Rennar had hired assassins before. But he had always known what he was paying for. This seemed different. He hated being left in the dark about anything, but it would be worth it to stick Artemis's head on a pike and plant it in the market square to discourage any thought of rebellion from the Nobles of Bren. Speaking of which...
"What of our nobles?" he asked Kirrel, snapping back to the present.
"Nothing of note at all, my lord. Some of them are considering approaching you for—"
"More tax cuts?" asked Rennar. Kirrel nodded. Rennar made a small fortune from taxing the old nobles of Bren for mining. They were unsatisfied but powerless to do anything, only slightly better off than the local populace. Rennar had robbed most of them of their power, even stripping down their guard to a bare skeleton. Many of the noble families were loyal to King Kesseleth. The ones related to him by blood were summarily executed, as were some who were suspected of sedition. The ones left alive had been content to grasp at the very little power Emperor Thyurin had left them after taking Bren. But every now and then, they grew bolder and approached Rennar with stupid demands. He would need to tighten the leash.
"I will take care of them. You may leave us now, Kirrel."
Chapter 7
Kirrel departed, leaving Rennar alone with Khamis. They were nearly done with their meal. Rennar was quite fond of his companion. His father, Xurukk, however, was too eccentric a man. The nomads lived on a strict code of the desert. A code that Rennar found alien. They did not deal in slaves for profit, but on the age-old principle that the strong had a right to rule the weak and exploit them. A man of very simple tastes, Xurukk had not been impressed when Rennar had invited him to Bren. Khamis was another matter entirely. Every bit as brutal as his father, but having a taste for the finer things in life. His father had been content to live the life of a nomad in his tent, but it was Khamis who persuaded him to establish Slaver Port to the northeast of Bren. It was a haven for smugglers and Rennar had his hands deep in it.
It was Emperor Thyurin who first found that the nomads were useful. Weakened though they were by Naxannor, the kingdoms of Ryga didn't fall easily. It was only after the emperor had brokered a deal with the desert nomads that the tides turned in their favor. Supplied with Aegean weaponry, the nomads proved a destructive force and were now the true masters of the desert. Slavery was outlawed in the Aegean Isles, but many noble families had holdings all over Ryga and on other obscure islands where the Empire turned a blind eye to objectionable practices. Slaves were invaluable in those places. As they were in Bren. It was solely because of the low prices with which he purchased the best stock of slaves that Rennar could maintain the iron output he did. Yes, Khamis was a very valuable ally.
"So my dear Khamis," said Rennar. They were now drinking the wine that the slaves had poured after clearing the plates. "I trust all is well with your father?"
Khamis nodded before taking the wine in a single go. These nomads were constituted well.
"He's as healthy as ever," he continued. "He doesn't like my idea of pushing further into the deep desert."
The nomads were only active in the southern region near Bren and the other kingdoms. Their war with the local tribes had always been a territorial one.
"But why? I would think the tribes in the deeper desert are much weaker. Easier to hunt."
They occasionally got some fare from the deep desert, and Rennar hadn't been impressed. The weapons they used were wooden staves and spears. The nomads had adapted to stronger armor, as had some of the southern tribes. But the deep-desert dwellers were out of touch with the rest of Ryga and carried on with their primitive weapons.
Khamis laughed.
"Strength comes in many forms, my friend. We are wanderers, but we rarely tread the deep desert. Their knowledge of the deep desert is something even the nomads do not have. Although we would surely win any battle of sword against them. My father is simply afraid to break tradition. None of the nomads have ever crossed into the deep desert."
Rennar nodded. He knew the nomads to be men of strict custom.
"How many tribes are there deeper inside? Have you ever been into the deep desert?"
"Twice. Once when I was younger and wished to explore. Another time when we were chasing some escaped slaves. We found only their bodies," he said. "The desert shows no mercy to the weak. We don't know how many tribes there are. It is not for slaves I wish to enter the deep. Crossing it would let my people establish a post towards the west."
