The Silvering of Loran

by G. B. WREN

  * * *

  A knock on Rolam’s door so early in the morning was uncommon, but the loud noise persisted, nonetheless. Rolam resisted the urge to become conscious and turned away from the intrusive racket; he tugged tightly at his covers. Three more authoritative knocks nudged him awake.

  “Who is there?” Rolam shouted.

  “It’s Kelamar. There are matters I need to discuss with you.”

  Rolam squinted his eyes in the fading darkness of his room.

  “Come in.”

  Kelamar entered the room, and Rolam forced himself from his comfortable bed. He reached for his robe, draped at the foot of the canopy, and slipped into it.

  “It must be important, Kelamar, since I have never known you to give way to hysterics.”

  “It is, indeed.”

  Rolam yawned and motioned for Kelamar to join him at the timbered table near the entrance of his chamber.

  “The ascension of Gervest must not take place,” Kelamar blurted out. “I have observed you closely since Gilvius announced his intent to appoint Gervest as Sovereign. I do not believe I am misreading your agreement with my words.”

  “You have placed a great deal of confidence in your assessment, to now reveal your defiance of my father’s edict.”

  “I would not defy a proclamation of the sovereign if I believed it was made of his own clear mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone or something is exerting influence over him. It is familiar, from long ago, during the castle war,” Kelamar reflected, and searched his mind for the exact memory he could relate to Rolam.

  “Have you proof of this?” Rolam asked.

  “It is not so easily shown, but had Gilvius displayed his current condition more rapidly, we all would have been suspicious. As it is, the slow decay was deceiving—I believe to a purposeful intent.”

  Rolam considered Kelamar’s solemn words and rose from the table to pace, and with each step, the thoughts of revolt sickened him to the depth of his soul. How did we get here . . . to the edge of revolt? He thought. Rolam held great respect for Kelamar, but now he knew it was complete trust he must grant.

  “Gervest has recruited personal guards, whose loyalty to him is without question,” said Rolam.

  “I am aware. They are outside of my command, but that is not the worst of it. I have heard rumors of a separate force established in the Kileson province—their ranks reported to be near three thousand, and growing. They are under the control of Samuel Kileson, but they answer to Gervest’s bidding.”

  “How long have you known this?”

  “Not for long, those I trust have been gathering information, quite stealthily, over the past two months.”

  “I had no idea of the depth of Gervest’s ambition,” said Rolam, astonished at the boldness, but not the deceitfulness of his brother.

  “Nor did I. And I should have detected the signs sooner.”

  “What about the guards under your command, to whom do they give their allegiance?”

  “Your father has earned their loyalty, and this they will give with their blood.”

  Rolam returned to the table. As he sat rigidly upright, the fingers of his hands grasped the arms of his chair.

  “You want me to ascend in my brother’s place,” Rolam calmly stated.

  “I want what I know your father would—if his mind was free.”

  “Have you considered how we would accomplish this, with but a month before Gervest becomes the sovereign?

  “We must find a way, and we must do so without suspicion.”

  “We will need help,” Rolam proclaimed, with a hint of resolution in his eyes. “We need someone who will support our cause, and who is gifted with the complexities of strategy.”

  “By your look, I see you have already chosen an ally,” reasoned Kelamar.

  Rolam reached over and slapped his hand to Kelamar’s arm.

  “If I read her as well as you have me, we already have a valuable ally,” Rolam proclaimed, then retreated into his chamber. “I must get dressed, we have much to accomplish.”

  “Her?” Kelamar shouted.

  * * *

  None of the gazes of the workers traversing the main hall met with Loran’s eyes when she arrived among them—most had their eyes fixed on the floor, a few feet ahead of their steps. Depressed stares and a few snarls was their only company. Loran hesitated to reveal the joy she felt for her dream, feeling the others might find her glee inappropriate—smug or cruel—flaunting her status above their misery. Still, she imagined that her joy would be their joy if what she dreamt had the meaning she yearned for.

