by A L Hardy
“This way,” Xardan ordered, dodging down an alley and into the back entrance of a tavern. Without slowing, Xardan took the trio through the tavern and back onto a different side street through a kitchen service door. Xardan conjured a wall of shadows to block the door momentarily.
In a matter of moments, Ilays had put an Illusion back in place on herself and changed Jurod’s appearance with another. They both looked like Kin with no real defining features. Almost as quickly, Xardan seemed to transform in front of them as he used his years of experience to hide his weapons and don an old cloak that made him look like an old man. The trio left the alley appearing as an old father with his two children helping him walk. The illusion worked well as they walked through the various patrols of soldiers on their way to the ferry.
*
17 years ago
The sun was setting in the west on their small training ground as Ilays fought. Had an outsider came in, they might have believed her to be dancing based on the grace of her movements. But to the practiced eye, it was obvious that this was a dance that no one wanted to be the partner on.
"If your father truly is how you've always described him, he won't be happy about this," Malenmar was standing across his small training ground from Ilays, controlling only two specters, but having them casting spells at her with the help of Owl so she could properly train to fight Xardan.
With a quick series of spells comprised mostly of anger, grief, and elation, Ilays quickly extinguished the shadow bolts coming her way with fire and light and used her practice swords to dispatch the specters. Once they had disappeared she turned to Malenmar and said "I know. But if I succeed, my brother will be alive. That is enough for me. Are you sure you can't come with me? With two masters of magic like you and Owl, I could easily free my brother."
"I'm sorry child. Training you has given me something to look forward to every day, but I made a promise to remain here until I'm needed," He said, gesturing around him. "I will miss your company. Just remember that if this Knight of the Black Era is as good as he sounds, my training may equate to nothing. Be very careful when you get there and try to avoid that fight if you can."
Walking across the clearing quickly, Ilays hugged Malenmar and said "Thank you for everything Malenmar. I'll not forget you. May I call on your aid in the future should I need it? You as well Owl?"
"Of course child," Malenmar said chuckling. "Although if my promise is fulfilled before then, I might not be here when you call on me. And Owl seems to follow me everywhere I go, so I doubt he'll stay behind, but I'll try to convince him."
Nodding and knowing that if she spoke another word she would break into tears, Ilays waved to them both and headed toward home.
She moved quickly now that the sun had fully set. She knew that Romieth would be passed out by this point, but didn't want to draw the attention of anyone else.
Ilays cast the Key of despair and sorrow and rushed into her father's house. When Faelhart attacked, all of Romieth's recruits were sent to the front lines and Romieth himself was left behind. Not even as Master of the training ground, just left behind with nothing to do. It was a turning point for Romieth; he descended into cheap wine and heavy Penshalt ale. Every morning he awoke with a goblet in his hand, and by nightfall he was collapsed before a mug. Ilays would have asked for his help, but she knew that he was in no condition for what she had planned.
Ilays hugged his limp form and half carried him from the table to his bed. With Romieth taken care of, she went to the trunk of her mothers' old possessions, cast the Key of love and grief, and withdrew her mother's combat leathers, cloak, and scabbards. Donning them quickly and quietly, she threw her quiver and bow over each shoulder and walked out to the front room. It always struck her as odd that of all Lyrameth's possessions that Romieth kept, the only items not protected by Locks and Wards were Lyrameth's scimitars.
Ilays knew that in taking them, she would be worse in Romieth's eyes than even Ramier was. Romeith's golden child, his pride and joy, turning thief and running away from home; but she had to do it. She had to do it for Ramier. Without another moment's hesitation, she took the scimitars from their place above the mantle, sheathed them, and left.
Chapter 10
When the time came to punish the Fey, the Great Dragons began to fight among themselves - Rylvia wanting to forgive the Fey and Toug wanting to eradicate them. Driven by their masters, the factions of the Kin marched to war again.
