by J. S. Morin
Tanner saw no reason to find the crewmen and remedy the misunderstanding. They would find their own way back to the Fair Trader. He headed back to the ship himself, making no great haste about it, feeling the ground pressing up against his feet as he walked and savoring the uniformity, the predictability of it. He was a swordsman, trained to keep his movements balanced, so finding his sea legs never caused much trouble, but he found that he missed the land the more time he spent away from it.
Upon his arrival back at the Fair Trader's berth, he greeted Captain Zayne. "You were looking for me?" Tanner had found it interesting that the captain almost never left the ship, no matter the time they spent in port. He had seen the man with soil beneath his feet perhaps twice.
"Indeed I was," Captain Zayne replied, his gaze wandering past Tanner. It seemed that the captain had expected Tanner to have been brought to him, not to have come of his own accord. "Come in and shut the door behind you."
"Been a while since we had ourselves one of these nice little talks. What's sticking in your craw?" Tanner asked, pulling up a chair and tipping back in it, putting his boots up on the table. "I assume you heard about Relleth."
"Aye, but I am neither here to beg for terms of surrender nor did I invite you here to gloat about it," Captain Zayne replied. He sat down across the table from Tanner, keeping clear of the rudely-placed feet.
"Figured that much. What's left to surrender at this point unless you can convince Safschan and Ghelk and whatever little city-states signed on with your alliance to throw down their weapons?"
"I have spent a great deal of time and coin trying to locate the boy your friends kidnapped."
"I told you already, they stopped telling me what was going on with that. They might tell me if I had something from you to barter, but I don't see why you'd be any more willing to deal now," Tanner reasoned.
"No. Indeed, I believe you that they no longer confide in you. You are stuck here as both my liaison and my keeper. I cannot tell you how many times I have been within a blade's edge of having you tossed overboard. But the voice in my head keeps whispering that something will come up, that I will find a use for you."
"Aww, that's sweet of you. If you don't mind me sayin', I'm just as glad you didn't try to feed me to the sharks. As many of your men as I'd run through, I probably couldn't take on the whole crew; we both know that. And hey, it's not my fault you and Kyrus can't come to terms on ending the war—your offer was a bit steep."
"It stands though. If he gives me the warlock's head, we will have some grounds to ending the war and returning the Staff of Gehlen to Kadrin," Captain Zayne said.
"Uh huh. Kyrus wants to face Rashan as much as you do. That is to say, you'd rather it be him, he'd rather it was you, and neither of you likes your own odds. Ever think of maybe trusting Kyrus and handing him the staff? See if that's enough to give him the leg up on Rashan?"
"Not if the sea froze solid."
"Just figured I'd ask."
"No, Mr. Tanner, I have had another revelation. All this coin and effort I spend ... for a boy I have never met. For all that he is as like to Anzik as I am to Jinzan, he is still my son, in some fashion. Whether he was borne by some whore I bedded years ago, or is no relation to me in this world, I will continue my search for him, with or without your help."
"Fair enough, Cap'n," Tanner agreed.
"My revelation was this: what is your price, Mr. Tanner?"
"My price for what?" Tanner asked, growing suspicious.
"For bringing Anzik out of Kadrin. For saving my other son from your friends. How much will it take to bribe you to do the right thing?"
Tanner furrowed his brow, and smiled.
"Let me think on it."
Chapter 3 - Desperate Alliances
The gurgling of an indoor fountain lent serenity to the formal sitting room at the Palace of the Four Hilltops. A dozen small children played on the floor between the tables, silk-clad guards with jeweled swords whispered amongst themselves, and the seated princess and her four guests waited for news of war.
"I find it amazing that children form such fast friendships," Princess Shiann commented as she watched them. "Who could tell that they have known each other mere days and barely share a word of language among them." Princess Shiann, heir to the throne of Ghelk, had long blonde hair twisted up and secured atop her head with golden pins. Upon one shoulder she bounced a swaddled babe, Princess Anju, not ten days old. The linen cloth beneath the babe's head was all that separated her from Princess Shiann's gold-embroidered silks. Shiann's curves were generous and flowing, accentuated by her recent pregnancy, but due in greater part to the royal cook's prowess.
