The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  The situation was so bad that the commander of the City Watch pleaded with the city councillors to approach the king for aid. King Sallen stubbornly delayed, but eventually called in his uncle’s private army, the Tarridun Legion. If the king thought that the presence of Duke Cambrian and his host would douse the ardent temper of the common folk, he was wrong. The people saw it for what it was, a clumsy, heavy-handed way of forcing order on the streets and the riots continued with more ferocity. My father and I both agreed that it was not a good start to a new king’s reign.

  A dozen soldiers wearing the livery of Klingspur’s legion, black surcoat with silver Spurhawk in flight, guarded the main gate. Thankfully, one of the City Watchmen was present and recognised the Lady Namwi and her official guard of the High Steward’s Cavalry soldiers that always accompanied her. We raced through the city streets to the Hub, the oldest part of the city, which was a small, walled citadel that harboured the many theatres, colleges, the king’s castle, and parliament halls along with the rich houses of the nobles. Due to the riots, we had to leave the horses in a nearby stable, taking the footpath to the Cannonyaite entrance and ran to the east side of the Hub. There, surrounded by parkland that split the Hub’s east end from the city’s harbour, stood Rathborne Tor, the official residence of the High Steward of the Vallkyte king. It was a stately ten-bedroom mansion enclosed within its own high walls and set in pine woodland.

  Lord Selwin’s cavalry guards let us in through the large oak gates and escorted us to the High Steward. Selwin had just finished his evening meal and was delighted to see both Namwi and Telmar, although he was surprised to see father and me there. It was not every day that two heirs to Rawn thrones graced his doorstep. Selwin was a slight man in his winter years. His short hair was pure white and he had a furtive intelligent look in his eyes. I had never met this man before, but I was familiar with his many written works of law as Lord Justice of Dulan from his early academic life.

  We all sat in the richly furnished sitting room while Telmar and Namwi outlined the problems they were facing with the new Law Reform. Selwin listened with interest until they had finished, then leant back in his chair and made a steeple with his fingers.

  ‘You cannot appeal the Law Reform, it’s too late,’ he mused. ‘Though there is always a way of passing around such problems, usually by trivial means.’

  ‘You have a plan?’ asked Telmar.

  ‘Yes, the only way out of this predicament I can see for you is to give away the lands as a Dowry Gift.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed my father, ‘I never thought of that. Dowry Laws are gifts, which do not come with debts exchanges or land tax. Duke Cormack can’t claim the debt if it is not held by you and the king won’t get his coffers filled.’

  Selwin nodded. ‘If need be, you can pay the debt off in money, but the lands are then safely held by someone else, and to get them back, all you have to do is marry them.’

  ‘But who would that be?’ Telmar asked.

  ‘I can only suggest it has to be someone you trust, and is close to you,’ said Selwin, and I think I was the only one in the room that noticed the look he passed to his daughter.

  My father laughed and Telmar frowned back at him. ‘What’s so funny?’ asked the baron.

  ‘For someone so clever you can be so obtuse at times.’ He pointed to Namwi, ‘there is the only person you can trust to help you.’

  ‘Namwi!’ gasped Telmar as he turned to her. ‘But she is my cousin.’

  ‘There is no law against cousins marrying,’ said Namwi in a clipped tone as she folded her arms.

  We all laughed at the baron’s blushing face.

  ‘This is fortuitous, but not the way I would have wanted it,’ said Namwi. ‘Aunt Catlyn and I always talked of us two being husband and wife.’

  Telmar saw the look of wonder and desire on her face, and then he began to chuckle too. ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘it makes sense in a very roundabout way, let’s do it.’

  To me, it was the least romantic proposal I have ever heard.

  Namwi was jubilant anyway, she jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheeks. ‘Oh, Telmar you will never regret this.’

  Telmar laughed. ‘No, I don’t think I will, but you are embarrassing your father.’

  Selwin, who looked far from embarrassed, rose from his seat. ‘I will draw up Dowry papers tonight and have you both sign. I will also need two witnesses and it is lucky we have the De Proteous and his son with us. Then tomorrow I will go to the Council Chambers and put your names down on the Marriage Bands.’