*
Tennlka had always disliked traveling, even to the point of loathing when it took him beyond his own, dwindling borders. This trip however, could not be avoided; Tennlka’s High General had brought him the word that the High Captain who had ridden out of Faelhart with the Knight of the Black Era had acquired Laglan’s spell book and was running for his life across Strolm with the spell book and two captives that knew how to open it.
Tennlka left the next day to meet the High Captain in Learth with five Squadrons of Faelhart’s armies. When the High Captain had not made it to Learth and the Earl informed Tennlka that he was about to depart himself to Riverguard, the King ordered five more Squadrons to accompany them and insisted that the Earl ride in his carriage.
Upon their arrival, the two lords ordered their Unit to camp on the outskirts of Riverguard and sent a messenger to the leader of the Dragon Lords seeking an audience.
Tennlka’s High General ran the military affairs of the camp with years of experience, leaving the lords to wait anxiously for the Dragon Lords’ response to their messenger. Four days passed without event until, alone in his tent, Tennlka was surprised when the Knight of the Black Era stepped inside.
“Sir Ta’Caran!” Tennlka exclaimed, “This is an… unexpected visit! Do you have Laglan’s spell book?”
“I do,” Xardan replied, “But it is not with me. I will bring it as soon as I can get it away from the two companions that have been helping me chase the traitor, High Captain Justyn.”
“You mean to say that Xardan Ta’Caran, Knight of the Black Era, is unable to best two opponents?”
“You do not know these opponents,” Xardan explained, “One is a Lythrain maiden, and a powerful war mage despite her own arguments that she is unworthy of the title. The other is half Lythrain. I don’t know much about his parentage, but I know it is a… powerful combination. His mother was a lady of the Silvergem family; I remember the trouble they caused in taking Reth, and one of the daughters was unaccounted for when we were finally able to take their house. His father was a Knight.”
“How do you know that?” Tennlka asked with shock clearly evident on his face.
“He has his father’s gift.” Xardan announced.
Silence engulfed the tent as Tennlka processed the information that Xardan had given him.
“A Knight?” Tennlka stuttered in disbelief, “And I presume his Lythrain blood allows him to Focus as well?”
“It does.” Xardan formally stated.
“What is his power?” Tennlka hesitantly asked.
“Drashyre.” Xardan answered.
Tennlka winced visibly at the Knight’s response.
“Astonishing! The first Knight in the history of Faelhart capable of Focusing in his own right… I can see the difficulty in the matter.” The King admitted, “He is quite possibly the most powerful individual in the entire history of Khesyc…What is your plan?”
“They are both watching the spell book closely,” Xardan mussed, “I will have to wait until I have a chance to sneak away with the spell book without them noticing me, and try to get back here before they catch up to me. Can you keep the Unit here long enough to meet me back here?”
“We are trying to negotiate an audience with the Dragon Lords.” Tennlka said, “I should have no trouble at all dragging out the negotiations.”
Xardan saluted sharply with a deep bow to the King, “I will return with all due haste, and when I return, it will be with Laglan Darkshire’s spell book.”
The shadows in the tent
wrapped fluidly around Xardan as he turned away from the King and slipped away.
*
The halls of the Dragon Lords’ keep were sparsely decorated with long, thick fur rugs and occasional suits of armor. The throne room itself was a long, rectangular room with three, unornamented doors on adjacent walls, and an unpadded, wooden throne on a raised dais against the fourth. Thick rugs, identical to those in the halls, covered the wooden floor. Tall banners sporting the black rampant dragon on a deep red field of the Dragon Lords hung from the rafters.
Half a dozen high officers of the Dragon Lords and several ambassadors from supporting clans throughout Strolm stood over a war table covered in maps with small tokens of various shapes and sizes marking the locations of soldiers in and around the city.
Lord Brath of the Dragon Lords turned in a frustrated manner from the table and turned back to his throne. “I’m not concerned about the military ship from Urthendril!” Brath roared, “What concerns me is the army that Faelhart has marched onto our doorstep!”
“My Lord,” one of the high officers replied, “Faelhart’s army is less than five hundred soldiers strong; they are hardly strong enough to be a concern.”