"Enjoy them while they are young, Highness," said General Kaynnyn Bal-Tagga, the Megrenn Minister of War. "And while you are. My grandchildren are faster than my own children ever were."
"I think it is because they are Megrenn children," said Nakah Fehr. "They learn to make friends young, and they do not notice the superficial differences. Why, even Frenna's children look more like the Princess Shiann's own than they do mine, despite the same father." Nakah's were the darker-skinned among the children running about the spacious, marble-floored chamber. Come summertime, hours spent in the sun would darken Frenna's up to the point where they all roughly matched, and the winter months indoors would sort them out once more by mother.
"Little Robbono will not care, either," Zaischelle added. Her own obsidian skin was darker than the babe she nursed, but not by much. Before she could add to the thought, everyone's attention was drawn to a disturbance outside in the gardens.
Princess Shiann and several of the children noticed it first, before the light began. There was a shifting in the aether, a gale storm wind that swept in along with a Source familiar to the aether-strong brood. The least shy among the Fehr children darted for the garden doors, knowing that their father had returned. The rest of the children, Megrenn and Ghelkan alike, followed soon after, with their mothers and the Minister of War bringing up the rear of the procession.
A sphere of aether dispersed, leaving a worn-looking Jinzan Fehr. He was standing atop a circle of rocky ground that stood out from the manicured grasses, wearily clutching the priceless Staff of Gehlen as if it were a walking stick.
"You continue to vex our gardeners, Councilor Fehr," Princess Shiann noted dryly. She cast her gaze across the irregular circles of soil and rock scattered about the palace gardens.
"You look like you could use a good rest, Jinzan," Nakah remarked. "This magic takes too much from you. Staff or no staff, you have limits."
"Perhaps I need rest, but I will make do without. Remember why we are here, and not safe at home. While the Ghelkan royal family has been a gracious host, I must still retake Zorren for us to be able to return there," Jinzan said, walking stiffly as he made his way indoors and settled on a cushioned chair.
"We are a long way from retaking anything," Kaynnyn reasoned. "If it were not for the luck of a coin's chance, this might have been Rashan Solaran's next target, instead of Safschan." Zaischelle winced at the mention of the impending conquest of her homeland.
"The Kadrin demon hopes for our surrender, not to face us," Shiann said, lifting her chin with pride. "Too many of us are sorcerers here, it gives him pause. War is in his nature, so he will still seek Ghelk out, but we are the only ones he fears."
"Well, it is not inevitable that Safschan will fall. Narsicann and Varduk will both be negotiating with new allies soon enough, if they are not already. They both have their speaking helms linked to mine. I should not need to use another transference soon; we will hear from them via the helms' magic. I think it is time for the other reason I am here.”
Princess Shiann nodded wordlessly.
"General Kaynnyn, it would please me for you to take Princess Anju for a little while. I shall speak with Councilor Fehr in private," Shiann said. She took the babe—little more than a tiny face amid the bundle of feather-soft linens—and handed her to the aging general. Kaynny
n took the newborn princess with practiced hands, as familiar with babes as he once was with spears and stripecat reins.
Princess Shiann strolled out into the gardens. Jinzan followed, once again leaning on the staff. They passed beneath a wrought-iron arch woven with ivy, and entered into a topiary wonderland. The Ghelkan royal gardeners were artists more than laborers.
"You mean to take up the mantle of protector against Warlock Rashan Solaran?" Shiann asked. She did not look over her shoulder as she preceded Jinzan down the path.
"Someone must. No one else seems to be coming forth to save us. We must save ourselves."
"That is hardly an inspiring sentiment. You would ask me to expose a secret that has been kept for a hundred winters. If you fail, we may not have the chance to bury it away again before it is discovered and destroyed," Shiann said.
"I have faced him once. Even with the Staff of Gehlen to lend me strength, it was all I could do to escape him. I need knowledge to guide this awesome power. My own, I think, will not suffice."