Well, well. Khamis had his sights set high indeed. The Deckan campaign of the Aegean military was aimed towards the north. Its main goal was to control the central plains and establish an outpost to stand against the free northern kingdoms. The west was left untouched for now. But soon they would inevitably have to conquer it as well. Khamis seemed to have the same idea for Ryga as the emperor himself—complete conquest. The tribes to the west were a tougher sort than those near Bren due to their trade and friendship with Eora.
Rennar had brokered many deals between the nomads and the Aegean Empire. This could be the most fruitful of all. If the nomads could establish a post early on, when the time came for the Aegean army to make use of it, Rennar would be hailed a hero. Perhaps his office would be expanded to stretch the whole south. Aside from a few Aegean nobles and the Council of Three, Rennar was already one of the most powerful men in the Aegean islands.
"So have you spoken to your father? Tried to show him the reason in it?"
Khamis gave a blank stare and then shrugged.
"Old men, old ideas."
Rennar tried to hide that he was shocked. He hoped Khamis would not do anything stupid. Xurukk might be an old man, but the nomads were fiercely loyal to him. They had a good thing going, especially Rennar, for Khamis to throw it away trying to usurp power. Besides, Xurukk might be one of the few men that unsettled Rennar. There were only two other men who did that. Emperor Thyurin himself who had that effect on nearly everyone. And the arch-mage Gawain, keeper of Norvind. Khamis broke the silence.
"So. Your Prince Elben. This is not the first time I am hearing his name. Is he really that good with a sword?"
"I have seen him fight only once, and yes. He isn't just good; he is the best I have seen. With any weapon."
Khamis nodded. He was one of the best fighters among the nomads and was always interested in the tournaments that took place in Aegis. Rennar had never seen him fight, but it would be interesting. The weapons of choice were different. The isles preferred large two-handed swords or long-swords. The nomads used curved falchions or scimitars. Some used them in conjunction with whips. If Rennar had to bet on a duel between Khamis and the fourth son of Emperor Thyurin, he would choose the prince. He had yet to see anyone who could handle a blade as well as him.
"And this Azrael. The soon-to-be overseer. Kirrel said he is as good as the prince? Would that be true?"
Rennar doubted it.
"There could be some truth in it. You can see for yourself. Maybe a friendly spar between you and him once he arrives. It would help get him on our side."
Khamis answered, dropping his hand to his hilt, "I look forward to it."
Chapter 8
Lorian slumped into a stool at the counter as soon as they walked into the inn.
"I will be back soon. Feel free to order anything you like. I'm sure you must be famished," said Gawain, smiling.
Lorian nodded. It had been a day since leaving the Shadow Spire. He had missed lunch yesterday because he had to depart so urgently and he did not have any dinner later that night because Gawain had left him on the outskirts of a large manor, saying it wasn't safe for him to visit this particular guest. Lorian was curious but did not question Gawain, choosing to trust his wisdom instead. He had been intrigued at first, but the last three 'friends' that they had visited had utterly bored him and nothing they said to Gawain held any interest for him.
He saw Gawain departing up the stairs of the inn. They were in a small but crowded town
. One of the border towns that fell under the jurisdiction of Bren. Gawain had mentioned how common people avoid noticing or even talking to mages. Lorian looked around to see that it was true. Yet Lorian knew it was also wrong. As soon as he turned around to face the bartender, he felt at least a half-dozen eyes staring into his back. They would pretend not to notice mages, but Lorian knew the truth. Every man craved power. He could feel the emotions of the people around him and knew that even though they wouldn't admit it to anyone else, they desired to possess the knowledge that the mages held.
Lorian did not know how he knew this. He just knew. His senses were quite sharp for a mage—more akin to those of a warrior.
