by P D Ceanneir
‘Good. What is a Pyromancer?’
Telmar could sense that the Powerball was confused. It remained silent.
‘Shall I repeat the question?’
‘There is no need, Master; I am collating information.’ The baron waited for a time as he watched the spinning of the orb. He tried not to look directly into it in case he was hypnotised again, but he felt no effects this time.
‘A mixture of two words,’ said Harlequin finally. ‘Pyro, produced by fire or heat. Mancy, divination by fire or flames, Mancer, to use flame or fire. Pyromantic refers to energy produced by fire. A Pyromancer is a person who has substantial volatile emotional energy and can produce vast quantities of superheat. Pyromancer, see Firesprite, see Telmar, Baron of Tressel. Pyromancer, see Blacksword, see The Sword that Rules or the White Spear of Haplann. Reference, catalogue of Opeac the Historian, the Reign of Fire: the Life of Baron Telmar. See the Black Ledger, Vanduke Cromme…’
‘Wow, stop!’ Telmar did not believe what he was listening to. ‘Go back a bit. You mentioned me?’
‘Correct,’ said Harlequin somewhat innocently.
‘How is it possible that you have such knowledge of me?’
‘I have a vast amount of library information. Remember, that the Elder Styx was a time traveller; he brought back knowledge from many timelines and events throughout history. His knowledge has irradiated and imbibed into the Skrol etchings upon my surface. ’
‘So you know the future?’
‘Correct.’
‘So you are privy to my future?’
‘That is correct, Master.’
‘And Vanduke, does he write a book?’ asked Telmar with a slight smile.
‘The Vanduke I mention is your Godson.’
‘What?’ Telmar was a little startled, ‘you’re pulling my leg!’
‘I have no hands to do such a task, master.’
Telmar rubbed his chin in contemplation. Some inner voice was warning him to be cautious, but too many things about this conversation were making him curious. Looking into his memories of this conversation, I have the same feelings as he did, and some déjà vu.
Telmar pointed to Harlequin, ‘you mentioned the Blacksword, the Sword that Rules, as well, that must be about the famous prophecy. What can you tell me about that?’
‘Certain aspects of the Blacksword’s existence are entwined with your future,’ informed Harlequin.
‘So what will happen to me in the future?’
The white light of the Powerball seemed to stutter for a second or two, and then shone again.
‘If I answered that question I would be in violation of the Principal Edict.’
‘And what is the Principal Edict?’
‘A rather complex list of do’s and don’ts that Elder Styx created to outline the strict nature one should tackle Time Paradoxes. In short, if you had information about your own future, you would be in a unique position to change events, thereby altering the course of events in your timeline for the better, or for the worse. These rules have been incorporated into my psyche.’
‘I see,’ said Telmar. Even though I am watching this in my head, I have no idea what the Powerball is talking about but Telmar does, and through his thoughts I can see the complexity of the relationship he had with Harlequin.
‘So you can’t answer anything about my future?’
‘Only up to a point,’ said Harlequin. ‘I will be able to tell you of situations that you already have foreknowledge of.’
‘Such as me being a Pyromancer?’
Harlequin hesitated then said, ‘correct.’
‘A word that you told me of when we met in Melthonansa, remember?’
The Powerball said nothing. Its light dimmed as if it wanted to hide.
‘I know you were there. What I don’t understand is how I got there unless it had something to do with Trans Migratory Meditation.’
Harlequin remained silent. Telmar tried a different tack.
‘Tell me about Melthonansa?’ he asked.
Harlequin brightened, ‘Melthonansa, the ancient city of the Hispid Dynasty, was mysteriously destroyed at the time of the Elemental Wars in 2563 Years before Ascension…’
‘What destroyed it?’ interjected Telmar.
The Powerball hesitated, ‘I have insufficient information, master.’
‘Was it the Door?’ Telmar said with interest.
The orb went silent.
‘Answer me, Harlequin, I know you were there, you saw it…’
Harlequin’s light went out and the sword fell back against the wall to rest at an angle. There was a gentle tap at his bedroom door and Telmar virtually jumped in surprise.
