Darkness Rising 1: Chained

by Ross Kitson

  ***

  Lord Talis Ebon-Farr’s day chamber was long and thin, much like the noble himself. The grand windows afforded astounding views over Lower Eeria. On the far left of the room were two doors that led to the study and the bedroom respectively. The chamber was warmed by a crackling fire that jutted into the room. A huge mirror loomed above the fireplace, its borders carved in the likeness of soaring eagles.

  In the centre of the chamber were a selection of plush chairs and tables made of the finest wood from the second Eerian city of Tosnor. In two of the chairs sat Lord Ebon-Farr and his early morning guest.

  Lord Talis Ebon-Farr could trace his lineage back to the time of the Eerian Empire some eleven hundred years ago. In the centuries since then, the intermarriages of the Eerian nobility had assured that almost all of the great houses had some association, though not necessarily cordial, with one another. Lord Ebon-Farr sat on the Eerian council, one of the nine lower-lords, and it was through this that his friendship with his guest had come.

  Lord Ebon-Farr displayed the pure bred features of an Eerian noble. His swept back grey hair crowned a thin face, made sharper by a hooked nose. It was as if living at such an altitude in a city famed for its arrogance and aloofness had warped the Coonorians—the residents of Eeria’s capitol Coonor—into a resemblance of their avian neighbours, the Netreptans.

  Talis was chattering as Emelia approached. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor; one did not meet the gaze of the masters. Her entire will was focused on balancing the awkward tray.

  “I’m sure that my nephew, Jular, will pass Ni-Faris. I know my wife’s brother is especially eager for his career in the magi to begin early. He is a most generous chap. Have I introduced you, Inkas?”

  The other man shook his head politely. Emelia’s heart leapt into her mouth as she heard the name and she chanced a swift glance at him.

  Arch-mage Inkas-Tarr was a strange sight to those unaccustomed to the attire of the Air-mages. His grey robes rippled like mercury around his slim frame, held in check by a golden sash that denoted his elevated rank. His long fingernails scratched in boredom at a trimmed beard that contrasted with his tattooed scalp. Runes and symbols of power were etched in blue ink on the shining head. Yet what caught Emelia’s gaze was the glow that emanated from his chest. It was the bright blue light of a mystic diamond, the source of the wizard’s magical power. The slave girl recalled Sandila telling her in hushed tones that the gems were embedded into the flesh of the magi, soldered there until death came upon them.

  Inkas-Tarr spoke softly. His power was such that the air around him seemed thickened and distorted.

  “I am afraid I haven’t had the pleasure, Talis. The Ni-Faris—the Choosing—is always a hectic time and I lose track of all the applicants.”

  “Oh, certainly, I am sure, I am sure,” Talis said. He had still not acknowledged Emelia’s presence and she stood hovering on the edge of their discussion, trapped in the grip of uncertainty.

  “I know that my brother-in-law hopes for him to be a ferenge or melange,” Talis said.

  “Ah, the exuberance of youth,” Inkas-Tarr said. “Of course all applicants hope for the more glamorous disciplines. The sombre reality is that most, even after success and Bonding, will fulfill roles of administration and research. More sedate… but vital to the modern Order.”

  “Oh, I’m certain. You’ve still got to allow the lad his dreams, Inkas,” Talis said. “You were a ferenge in your day.”

  “Ha! Indeed, and a melange. One of the few to cross the disciplines. But enough of my convoluted past… your sons, Talis, what paths have the gods decreed for them?”

  “It’s amusing that you say that, Inkas. Geldir, my second, is entering the Priesthood next summer. Karak, my eldest, is a man of letters like his father. He is studying the Rolls at the Great Library and Halls of Justice. Perhaps then he will enjoy a career at my side and on the council. And Uthor…yes...Uthor.”

  Emelia felt a twinge at the sound of the name, as if mention of the son would conjure him like a spirit.

  “Uthor hopes to calm his wilder side with a career in the knights under the patronage of his cousin Orla.”

  “He hopes to tame it?” Inkas-Tarr said, with a wry smile. “Are you certain the knighthood is the correct place for your son? Its discipline is legendary, my good friend.”

  Talis sighed then noticed Emelia for the first time. He indicated for her to place the breakfast platter on the table that stood between the two men. Emelia kept her eyes on the floor in deference as she moved forward. She could feel the power radiating from the wizard as if it was the heat of the summer sun.

  The Arch-mage watched her with curiosity as she trembled next to him.

  “What a fascinating girl you have, Talis.”

  “Ehm yes, Inkas, indeed. Not one of my usual girls are you, young one?”

  Emelia’s throat was dry. She could think of a hundred places she’d rather be than here. Even clearing up Sandila’s vomit was preferable to this.

  “No, m’lord.”

  Inkas-Tarr leaned forward and touched her face. His pale skin was burning hot on her chin. He turned her face to look at him.

  The wizard’s eyes were pale blue, like a winter’s sky. They spoke of arrogance and might, boring into her own like a termite. Emelia began to look down, intimidated by his gaze, then a compulsion from deep within her made her meet his stare. Emebaka hissed in her mind, meet his look, Emelia, be proud of who you are inside. A surge of excitement and rebellion tingled through her chest.

  If the Arch-mage was startled he did not show it.

  “She has a fascinating look, Talis. Those eyes… has she a Subaquan in her, I wonder?”

  Lord Talis looked uncomfortable.

