Severed Destinies

by David Kimberley

  "No. She must learn her place."

  Gorric shrugged. "Still though, father, I think perhaps you need to make amends with her. She just wants to make you proud, as I do."

  Celestius thought for a second then rose from his chair and strode to the door. "I'll talk to her. You two just make sure you're ready to go to Barentin in two days time." He left Gorric and Khir alone in the lounge.

  "You've never been to Barentin, have you?" Gorric asked his friend.

  "No. I hear it's not as nice as Tamriel."

  "It's busier. It's a trade town, always busy with markets and merchants."

  "It doesn't sound that inviting," stated Khir.

  "Well, you don't have to come just because my father asked you to."

  "I don't mind. It'll be an adventure of sorts."

  Gorric stretched. "I doubt it, Khir. I'm going to be stuck listening to father bartering with these so-called nobles."

  Khir grinned at Gorric. "I know, but I don't have to. I'm not going to become a noble speaker, am I? I plan to explore Barentin."

  Gorric exhaled deeply as he realised that he was not at all looking forward to their excursion to Barentin. In fact, Khir seemed to be looking forward to it more.

  Chapter 4

  The bell rang a second time.

  Rynn sprinted down the hallway, stumbling once as his long robes caught his feet. He had been eating his breakfast in the dining hall of the temple when he heard the first ring of Ranesch's bell. Knowing that the old cleric only rang the bell to summon him, Rynn was curious as to what chore Ranesch needed him for. Breakfast was usually the calmer period of the day and it was never interrupted.

  The acolyte reached the door to the cleric's chamber and found it wide open. Peering into the room beyond, he saw Ranesch standing with Forven. Both were silent as Rynn entered and he took a deep breath to prepare himself for what they had to say.

  Finally, Ranesch turned away and placed the bell on a nearby desk. Then, he looked back at Rynn, squinting as he always did when angry.

  "I have a new chore for you," he said. "It's a very important one."

  Rynn glanced at Forven, who smiled slightly.

  "Am I to be punished for something?" asked the young acolyte.

  "What?" Ranesch stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. "Why must you always think the worst?"

  "I just believed it to be a punishment, if breakfast was interrupted."

  Ranesch sighed. "I interrupted it because I have matters to attend to in Boraila soon and I needed to speak to you before I left."

  Rynn felt somewhat relieved. Ranesch may have been seventy years of age, but he was still a man of great strength. The broadness of his chest and arms was an indication of the power he must have had during his youth. His eyes were difficult to look into for too long and his gaze had been the cause of many tears from previous acolytes.

  "What can I do for you?" asked Rynn, smiling weakly.

  Ranesch swept his hand towards Forven. "The two of you are going to run an errand for me. Forven already knows about it and, after a somewhat lengthy discussion, he has persuaded me to let you go with him."

  "Thank me later, lad," smiled Forven, winking at Rynn.

  "I need you to go to Barentin. Their seasonal market is due to begin quite soon I understand and, as has been tradition for many years, we need to send someone there to purchase goods."

  Rynn became excited at the thought of leaving Boraila finally. "How will we be travelling there?"

  "By ship," answered Forven. "I've booked passage up the river on a trade barge. It leaves later this evening."

  "This evening?" Rynn shrugged. "Sounds fair."

  "This is not an excuse to shirk your responsibilities, Rynn," scowled Ranesch. "In fact, you need to be more aware of who you are when you visit Barentin. You represent the Temple of Ardan and must act accordingly. Is that understood?"

  "It is. I look forward to the journey."

  Ranesch turned to Forven. "You know what to acquire?"

  "I do," nodded Forven.

  "You have the coinage?"

  "I do."

  "Very well." Ranesch moved to stand before Rynn. "Be on your best behaviour, my boy. Listen to Forven and do as he says. Am I clear?"

  "Yes." Rynn tried to hold Ranesch's gaze, but felt the urge to look away.

