The Chalice

by Paul Latham

  "The theory of disunion."

  "Yes. Disunion brings prosperity through diversity." Shilandra rose gracefully to her feet and dropped the cloth to the table top. "That would be the theory anyway. In truth the Knights of the Cataclysm are merely agents supported by various political interests and merchants who would profit from 'diversity'."

  Velar sighed. Another obstacle. Another potential threat.

  "The Knights are led by Lady Gelai," Shilandra continued.

  Velar took another sip of wine. "Gelai."

  Shilandra nodded.

  "Would this Gelai know of your search for the Chalice?" Velar asked.

  A trace of something, perhaps fear, crossed her features. Slowly she nodded.

  "Then the revenant may have been sent to kill you," Velar stated.

  Shilandra drew the book from the folds of her robe and again nodded.

  "You play a dangerous game, Secultariate," Velar said.

  "It is not a game," Shilandra said. She went to a stack of books, selected several and returned to the table. "The Chalice represents power, true power."

  "And what do you plan to get from this, Shilandra?"

  She lowered herself into the chair opposite Velar and fixed him with a neutral glare. "What do you mean?"

  Velar shifted his legs beneath the table and leaned forward. "Do you expect to achieve anything when the Chalice is recovered?"

  "I still don't understand."

  "I cannot believe that " He paused searching for words. "Suppose the Chalice is found and placed in the Chancellor's hands. I somehow doubt that you will remain quietly in the background and keep your part in its discovery privy between you and me."

  She blinked. "Should I?"

  "That's not for me to say."

  "You question my motivations."

  "Yes, I do."

  Shilandra crossed her arms. "I can't say what this would bring me. To be honest, I haven't examined my motivations. I work towards a goal and will be satisfied with the consequences."

  Velar chuckled. "I somehow doubt that as well."

  Shilandra stiffened. "Why the . . . the audacity. Without me you will get no further than the others."

  "Without me, you will never see the Chalice."

  Shilandra launched to her feet. "You arrogant . . . "

  Velar slowly rose. "I'm just another one of your pawns in your strange little game." He smiled, somewhat strangely relieved.

  But then she smiled. "Is that what you think?" She stepped around the table and Velar turned to face her. "Just another pawn." She was close now. He could smell flowers again, see the traces of color in her hair and the light of her eyes. "I've researched the Chalice for years and I'm very close. But at this point you are nothing more than a hope." Her hands came up and her fingers slipped into his hair. Pulling him down, she kissed him quickly with soft lips. "As for being a pawn," she wrinkled her nose and shook his head slightly. "You should have such luck."

  Shilandra swirled away and Velar forced himself to breathe. Turning, his arms held up slightly, he found her standing, holding the door open.

  "Don't forget your vambrace," she said lightly.

  Velar turned and slowly retrieved the plate. He plodded to the door and paused. She stood there, smiling, one fist on a cocked hip.

  "I'll meet you at the compound in the morning with the information that you need," she said. "Goodnight."

  He had to say something, anything. He couldn't let her have the last word or last kiss for that matter. His head had been so clear.

  Must be the wine. Has to be the wine.

  Words wouldn't come. Finally, he nodded and stepped out into darkness and let Shilandra closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  "You're ready then?" Colmar asked.

  Velar shook his head as he adjusted Akeil's tack. "No sir. I must wait for some information."

  "Information."

  "Yes sir."

  "And where would this information hail from?"

  Velar pulled the cinch tight and glanced at his commander. He remembered Colmar's stated attitude toward the Secultariates and his heated exchange with Jocaris at the palace.

  "A Secultariate called Shilandra," Velar said, and waited. Colmar's eyes narrowed slightly but he said nothing. Velar moved to secure the travel packs at Akeil's flanks.

  "You still have gold?" the General asked.

  "He should have gold," Olad said as he approached. Bockril and Quanain followed close behind. "The wily bastard slipped out last night without paying for ales he owed."

