by Sam Ferguson
“Can I read the book written by Nagar’s daughter?” Erik asked.
Patrical’s brow flattened and his expression softened instantly. A slight grin tugged at the left corner of his mouth. “I would be happy to show you the relevant passages,” he said.
“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Salarion is the enemy, as her father was. There is no truth to be found in that book of hers!” Tillamon shouted.
Erik turned to face Tillamon and Tatev. “I believe that if we are to find the right path of action, then it is best to study the issue from all perspectives,” he said. Erik then gave a decisive wink with his left eye, hoping that Patrical was far enough to his right not to notice.
Tatev was the first to pick up on the signal. “Perhaps he has a point,” the librarian said to Tillamon. “Let him read the book if he wishes. We will gain nothing by trying to force him to see things our way.”
Tillamon’s face soured and he scowled menacingly at Erik. Then he glanced to Patrical. “It appears as though the friend and comrade I knew in Ten Forts no longer exists. It was a mistake to come here.” He stepped closer to Erik then, standing only inches away from his face. He returned the wink, letting Erik know that he was playing along. “I am disappointed in you, Erik. I would have thought you would understand the peril we are all in as long as Tu’luh lives.”
Erik’s stomach flipped nervously. Despite knowing that Tillamon was acting, he still found himself shrinking away from the man. “It’s like you said in training. You have to know when, and where, to strike. You also have to be willing to take a hit, so long as you know it won’t stop you from completing your task.”
“Bah!” Tillamon spat. He pushed Erik aside and hobbled out of the house, leaving Tatev and Erik alone with Patrical.
After a few moments, Tatev gripped The Infinium closer to his chest. “Perhaps we should turn to the mystics first,” he said. “You could bring the book written by Salarion and I could take this.” He held up the book clutched close to his body. “But, you have to promise that once you are sure, you will not hesitate to do what needs to be done.”
“It will take quite some time to find them,” Patrical said. “But, I believe it is time well spent. Here, take the book you picked up, I will go and find Salarion’s book. I will want it back, once you are finished with it.”
“Of course,” Erik said. “Do you know where we can find the mystics?” he asked.
“No,” Patrical answered. “I have devoted much time to trying to study that matter, but to no avail. All I know is that they are hidden somewhere in the east. Many think they have disappeared altogether.”
“I have some idea where to begin,” Tatev said. “I have also studied the matter extensively. I have always wanted to try to find them, but I never had the time before. My duties at the temple prevented me from other pursuits.”
“Mark my words,” Patrical said. “The four horsemen are real, and the danger they pose to our world is much worse than anything you can imagine. It may seem illogical, but I believe Tu’luh is trying to save the world from destruction. True, his methods may not be ideal, but it may be the only way.” The old man turned to Erik. “If you are the Champion of Truth, then you must be certain that your actions do not make matters worse for the Middle Kingdom.”
Erik felt uneasy. The longer he stayed in the room with Patrical, the more intensely his stomach soured and his toes fidgeted. He wanted out, now. “I have been looking for answers,” Erik said. “I thought I knew the truth, but ever since seeing Tu’luh, and the vision he showed me, I am not so certain we are on the best path. If Salarion can help me understand the bigger picture, then it is worth the time.”
Patrical smiled. “That is wise,” he said. He held a finger up and briskly walked out of the room. Erik and Tatev exchanged glances, but neither said a word. They waited for the old man to return. When he did, he held a brown book with a well-worn leather binding.
“This is it,” he said as he offered the book to Erik. “When will you head out?”
Erik shrugged. “We were going to leave tomorrow, but now that we might be going east, I don’t know.”
“Perhaps one more day,” Tatev put in quickly. “If we are going east we will have to procure more supplies than we had previously planned.” He paused for effect. “We’ll also have to convince Lepkin.”
Erik nodded.
Patrical placed a bony hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Trust your heart,” Patrical reassured him. His greasy smile sent a shiver down Erik’s spine. The boy nodded and then he and Tatev left as quickly as they could without appearing anxious to leave.
