A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Elsia continued shouting a torrent of questions. The acolytes gathered around, each anxious. Pagus knelt beside his aunt, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He whispered for Elsia to let go of her lifeless friend. Pagus’s urging sent Elsia into a wailing frenzy. She beat a fist upon her nephew’s chest as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Amid Elsia’s sobbing, light shone from a stairwell leading to the lower levels of Iltar’s tower, accompanied by demands from Delrin.

  The limping guardsman hobbled up a staircase and onto the tower’s roof, carrying a lightstone lantern. Delrin looked stunned upon seeing Iltar and the others. He asked a flurry of questions, but Iltar couldn’t answer him. Though Iltar was physically atop the tower, his mind felt so far away.

  Pagus was quick to answer Delrin’s questions. He then pulled his aunt toward the staircase and descended into Iltar’s tower. The acolytes followed Pagus, but Delrin remained, hurrying to Iltar. Once near, Delrin knelt, warily gazing into Iltar’s eyes. He spoke, but Iltar didn’t understand what he was saying. All he could do was stare at Alanya’s lifeless body. Her eyes were frozen in that final glance they had exchanged.

  Eventually, Delrin left.

  Now alone, Iltar struggled to move toward Alanya. It was an excruciating moment before he reached her, taking her cold body into a tight embrace. And then, Iltar cried. His tears flowed until the western horizon became alight with a warm-orange hue. That night of mourning felt like an eternity.

  How he had loved her!

  The realization almost broke him. Overwhelming anguish filled him. Though Iltar had experienced much pain in his life, this was far beyond anything he had ever felt.

  The sun was rising in the west as Belsina—Iltar’s maid—ascended the stairs to the tower’s rooftop. Belsina shook her head as she crossed the roof. She took a deep breath before kneeling beside Iltar. After a moment, Belsina wrapped one arm around Iltar and rested the other upon the lifeless Alanya.

  “Give her to me,” Belsina urged gently.

  Iltar turned to her as Hegdil—the groom—stepped onto the tower’s rooftop with Delrin and Jalim.

  “Go with Hegdil,” Belsina suggested in a calm tone. “We’ll take care of her.” With a gentle touch, Belsina ran a hand through Iltar’s hair. Iltar struggled to relinquish his grip. If he let go, he would lose her, forever.

  “Iltar,” Belsina urged. They exchanged pained gazes, then Iltar reluctantly complied. Belsina gently took hold of Alanya, closing her eyes. She heaved the high duchess’s rigid body with a groan.

  Weakened from his sorrow, Iltar struggled to stand, and Hegdil dashed across the tower’s rooftop. Pained by his master’s loss, Hegdil wrapped an arm around Iltar and helped him walk.

  “She’s gone, Hegdil…” Iltar muttered. “And I never told her.” His own words struck his heart, and he suddenly felt numb. Hegdil looked at him quizzically, but didn’t respond. His demeanor was somber as he guided Iltar to the stairs.

  “You need to rest, Master Iltar,” Hegdil said, intending to usher his master down the steps, but Iltar grabbed hold of the nearby parapet. His grip abruptly stopped them both.

  Iltar’s sorrow had bored a hole in his soul. But that hole was filling with an inferno of rage. An unquenchable fury contorted Iltar’s face as he glanced back to Alanya’s corpse. The woman he loved was dead. His quest for knowledge had brought nothing but folly. Though he had gained much, he had lost something far greater. What could have been something beautiful was now exquisitely bitter. Alanya—and her love—had been taken from him by the very people who had taken everything else he had cherished.

  Iltar would not let them go unpunished.

  Still gripping the tower’s parapet, Iltar gazed to the northeast, toward Mindolarn. “I will topple your empire,” he vowed, his tone filled with wrath. “Your cities will crumble, and your people will turn to dust. When I am through, Mindolarn will only be a memory.”

  THE END OF

  Part Three

  Sea breezes always felt glorious, even in the most precarious times. Sure, if you were on land you could feel similar gusts blowing in from the sea, but there was something lacking about those winds. Perhaps it was the rocking of a vessel, or the mists that accompanied the waves as they broke against a hull. Whatever it was, Captain Joselin Kenard knew he could only experience true magnificence at sea, and there was nothing quite like sailing the oceans of Kalda.

