A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  He wasn’t afraid of what could happen on a street that was dark and quiet; he could easily take care of himself. In fact, he wouldn’t mind an encounter with a bandit or a gang of thugs. It had been quite some time since he had seen any real action. Of course, Iltar had trained with Cornar frequently after their last adventure, but that wasn’t the same.

  Cor, what are you up to? Cornar’s decision still boggled Iltar’s mind. We really are men of adventure, aren’t we? Drawn to action like moths to a flame.

  Iltar envied Cornar in that moment, longing to explore the Isle of Klindala. What secrets were Cor and the others unearthing?

  Thoughts of adventure flooded Iltar’s mind as he passed several large estates, each guarded by several men. The guards eyed Iltar as he passed, unnerved by his presence. It was quite late, after all. Iltar didn’t pay much attention to them. He was caught up in the memories of past adventures and the imagined doings of his friends half a world away.

  Marching footfalls reached Iltar’s ears, and he turned around to see a patrol of Mindolarn soldiers approaching him. Iltar moved aside, but didn’t slow his pace. They hadn’t called out to him, so he probably wasn’t in danger of being stopped. Was there a curfew in Mindolarn? Soroth had one, but it was rarely enforced.

  After walking for a quarter of an hour, Iltar reached the gates of High Duchess Alanya Tasivir’s mansion. Her guards recognized him and opened the gates, eyeing the patrol as it passed. Iltar said nothing to Alanya’s guards, and they didn’t talk to him either. He continued in silence, walking down the private road leading to the mansion. Iltar rounded the fountain in front of the mansion’s entrance and took the side path leading to the guesthouse.

  More guards stood outside the guesthouse’s main entrance, but Iltar didn’t walk that way. He sauntered across the grass toward the guesthouse’s back door, but stopped upon seeing warm light shining from a window on the mansion’s second story.

  Was someone awake at this hour? he wondered. Perhaps one of the servants forgot to cover the lightstones.

  Iltar stared at the window for a moment and was about to turn around when he saw movement. Someone was awake. Iltar moved to the grassy area where he trained the acolytes, which gave him a better view of the window.

  A shadow danced across the grass, then High Duchess Alanya Tasivir stepped up to the window. She intently read from an open book in her hands.

  Alanya’s hair was down, and she wore no makeup. She still looked stunning. Iltar couldn’t help but stare at her. He was tired, but gazing at her invigorated him. The high duchess lowered the tome and gazed out the window. She stared across the city, then shot a glance down to Iltar.

  Oh no…

  Alanya cocked her head at him, then smiled, motioning for him to come to her.

  Did he dare? It was late… The guards might not even let him in. Alanya tapped on the window, then pointed down at an angle to her right. Iltar shrugged, not knowing what she was trying to convey. The high duchess pointed again, then made a gesture like she was opening a door. She pointed two fingers down and made them walk upward at an angle. After that, Alanya traced a few lines on the window. Was she giving directions to her chambers?

  Iltar didn’t move. Why was she inviting him in at this time of night? Had Alanya found something in that book she was reading? The high duchess had expressed some interest in his research the past few days and said she would peruse her library.

  That must be it, he thought, but why meet at this hour? Iltar sighed and walked across the lawn to a door at the mansion’s rear. The door was locked, but a guard on the inside opened it.

  “Uh, I need to see the high duchess,” Iltar said.

  “I’m sorry, she is sleeping,” the guard said, looking a little confused. “Is this a matter that concerns the Countess Scurn?”

  “No,” Iltar said. “May I enter?” The guard reluctantly nodded and stepped aside.

  Iltar could see an L-shaped staircase across the hall; two steps led to a landing and then the staircase turned another direction.

  What were those directions again? he wondered upon reaching the stairs. Once on the second floor, Iltar wound his way through several hallways. The walls were covered in decorative wooden paneling and dotted with an occasional painting.

  Iltar turned a corner and came to a small hall that ended at a beautifully carved door. It was unlike any of the others he had seen in this mansion, or the guesthouse. Light peaked beneath the door, spilling across the floor.

  After knocking once, Iltar heard the high duchess bid him enter.