Shiann sighed and looked up at the clouds as if they might provide her guidance.
"I went to see the wards once, when I was younger. It was an intimidating sight. Between your Source though, and that staff, I think you may be able to break the wards and get inside. If you are successful,” Shiann gestured toward the palace where Jinzan's wives and children awaited him, “you may end up losing all that you have back there.""That may well be, but it may also be the only way to save them. That monster will not content himself with victory. He will burn and kill until no resistance remains. If I have to become a monster to confront him, I will not hesitate. I will learn the secrets to how Loramar once nearly defeated the Kadrin Empire and be the heir to his legacy."
* * * * * * * *
"Is this all really necessary?" Varduk Steelraven sat naked in a vat of sudsy water as two goblin priests ladled scented oils over him.
One of the priests chittered something in the goblin tongue. I never should have admitted to understanding goblin-speech.
"Pardon?" Varduk asked. He had not caught the first word and the rest became jumbled as he tried to keep up a translation in his head. The goblin repeated himself more slowly.
[We will take no chance of offending Fr'n'ta'gur,] the priest replied. Varduk had heard the priest's name but it slipped from his mind like a chicken’s clucking. It was just a sound, not a real word in the Megrenn sense. He counted himself lucky that the priest understood Megrenn. Most of the goblins that learned a human tongue knew Kadrin.
"I smelled fine when I got here," Varduk protested more to salve his own wounded dignity than to convince the goblins to let him out.
Sometime later, Varduk was dry and clad in orange supplicants' robes, seated amid a host of goblins lined up to have an audience with the mighty dragon-god. Varduk had tried to wheedle his way to the front of the line, but his honeyed tongue worked better when he spoke the language. He hoped that the dragon could speak Megrenn as well as understand it.
* * * * * * * *
Far across the Aliani Sea, in the insular kingdom of Azzat, Narsicann Tenrok had fared somewhat better. His name was known to the Azzat Elder Council—which was both useful and worrisome to the Megrenn spymaster—and he had been allowed to meet with his counterpart, a man named Tydon Graychain.
"Yes, we know much about the Kadrin warlock's predations," Tydon admitted.
"Then you understand the threat. This demon that was once Rashan Solaran seems far stronger than the histories indicate. He waged a three-winter campaign to conquer Megrenn long ago; now even with allies at our side and the initiative to our advantage, he has driven us from our own cities inside a single season," Narsicann explained.
"We find this an excellent reason to remain neutral in the conflict. Your allies in Safschan are likely regretting throwing in their lot with yours by now," Tydon reasoned. "Unlike Megrenn, we have not been conquered in recorded history and I don’t expect that to change."
Narsicann kept his outward calm, though mental teeth gritted. He worked another tack.
"They have another sorcerer as well, with a Source unlike any I have seen. These Kadrins have bred themselves above the world in magic. These are not builders or philosophers wielding this power; they are conquerors by blood."
"Again, you argue against your point. Why involve ourselves in such a war, against such monstrous foes as you describe? We are in no danger here and there is no reason for us to draw attention to ourselves," Tydon stated.
"There is a farmwife's story," Narsicann began, changing tactics, "that you are ruled by a demon yourselves. I think I would like to meet with him. I think I could convince him of the threat."
"Do not tell me you believe that old fable," Tydon said with a chuckle. "It lends us mystique, and causes folk to second-guess themselves when opposing us, but I would not have thought a man such as you would fall for it."
"Oh, I no longer find such a notion too farfetched. Perhaps a summer ago I would have agreed with you, but not now. Now I have seen the carnage; I have seen the ghost in the aether that kills with a smile on its face, and I have fled from it, barely escaping with my life. The strongest sorcerer I have met was driven to flight by it, despite possessing the Staff of Gehlen," Narsicann said.
"I am sorry, I have not heard of the 'Staff of Gehlen.' Should I be impressed?"
"You should. It is an ancient Kadrin weapon with a draw like a dragon's, which it imparts to its wielder," Narsicann explained. A sudden thought occurred to him, bringing a sly smile to his features. "I would wager your demon king knows who Gehlen was."
