Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. “We can’t have our lady of honor miss a basic meal in the morning, now, can we?”

  Kortiama twirled a lock of hair. “You didn’t need to go through the trouble, but thank you.”

  He’d gone to this length for Solais’ birthday as well, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Tharne should be joining us any minute.” He pushed her to a chair. “Now sit, and I’ll pour you tea. I sense you’ve had a rough morning.”

  Solais was all too eager to claim her seat and dig into the grandiose meal. Kortiama, however, took a little more time, seating herself and watching as Eyro lifted the porcelain tea pot and poured a pale green liquid into tiny round cups. She smiled her thanks when he handed her one. The light floral scent wafted up to her nose, along with the steam. Kortiama wasn’t overly fond of tea, but she knew better than to refuse, or else Eyro would go on some long speech about how good it was for one’s soul… or something like that.

  She glanced around the spread of food, looking for something in particular. A smile formed on her lips when she found the small bowl filled with a golden liquid near the tea pot. Kortiama snatched up the container and dipped a spoon in, scooping it into her tea cup.

  When she’d added enough, she slipped the spoon into her mouth, savoring the sweet stickiness left behind on the spoon, before stirring her tea. While the tea had a light smell, she knew this tea tended to taste bitter, so honey was great to remedy that. Of course, one glance at Eyro showed the pointed disapproving look he gave her. He didn’t like that she altered the tea, but rarely did he stop her.

  Kortiama lifted the cup to her lips, blowing on it for a moment to cool, before taking a sip. Her shoulders relaxed as the warm liquid entered her throat, the sweetened floral taste doing wonders on her tongue. Another sip reduced much of the lingering tension inside her. One thing Eyro was right about, tea did help calm her.

  “Do not underestimate the power of tea,” Eyro said before drinking his.

  Solais rolled her eyes and continued to tear into some chicken and bread she’d helped herself to. Kortiama took another sip before breaking into a loaf of bread and taking some cheese to go with it, as well as snatching up a few berries, to start herself off.

  Not two bites into her breakfast, the clomping of heavy footsteps on stone came from the foyer. A moment later, a tall man garbed in a long dark coat entered the room. The hard expression on his face softened as he laid eyes on Kortiama and Solais. “I see my girls are up and ready for the day.”

  “Morning, Uncle Tharne,” they greeted.

  Tharne Ozden let out a deep sigh and removed his hat, his dark, wiry hair remaining tied in place at the nape of his neck. “Would it kill you two to call me ‘Father’ for once?”

  The two giggled, while Eyro let out a boisterous laugh. Tharne had visited the orphanage many times before adopting them. He was so kind and caring, all the children called him uncle. When he’d adopted Kortiama and Solais, they’d been so used to calling him by one name, it continued to stick.

  That didn’t mean Kortiama didn’t see him as her father, though. After everything he’d done for her, she wouldn’t see him as anything less.

  Tharne sat down at the table with them, setting his hat down. “I see you two have already begun to eat without me.”

  Solais tore into some more chicken. “Not our fault you’re late.”

  Their father let out a heavy sigh. “A Lord Captain’s duties never cease, even in the wee hours of the morning.”

  After Eboneye’s death, a new leader for the Dasati had to be chosen. Most assumed the title would fall to Rikton, as he was Eboneye’s next-oldest younger brother. But Liadha claimed that upon Eboneye’s last breath, he’d named his youngest brother Lord Captain—Tharne.

  The decision had ruffled more than a few feathers in the clan. Some thought Rikton was better suited for the position. Others doubted the claim, since Tharne couldn’t prove he had the Mandate. The Mandate of the Seas were powerful symbols bestowed upon the Saricordi by their goddess Zesstara. Thirteen mandates in all, one for each clan. They served as proof one had the right to lead a clan. Still, Tharne had enough backing to hold his claim to the Dasati—for now.

  While Rikton only postured about taking the clan under his rightful rule, everyone knew he would eventually make a true attempt. Kortiama wasn’t sure how he would do so, but she’d back her uncle in any way she could to ensure the clan didn’t fall into Rikton’s filthy hands.