  He stepped into a two-story bedchamber with ornate décor. An oversized bed sat against the left wall, hemmed by beautifully carved nightstands. The bed looked like it could fit three or four people. Recessed bookcases flanked the window where Alanya was standing.

  The high duchess wore a pale-pink robe made from shimmering silk, embroidered with flowery designs. The robe went only partway down Alanya’s shins, leaving her bare feet exposed.

  “Shut the door,” she said, “and turn the lock, please.” Iltar complied. But why would she want it locked? He felt a spike of worry.

  “I take it you just returned from the Hilinard?” Alanya asked, settling into a high-backed chair near the window. Iltar nodded, and she gestured to an identical chair beside her, separated only by a small round table.

  Iltar took that as a suggestion for him to sit. But as he walked toward her, she gasped. “Oh! Take off your boots.”

  He halted and complied again. Odd request, he thought, returning to the door and dropping his boots.

  “Thank you,” Alanya said. “I’m sorry… I have a thing.” She scrunched up her face.

  Iltar nodded, but didn’t speak as he crossed the room. What could he say to that? He settled into the high-backed chair, and Alanya handed him the book. “I found something about the Chosen within my late husband’s library,” she said. “I don’t know whether it is a redundant find, but I figured I should show it to you.”

  “All right,” Iltar said, reading the passage. It began by explaining how the Chosen initiated manifestations of the Will of Cheserith. Iltar hadn’t seen this particular passage. The writer claimed they did this through a special bond between them and their God. They shared something unique that others of the Cherisium religion didn’t. The Chosen could also allow others to experience this manifestation. They could even craft visions for those of the faithful they deemed worthy. That was a detail Iltar hadn’t seen. Crafting visions? It seemed a lot like what Reflection had done.

  “Is it helpful?” Alanya asked, sounding a little worried. Where was her regal demeanor?

  “Uh, yes,” Iltar said. “It has a lot of similar information to other passages we’ve come across, but there are details in there that make it… uh, unique.” He handed the book back to Alanya.

  “You know,” the high duchess said as she took the book, “I’ve never subscribed to the Cherisium religion. My late husband was a devotee… always attending the Feast of Sorrows, praying daily, seeking the Will. At times he seemed so desperate to commune with his God.” Alanya averted her gaze to the floor. “I always thought it superstitious. You’re from Soroth. You know what it’s like on our islands. Religion is… trivial.”

  Iltar hummed and nodded.

  Alanya talked for a while about the differences between the Mindolarn Empire and the Principality of Soroth. Was she missing her homeland? From what Iltar could tell, life here in Mindolarn was far better than in Soroth.

  The high duchess sighed and looked at him. Was that longing he saw in her eyes? She was probably missing her husband. The dead man had undoubtedly sat in this chair during conversations like this.

  “Tell me about your day,” she said, resting her elbow on the armrest. Alanya settled her slender chin into her palm, still eying him with that odd gaze. She wasn’t interested in him, was she? No. A woman like her wouldn’t find him attractive…

  “Well, we didn’t find anything new,” Iltar said.
“I’m still waiting for Pagus’s report. I have him searching for information on someone called, the Unspoken One. He—”

  “He’s the man who can muster magic without incantation,” Alanya said.

  How did she know that?

  “It’s in this book.” She tapped the tome she had handed Iltar. “Algas Marn mentions him. The Unspoken One is the one who will usher in the return of the Cherisium god. There’s even a verse that he quotes from some ancient texts.” She flipped through the pages. “Here.” Alanya handed the book back to Iltar.

  “To him will I grant the authority to wield my power without the use of tongue. Thought will yield the manifestation of destruction. He shall pave the way for a triumphant return, ushering in my final reign. Nations shall know him as the Unspoken One, the Harbinger of Hemran’na, the Destroyer of the Wicked. Through him I, the God of this world, will rise once again, never to be vanquished by mine enemies. For only then will the Crimson Eye remain hidden for all time.”

  Iltar leaned back in his chair, surprised to see so many details in that quoted verse.

  “I take it you haven’t read this?” Alanya asked, her face betraying her anticipation.

  “No…”

  Alanya smiled and reached her hand to his. What was she doing?