  "He shouldn't be wasting gold trying to fill your bloated gut," Colmar remarked.

  "Ah, no sir, he shouldn't," Olad smiled. "But if he's willing?"

  "You'll be traveling north?" Bockril asked.

  Velar nodded. "I think so unless Shilandra gives cause not to."

  Olad pointed at the green patch visible beneath Velar's vambrace. "She got you, didn't she?"

  Velar lifted his arm. The thick paste had hardened to a pliable second skin, but the pain still lingered as a dull ache. Velar shrugged and smiled almost sheepishly. "She found us a bit of trouble, but we survived."

  Olad chuckled. Colmar frowned.

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "Nothing he couldn't handle obviously," Olad stated.

  "Olad, I grow weary of your impertinence," Colmar breathed.

  "And I grow weary of watching our own die needlessly."

  Colmar stepped forward. "Your standings within the Order are withering, Olad."

  Velar shook his head and sighed.

  Enough. More than enough. It was time to leave.

  Gripping Akeil's reins he lead his mount toward the entrance of the compound. The argument behind him grew in volume and intensity. Velar heard footsteps behind but did not turn to see who followed.

  "Velar?" Bockril said. Velar paused and waited. Bockril came up beside him.

  "I wanted to tell you, if you travel north, I have a sister in Morcre. She may be of assistance."

  "What city?"

  "Tymox. She owns a tavern there."

  "Her name?"

  "Ina."

  Velar nodded. "Thank you."

  Bockril smiled and extended his hand. "Luck and the gods be with you," he said.

  Velar took his hand and shook it firmly.

  Behind them, Olad let out of string of obscenities and Colmar answered in kind. Bockril shook his head. "Your faith is being tested, my friend."

  Velar gave a short laugh. "And what a test it is. I'm chartered to find something that may not exist, pointed in a direction that could be wrong, traveling under the shadow of those who have died before me."

  Bockril chuckled. "It does sound daunting."

  "Yes, but I am a knight of Anocren. I have been given a purpose and I must achieve that purpose."

  Bockril nodded. "Just try to stay alive while you’re achieving."

  They stood in silence for a moment. Velar sorted through a sudden flurry of emotions and admitted fear as one of them.

  But he was a knight of Anocren. The Grand Order.

  "Good morning gentlemen," Shilandra sang as she entered the gate.

  Velar had chosen not to consider this moment when he would see her again, glowing in the morning light as she moved towards him with the incredibly tantalizing yet indefinable grace of womanhood. He should choose to be calm, composed, denying the rush of heat and the chill of unknown feelings but that was impossible. He could never hide the desire and that frightened him. It was ludicrous. Her kiss had been a device, another of her tools to cast him off center and leave him confused. He was a pawn. No more than a hope.

  Such beauty, soft lips and gentle hands.

  Look to the sky. No. The ground. Anywhere but her eyes.

  "What's this?" she said. "The destroyer of revenants blushes at my approach. How terribly poetic."

  If he could be anywhere but here. The forest, the plains, anywhere.

  "Revenants," Bockril said. "
You were attacked by a revenant?"

  "Where is he, Velar?" Shilandra said, her voice almost a whisper. "Where is that brash warrior that twice defended me with such flare and confidence?"

  "What's this about revenants?" Bockril demanded.

  "Do you have the information?" Velar asked through a dry mouth.

  "Yes," she said. She smiled and that angered him. Slowly he lifted his eyes and met hers. Her smile faded.

  "Well?" he asked.

  Shilandra took a half-step back. "The text we recovered was the key. I was able to draw reference and calibrate the various possible locations and narrow them down based on established criteria."

  "Where is it?" Velar said flatly with a hint of force.

  "In the northern deserts," Shilandra said. "But not where the Prefect believes. There are temples in the foothills of the mountains of Darklight but most are forgotten."

  "I simply need the location, Shilandra."

  "The text refers to it only as the Canyon. It should be north and west of the ruined city."

  "Thank you,"

  "Velar, I intended no insult."