  ‘So soon?’ said Telmar.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Selwin. ‘The Grandfather Right to the Guarding Grants run out in less than two months’ time. We can have the wedding ceremony conducted here within the week to ensure a quick outcome. Later, we will have a larger wedding once these infernal riots die down.’

  Telmar agreed to the plan and was happy and relaxed for the first time since I had seen him at Tuen House. The happy couple never left each other’s side and Namwi was all aglow with joy. Father and I shared in the warmth and agreed to stay and stand as witnesses at the coming wedding.

  That night we all signed the Dowry Grant. In hindsight, if I had known what was to come I would have rather forgone the act of being a signatory witness and convinced Telmar of another course. For the signing of such an insignificant contract would throw Telmar’s world into turmoil; furthermore, implicating us all in a complex conspiracy that would end in murder.

  3

  The High Steward treated us as honoured guests and allowed us to stay in the luxury rooms of Rathborne Tor until the wedding day. He had been true to his word and placed the names of his daughter and future son-in-law in the local Council Chambers Marriage Bands for the entire citadel to see. In addition, word spread fast, especially when the Dowry parchment, signed by all of us, was sealed and submitted to the Law Committee to make it legal and binding.

  There was no going back now.

  The wedding, inside the home of Selwin and Namwi, would begin at the end of the week, two days from now, and father bought me some handsome clothes for the occasion. Unfortunately, I would have no opportunity to wear them.

  The night before the wedding we were in good spirits when we retired to our rooms after a fine meal of Toll-Marrian Mutton with the few fresh vegetables the Tor’s cook could scrape together due to the riots. I remember sleeping soundly for some time, but awoke in the early hours of the morning with some frost on my bedroom window. The Rawn Arts gives its user the ability to detect a presence at a few feet away. My senses at that age were very good and I woke with a start, wondering what had disturbed my sleep. The room was empty however, so I rose to look out of the window and saw dark shapes moving along the courtyard towards the house.

  I quickly pulled my clothes on, and then heard a quick knock at the door before it opened. ‘Good you’re up, grab your sword!’ said my father, before he hurried away.

  I quickly fumbled in the dark as I found Tragenn, my father’s old sword, which he had given to me on my thirteenth birthday as his father had done before him. I would also give the sword to my son, Havoc, when he came of age. I rushed out of the room and was about to take the stairs when I sensed a presence next to me. Moonlight shone through the window at the other end of the corridor and it silhouetted a figure in black. There was a sudden whoosh in the air as a blunt weapon was swung at my head, but I ducked and kicked out with my foot and heard the assailant grunt as I winded him. He dropped the cudgel he was holding and staggered back into another man in similar garb. I used the Wind Element, a little too forcibly I must admit, and it lifted them both through the air, through of the gable end window and out onto the street below.

  There was the sound of a fight in the courtyard so I ignored my two attackers and rushed downstairs to help. I found Telmar and father fighting off about a dozen peasants in homespun clothing. The oak gates were open and some of the High Stewart�
�s own guards lay dead by the entrance, only three of them were aiding the two Rawn Masters. My first thoughts were of rioters breaking into the grounds, but most were holding finely made swords, which were weapons far too rich for common folk.

  Father had killed two men who lay sprawled at his feet; he was fighting off another three. I ran to his aid and shouldered one to the ground. A second man turned to me and, brandishing a curved cavalry sabre, lashed at me with a strong downward cut. I deflected it and lunged, but he moved nimbly away. This man had some fighting skill and I knew I needed to get rid of him quickly so I left my right side exposed to bring him in. He saw it and quickly swung his sword in a killing blow. I stepped forward before the arc of his sabre was half way through its movement and Tragen pierced his heart. As he slumped to the ground, I suddenly realised that this was the first man I had ever killed, and I still to this day do not know his name.

  Lord Selwin and four more of his men came running around the corner from the house to join us, but the fight was over by this time. The peasants were turning tail and running back out of the main gate.

