The Chalice

by Paul Latham

  "Mine as well, Velar," Bockril said.

  Velar smiled but said nothing.

  "To success," Quanain toasted and they all raised their goblets.

  "Good evening, lord knights," a voice said. A woman's voice. Velar slowly lowered his ale and turned to the source. The woman leaned on his end of the table, a slight, sly smile gracing her lips. She wore a shimmering black gown trimmed in red, much like the robes Jocaris had worn. And she was beautiful. Emerald eyes and shoulder-length dark hair that curled under slightly at the tips, carefully framing her neck and face. Delicate features and a wonderful smile.

  Something very unfamiliar fluttered in Velar's chest.

  "Oh, by the Sands," Olad groaned. "Not tonight, Shilandra."

  "Oh, don't be difficult, Olad," she said. "All I want is information." Suddenly, her eyes shifted to Velar and her features fell to a frown. "What happened?" she said and the flutter in his chest exploded.

  His scar.

  Velar cast his eyes down at the table and tried desperately to stem the blush rising to his face. She would see it. See his scar in stark white detail and it would be all she could see.

  Her hand came up and with long, thin fingers she touched the marred surface of his face. Her cool fingertips ran gently across the ridges and folds of the scar as Velar slowly lifted his eyes.

  "It was a fire," she said, with an air of sympathy. "Wasn't it?"

  Velar nodded, almost nervously. "When I was young," he managed and dropped his eyes again.

  Her fingers fell away, and he wanted them to return. Quickly, he took a sloppy drink of ale and tried not to look.

  "Speak your business, Shilandra," Olad said through a mirthful grin.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "Well, you see, I lied. I not only need information, but I also need you to come along and be your intimidating self."

  "No," Olad said. "I still got scars from the last time I came along 'just to be intimidating'."

  "This isn't like last time."

  "No."

  "Olad," she pleaded. "I need help."

  "No, I said."

  Velar cleared his throat. "Lady, I might be of service."

  "Stay clear of this one, Velar," Olad said.

  Shilandra smiled and her gaze dropped to Velar.

  "You're the one."

  "Run, Velar," Olad whispered. "I'll knock her on her pretty little ass and you run like all the fiends of hell were on your back."

  "Hush, Olad," she snipped. "You've had your chance."

  Velar looked from Olad to Shilandra and back again. "I don't understand."

  "You’re big," she said, looking him over. "You could do." She drew closer and he caught the scent of flowers. "I have information. Or I will have if you help me. It could aid you in your quest."

  Velar shrugged. "Then I will help in any way I can."

  "Excellent." Shilandra gripped his free hand and pulled him from the table. "We must hurry."

  "Last chance, Velar," Olad called after, but he was laughing. "I swear, boy, we can take and maybe even hold her long enough for you to get out of the city."

  Bockril and Quanain joined in the guffaws as Shilandra led him through the door and onto the street.

  "Where are we going?" Velar asked.

  "I'll explain on the way," she said and, still gripping his hand, guided him deeper into the city.

  Chapter Six

  "You are the one," Shilandra asked. "Aren't you?"

  Velar frowned. He was lost again. The twisting streets confused him in daylight and the night made things worse.

  Pausing in the street, Shilandra released his hand and turned to face him. "Are you listening?" she said.

  Velar blinked. "Of course," he said. "One what?"

  "The one the Chancellor has chosen to seek the Chalice."

  "Uh, well, yes." Could news spread so quickly?

  "Do you know Jocaris?"

  Shilandra smiled and continued with quick steps filled with purpose. Velar had to hurry to catch up.

  "I am Secultariate, yes, but I have not had the honor of meeting the Prefect." She gave him a side-long glance dripping with charm. "But I have my sources."

  "Sources."

  "Yes, sources."

  Velar wondered who else had sources. If the political implications were as thick as Bockril had stated, then wouldn't other regents send agents? The extent of the competition suddenly appeared as an aspect Velar had not considered.

  "What sources?" Velar asked.

  "I cannot say," she replied firmly.

  "Why not?"

