Origin Scroll

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “His will, Abdul,” vowed Lagor. Lagor returned an hour later with the ring and horse. Abdul left for Sordoa.

  * * *

  One week later, Lagor was sitting under a tree waiting for someone to arrive at Dalek’s. He had already inquired at the building and had been told that Oscar was in town on an errand and that he would return shortly. He saw a man coming from the garrison with a large, black horse and went to greet him. Ramor was also watching.

  “You are Oscar?” asked Lagor.

  “I am,” smiled Oscar. “What can I do for you?”

  Lagor handed him Sarac’s ring. “I was asked to give this to you and retrieve the horse. Would you mind stabling him for me while I run an errand?”

  “Not at all,” agreed Oscar as he slipped the ring onto his finger.

  Lagor turned and marched up the street to Tulek’s Shipping. He walked in and asked to speak to Ramor. He was led to the rear of the building where Ramor was hiding. Before Lagor realized what was going on, Ramor plunged a knife into his neck. Lagor never returned for the horse.

  * * *

  Sarac had just crossed the border into Sordoa. His attire granted him entry into the country with few questions asked. Here Sarac had a choice. The normal route to Lanoir was down the east coast and through the Sordoan capital. The route through the Great Sordoan Desert would be four weeks faster, if a bit more hostile. Another personage was in order. It wouldn’t do for an emissary to be roaming around the desert. This time Sarac chose a worshiper making a pilgrimage. He had aged bronze skin with white hair and was wrapped in a white robe and turban. A wisp of a white beard completed his look.

  Sarac wasn’t worried about finding water. He had a spell that could accomplish that task with almost no chance of detection. He really only had to pass up the more powerful spells, those which would set off alarm bells with Egam. He wondered where Egam was hiding. He almost certainly had to be within the borders of Targa. He had this foolish notion that it was his job to safeguard the kingdom, as if Targa cared for his help. Sarac would be happy when he put the old fool out of his misery. There was no one else who could challenge him except maybe Kirsta, but Egam had thrown Kirsta out. Besides the last thing that Kirsta would want was to be found by Sarac. They had an old score to settle and he was sure that she wasn’t going to win when they met. Still, there had been good years with Kirsta. He might even take her back if she groveled enough and if she cast the spell of the Black Devil. That spell would bind her to Sarac forever. She would never have the will to disobey him after that.

  Sarac spent the night at the Koman Oasis. During the night three riders arrived. They were a desperate looking bunch and Sarac issued a ward of protection around his sleeping site. In the dark of the night they came, looking for whatever they could steal. Simple fireballs would have ended the threat, but Sarac needed some amusement. He cast Thy Master’s Hand at the largest of them. The spell enabled Sarac to manipulate the thief like a puppet. While the ward confused the two smaller bandits, the puppet attacked, slicing their throats. The remaining thief looked on in astonishment as he tried to drop the knife or throw it down. He could not, of course, for he didn’t control it. Sarac forced him to turn the knife upon himself. Sarac thought it amusing. The magician wondered if the thief’s veins would burst before he thrust the knife into his own abdomen. The knife won and Sarac returned to his sleep as the bandit’s blood flowed into the sand.

  Sarac emerged from the desert and saw the towering peaks of the Southern Mountains. The mountains were snow capped but the pass that he was heading for was fairly low in elevation. He had no worry that it would be snowed in. The temple he was heading for was in Marchek, a coastal city about two weeks’ ride from the other side of the pass.

  Sarac arrived in Marchek around noon. It was easy to find the Temple of Risa, Goddess of Water. He had only to ride along the waterfront. Sarac needed a plan to gain access to the library. He decided to portray a monk from the temple in Klandon. Soon Sarac was Brother Timothy, a short, plump man of many years. He was bald and walked with a slight limp, requiring a walking stick. He was dressed in the pale blue tunic with dark blue sash that was characteristic of the Order. Brother Timothy was, of course, old and slightly senile. That should help Sarac get around any breach in protocol.

