First Comes The One Who Wanders

by Lynette S. Jones

  “Be that as it may,” replied the captain, his hand never leaving his sword.

  Keeping his anger in check, Mandrak left the deck. He could see the sullen, angry and fearful faces of the crew as he descended the stair that led to his quarters.

  Doing his best to make himself comfortable in the closet they called quarters, he finally fell into a restless sleep. A flashing light followed by searing pain and then darkness woke him from his fitful sleep, covered in sweat. Rising from his bed, he splashed water onto his face to rinse away the sweat and the fear that always accompanied the dream, then returning to the bed, he tried to go back to sleep. But each time he managed to fall asleep, the flashing light and searing pain returned. Each time he woke in a sweat and each time he fell asleep, the dream returned.

  He was relieved when morning was announced by the arrival of his breakfast, practically thrown at him by the cabin boy, and he could quit the pretense of trying to rest. Sitting down to the simple meal, he had time to reflect on his dreams. He’d had many such dreams since Jayram’s attack in Dirth. His hand went to his scarred face inadvertently. More often than not, they were just dreams of a horrific trauma he’d endured. But he had to wonder if there wasn’t more to it this time. Though he wasn’t prone to portents and prescience, there had been a few times that he’d been warned beforehand of a great danger. It wouldn’t do to ignore a warning, if indeed that was what this was. But warning or no, he wasn’t going to abandon his plan to replace Teran as head of the Guild. Taking as much enjoyment as he could from the plain and unappetizing food, which was precious little, he lay back on his cot cursing the captain and Teran for his present predicament, and passed the time planning his revenge on the pair of them.

  Counting the passing time by the meals that arrived, he sighed in relief when the cabin boy came to take the tray away and told him that they’d arrived in Sea Silver. Not long after the boy had left, the captain came down and escorted him off his ship, his hand never leaving his weapon. Mandrak ignored the threatening stance of the captain and the men aboard ship. Right now, he had more important business to attend. He could exact his revenge against these men another time, when he had more time to enjoy it. He left the captain and crew who had no idea that they were already dead men if he had his way. It was only a matter of time.

  Ylon was waiting for him when he arrived at the guild house and he was shown into his office directly. “Mandrak,” Ylon greeted him from his seat at his desk. The desk was covered in scrolls and parchments, the lifeblood of the guild. Their ability to find and record knowledge was what kept them in the company of kings. “It is always an honor to receive one of your importance. I’ve collected all the information we have on the Amulet of Ley. It isn’t much I’m afraid.”

  “Since I know next to nothing about it, anything you can tell me will be of help.” Mandrak slipped into a comfortable armchair across from Ylon, interlacing his fingers over his protruding abdomen.

  “It’s interesting how quickly it was forgotten. Almost as if there was some kind of intervention,” agreed Ylon. “Had we recognized its importance, we could have kept track of it. Of course, that was before my time as director here at Sea Silver.”

  “Of course,” agreed Mandrak, smiling at the director’s subtle shifting of blame. It was never anyone’s fault, because the former director was always to blame. He’d done the same responsibility shifting himself on many occasions. “I have a drawing of the amulet. Can you give me any idea where it is?”

  Ylon cleared his throat and shuffled his papers. He was not unappreciative of how vicious Mandrak was capable of being. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing in our records to indicate where the men who carried the amulet took it. However, it we look at the history, we can make some assumptions.”

  “Then by all means, let’s look at the history,” said Mandrak, in a slightly mocking tone.

  Ylon cleared his throat again, nervously. “After the death of King Ley, rule of all Preterlandis was passed down to his son, known as King Leyson. Now, though King Ley was a good and honorable king, he tended to indulge his son’s excesses. So, Leyson was not the man his father was, nor was he a good ruler. When the amulet was taken from his father and the people tried to pass it on to Leyson, it flared with intense heat and burned a mark into his flesh. Every time the new king tried to touch the amulet, the same event occurred.

