Gorric looked up at him and saw the emotion in his friend’s eyes. “Is that what you are doing? I see the reluctance in you still to join the ranks.”
“I am no soldier,” growled Khir, as loud as he dared. “The image of my arrow killing that foreigner beneath Turambar still haunts me when I close my eyes. How could I cope taking more lives?”
“Do you not wish to take revenge on those who burned Tamriel to the ground?”
Khir sighed. “I wish to see my parents alive and well. I’m not interested in revenge and neither should you be.” The forester’s son turned to leave. “Every day, I regret taking that man’s life, Gorric. What I do here in Vylandor at least keeps my mind somewhat focused, otherwise I fear I would be driven insane with thoughts of what we have endured.”
Gorric watched Khir leave the quarters and cursed himself silently for not taking the time to consider how his friend still felt. He would spend the day’s leave with Khir and Kithia, to show them that he still cared. Then, when he returned to the barracks, he would continue to push for his place in the ranks of the Rotian army.
As he removed his armour as quickly as he could, Gorric thought of something his father used to say repeatedly back in Tamriel when he was growing up.
Time is the best healer.
Considering everything that he and the others had been through, he hoped that those words would prove true for them.
After making sure that his possessions were all stored away, in case Devanor decided to surprise them with another unexpected inspection, Gorric headed for the door. In the corridor outside their quarters, he saw Khir standing with Devanor. As he approached, he noticed the stunned look on his friend’s face.
“Has leave been cancelled already?” he asked with an uncertain smile.
Devanor turned to regard him, eyes filled with sadness. “I’m afraid so, lad. King Afaron is dead.”
Chapter 34
Balthus had noticed the change amongst the men in Boraila. During his frequent walks through the streets once bustling with Rotians, he would see smiles on the faces of the soldiers and hear cheering as he passed. Their mood had lifted but his unfortunately had not.
Since learning of the plan that Sephonis had concocted to kill the Rotian king, the invoker had been somewhat reluctant to visit the temple on the hill as often. When he saw what had become of the prisoners being held below the temple, he had felt disgust yet his expression had remained placid. Sephonis had watched him intently during their time visiting the prisoners.
The fact that the Rotians had been tainted with demonic entities told Balthus that it was not Sephonis who had decided on this course of action. It was the Dar’ota, who Balthus knew had links to the unholy. The question remained as to why the Dar’ota felt that they needed these Tainted to help them during the invasion. It did however answer the query as to how Sephonis was watching the northern border of the kingdom.
How many Tainted now roamed Boraila or the surrounding countryside? The thought was unsettling. Balthus had even now begun to doubt whether Sephonis was still a man of flesh and blood. The high mage would one day appear as the gaunt, frail Shada-Kavielian but the next his appearance would have altered to resemble something more unnatural. Balthus had seen the strange black veins that seemed to pulse below Sephonis’ pale skin.
The invoker was also concerned by the fact that Saroth had robbed him of his vengeance against the one who had scarred him. He wished that he had been permitted to accompany Saroth when he last visited the Rotian capital, so that he could have seen it happen at least.
Troubled by these thoughts, Balthus began the long walk up the hill towards the temple. He had been summoned by Sephonis and was aware that Draliak had returned recently. No doubt it was good news as he had seen some of the commander’s men in the city and they were in high spirits.
He continued up the hill, occasionally glancing back down to the city. Dusk was upon them and the sky over the ocean was an array of dark blue mixed with red and orange. The icy wind was blowing once more and Balthus pulled his cloak tight around his body, unable to stop himself shivering.
He reached the temple and, despite his reluctance to be within its walls again, he was glad to be out of the biting cold. He made his way through the silent corridors, passing the door leading to the cellar. He recalled the vacant expressions on the faces of the Rotian prisoners as he was shown them by Sephonis. The way they had then changed upon the high mage’s command, their faces contorting as the Tainted took control, still made him shudder.
Balthus entered the usual meeting chamber and bowed as he saw Sephonis standing before him. Behind the high mage, he saw Draliak and Saroth deep in conversation.
“Commander,” called Sephonis, his voice soft and steady. “Now that Balthus has joined us, please repeat what you told me.”
Balthus saw that Sephonis’ face was wholly Shada-Kavielian and allowed himself to relax slightly.
“The Rotian king, Afaron, is dead,” announced Draliak, almost nonchalantly. “We also destroyed a number of their soldiers when they crossed the bridge to the east of Turambar.”
“Then your plan worked, high mage,” said Balthus. “I congratulate you, Saroth, on your success too.”
“However you persuaded those Rotians from the fortress to betray their own people, it was a bold strategy and one that has given us the victory we desired.” Draliak lifted a bronze goblet from a nearby table and raised it in Sephonis’ direction.
Balthus wondered whether the commander would be offering so much praise if he knew exactly what those Rotian men had actually been. Draliak had mentioned several times before that he did not trust the dark arts. To learn that Tainted were wandering amongst his men would certainly cause the commander much discomfort and, for a moment, Balthus considered accidentally mentioning it. However, something in Sephonis’ eyes warned him to remain silent.
“You saw the king die?” Balthus asked Saroth.
The assassin gave him a cold smile. “It was I who killed him.”