  “I think that’s a good note on which to end your research for the night,” she said as she glided her fingers against his. Her touch was cool, as it had been that first time in the solarium. “You remind me of my late husband, Scovis. Determined. Dedicated.”

  Iltar stared at her fingers for a moment, then slowly looked to her face. Alanya bit her lower lip, still gazing at him. He hadn’t seen a woman look at him that way since his last night with Anela.

  “I like those traits in a man…” Iltar’s stomach tensed with nervous anticipation.

  Alanya continued gazing at him. Her breath quickened. The pupils of her eyes dilated. The high duchess looked like a woman yearning for affection.

  All Iltar could do was stare at her. This isn’t happening, is it? Iltar glanced to the window, afraid that Reflection was playing a cruel trick. But the sky was dark.

  Alanya raised her hand to Iltar’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “If you won’t start it, I will,” she said, her words ravenous. “I know you want me. I’ve seen you staring at me.” Alanya gripped his hand, then came close, leaning forward and pressing her lips against his. Her kiss was cool, but her lips warmed as they lingered against his.

  She pulled back and straightened, still holding his hand. “I didn’t call you here just to discuss research,” she said, loosening the knot in the silky belt around her waist.

  Iltar’s eyes widened. It was happening. But… but he hadn’t been with a woman in years. Decades, even.

  Alanya tugged at his hand.

  Got to stand up, Iltar told himself and lurched out of the chair.

  The high duchess grinned at him, guiding him to her lavish bed.

  “The hiss’thraks shall reawaken, taking upon themselves forms long forgotten.”

  - Prophecy of Soron Thahan

  Three days had passed since the encounter with Gevistra and his people within the Fortress of Anigar. Since then, the Wildman had led Kaescis and his friends down the mountains through a pass behind the ruined fortress. The Wildmen had beaten a path through the forest that they used to travel to the other tribes. Thus far, the trip had been uneventful.

  “The high chieftain live over that hill,” Gevistra pointed to a rise in the forest path. The Wildman rode atop a valerin, an animal that resembled a bear but was more docile; it had white fur with pale-gray spots. Valerins usually had fangs, but Gevistra and his people had defanged this one when domesticating it. The creature’s claws had also been removed. Valerins were common in the mountains of Klindala, so Gevistra and his tribe would capture the babies and raise them. Gevistra said the animals were useful for hauling things between his tribe and the other Wildmen. They rarely rode a valerin not laden.

  “We be there before sun fall,” Gevistra said. “I—”

  A tremor surged beneath them, causing the horses to panic. The valerin, however, didn’t react.

  “Whoa!” Kaescis pulled on his reins and patted his black horse, which started to buck. “Calm down, boy.” The horse whinnied and shook with fright.

  A loud thud resonated from behind Kaescis. He glanced toward the sound, seeing Bratan on the ground. Bratan’s horse was running, packs of supplies bouncing as the horse galloped away.

  Laeyit’s horse turned and bolted, nearly throwing her from the saddle. Her horse galloped away as she yelled an incantation, mustering enthralling magic. The gray particles wisped into the horse’s nostrils, abruptly stilling it.

  “Damned beast!” Laeyit shouted. “Come back!”

  “Why they run?” Gevistra asked, his valerin undaunted.

  Kaescis held tight to his reins, and the shaking ceased. “They’re scared,” Kaescis said, watching Bratan’s horse flee into the trees. “Stay here, Gevistra.”

  “Where you go?” the Wildman asked.

  Kaescis didn’t reply. He had to get Bratan’s horse. Kaescis kicked his horse into a gallop and uttered an incantation, mustering enhancing magic. White particles gathered in his hands and surged across the reins, seeping into his horse. Some of the magic, however, wisped into the gems on his armor.

  The magic quickened the horse’s gallop. His steed moved fast, as if he were not laden by Kaescis and his armor. The armor, however, wasn’t heavy by any means. His plate was crafted by a metallurgical technique—using tevisrals—to form an alloy called Triaindium. With impact strength greater than any naturally occurring metals, the plate’s toughness was equivalent to a suit that, if crafted by natural metals, would weigh eight times Kaescis’s weight. The suit was inlaid with tevisrals that drew in certain magics—barsion, enhancing, and illusionary, to name a few. The armor would draw in those magics through the gemstones if present, hence the reason some of the enhancing particles meant for his horse wisped to his armor.