  Taking a deep breath, Captain Kenard reveled in that breeze washing across his ship, the White Duchess. He stood at the portside rail, running his hand through his thick shoulder-length blond hair. He often tied it back, letting only his gray lock hang down beside his face, but today all his hair hung loose. There was something relaxing about free-flowing hair, and he needed to relax.

  Kenard surveyed the horizon, his hand clasping the portside rail, which was made of a material that would neither rot nor rust. Despite this being his ship, Kenard had never known what the White Duchess was made from. The ship had been in his family for nearly a hundred years. Ole Pappy inherited the ship from his captain, who suddenly passed away without any warning. Since then, Kenard’s family had passed the White Duchess from father to son.

  The White Duchess was also the fastest ship in the known world. The ship made the Isles Run—a popular trading route in the Kalishir Ocean—in twenty-one days. Most ships would require a month and a half or more to complete the route, depending on weather conditions. For a time, the White Duchess’s speed had given Kenard a favorable reputation. Merchants requiring speedy delivery of their goods often hired him—whenever he was in port, of course. Kenard was quite prosperous for a while, but he had since fallen upon hard times.

  His current circumstances weren’t entirely his fault, though. Like other sailors, Kenard always enjoyed a tankard or two of strong drink—maybe even a barrel’s worth. That wasn’t the problem though…

  It wasn’t his fault that someone would start a brawl. It wasn’t his fault either that his crew would get swallowed up in the violence. And a captain couldn’t just let anything happen to his crewmen. He was the captain, after all, and a captain had to look out for his crew. Most City Watchmen, however, didn’t accept that reasoning.

  No matter where Kenard moored, the watchmen were always unreasonable. He didn’t start the brawls. It was as if the brawls were seeking him out, and a man couldn’t be held responsible for that.

  Paying for fines and bails began to add up, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Port officials all across the Kalishir Ocean began noticing the White Duchess. Kenard was making more runs between the various nations than any other shipping captain. A few places, Nemdar and Damnir, imposed an expedited shipping tax. Merchants didn’t want to pay the tax, of course, so they passed it on to their suppliers, who in turn passed it to the shipper. In order to combat that madness, Kenard upped his rate.

  That was probably the worst mistake he could have made. More places began enforcing the new tax; Soroth, Keth, Gredas, and even some cities on the Mainland. Kenard’s business had dwindled from then on.

  Several deckhands left to work on other ships. Few merchants were accepting his contracts. He tried accepting charters for passengers, but those ventures barely covered expenses. After almost a year, Kenard’s fortune disappeared completely.

  So, Kenard resorted to other methods.

  The White Duchess was well suited for the art of smuggling. On the second deck below the main—within the aft cabins—were hidden compartments. The compartments were practically invisible, making them perfect for smuggling unsanctioned goods. Most places in the Kalishir Ocean were not tolerant of smugglers, except Soroth. Well, to a point. Sorothians had laws against smuggling, but they were rarely enforced, and port officials were easily bribed. After all, Soroth had a prominent and well established black market.

  Since falling upon hard times, Kenard dealt quite frequently with merchants peddling on the black market of the Principality. He ran routes between Soroth and the Mainland, smuggl
ing goods for various merchants. Kenard had even smuggled a tevisral. That shipment alone paid a quarter of the year’s expenses. But then business slowed again.

  Hopefully this run will be as lucrative, Kenard thought, playing with his gray lock. Kenard often twirled it when nervous. His current shipment was a little out of the ordinary. Harvil Grave, a merchant Kenard often worked with, wanted a large shipment of roloush, a hearty elven grain. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. Roloush was a rare enough import on Soroth that transporting it paid well.

  The roloush, however, covered up something else. Harvil had made a deal with a member of the Elven Aristocracy of Merdan who was willing to sell him some elven-made scarves and ropes—objects with magical properties. Kenard didn’t know exactly what they did, nor did he care to broaden his understanding on the matter. Kenard was a sailor, not a mage.