  “Cursing the crafters and their magic, Leyson sent two of his best men to take the accursed amulet as far away from him as possible and hide it. He didn’t want the crafters trying to reclaim it and he didn’t want any other man to try and use it to usurp his rule. He might not be able to use its power, but neither would anyone else.” Ylon looked up to see if he still had Mandrak’s attention. Seeing that Mandrak was listening, he continued.

  “Leyson was living in Dirth at the time, so the men headed south. Sea Silver was the farthest known point away from Dirth at that time. There are some islands past here,” added Ylon, “but they weren’t charted then and as far as I know, no one went to any of them. None of the islands past Seal Haven are known to be inhabited and Seal Haven is only inhabited by sea elves. The arrival of the men on Sea Silver was noted in the Director’s journal, as well as their reason for being there. However, events were taking place at the time that called his attention away from the men and their journey.

  “Andresia had decided to break away from the United Preterlandis, set up their own king and rule themselves independently. King Leyson sent his army to deal with Andresia and was soundly defeated. Licking his wounds, Leyson went back to Dirth and tried to shore up his remaining holdings. But one by one, the remaining people began to break away from the idea of one king and one land. First, Crogmanland broke away, then Sylphia, then the Isle of Mer, then Sea Silver. Then other territories of Solea followed Andresia’s lead. The Southern Provinces declared their independence, then Menas and Montshade, until Leyson ruled over only the land west of the mountains to the sea. This destruction of a united Preterlandis took less than ten years.”

  “Because he lost the power of the amulet?” asked Mandrak.

  “That was the conclusion of the Director here at the time. He wrote that it might be worthwhile to track down the amulet and take it into guild keeping, but his superiors weren’t interested. They saw an opportunity to build their power in the midst of all the upheaval and they spent their efforts and resources in that endeavor.”

  “Did the Director give any indication where the amulet had been taken?” Mandrak shifted in his chair impatiently.

  “He didn’t give any indication. All that was said was that where they were taking it, no one would think to look and it would be well cared for in the event a king was able to claim it again.”

  “No one would think to look there and yet someone would know it was there and look after it,” repeated Mandrak.

  “That is all it says,” agreed Ylon.

  “That could be anywhere,” growled Mandrak.

  “Yes, it’s a pity the guild didn’t send someone to follow those men.”

  Mandrak’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “Did the Director send someone after them?”

  The director smiled broadly. “It seems that he did,” he said, “despite orders telling him to let the matter go. The servants traveled east toward the mountains of Sylphia, but also to the south. They were lost by the scribes following them at that point. But according to the Director, that’s the land of the Dwarves of Stillmont.

  “The Dwarves of Stillmont,” mused Mandrak, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “I haven’t heard of them in years.”

  “Perhaps that’s because they have something to hide,” ventured Ylon.

  “Like an amulet of a king,” added Mandrak.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” said the director.

  “I wonder,” said Mandrak, broaching the subject cautiously, even though he was fairly certain of Ylon’s allegiance. “What kind of influence the scribes who possessed this am
ulet would wield within the guild?”

  Ylon smiled faintly. “That same thought had crossed my mind. How wise would it be to surrender it into the wrong hands too quickly?”

  “Not wise,” replied Mandrak. “Not wise at all.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” agreed Ylon.

  Mandrak’s eyes narrowed as he assessed just how much he could tell the director. He was useful and for now, that was enough to keep him around. “I’ll start for Stillmont as soon as I can book passage. In the meantime, let’s keep my destination between the two of us. No one else needs to know where I’m headed.”

  It was Ylon’s turn to assess the situation. I can’t think of any reason anyone else should know, at present.”

  Mandrak understood the implied warning and was willing to live with it while Ylon was an asset. If he did find the amulet, he would need to reassess his need for the ambitious scribe.

  “Thank-you for your time. I should go and make my arrangements. I’ll send word, should I discover anything of interest.”

  The director nodded, not risking the senior scribe’s wrath by saying anything more. Mandrak sighed in relief. He needed the allegiance of Ylon. He would have hated to kill him. Although he had to admit, the thought did give him some pleasure.

