Mantle: The Return of the Sha

by Gary Bregar

  When Ekkill finished his comments to the man behind him, he turned once again to Zander.

  “Has Cergio arrived yet? No doubt he would jump at the chance to best me in his arrival.”

  Tongars were notoriously competitive. Any perception on their part that they had not been given the opportunity to come out ahead would render them cross. Zander knew this, or at least had been told this. He didn’t think that Cergio’s arrival would have been timed against that of Ekkill’s, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility. Cergio seemed like a man who might ruffle the feathers of another king only for amusement.

  “Yes, Majesty, he has arrived only recently. We have refrained from speaking of our strategies, until after your arrival. I assure you that nothing has been missed,” Zander said. He wasn’t sure if Ekkill would take his comments as sarcasm.

  “Yes, very well then,” Ekkill said, now with a visible smile, clearly not reading sarcasm in Zander’s words.

  Ekkill looked further into the courtyard and adjoining streets, and his eyes widened. It was the colors of the place—bright red, yellow, and blue flower petals danced through the air. The Kingdom of Tongar, being mostly snow and ice, did not have things of such beauty.

  Zander, noticing Ekkill’s expression of awe, said, “Majesty, I would like to offer gifts from the Forie people to you and yours.”

  He motioned to his squire, as he had when Cergio had arrived. The squire pulled the white cloth from an iron cart to reveal pallets of brightly blooming flowers. As he unveiled this, another boy pulled a white cloth from an identical iron cart. This one was stacked high with rolls of silk. There was silk in every color imaginable.

  Ekkill had momentarily looked confused at the flowers, but his smile brightened when the silk was unveiled.

  “Thank you much, King Zander. I am most grateful. May I ask about the flowers?”

  The tone of his voice relayed his confusion, and he had every reason to be confused. It was no secret that flowers would never survive the cold of Tongar.

  “King Ekkill, I was counting on you asking. What you see before you are hearties. These plants were created for their indifference to their environment. They will not only grow in Tongar—they will prosper there.”

  Ekkill grinned and shook his head slowly. “Flowers in Tongar? I cannot imagine such a great thing!”

  “I hope for them to bring you and your people joy,” Zander said. “However, I must relay a warning of the plants. They must be watched closely—controlled. Because they are robust against their surroundings, they have the ability to spread like fire—and they do not die easily. Every seed dropped will grow, will bloom, and will drop seeds of its own. Handle them with scrutiny, I beg you.”

  Ekkill understood perfectly. “Yes, thanks much for the advice. I will look after them much closely.”

  Zander noticed flaws in the king’s words, and realized just how much of his accent he was covering up. It was clear that in Tongar, the dialect would have contained only one word for ‘very close.’ It was subtle, but he noticed it nonetheless.

  Once Ekkill pulled together his thoughts, he continued, “I bring gifts from the people of Tongar as well, but I’m sure it will not top this.”

  Ekkill motioned to a boy behind him, presumably his own squire, and the boy turned around to motion to someone else behind him. The men on horses moved from in front of the gate to allow a large cart to enter. It was then followed by another smaller cart. Both of the carts were also made of iron, but unlike those of Obengaard, they were of extremely intricate design. Patterns had been created with strings of iron on all sides down to midwheel.

  When they came to a stop in the courtyard, King Ekkill himself approached the larger of the two, and opened the double doors of the cart. Inside were wooden barrels.

  Turning to Zander, Ekkill said, simply, “Tongar Oil.”

  Now, it was Zander’s turn to brighten. Tongar Oil was very valuable, indeed, although it wasn’t exactly oil at all. It looked like it and felt like it to the touch, but it was more alive than that. Tongar Oil reproduced itself so that a supply never decreased. If one were to remove one cup of oil from a barrel of it, the oil in the barrel would reproduce by the measure of exactly one cup. When it was burned, it would reproduce a replacement of the burnt oil as quickly as it was being burned. The short of it was—it would always exist in no less than its original amount, no matter where its pieces may be.