  "Then exactly what did you intend?"

  "I . . . I don't know."

  Velar shook his head and turned to mount Akeil.

  "I don't know, either," he said as he settled into the saddle.

  "Take care, Velar," Bockril said. "Give my love to Ina, if you see her that is."

  Velar nodded. "I will." He shifted his gaze to Shilandra and felt only a twinge of satisfaction from the suppressed look of panic on her features. "Good day, Secultariate."

  She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. Crossing her arms, she turned away. Bockril shook his head and smiled.

  Velar returned the smile as he urged Akeil through the gate and into the city.

  Chapter Nine

  He couldn't allow the factors involved to overwhelm him.

  Velar nodded to himself and lifted his eyes. Two days on the road traveling north and east along the banks of the great river Shaelon and only now the realization struck that his true goal was fairly simple. Recover the Chalice. At least until he accomplished his mission all the various facets of the situation remained unimportant. Shilandra and the Secultariates, Colmar and the Order, the Chancellor and his dreams all became shadows in the light of the actual goal. They sat sheltered within city walls and guarded palaces. Velar's failure would only cause dissatisfaction and perhaps a bit of remorse. Velar smiled. Those left in Sareon were no longer a consideration.

  The sky sparkled above, and the river gargled and flowed only a stone's throw away. Akeil still stepped strong and sure down the firm road, but nonetheless, Velar considered finding a suitable place to camp for the night. Pangs of hunger urged the consideration into an outright decision and Velar guided Akeil into the forest and dismounted. With quick efficiency, he made camp, imaging fire onto gathered wood and tethering Akeil amidst a patch of rich grasses. A meal of hard bread and cheeses eased the hunger as the sun kissed the horizon with red and orange passion and soon Velar shed his armor and reclined against a large tree, satisfied and weary.

  You forget.

  Velar's heavy eyes snapped open.

  Forget what?

  Not all considerations were left behind.

  Velar sighed and let his head rest against the tree.

  True. Very true. But the only consideration he truly counted would be the Knights of the Cataclysm and contemplation would be futile. He knew nothing more than what Shilandra had told him. An association dedicated to the disunion of the lands.

  "Politics," Olad would have scoffed. But in actuality, the reasons, whether political or commercial, meant little. They were the adversary and considered Velar a threat.

  Velar set a game board in his mind and assigned pieces to the players involved. It was a technique of Teacher's to puzzle through a problem, but the board would not set and the pieces all faced a myriad of directions. The Chalice hung like a nebulous cloud over the board and some pieces faced this cloud, but others faced him. No insight was forthcoming, and the certain observations left him uneasy.

  They commanded revenants, dead warriors dragged from heavens and hells to serve. Velar shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest. He could attribute his victory over one to luck. What if more came? What if many more came?

  A tingle crept into his wounded arm as a chill shot down his spine. Lifting his eyes, he quickly scanned the growing shadows for green eyes and dark forms. The sudden uneasiness held firm and he knew would follow him into sleep. But he was tired, and the journey had only begun.

  They watched.

  From the shadows. Waiting.

  Glowing eyes. Dark forms. Cruel laughter. And fire.

  Bitter, bitter fire.

  * * *

  On the fifth day it rained.

  Close to midday, Velar lead Akeil beneath the sheltering limbs of a massive tree to wait out the downpour. The cold seeped through his cloak and numbed his fingers and toes and he cursed no one in particular, except perhaps misery. And whatever god sent chilling rains to douse weary travelers.

  The border should only be another half-day's ride, Velar decided. A half-day's ride, that is, if the weather would hold. Another three or four days past the border, he would arrive at Tymox and beyond Tymox lay the northern deserts. Velar doubted the province of Morcre would give rise to any difficulties. The deserts on the other hand could offer a wealth of problems.

  He knew little of the Black Sands, the great expanse of desolation that covered the northeast corner of the Morcre. Stories and legends abounded but they were of little consequence. There were shrykes, strange beasts that roamed the sands hunted by men seeking profit from the creature's black and red hide. But again, the tales lay shaded by the tongues of bards desperate to entertain drunken clients.