  He spent the afternoon making his arrangements to travel back to Madras. From there, he planned on riding south toward the mountains. Stillmont was a dwarven city within the mountains and as far as Mandrak knew, no scribes had been to the city in decades. There was a town at the base of the mountain and he was fairly certain a scribe resided there. When he reached Glorian, he would gather whatever information the scribe had about Stillmont and how to get there.

  Rather than return to the guild house, Mandrak turned toward the row of taverns and brothels. He had a need to indulge his passions. Although a night with the women wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as a night in his dungeon, it would have to do. Unfortunately, Ylon didn’t appreciate a good night of torture as much as he, and didn’t have the facilities to afford him that entertainment. It was something Ylon would have to provide at the guild house should their association continue.

  The morning came too soon. But the girl in his bed was definitely dead, so there was little else to do but wash the blood from his naked body, don his clothes, find his ship and set off for Glorian. He shuddered at the name. The only redeeming value of that town was that the people were innocent and naive. It was always easy to find someone to help him indulge his needs.

  “Morning, your Eminence,” said the captain uneasily as he came on board. “We’ll be leaving in about an hour.” Mandrak nodded acknowledgment without speaking to the man and went to stand near the bow of the ship. The sailors were raising the gangplank when Mandrak heard the alarm being raised at the brothel where he’d spent his evening. He watched the excitement on shore, a smile teasing his scar-twisted face, until he couldn’t see the people anymore.

  The sailors scurried at the sight of his blue and crimson and his disfigured visage as he watched them busy with the work of maneuvering their ship out of the harbor. This time, he didn’t make the mistake of interacting with the men or indulging in his special brand of subtle attack on the men’s psyche. He didn’t relish another trip locked in his cabin. Instead, he contented himself with the unease his face caused among the men. He did impose a more gruesome aspect since the attack on Dirth, thought Mandrak, not unhappy at the thought, though he still bore a grudge against Jayram that was yet to be repaid. He’d pushed Jayram too far, he acknowledged to himself, his hand drifting to the disfigured half of his face. He knew better than to confront a crafter directly. In the aftermath of the battle of Dirth, he’d let his guard down and paid the price. Perhaps he was getting old. It might be time to get a few younger men to help him with his plans, let them take the risks. It was an idea he put away for more consideration when he returned with the Amulet of Ley.

  He would definitely need help when he confronted Jayram. Jayram, he practically spat the name. Jayram, the crafter who’d orchestrated the attack on the school and on Dirth, he though bitterly. Jayram, their loyal crafter according to Teran, he added, grinding his teeth in silent fury. They should have known better than to put their faith in a crafter. When had crafters ever done anything but betray them? Every time the scribes approached them with any kind of plan to consolidate Preterlandis under the rule of crafters and scribes, the crafters had dismissed the scribes’ offer of alliance. Instead, they’d anointed Ley king of a united Preterlandis. They let generation after generation of weak and evil men rule the people and thought it was good.

  “A united Preterlandis”, scoffed Mandrak. That would never happen again as long as they insisted humans rule. They were fools, thought Mandrak. Not only were they condemning the world to the vagaries of the humans, they were making bitter enemies of the scribes. There would be a price to pay soon, and he would enjoy exacting it, once he was the leader of the United Guild of Scribes.

  He would have liked to start exacting that revenge on King Leyhan’s daughter. She’d been a fine woman and a crafter. How many times could he have brought her to the edge of her endurance? How many times could he have heard her beg for death? He sighed in disappointment, his pulse racing, his body throbbing, just at the thought. They should have let him deal with her when they’d had the chance. Now, where was she? Off fulfilling her destiny as Chidra? What if she succeeded? All their plans and preparations would be for nothing. Teran put too much faith in Jayram’s power to stop her. Even now, when they had no control over Jayram, Teran had made no other plan to stop her. He was still assuming Jayram would take her out of the equation.