  ‘How in the name of Arcun did they breach the gate? It’s unheard of,’ said Selwin.

  ‘I can only assume it was opened from the inside,’ said father out loud and this caused everyone to ponder in silence. I knelt by the sabre wielder.

  ‘This man had some skill with a blade,’ I said. ‘He looks too brawny to be a simple malnourished peasant.’ I pulled away his homespun tatty clothing to reveal a finely polished mail waistcoat underneath his peasant attire. ‘A soldier, dressed as one of the rioters I presume.’

  Telmar stepped over the pile of dead that he had killed and knelt in front of me on the other side of the body. He placed his hands on the man’s head and closed his eyes.

  The Rawn term for mind reading is the “Thought Link” and it is only performed through physical contact. Most Rawn Masters can do this, but it takes much skill and my father and I were never very good at it, especially if you wished the read the mind of a dead man. Telmar was a powerful Rawn and if anyone could glean the last trace memories from a cooling brain then it was he.

  Telmar stayed linked to the man for over a minute while we waited in anticipation, his brows drawing deeper with each passing second. Then his eyes snapped open to look into mine and I shivered at the coldness of his glare.

  ‘NAMWI!’ was all he said before he ran off towards the house to find his fiancé.

  4

  Oh, if only I could have shared his memories at that moment, then I would convince him to alter the half-formed plan that he was already fashioning in his frantic mind. As soon as our eyes locked I could see the anger and fear in them, and in his memories that I have now, my face looked back to show confusion and anticipation at what he had found.

  In that moment, the dying mind of the peasant revealed much to him and proved that my supposition of his profession was true; he was a soldier. Telmar saw more though. He saw in much detail the hurriedly concocted mission to assassinate him and the kidnap of his future bride. He also saw who was behind it all.

  Moreover, in that moment, his trust in everyone he loved dissolved and I saw that in his eyes too, but was not to know why until much later.

  We all ran to Namwi’s room to find it empty. There had been signs of a struggle and her window was wide open. Clearly, the intruder’s invasion of the courtyard was a diversionary tactic.

  All of us were shocked. I even heard Selwin issue a fearful gasp as he stared at the ruffled bedclothes of his daughter’s bed. Telmar commanded the situation and goaded us into action.

  He grabbed my arm. ‘Van, go now to the closest Watch House and alert them of this attack,’ I nodded in response. He turned to my father and Selwin. ‘Uncle, we need some of your men. Vanduke and I will conduct a search of the streets, they can’t have gone far.’

  With these orders, we dispersed. I remember accosting one of Selwin’s men; a young sergeant called Bran, and asked him where the closest City Watch House was.

  ‘Lathwork House on Stitches Row,’ he said. ‘I’ll escort you, my lord.’ As we ran together, he hailed two more of his men and we all exited the main gates together and turned west.

  We never got to Stitches Row because rioters had blocked off that street’s intersection from the same road we ran along. Thankfully, a dozen Watchmen were cordoning it and a senior constable sent one of his men to find an inspector he knew was in the general area. We had to wait a while and I was itching to return to give my father and Telmar a hand with the search. Eventually the inspector showed up with four other Watchmen. We made a motley crew as we all ran back to Rathborne Tor. We had been away for over an hour and dawn’s light was beginning to creep over the adjacent houses. As soon as I stepped through the gates, however, I knew that something was wrong.

  Livered soldiers swarmed around the courtyard and I was surprised to see Joaquin Ri amongst them talking to Lord Selwin. I quickly looked for my father and saw him storming out of the stables on the other side of the forecourt. He saw me and called me over.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked him.

  ‘Standard procedure when a senior court official has come under attack,’ he said, ‘Selwin reported it to the castle, and the next thing I knew Joaquin Ri turns up with more men. But that’s not the worst of it, Telmar’s missing.’

  ‘What! Where did he go when I left?’

  My father shrugged. ‘I took eight of Selwin’s men and searched the streets to the north. I assumed Telmar searched the south, but his men were sent on their own and a witness saw him saddle a horse and head east,’ he replied.

