The Lords of Anavar

by Jim Greenfield

"Just myself. Consider the task completed."

  "When?"

  "Four days maximum. I have been in Finald recently for a tournament. I am familiar with much of the palace grounds. Without any celebrations or visits from heads of state, I should accomplish the task in two days. I will not know for sure until I reach Finald."

  "Four days will be fine. By the time you return the gold will be in your banker's hands."

  "Thank you, High Lord. It is an honor to serve."

  "Yes, yes it is. You are a loyal man, Kisle Ber. Please remain so. Oh, if any Mages get in your way, please make certain they never again bother you."

  "As you wish, High Lord."

  Gharom waved him out and poured himself a large goblet of spiced wine. His thoughts centered on Petyr Wolk. The sorcerer had begun to move about the palace as if he commanded. He attacked the High Lord! It was time to rid himself of the sorcerer. Perhaps Kisle Ber could do the task after he finishes his current assignment. Petyr Wolk did not know how to treat his betters with the proper respect.

  When the door shut, Gharom heard breathing behind him. He whirled to see Petyr Wolk standing near the window.

  "Excellent work, Gharom. I am pleased. You did listen to me. You were gasping so much I feared you might have missed some of what I said. I am heartened to know that my fears were not realized."

  "I know what to do," snapped Gharom.

  "Good, good. You retain your bite. I worried you might prove more mouse than lion."

  "Why have you waited until now to make this move? You lived here for generations."

  "What you are really asking is why did I wait until you were in power and ruin all your plans. The time did not suit me, until now. There are many movements afoot, Gharom, and their completion sets the place for me to rule. I will not explain what you will not understand, but several lifetimes of waiting are now ending. A new world will emerge and I shall rule it. If you follow direction with the proper enthusiasm, you will find yourself in a high position. I will need a strong right hand. The Mage's Council will be destroyed along with Gerrand. Oh, I want that sorcerer dead." He realized he was telling Gharom too much. He abruptly turned away to select another piece of fruit while his emotions cooled.

  "Is there anything else, Wolk?" asked Gharom. "I will be meeting with my advisors again soon. I don't want them to see you here."

  "Worry not, I am leaving. Follow your instructions. I will be watching you." This time Wolk did not bother to go behind the curtain. He vanished in the middle of the room. Gharom felt fear for the first time. It had been startling to have his breath taken away but to see a man disappear before his eye was almost more than he could bear. He grabbed the bottle of red wine, pouring a large goblet and drained it in three long swallows. He sat down and put his head in his hands.

  Immediately after supper his advisors joined him. Gharom stood at the window full of confidence as usual. They waited for him to acknowledge them and he motioned for them to sit. He turned and looked at each man in turn as if taking his measure.

  "Well?"

  "We have found no Mage's Council activity in Jespin. Petyr Wolk has not been seen in weeks. Techna Vole is in Wierland at a gathering of the Council."

  "They are all there?" asked Gharom.

  "It appears so. It has not yet been confirmed but that is where they indicated they were going. I have not heard from our agents in Abalor, Evarian, or Calendia. We know Gerrand and Faeya Ryr traveled with Farmoush and we received word from Wierland and Calendia that their Mages made the journey to Wierland."

  "Where exactly do they meet?"

  "A castle in Lathor. Seems it has been in the Council's possession for centuries. Rumors say it is woven with magic to keep people out. The natives keep clear of it in any event."

  "I see. But we do not know why they are meeting?" Hamem shook his head.

  "Perhaps Techna Vole's brother knows," said Peral Jaha.

  "I had forgotten," said Gharom. "Deah Vole?"

  "Yes, that is the name. He's a knight attached to Rechle Deama."

  "Your vassal?" Gharom asked Deama.

  "Yes, High Lord. Deah is a fine man. I refuse to believe he would know anything harmful to Curesia and not report it."

  "His brother is part of the Council. Surely if he was inclined to talk his brother would ensorcel him to silence."

  "They are honorable men, High Lord. Their actions would not harm Curesia."