  Mandrak had never been as sure as Teran about that part of their plan. Leilas had always been a loose end, never neatly tied up to his satisfaction. What was she trying to accomplish? They knew she’d been named as the Chidra. They’d always suspected that she would be. She’d managed to name the Champion. His identity was unknown at present. Mandrak stopped to ponder if Teran knew who Leilas had named. If he did, he hadn’t bothered to tell him. He frowned. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one trying to maneuver into a position of power. Perhaps Teran was looking to be king. Let him have that headache, thought Mandrak. He would prefer to be the leader of the scribes, wielding his power in the background. The Guild had thought Leilas would fade into obscurity after accomplishing her mission. He hadn’t been as certain and he’d been correct. She’d named the Champion and then left on another quest. For what? And what did she plan to do with whatever she found? He scowled out at the water. He wouldn’t have to worry about any of this if they’d let him take her to his dungeon when he’d had the chance.

  Wrapping his cloak around himself in frustration, Mandrak went below to sleep. He hadn’t slept well for days. Perhaps rest would help him sort all these issues out in his mind and he’d have a plan of action when they reached Sylphia.

  ~~~

  On deck and pacing impatiently by the time the Captain had the tow line thrown to the dock, he waited for the gangplank to be lowered. Without thanking the Captain, he was off the ship and hurrying down the narrow streets. He didn’t stop by the guild house or seek out Teran. Instead, he headed for the nearest stables. Securing the animals he needed, he stocked up on supplies and was on his way out of town before anyone could inform Teran he was back in Madras. The last thing he wanted was one of the director’s spies as a companion. This was a trip he wanted to take alone and Teran had been foolish enough to let him.

  Glorian was about four days by horseback. Then it would probably take him a day to weasel the information he wanted out of the resident scribe. Another day getting to the dwarven city, that made six days travel to get there. Conceivably, he could be back within two weeks with the Amulet of Ley in his possession. Then, he would have the power to demand some changes be made in the directorship of the Guild.

  He pushed his horse hard, making as good a time as possible. His need to find the amulet drove him. Only when he could pus
h himself no further did he stop to rest in one of the rest areas that dotted the road between Madras and Glorian. There was a good deal of traffic on the road to Glorian, too much to suit him. The fewer people who saw him on the road and could guess his destination, the better, as far as he was concerned. On more than one occasion, he pulled his hood more tightly around his face, hoping to hide his scars. Although they inspired fear in most of the people, they also made him easy to spot and easy to identify. Most of the people were wise enough to give him a wide berth.

  The first two days passed uneventfully. He traveled well into the night, passing by the campfires of travelers who’d stopped for the evening. On the third day, a group of men made the mistake of trying to rob him. Mandrak drew his dagger and had slipped it between the ribs of the closest man before he knew what was happening. The second two men put up more of a fight, but Mandrak hadn’t risen to his position of power without his share of treachery. The two inexperienced thieves were no match for him. As he dragged their bodies into the forest for the animals to dispose of, he let the ecstasy of the kill wash over him. It really was the only act that allowed him to feel that exquisite sexual pleasure anymore.

  Looking around as he mounted his horse, he urged the mount into motion. He caught sight of a slender dark-haired, fair-skinned messenger behind him. His senses went on high alert. This wasn’t the first time that he’d spotted this messenger. He’d seen him at one of the rest areas where he’d stopped for a few hours rest. He’d have thought that the messenger would be well ahead of him by now. Glancing back again, he looked for the messenger, but he was no longer anywhere to be seen. Frowning, Mandrak urged his mount into a lope, wondering who’d sent this messenger and why.

  This messenger wore the colors of Duke Cheran, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the one who’d sent him. He’d often used the uniforms of dead messengers to hide his scouts and messengers as they went about his business. But if he were a messenger of Duke Cheran, he would have to be dealt with and soon. Duke Cheran was the last person –save the Champion himself– that he wanted to know where he was heading or what he was doing. He glanced back again, but the messenger had vanished. Turning back to the task at hand, Mandrak let the messenger slip from his mind as he focused on his plan for acquiring the Amulet of Ley.