  "Because, some sources have no business being sources and I will not betray anyone who offered me knowledge in good faith."

  "Is that a Secultariate bylaw of some sort."

  She laughed. "No. But it should be. The populace believes the Secultariates are a political entity devoted to reunification when actually the order was founded on the principle that all knowledge is sacred and the source of true power. If I relinquish my sources to the first handsome knight that comes along, I lose face," she gave another curious glance “and power.”

  Velar almost tripped on a pebble in the street.

  Handsome?

  “Ah,” Shilandra said. “We're here.”

  They stood at the mouth of a dark alley. Brackish water swirled down the gutters and Velar heard laughter in the distance. The smells of rot and sewage struck them like a rolling barrier and Velar suppressed a shudder. Many a long night he spent huddled in just such a place, damp, wet and cold longing for the sun and denying the hunger.

  "It's dark," Shilandra said. "But I know the way."

  Velar extended his hand and imaged light. A bubble of blue-tinted iridescence bloomed from his hand and drifted up between them.

  "Oh," Shilandra commented, quickly drawing rein on her shocked expression. "That will do."

  "Why are we here?" Velar asked.

  "Well, you see, I paid a very fair price for a volume of text, actually one of the books discovered recently in the vaults of Melakra and the businessman I purchased it from has enhanced the price a bit. I refuse to pay."

  "And you wish me to intimidate him."

  "I will do all the talking. I simply have no desire to be alone with the man without an armed escort."

  Velar nodded. "You said this book could help me find the Chalice."

  "Yes, I did." Shilandra seemed fascinated with the sphere of light that danced between them. "I found reference to it in my own collection and when I heard of its discovery, I arranged to have it-"

  "Stolen," Velar interjected, and looked at her.

  Shilandra pressed her lips together firmly and put her fists to her hips. "Acquired. I arranged to have it acquired and transported here."

  "This man is a thief."

  "What right do you have to pass judgment before you meet him before you even know his name!"

  Velar shook his head. He had no right, but he did have a choice whether to associate with the man.

  "And besides," Shilandra continued. "You need the book as badly as I. Otherwise you'll go wandering off into the wilderness like the rest and die."

  True.

  Velar shook his head again and he swore he heard Teacher cackling wildly somewhere in the back of his mind. How quick he was to climb a pedestal and look down. Teacher had warned him time and time again of just such attitudes and at the first opportunity he fell in and wallowed in his own pride.

  This was a test truly worthy of Teacher.

  The truth, Velar, even the truest truth.

  Yes, Teacher, I know.

  "Lead on," Velar said. Shilandra nodded curtly and turned into the alley. Velar followed as his light weaved its way above them, casting the maggot-riddled garbage that banked the walls in eerie shades of blue. The length of the alley came to an abrupt halt and Shilandra made her way to the far-left corner, raised her fist and pounded on the door that Velar could see only when he stood directly behind her.

  "Remember," she said. "I will talk. Y
ou stand and make warrior faces."

  Velar lifted an eyebrow. "Warrior faces."

  Shilandra nodded. "That pinched, fierce look. Like you haven't visited the pits in days." She smiled sweetly.

  Velar sighed.

  The door inched open.

  "Yes?" came a deep, rattling voice.

  "I would speak with Tarigan Hawk," Shilandra said.

  The door swung away on the screech of oil-less hinges and Shilandra stepped inside. Velar let his light dissipate and followed.

  They followed a huge, dark man down a short dimly lit hall to another door. Velar could smell incense and remnants of fragrant cooking lingering in the air. The door opened and they all squinted against bright yellow light.

  "Come in," a cheerful voice said. Their large escort ushered them through.

  The room was large and plush. A hearth burned merrily on the far side while tapestries and art work covered the walls. In the center of the room rested a huge, ornate table surrounded by equally ornate chairs with thick cushions. At the head of the table sat the man Velar assumed to be Tarigan Hawk. He was thin and wiry with volumes of black hair and a thin beard and mustache. He wore a frilly shirt with a black leather vest and purple leggings as he sat reclined with his bare feet propped on the table top next to the remains of his evening meal.