The second they closed the door, Patrical went upstairs to a small room near his bedchamber. The room had no windows, but a red crystal bathed the area in a soft light, allowing him to see everything easily after he closed the door. The old man pulled a white chalk from a small table made of bones and bent over to draw a circle around himself. He then sat cross-legged in the circle and concentrated on his spell. His scalp began to tingle as a warm sensation coursed from the top of his head, over the back of his skull and down the upper half of his back. His hands then grew hot and began to sweat. His breathing quickened and beads of salty water formed on his brow and ran down to the end of his nose, tickling the tip as they grew too large to hang on and ultimately fell from his skin to land in his lap.
A rush of air circled around him and he felt as though he was falling through the floor, down into the belly of the earth, and then he slowed to rest upon black stone. The air around him cooled and the light was pale and gray instead of red. A horned head slowly inched into the light and hideous, sharp fangs shone as pearls. Tendrils of smoke snaked out from the end of the dragon’s red snout. It turned its head so that its right eye fixed on Patrical and then it spoke.
“What news have you?” the dragon thundered.
“As you predicted, the boy has come here with Lepkin and others from Valtuu Temple,” Patrical said.
Tu’luh sneered. “Takala said you would be useful,” the dragon hissed. “What is their plan?”
Patrical stepped forward and smiled. His old skin smoothed and his frame shrunk several inches. His hair lengthened and turned golden yellow. Breasts formed under the shirt and soft, supple hands appeared in place of the bony, frail appendages. “Tillamon still believes that I am his friend, Patrical,” she said in her true voice. “They have no idea that I slew him, and had Mercer replaced with Lord Finorel’s son at Ten Forts. They came to me for advice.”
Tu’luh smiled. “I would not underestimate Erik,” he cautioned. “He can see through disguises.”
The woman shook her head. “He did not see through mine,” she assured him. “They only saw the old form of Patrical.” She placed her right hand on her hip and twirled her hair with her left hand. “It seems the vision you gave Erik has indeed shaken his confidence. He doubts his current path, and questions where his loyalties should lie.”
The dragon sighed and a plume of smoke flowed out through his fangs, shrouding his face. “Lepkin will not let him turn back now,” he said.
“Erik seeks answers about the four horsemen,” she assured him. “He seems genuinely concerned.”
“As well he should be,” Tu’luh noted. The dragon’s neck slithered in from the darkness to bring his massive head close to her body so he could scrutinize her more carefully. “There must have been something else other than my vision that made them seek you out,” he said. “What was it?”
“One of Erik’s companions, a librarian from the temple, has The Infinium in his possession.”
Tu’luh reared his head back and roared terribly. The black stone cracked and shook so powerfully that the woman fell to her knees. “The Infinium!” he cried through a blast of fire that rent the darkness. “You let them leave with it?” His menacing teeth stopped just short of her face and the woman held her hands up defensively.
“They said they would go to the mystics, they said they would take The Infini
um, and Salarion’s writings, to study the matter of the four horsemen. I thought taking the book from them would expose who I am. I thought it best to let them go.”
“He has played you. The boy knows who you are and has deceived you. He does not intend to travel east. He intends to march to me. As for the book, they cannot be allowed to keep it!” Tu’luh bellowed. The dragon withdrew to the darkness and his heavy steps paced around the woman. She shook and flinched with each echoing footfall. After a while Tu’luh spoke again. “I have already sent some lesser drakes to Stonebrook. They should arrive tonight, after the sun has set. As soon as the attack is over, I want you to kill Erik and take the book back. Don’t bother trying to slay all of them, just get the book and kill the boy. Then bring the book to me. Fail, and I will have your soul.”