  "I am the judge of what harms Curesia," said Gharom. "I will not be opposed in this, Deama. I want Deah Vole followed. Find out what he knows. Deama, you are in charge of this task. I want daily reports without fail."

  "Yes, High Lord."

  "Now, I want all of you to see to the security of Jespin. We are entering a time of war and we must prepare for assassins and saboteurs. Prepare a method to check everyone entering the city. No wagon or cart shall enter without inspection. Each traveler shall register with the Guards and check in daily. Every one that fails shall be imprisoned."

  "Isn't that harsh?" asked Daral Mynal.

  "This is war," said Artis Dranon. "We cannot afford errors."

  "Correct, Dranon. In this, we must agree and make sure no one escapes our notice. Remember, as the High Lord I may be the first target of an assassin, but not the only one. That is all for this evening. Report to me in the morning."

  He turned back to the window as they left. Moments after the door closed; it opened again. He waited but no one spoke for several moments.

  "High Lord," said his steward, Lyman Kerom. "Festic Ells is here to see you per your request."

  Gharom turned to see the spy standing near the door.

  "Thank you, Kerom. Please remain. Ells, come forward." The man shuffled forward.

  "Very good of you to come. I want to know about Systin Farmoush's last days. I understand you were with him."

  "Yes, High Lord. I often traveled with him."

  "I know. Does King Teslet know too?"

  "Seems everyone knows. I have no secrets."

  "Pathetic words for a spy."

  "I didn't say I was a good spy."

  "No, you did not. However, you waste my time. Tell me about Gerrand. Everything you can remember. I want to know where he was going and why. Each tidbit of information is valuable to me. Besides leaving you alive, I shall make your time worth gold to you. How does that sound?"

  "You are most fair, High Lord."

  "Yes, I am. I keep reminding myself how fair I am. However, patience is not a virtue of mine. I'm sure you understand."

  Festic Ells nodded and swallowed.

  "We tried to engage them in casual conversation at first, but Gerrand knew who we were at once. We had barely said hello at the time. They traveled southeast from Finald on the road to Lathor. I understand there was a meeting of the Mage's Council in Lathor."

  "Have you ever been to the castle?"

  "I have walked by it twice, but never entered it. I never had an invitation. Anyway, we followed them and found them waiting for us. Gerrand knew we followed them. He waited because there were bandits ahead and using Systin and myself as models, he made images of riders surround us to appear as if a large group traveled. Still, the bandits attacked and Gerrand used a spell that obliterated a few of the bandits. I mean there was nothing left but bits of blood. It was horrible. I never knew he had such power."

  "What happened to Farmoush?"

  "Oh, he drew his sword and charged the bandits. Gerrand tried to stop him but Systin was cut down immediately."

  "He was no soldier. Why did he do it?"

  "I cannot say. Perhaps Faeya Ryr's beauty captivated him and he sought to defend her. I do not know. He must have realized she had the power to defend herself much better than he."

  "She is beautiful?"

  "Extremely. Breath-taking even. However, she kept so close to Gerrand I would not advise advances."

  "I see. So you believe Gerrand to be all-powerful?"

  "His power eclipses anything I have seen and I hav
e spent much time with Tyman Stile. Stile's magic is but a child's compared to Gerrand."

  "Well, if there is nothing more you can tell me; I thank you for your time. Kerom, give the gentleman a little something for his time. Oh, Ells. If you happen upon anything in your travels that might be of interest to me, please forward the information to me. I would be most appreciative."

  Gharom's thoughts hovered on Faeya Ryr. He heard the rumors of her beauty, but she seldom left the Isle of Cothos. Perhaps she would visit Curesia before she returned to Cothos. Perhaps she would wish to stay in Curesia. It might be worth asking her. He grinned to himself. Then he thought of her magic and frowned. Magic reminded him of Petyr Wolk. He could not wait for Kisle Ber to return from Wierland. He would try someone else. Wolk could not be that hard to kill. A knife would still pierce his ribs, sorcerer or not.