  Loran navigated the halls until she arrived a few yards from the doors of the library. The guards on either side of the entrance normally meant that the sovereign was occupying the room, but in these times, Loran took nothing as certain. Her father had not viewed his favorite books in months, but Gervest’s fascination with the library had long been a common theme in the subtle whispers of the castle—and Gervest rarely went anywhere without his personal guards close by. The last thing Loran wanted at this moment was a confrontation with her brother—not yet—so she walked briskly beyond the library entrance and put some distance from the guards’ observing eyes she felt piercing her back.

  * * *

  “Why didn’t you contact me the moment you found it missing?” snarled Penlaris, who was engaged in an intense conversation in the library with Gervest.

  “There was no need, the stones you gave me are still safely hidden, and without them, isn’t the silvering solution worthless?”

  “While you don’t require the silvering solution to command the blackened stones, you do need it to use the others . . . and since you have never undergone the silvering, you cannot obtain the solution on your own.”

  Gervest pulled the blackened stone from his pocket and displayed it before Penlaris.

  “I don’t need the other stones, I have this!”

  Penlaris walked to Gervest and plucked the stone from his hand.

  “This stone is but a small portion of the ability of the other blackened stones, but as I have explained to you, multiple times, there is a price for surging its power through you.” Penlaris grabbed Gervest’s arm and pulled his sleeve up to expose the bend of his arm. A prominent dark web pattern, with a small spindly spider’s body at its center—its long legs flexed outward—dominated the crease.

  “You have noticed how this mark darkens and spreads with greater use of the stone . . . yes?”

  Gervest pulled away assertively from his mentor and yanked his sleeve straight down his arm.

  “There is a price to pay for using the blackened stones,” reaffirmed Penlaris. “That is why their use must be stabilized by the other stones. While the silvering can heal the damage the blackened stone has ravaged on you, a trace of its use will always scar your flesh. I gave you the stones and silvering from their hiding place in this room, not just to prevent their use by your siblings, but to give you the means to heal yourself after repeatedly using this stone.” Penlaris held the blackened stone to Gervest’s face, before he returned it to his hand.

  Penlaris suddenly froze and started looking about the room.

  “You are sure the stones are secure?” Penlaris asked, while he attempted to sense if there was something detectable in the room.

  “Yes, I checked them just this morning.”

  “Has Topen appeared recently?”

  “Topen? It has been years since he was present in the castle.”

  “How many years?” Penlaris asked. His eyes sought in all directions as he sensed the room.

  “I’m not sure, is this important?” Gervest asked—agitated by the queries Penlaris spat out.

  Penlaris redirected his attention to Gervest after he was satisfied that his caution was unwarranted.

  “Never mind,” said Penlaris. He then retrieved a small bottle of silvering from underneath his cloak. “I trust you will take greater care of this replac
ement.”

  Gervest snapped the bottle from Penlaris’s hand.

  “I am not a child; do not propose to treat me as one.”

  Penlaris studied Gervest’s face for a moment. He recognized that Gervest savored his authority, more so as he neared the sovereignty. Caution and a gentler tactic to diffuse the friction between them are required, he determined.

  “No, you are not. You are going to be a great ruler of this land,” assured Penlaris. “I look forward to the day when you lay claim to your birthright.”

  Gervest took to the flattery, as Penlaris knew he would—acknowledging his words with an arrogant smile and a nod of his head.

  * * *

  Loran arrived at the entrance to the conservatory and peered into the room. In the early morning hours, Leanna would visit Tree—to receive a bouquet of flowers Tree had lovingly prepared for her to adorn her chambers.

  “I chose fresh lilacs this morning, because I know how much the sovereign enjoys their fragrance,” said Tree, “and some angel wing jasmine to brighten his spirit.”

  “Your bouquets always brighten his spirit, Tree,” assured Leanna.

