Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series

by Vaiya Books

  He’d called Arvage a proud fool before and told him to stop fastening his eyes on the sky, but his counselor had never faltered. He simply admitted that he found none of the ladies worthy of him.

  Boastful arrogance aside, though, Arvage had a wise, kind disposition that made him extremely popular among his citizens. Not only did he have knowledge about all the important day-to-day happenings in Sarith, he also kept his focus locked onto other kingdoms as well. In all truth, it appeared as if Arvage knew a little bit about everything. Better yet, he could communicate it in a way that made sense.

  “I see you’ve got quite enough work to keep you busy, My King,” said Arvage, as he stood in front of the table, his dark brown eyes deepening with concern. “If you have no need of me tonight, I will depart.”

  “No, Arvage, I want you here,” said King Ralin, with a little more desperation in his voice than he’d intended. “And please stop with the formalities. I can’t handle them right now.”

  “As you request,” said Arvage, as he took his seat across from the king.

  If anyone else had walked through that door, Ralin probably couldn’t have handled it, but seeing Arvage somehow made his heart lighter. Besides, he’d scheduled this meeting with his advisor no more than two days ago. How could he be so distracted as to forget about it?

  Arvage smiled as he put his hands on the table. “So, what shall we go over first?”

  “The military,” said Ralin, who couldn’t help but grin at his advisor’s nonprocedural way of conducting business. Every single meeting, Arvage gave him the option of deciding what to discuss first, and, depending on his mood, the responses differed wildly. Today, all he could handle starting with was the military. After all, it seemed to be the brightest spot in the sky. Not much could go wrong with his army with Head Commander Exalon and his fellow three commanders Vardis, Gavar, and Tavim in charge of it.

  Smiling faintly, as Ralin waited for the military report, the royal counselor folded his hands as he began, “The southerners are training heavily each day and within two weeks should be ready to join our forces.”

  “How many are there?” Ralin asked, the news already lifting his spirits.

  “At least three thousand,” he replied.

  This number was a huge addition to his army, and frankly, it surprised him at the fast response he’d gotten from them. Though he’d known the southerners to be bloodthirsty, cruel people, he’d never guessed they’d be so eager to fight in a war. Smiling, he turned his focus to the upper regions of his kingdom. “And what of the northerners?”

  “None have arrived yet except one young man, but our reports show that the majority of them should be coming in two days at the most, and there will be at least two thousand.”

  Always liking to find humor in a situation if he could, Ralin couldn’t resist. “So, this lone man was ambitious then?” he asked.

  “Ambitious or foolish,” replied Arvage dryly. “By the winds, it can’t be safe traveling alone like that.”

  “No, it certainly cannot,” said Ralin, finding laughter easier than he’d expected. After chuckling a little, he added, “I think I can handle the Chardin Academy now.”

  “Switching subjects already,” Arvage said with a mock frown. “I wonder why you pay me so much.”

  Ralin just bit back a smile. “Continue.”

  “The ninety-nine students are learning at an average pace, and ten of them are expected to pass their mastery exams by next week.”

  “Ninety-nine?” asked Ralin incredulously, as if hearing this for the first time, though in reality, he just wanted to argue. Right now, this low number just seemed ridiculous. “Surely, we have more than that.”

  “No, that’s it,” replied Arvage.

  “And you think we have a chance against the elves with such numbers? How can so few annul their magic? We won’t have enough to protect our troops.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this for some time,” began Arvage. “To solve this problem, I suggest you double the enrollment rate.”

  “To two-hundred?” asked Ralin, finding this number staggering. “That’d flood the school. Master Zenari would be outraged.”

  “And that’d be nothing new.” Arvage straightened his back against the cushioned chair. “Zenari’s always had quite the temper.”

  Ralin stared up at his advisor, surprisingly amused. “Have you ever considered how our reputation is affected by those we associate with and bring into positions of power?”