The woman nodded. A rush of searing hot air swooped in and engulfed her, ripping her back to the circle on the floor in her small room. Her skin had regained its sag and her feminine form had melted away, reverting back to that of her disguise. Her hands trembled and her heart was pounding. She sat there on the floor for a long while, contemplating her mission. Then she looked up to the wall in front of her and laid her eyes upon her assortment of throwing knives and blow-darts. She rose and prepared her equipment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erik sat on a wooden bench overlooking the rear garden, watching Tillamon and Marlin fuss over the preparations for the wedding. After explaining what he had felt at Patrical’s house, all of them decided it was best to keep up appearances and go along as if nothing had changed. Tatev hid The Infinium with Lady Dimwater, and Lepkin was busy continuing with the preparations for the journey. There was nothing for Erik to do except wait on the bench and read the book Patrical had given him.
The book was written in Common Tongue, which he thought strange considering the fact that Salarion was an elf. Their kind usually wrote in Taish, the elven language, unless they wrote specifically for a wider audience. He flipped through the first few pages, glossing over Salarion’s lineage and the founding of Tualdern. A great deal of the first portion of the book dealt with her upbringing, Nagar’s mannerisms and demeanor as a father, and spoke of their family’s noble heritage. It was likely something that would make Tatev drool, but Erik just wanted to find the part about the four horsemen. He still had some doubts about challenging Tu’luh, but they were small compared to what they used to be. He could feel that he was on the right path. Slavery was not an acceptable existence. What is the point of life is everyone is forced to follow someone else’s moral mandate? No, it was better to conquer Tu’luh, and then find another way to divert the calamity Erik saw in the dragon’s vision.
There had to be a way. If Tatev couldn’t find the answer in the Infinium, then perhaps Erik would be able to glean something from Salarion’s writings. Thankfully, Lepkin had been more receptive to the idea of studying the book than Tillamon had. Even after returning to the house, Tillamon was dead set against reading Salarion’s book. He kept spouting on and on about how anything in there would only be deception and lies. Lepkin, on the other hand, encouraged Erik to study it, cautioning him to make sure he used his gift to try and discern truth from error.
As he flipped through the pages he stopped on an image drawn on one of them. It was a battle scene. Elves fought over the city Tualdern. The page opposite described how the Sand Elves had purchased several shops and houses within the city for a period of decades, slowly moving in and infiltrating the city in a seemingly harmless manner. Eventually the Sand Elves began insisting that their laws be exercised in Tualdern, and as their population began to outnumber the native elves, they eventually turned to the sword to force their law upon Tualdern. All who refused to bow were either killed or expelled.
Erik set the book down on his lap. He tried to use his gift to see if the writings were true. He had done so once before, with Master Orres’ journal, so he figured he could do so again now. The result surprised him. The words appeared to be true. It now seemed plausible that Nagar was seeking revenge on them for destroying his home.
“It’s hard to fight an enemy that you empathize with, isn’t it?” Tatev said as he approached Erik.
Erik looked up and nodded. “The Sand Elves conquered Tualdern. If this account is right, they did it in cold blood, repaying their honorable hosts with murder and deception.”
“Keep in mind,” Tatev began. “While the Sand Elves may have created Nagar as our enemy by destroying his home, Tu’luh would have found another way to bring his magic about eventually.”
“How can you be sure?” Erik asked.
Tatev smiled wide and pushed his spectacles up onto his nose. “I have read her book, many times.”
Erik looked at him quizzically. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I could tell something was bothering you at Patrical’s house, so I thought it best to keep quiet and follow your lead. I have read a lot, I mean a lot, of books in my time. I believe in you, and I have faith that Lepkin chose the right man for the fight that is coming. One of the tenets of our order is to understand the truth, we couldn’t do that if we only read books written by people who were victorious in historical battles. We study everyone’s books.” Tatev took his spectacles off and offered them to Erik. “Try reading the passage again, with these on.”
Erik took them and put them on. When he looked down at the book, the page was not the same as he had seen before. The image before him came to life and played a scene before him. As the image played out, he saw Tu’luh the Red conspiring with several noble families of the Sand Elves to plot against Tualdern. He watched as decades of posturing and maneuvering flashed before him. As the battle scene wrapped up and the last of the native elves were driven out of Tualdern, Erik saw Tu’luh come to Nagar and propose a plan to exact vengeance on the Sand Elves.