Brath stopped on the second step of the dais with his back to the high officers as an ambassador from another clan retorted. “Not a concern? If five soldiers from Faelhart rode in arms to my gate, I would treat them as my primary concern! Since you have obviously forgotten, I will remind you that a single Knight from Faelhart could siege your city, level your gates, kill your entire army, and pillage the keep before you could even begin to muster your defenses!”
Silence fell across the high officers as they considered what the ambassador had presented before them.
“So now I ask,” Brath continued, “How many of these 'less than five hundred' Faelhart soldiers are Knights? Keeping in mind, of course, that the King himself is with those 'less than five hundred' soldiers. Personally, I have never known King Tennlka to travel without at least two Knights and on certain military campaigns I have known him to travel with ten.”
A knock at the door silenced the group and two of the high officers removed the markers and rolled the maps off the table as a herald entered the room.
“An emissary from the Urthendrain ship has arrived, Lord Brath,” the herald announced.
“Send him in.” Brath ordered.
The herald’s demeanor changed slightly as he opened the door to admit a broad shouldered, black haired Urthendrain. His hair was pulled neatly onto the back of his head and his beard hung in a thick, single braid to his belt. He had a rough, rugged aura yet carried himself with the grace of one accustomed to being around nobility.
The herald’s voice rang through the hall as the Urthendrain entered, “Announcing Ambassador Sir Grimond Wolf-Tamer, ut Vanian, Lord of Kalahath, Former High Juror, Honored Guard of her Majesty Larny, Queen of Urthendril, Esteemed Knight of his Highness Lorvig, Battle Hand of Urthendril, Defender of the Kingdom.”
The Urthendrain swept forward in a deep bow before Lord Brath and rose slowly.
“Honored Ambassador,” Brath greeted, “Welcome to my halls!”
“Your hospitality is most graciously accepted,” Grimond replied, “With your Lord’s permission, I was sent by my queen to renegotiate our trading alliances with the mainland merchants and I would like to dock my ship and crew for several weeks here in your docks.”
Brath’s concern for the ships in the docks was minimal and was prepared to simply shrug off the request and grant the Urthendrain permission to stay as long as needed when his high officers stepped forward.
“Our reports state that your ship is quite heavily armed and supplied,” one officer asked, “What assurance do we have that you will not attack our city while you’re here?”
“Your ship is not large enough to have more than a few weeks of supplies on board,” the second officer asked, “How much supplies will your crew need to purchase from the city?”
“If your ship is in the dock for several weeks,” another asked, “How can we use the same dock for merchant vessels to load and unload their goods?”
“Worthy questions all!” Grimond proclaimed, “If I may, our ship’s weapons are stowed and will remain so as long as we are here. Your soldiers far outnumber us and thus it would be practical suicide to attempt an attack. Those factors besides, it is usually poor manners to attack a city that you are attempting to negotiate trading alliances with.
“As for your supplies and trading, we have enough storage for two months at sea and currently have enough supplies on board for two and a half weeks. Any further supplies that we need will be purchased from the merchants that we are doing business with already so you will not need to accommodate us out of your city's supplies. As for your dock that we will be occupying, we are prepared to pay a five percent tax on our trades as long as we are here to accommodate for the inconvenience of our presence.”
“Your conditions are acceptable, Master Grimond.” Brath stated before his high officers could assault with a new set of questions, “The presence of your ship is the least of our concerns at the moment. Stay as long as you need, buy anything you need, and send the taxes directly up to the keep.”
Grimond bent in another deep bow as he thanked Brath and turned from the room. The herald opened the door for the Urthendrain and admitted a pair of robed men in the burgundy and black of Faelhart, one wearing a large, gold crown, accompanied by a pair of armored Knights with blades at their hips. Behind the four men towered a large, brown skinned Tyrn with a pair of Lythrain gladii on his hips and a large battle-axe across his back.