One of the main reasons that mages were physically weaker was the toll that magic took on both mind and body. After intensive spellcasting, a mage would not only be physically drained, but his mind would begin to blur, leaving him unable to distinguish between dream and reality. Lorian had never felt this before. When drained, he simply felt empty… He couldn't cast spells, but his physical senses were still extremely sharp. Master Thaugmir had told him that this was an extremely useful gift to have, as he wouldn't be left completely defenseless even without magic. He even allowed Lorian some time to practice with conventional weapons—something he excelled at to the astonishment of his fellow apprentices.
His food and drink had arrived and Lorian began eating slowly. The wave of silence that had befallen the inn when Gawain and he had arrived gradually broke. The chatter continued. Lorian could pick up pieces of it from where he sat.
"So Eorans, eh? Any idea where they were heading?"
"Of course Eorans, you idiot. When did you see anyone from anywhere in Ryga or the isles dressed like that?"
"I heard they were heading for the isles."
"Did you see those large boxes they were carrying?"
"The tall one. I heard he was at the Peacock Inn just yesterday. He tipped Galena fifteen gold pieces!"
"The tall one wasn't Eoran, you fool. He was a Zalearr."
"A what?"
Lorian had read about the Zalearr. The eight-foot-tall, thin, humanoid race that inhabited the northern tundra. They were few in number but supposedly indestructible in battle. They had formed an alliance with the Eoran emperor and were now a part of the Army of Light that was fighting Namoth.
So, a group of Eorans accompanied by a Zalearr passed this way. To head to the isles, presumably. This wasn't the first he'd heard of it. There had been whispers and rumors all along the way since the first town they had passed through. He continued to listen.
"I think they're here to buy more iron."
"Why would they send a Zalearr from the north all the way here to buy iron? And did you see the dress the big fat man was wearing? I'll bet you anything he's a nobleman. They don't send such people to simply buy iron."
"You think they want help?"
"Yes, that could be why they're heading to the isles."
"Help? That makes me laugh. I thought the Eorans had more brains than that. The last time we received help from the islanders…"
"Quiet, you fool! You want to get hauled off to the dungeons?"
Lorian winced. The tale of betrayal was well known. The islanders had sent only a paltry few troops to help Ryga against Naxannor. It was only after Naxannor had moved north and perished that the islanders came in full force to conquer Ryga. Bren was the first to fall. Nobles were stripped of their titles, and those with blood ties to kings soon joined them in gallows. The common man was not affected much by the change in ruling. But there was still considerable resentment over how it turned out. Many of the commoners too had been drafted or volunteered to take up arms against Naxannor during the first demon war. Their fall to the isles later was taken very personally. Although it had died down over the last few years, people were routinely taken in for 'interrogation' by the governors guard.
"I heard they suffered some grave losses against Namoth of late. Rumors say he's far stronger than Naxannor."
The voices trailed off as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Gawain was standing by him. Well, that was quick.
"Apologies, Master Gawain. I fear I am still—"
Gawain raised a hand. "None needed. Take your time, child. I believe I am in need of drink as well."
Lorian noted that Gawain's face a little more lacking in color than a short while ago. Lorian waited as Gawain took a drink from the counter. Lorian decided to not ask about it yet.
"Enjoying the tavern rumors, I see," smiled Gawain.
"Merely listening, Master."
"So, did you learn anything interesting?"
"I gathered from the banter that there was a procession of Eorans heading towards Bren or maybe even the Aegean Isles."
Gawain nodded.
"Yes. There was much talk on the streets about this."
"They were accompanied by a Zalearr," said Lorian. Gawain raised an eyebrow and then took some more drink.
"Master, the war against Namoth must be going badly indeed if they wish to ask Aegis for help. Even more so if a Zalearr travels with them to ask."
"It's worse than the rumors, I'll have you know," said Gawain.
"Then why don't the mages of Norvind do anything?" asked Lorian, not hiding his displeasure.