  Sarac entered the temple and looked around. The temple was quite similar to other temples that he had seen except, of course, for the color motif. Sarac strode to the altar and mimicked the motions of other devotees. He rose and hobbled through the large door off to one side of the altar. He went down the long corridor searching for the library. A young acolyte with a blue tunic and white sash stopped him. “Excuse me, brother, but you seem lost. Can I direct you?” asked the young man.

  “Help me?” stammered Sarac. “Oh, yes, of course. I was looking for the library but I seem to have lost my way. I do that so frequently these days, you know. I do pray that they stop moving things.”

  The acolyte was sympathetic to the old man. “The library is on the second floor, still. You do have a pass from Brother Dominic, don’t you?”

  “I think I do. Wait, maybe that was for the temple in Tagaret. I’m not sure, do I need one?”

  “Oh, yes. You must have a pass from Brother Dominic or they will not let you into the library,” the young man replied.

  “Well, perhaps you could get me a pass?” solicited Sarac.

  “I’m afraid that would be beyond my station, but I can lead you to Brother Dominic.” The young acolyte led Sarac down the corridor and introduced him to Brother Dominic.

  Sarac had a slight feeling of apprehension. He had removed his truth ring as the Order forbade the wearing of jewelry. He would have no way of knowing if he slipped up until it was too late. He could not use his spells to protect himself and still hope to get access to the library. Any display of magic and the Order would have the library locked up tight for some time. Magicians were always trying to gather spells and other knowledge from the temples and the Orders saw the magicians as a threat to their continued status with the populace.

  “Praise to you and your temple, Brother Dominic,” greeted Sarac. “I am Brother Timothy from Klandon and am seeking entry into your esteemed library. Have we met before, Brother Dominic? Today, I mean?”

  “No, Brother Timothy, we have not met, today or ever,” answered Brother Dominic. “I am quite sure that I would have remembered. From the temple in Klandon, you say? I have not been informed of your journey to Marchek. What need do you have of our library?”

  “Ah, I am on a quest throughout Lanoir for information on the earliest sightings of our Goddess Risa in the Klandon area. It was the subject of my paper many years ago when I was but an acolyte. Oh, how quickly the years have gone by. I am seeking in my final years those references that were not available to me in my youth. I’m afraid I did not give a definitive schedule to my own temple, as I was not sure in which order I would be searching the temples of Lanoir. So you can see, Brother … Dominic, yes that’s it Dominic. So you can see, Brother Dominic, there is no way that they could have foretold you when I was coming.”

  “Yes, I see, Brother Timothy, still your visit is quite irregular,” stated Brother Dominic. “Perhaps you could stay with us for a while and I could have some acolytes investigate our volumes for you. You would be welcome to join with us during that time.”

  “You are very thoughtful, Brother Dominic,” smiled Sarac, “but I have never in my years allowed another to do my work. I am quite sure that the Goddess would not approve.”

  Brother Dominic was caught. Brother Timothy was, of course, correct. The Order taught that one should not rise above one’s duty to the Goddess and he had already offered to allow Brother Timothy to stay. He issued a pass to the library, good until the visiting monk’s work was complete.

  He was so ecstatic, Sarac had trouble maintaining his limp on the way to the library. He climbed the stairs to the second story and showed his pass to the monk at the door. He stepped into
the library and stood in awe of the massive number of volumes that lined shelves around the room. Sarac had no doubt that he would find some clues to the whereabouts of the Origin Scroll here.

  Chapter 7

  Dalek

  Oscar stood on the shore gazing out at the calm, azure waters of the Targa Sea. He had been searching for an area of the Targa coast suitable for a deep-water port for three years now, ever since the start of the Dalek Shipping Company. Finally he found it at the mouth of the Cleb River in the southwest corner of Targa, not far from the Sordoan border. It was a beautifully wooded area on both sides of the river. The land where the river met the sea would be fertile and getting settlers to move into the area should not prove difficult. Oscar would need to see Baron Whitley to obtain a land grant to create his city. He had never met the Baron before but Oscar felt confident he could obtain the grant.