  "Greetings Shilandra," he said. "And friend."

  "I want my book, Tarigan," Shilandra ordered, storming forward with her fists clenched.

  "I have stated my price."

  "And I have paid that price."

  The escort closed the door and turned to face Velar. He was almost a head taller and span wider, wearing black mail and spiked bracers. His head seemed proportionally small, his ears predominantly large and a huge gold ring threaded his nostrils and dangled over his upper lip.

  "I am Mog," the man said.

  "Velar."

  Mog nodded. "Nice scar."

  "Uh, thank you. Nice ring. But how do you eat?"

  "That's what the hole in the center is for," Mog said and grinned a battered smile.

  "The price was adjusted, dear Shilandra," Tarigan said. "And you, unfortunately have not complied."

  "I would rather bed down with a rotting beggar in the streets!"

  "Oh, please, my love. I have not a speckle of jealousy within me. Your other lovers are of no concern."

  "Pig! How dare you speak to me in such-" She stopped, took a breath, and smoothed her hands against her gown. "How dare you speak to me as such in front of my betrothed."

  Velar fought to keep his expression neutral. Mog suddenly frowned.

  "What?" Tarigan laughed. "You are to be mated to that?" He pointed at Velar.

  "I'd be careful not to insult him or me."

  "My dear, you should have told me. If that's all that stands in the way," he snapped his fingers. "Mog! Kill him."

  Mog shrugged. "Sorry, Friend."

  "What?" Shilandra shrieked. "Wait!"

  Velar nodded.

  Mog's hands came up for Velar's throat but Velar was already down to one knee. Cocking his arm, he put his fist into Mog's gut, then dropped his hand to the man's ankle and pulled. His feet came up and he fell to his back with a grunt. Velar scrambled up and across the expanse of Mog, gripped the nose ring and pulled, not enough to rip, but enough. Mog screamed.

  Shilandra smiled and spun back to face Tarigan. "The book, please."

  Tarigan sighed and let his chin fall to his chest. Reaching down, he retrieved a small leather-bound volume and tossed it to the table so that it slid to a stop in front of Shilandra.

  "Thank you," she said. The book quickly vanished into the folds of her gown. "We'll be leaving now."

  Tarigan lifted his head and looked to the fire. His elbow perched on the armrest as his fingers, closed in a loose fist, covered his lips. The firelight reflected in the moisture rimming his eyes.

  Shilandra hurried to the door. "We can go now," she said and stepped through the door.

  Velar gathered his feet under him then released the ring. Mog sighed with relief. Velar smiled. "Sorry, Friend."

  Mog half-lifted a hand in a wave of dismissal.

  Velar quickly followed Shilandra through the door.

  Chapter Seven

  They approached the mouth of the alley. Velar cast a glance over his shoulder. No one followed.

  "I think you lost a source," Velar said.

  "Tarigan wasn't a source," Shilandra scoffed. "He was a tool, a pawn that forgot his place."

  Velar smiled. "A pawn?"

  A chill fell down his spine. His hand went to his sword.

  Something was wrong.

  "What's the matter?" Shilandra asked, then spun in a tight circle. "What is it?"

  Velar pointed. In the street, amidst the shadowed grays of moonlight, a red point of light appeared and slowly grew.

  Velar drew his sword.

  The light took shape and the figure of a man became apparent. When the light faded, a warrior remained, armored in black, its eyes glowing bright green.

  "Blessed gods," Shilandra breathed. "A revenant."

  "A what?"

  The warrior's hand came up trailing green light. Velar stepped in front of Shilandra and imaged his shield as lances of green fire shot towards them and shattered against his blue barrier.

  "Get back," Velar hissed. Shilandra moved away. The revenant stepped forward, its movement fluid and unhurried as it slowly recovered a shining black sword from its sheath.

  Velar closed and waited. The revenant suddenly attacked with unexpected fury, but Velar parried the blow and spun bringing his weapon around to strike but found it blocked. Velar stepped back. The revenant circled.