Lorian had grown up in a town in the immediate aftermath of Naxannor's downfall. Not too far from the ghost city Azanar, where Naxannor made his last stand. He had experienced firsthand the adversity that followed. Not to mention an immediate war with the Aegean islanders. His village wasn't effectively connected with any of the bigger kingdoms. So, Azanar having fallen, they had nobody to turn to. Naxannor had succeeded in corrupting the land so horribly that even plants simply withered and died. And now there was Namoth, another arch-demon ravaging another land.
"Lorian, there are several ways of fighting for a cause. Hurtling headlong in opposition is the most direct way but not always the most effective one."
"But Master...a mage of your stature. Surely Namoth—"
"Do you really think even I can stand against an arch-demon?" Gawain's face held an expression of sorrow.
"Naxannor was felled by a blade," said Lorian. Everyone had heard the tale of the Red Paladin. The legendary warrior who dealt the final blow to Naxannor at Azanar.
Gawain appeared to struggle with his thoughts.
"I had a friend. One very dear to me. Not versed in the Lumen but still a formidable mage."
"What was his name?" asked Lorian. He knew most of the powerful mages from the libraries in the spire. Surely a mage worthy of Gawain's attention would have been mentioned.
As if reading his mind, Gawain replied, "There are many mages more powerful than the ones you have read about. Not every mage makes a public display of his prowess. I just received word of his demise a few moments ago."
"I'm sorry..." said Lorian, not knowing what more to add.
"As am I, child," said Gawain. "Although his death was not in vain."
They sat in silence for a few moments before Gawain spoke.
"Anyway, I wanted to let you know that there are people actively working to fight against Namoth and the Summoners. Not all of us are in the tundra."
"Wouldn't a direct assault work against Namoth? I've heard that the Army of Light came close to killing him numerous times," said Lorian.
"The paladins and priests of Myria are indeed formidable. The Zalearr, though few, are still as powerful as an entire army. Add to that the might of the Eoran Empire. But even they cannot kill Namoth. If they corner him, it's only because Namoth wishes it."
"Why would Namoth let himself get cornered?"
"Do you know the story of how Naxannor was killed?" asked Gawain, answering with a question.
"The Red Paladin," replied Lorian. "Naxannor had taken over Azanar and corrupted everyone in the city. The Red Paladin led a small force inside, and they fought their way to the throne room of the palace where Naxannor awaited. He then challenged Naxannor to single combat and slew hi
m. But Naxannor, already on the verge of defeat, decided to burn down the entire city."
"A tale made so famous in the last thirty years," observed Gawain. "Azanar was not the first city that Naxannor invaded. I'm sure you know that. Several cities that dot the path from the southern tip of Ryga to Azanar had all fallen. If you had seen what happened to some of those cities, I'm sure you would rethink your strategy of opposing an arch-demon in battle. The city of Sawlem fell shortly before Azanar. Sawlem was most famous for the temple of Myria. Paladins and priests from all over the known world traveled there for pilgrimage. In fact, before the new temple was established in Eora, to become a paladin, one had to travel to Sawlem and kneel for five whole days. No food, water or respite. You would kneel until you survived through the essence of Myria alone. The holiest of the temples, it housed more than three thousand paladins. All of whom together barely stood a chance against Naxannor."
"Yet he passed by Norvind and the Shadow Spire," observed Lorian.
"That is true. The nature of the Lumen is such that its strength inside Norvind is increased a hundredfold. Indeed, a part of me wished that he would have attacked Norvind."
"Then how exactly did the Red Paladin kill Naxannor?"
"I do not know the details, but from what I have managed to find out, the Red Paladin was a paragon example of everything the paladins and priests of Myria hope to achieve. By all reasoning and common sense, it isn't possible for a single human to stand in battle against an arch-demon. The only explanation I have is divine intervention. The most righteous and gifted of paladins are said to be able to channel Myria herself into their being. These are only suspicions though. I'm afraid the only one who can answer that question is the Red Paladin. Not that I haven't made my own attempts to find the man"
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