  The scarves and ropes weren’t illegal to possess—at least in Soroth. Harvil just didn’t want to pay the additional tax. That was typical of Harvil.

  Kenard took in another deep breath as he gazed across the bow. The Isle of Soroth was spreading across the horizon.

  Commotion from the rigging drew Kenard’s attention. Several of the crewmen struggled to adjust the lines and yardarms. The White Duchess was running on a near skeleton crew, after all. Turning from the rail, Kenard shouted to the sailors, “Throw me a line!” Kenard stayed with the rigging as they continued toward Soroth.

  The White Duchess soon moored along Pier Twelve, one of the southern piers. Kenard helped to anchor the ship and furl the sails—he often performed those duties, as they evoked nostalgic memories from his youth. Once the White Duchess was anchored and its gangway lowered, a burly port official came aboard.

  “That was quick,” Kenard remarked sardonically, then noted the port official’s stern demeanor. The man looked stuffy, like a Losian. That doesn’t bode well, he thought, grabbing one of the lines and swinging down to the main deck.

  “Ho there!” Kenard said, swaggering to the man, “What’s your—?” Then, Kenard held his tongue as his first mate—Cadru—met the official, greeting him emphatically. Cadru looked tiny beside the Sorothian official. The first mate wasn’t that tall a man. Cadru ran a hand through his wavy light-brown hair as he handed the port official their charter and manifest.

  “… from Keth, I see,” the port official said, eyeing the manifest.

  “Yes, sir.” Cadru glanced to Kenard, his sea-gray eyes looking wry. “And this is our captain,” Cadru said, and gestured to Kenard.

  The burly Sorothian gave a sideways glance to Kenard, then returned to the charter. “Where is your hold?” he asked.

  “This way,” Cadru said, gesturing toward the stairs leading to the lower decks.

  * * * * *

  The no-name Sorothian official was quite thorough. Not only did he search to the bottom of every barrel of roloush, he even painstakingly inspected the engine room on the third deck below the main. The engine room intrigued most officials; no other ship on Kalda had one. It was the engine—which Kenard believed to be powered by tevisrals—that granted the White Duchess such incredible speed.

  After the inspection was finished, Kenard and Cadru warily watched the official disembark from the White Duchess.

  “That was… unusual,” Cadru whispered. “I thought for a moment there that he would want to pry the bulkheads open.” Kenard nodded with a frown. Most Sorothian port officials were lax in their duties. Some were downright corrupt. But this burly no-name man was quite the opposite.

  The port official had come close to discovering the smuggling compartments. After inspecting the engine room, the official had wanted to see the aft quarters on the second deck below the main. Those particular quarters were situated directly above the engine room. It was there that the hatches for the smuggling compartments were located. The compartments themselves were secreted behind the engine room’s bulkheads.

  Luckily for Kenard, there was more to the White Duchess than met the eye. The official had them remove the furniture and expose the decking in the cabins. To the official’s disappointment, he found nothing.

  Once the port official was out of sight, Kenard turned to Cadru. “C’mon,” he whispered, “let’s get the shipment ready.” They hurried to the second deck below the main, where the cabins were still in disarray from the inspection.

  “At least we don’t have to move the furniture again,” Cadru said, winking at his captain. Kenard chuckled and turned toward decorative domes on the wall. He touched one at eye level, swiping his finger to his right, then diagonally to the top of the dome, and lastly to the bottom. A glimmer of blue light reflected through the room, and Kenard turned. Grooves appeared in the decking, as well as a handle carved into the floor. The whole process was far beyond Kenard’s comprehension, but he knew it had something to do with tevisrals and transmut-a-something.

  Cadru swiftly opened the newly formed hatch, revealing one of the hidden compartments. The first mate then removed a brown sack that glowed a pale-green—a result of the elven scarves and ropes within it.

  “Bury it in one of the barrels,” Kenard said.

  “Aye, Joselin,” Cadru nodded, hurrying out of the cabin.

  Kenard then turned back to the decorative dome and touched it, moving his finger in the same pattern. The hatch disappeared, and the decking looked like one solid mass.

  * * * * *

  Kenard waited until nightfall before making the delivery to Harvil. Cadru and two of his more loyal crewmen—Vedwin and Alban—drove filled carts toward the shady merchant’s shop.