  Luka Toom welcomed the change from working the guardhouse. A huge man, with thickly knotted muscles that brought him pride, he felt constricted by his position. He won all the challenges among the guards and soldiers of Curesia and fancied himself just below some of the knights in battle skill. A few knights showed questionable fighting skills and he wondered if there was more than fighting prowess to qualify as a knight. He did not know. Perhaps they could read. He could write his name and read it, but little else. Why would a knight need to read?

  The summons from the High Lord provided a welcome relief from guard duty, the most boring of occupations. The only diversions were wenching and drinking and he had done enough of that for one lifetime.

  The High Lord offered a lot of gold, too much gold. Enough gold to retire to a country estate and for what job? -Something he would have done for free. He hated Mages. They were always doing things without leave from the High Lord. Most of the Mage Council did not swear fealty to any lord. Only a man with evil in his heart would do something so unnatural. How could they believe they could direct their own lives? A man needed guidance and that was why there were Lords and High Lords. Also, what did the Council do that helped anyone?

  He decided to follow Petyr Wolk for a day or so to uncover the vile plots afoot. The High Lord agreed as long as Luka did not wait too long to kill Wolk. The High Lord was convinced that Wolk could cause a lot of trouble in only a day. Luka promised to keep alert for increased activity by the sorcerer and kill him immediately if his actions endangered Curesia. Luka Toom believed he was in heaven to receive such a commission.

  The sorcerer made no pretense of hiding his identity. Most people moved quickly out of his way as he passed through the marketplace. In a way, his attitude reminded Luka of the High Lord. Wolk moved as if all people were beneath his notice. He bumped into people without apology. The angry retorts never left their throats when they saw who collided with them.

  Luka Toom followed Wolk to a tavern near the river bridge. Part of the establishment hung over the edge of the river. Luka Toom knew the proprietor used the trap door more than once for patrons to escape the hands of the guards. He entered the dark smoky room and stood at the bar with a mug of ale. His back was turned to Wolk and he could not see with whom the sorcerer spoke. The soft words found his ears.

  "Why are you here?"

  "I want to offer you a commission," said Wolk.

  "What?"

  "In due time. It is worth a thousand gold."

  The other man hissed.

  "So much. Not worth my life."

  "There will be no risk."

  The voices dropped too low for Luka Toom to hear. They whispered for several minutes. Luka Toom heard the moneybag set heavily on the table.

  "Agreed."

  Wolk stood up and left the tavern without a word. Luka Toom did not notice immediately and then rushed out the door. A strong hand grasped him around the throat. He could not break free and felt light headed.

  "Following me?" asked Petyr Wolk. "Gharom should know better than that. Unfortunately for you, he does not. No matter. You shall die. Let me tell you how. I will spell you so you have no control over your limbs then drop you into the river. You shall drift in the swift current as the water fills your lungs. Good-bye, my foolish assassin. Take comfort that your High Lord will join you shortly."

  Luka Toom felt the numbing of his limbs, then the swift decent into the cold water. It took a long time to regain the surface but he could only take a few gasps for breath before water filled his mouth. He tried to spit it out but more water flowed in. His chest tightened; it needed to explode. It swelled and swelled and swelled; then blackness.

  Petyr Wolk walked along the river path whistling to himself.

  Chapter 6

  The horsemen rode south toward the mountains. People in the street stopped to watch the thundering horses. The horses came from the palace, kicking up dust from the dry streets. A man pulled two children from the path of the juggernaut. He shouted at the backs of the horsemen.

  Mingled among the citizens of Jespin, Artus Endria peered at the faces of the riders as they passed. He saw soldiers, weathered and hard with a dark cloaked figure leading them. Petyr Wolk rode with those men! He recognized the trimmed beard and bald head. Wolk rode in the lead; his face as grim as those that followed him. Artus tried to be inconspicuous and walk all the way to the stables where his newly purchased horse waited, but it proved difficult. The crowds would not part for him and he pushed through them. He was jostled but surprised that his rudeness did not draw more attention. Then he watched the people of Jespin. They shoved and kicked each other without respite. A rude people he said to himself. Petyr Wolk leading soldiers disturbed him. The Council vowed not to enter into military matters. Here was Wolk doing just that. Artus knew this was the type of information Gerrand wanted to find. He hoped he could find a way to get it to Gerrand, but there was the pressing matter of Wolk himself.