Tydon sat back in his chair tapping the fingers of one hand against those of the other, lost in thought. Narsicann could envision the ciphering going on in the man's head.
"I can promise nothing. I will have someone find you lodgings for the night, and have an answer for you tomorrow. Mind you, the answer will almost certainly be 'no.'"
Narsicann smiled.
"Tomorrow, then."
* * * * * * * *
Two things came as no surprise to Jinzan when they led him to the final resting place of the knowledge of Loramar. The first was that it was buried beneath a crypt in the heart of the Ghelkan capitol of Lon Mai; it seemed that the whole of the graveyard, as well as the crypt, were built atop one of Loramar's strongholds. The second was that the crypt was round. It seemed that every structure in the whole of Ghelk was built round, from the smallest wooden home to the myriad squat towers that comprised the palace.
"You are not the first to try yourself against the wards, Councilor Fehr," Chioju said. Like his younger female colleague, he wore a grimy brown cloth wrapped about his eyes and plain-spun woolen clothing. He either knew the way to the crypt by memory or he guided the way by aether-sight; Jinzan suspected the latter, based on the strength of the man's Source.
"No one has been killed in a score of winters though," his other guide, Aolyn, assured him. She was comely beneath the homely garments, if perhaps a bit too thin. Even in his state of exhaustion, a glance at her Source was enough to give him thoughts of adding a fourth wife.
"I intend to succeed. I have to discover the means to Loramar's power," Jinzan said. He kept pace close behind his guides over the rocky, uneven spaces between the graves.
"It will be interesting, pitting the great aethersmith Gehlen's masterpiece against the master's wards. Grand Necromancer Loramar's strength was not his rune-carving, I will admit," Chioju said.
"Well, Gehlen's was."
They reached the crypt at the center of the graveyard. It was built less than a hundred winters ago, but looked ten times that old. The stone was pitted with decay, weather-stained and crumbling in places. To Jinzan's surprise, the door opened easily at Chioju's push. The hinges had apparently been oiled. There was no light within. As the door closed behind them, Jinzan cast a quick light spell to banish the darkness, fixing the glow to the top of the Staff of Gehlen to bring along with him.
Closed within the
crypt, his guides each began unwinding the cloths that bound their eyes. When Jinzan saw what lay beneath, a chill ran through him. Where eyes ought to have been, there were hollowed, empty sockets. They were not pits of blackness, the way demons and other evils were depicted in illuminations, but alcoves carved into the skull, lined with graying dead flesh.
The two Ghelkan crypt-keepers shared a chuckle at Jinzan's discomfiture.
"For one who would seek mastery of the dead, you frighten easily," Aolyn teased. "Our bodies are naught but bits of flesh packed around a Source, like mud caked upon a diamond. If you learn nothing else today, take Loramar's First Lesson: I am my Source; all else is but a tool of my Source."
Chioju lead them down steep stairways that wound their way underground. The air was oppressive and heavy with dust. When they reached the bottom, they came upon a wide corridor.
"What was that?" Jinzan asked. There had been a noise; they had all heard it: a metallic rustling up ahead. Chioju advanced into the corridor, leaving the illuminated area from the staff.
"See for yourself, Councilor Fehr. It is nothing to fear," Aolyn said from close behind him. Jinzan could feel her breath on the back of his neck; she had nearly run into him when he stopped.
He started forward once more. Along the sides of the corridor, thin chains hung from the ceiling. Spaced a pace or so apart, they ran all down the length and hung to shoulder height, with little balls on the end of each. Jinzan stopped short once more and this time Aolyn did bump into him from behind. The chains jingled again as the "balls" twisted about to look at him. They were all eyes.
Aolyn shoved him roughly from behind.
"We can find you a teat to suckle from later if you need to be calmed like a frightened infant. Move on," Aolyn scolded.
The end of the hallway came soon, but still not soon enough for Jinzan's liking. If these were the tamest of Loramar's horrors, he was not sure he could bear the ones he had yet to uncover.