Draliak took a long swig of the wine in his goblet. “You are certain that the Rotian traitors were dead before you escaped?”
“Yes,” Saroth replied. “Very certain.”
Balthus saw an exchange of looks between Saroth and Sephonis. The assassin had needed to know that he was to be fighting alongside the Tainted but there had been no change in his expression when Sephonis had explained the plan to him. Balthus simply could not read what Saroth was thinking and it was a trait that the invoker both respected and yet feared in the man.
Sephonis walked into the centre of the chamber. “The Rotian king has been slain, Vortain’s Tyllasi are causing panic along the coastal settlements just south of the river mouth and we hold the north of the kingdom. The first stage of our plan is complete.”
“Vortain is behaving still?” asked Draliak, not hiding his distaste at having to speak the Tyllasi’s name.
“He has been useful so far,” replied the high mage. “He behaves like a Tyllasi but he will not cause us any problems whilst his men are focused on their attacks. He will arrive back in Boraila soon but I will meet with him in private to discuss his part in the next stage.”
“With their king dead, will we now strike out into the southern lands?” Balthus wanted to show his enthusiasm, which he hoped would lead to Sephonis entrusting him to once more venture from the port city.
“We will see what the Rotian reaction to this news is first,” said Sephonis. “I may send Saroth back to Vylandor to speak once more with Talgan Akalla but I feel that there will be a period of uncertainty amongst the Rotians. It is during this period that we will gather our resources in preparation for the next stage. By the time they try to repel us, we will be too strong for them and they will have no choice but to fall back to defensive positions south of the river.
They will most likely use the city of Ashgar to gather their main force but, even with their greater numbers, we will still overpower them.”
&nb
sp; “What of the city on the river at the base of the mountains to the east?” asked Balthus.
“Naskador?” Draliak laughed. “I hear that it is at war with itself.”
Sephonis nodded in agreement. “True. Naskador has many problems. It is not of great concern to us at this time.”
“Naskador could offer us some prospects,” Saroth noted. “They have many people there who do not care what task they are given as long as they are paid.”
“You’re suggesting we use these criminals?” Draliak asked him, finding the suggestion amusing.
Saroth ignored the commander’s smirk. “They may have worthwhile information.”
Balthus felt compelled to speak. “High mage, may I ask what you would have me do during the coming days?”
“Of course.” Sephonis’ eyes narrowed. “How much do you know about the kingdom’s southern region?”
Chapter 35
Rynn leant against the battlement, staring out to the north of Vylandor.
The first snow had started to fall soon after Ilkar had brought the body of Afaron back to the city. The land surrounding the capital was glistening white and the acolyte was thankful to Ardan that the snow had at least held off long enough to ensure Ilkar and the other soldiers had returned safely.
The king’s funeral had occurred three days previous but Rynn had been advised to remain at Jolas’ estate with Varayan. Gorric and Khir had attended with the rest of the recruits, guardsmen and soldiers from the city but Rynn had not seen any of his friends since the somber event. The city itself was in mourning and the council had locked themselves away in their meeting chambers, discussing what to do now that Afaron had been murdered.
Looking behind him at the snow-covered rooves, Rynn shivered. It was more the eerie atmosphere that had settled over Vylandor than the cold that was affecting him. Since the funeral, an utter silence had fallen over the city and he could now even hear the sheep bleating in one of the nearby fields.
The acolyte was wearing his white robes for the first time in days but it was mainly to keep him warm as he had ascended to the city ramparts. The guards had been distracted and did not even try to stop him.
As he turned to survey the land in all directions, Rynn could not help but compare the moment to when he used to stand atop the temple in Boraila as dawn broke, watching the port slowly awaken. The ocean still lay to the west but that was the only similarity to his home. When he had last stood on the roof of the temple, Forven, Ranesch and the rest of his order had been alive. The kingdom was unaware at that time of the shadow that was to be cast over it. Barentin and Tamriel both stood proudly in the north.
He had made the decision that he had to leave Vylandor soon, so as to travel to Kariska to see his parents. They would not stay there forever and would leave soon to head back north, unless they knew what had happened. Even if they had heard reports of the invasion, he still needed to let them know he was alive. He did not plan on staying in Kariska and would persuade them to return to Vylandor with him. After all, he could not bear to leave Kithia behind.
He felt a surge of warmth pass through his body and looked down at his hands. The skin seemed to glow a golden hue and he glanced nervously around but no guards wandered nearby. After a moment, the glow faded but he could feel his arm tingling. Ever since he had decided to embrace the changes that had occurred within him after reading the scrolls, Rynn had been documenting any unusual traits or abilities that arose. He was determined to understand the magic that had been passed to him but he still did not know whether it would be permanent and only time could tell him that.
Taking a deep breath of freezing air into his lungs, Rynn looked back to the north. Dark grey clouds hung over the kingdom in that direction and he imagined the snow burying the dead who had been left in the wake of the invading army. It would not be long before they appeared on the horizon wearing the blackened armour that would strike fear into the hearts of so many Rotians.
Rynn shook the thought from his head. He wanted to believe that there would be a defiant roar from the Rotian people that would echo across the land, heralding the retaliation against the dark army inhabiting the north.
For now, the kingdom remained silent.
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