  Eyro leaned back in his seat. “You need to learn to slow down, Tharne. Drink some tea—take a stroll in the garden—feel the sun on your face. It won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.”

  Tharne grunted and partook in the feast before them. “Thanks, oh wise man, I’ll reflect on that advice.”

  Solais and Kortiama laughed.

  Tharne peered at the two of them. “So, Korti, Solais, Eyro told me yesterday your training is going well. Care to tell me more?”

  Kortiama pursed her lips. What was there to say? Eyro, while a caretaker of this villa, had some unusual skill. This seemingly harmless man knew all manner of tactics and fighting techniques, and how to use them. Of course, he’d never fight with any real weapon. Most of the time he’d beat the crap out of her and Solais with a broom. It was as annoying as it was embarrassing. Still, beyond getting their asses whooped, he’d taught them how to properly wield different blades, allowing them to make the choice of style on their own.

  She and Solais ended up picking vastly different styles to hone, each with their unique challenges and advantages.

  A wicked grin spread across Kortiama’s face when she thought of something. “Solais finally learned to block attacks, instead of just trying to beat them into submission.”

  Her sister’s mouth fell open. “Korti!”

  Tharne’s head flew back as he laughed. “Did she now? I was wondering when she’d learn the pointy end of a blade could be turned on her if she wasn’t careful.”

  Solais’ face went red, her face scrunching as she pointed at Kortiama. “Well, Korti now cheats to win!”

  Kortiama’s mouth twisted as it fell open. “I do not!”

  “Yes you do.” Solais tossed her hair to the side as if imitating Kortiama. “I’m Korti, I’m so beautiful, look at me. I can’t fight with my toothpick of a weapon, so I fling spells everywhere to force a win.”

  Korti glared at her sister. “At least I’m smart enough to use magic!”

  The two of them continued casting verbal jabs at each other. The longer it went on, the more Kortiama found herself actually irritated with her sister. They felt more like personal insults than just fun jabs.

  Eyro sighed. “Both of you are like raging rivers, eager to overpower each other. You should be like streams, complementing the other’s flow to make one harmonized force.”

  Both girls stopped and stared at the older gentlemen.

  “Okay…” Kortiama drawled. “Not sure what a river has to do with any of this.”

  Eyro, however, didn’t respond. Instead, he wore that all-too-familiar, knowing smile as he sipped his tea. Yet before she could call him on it, Solais interrupted them.

  “Dad,” her sister whined, “Tell Korti she can’t use magic in our fights!”

  Korti turned to defend herself, but Tharne’s gaze was not on Solais. He seemed to be peering off in the distance, rubbing his temples as he muttered to himself. “Of course she uses magic.”

  Kortiama’s brow rose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Their father took a deep breath and leveled his eyes at them. “Using magic in a fight isn’t cheating. You’ll find out on the waters that you’ll run into opponents of various skills. Some are like Liadha, where all they use is magic, and many others will be like Solais and me, fighting fiercely with our blades. Then you’ll come against individuals who will do what Korti has done—mix magic in with their sword style.”

  Solais sat back in her seat, crossing her ar
ms and letting out a displeased hmph. Kortiama couldn’t stop herself from sticking her tongue out at her sister in triumph.

  “Speaking of Liadha,” Tharne began, “We should be expecting her to dock rather soon.” His eyes darted to Kortiama. “Korti, I want you to be the one to meet her when she arrives.”

  Kortiama’s brow rose. “Not that I don’t want to, but why me? We all know she’s going to expect you.”

  “On a normal day, yes. But seeing as she’s coming specifically to see you today, we will make an exception.”

  That brought a small smile to Kortiama’s face. As scary as the woman was, she always treated her and Solais well. Even though she was no longer considered family, that didn’t stop her from acting like it with them and Tharne.

  “Besides, Eyro needs me to help get this place in order before your birthday celebration, so take your time coming back.” He looked to Solais. “We’d like your help as well, Solais. It’s only fair, since Korti helped with your celebration.”