  Ekkill noticed the excitement in Zander’s eyes.

  “Thank you true, Majesty, for such a great gift as this. Surely, you’ve played me with your humility—”

  “Ah, but there’s more, sir,” Ekkill broke in while he walked to the back of the second smaller cart.

  When he opened the cart doors, frosted air poured out.

  “I’ve brought ya a horde of our finest selections, Majesty,” Ekkill said, waving away the frosty air. “Should make a tasty meal, and I’ve brought some of my finest cooks to make it so. I reckon you don’t see much fish in Forris of late.”

  Zander thought that to be a huge understatement. He had eaten fish only twice, both times as a boy. He remembered how delicious it had been, but the trading and transporting of fish was difficult so it simply wasn’t done.

  “I tell you true, sir, that these are very fine gifts, very fine indeed. I do believe that you have gone over and beyond. Thank you, Majesty.”

  Ha, I’ve won them again, Ekkill thought proudly. But his tongue spoke differently. “Very good.”

  It was then that King Cergio appeared from the street behind the carts. He approached Ekkill with a grinning smirk of a smile on his face, and came to a stop directly in front of him. He was shorter than Ekkill, but not by much.

  Cergio reached out and took Ekkill’s hand in both of his. When they released from their handshake, Ekkill took both of his hands and set them on Cergio’s shoulders, completing the circle of formal greetings. When Ekkill took his hands from Cergio’s shoulders, they stood for a moment before becoming at ease and entering into a full embrace.

  “It is good to see you still walking among us, Ekkill—aye, so it is,” Cergio said once they faced each other again.

  “You would not have me rid of so soon! Outlive the lot of ya, so I will,” Ekkill said, and Cergio didn’t doubt that, given Ekkill’s competitive nature. He imagined that he would live longer simply to prove that he could.

  “It is good to see you, my friend,” Cergio said with full sincerity.

  “And you,” Ekkill said. “It has been far too many years. Alexo wasn’t much for hosting, so whatn’t no logic in it.”

  He didn’t look in his direction, but Zander knew that the remark was meant for him. It was true that his father had no taste for hosting the other kingdoms, and Zander had intended to change that, given the chance. But his mishap with the Trees had changed all of that.

  “Majesties, please allow me to provide you both with anything at all that you should need while you are here. My trusted Arthur Steed will organize your party’s arrangements. As for us three, I suggest that we meet in private to begin with—once you are settled.

  “Aye, of course,” Cergio said, while Ekkill nodded agreement.

  “But tonight, we will feast on the finest fish that Mantle can offer,” Zander concluded.

  As he walked away, Ekkill leaned into Cergio and asked, “So what’d you bring ’em?”

  “Noble Horses—five thousand,” Cergio replied.

  “And don’t ya think we can use Noble Horses in Tongar?” Ekkill responded in a humorous tone.

  “Aye, you could use Noble Horses in Tongar, but you insist on riding about on bears. I hardly think they would go about nicely together.”

  “Nay, they would not!” Ekkill said, now laughing.

  Zander could hear them well, although he was out of their sight. He was glad that the two were friendly. He had secured rapport with Cergio, and Cergio clearly had more than enough with Ekkill. They would all be fair enough to each other moving ahead.


  ****

  The abandoned areas of Bannister Castle were, Dorian realized, not only dark and musty, but deeply cringe-worthy. The iron candle cradles and furniture were covered in thick layers of dust, and spiders had contributed their fair share by attaching webbing to anything that jutted out even in the slightest. It appeared as though the spiders’ webs were the only force holding this part of the castle together.

  As he walked along the corridors with Lizabet by his side, they remained silent. The air of the place made it seem as though speaking, or creating any noise at all really, might awaken the very walls that surrounded them. He knew it was silly, and Lizabet didn’t seem at all concerned or frightened, but they kept quiet all the same.

