?” he asked. “I saw him over by the Record Hall.”

  “Fine,” Alacor said, sounding flustered. He stomped off, leaving Iltar with the guard. Once Alacor was out of earshot, Iltar turned to the guardsmen. “Go fetch Jalel. Tell him to come to the council chambers.”

  The guard complied. In fact, Alacor himself should have asked the guardsmen to go find Kallan. That was why the Order employed them. The grandmaster was obviously losing his control. Had Pagus’s letter infuriated him that much?

  * * * * *

  Not long after, all the council members—except for Jalel—were gathered in the Order’s council chambers. They sat around the table, Alacor at its head. Iltar sat in his usual seat, at the left side of the table, between Velkor and Kallan. Toroth sat opposite Velkor, to Alacor’s right. Melnor sat lazily across from Iltar; he was still not amused by Alacor’s outburst.

  Soon, Jalel entered and took his seat beside Melnor. He looked confused.

  “This is absurd!” Alacor growled, slapping a letter on the table. “I cannot believe this audacity!”

  “What, brother?” Jalel asked.

  “A summons, for Iltar!”

  Velkor leaned back and raised an eyebrow. Melnor rolled his eyes.

  “It is legitimate,” Toroth said.

  “I don’t care if it’s legitimate!” Alacor shouted. “It’s still absurd!”

  Iltar fought back laughter. What had Pagus written?

  “You should read it to us,” Kallan said, folding his arms.

  “I’m not reading it,” Alacor said, and shoved the letter across the table. “Have Iltar read it.”

  Iltar forced a blank expression and reached for the letter.

  “Dear council members of the Soroth Necrotic Order, I hereby inform you of an intent to summon Master Iltar, the most prestigious necromancer of your Order, to my domain on Sarn,” Iltar paused. The most prestigious necromancer? Pagus, you sly bastard… He sucked in a deep breath and continued reading. “As you have undoubtedly heard, my dearly beloved sister and her husband have passed away. I assume you have received this news in Soroth, as they were a couple of great importance.

  “You should be aware that my son, Pagus Aliteran, was in line to inherit my sister’s lands, as she and her husband had no heirs. Their passing requires Pagus to remain on Sarn and be trained in the proper methods of overseeing these lands. I am determined that Pagus shall continue his training. Since I paid your guild handsomely to instruct him, I refuse to have my coin wasted. I therefore summon Master Iltar to continue my son’s tutelage.

  “My son has informed me that Master Iltar has other students that require his attention. I am willing to board them here in my domain while Master Iltar continues instructing my son.

  “This summons is to be effective immediately upon your council’s receipt of it. I am aware that such summons are out of the ordinary, but not forbidden by your Order. If, however, you deny this summons I will deliver a case against you to the Senate of the Principality.” Iltar paused again. That was a bold move, probably too bold. Pagus, what are you thinking?

  “See?!” Alacor cried, slamming his hand on the table.

  “Well,” Toroth said, “we are dealing with a Sarn Royal. The high duke is used to getting what he wants.”

  “I don’t think his threat is malicious,” Velkor said flatly. “The high duke is a little enthusiastic to have his son trained, that’s all.”

  Alacor growled, looking flushed. This letter had gotten beneath his skin. It was wonderful! Why hadn’t Iltar thought of doing something like this earlier?

  Iltar took a deep breath. “There’s more,” he said, looking to his brethren.

  Melnor nodded and gestured with his hand for Iltar to continue.

  “I only bring up the Senate because of my son’s fears. Pagus doesn’t believe that you will grant this summons, as it will remove some of your students from your watchful eyes.” Iltar paused again. That line was another attack on Alacor and his controlling behavior as grandmaster. “However, I have faith that you will grant this request.

  “I have sent my private yacht, the Yaelinum, to retrieve Master Iltar and his students. It will be waiting for him upon delivery of this summons.

  “I regret that I couldn’t have delivered this request in person, but I am a very busy man.” Iltar stopped reading. “It’s signed High Duke Finlar Aliteran.”

  “Of course it’s signed that!” Alacor snapped. “What other bastard would be arrogant enough to make such demands of us?”

  Melnor pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at Alacor. “I say we honor it. Let Iltar go with his students.”

  “I second that,” Kallan said.

  “What?” Alacor blurted, anger contorting his face. “Without even a discussion?”

  “Do you want this matter dragged through the courts?” Melnor asked frankly. “Aliteran will slander us and the Order. We can’t afford such a disaster.”


  “Melnor is right, brother,” Jalel said. “But I think we can add a simple stipulation to his summons.”

