The Stewards of Reed, Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl

by RM Wark

  “It is one of the prisoners, I am sure. In all my life there has only been one other Reedite that I have known to come to Aurora – one of the village Elders. I am told it was a young man in the pub. A tall young man with brown hair and a slender build.”

  “Fallon.”

  “Aye.”

  “But where is the other Reedite?”

  The ranger shrugged. “I do not know, but once we find Fallon, I suspect we shall discover the whereabouts of the other.”

  Len nodded as he processed the news, but his lack of movement clearly irritated the ranger.

  “Make haste, you fool!”

  Within the hour, the ranger and Len were riding their horses along the road to Middleton. Fallon had last been seen walking along the road two days prior. With luck, they might catch up to him before nightfall.

  *************

  She did not see Lord Etan again for a long time. Winter came and went and came again and again. All the while she languished in her sleeping quarters. Still, she took comfort in the fact that she was not in the dungeons, that she could still feel the sun on her face from time to time.

  The sun had started to set against the cold grey sky when she heard a bit of commotion. She saw guards running through the garden below her terrace, and she jumped up to follow their path, but they quickly disappeared out of view. Disappointed, she resigned herself to the monotony of her life. And so it was until she heard a knock upon her door the following evening.

  “Lord Etan!”

  She surprised herself by embracing him. She quickly remembered herself though and stepped back, embarrassed. I did not realize how lonely I was.

  If he had been embarrassed, he did not show it. In fact, he smiled. It was not until she welcomed him in that she realized he was inebriated. His gait was a bit unsteady, and his words were slow and drawn out, though not quite slurred.

  “Princess Delia,” he exclaimed as he sat down in the chair next to her, “I must confess how much I have missed you. I am sorry it has been so long.”

  “It is all right, Lord Etan,” she said, smiling at him.

  “So much has happened,” he began.

  “Aye?”

  “Do you have any whiskey?” he asked, looking around. “I must celebrate.”

  The West has lost the war, she thought with dismay. My father.

  “I am sorry, Lord Etan. I do not have any whiskey. May I—”

  “Guards!” he cried, interrupting her.

  The door opened immediately, and a large man stepped inside the room, his hand ready at his hilt. “Aye, my lord?”

  “Bring us some whiskey!”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Lady Delia watched the door close. “May I ask what it is we are celebrating?” she asked, her apprehension increasing.

  Lord Etan smiled. “She flung herself off our terrace in a fit of rage. She is gone. My wife is gone.”

  A wave of relief flooded over Lady Delia. “Oh my,” she said. “I am sorry, my lord.”

  Lord Etan laughed. “Do not be sorry. I am free, Princess Delia. I am finally free.”

  Before she could say anything else, the door opened, and a servant brought in a carafe of whiskey with two small glasses. The servant poured the whiskey and promptly left.

  “Would you care to join me in a toast?” he asked, raising his glass.

  Lady Delia frowned. She did not feel right toasting to the death of Lady Marta – a woman she had never met – even if the wizard was truly mad. But in spite of this, she found herself raising her glass and forcing herself to smile.

  “To being free,” Lord Etan said.

  As he leaned forward to touch his glass to hers, he lost his balance. A bit of his whisky spilled upon his hand and hers.

  Lord Etan began to laugh. “I am sorry, Princess Delia.”

  “It is all right,” she said. She walked towards her washbasin, wetted a clean cloth, and returned to where he was standing. “Here, let me see your hand.”

  He extended his arm towards her and watched as she gently wiped away the liquor.

  “There,” she said, looking over his hand once more to make sure it was clean.

  “Thank you. You are too kind.” There was a sadness in his voice that had not been there before.

  “You shall be all right, Lord Etan,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  She started to pull away, but the wizard did not let go. Instead, he pulled her towards him, and pressed his lips to hers.

  It had been so long since anyone had kissed her – had cared enough to kiss her – and she found her body responding, even though her mind screamed “No!” in protest.

  The rest of the night was a blur. It was as though her mind was in a frozen state of shock, oblivious to what was happening. The next morning, she pretended to sleep as he left.

  Lord Etan did not return for several weeks. It was awkward seeing him again, but he kept the meeting brief.

  “I just wanted to apologize for the other night. I did not mean to ….” He looked down at the ground, unable to finish his thought.

  Lady Delia’s mind swirled with a thousand different thoughts, and she was overwhelmed by a thousand different emotions, but no words would pass her lips. In the end, she could only nod.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Season's End

  The dark-winged messenger had arrived that morning. Lord Etan had seen the bird perched upon a turret near his father’s bedchamber. He resisted the urge to run to his father and learn of the news – his father would call for him in due time. He did not have to wait long before the Emperor’s servant came knocking at his door.

  Lord Etan found his father in the throne room, sitting upon his chair of stone, his head in his hand.

  “Is there news of the war, Father?”

  “Aye. Ill tidings, I am afraid.” His father looked up, his face solemn. “Lord Bertrand and Lord Percival are dead.”

  Lord Etan frowned. He knew how important those wizards had been for executing his father’s war plan.