  The old cleric leant close to speak quietly into his ear. "Do not disappoint me." With that, he stepped back and pointed at the door. "Both of you get out then. I have things to do you know."

  Rynn left the room, followed closely by Forven. As soon as they were out in the hallway, the door slammed shut behind them.

  "Thank you, Forven," grinned Rynn. "I can't believe that I'm going to Barentin. Finally, I get to leave Boraila for a while."

  "It's not going to be a particularly long adventure," Forven reminded him. "Barentin will be very busy and we'll need to keep our eyes open for the things we need."

  "I am curious about that. Why do we need to go all the way to Barentin for these goods? Why not simply go down into Boraila and buy them?"

  Forven smiled. "My dear Rynn, not everything can be found in our fair city. Sometimes, we need to go further afield to find what we are looking for."

  "What exactly are we looking for?"

  "Some special herbs, which only grow in the Darov Mountains, and we know that there is always a merchant there who sells parchment at a good price."

  Rynn frowned. "So we're going to Barentin for herbs and parchment? That's disappointing. I thought we may be purchasing more exciting items."

  As the two headed off slowly back towards the dining hall, Forven laughed. "What were you expecting us to find there? Dragon's teeth and books of the magical arts?"

  "Are there such things as books containing magical arts?" wondered Rynn outloud. "I had heard rumours."

  Forven shook his head in amusement. "You never cease to amaze me, Rynn. Your curiousity is unnatural. Yes, there are books which contain magic, but they are rare. Certain magic can be bound into parchment and then learnt at a later date. I do not know much about them though."

  "Do all of the older clerics use magic?" Rynn saw Forven's frown. "I mean, for healing or other temple activities of course."

  "Some are trained in those arts. Some cannot learn them so easily and are not permitted to use the ability."

  "Are you able to use it?" Rynn asked, casting a hopeful glance at the cleric.

  "No," sighed Forven. "I could never master it. Sometimes even healing magic is dangerous if not controlled."

  "When will I know whether I can use it?"

  "Not for another few years yet, lad. It takes wisdom and that comes with age."

  "I'm wise now," grinned the acolyte.

  Forven chuckled. "You are about as wise as Ranesch is happy and I haven't seen him smile…ever."

  Rynn thought for a moment. "I heard that there are people out there who use other magical arts too. Is that true?"

  "Yes, but you do not want to know any of them, lad."

  "Why not?"

  "Listen, Rynn, I'll tell you this, but only to warn you of it." Forven came to a halt, causing Rynn to stop also and pay attention to what he had to say. "Some of the magical arts can be used to heal wounds and cure illnesses. Some can even be used in prayer or ritual. However, there are magical arts in this world that can be used in many other ways. Some may say they control these abilities but, if used wrongly, it can be destructive and lethal. These arts are not to be taken lightly."

  Rynn nodded as he took in Forven's words. "I understand."

  Forven patted the acolyte on the shoulder. "Shall we prepare for our little adventure to Barentin then?"

  Rynn tried to imagine what Barentin would look like, but found it difficult. Having lived in Boraila all of his life, he found that his imagination suffered and his mind's picture of the trade town looked too familiar.

  He glanced at Forven as they headed down the hallway. "This will be the best errand I've ever ha
d to run."

  Talgan cast a nervous glance around the table, recognising all fifteen men who sat with him. They were all part of the Noble Council, the governing body of Vylandor and indeed the Rotian Kingdom. Not all of the council were present however. Several were noticably absent, including Celestius Orgillian who, in Talgan's eyes, was one of the more aggressive members of the council. He was also one of the closest to the king.

  He could hear the others talking about the reason they had been summoned to a sudden meeting, but all seemed to know about as much as Talgan did.

  The door to the meeting chambers opened and all eyes turned as King Afaron entered. The noblemen stood in respect. Once again, it was noticed by the nobles that Afaron had decided to attend in his evening attire of simple red tunic, trousers and shined black boots. The king preferred to shun the traditional robes of office.

  "Please, my friends, be seated," smiled Afaron, as he took his place at the head of the long table.