“Now read the page on the right,” Tatev instructed.
The boy shifted his eyes and saw new words on the page. He read them aloud. “Tu’luh, having been rejected in previous attempts, compelled Nagar to comply with creating the new magic by framing the Sand Elves and kindling Nagar’s anger against them. Consumed by hatred, my father lost his judgment, and threw his lot in with the demon, never understanding that he was nothing more than a pawn in Tu’luh’s game of chess with the Gods.” Erik flipped the lenses up and the pages instantly reverted to normal, as if nothing had changed.
“I may be a bookworm, but I know a trick or two,” Tatev said proudly as he took the spectacles back. “The Sand Elves were forced to defend themselves of course, but there is more to it than that. They received an anonymous letter describing Tu’luh’s treachery. At the same time, another copy of the letter went to Roegudok Hall, and a third went to Valtuu Temple. These letters were written in Taish, the elvish tongue, but no one knows who wrote them.”
“Salarion wrote them,” Erik guessed.
Tatev nodded. “That is what I think as well. No one has ever seen her since Tualdern’s fall, though there are rumors that she lives somewhere in the south.”
Erik sighed. “So, if you have already read this book, does it talk about the four horsemen?”
Tatev’s shoulders slumped. “It describes them in detail, but not any more than what I have already discussed with you. Salarion doesn’t know how to defeat or prevent them either. Her conclusion is that Tu’luh might have the only answer to preventing the cataclysm that is to come.”
“So we are still no closer to solving it.” Erik slumped back on the bench and sighed heavily. After a moment he flopped his head sideways lazily to look at Tatev. The red head moved in to sit beside him on the bench. “Do you really know where the mystics are?”
“I have a good idea of where we can start looking,” Tatev replied. “No one knows for sure, other than the fact that there is a castle of gold and crystal somewhere in the east. Few have ever gone there, and certainly none have been there for centuries now. There are books of prophecy that we gathered over the years, many of th
em are destroyed now, lost forever.” Tatev’s voice grew sad and he looked down to his feet. “If anyone would know how to stop the four horsemen, it would be the Immortal Mystic, but finding him could take a lifetime.”
“Time that we don’t have,” Erik said flatly. Tatev nodded his agreement. “Well, then I suppose we kill the dragon and let the fates throw the horsemen at us if they will.” With that, Erik closed Salarion’s book and set it between him and Tatev and jumped up to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Tatev asked.
“Tomorrow morning we are going out to hunt Tu’luh, so tonight I am going to enjoy the celebration and watch my mentor marry his fiancé.”
Tatev smiled. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”
*****
The sun hung low in the western sky, throwing shades of purple and pink across the cloudy sky. Erik stood in the garden, a few paces off from a large, white stone gazebo in Tillamon’s rear garden. Marlin stood in the center of the gazebo, dressed in a new set of white robes one of Tillamon’s servants had purchased for him. Lepkin and Dimwater stood in front of him, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes and smiling wide. Lepkin wore a tailored black silk tunic, with black pants and silver boots. Dimwater stood radiantly in a navy blue dress that perfectly hugged her curves, and shined as she moved and caught the light just right. Her hair was done in a neat braid down the back, with light blue sapphires woven in with silver pins. Yet, despite the efforts that Tillamon had gone to ensure everyone was dressed for the ceremony, it was Tillamon himself that put everyone to shame with his fine silks and golden necklaces and rings. He even oiled and slicked his beard into a neat point beneath his chin and wore a large hat with a pair of pheasant tail feathers tucked into the brim. The old man leaned upon his simple cane, clicking his rings on the handle nervously as he watched the ceremony begin. Though this particular cane wasn’t nearly gaudy enough to match Tillamon’s outfit, Erik knew that the man kept it with him as much for the sword as for the support.