  “I’m quite aware of it,” said Arvage with a chuckle. “You did just appoint Master Zenari to the council last week. I’m sure, though, that no one will think any less of you for choosing him. Surely you know that Professor Kahna, Professor Ravarnum, Professor Haxien, Professor Warlon, or Professor Undarvis would’ve never even lasted one minute in the council--their personalities, their dispositions, their appearances just wouldn’t permit it.”

  Picturing any of the five other professors as council members just strengthened his laughter. Belavi, Sarid, Callin, or Jalis would never put up with any of these professors’ antics--they’d sooner drop out. He wasn’t even sure that Gavar, Yanar, or Arvage could handle them.

  The rest of the comedy from this situation draining, Ralin worked his way back to the current topic. “So, what should be done about expanding the enrollment?”

  “If you’re looking for the smoothest path, I suggest holding a council meeting in two days,” said Arvage. “Then we can vote on it.”

  “But we can’t wait two days to approve such a measure,” replied Ralin frustratedly, his humor all but erased under the circumstances. “It’d take at best three days to fill up all hundred positions, and then at least two weeks to train them to a reasonable degree.” He paused. “No, that won’t work.”

  “Then institute the law yourself,” said Arvage. “Certainly you have the power.”

  After thinking about it for only a few moments, he smiled sternly. “Yes, I suppose that is the fastest way to solve the problem. The six other council members will just have to understand why I bypassed them in this decision.”

  Jotting down a quick note to remind himself to write this monumental letter to be delivered to the Chardin Academy before he went to bed, Ralin paused as a particular thought struck him. He quickly formed it into words. “So, whatever happened to that prodigy from the north? Wasn’t he supposed to be here a week ago?”

  “Ferinor Eldred, you mean?” asked Arvage, who, after seeing the king’s acknowledgment of his words, moved on: “He arrived late this afternoon.”

  “And?”

  “He didn’t last the day.”

  This news hit Ralin hard. He staggered in his seat, as his eyes smoldered like a funeral pyre. “Impossible!”

  “It’s all very true,” replied Arvage calmly, not sharing in his king’s fury. “Master Zenari himself told me about it. Though he kept out the particulars, it wasn’t hard to sense that whatever Ferinor did, it must have appalled Zenari to the root.”

  “And what did Ferinor’s classmates say about him?” asked Ralin, who for no apparent reason, found himself already blaming this northerner for his awful day.

  Smiling faintly now, the advisor leaned back against the chair as he recalled today’s events. “His classmates spoke quite candidly about him.”

  “What did they say?” His question built in intensity. He found himself wishing the worst for this excuse of a genius.

  Arvage took his time. “They said that when he first arrived there that he couldn’t even speak the language and that he spoke with the worst accent any of them had ever heard. It was so bad that one of them swore he was speaking his own made-up language.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “However, even after Zenari gave him the Sarithian language, his problems didn’t go away but rather seemed to intensify.” He grinned as if savoring a rare type of seafood. “His cultural skills for one, were downright barbaric.”

  Now, Ralin, who couldn’t take any more, swiftly las
hed out, the bitterness freezing in his voice: “Have the northerners truly grown so far apart from us as to not even know our language or our culture?”

  “No, not all northerners,” replied Arvage. “The other ten northerners at the academy are some of Zenari’s top students.”

  “Then what happened to Ferinor?” asked Ralin, his tone both icy and fiery. “Is it possible we may have gotten the wrong person?”

  “It is possible, though highly improbable,” replied Arvage, a shrewd look in his eyes. “The four guards stationed at the gate of the academy scrutinized him sharply and found him nearly an exact replica of the facial sketch they had of him.”

  King Ralin tapped his hands across the table, growing rather irritated. “Is it possible the sketch is a fraud then?”

  Arvage’s face remained stolid. “Yes, although it is extremely unlikely, as the academy sent a sketch artist to Ferinor’s house and drew him in person, making it very difficult for anything fraudulent to occur.” Here he paused for several seconds before adding, his tone both diplomatic and stern, “Thus, in all likelihood, the Ferinor Eldred at the academy today was the real one.”