‘Telmar?’ Namwi’s muffled voice seeped through the door, ‘who are you talking to?’
Telmar opened it to see her in her gown and holding a candle. He did not realise it was so late.
‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ he asked her.
She rubbed sleep from her eyes. Her long hair was tied up into a bun and this made her face look thinner and younger, although every other part of her was definitely all woman.
‘No, well yes, I thought I heard voices.’
‘Ah, must have been talking in my sleep,’ explained Telmar.
She peered over his left shoulder and saw his bed still made. She was about to ask him another question when Telmar distracted her by doing the first thing he could think of. He kissed her. It was just a quick smack on the lips, her tired eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed.
‘I’m so glad to be home,’ he said with a smile, ‘and to see you here has made me even happier. We both have plenty of catching up to do so we need to get our rest.’ He half shut the door, ‘goodnight, Namwi.’
She only had time to say the same when the door clicked shut to leave her alone within the silence of the hall.
6
Telmar settled into the stress-free life at Tuen House. He worked on the ranch and studied well into the night. Most of the time he meditated using Dishelms techniques while staring into the Skrol symbols on Harlequin’s surface and this helped to relive any building tension, which left him fully refreshed. Telmar was a disciplined practitioner of meditation and I believe that this helped to keep any volatile energy at bay and not trigger another Pyromantic episode; at least he would not do so for a number of years yet.
Even though he was the Lord of Dorit Lorne, he left the running of the ranch to his mother and his factor, a hardy old man called Durnett. He was more than capable of running the homestead, but being away from home for most of the year made it difficult for him to notice what priorities needed tackling first. Therefore, he took the role of charge-hand and set about the tasks of the many unfinished projects that needed his attention.
One such job was the Faraday’s border wall. Thomil Faraday and his family were one of four families that lived and worked on the ranch. They stayed in one of the cottages that were scattered around Dorit Lorne, built long before Baron Kellerane arrived many years ago. The stone wall had been weakened by snow and ice the previous winter and was subsequently destroyed by rutting bulls two months ago. Telmar took two of the smith’s apprentices, and Namwi, to help Thomil and his two sons rebuild it.
The day was hot and bright and Telmar applauded his foresight in bringing a cartload of water from the well up this lonely track to Thomil’s cottage, which sat in the lea of a sloping hill, surrounded by silver birches. They laboured at the broken gap in the wall for most of the morning and it was half finished when Telmar called for a break. Namwi ladled water from a steel urn into pewter cups for each man. Telmar noticed she perspired as much as the men and she did not seem fazed by the backbreaking work, in fact, she relished it. She wore men’s clothing, thick-tacked boots, course britches, and a light summer shirt two sizes too big for her, but gathered at her waist by a belt. Again, as with the other night, she wore her hair in a bun and she looked like a little boy.
Namwi, well known to all the families that lived in Dorit Lorn
e, laughed and joked with Telmar and Thomil’s young sons as they sat on part of the broken wall eating large pork pies that Lady Catlyn had made the other day. The sky was blue and clear of clouds, flies buzzed over the mire of the neighbouring field and swallows swooped down to pluck them from the air.
Namwi sat next to Telmar, her arm brushed his each time she giggled when one of the smith’s apprentices made fun of the Faraday boys. Telmar was very aware of her closeness and her adoring stare whenever he talked. It made him feel uncomfortable, and strangely, a little happy.
Thomil, wiping dirt from his hands, approached them. ‘I see company coming, my lord,’ he said pointed down the track to where a clump of chestnut trees marked the western edge of Tuen Lake.
‘They must have come by way of the big house,’ said Namwi standing on the wall to get a closer look. The big house in her comment was the local name for Tuen House. In all, there were four horse riders. From this distance, Telmar could make out the leader was wearing the livery of the Count of Talien’s Horse Guards. The other three were richly clad in noble attire.