  The last three years had been very prosperous for Oscar. His Balfour to Kalamaar run had provided his starting capital. He had invested his profits in more wagons and a well-trained roving band of security agents. There were still many robberies on the routes he traveled but not many of them were aimed at Dalek Shipping caravans. The first year his agents eliminated more bandits than the number hung for their offenses in the entire kingdom. Word spread quickly and the bandits soon preferred to attack his rivals rather than risk ending their careers.

  Oscar now had over thirty wagons transporting cargoes from as far as Tagaret to Kantor. He hadn’t been able to get into the Sordoan market yet, but a seaport near their border would help. Sordoa, like Targa, had no seaport on the Targa Sea. Lanoir’s seaports were fine harbors but the Lanoirians had no merchant fleet. They depended on Cordonian ships to move their freight. Oscar planned to challenge that monopoly as well.

  Tulek’s Shipping was hardly moving freight anymore. If it wasn’t for Ramor’s bullheadedness and threats to some of Tulek’s clients, Tulek would have no business. Still, Tulek and the other shippers had been forced into contracts that limited their clients’ exposure to theft. The contracts were modeled after the original contract that Oscar negotiated with Sanchez. Ramor’s game of hijacking his own shipments was over.

  * * *

  Oscar rode off to talk with Baron Whitley. Springtime came early to southern Targa and the ride through the forest was hampered with unusually wet terrain. The Baron’s castle was on the Cleb River and Oscar found the swollen banks of the river challenging to navigate. A dry campsite would not be found on this trip. Two days later Oscar arrived at the Baron’s castle, soaked and filthy. While he did not doubt his ability to convince the Baron about the new city, Oscar did wonder if the guards would even allow him entrance to the castle. His worry was unwarranted, however, for as Oscar rode up to the drawbridge, the Baron, who was inspecting the moat, greeted Oscar.

  “Ho there, traveler,” shouted Baron Whitley. “Enjoying the Whitley swamp are you?”

  “Aye,” replied Oscar. “Oscar Dalek of Dalek’s Shipping Company calling on Baron Whitley.”

  “Shipping company, eh?” mused the noble. “Not sure that I have much need for a shipping company, then I don’t have much need for a swollen moat either. Come in and let us both discard our wet rags and have a brandy before the fireplace.”

  Whitley Castle was quite large for an outlying barony. Oscar had never been in a large castle before and he was amazed at the size of the rooms and the number of passageways leading off the main corridor. The baron had an attendant take Oscar to a bedroom. There he was provided with a bath. His wet clothes were whisked away and he was provided with a robe and slippers. The attendant showed him a wardrobe loaded with fine clothes of varying sizes. Oscar tried on different clothes until he found those that fit best. The lavender trousers and vest with white frilled shirt were quite a deviation from the green pants and tunic, which were Oscar’s normal garb. He did, however, feel much better cleaned and dressed in dry clothes.

  The baron was waiting for Oscar by the fireplace. The baron was a middle-aged man, rounded about the waist, but not fat. He looked rather regal in his gray slacks and red velvet jacket. His brown hair was starting to show traces of gray and he sported the largest mustache Oscar had ever seen. The mustache was curled at each end and the baron was constantly twiddling with it. “What I know about the Dalek Shipping Company is limited, I’m afraid,” opened the baron. “I do recall that it is a fairly recent venture and centered around Bordon, I believe. I do not remember any of your enterprises being located within my barony, so I must wonder what brings young Oscar Dalek to my door.”

  “Baron Whitley,” began Oscar, “I must first thank you for seeing me and providing a much needed change of clothes.”

  “So you are enjoying the Whitley springtime, eh?” laughed the noble. “I admit that your age surprises me. I have, of course, heard of Dalek Shipping, especially the complaints from many shipping companies regarding the ‘Dalek’ contract. There have even been petitions before the king to have such contracts banned. On the other hand, most territories report a mysterious drop in highway robberies and the king welcomes this news. Tell me, did you inherit this business from your father?”