  "I see that my liege has opted to grow a beard again," chuckled one noble with a smirk.

  Afaron stroked the growth upon his chin. "Having been away from Vylandor for as long as I have, Jolas, I grew tired of shaving. Anyway, I believe it suits me."

  Jolas, one of the oldest members of the council at sixty-one, laughed. "Four years ago, you shaved the beard off because you believed it didn't suit you. Difficulty making up your mind?"

  Afaron's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. Only a handful of people spoke to him as Jolas did, but he enjoyed the banter with them. "I'll keep the beard until it has served its purpose." His face became more serious. "The reason I have called you here is to discuss the Rotian military." He allowed a moment for the nobles to mutter as they so often did amongst themselves.

  "I have journeyed along a route which took me south down the coast to Talabec and Sentir, then east to Kaeril. I wanted to see what state the military forces were in and I can see that there is room for improvement."

  Talgan leant forward with interest. "What are you proposing, sire?" he asked.

  Afaron looked across at the young nobleman and smiled. "Quite simply, Talgan, I believe that we need to train more men. There should be a steady flow of young soldiers emerging from each town and city, as there is in Vylandor. I visited the new recruits here before I left for Talabec and there were many good men amongst them, some with potential for future officer status.

  "I met one young soldier here by the name of Arlath Thellis. He is the son of Duke Thellis and had opted to come here to the capital to train. He's a natural leader, that one. I could tell as soon as I met him. He's just one of many though.

  When I went to Talabec, they had a reasonable number of soldiers based there, but I think that we have become somewhat lazy in our military matters. If ten thousand angry Skardans marched into the kingdom and attacked, I don't see many of our towns standing very long. We need to increase our defenses."

  There was a long pause before Jolas spoke up. "We are not in any immediate danger though."

  "That's true, but I'm looking to the future here."

  "It would be easy enough to begin training more recruits in each location," shrugged Jolas.

  Afaron nodded. "Talabec and Sentir are definitely key for this. I also want more men at Fort Calden and Turambar, when available. Plus, our border posts should be reinforced."

  Talgan felt his stomach knot. "Surely we are not expecting trouble from Morassia or Karnath, sire," he said.

  Afaron stared at him for a moment, making him uncomfortable.

  "It is just the next logical step. Nothing more."

  Talgan leant back in his chair and his mind drifted to the recent meeting with the dark foreigner. If more soldiers were sent north, whatever plans his associates had could be in jeopardy. However, he still did not know exactly what was being planned and the whole situation was beginning to unnerve him. During the several visits from the foreigner, he had been questioned about various aspects of the Rotian Kingdom. His interest seemed to have been focused on the northern lands and, with the most recent visit's topic being Barentin and the nearby border, Talgan knew that the imminent changes were going to begin within that region.

  He remembered back to when he had first met the strange foreigner. He had returned home one night after a particularly long and tedious meeting to find the man waiting for him in his chambers. Somehow, he had known of Talgan's lack of faith in the king and his council and he had explained of his people's plan to change the Rotian Kingdom for the better. Talgan had agreed to help them only when he had been told his eventual reward in the matter. He would be the only Rotian permitted to have power and sway. With this new power, he could shape things to his liking and hoped to be given control of the city.

  The only thing concerning him was that he did not know the intricate details of the foreigner's plans. How exactly were these associates of his going to take control of all the cities, towns and military within the kingdom? He assumed by the mannerisms of his contact that they would use force where need be and that anybody standing their ground would most likely be brushed to one side. Still, he wished he knew more.

  "I must make time to go to the other regions," stated Afaron to his council. "There is still work to be done in the kingdom."

  "What work do you speak of, sire?" asked Jolas.

  Afaron smiled at the old nobleman. "If I mention the name Naskador, what is the first thing that enters everyone's mind?"

  "Thieve's Capital." Jolas' response was followed by murmurs of agreement from the other members of the council.