  Iltar cocked his head suddenly. What was Jalel proposing? Hopefully it wasn’t that one of them come along with him. This whole plan would be for naught if that were the case.

  “I propose that we amend the high duke’s request. Iltar is to report back once a week, in person, before our council.” Alacor sucked in a deep breath.

  “That is wise,” Toroth said, waggling his finger. “This shows High Duke Finlar we are not dogs that will roll over at his every command.” Iltar pursed his lips in disapproval.

  “Don’t like that plan, Iltar?” Jalel asked contemptuously.

  No, he didn’t. How was he going to comply with such an amendment?

  “I think that’s a tad tedious,” Kallan retorted.

  “I second that,” Melnor said, slapping the table. He rolled his eyes again. “I say we just let Iltar go.”

  Iltar looked around the table. Jalel, Alacor, and Toroth were obviously in agreement to have the stipulation in place. Velkor’s decision would determine the council’s course of action.

  Everyone silently studied Velkor, awaiting his opinion on the matter.

  “Your eyes are a little much,” Velkor said, leaning back. Several of them backed away, but Alacor, Jalel, and Iltar continued eyeing him.

  “I have to side with Melnor,” Velkor said. “We cannot afford a confrontation with the high duke.” Iltar cheered inwardly. This plan was going to work!

  “Capitulation is not a sign of unquestioning submission,” Velkor continued. “As Toroth implied.” Jalel gasped and shook his head.

  “Well, it looks like we know where your loyalties lie,” Toroth spat, looking at Velkor.

  “I pledge allegiance to Soroth,” Velkor said. “Yes, my mother was Sarnian, but I don’t consider myself a subject to that aristocracy.”

  “You lying snake,” Toroth said, shaking his head. Melnor rolled his eyes again. He was fond of that gesture today.

  “I move for a formality,” Iltar said, urging the meeting along. He wasn’t going to wait for someone else to call for the next step toward ratifying the council’s decision.

  Melnor, Kallan, and Velkor joined Iltar in signifying the ratification of the formality. They extended their right hands forward, palms down and fingers close together.

  “It is done, then,” Alacor said, sighing with annoyance. “Iltar will go to Sarn with his acolytes. Get them ready. Meeting adjourned.” The grandmaster rose from his seat and stomped across the council room, followed by Jalel. The brothers were the first to leave, followed by Melnor.

  “You’re a fool, you know that,” Toroth said to Velkor.

  “There was nothing wrong with the request,” Velkor said, standing.

  “Everything was wrong with that summons,” Toroth retorted, leaning across the table. His eyes met Velkor’s with fierce anger. Iltar stood as tension increased between the two necromancers.

  “I sense a duel coming on,” Kallan said with a sly smile.

  “Someone needs to be beaten back into correct submission,” Toroth snarled. “Do not forget where your loyalties should lie.”

  Iltar hurried out of the room. He didn’t want to be part of Toroth’s and Velkor’s bickering. Velkor was next in line as grandmaster and Toroth envied the position. This outburst was just one of many that had arisen over the years.

  Iltar was partway down the hall when he heard a pair of familiar words among indistinguishable jargon—“Crimson Eye.”

  What? Iltar stopped abruptly. Was he hearing things? Or had he actually heard the words Crimson Eye? Iltar couldn’t tell who had said it.

  Footsteps echoed from the council room, and Iltar continued on his way, heading down a spiral staircase leading to the main floor. It was possible that his brethren knew the term since it was mentioned in two texts within the Record Hall. But in what context were they using that title? Iltar pondered that question until he reached the foyer, where two guards stood at attention, ready to open the doors for him.

  “Go assemble my acolytes,” Iltar said to the guardsmen. “I have some news to deliver.”

  * * * * *

  Twilight had settled on Soroth by the time Iltar and his acolytes arrived at the pier where the Yaelinum was moored. That particular pier was along the eastern shores of the city, a few grand phineals from the city’s northern border. Each of the boys carried sacks of clothing for their long stay away from the Necrotic Order. Iltar had his own satchel, filled with a few belongings and The Codices of Soron Thahan.

  The boys eagerly talked about visiting the lavish Isle of Sarn. Little did they know they wouldn’t be going to that isle. Iltar planned to keep that part of the voyage a secret, at least until they were safely in open waters.

  High Duke Finlar Aliteran’s private yacht, the Yaelinum—named after a type of rare metal found on the eastern continents of Kalda—was moored near several other tall ships. The Yaelinum didn’t look like any other vessel of the current era. Every part of the ship was enclosed, except for the highest deck. Three masts rose from that open-air deck, with three sets of sails. Each bore the emblem of the Aliteran Royal Family—the silhouette of a great cephalopod with wreathed vines and leaves wrapped around it.