  ‘Damn!’ I cursed. ‘He must have seen something in that soldier’s mind that...’ just then I jumped as Joaquin Ri appeared at my shoulder. He introduced himself, because I had never met him before and only knew him by reputation. I shook his hand.

  ‘Bad business, highness, bad business. It is the lowest kind of animal that preys on women,’ he said and I could only agree. ‘But it gets worse.’ He looked around him to see if anyone was listening. ‘I recognise two of the dead attackers; they are soldiers of the King’s Guard.’

  Father went pale with shock. I tugged on the Ri’s robe and pointed to the soldier I had killed. ‘Was he one of the one’s you recognised?’

  Lord Joaquin shook his head. ‘No, my lord, and there are others that I have never seen.’

  ‘Then we can assume that Telmar knows anyway,’ said father. ‘Why else would he run off?’

  ‘But east is away from the king’s castle, father,’ I explained to him.

  ‘What are you two on about?’ asked the Ri, and my father explained all the events of the night.

  ‘It surely has something to do with the wedding,’ said Joaquin Ri. The man looked upset and he rubbed his chin in thought. ‘My lords, I must ask you to keep this conversation to yourselves, I will find the underlying cause of it, I assure you.’

  5

  While we stood with Joaquin Ri, Telmar was searching for a ship at the harbour wharfs. He had seen part of the plan inside the mind of the dead man, but not all of it. Most of it he would piece together later. The rest he postulated while riding hard down Harbour Avenue.

  The riot barricade near Barstow Street delayed him for a few minutes and he took the only detour available to him, under the park bridge until it brought him out at Trinity Wharf. In the early light he could see the great ships bobbing on the incoming tide and he searched for the wine clipper that he knew the kidnappers were heading for, the Cantle Flower. He had seen the image of the slanted letters on the ship’s bow in the soldier’s mind before it faded into brain death.

  Unfortunately, because of his delays, the clipper was now sailing out of the harbour mouth; a small, narrow, three-mast barque with a shallow draft that enabled it to get out of the harbour at low tide. Telmar resolved to follow by land, but again found the cordons and barricades within the city walls slowing him down. By the time he was out of the Southside Gates and
on the Kings Road south, the Cantle Flower was hugging the coast and speeding away from him.

  Autumn rains were coming in the form of dark clouds out to sea. The warm moist air from the south mixed with the cold air rolling off the plains to create the continent’s rainy season. Winds picked up and aided the small clipper on its journey and she made good time as the sailed southward. Telmar had to move inland towards the Temple Woods and then take the pass through the eastern edge of the Tarridun Range. This slowed him down some more, but he knew where his quarry was heading. The plan for the kidnappers was only to drop off their victim at the only obvious harbour.

  Keveni.

  The grand castle of Keveni Mor sits on a high rocky peninsula overlooking the bay. The fishing town of Keveni sits in the curving bowl at the foot of the Mor’s south side. However, the wine clipper did not sail as far as the Keveni Bay. Instead, it stopped off at one of the smaller harbours that inhabit the coast to the north of Keveni Mor’s shadow.

  Telmar, tired and wet from the constant rains of the last four days, sat astride his mount and scrutinised every detail of the small harbour village. The clipper was at anchor, no one was aboard. He must have missed the offload. He hid himself under a hooded grey rain cape and trotted into the village that supported the harbour. He made enquiries inside the Sail Master’s House about who owned the Cantle Flower. He was not surprised at the answer, the Duke of Keveni owned the ship, but its crew took their pay from Cormack of Fernish Fields, the duke’s son and heir. Telmar also found out that Fernish Fields was one of the many vineyards that the duke and his son controlled. In addition, it was only five miles inland.

  He reached the vineyard at midnight on the fifth day after the kidnap of Namwi. He was cold and wet, yet not as exhausted as he would have been if he had meditated away any volatile emotions. Instead, he allowed them to fester and build inside. Its pain stoked his anger all the more.