The next three days were spent working, preparing for the ceremony, moving the belongings of Imen and Las into their new huts, and each reviewing the business of the person whose position they were to take. During the afternoon of the first day, both the Lady Moren and the Lord Forgotten Man returned, bringing news of their journeys to Aicatan and to spreading the tragic news and warning to the Followers.
“Hail, Lord Imen!” panted the Lady Moren, nearly collapsing on one of the stones. “Hail!” came the unnoticed reply from the Lord Forgotten Man as he stood, half asleep, next to the Lady Moren. Immediately Las came to their sides, two pitchers of water in her hands.
“Hail, Lady Moren, Lord Forgotten Man,” said Imen, slowly turning toward them, breaking his gaze from the valley. “What news do you bring from Aicatan, Lady?”
Drinking half the pitcher in one gulp, unceremoniously pouring the rest over her head, she caught her breath. “To call it either good or bad would be to look at it in the broadest sense,” she said. “The Cabinet was, of course, skeptical. However, the opening of the Tunnel did give way to a general concern among them.”
The Forgotten Man slowly gulped his water down, yawning. “What did they do, or have they yet to decide?” asked Las.
Moren laughed. “With a little help, I might be able to bring them to a quicker, more favorable decision. They do not know what to do about the main body of our armies, they being occupied with other matters, but according to ancient laws, one hundred men from each of the main Islands, along with any who of free will choose to aid us, are to be mobilized on demand and put in the command of the Great High Priest. The company from the Red Island should arrive at the foot of the mountain within a few days.
Imen shrugged. “That can be expected, although we shall need much more than five hundred if we expect to ward off the invasion.”
“Invasion?” asked Moren. “That is why I was sent to Aicatan? Knowing that, I could have convinced the Cabinet to mobilize quite a few more from among the armies. Any idea on who is attacking?”
Imen shook his head, his face grim. “The worst has happened. Orlek is alive, and will most likely wish to return.”
Moren’s face turned white, her studies of history as a child coming back to her memory. “Orlek?” she asked, her voice shuddering. “Was he not killed, many years ago?”
Imen nodded. “That he was.” He paused. “Twice.” He then, with the help of Las and Arum, recounted what he had told Las the day before, as well as what happened on the other Islands. When they had finished, Moren pushed herself up off the stone. “It seems as though great tragedies have struck all of us, Lord Arum. However, I envy not your new position.”
Arum solemnly nodded. “Indeed, tragedies strike all of us. Every Priest on the Five Islands by now grieves with you, feeling your loss as their own.”
Moren pushed her long, dark brown hair back with her hands, squeezing the water out of it. “Such is my story,” she said, “with one small hope. More discouraging is the account of the Lord Forgotten Man, if you wish to hear it.”
All looked toward the Forgotten Man, who by this time was beginning to doze off. At the sound of his name, he groggily opened his eyes, yawning. He stared blankly at the rest of the group.
“My story,” he droned in a low, monotone voice typical of a creature that has not slept well, “might be similar to that of the Lady Moren, yet much more disturbing. The Priests of this Island might be the youngest our history has seen, but must they be the weakest, the most skeptical and power hungry? Rejection. That is all I received for warning the Priests. Of course, they were courteous, as is customary to a priest of higher seniority, but their unbelief was tangible, even through the front of respect. Of the ten, only one I could discern actually believed my story and agreed to give us any help. He said he would warn the Followers under his care and have them make standard preparations.”
“The others?” asked Imen, taking in what had been said, evaluating his next action.
The Forgotten Man yawned, sipping water once more. “They tried to sound as helpful as they could. Empty words. They agreed to talk to the Followers under them. The next time I come to them, a general consensus of the Followers’ opinions on the matter will be given to me. They would promise me nothing more.”
Imen solemnly nodded at the report of the Forgotten Man. Erasen gritted his teeth, suppressing his anger at the backslidden priests, a few of whom had been his best friends during his earlier years of studying for the Priesthood.