  They were on their way to meet Lizabet’s friend Pike, whom she had been meeting occasionally in a room that was buried deep within the abandoned section of the castle. He was nervous that Pike would not welcome him into their budding friendship, and although he did not know it then, Lizabet had the same anxious thoughts about the introduction.

  She was determined to introduce them, however, and she had also decided that she would show Dorian what she now thought of as the secret door. Pike had refused to enter the room with the door after their first encounter, so she would take Dorian there first. She wasn’t going to show Dorian what lie on the other side of the door—not now, but she was determined to find out for sure if anyone other than herself would be able to see the door at all.

  When they reached the room with the door, she took Dorian’s hand and led him in.

  “Before we meet Pike, I want to show you something,” she said.

  Dorian looked over the large room. If it were possible, it seemed like there were extra layers of dust in this room. A large wooden table sat at one end, and chairs had been scattered, some broken. A very large portrait of a stern-looking man with small black eyes and gray bushy hair hung at the end of the room looking down at the wooden table as if keeping a close eye on the business conducted there.

  “Have you brought me here to gaze on that hideous picture?” Dorian asked, pointing to the portrait. “That is the cruelest looking man that I’ve ever seen.”

  “No, of course not,” Lizabet said as she walked over to the door on the far side of the room. When she stood next to it, Dorian only watched her in anticipation.

  “Is there something over there?” he asked.

  Lizabet could tell by the look on his face, along with his question, that he could not see the door. She wasn’t the least bit surprised by this.

  “Can you not see the door?” she asked, placing her hand on the door itself. She felt the wood beneath, but to Dorian, it only looked as though she had placed her hand on the stone wall.

  “What door? Are you playing tricks on me, Lizabet?”

  “No,” she replied, sounding somewhat irritated. “No tricks, Dorian,” she continued, this time with a faint smile. She had no reason to be irritated, and she knew it.

  While Dorian stood directly in front of the door, Lizabet placed her hand on the latch. Dorian’s eye’s widened as the door slowly came into view. The wall which had been stone, now changed to wood right before his eyes, causing him to gasp.

  “All my Fathers, where does it go?”

  “It only leads to a dark room at the bottom of a long line of steps, nowhere, really,” she replied. She had never lied to Dorian before—had not much lied to anyone if it could be helped, but she thought this was not a real lie, only an omission. After all, it was a dark room at the bottom of a long line of steps, was it not?

  “Why can’t I see it, then? It must have some significance if it only reveals itself to you.”

  “I’m not sure; I just know that it is here. Please don’t tell anyone,” Lizabet said with a look of seriousness.

  Dorian smiled and replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Your smile says that you take this lightly,” Lizabet said.

  “No—not at all. I was just thinking that I’ve been at Obengaard for only a few days, and already we are on route to a secret meeting with a Loper, stopping only to enter an abandoned room with a door that only reveals itself to you. I’d say that we’re a far cry from Terra. Yet, with you in the midst of it all, I’m somehow not the least bit surprised by any of it.”

  Of course he would say that with a smile…that’s how Dorian is, Lizabet thought. He is never the least bit rattled.

  Beginning to laugh at Dorian’s summary of the events that had taken place in only a short time, Lizabet said, “You’re right, I suppose it is a bit much.

  “Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand. “We’ve got an outer butler to introduce you to.”

  ****

  When they walked into the room where Pike was waiting, Dorian and Lizabet found him teasing a spider as it hung in its web, nested beneath one of the iron candle cradles. Lizabet cleared her throat lightly so that he would not be frightened, and when he turned around to find Dorian standing beside her, his eyes grew big with surprise.

  “Pike, I would like you to meet my friend, Dorian,” Lizabet said. “Dorian, this is Pike.”

  Pike formed a beautiful toothless smile and, in that instant, Dorian knew that they would be friends.