  Her sister let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

  Tharne nodded, and the four of them fell into more casual conversation while eating. Near the end, Tharne abruptly stopped and a far-off gaze came to his eyes. Then he nodded. “That was Liadha. The Dark Rider should be coming in soon.”

  Kortiama pushed out of her seat. “Then I’d best get down there quick, so she’s not waiting.”

  Without another word, she rushed out the front doors and into the expansive courtyard. Large maple and oak trees stood tall and scattered about, shading patches of grass to invite one to sit and rest under them. Tended gardens of flowers, fruits, and vegetables grew in long rows. Her feet clomped on a wooden bridge stretched over a pool of water, little fish swimming among the lily pads and reeds. A bullfrog croaked and then leapt into the water in fright.

  Kortiama’s memories threatened to bring back the vision of this place’s former condition, dead and overgrown, but the serenity its current state brought onto her prevented that from happening.

  Eyro did so well tending to the villa grounds. She didn’t know where Tharne found the man—he wasn’t from the clan—but no one could have brought this place back to life like he had.

  She passed a sandy patch with tall stones, tiny manicured plants, and grooves deliberately drawn into the loose, gravelly surface. Eyro called it a zen garden—something he’d added to the courtyard with Tharne’s permission. Kortiama had never heard of them until then. It was a strange setup, but Eyro insisted the placement had purpose, and every time he changed the lines, it was done for reasons understood only by him. He’s such a strange man. Though as odd as he may be, Kortiama enjoyed his company. While Tharne had become her father figure, Eyro filled that older, doting uncle or even grandfather void.

  Kortiama ran out the front gate, noting the usual hum of arcane energy wasn’t present. Since Tharne had arrived only a little while ago, it made sense that he’d have removed the protective barrier that went up every night. A “precaution,” the two of them called it. They didn’t want anyone from the village wandering up here and causing trouble.

  Kortiama cut tight around the wall and down over the ridge to the village, avoiding, with practiced ease, all manner of wards still in place. There were many of them, ranging from illusionary wrong turns to pitfalls and more. It wasn’t the easiest route, but it certainly was the fastest.

  Kortiama made it to the docks just as the Dark Rider pulled into port. The large vessel proudly flew the colors of the Ramulos clan, an amber sea horse on a field of deep azure. Staring at the flag made Kortiama’s fingers tingle; laying eyes on such a powerful symbol did that to her. The Ramulos were not a clan you wanted to cross paths with.

  Lady Captain Cassala was a prime example. Not only was she a powerful witch with a small but loyal coven, Cassala was the same age as Kortiama, and she’d already become a captain after only three short years of sailing. She also happened to be a kind of cousin of Kortiama’s, as she was Liadha’s niece.

  And then there was Liadha. A witch of immense power, her aunt was one of the most feared and respected leaders across all the clans. No one dared to cross that woman. Made her the perfect wife for Eboneye.

  Kortiama aspired to be even half as amazing as either of these women.

  She did her best not to fidget as she leaned on a crate, waiting for Liadha to disembark. She didn’t need to be scolded for being impatient. In reality, she was just excited. Liadha didn’t visit as often as she used to, and Kortiama enjoyed her aunt’s company. She’d also taught her a thing or two about the basics of magic, which had prompted her efforts to combine it with swordplay.

  The plank of the Dark Rider slammed down on the dock, and a woman nearly identical to the painting in the villa immediately strode down. She exuded confidence, her long sable hair moving about her as if it has a will of its own. A rumor in the clan said she could kill ten men at once with it. Kortiama wasn’t sure how true the claim was, but given Liadha’s fearsome reputation, Kortiama wouldn’t outright dismiss the possibility.

  The dock hands were quick to move out of the witch’s way, her coal eyes scanning the area. Kortiama pushed away from the crates and rushed toward the ship. “Aunt Liadha!”

  The witch pinned her eyes on Kortiama and her menacing expression melted into a warm, welcoming one. She held out her arms and smiled. “My Korti.”

  The two embraced. When Kortiama pulled away, Liadha touched her face. “Look at you. You’ve grown on me again.”