  “Ill tidings, indeed. What shall you do now?”

  “All is not lost, my son. We still have our faithful spies. And the Princess. It is time we made use of our prized prisoner,” Emperor Jarek continued.

  Lord Etan felt a knot in his stomach tighten as he forced himself to nod at the mention of the Princess. “What do you have in mind, Father?”

  “To kill the King, of course,” came the flippant reply.

  Lord Etan held his tongue, ever cognizant of his father’s temper.

  “Apologies, my son,” the Emperor finally said with a sigh. “It has been a most difficult week.”

  “Aye, Father.”

  “I had considered informing the King that we held his daughter prisoner, and that I would entertain releasing her into his custody in exchange for his surrender,” the Emperor said. “I fear, however, he shall not accept such terms. Queen Rosalyn refused to surrender for her son, and history does not speak of their relationship being so strained.”

  “That was more than a thousand years ago, Father,” Lord Etan countered. “And Queen Rosalyn had more than one child. King Huron has only the Princess. He may be more motivated to consider such an offer.”

  In Lord Etan’s mind, the surrender of the Princess was ideal – the gentle creature would finally have the freedom she deserved, and the East would finally have its long-deserved victory.

  But Emperor Jarek shook his head. “No. Even if King Huron did surrender – and I doubt the callous man ever would – it is not enough. I do not want his surrender. I want his death.”

  Lord Etan was at a loss for words.

  A faint smile appeared on Emperor Jarek’s face. “Did you know that the corpid flower bloomed recently?”

  Lord Etan shook his head slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral.

  The corpid flower was incredibly rare, blooming once every five hundred years or so. As far as Lord Etan knew, it could only be found in the dark folds of the Orica Mountai
ns. When it bloomed, the blue flower with black spots was nearly the size of a man.

  But it was not the large petals that were of interest to the Eastern Wizards – it was the pollen. If cultivated properly, the pollen of the corpid flower could incapacitate even the most powerful of wizards. Those unfortunate enough to consume the pollen suffered greatly – enduring weeks of unbearable pain, unrelenting fever, and increasing delirium in a slow, drawn-out spiral towards death.

  “The timing could not have been more perfect. The pollen is nearly ready,” the Emperor continued.

  “You plan to poison the King?” Lord Etan asked.

  “No. I plan to poison the Princess.”

  “I do not understand, Father. How does killing the Princess help us win the war?” Lord Etan was genuinely confused, not to mention alarmed.

  “It is not the act but rather the context of the act that matters,” replied the Emperor. “I do not intend to poison the Princess until she nears the West.”

  “You are releasing her?” Lord Etan was even more confused.

  “Aye. I shall inform the Princess in the coming days that the war is not going as well as I had hoped, and that I have decided to offer her freedom in exchange for her father’s surrender. Of course, I shall have done nothing of the sort, but we shall journey to the West nonetheless.”

  Lord Etan nodded, trying his best to follow his father’s explanation.

  “The pollen shall begin to take hold as we descend the Divisidero Mountains into the West. I have arranged for one of our spies to happen upon her wandering through the Unnamed Forest. Upon finding her in a confused and sickly state, the spy shall alert the King that the Princess has been found, but that she is not well enough to travel. King Huron shall have no choice but to leave Mt. Xavier and come to the aid of his ailing daughter. I shall be waiting for him when he arrives … and we shall be rid of the King, and his daughter, once and for all.”

  Lord Etan was silent for a while, contemplating the plan. “Why not just have the spy kill the King? Why risk traveling to the West yourself?” he asked.

  “I must be certain that the deed is done. I have waited far too long for this, my son. It is a risk I am willing to take.”

  Lord Etan nodded, though in truth he did not understand his father’s rationale.

  “When do you leave?”

  “I am told the pollen shall be ready in three days.”

  *************

  “It is snowing again.”

  Silas found himself turning towards the window to see for himself that his wife spoke the truth. He sighed at the sight of small snowflakes swirling in the wind.

  “Wizards be damned. I cannot recall another winter such as this.”

  Zahara arched an eyebrow. “Never?”

  Silas’s memory stretched back far in time, but he could not recall this much snow, so early in the season.

  “No,” came his grim reply.

  “Well, hopefully the storm shall pass soon.”

  He felt the soft kiss of his wife on his cheek.

  “It is time to eat, my love. I shall get Jezebel.”

  Jezebel had moved back in with them shortly after the winter solstice. The pregnancy had not been kind to her – she was tired and sick more often than not – and with Dirk gone for long stretches at a time doing odd jobs in Bartow, Zahara had insisted that Jezebel come stay with them.

  Silas watched as Jezebel entered the dining hall, her hands placed upon the swelling of her belly now clearly noticeable. In that moment, she reminded him of Zahara when she was pregnant with Jezebel, and he felt his heart flutter.

  “How are you feeling today, Jezebel?” he asked.

  “Better, Father. Thank you,” she replied, taking her seat.

  “Have you heard anything from Dirk recently?”

  “Aye. He has taken a job doing some repairs at the university. With all the snow, they keep finding more things for him to fix. He says the work is cold, but the money is good. He thinks it may be enough to last for a few months after the baby comes.”