  “No, sir,” replied Oscar, “my father was a Customs Inspector in Bordon. Smugglers killed him. I have had to provide for my family in his stead. I am told that I have the knack of seeing an opportunity and the pluck to act upon it. I hope I can live up to those expectations. Baron, the reason I am calling on you is that I have an endeavor that requires your blessing. As you are well aware, Targa has no seaport on the Targa Sea. Sordoa, also, is lacking a seaport on the Targa Sea and Lanoir has no merchant fleet to speak of. This puts the kingdom in the position of leaving the Targa Sea to the Cordonians. We lose shipping revenue as well as prestige. If we can build a fleet of merchant ships and port them on the Targa Sea, other nations will become dependent upon us. This alone would lessen the threat of war against the Kingdom of Targa.”

  “This is an interesting concept, Oscar, but I would think that if it could be done, someone would already have done it. That aside, why would you require my pleasing for such an endeavor?” quizzed Baron Whitley.

  Oscar had been waiting for this opportunity. “Baron, I want a land grant from you. Specifically, I want title to all of the lands within six miles of the mouth of the Cleb River. In return, I will make your barony home to one of the largest ports on the Targa Sea. I will make Targa the envy of all nations, as we will control the majority of shipping on both coasts. People from all over Targa will come to your new city and your barony will grow in prestige within the kingdom.”

  Baron Whitley sat starring at the young man before him, twirling his mustache. Finally, he said, “Oscar, you are ambitious and it might work. There are two questions that come to mind. I have tried in the past to populate that area of the coast and people have refused. Only a few families accepted the offer and they wanted to fish for a living. How do you intend to coerce people into populating your new city? And with no kingdom navy on the Targa Sea, how do you plan on protecting your merchant ships?”

  Oscar did not answer quickly like an overeager youngster, nor did he hesitate too long as he would if he were unsure of himself. Confidently, Oscar replied, “Baron your reputation for logic and understanding is well deserved. You tried to import people in hopes that they would develop a city. I will develop a city to import the people. Jobs, Baron, jobs. The people will come because there will be good paying jobs available. The port will be located half way between Lanoir and Cordonia. Practically all trade between Targa and these countries will flow through our city. I also have a plan in mind for a new type of business that I call warehousing. I plan to build large buildings that merchants can rent for storage of their goods while they negotiate with buyers for the best price. When their buyer is chosen the goods will be loaded on a ship for delivery. The goods will already be half way to their destination. I also plan to set up offices that buyers in other countries can rent for their representatives. With the seller
s’ goods already in town and the buyers’ representatives close at hand, our city will become the marketplace for the whole Targa Sea.”

  Oscar took a sip of brandy. He had never tasted a brandy so fine and the liquid warmed his body. Oscar continued, “As for the need for kingdom warships, I plan to build a different type of vessel than what is commonly used on the Targa Sea. My ships will be smaller and faster. I’m sure you know the trend in shipping today is larger to carry more cargo. Unfortunately, these large ships carry so much they often have to stop at three or four ports on their journey. My ships will be able to be loaded and unloaded more quickly. They will sail faster and be bound for one port only. They will have the capability of docking at smaller ports than the current cargo ships. And best of all, they will be able to outrun any attackers. In addition, I plan to have two of the ships fitted as warships. They will be the same hull shape and size as the merchant ships and it will be hard to tell them apart until it is too late. I have used similar procedures with my wagon caravans and, I must tell you, it is well worth the price.”

  The baron lit his pipe and leaned back in his chair. Oscar could tell that the baron was searching for faults with the plan. Oscar knew what they were but he was not going to share that information. Baron Whitley finally said, “There are still some problems with your plan, Oscar. An admirable plan, no doubt, but problems just the same. With your bent for security, you would have your ships made only in Targa. Correct?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” answered Oscar reassuringly.