  Tree savored the complement, but acted embarrassed by Leanna’s words. She patted Leanna’s hand and scampered off among her plants.

  Loran arrived at her mother’s side; the excitement she radiated was intense. She grabbed her mother and hugged her so vigorously that Leanna feared the bouquet in her hands would be crushed.

  “He heard us!” Loran announced. “He heard us,” she repeated when she pulled back to meet Leanna’s eyes.

  “Topen? Has he arrived?” Leanna eagerly asked.

  “No, but I saw him in my dream. I was there at his estate, the one in the painting.”

  Leanna checked the room to confirm they were alone, that prying eyes who reported to Gervest were not present.

  “I do not wish to dismiss your enthusiasm, but Holt’s painting was completed by your description, and you have not visited Topen’s realm.”

  “I know it sounds like hopeful wishes, but this was different. I have never dreamt like this before. I felt the wind bristling over Daramose as he ran, I heard the clocks ticking in the room Topen occupied, and I could smell Topen’s scent—carried with his sweat at the end of his lengthy day. I was there!” Loran insisted.

  “Then, we must be astutely aware should he arrive soon. We must be the first ones to greet him, before word of his arrival reaches Gervest.”

  Leanna was not entirely convinced that Loran had visited Topen’s manor in her dream, but she also was not entirely convinced that she did not.

  “You must now keep your stone with you at all times, and try to avoid being in the presence of others, but for the brief time necessary to transition to solitude. Topen, when he arrives, will appear close to the stone.”

  Loran nodded, embraced her mother again, and turned to rush from the conservatory.

  “Where will you be?” asked Leanna.

  “Unless I’m summoned, I will be alone in my chamber,” stated Loran, and quickened her pace.

  * * *

  Rolam and Kelamar advanced through the main hall, exchanging whispers between them as Loran approached. She passed to her brother and uncle a bright smile as she neared.

  “A pleasant morning to you,” said Loran, then swiftly passed by them.

  “Loran, wait!” yelled Rolam. “We need to speak with you.”

  Loran stopped and waited for them to catch up to her, but she felt anxiety creeping up with every moment of her delay.

  “I have pressing concerns at this time, can this matter wait?” implored Loran.

  “Not for long, I fear,” Rolam replied.

  The sincerity and determination in Rolam’s eyes was more intense than Loran had ever witnessed. She assumed that there must be great importance in his request.

  “I’m on my way to my chamber. If you could give me a little time to attend to a personal matter, we can discuss your need then.”

  Rolam nodded affirmatively, and Loran continued her journey toward the chamber staircase.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Kelamar. “Loran possesses impressive qualities, but the task we seek to accomplish treads along a very precarious path.”

  Rolam smiled at Kelamar’s concerned words while he watched his sister traverse the main hall.

  “Have you ever seen Loran ride her horse in the forest?”

  “I don’t recall that I have.”

  “You have my assurance,” said Rolam, “Loran is quite experienced in navigating precarious paths.”

  * * *

  Loran arrived at her chamber door and saw it was ajar. She carefully pushed it open to view the room before entering.

  “I did not want you to be startled upon your return,” said Topen. He stood looking at the paintings on her wall—including the one of him on the mountain. Loran had, in her haste to reach her mother, forgotten to return it to the hidden dwelling. “So, I left the door unlatched.”

  Topen studied Loran where she stood in the entry. His eyes, for the first time, took in the woman she had become—replacing the image of the girl he had last seen.

  “I see in my absence you have claimed the same virtue of your mother’s loveliness as your own. I am pleased to once again see the depth of your green eyes.”

  Loran felt a familiar twinge of gratification at Topen’s words, but something was different. He was no longer a distant figure, alive just in her imaginings. They now appeared to be near the same age, and Loran recognized the promise of what that could mean.

  Loran struggled to utter a single one of the many questions that flooded her mind, but when she focused on Topen’s appearance, the need for an answer to her first question was intimately personal.