  They clashed together trading blows and parries as they struggled for footing on the stone of the street. Velar heard the creak of bone and tasted the stench of the tomb as he twisted away. His lungs burned as he searched for an opening, for anything.

  Suddenly the creature's hand ejected a blaze of red ribbon that streaked to Velar and encircled his arm. It burned like fire and he felt his flesh blistering beneath his armor as the revenant pulled at the rope of energy drawing Velar closer. The green eyes flared and harsh, rasping sounds echoed from its throat. Velar made a wild swing with his sword and struck the revenant's helmet. Velar tried again with a backstroke. The creature's head snapped away and clanged on the street.

  But it continued to draw him in. Pain fogged Velar's vision. It felt like flames danced on the scorching bones of his arm. The revenant dropped his weapon and gripped the blade of Velar's sword, twisting it away. Its arms encircled him in a grotesque embrace and Velar gasped as the air evacuated his lungs and joints popped. And his arm, gods, his arm. Burning.

  Fire

  Destruction is simple. Creation

  Fires . . . image . . .

  Teacher . . .

  Image . . . fires . . .

  The revenant was burning. It released Velar and staggered back as black, putrid smoke poured from the creases and gaps of its armor and blue flames sparkled at its neck. Velar slumped to the ground gasping for air. Purple dragons danced before his vision and his stomach clenched.

  The revenant fell and shattered sending smoldering bits of armor skittering across the street.

  "Are you alright?"

  He looked up. Shilandra knelt and touched his face. The scarless side this time. Gods, she was so beautiful.

  "I just need my breath," he gasped, dropping his eyes. “I’m fine."

  "Come," she said, lifting his uninjured arm. "I have herbs and potions at my quarters that can help."

  With her help, Velar pushed to his feet. Shilandra retrieved his sword and they turned to make their way up the street.

  Velar chuckled and winced.

  "What?" Shilandra asked.

  "Nothing," Velar said. "I just hope that wasn't another pawn."

  Shilandra didn't laugh.

  * * *

  Pain pulsed like a heart against the tip of a dagger and
Velar attempted to corner it, find its central point and step away. In his mind he circled it with blue light, slowly shrank it to nothing and then only a dull ache remained. But pain hovered close, circling with steel talons and hot breath.

  No bones or ribs in particular were broken. But bruises would abound. And he didn’t want to look at his arm.

  Slowly he released the buckles that secured his forearm plate. This wouldn't be pleasant.

  "Wait," Shilandra said.

  Her quarters were small and cluttered with books and yesterday's clothes. Velar sat in a chair at a small table while Shilandra bustled about mixing herbs and minerals in wooden bowls. She placed a goblet before him, sprinkled a grayish powder into a pitcher of wine and filled the goblet.

  "Drink," she ordered and stepped around the table to retrieve a small vessel filled with a vibrant green paste. Returning to his side, she knelt beside him and gently lifted his wounded arm to the table. Velar gripped the goblet with his free hand and drank. Shilandra finished releasing the buckles.

  "This could be unpleasant," Shilandra commented.

  "To say the least," Velar replied and took another pull of wine.

  Suddenly, Shilandra set her fingertips to the edge of the vambrace and flipped it away with a wet, tearing sound. Velar spewed a mouth full of wine across the table and choked back a scream.

  "You could have warned me," Velar gasped.

  "Stop whining and hold still," Shilandra said, dipping her fingers into the green concoction. Quickly she began spreading the salve across the red, oozing area of his arm. "This will harden and be almost like a second skin. It should speed healing and ease the pain."

  The pain was subsiding. Velar watched her neatly cover the entire wound with one coat then a thicker second coat.

  "That was incredible," Shilandra said, smoothing down the edges of the blue patch. "I've never seen a revenant defeated. Not that I've seen that many revenants."

  "Why did it attack?"

  Shilandra shrugged. "The only reason would be the Chalice."

  "Why?"

  Shilandra cut her eyes to him as she found a square of cloth and began cleaning her fingers. "I take it you haven't heard of the Knights of the Cataclysm."

  "No."

  "The Knights of the Cataclysm believe that no one entity should rule all the lands."