  Kaescis’s horse wove through the trees and caught up to Bratan’s steed within seconds. But, before he could overtake the horse, the brown steed bolted into a clearing.

  You’re not getting away, Kaescis thought, uttering an enthralling incantation. He hunched forward and stretched out his hand, aiming at Bratan’s horse. Kaescis broke the tree line as the gray particles shot from his hand.

  The magic zipped through the air, surrounding the horse as it leapt over a ledge and onto a lower part of the clearing.

  Kaescis lost sight of Bratan’s horse, but felt his magic taking effect. He could hear, smell, and see everything the horse was experiencing. Kaescis slowed his horse to a canter, stopping near the ledge. He forced Bratan’s horse to trot toward a nearby slope. Kaescis, however, glimpsed a cave through the horse’s eyes. Something moved.

  What was that?

  Kaescis turned the horse’s head while guiding it toward the slope. The cave was quite large, and something moved inside it.

  From what Kaescis had learned from Gevistra, the Wildmen didn’t inhabit caves. Like Gevistra and his people, some inhabited ruins, while others lived in tents. The leader of all the tribes—the high chieftain—was nomadic and had a traveling tent city that moved between the various tribes. Whatever was in this cave was not a Wildman.

  The movement was clearer. A giant silhouette neared the cave’s mouth.

  That horse, Kaescis shook his head with annoyance, quickening the enthralled horse’s trot to a canter. Bratan’s horse ascended the rise, moving straight for Kaescis.

  Lumbering movement reached his ears, and Kaescis looked to the ledge. He whispered another enthralling incantation, guiding the new spell into his own horse. Whatever was coming out of the cave was surely going to spook his steed. It was bad enough chasing one horse.

  The second spell took hold as a massive hand-like appendage peeked over the ledge, gripping the rock. It was tipped with six sharp gray talons and co
vered in dark green scales.

  Six fingers? Kaescis wondered, dismounting. He grabbed his helmet before commanding his steed to move. A troll? Why would one of those be here? Yes, they were near mountains, but Kaescis had never heard of such creatures living this far from any mountain peak.

  Six more talons peeked over the ledge, followed by a reptilian head. Yes, it was a troll. The creature’s snout was long, with loose gray skin hanging from its sides. That flabby skin was nearly as long as Kaescis’s arm. Four nostrils twitched, obviously smelling Kaescis and the horses. The creature’s eyes were drawn to the horses now near the tree line. The troll’s six-sided pupils grew wide, and it opened its snout, revealing an abhorrent maw without tongue or tooth. Finger-long feelers lined the entire orifice, the opening large enough to fit a man. Kaescis had seen a troll devour a soldier whole. The beast had snatched him up with its massive claws and dropped him inside, swallowing the soldier in a single gulp.

  The troll straightened, his snake-like neck peering over the ledge. Its neck and underbelly were lined with gray-green skin, moist and slick, that reflected the sunlight with a disturbing sheen. It stretched during feeding, as the beasts were accustomed to consuming live meals. Their prey would die slowly within their innards. Sometimes trolls would pound their chests if their prey was too violent.

  Kaescis eyed the towering creature and donned his helmet stoically. Everything went black for a moment, and then Kaescis could see as clearly as if he weren’t wearing his helmet at all. During the failed attempts to recreate the Ul’thirls, the scholars at the Hilinard had inadvertently developed a tevisral that could visually perceive. They began further development on the mistake, which resulted in Kaescis’s helmet. Besides the prototype, this helmet was currently the only one in existence.

  The troll climbed the ledge, standing much taller than Kaescis. He barely reached the monster’s knee. Trolls were around three times the size of a man, but this one looked larger.

  With its mouth still open, the troll glanced to Kaescis.

  “Come at me, beast,” Kaescis shouted with anticipating glee. A perfect opportunity to test my weapon. He uttered an incantation, mustering his long Ko’delish blade. Black mist seethed from Kaescis’s hands, forming a shaft that became the deadly blade. Once the weapon formed, it continued to mist the black particles.