“’Tis grievous news you bring us, Lord Forgotten Man,” said Imen. “It will make our task much harder. It might be too late for some people. I believe I shall meet with some of our ‘Priests’ soon.”
“Who, pray tell, was that one good Priest?” inquired Las. “He might be of some help to us.”
The Forgotten Man pinched himself, trying to keep awake. “Interesting that you of all people would ask, my Lady. He inquired into your well being. He was the youngest of the Priests. His name was Eroz.”
Both Las and Imen nodded, smiling in spite of the ill news. “Eroz?” said Imen. “How could one forget a pupil such as Lord Eroz?”
“A pupil,” explained Las, “studying for the Priesthood two years ago. As good a man and Priest as one could ever meet. After being ordained, he was sent to do work away from the mountain. I must have caught his eye. Never could stand looking at him, however. A likeable person, but he had such a horrid face.” All six laughed, the Forgotten Man in his fatigue managing to chuckle somewhat.
“Although I have seen naught of him in my last year here as a pupil,” said the Forgotten Man, “then after my work on the Island, as a Priest, I still saw nothing of him.”
Las, having finally regained her breath, leaned against the rock wall. “You may tell him, then, when you return that I still think his face to be quite ugly.”
More laughter ensued. When the laughter died down, all present fell silent for a few minutes, each deep in their own thoughts. It was Moren who decided to break the silence.
“The dawn after the ceremonies have been completed, I will leave to prod the Cabinet to make a quicker decision.” Imen shook his head. “No. I shall go. I am to be the Lord Aio. Not only is it my right and duty, my presence in my new position might just offer them more incentive to act.”
“Nay, lord,” said Arum. “If anyone is to go, it is I. It is not customary for the Great High Priest to serve the function of his own messenger, except in time when the positional influence or use of magic is completely necessary.”
“Neither is it customary for a messenger, regardless of his level in the Priesthood, to serve such a function on the Island of another High Priest. To report of happenings on the Red Island would not only be highly improper, but would no doubt push us farther back then where we started. If I am not to go, a messenger from this Island will be sent.”
Las cut in with her opinion. “If we are to follow the customs of the Priesthood to the letter, I would be the one to go. As the new High Priestess of this Island, my word is to be honored as having come from the Great High Priest and the Ai Himself, and might be enough to sway the opinions of more than a few members of the Cabinet. Your place, Lord Imen called Aio, is where you are, sitting on that stone. My work is to this Island. Your responsibility is to the entire Five Islands, and mine to just this one.”
“She is right, Lord Aio,” said Erasen somewhat timidly. “If I may be so bold as to speak, my Lord, you will be needed for the managing of the affairs of the Five Islands combined. The affairs of this Island might need close attention as well, but that would be the duty of the High Priestess and Priests of this Island.”
“Very well then,” said Imen, a bit cross at having been corrected by his soon-to-be pupils. “It shall be the Lady Las.” He got up from his seat on the stone. “I have yet more moving of materials from my hut to my new hut to finish before the day is out.” He looked over at the Forgotten Man. “If I were that poor Priest,” he said, loud enough to wake the sleepin
g priest, “I would wake up for a time long enough so that I could be accompanied by the new Great High Priest to my hut where sleep would be slightly more comfortable than on such a cold, hard stone.”
Imen achieved more than the desired effect. The Forgotten Man, having been shocked awake at the loud voice of the new Great High Priest, immediately jumped, his cloak falling out of place. He quickly bowed to Imen, causing his cloak to fall completely over his head. While struggling to get it off, he tripped, falling face first on the ground, entangled even more in the folds of his cloak.
The others laughed, helping him to his feet and removing the cloak from him. The exhaustedand embarrassedpriest quickly grabbed his cloak from them, folded it over his arm, and red-faced walked up the trail to the huts with Imen.
“If a man’s character is not clear to you,
look at his friends.”