  Becoming seriously annoyed, feeling that all his valid questions were being torn apart, King Ralin started to tremble with impatience. “Obviously his mother grossly exaggerated his intelligence in her missives then,” he said sharply.

  “True, that is definitely part of it,” said Arvage. “Though it’s far worse than just that.”

  The king just gave him a cold glare. “Explain yourself.”

  The advisor didn’t hesitate. “The students seem to think he’s in a world of his own making.”

  “He’s succumbed to madness then?”

  “I’m afraid so,” replied Arvage, as he stretched out his legs. “Though the worst part is, he sees himself as perfectly normal--an obvious sign that he’s advanced to the further stages of the malady.”

  “Well, enough of this topic then,” said Ralin, with pure disgust. “It’s clear I want nothing more to do with the man. What more could possibly be said?”

  After a brief bout of silence, Arvage not answering this question as it appeared rhetorical, Ralin’s temper cooled somewhat, as Arvage took the initiative, bringing the conversation back to the agenda. “Our messengers report that Emissary Sarid will be arriving in Carakoth sometime tomorrow morning. As of now, we have no assurance that the meeting with the dwarves has forged an alliance.”

  “Send him to me when he arrives,” said Ralin. “If this alliance succeeds, my plans for this war will be drastically altered.”

  But Arvage hesitated, his face slightly uneasy. “But tomorrow's your birthday--”

  “I have no time for such celebrations,” cut in Ralin as he glanced over the stacks of brownish paper in front of him. “Tell him to meet me.”

  “As you wish,” replied Arvage with a bow.

  “Good.” The king folded his left arm on the table as he picked up a charcoal writing tool with his right hand and poised it right above the document that Callin, his finance council member had given him. Right now, authorizing the construction of a new bridge in Taez didn’t seem as important as it had in the morning. Besides, he knew that Callin would be thrilled by such ready acceptance; it would put him on his good side. And he’d need it when he issued the decree to expand the academy’s enrollment.

  Now if only he could find a way to appease the other council members, especially Master Zenari who would most likely be terribly displeased with the degree, everything would be much more pleasant.

  As the king continued thinking along these lines, Arvage, observing the king’s state of stasis, pulled a metal bell from his cloak and rang it once--his signature way of adjourning a meeting. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me before I go?”

  Finished signing the paper, Ralin looked up at his advisor and gave the customary question, which usually didn’t engender any favorable results. “Did anything interesting happen today?”

  His lips curved into a smile. “I believe today it did.”

  This was unexpected, though he should have expected it given his already unusual day. “Where at?” he inquired.

  “In the village of Sarette.” He let this tidbit of information sit around for a few moments before beginning his account. “Seven members of the Forest Scourge were captured by our royal guards.”

  “Seven? That can’t be possible.”

  “My thought as well,” said Arvage as he put the bell back into his cloak. “What makes even less sense to me is how they were caught in the first place. Apparently, the royal guards heard a bloodcurdling scream from far away and they went to check it out. By the time they’d arrived, though, they saw six of the murderers lying against the wall of a house as if they’d been slammed into it, and another one, a young man, standing up on the opposite end of the street with a knife in his belt as if he’d just won a battle.”

  Ralin’s eyes just flashed with bewilderment. “Impossible! No one can fight six of them at once, not even our best warriors.”

  “I know,” Arvage said. “And this is the same logic the royal captain used before he jailed the young man for being part of the Forest Scourge.”

  “And he’d be a fool to do otherwise,” said Ralin. “It’s obvious the man had thought out the whole discovery scene.”

  “Only for himself.” Arvage frowned mildly. “There’s no reason why six members would risk their lives to save just one, unless he was their leader; but, from the royal guard’s report about his youthful appearance and his northern roots, that would be utterly ridiculous. It was clear he wasn’t leading anyone.”

  Ralin fought back a laugh. “But nothing else clears the way. Do you dare to tell me that he was not only holding his own against all six of them, but actually winning?”

  Arvage stopped, and pondered for a second, before replying with hammer-like sincerity, “No, I do not. Of course I do not.”