  A gangway protruded from the starboard side of the vessel, about halfway between the waterline and the top of the ship. Judging by its position, the gangway was on the fourth deck from the ship’s bottom. Two other decks were above that one, not including the open-air deck.

  Two men stood at the bottom of the gangway, wearing fanciful clothing indicating that they were bodyguards for the Royal Family. Their stiff tunics bore the same emblem as the ship’s sails.

  “Welcome,” the man on the right said, gesturing to the gangway. “You boys may go aboard.”

  Young Bilda pushed past the others and was the first up the gangway, followed by Tigan. The others filed in behind them and Agen was the last to board. Once they were safely inside the Yaelinum, Iltar preceded up the gangway.

  “Did you like my letter?” one of the bodyguards asked. Iltar spun upon the gangway, darting a glance to the man. “Pagus?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “At your service.” The bodyguard bowed. Either Pagus was under an illusion, or he was using one as a puppet. Iltar couldn’t tell. The bodyguard’s movements were flawless. “I wish I could have been there. Oh, to see the look on Alacor’s face—”

  “Grandmaster Alacor,” Iltar corrected him. He didn’t care to refer to Alacor by that title, but he wanted to instill a sense of respect within the boy.

  “Yeah, whatever.” The bodyguard waved his hand. “Now don’t bump into the other guy. He’s an illusion too.” Iltar raised an eyebrow then walked up the gangway.

  Several servants were waiting inside. The nearest servant clapped his hands as Iltar and the two illusionary bodyguards came aboard. The illusions moved perfectly. Pagus’s training was paying off.

  A couple of crewmen hurried down the hall toward the opening, then raised the gangway. The entire thing lay vertical against the hull. The crewmen yelled to their fellows on the open-air deck once the gangway was raised. The crewmen topside secured it, and then those beside Iltar closed the opening with an interior door. They released some kind of mechanism and the cracks between the opening and the door were sealed, becoming watertight.

  Quite impressive.

  “This way,” the bodyguard said, pointing aft. He moved through Iltar.

  Iltar glanced at the servants, who didn’t seem surprised. They obviously knew that the bodyguards were illusions. The second bodyguard—who remained quiet—turned into a puff of smoke. The illusionary particles making up its body vanished into nothingness.

  “Come on!” the illusionary bodyguard yelled.

  Iltar wound his way to the back of the ship, passing several lavish rooms designed to entertain guests. He followed the illusion to the last room. It was a large sitting room as wide as
the vessel’s berth, a length of twenty-six phineals. Windows lined the aft bulkhead, allowing a view to the eastern ocean.

  “So, what do you think?” Pagus’s voice echoed from both the illusion and a chair near the windows.

  “I think your claims were a little reckless,” Iltar answered.

  “I’m talking about the illusions,” Pagus said, his voice in two places. He stood from his chair. The roguish Royal was wearing a black button-up uniform with tassels.

  “Those were good,” Iltar said with a nod. “You’ve definitely improved, my apprentice.” Pagus grinned slyly. “Now back to the letter,” Iltar said. “You really overdid yourself. And making claims about deceased relatives. The council will surely look into that.”

  Pagus waved his hand playfully. “I got that taken care of,” he winked.

  Iltar’s eyes widened. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

  “Aunty Elsia?” Pagus asked, laughing. “She’s my favorite aunt. I couldn’t kill her!” The Yaelinum lurched backward, and Iltar stumbled into a wide stance.

  “So what did you do?” Iltar demanded.

  “Pagus enlisted my help,” said an alluring feminine voice, coming from the other side of the cabin.

  Iltar darted a surprised glance to a regal-looking woman standing at another doorway near the vessel’s port side. She stood about average height, with curvy hips and a full bust. She looked to be in her mid-forties. Her light-brown hair was braided and hung over her left shoulder.

  “This is my aunt,” Pagus said, gesturing to the woman. “Countess Elsia Scurn, my father’s sister.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Elsia said, crossing the room. Her gait was natural, even with the movement of the ship. She extended her hand for Iltar to kiss. Iltar had never understood the need for Sarn women to greet men in such a way. As he bent to comply, he couldn’t help but notice the intricate ring on her middle finger. The ring was made of gold, with two birds holding up a black sapphire wrapped in golden casing. Ten white gems were inlaid within the casing, spaced equally around the black sapphire. Iltar reluctantly took the countess’s hand and kissed it. It was hard to not get scratched by the wings on that darned ring. They were practically rustling his goatee.