  “Erm, I’m not certain. I think we purchased the contract a decade ago, from one of Ulgor Barias’s houses near Port Helien. I got a good deal on a few of them, as I recall, via a karabister called Elstin. Gresham looks after them down in the kitchens.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” the Arch-mage said. “I should welcome the opportunity to study her in… greater detail. Perhaps after the Choosing is concluded?”

  A trickle of ice ran down Emelia’s spine. She continued to meet the mage’s eyes whilst every fibre of her being willed Lord Ebon-Farr to refuse the request.

  “You may take her today if you wish, Inkas,” Talis said with a shrug. “Keep her at the Enclave for the next few weeks until Ni-Faris is done. I’ll get my advisors to sort out the transfer of contract over the next day or two.”

  Inkas hesitated, as if he was pondering the offer.

  “No, no. It can wait—it is only a curiosity after all. She seems a special little thing.”

  He released Emelia’s face and she stumbled back. Every ounce of strength in her body was required to stop her shaking and crying. Damn them! Emebaka cried. Damn Lord Talis! We are not some trinket to be bartered and exchanged.

  He didn’t even bother to barter, Emelia replied.

  Lord Talis nibbled on some alcas bread. “Now about the other special thing, Inkas.”

  Emelia retreated to the door, stepping back whilst facing forward, eyes still down as was the etiquette. It seemed a mile away. Her eyes stung whilst she contained her anguish and fear. She reached the door and then chanced a glance up.

  Inkas-Tarr had slipped out a blue crystal from his robes. It glowed with a pale light. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  Emelia exited the room, breathing fast. The sense of dread that often preceded an act that she knew was wrong fluttered within her. She closed the door and peered down the corridor. Sarik was nowhere to be seen.

  What are you thinking? Emebaka asked.

  Well you should know. That crystal—it’s like a fallen star.

  We could listen… find out more, Emebaka said.

  The door must be six inches thick. How can I hear through that?

  Have faith in yourself—go on, just try.

  Emelia strai
ned to listen to the conversation in the room. A headache blossomed as she held her breath. Then, with some astonishment, she found she could hear as clearly as if she was stood by their side.

  “… of power?” Talis asked.

  “That much is still uncertain, I am afraid. Certainly, it is enchanted. But is it part of a prism? As yet I have not been able to ascertain this.”

  “Then you need it longer?”

  “Sadly, my attention will be diverted with the Choosing. Perhaps I shall return to its study after the festival is over. Can you secure it?”

  “Oh yes. The room below us is double-locked and the first door you’ll recall is enchanted with a Mage-lock. Also I’ve got the only key for the inner door around my neck.”

  A hand pressed onto Emelia’s hips. She jumped and turned, stifling a scream.

  Stood before her was the unshaven adolescent, Uthor Ebon-Farr. He was nicknamed “The Jackal” by the servants and Uthor had earned the moniker well over the years. The features that gave his father a regal attractiveness looked cold and cruel on him. He was handsome, yet behind the trimmed silvery hair was a malignant and selfish mind.

  Emelia’s heart was racing as Uthor swaggered before her. He wore a tight tunic to emphasise his athletic build but the effect was marred somewhat by his stubble and the smell of stale beer.

  “Didn’t Mother Gresham tell you to take care when you peer through key holes? You might regret what you see.” His voice was a dangerous purr.

  “M’lord, I…I’m…”

  “I was disappointed not to see my little flame-haired favourite parading herself down my father’s corridors. But I dare say you’ll be a more than adequate stand in for my eye,” Uthor said, pressing himself closer.

  Emelia felt her back catch against the sideboard in the corridor. She had no space to manoeuvre. Uthor pushed himself against her. The stale alcohol was pungent and Emelia nearly retched. Panic coursed through her. She knew little of the ways of men but she knew enough to be scared of Uthor and his advances.

  She turned her face away and saw Torm cowering further up the corridor. He met her glance as he shook. A change seemed to come over him as their eyes connected. He reached for one of the swords hanging from the wall.

  Emelia felt raw fear. If Torm raised a weapon to Uthor he would be put to death. She mouthed ‘no’ at him and seeing this he became wracked with indecision.

  Uthor became more excited as he saw her whisper ‘no.’ Emelia’s head began to throb with each thud of her heart. Uthor’s face loomed as he tried to kiss her. Then from deep within her came a surge of anger and frustration: how dare he treat me this way!

  Above the sideboard a shield crashed and clattered to the floor, its tinny sound echoing down the corridor. Uthor leapt back, eyes widened.

  “My lord, are you all right?”

  Sarik appeared in an instant. The door next to Emelia swung open and Lord Talis emerged with Inkas-Tarr behind him.

  Emelia flushed scarlet with a feeling that if the earth opened up and swallowed her it still wouldn’t be enough.

  Uthor regained his composure. “The girl had just stumbled. I was just helping her back up. Just can’t get the help these days, eh guard?”

  Sarik shook his head. “No, m’lord.”

  “You’re probably all excited about the move in a few weeks aren’t you, dear?” Lord Talis said to Emelia. “Inkas, this is my errant third son, Uthor. Shall you join us for breakfast, my boy? Inkas will be delighted I am sure.”

  Uthor shot Emelia a cold stare then strode into the chamber. Emelia bowed then scampered red-faced past Sarik and back towards the safety of the kitchens.

  Inkas-Tarr stood staring after her. “A special thing indeed, Talis, a special thing indeed,” he murmured.