  “Why don’t y’all make your way to the Lovely Lady,” Kenard suggested, referring to a tavern they frequented often.

  “You sure, Joselin?” Cadru asked, sounding nervous. The inspection probably still bothered him.

  “Yeah.” Kenard waved his hand dismissively. “I got this handled. I’ll meet you there once I get the payment.”

  “If you don’t get distracted by a pretty face on your way,” Alban said, chuckling. Kenard laughed. There were some attractive women on this street, two of whom he had enjoyed in the past. Memories of their lush bodies drew a smile.

  At Harvil’s shop, Kenard knocked on the shop’s back door while Cadru and the others unloaded the barrels. Harvil soon emerged with his hired guards, who also acted as grunts for receiving large deliveries. The guards hurried to the carts, helping unload the barrels.

  “Ahoy there, Kenard,” Harvil cackled. He stood a head length shorter than Kenard and was a portly fellow.

  Kenard raised an eyebrow at the merchant. “I’m standing right in front of you,” he said flatly.

  “Isn’t that how you sailors greet each other?”

  From afar… Kenard thought, but bit his tongue.

  Harvil engaged Kenard in small talk about the voyage from Keth, but there wasn’t much to say. The winds were fair, and the waters calm. The hirelings finished unloading the barrels—forty in all—and began moving them through another entrance.

  “Why don’t we go inside,” Harvil suggested. Kenard nodded, waving to dismiss Cadru and the others before joining Harvil. The sound of horse hoofs and wheels faded into the night as Kenard made his way through Harvil’s shop.

  “They’re in the barrel with the scratches on the top,” Kenard said.

  “You mean they didn’t search the barrels?” Harvil asked incredulously. Kenard gave the merchant a sidelong glance. He wanted to set the short man straight, but doing so would only expose his secrets. So, Kenard bit his tongue again.

  They made their way to the shop’s storeroom where the guards were securing the barrels. Harvil wound his way around the shipment, looking for the scratched top. He giddily opened the barrel and rummaged through the round grain. The bag containing the elven scarves and ropes made the storeroom brighter, veiling the room with a greenish tint.

  “Ah, magnificent!” Harvil exclaimed, opening the bag. “Exactly as promised.”

  “You didn’t think an elf
would go back on his word, did you?” Kenard asked, his hands on his hips.

  Harvil grinned. “I wasn’t concerned about the elf,” he commented.

  Was that a jab at me? Kenard felt a tad insulted.

  “They will get to measuring the roloush,” Harvil said, picking his way through the barrels. “You and I will sit down and talk payment.”

  There was a fixed price on the roloush, but their agreement for the elven fabrics was open to debate. For the next half an hour—as the roloush was weighed—Kenard haggled with Harvil in the merchant’s private office. Amid their negotiations, one of the guards entered with a tiny piece of parchment.

  Harvil took the sheet and squinted. “Looks to be more than I ordered,” he said, sighing. “I’ll pay the difference, I suppose. One can’t go wrong selling roloush.”

  Kenard nodded and was about to open his mouth when rapid pounding echoed into the room—a harsh knock against the shop’s main entrance. Oh no… His eyes widened in horror.

  “Go check on that,” Harvil snapped, but the guard was already away before the merchant finished the command.

  Both Kenard and Harvil held their breaths. Kenard knew what often accompanied that type of knocking. The very sound knotted his stomach. He frantically searched the office, but there was no way out besides the door where the guard had left.

  A sudden commotion rang through the shop: clanging armor was followed by hurried footfalls and accompanied by declared threats from city officials for anyone who resisted.

  “What have you done?” Harvil snapped at Kenard.

  “Me?” Kenard asked, insulted at the accusation. He felt the urge to run.

  “They must have glimpsed the sack in the barrel!” Harvil cried. “You fool!”

  Kenard tensed as the commotion grew louder. A scuffle reached his ears—undoubtedly the hired guards engaging the authorities raiding Harvil’s shop. A man in armored livery of Soroth’s Port Authority barred the office’s doorway, holding a decorative fanisar. “Two more back here,” he said from behind his visor.