- The Book of Faith
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Calderon woke with a start. Sunlight was beginning to filter through the patched material over the window that was considered a curtain. He sat up quickly and looked to see if Velkyn or Donovan were up. He could tell by their rhythmic breathing they were still sleeping. It had been his turn to watch the door. It seemed that his disorder had reared its ugly head again.
Calderon went to stand up and almost screamed out. A horrible burning pain shot through his legs and lower back. He gave up trying to move and realized this was most likely caused by gripping the horse with his legs the day before. He grit his teeth and tried hard not to move at all, hoping vainly that if his legs were still he wouldn’t feel the pain.
“Mother of Faith!” Velkyn swore loudly. Calderon realized his friend must be experiencing the same feeling of pain. “I can’t move!” He didn’t bother to respond. He noticed Donovan was awake now as well. “What’s going on?” the old man asked as he rolled out of bed, seeming unbothered by any pain himself.
“My legs are on fire!” Calderon yelped. Donovan chuckled knowingly. “I forgot you two have never ridden before. Unless the inn has any salve, we may lose a day to let you two recuperate. I’ll ask when we …” he paused mid-sentence as he looked around the room. “Where are our bags?” he asked suddenly. Calderon and Velkyn forced themselves out of bed against their bodies’ protest. Their bags, which they had set on the floor next to the single chair in the room were missing.
Velkyn met Calderon’s eyes and knew immediately what happened. “I … I must have fallen asleep,” Calderon muttered sheepishly. Donovan sighed. Calderon waited for the verbal lashing, but it never came. “We can buy more supplies,” Velkyn said, attempting to be of some help and come to his friend’s aid. “All the money we had was in my leather pouch. And it was in my bag,” Donovan replied. “Don’t worry about it,” he added, sensing Calderon was beating himself up over it.
“Perhaps there is someone who saw something, saw who took our things and where they went.” Donovan tried to make his tone sound hopeful, but he knew better. Things were likely to get more difficult than they already were. They were going to have to track them down. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” the old man instructed. He looked into the mirror that hung on the wall next to the chair, patted his hair down, and walked out of the door.
Calderon looked to Velkyn. “I think my disorder is going to get us in a lot of trouble. Maybe I should just go back to the abbey.” Velkyn slowly walked over to him. “Calderon, I don’t think you understand. This isn’t about you. This isn’t even about me, or Donovan. It’s about something bigger than that, something bigger than us.” He forced himself to walk over to the window, ignoring the pain in his legs. Velkyn pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the mountains in the distance. “This is about the kingdom. Maybe even the world. The task set before us is going to require much. It may even demand our lives …” he trailed off, pausing as if thinking about something. He turned from the window and looked at his friend. “Are you ready to make that sacrifice, if it comes? To give your life for others?”
Calderon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. If his friend didn’t know the answer, he obviously didn’t know him that well. He didn’t want to die. Especially not for people he would probably never know. It was selfish, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t like Velkyn, willing to do whatever it takes for the good of the kingdom. They left the room in silence and limped down the stairs to where they had eaten the previous night. They found Donovan at one of the tables with two plates of food waiting. The only other patron in the room was the man Velkyn had seen the night before, the one who had passed out on the floor. He was holding something against his head, apparently nursing some sort of bump.
The two young monks sat at the table and looked questioningly at Donovan. “I thought we didn’t have any money?” Calderon asked quietly, looking around warily even though they were essentially the only ones in the room. Donovan smiled and nodded toward the barmaid behind the counter. It was the same woman from the night before. “It’s already been paid for. No one saw anything. She said that this has been a problem only recently. Guests stay and then their things go missing. No one ever sees anything or anyone. It is not going to be easy, but we have to find them. We won’t make it through the mountains without supplies. We have to retrieve our things.”
“We could turn back,” Calderon said. “We only traveled one day.” Donovan was shaking his head as the young monk spoke. “We can’t afford to lose any more time. The creature,” he lowered his voice, “if it finds a way to restore its body, will be almost impossible to stop.”