  He could not let Wolk travel beyond his sight. He had to follow him; Gerrand counted on him. No one else was in position to find out what Wolk was doing. Artus did not like the increasing show of armed men in Curesia. Jespin, especially, displayed soldiers on every corner. He passed them; fully armored with halberds at attention and viscous little eyes watching each person on the street. Artus caught the aroma of violence and fear in the air.

  Artus felt troubled because he did not know where Wolk would lead him. He found it difficult not to look to someone else for leadership, someone else to make decisions for him. He needed to remind himself that he followed his own mind. Tomorrow, he would activate Gerrand's spell and learn what he needed to know. However, would he be in a safe place to do so? Would Wolk's presence keep him from using the spell and thus keep him ignorant of facts he desperately needed? He would have to chance it, but could he? What if it went awry? His path did not please him, but he put his faith in Gerrand's belief in him.

  Artus found himself on the road without any trouble. He rode slowly until he disappeared from the view of the city sentries, and then galloped hard on Wolk's trail. The landscape flashed by him for several minutes. He slowed, unaware if Wolk set soldiers to watch for followers. Their trail neared the mountain roads and many places availed themselves of views of the lower roads. He moved slower as he climbed the roads but even the dust of Wolk's passage had settled. He did not know which way to go. The mountains rose in vertical cliffs and he imagined the shadows holding shapes of Wolk and his soldiers watching him, always watching him.

  Artus rode for three hours following twists and turns in the passes, working his way south until darkness overtook him. He found a suitable place to camp and began making a small fire.

  "Lonely out here, eh Dancer?" He decided to name the horse, but failed to notify the horse, which ignored him.

  He ate slowly savoring the sensation of dining out of doors alone. The smell of the forest seemed invigorating somehow and he marveled that he had missed this experience to this point in his life. In the back of his mind lurked the fear of sleeping alone in a forest. He managed three nights already since leaving the Mage's castle, but the fear had not vanished
completely. Each sudden sound sent his pulse rocking. Twice, he stopped himself from using magic to vanquish whatever disturbed him. More disturbing was the mental image of dead deer, squirrels and the like surrounding his camp, killed by his violent spells. His power would kill everything if he did not limit it to a single quarry. He would wait until he knew what endangered him, if anything, before using his power.

  However, his confidence soared. His experience, while new to him, became manageable. He began to find comfort in the sounds of nature.

  Artus hummed to himself as his stew cooked. Despite having eaten of the stew for two days the smell made his mouth water. He added more pepper, knowing his eyes would water, but it seemed worth it. He hummed and drummed his fingers. The stew was ready. He savored the hot spoonful, moving it quickly back and forth to reduce the burning of the inside of his mouth. He slurped the stew loudly. He closed his eyes while experiencing the hot stew sliding down his throat to warm his stomach.

  Artus realized he was not alone. He sensed a figure to his left in the shadows under the drooping branches of a pine tree. He continued eating as if he did not know. Slowly, he set down his bowl. He exhaled and decided to be bold. He had little choice.

  "I know you are there." There was no response. "Do you wish to share my fire? It is quite meager for two, but you would be welcome." His hands trembled as he waited. He could not decide what spell to ready in case the intruder attacked.

  After a moment, the figure came into the light. He appeared to be a fighting man, tall and weathered by years of battle. He squinted at Artus. The man's sword remained in its scabbard.

  "You look familiar," said Artus, who squinted back.

  The man opened his eyes wide and frowned, turning a thought over in his mind.

  "Are you Artus Endria?"

  "I may be." Artus watched the man closely. There were no signs of nervousness, no indication of danger from him.

  "Gerrand sent word to look for you."

  "Gerrand! Then of course, I am Artus Endria. Who are you?"

  "Deah Vole."

  "Of course, that's why you look familiar. Brothers?"