“Announcing the arrival of their Lieges, King Tennlka and Earl Learth of Faelhart,” called the herald, “accompanied by Sir Sebus Amakiir, Knight of the Open Eyes and Sir Ryder Delgund, Knight of the Winter Wind.”
Brath wouldn’t have risen from his throne for Tennlka and the golden crown that he flaunted or the large Tyrnish bodyguard that was always by his side, but with a Knight on either side the entire court stood readily for the newest arrivals.
“Please, sit!” Tennlka cheerfully said to the hall, granting permission as if he was in his own court.
Brath’s hand rose to stop his court from taking their seats.
“Lord Tennlka,” Brath graciously interjected, “If I may beg your pardon, this is MY hall.”
Tennlka stared Brath in the eye for a long moment before nodding slightly.
“Many apologizes, Lord Brath,” Tennlka said, “I did not mean to intrude upon YOUR hall.”
“Or upon my city, I am sure?” Brath asked.
“I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about, Lord Brath!” Tennlka exclaimed.
“You expect me to believe then, that you are not aware of the five hundred Faelhart soldiers camped just outside my city?”
“I am aware of them,” Tennlka confirmed, “As they are my escort. However I cannot believe you think that this is your city or hall.”
“Explain yourself!” Brath barked.
Tennlka moved confidently around the hall as he took in his surroundings.
“This hall is far sparser than the last time I was here, Brath. Where are the padded seats and lush carpets that cost my coffers so much?”
“We sold them.” Brath answered, “Almost five years ago! The profits fed and outfitted my army up until these last months!”
Tennlka gave little reaction to the value of the keep's decorations, and continued, “I see. I will require those funds be returned to my kingdom within a week; I am funding a war and have no spare funds.”
“And what if we refuse?” Brath asked.
The Earl of Learth opened his mouth in protest, but Tennlka silenced him with a sharp gesture. Silence enveloped the courtroom as every eye trained on Faelhart's King.
“I will comfort your citizens somewhat.” Tennlka offered after the high officers started shifting uncomfortably, “I will withdraw my escort five miles and await your response at Fa
elhart's Crypt.”
Tennlka gave a small bow of respect to Lord Brath and left before the Dragon Lord soldiers began ushering the five from the room. Once alone again, Brath nervously turned back to his high officers and the maps that they had once again spread across the table.
*
It was a slow journey back to Strolm, without chasing or being chased the trio traveled slowly, stopped early in the afternoon and slept late into the morning. Jurod’s training became the group’s primary focus and either his muscles were getting used to the rigorous sparring and Focusing, or they were getting the proper amount of rest needed to relieve the aching. His blade work almost matched Xardan’s to the point that the older Knight no longer held back his blows and the day before they reached Strolm they both limped to Ilays with multiple broken ribs. Ilays gladly healed Xardan’s injuries but made Jurod heal his own.
Each night they took turns at the camp chores, and before bed Ilays and Jurod both cast wards around the spell book. When they finally entered the main gates of Strolm, their peaceful, easy break turned completely around.
A sharp pain jabbed into Jurod’s left shoulder and thigh almost simultaneously while half a breath later another pain buried deep into his right side.
Xardan and Ilays wasted no time jumping into action, wards of air snapped up around the trio to catch half a dozen more projectiles as they shot toward Jurod.
Xardan’s blade flashed from its scabbard as he urged his horse forward to meet two black robed figures running forward with blades in hand. Ilays leapt off her horse and caught another black robed figure as he dropped from the upper wall. Jurod winced as he pulled identical, small steel darts from his thigh and shoulder. Before he could pull the crossbow bolt from his side, a dozen fighters wearing the tabard of the Shadow Hands came running up the main gate road.
The soldiers guarding the gate engaged the Shadow Hand fighters, but one wove easily through the fray to Jurod. A long, thin chain was held in his left hand, while he spun one end with his right. The tip whistled through the air as the assassin threw the chain at Jurod. He leaned back away from the chain but didn’t see the blade attached to the end until it cut deeply into his right forearm.