  “That is great news.”

  Silas meant it. He had felt a bit guilty when he fired Dirk from his position as a guard, but he could not in good conscience continue to employ the guard who let the Reedite prisoner escape. He is better off financially than he would have been as a guard. It was for the best.

  “Aye,” she agreed.

  Zahara returned from the kitchen and set down a tray containing three bowls of soup. Silas frowned when he noticed the soup was mostly broth, with only one small potato and a few carrots included.

  Jezebel was soon scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon. “I am quite hungry today for some reason.”

  “That is because the little one inside you is growing,” Zahara replied with a smile, patting her daughter’s arm.

  “Would you happen to have any more soup, Mother?”

  It had been there for only the briefest of moments – a pained look upon his wife’s face as she considered her response – but Silas saw it.

  “You may have mine, Jezebel,” Silas quickly interjected. “It seems I am not that hungry today.”

  He placed his bowl in front of her.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  *************

  “It is snowing again.”

  Lady Dinah looked up from her tea and glanced out the window.

  “I am afraid you must stay with us a little while longer, Lord Edmund,” she said with a smile. “It is not safe to travel.”

  Her friend smiled in return. “I suppose you are you right, my Queen.”

  Lord Edmund had been staying with her at Mt. Xavier for several months now. He had initially stayed to learn more of his brother, Lord Abner, who still remained imprisoned within the walls of cell thirteen. The endless line of snowstorms provided a good excuse to stay a bit longer, to learn a bit more.

  “How is your brother doing?” Lady Dinah knew that Lord Abner was never far from Lord Edmund’s mind.

  “He is fine, my Queen. I saw him this morning.”

  “I do not suppose he had anything new to share?”

  Lady Dinah had not been back to visit the wizards below since her initial interrogation, but Lord Edmund – with her blessing – had been to see them often.

  “No, my Queen.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, sipping on tea and staring out the window at the falling snow.

  “What are your plans for them, if I may ask?”

  Lady Dinah knew it had been a question playing on the wizard’s mind for some time.

  “I do not know,” she answered honestly.

  “Have you informed the other Western Wizards about them yet?”

  “No.” She did not feel the need to elaborate, and Lord Edmund did not press her.

  “They know nothing of Lord Milton,” he continued.

  Lady Dinah nodded politely. He had told her this before.

  “I have not learned anything new in all this time. They tell the same story again and again. Consistently,” he continued.

  Lady Dinah stared intently at the wizard. “And do you believe their story now? At one time you felt they might be hiding something,” she reminded him.

  She watched as Lord Edmund opened his mouth to respond, only to close it again. The wizard said nothing.

  “When the last doubt has been cast from your mind, Lord Edmund, then we shall continue this conversation.”

  “Aye, my Queen.”

  *************

  “It is snowing again.”

  Steward Isaiah could hear the annoyance in his pupil’s voice.

  “I have not been able to ride Junior for some time now. I am sure he must be miserable being cooped up in the barn all the time.”

  “Are we speaking of the horse or you?” teased Isaiah.

  Zeke uttered a quick apology and sat down in his chair at Isaiah’s desk. The boy opened a book and let out a big sigh
as he started flipping through the pages.

  Isaiah noticed Zeke pause on a page that showed a sketch of Bartow immersed in floodwaters from a time before the levees were constructed.

  “Do you suppose Reed shall flood when all this snow finally melts?” Zeke asked.

  “It is possible,” admitted Steward Isaiah. It seemed to him that more snow had fallen this year than in the winter of 1044, the year of the Great Flood.

  “I wish there was some way to make the snow stop.” Zeke paused in thought before a bright smile appeared on his face. “Steward! Use your gift! You can make the snow stop. You can save our village from flooding!”

  Isaiah had not seen the boy this excited in some time.

  “I am sorry, my son, but I fear what you ask is beyond the reach of my gift,” he replied softly. “Even if I did manage to stop the snow, it would be for only a few hours at most. Based on the dull ache in my shoulder, I suspect this storm shall be with us for days.”

  “Wizards be damned,” Zeke mumbled as he sulked.

  “Pardon me?” It was a common expression – Isaiah used it often himself – but he was not accustomed to hearing it from Tobias’s sons.

  Zeke’s face flushed red in embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. I did not mean to say that out loud.”

  “Very well. Shall we get back to learning a bit of history of the Laureline Region then?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  *************

  Upon leaving the throne room, Lord Etan stopped briefly at his bedchambers. He grabbed a rather large leather sack hidden beneath a floorboard at the foot of his bed, and quickly made his way out into the streets of Cetahl.

  The cobblestone roads were wet with recent rain, and he was walking at such a pace that he nearly slipped more than once, but he knew he had to hurry.

  She does not deserve such a fate.

  He turned down one alleyway, and then another and another, until he reached a small yellow door. Tap, tap. Tap.

  The door slowly opened to reveal a tall man with a solemn face. Gage was not that old – he was not quite forty – but his experience as one of the Emperor’s guardsmen had aged him beyond his years.