  “I haven’t changed since I last saw you.”

  “I beg to differ.” Liadha rubbed her thumb on Kortiama’s cheek. “And you’ve got a spot of dirt on your face. Honestly, you’re not doing well convincing me Tharne doesn’t have you living in squalor.”

  Kortiama laughed. “I promise, I want for nothing, thanks to him.”

  “Good. That had better be the case. You deserve nothing less.” Her aunt glanced around. “Did he not accompany you?”

  Kortiama shook her head. “No. He’s helping Eyro with prepping for my party up at the villa.”

  “Good, about time he’s useful.”

  Her aunt’s gaze drifted away. Kortiama glanced the same way when the woman’s face grew hard. A man in a long, dark coat and feathered hat approached them, his boots hitting hard on the wooden planks of the dock. He had tanned, weathered skin, salt-stained dark hair, and a scraggly beard. A scowl etched in his scarred face, his dark eyes sending a chill down Kortiama’s spine. She masked her fear; she wouldn’t let it show in front of him.

  “Rikton,” Liadha greeted, her voice chilling.

  “I was told ye had docked, Liadha,” Rikton said. “Seems that claim is true.”

  Liadha arched a single eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”

  Rikton eyed the woman. “It’s unusual you didn’t give advance notice.”

  Liadha laughed, a rather dry one. “Why would I need to do that?” She placed her hand on Kortiama’s shoulder. “After all, I’m here because of our dear Korti.”

  Rikton’s cold eyes snapped to Kortiama. She forced the sweetest smile she could. “It’s my birthday today, remember, Uncle? You were invited up to the villa to celebrate with us.”

  Her uncle’s lip curled. “Yes. Well, I do have important duties to deal with. So try not to hold it against me, girl, if I don’t show up.”

  Kortiama continue her sweetness act. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Uncle.”

  His lips twitched and he spun on his heels, leaving without saying another word. Kortiama stuck her tongue out at his back. The gods knew she hated that man. As much as he terrified her at times, she would never let him see it.

  She had no doubt that he wouldn’t show, a fact that did little to disappoint her. Though her adopted uncle, Rikton had never been afraid to show how much he didn’t like her. He detested all children, but she and Solais always seemed to get the worst of it.

  “Not going to show the old fool where he really stands?” Liadha asked, n
ot looking at Kortiama. Liadha didn’t like him any more than Kortiama. From what she understood, the two of them never got along, which made Rikton’s sudden appearance here all the more strange. Why do I feel like he’s up to something?

  Kortiama shook her head, more to clear her mind than in response to her aunt. “I promised Uncle Tharne I’d behave, and not start something with Uncle Rikton.” She grinned at her aunt. “Now, finishing something is another story.”

  A semi-malicious grin spread across Liadha’s lips. It send a startling chill through Kortiama, reminding her just how dangerous her aunt could appear. “I can give you a few tips on how to end one of those, if you’d like.”

  The expression soon disappeared, and a far-too-kind smile replaced it. “Now, let us head to the villa and see what kind of chaos Tharne has concocted.”

  2

  Birthright

  By the time the villa came into view from the road, the sun had reached its zenith. The heat followed the light in the sky, making Korti want nothing more than to rest under the shade of a tree in the courtyard, or rush back down the mountain to dive into the lake.

  “Liadha,” she started, “I want to thank you for allowing Solais and me to stay in the villa whenever we want.”

  Liadha narrowed an eye at her. “How many times am I going to have to tell you to stop thanking me about that? I’m just glad this place is finding use again.” Her gaze turned back to the trail in front of them. “From what Tharne tells me, the caretaker he hired has done an adequate job bringing the place back to life, and even added a few extra touches of his own.” Her face darkened. “He better hope that I approve of them.”

  Korti gulped, not wanting to think what her aunt would do if she didn’t. She decided to steer the conversation away from Eyro’s improvements. “Are you okay with coming up here?”

  Even though Liadha had made visits to Renere before, this would be the first time Kortiama knew her to set foot inside the villa since Eboneye’s death.