  ****

  At first, it had been a feeling of being turned inside out, or being enveloped in something that grew tighter each moment. That was Balki’s transformation, at least at first. The inflock had reached its full strength, and had proceeded to take control of him. It would not kill Balki—not really. Balki would be ever present, in complete control of his body—but not in control of things as he once had. He would no longer have authority over his decisions. He would believe that he did, but that was an illusion. The inflock was really in charge of things now. If Balki could have formed an untainted thought on the matter, he would have realized that the inflock had cloaked itself against him. The irony would not have been missed.

  But he didn’t have untainted thoughts—not any longer. He did, however, have conscious reasoning, and on the few recent occasions when he had passed the Abbot girl in the corridors, once with her disgusting chicken, he had realized that he no longer fell ill when she approached. He still felt her presence before he would even see her, but she was no longer vile to him physically. He reasoned that the inflock’s power had grown to her equivalent, but it seemed to be more than that. He somehow knew that she was not aware of her own power. It was there, though. He had noticed her changing her course to walk a greater distance from him as she had passed in the halls. It had not appeared as though she realized that she was moving away from him, but it was clear to him that she was. Something inside of her knew of the thing inside of him.

  Either way, he felt fortunate for her ignorance because he couldn’t be sure what the effects might be on his mission if she knew her own strength, which he suspected might be strong.

  And soon, it would not matter. He knew the inflock’s plans now, and was in full agreement with the strategy as well as the outcome—if he were to be successful. If he agreed freely, or if he was being forced to agree by the inflock, he could not say. Under the inflock’s influence he didn’t have reason to ponder that aspect of his situation anyway. His mind was focused elsewhere—driven by another. If one were to imagine his mind as the V-shaped pattern of flying birds, the inflock would be in the lead, changing course and speed as it saw fit. Where Balki flew in that pattern, he did not know—because he was not instructed to consider it.

  His instructions were clear to him now, though. He needed information from King Zander. That would be simple enough, but he would need the king alone, and recently that had become more and more difficult. Now, with all three of the kings of Mantle at Obengaard (not quite all of the kings, he would say), the king’s time alone was scarce.

  Weddings are a time for relaxed celebration, where suspicion might be lent the bottle, he thought.

  The time of his own journey was near.

  ****

&nb
sp; King Zander sat in his usual place at the Concord Block, opposite Kings Cergio and Ekkill. Normally the table would be surrounded by the judging eyes and quick tongues of his councillors, but not this day. Agreements would be reached on a strategy for defending against the Skites—or a strategy for offensive measures, depending on how the discussions went.

  Although they might not be fully informed on the methods that their ancestors used in the last Mantle War, they did know their own capabilities and what would be expected. The Bores would provide the bulk of cavalry soldiers, along with horses. The Tongars would provide soldiers and ships to take positions in the Lost Waters, and near the Red Islands.

  The Fories, being the only allied kingdom of Mantle with an abundance of magic, would provide the necessary charms to their collective arsenal. The Fories would offer up soldiers as well, but their numbers would be much smaller. And if one were to argue that the Fories’ contribution to the effort was minor, they would only need reminding that the Skite Kingdom would wage battle against them with the assistance of dark magic. The Fories would counter those measures.

  Zander began, “Gentlemen, thank you for coming to Forris on such short notice. Now, where to begin…”

  ****

  He began by telling them all he knew, as told by the Trees. However, when he came to the parts concerning the Crown of Forris—what it was, and its significance to the Skite king—he omitted it altogether. He would rather be certain of who had that knowledge, and saw no better way than keeping it to himself completely.

  When he was done telling his story, King Ekkill told his. He had spoken with the Elder Bears, which had resulted in a very similar tale. He had spoken with the Bears only just before departing for Forris. When he learned of the nature of the Skite king’s skull and its presumed location, he personally made his way to the crypt of ice where it should have been found. Instead, he found the silver chest within the crypt, empty of its contents—stolen.