  “Why, in all the time I have known you, the years have not laid claim to your face? Is there some magic that keeps you young?”

  “Not even magic can halt the progression of time.”

  “Are you trying to evade my question?”

  “I will not elude any question you may pose, but I must first understand the method you used to activate your magical stone.”

  Abruptly, Loran realized that Rolam and Kelamar would arrive in moments. She closed her door and rushed into the room.

  “Forgive my brevity, but your help is very much needed. However, right now, you must hide in the other room. It is imperative that no one else know you have arrived in the castle.”

  “Why is there need for such secrecy?” Topen asked.

  A solid knock on Loran’s chamber door rang out.

  “Please! Find a place to be concealed,” pleaded Loran.

  “There is no need for concern,” said Topen as he retrieved Loran’s magical stone from his cloak.

  Loran knew every nuance of the stone she had held every day since she was twelve.

  “How did you find that?”

  Two more solid blows slammed against the door.

  “Yes, use the stone!” she urged.

  Topen pressed his thumb into the indentation of the stone and faded from view.

  “A moment,” Loran shouted toward her chamber door—then she realized Topen did not use any silvering solution on the stone.

  “Why did the stone not require the solution to activate?”

  “There is much you have yet to be told,” Topen’s disembodied voice echoed into the room. “Perhaps now is not the best time for an explanation.”

  While he was correct, Topen’s calm delivery amused Loran. She just shook her head and turned to the entrance of her chamber. “Enter,” she yelled out.

  Rolam swung the door open and Kelamar followed him inside.

  “Now, what is this matter that is pressing so urgently on your minds?” asked Loran.

  “Rolam insists that you possess the skills and cleverness needed to help prevent the tragedy nearly upon us,” said Kelamar.

  “Tragedy?” Loran quizzed.

  “Loran, when we spoke in the alcove, I sense
d you were already working on a strategy that would prevent Gervest from becoming sovereign. Was I wrong?” Rolam asked.

  Now that Topen had arrived, Loran questioned the need to remain silent—at least to the two men standing before her. It was clear that forming alliances was necessary and Loran could think of no allies more trustworthy than Rolam and Kelamar. Still, she did not feel right disclosing her current course of action until Leanna was present.

  “I told you that I believe you should be sovereign,” Loran began. “Now that I see you and Kelamar are united, I feel it is time to join all of those with similar beliefs.”

  Loran walked to where she knew Topen last stood. With her back to the others, she stared at the spot that would be his eyes, if they were visible.

  “I don’t believe that Gervest’s nature is his own. Something very powerful has corrupted him,” she said.

  Through his ghostly form, Topen focused on Loran’s somber eyes and watched as she turned back to Rolam.

  “Did you intend to act upon this feeling on your own?” Kelamar asked. “That is not a strategy worthy of Rolam’s boast.”

  “Let us meet tonight, here in my chamber, after all have retired,” said Loran. “Another will be told of our meeting, and when we have all gathered, we will uncover our knowledge to each other. Without trust, we have no hope.”

  “Agreed,” said Rolam. With a nod from Kelamar, the men made their way out of Loran’s chamber.

  Topen reappeared moments after Rolam secured the door behind him.

  “Why do you think there is an influence governing Gervest?” Topen asked.

  “My mother suspected it first, and she bore her concerns to me. We have been seeking your help ever since.”

  “Leanna has the means to contact me, why didn’t she use the communication stone I left in her possession?”

  “It had been removed from its secure location. We don’t know where it is.”

  “How were you able to activate your stone?”

  “Leanna gave me the silvering solution she had in her possession, and she revealed to me that I am magical.” Loran moved to her bed and slipped her hand under a corner of the stout wooden frame. When she brought it back into view, she was holding the silvering book—that she took and placed in Topen’s hand. “She also gave me this in the hope that I could learn the secret of the silvering.”