  Velar shook his head. He was trying to think too far ahead. The border first. Then three days to Tymox where he would locate Bockril's sister, Ina. Perhaps she could offer information and advice as to dealing with the desert. Until then, the matter required little thought.

  "Come along, boy," Velar muttered and guided his mount to the road. "We still have a ways to go."

  * * *

  A cluster of weathered buildings clung desperately to the road. People moved from structure to structure or tended wagons and pack animals while others lounged in the early morning sun and observed the activity with occasional comment. Velar rode to the nearest wagon.

  "Is this the border?" he asked a man perched atop a precarious load of barrels.

  "Well, ah, actually you crossed it a span back," the man answered, motioning down the road. "You're afoot in Morcre now."

  Velar nodded. "Where can I buy provisions?"

  "We got extra," the man replied, stroking his stubble-ridden chin. "Hard meat and breads, you know. If you be paying." He squinted and cocked his head inquisitively. "Anocren? A knight of, I take it?"

  Akeil nickered at a passing mare and side-stepped anxiously. Velar tugged at the reins and drew his mount back to the wagon.

  "I'm of the Order, yes," Velar replied.

  "I never heard of the last one going back."

  "He never did as far as I know."

  "Oh. Well, more luck to you, Sir." The man carefully lowered himself from the stack of barrels. "I'll get your provisions."

  The man stepped into the shack and soon returned with a cloth sack that he offered up to Velar.

  "Would ten be too much to ask?" the man said.

  Velar opened the sack and examined the contents. The meat looked fresh, the breads free of growth. "Ten is fine," he said and dropped the bundle into a travel pack, then counted out ten gold into the man's palm.

  "My thanks, Sire," he said. "And remember to keep to this side of the river from here on north. Across the river is Eshlex and you shouldn't go there." The man's eyes suddenly widened. "Not that your abilities are lacking in any way, Sir."

  Velar held up a reassuring hand. "Have you
ever noticed individuals bearing an Eshlex standard either here or further north?"

  He shrugged and looked to his shifting feet. "On occasion." He lifted his eyes. "But chances are they wouldn't try nothing outside their own province."

  Velar nodded and looked to the northern road.

  "You're going that way, Sire?"

  "Yes, I am," Velar said and spurred Akeil forward.

  "Good day, Sire!" the man called out. "All the luck to you."

  Velar smiled and shook his head.

  All the luck.

  Chapter Ten

  They barred his way, spaced apart, their stances neutral.

  Did the others come this far? Only to be struck down by revenants on the road a day's ride into Morcre?

  Impossible to know, Velar decided, and perhaps even irrelevant.

  His options seemed few. He could attack and hope or run and deal with the consequences of guilt and cowardice. Very few options indeed and neither had much chance of success.

  Velar urged Akeil forward but the dark figures failed to react. Quickly, Velar worked to calm the flurry of expectation and fear that danced in his gut. His mind had to clear if he wanted to image effectively. With a minute tug of the reins, Akeil stopped and Velar drew his sword. The revenants stood as stone.

  Should he speak? Would they respond? Were they capable of responding? He knew so little of these creatures. A battle with one could have destroyed him, should have destroyed him and now he faced two. Velar truly wondered if perhaps one of those that went before lay somewhere close in a shallow grave. This was the only northbound road into Morcre. What better place to lay a trap?

  The revenant to Velar's right suddenly took a precise step forward. Velar braced himself and imaged his shield.

  But the revenant lifted his hand and pointed. East. Into the thicket of gnarled trees and thistle.

  Velar slowly turned his head in an attempt to keep the revenants in the corner of his eye and looked in the direction indicated. Through twisted limbs and clinging vines, a light could be seen.

  The true teeth of the trap? Velar shifted his gaze to the revenants. Probably not. They could destroy him now if they wished. Something else waited, something he needed to see.