  "Exactly." Afaron glanced around the table. "Naskador is a problem for this kingdom. Whilst we allow the thieves and robbers to work their dubious trade, the more honourable people of the city lose faith in us."

  "You cannot expect to cleanse the entire city of these thieves surely, sire," cried one of the nobles, a plump man garishly dressed in ill-fitting clothes. "We have talked about this action before and remember what happened to those poor souls we sent there."

  Afaron sighed impatiently. "I remember what happened, Karrid. I understand that the network the thieves have created is vast, but it is like a spider's web. Cut one strand and the rest remains in position, but cut the other strands one by the one and the web weakens until it collapses completely."

  "Most of the city guards in Naskador are too scared to even attempt any action," said Karrid.

  "Then we should think about training men to infiltrate this network. I want you all to give this some thought and we will discuss when the time is more appropriate."

  "What of the other regions then, sire?" Jolas prompted. "Are you planning to head out again and visit them soon?"

  "It takes time to travel to Kariska and Karthain. I will arrange to leave when my schedule allows it." Afaron could see the faces around the table beginning to tire. "I apologise for keeping you from your families this evening, gentlemen. Other matters can wait until morning."

  The noblemen slowly stood and began to leave the meeting chambers. Talgan was the first out of his chair and through the doorway. Jolas remained seated.

  "Something you wanted to speak about, my friend?" asked Afaron.

  "Celestius wanted me to apologise to you for his absence. He is busy making preparations to bring his son here."

  "Ah, yes. Young Gorric Orgillian is coming to Vylandor. I had quite forgotten. I look forward to meeting him finally."

  "Celestius is full of praise for his son and believes that he will make a fine speaker at this table."

  "Of course Celestius praises him, Jolas. What father would not want great things for his child?"

  Jolas smiled and raised an eyebrow at the king. "When exactly is our liege going to think about his heir?"

  Afaron shot the nobleman a dark look. "As I tell you each time you ask, I have too much to do at present. In two or three years time, I will give it some serious thought."

  "I do not mean to tell you how to run your life, sire, but the people are talking. Noble
men have offered their daughters to you and you have declined every time. The people want an heir, sire. What would happen if…" Jolas shook the thoughts from his head.

  "Speak your mind," ordered Afaron, seeing the old nobleman hesitate.

  "I am concerned that, if something were to happen to you, you would have no heir to take your place. You never know what is destined for you."

  Afaron chuckled. "My destiny is my own, my friend. I don't intend to get myself killed just yet."

  "With the talk about Naskador, sire, I was concerned that you might be in danger if you journey there."

  Afaron stood and placed a hand on the nobleman's shoulder. "Jolas, I promise you now that, upon my return, I will take one of these ladies as my wife and give you the heir you want."

  "Shall I arrange an audience so that you can meet these women? For your return, of course."

  Afaron grinned. "Of course. If it keeps you busy, then by all means go ahead. I look forward to it when I come back…alive."

  Jolas scowled at him, then bowed gracefully and left the chambers.

  Chapter 5

  Rain slowly began to fall in the early morning chill as the three riders reached the apex of the hill. They reined their horses to a halt and looked down at the trade town of Barentin.

  The town was situated on the banks of the River Ulmerien and the only way to reach it was by boat or by bridge, unless approached from the east. It was a substantial size, but was an ugly town, with buildings seemingly constructed wherever there was enough ground. The docks stretched along the river's north bank and many ships were moored there. These were no doubt merchant or passenger vessels.

  People could be seen moving around the streets, with wagons full of cargo being taken from the docks to the warehouses. A market was beginning to appear in the town square, which was situated near to the docks.

  "It does not look important," stated one of riders. He was a slight man, wearing a black tunic and trousers, with a long dark cloak that he pulled tight around his frame.

  "Rarely does a place of great importance impress, Balthus," growled a second rider, who wore blackened chain mail. He too wore a cloak, but this had upon it an emblem of a dragon's head. At his side hung a longsword, his left hand resting upon its hilt.