  “Then keep me away from this case,” said Ralin, his lips twisting into a weird smile. “I want no part in it. I’ve already had quite enough bizarre cases today.”

  Grinning, Arvage stood up from his seat. “I can’t protect you from this, My King.” He walked towards the door. “They will come for you, and you will have to give a verdict.” As he opened the door, he spoke once more before leaving, “I pray you make the right decision.”

  The door shut, and Ralin could hear his advisor’s light footsteps as they passed through the hall. Though this meeting had gone far better than expected, he still came out of it with a rather sick feeling. Not only did he have the weight of the bizarre cases from the day weighing on him, now his advisor had bothered him with this new case he’d potentially have to handle. Worse still, his advisor’s parting words seemed to imply that he’d not handled today’s cases with the clearest judgment and this just made him feel guilty, which was not an emotion he could handle right now.

  Scowling in frustration, Ralin shuffled through the piles of paperwork looking for something to ease his mind. Nothing did. In fact, his mind only grew more unsettled, as the third unusual case of the day reentered his mind, greatly disturbing him.

  No matter where he looked, or what he looked at, all he could see was the young fisherman’s sorrowful face and hear his pitiful screams as he was publicly beaten on his bare back with a wooden stick, the punishment for lying about serious matters--for there was no way the young man could have been telling the truth. Evil spells, dark incantations, wicked summonings, and vile sorceries were unheard of in every corner of the world--especially in Sarith.

  Sure, the elven Kingdom of Amalon had its brand of magic, but that was nothing close to the insidious type of magic that this fisherman was suggesting was occurring here, in his very kingdom.

  Sighing deeply, he stood up from his chair as his breaths came quicker. No, he did not regret hurting this young man at all. His only regret was that he didn’t do him more permanent damage when he’d had the chance. Who knew the po
isonous effect this news could have on his citizens?

  Chapter 24

  Awaking out of his sleep two hours later, the smell of mildew, mold, and wet dirt filling his nostrils, Jimmy found himself in a dungeon, his legs and arms bound by iron chains. Underneath him was a coarse gray rug, but everywhere else was cold, moist dirt. Slimy earthworms, slithering millipedes, scuttling beetles, and squirming earwigs, his most hated insect, likely lurked nearby. But he wouldn’t know. It was so dim he couldn’t see much of anything. He didn’t even know where the faint light was coming from, but he hoped it wouldn’t go away.

  After taking in his new surroundings, discouragement rained upon him, then anger. All he’d done was defend himself against the thieves, yet ironically, he was included as one of them. This was gross injustice. Without even going to court or having a trial, he was shackled, drugged to sleep, and stuck into a disgusting, dirty cell like any common criminal. This cruel handling deeply cut into his pride, infuriating him. He didn’t deserve any of this.

  Rubbing his grimy hands against one of the only semi-clean spots on the mud-splattered walls--for he didn’t want to spoil his clothes which still looked nice in spite of all he’d been through--he shook his fists in bitterness, a tear even coming to his eye which he quickly wiped away on the thin sleeve of his black t-shirt. How had it come to this?

  Thoughts stirred, he wished himself back at the buffet. Even suffering humiliation in front of the girls was nothing compared to this. They treated him nicely, respected him, and even chatted with him. Here in this medieval-type world, though, people acted superstitious, unjust, and even hateful. If he ever got back to his own world, he’d have to rethink many things. Nothing would ever be the same.

  He’d read many fairy tales, and they sure portrayed things differently. Kings, queens, princes, princesses, all seemed like fabrications of an unrealistic world where people were benevolent and kind and where good deeds were rewarded with riches, beauty, and fame. Not so in this world. He likely saved the blacksmith’s money and perhaps his life by acting as bait so the guards could catch them, yet all he got was an undisclosed imprisonment sentence, brutally painful chains that bruised his ankles and wrists, and a dwelling place swarming with insects and arachnids. Besides, why had the guard been able to put him to sleep so easily, when the thieves couldn’t even touch him? Was it because he hadn’t expected the needle?