‘It’s Captain Du Brock,’ informed Thomil as the riders drew closer and Telmar could see it was indeed the Horse Guard captain, but of the three behind him, he only recognised the two boys Prince Sallen and Master Cormack of Keveni. He was instantly on his guard and quickly walked down the field path to meet them. Namwi rushed to join him, but he gently sent her back and ordered Thomil to continue working.
‘Apologises, my lord,’ said Captain Du Brock as he halted his horse in front of Telmar. ‘But my orders from the count were to make haste in escorting these lords to you.’
‘Thank you, captain,’ said Telmar and then pointed to the small cart by the broken wall. ‘I have water if you want to help yourself. Oh, and mother’s pork pies. You know how she always makes too much.’
The old captain’s eyes lit up; ‘Her Ladyship’s pies, you say?’ With that he trotted off without waiting for the young baron’s answer.
Telmar turned towards the three approaching men. All three dismounted a few feet away and left their mounts to wander the grass verge of the dirt track. Telmar noticed that Cormack elected to stay behind to watch them while the prince, and a tall man with a broad chest, flowing white hair and thick black eyebrows, walked towards him. Sallen waved away Telmar’s formal bow to him and shook his hand instead.
‘You certainly are a difficult man to track down, my lord,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘Your mother, my great aunt, pointed us in the right direction though, such a lovely lady. Allow me to introduce my father’s Consul, Joaquin Ri.’
Telmar shook hands with the tall powerful man. He had heard of the enigmatic Vallkyte Consul. Though he was a Ri, he was never accepted into the coveted Ri Order. The members of the ancient order forsook all possessions and dedicated themselves towards the practice of teaching and gaining wealth through knowledge. Joaquin Ri was not just a Consul, he was also one of the richest merchants in the continent’s east coast and his refusal to relinquish his wealth did not make him many friends within the order.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure my lords?’ asked Telmar, ‘there is food and water by the cart if you...’
‘Splendid, old boy,’ said Sallen with enthusiasm. ‘I and Cormack will quench our thirst. I’m sure you and the Ri have much to talk about.’ Sallen called to Cormack and the other boy walked past Telmar without a word, but did give him a quick friendly nod. Telmar returned the nod with a slight smile.
‘I hope your recent spat with young Cormack has not dulled your need to revenge him?’ said Joaquin Ri. Telmar frowned at the older man thinking how strange the question was. The Ri looked back at him, open faced and smiling warmly.
‘I don’t hold grudges, my lord,’ answered Telmar.
Joaquin laughed. It was deep, booming and very genuine. Telmar smiled back and felt relaxed in this man’s presence.
The Consul pointed up the track to Thomil’s cottage, ‘walk with me, my lord.’
They walked in silence until they neared the grove of birches and stepped under the shade. The whitewashed walls of the cottage shone in the sun and even the old willow thatched roof glinted. Telmar watched as the swallows he had seen earlier by the field, now dove in and out of the eaves.
‘I was born in a house like that one, although smaller, of course,’ said Joaquin Ri. ‘It was in a little village called Southport which is now a suburb of Dulan-Tiss, do you know it?’
Telmar shook his head.
‘Thirteen hundred years ago, when I was born, it sat alone among six other houses. My family were poor. My father was a Spice Merchant. He became bankrupt ten years before I came along and I spent the better part of my life rebuilding his fallen empire and buying and selling others. One of those businesses I helped was the Duke of Keveni’s.’
Telmar remained silent but raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Duke Cormack became one of my best customers. He and his father are very honourable and pragmatic men. They have had a very sheltered Vallkyte upbringing that moderated them with hard morals and ideals. The Vallkyte King respects them enormously. Lord Beltane, the duke’s father, stepped down from his ducal throne about a decade ago to allow his son to govern the family. However, he still held the position of Kings Chancellor, and even in his old age I find him to be a man of considerable experience.
‘Young Cormack, on the other hand, is a lout with no moral compass and he has broken many of our rules. He is too proud and stubborn to apologise to you so I will do so on his father’s and grandfather’s behalf.’