Calderon looked at his plate which had scrambled eggs and some hard biscuits on it. It didn’t look very appealing, but he decided to eat it anyway. He chewed a mouthful of eggs and thought about what Donovan said. Velkyn was devouring his food with a vengeance. Calderon looked back at Donovan. “The dragon was stopped before. Why would it be impossible to stop it now if it was stopped before?”
Donovan bit his lip. “The kind of magic that was used then … doesn’t exist now.” Calderon looked confused. “What do you mean?” Donovan tried to explain. “Each wizard specializes in a specific type of magic. They can cast any kind of magic, but the type they are most adept at is much more powerful. Each wizard explores their powers on their own to learn their capabilities and limits. Wizards create their own spells once they progress in their knowledge. The spell that was used to capture the dragon was made specifically by the wizard who cast it. That is why I said that kind of magic doesn’t exist. If the wizards in Oakvalor can find the dragon’s spirit, they can reactivate the magic in the sphere. Spells like that can be reactivated, but never recreated. At least, not the way it worked originally.”
“You know a lot about magic,” Calderon said. Donovan shrugged. “I have studied many books. With knowledge comes strength.” They finished their meal and were talking with the barmaid about possible places where they might find who stole their things. Velkyn noticed the man from last night was looking their way and listening to their conversation. “He’s a wizard,” Velkyn said to Donovan. “I think his name is Julian. He was trying to find work last night.” The old man looked at Julian. He stared at him for a moment before looking back to Velkyn. “No, he’s not.”
“How do you know?” Velkyn questioned. Donovan sighed. “We’re still in Talvaard. If he were a real wizard, he certainly wouldn’t be parading that knowledge about. The Massacre might be a thing of the past, but people still don’t trust those who practice magic.” As they rose from their chairs, so did Julian. They thanked the barmaid for the food and the information and left the inn, making their way around the back to collect their horses.
“Gentlemen,” a voice rang out. Donovan turned to see Julian stumbling toward them. “I believe I can help you,” he said, brushing off his pants and straightening his shirt. “I am Julian Brathenworth, magician for hire.”
Donovan snorted in response. “You are not a wizard.” Julian’s face scrunched up in a look of indignation. “I most certainl
y am,” he shot back. “I can do magic.” This last sentence was laced with smugness. “Even if you were a wizard,” Donovan said, “we don’t need one. We’ve got enough to deal with right now. And if I were you, I wouldn’t be telling people I was a wizard, even if I was. The people here aren’t so accommodating to wizards.” Turning back toward the stables, the three monks collected their horses and thanked the young boy who had made sure they were taken care of. As they came out, they found Julian waiting for them.
“Let me demonstrate,” he offered. He put his two index fingers to his head and began mumbling something under his breath. Seeming to discover something, he looked back at them and smiled. “You’re looking for something!” Donovan urged his horse forward and rode past the man without a second glance. Velkyn followed suit, but Calderon held back.
“What are we looking for?” he asked Julian, wondering if the man really did have some magical powers. Julian glanced about as if he were going to reveal some sort of secret. “You’re looking for … something that belongs to you.” Calderon frowned at Julian. “Some magic,” he said. He urged his horse to move, feeling the burning pain in his legs starting to feel like a thousand tiny ants biting him. The man wasn’t as useful as Calderon thought.
“I know where they went,” Julian added, almost as an afterthought. This stopped all three of the monks. Donovan looked at Julian from over his shoulder. “You know where who went?”
Julian realized that he might have found his in. “The people you are looking for. I know where they went. But you will have to take me with you.” Donovan looked at the two young monks, then back to Julian. His conscience told him it was a bad idea. The man was obviously a schemer, but if he did know something about their missing belongings …
“Do you have a horse?” Donovan questioned. Julian shook his head. “No. I have something better.” He disappeared into the stable and returned a moment later with an odd-looking creature. It was much shorter than their mounts and covered in grey fur. A dark brown stripe ran the length of its body, beginning at its nose and continuing to its tail. A similar stripe ran from one shoulder to the other, forming what looked like a cross shape.
Dragonsphere (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1) Page 13