Telmar gasped, a little taken aback. ‘I...well...thank you, but it is not necessary. All is forgiven, my lord.’
Joaquin Ri placed a large hand on his shoulder. ‘You are much like your father, Telmar. Yes I knew him, and I’ve also been friends with your Uncle Selwin for years. I was sorry to hear of Efron’s death.’
‘Thank you.’
The tall Consul sighed, ‘there will be no more attempts on your life, or threats to sign Land Acquisitions and such. On this you have my word. Your grandfather’s brilliant plan to hold the land of Tressel under the Guarding Laws was, in my mind, a piece of political genius. However, any further attempts at refuting the law within parliament is legally pursuable by the debt agency, namely Duke Cormack. We have no influence over his rights to continue with that side of things.’
Telmar shrugged. ‘So, no change there then. The Keveni lords have been trying for years to take dominion over my ancestral lands. I have pondered the reality of paying them back in money, with interest. But it is the land they want most of all.’
Joaquin Ri nodded his head, ‘I agree with your hypothesis, young Telmar. Some people want power rather than wealth. Duke Cormack is powerful enough without needing any more. This creates a threat that I can help you overcome.’
‘You can?’
The Ri nodded, ‘I represent a Brotherhood, an Order or a Club, call it what you will, of a group of powerful nobles. Although this fellowship is predominately Vallkyte, there are several of our members who are Rogun peers and businessmen. We follow a strict code of respect and aid, albeit financial or political, to each other and this generates a veil of safety and friendship that our members find agreeable.
‘I tell you this because one of our numbers is a good friend of yours, who believed your life to be in such danger, that he wished for you to be snuck under our wing, so to speak.’
Telmar stared at the Ri. He was beginning to feel that this whole conversation was turning towards a ludicrously serious side, like a badly worded gag. However, Lord Joaquin’s set features were plainly humour free.
‘May I ask who this friend of mine is?’ he asked him while inwardly bracing himself for an answer he already knew.
‘Vanduke De Proteous Cromme,’ said the Ri slowly. Joaquin Ri was surprised at the boy’s reaction. Telmar closed his eyes and sighed while nodding.
‘You look as if you already knew?’
‘Not exac
tly, my lord. However, it all figures. Those men that attacked me said the prince was not to be harmed and his friendship with Cormack was a little suspect, even though I knew he disliked him.’
Joaquin Ri smiled. ‘Quite so, part of our order’s mandate is respect for fellow members as well as secrecy of the brotherhood’s existence. We help each other. If you were to join with us then these rules would also apply to you. Of course your standing within the ranks of Vallkyte nobility will also ensure swift membership.’
Telmar looked at him questioningly.
‘You are still a Baron of the Barony Charter as well as third in line to the Vallkyte throne,’ the Ri explained.
‘I see.’
‘Also, your mind will be a boon to our scholars.’
‘My mind, my lord?’ asked Telmar.
‘Yes. From what I have learnt about you from several of your teachers, is that you are an intuitive mathematician as well as one of the best students of Skrol Divination since Lord Soneros himself graduated. As part of fellowship we not only help each other, we gather information on ancient artefacts and dead civilisations. We learn about the past, a past we believe that has been hidden from us for centuries.’
Telmar was instantly interested, not because of his fame spreading to powerful people that were unknown to him, but because of the mention of dead civilisations. An image of the burning city of Melthonansa surfaced and he welcomed an opportunity to uncover the enigma of the Door. This surreal meeting with this enigmatic Ri quickly became a changing point in his life.
The tall Ri spoke some more as they wandered back to the others.
‘We rarely have meetings where we are all together,’ informed Lord Joaquin, ‘but when you graduate within the next five years, then you shall be inaugurated. That is, if it is your wish?’
‘I must admit, I’m very interested,’ said Telmar. They had now come to the part of the broken wall repaired that morning. The Vallkyte prince, Cormack, the captain, and Namwi were chatting by the water cart. As soon as they approached, Du Brock and Cormack collected the horses.
‘I shall inform the Lady Cinnibar to expect you then,’ said the Ri.