by Sam Ferguson
“Enough!” the warlock roared. “We have already demonstrated our ability to see into the future. We have told you where the dagger is.”
Cyrus shook his head. “No, that is scrying the location of something. That is not quite the same as telling me the future.”
Now the leader stiffened and folded his arms across his chest.
Cyrus smiled wider. It was fun to toy with them. He had not been able to so freely taunt anyone other than Janik in a long time.
“What is it you want?” the warlock said after a while.
“Tell me when and where Severin will strike.”
The warlock scoffed. “It doesn’t work like that,” he admitted. “It is difficult to see the future when dark magic is involved.”
Ah, so that was why there had been inconsistencies in the information they had given him about the dagger. The dagger itself was formed with dark magic. Moreover, that would be why they feared Kyra so much. She was quite talented, and they likely wouldn’t be able to see her future clearly enough to discern whether she would ultimately become a friend or foe as she had been tainted by her father’s blood. Cyrus wondered if that was why the order had failed to catch Bothias’ treachery. After all, each of the warlocks depended on dark magic. If Bothias could shroud his intentions for the order, then Cyrus could as well.
“So you were guessing the location of the dagger?” Cyrus asked.
The warlock sighed, the fight seemed to leave with his breath as he sat down. “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “We could catch glimpses of the dagger whenever certain people came into contact with it. We gave you the best information we had. When we saw the dagger, we consulted together and sought visions about it. We relayed the information to you.”
Cyrus nodded and let out a small chuckle. He should have been angry. Now that he knew how faulty the warlocks’ processes were, he should have raged on them, but he didn’t. They had given him enough useful information that this revelation was funnier to him than it was insulting.
He tapped a finger to his forehead and then gave a mock salute to the warlock. “I think I will see myself out now.” He could feel the daggers being thrown at his back by their gazes, but he was not about to look back now. This meeting had helped him establish his superiority. It would make his final victory over them all the sweeter when the time came.
Chapter 6
A middle aged man sat upon a cold, round boulder as he looked down from the hillside and across the grassy valley where his sheep slept. He wiggled his body a bit, finding the right groove in the rock that was the most comfortable. A depression had formed there which almost perfectly cradled his backside. It was a welcome relief from the day’s walking after the sheep.
The night was warm, but the wind carried with it a briskness from the sea just a few miles to the west. Clouds covered the sky like a dimly glowing gray blanket. A few patches of stars could be seen where the clouds had left the sky bare.
The shepherd looked up to find the stars as he pulled an amulet out from under his shirt. He rubbed the polished stone with a dirty, wide thumb and began to say his nightly prayer for the flock. When he had finished, he tucked the amulet back into his shirt and then turned to his satchel. Inside he would find the cornbread his wife had made him earlier that day, along with dried apples and figs. He fumbled around until his fingers gripped a particularly plump apple ring and then he pulled it out and stuffed it into his mouth, sloppily chewing as he then retrieved the cornbread.
He laughed when he found the small clay jar of honey.
“Ah, so she does love me!” he said of his wife as he pulled the wax seal apart and began to drizzle the sticky liquid onto a square of cornbread.
A heavy shadow fell over him then, nearly blocking out the moonlight entirely. He looked up, expecting to see one of the thick clouds moving along the sky, but his eyes spied nothing.
The long-haired dog at his side huffed as it turned to lie on its side.
Seeing that the dog was at ease, the shepherd returned his attention to his cornbread. He took a bite of the crumbly deliciousness and then turned around to reach for his drink. He grabbed his waterskin and lifted it up as he twisted and pulled the stopper free. The sweet aroma of wine wafted out from the container and he smiled. He put the opening to his lips, but then stopped when another shadow threw the surrounding area into total darkness.
He lifted his eyes up and then dropped the wine.
“Kita!” he yelled out for the dog as he rolled to the side and dove to the ground.
The dog lunged up, barking and growling. Down in the valley, the sheep were bleating and screaming. The shepherd heard the sound of hooves tearing the ground and knew that they had seen the danger as well.
Kita let out a sudden yelp and the shepherd peered around the rock just enough to see what had happened.
A warm splotch of liquid struck him in the forehead and he looked up to the sky. His dog was being carried away by a winged beast.
“No!” the shepherd called out. He gathered his courage and reached for his crook and a light, crude crossbow. That courage was drained from him a moment later as the winged beast tossed Kita’s body through the night sky and off into the forest. Then it spread its wings, tilted around, and dropped down toward the sheep while spewing fire over the grassy valley. The animals not lucky enough to receive a quick death as the beast gobbled several of them up, were either roasted alive by the fire or slashed with the nasty talons.
The shepherd ran, hoping that his flock would be enough to trade to the beast in exchange for his own life.
*****
Kyra was just wrapping up her training session with Cyrus, which had seemed harder than normal thanks to her bad habit of staying up well beyond midnight playing star-flies or trading fairy tales with Linny. The wizard had need to dismiss the last of the nasty creatures he had conjured up as sparring partners while Kyra dusted herself off. This lesson, she had needed to identify which imps were real, and which were only illusions. The only problem was that all of them attacked her, and illusion or not, the cuts she got were real.
“You were up late again,” Cyrus chided.
Kyra nodded. “We had to repair part of the wall in our room, and by the time we were done with that we… well…” she let the words trail off. She felt silly trying to explain that they had felt like they needed to go outside to play star-flies again. Instead, she changed the subject. “You know, Linny should practice with us,” she said.
“I think you two spend enough time together. I need you to focus at least some of the time.”
Kyra smiled at the intended reprimand and shrugged it off. “No, I mean it. She blew a hole in our wall with a simple fireball spell. I’ve seen that spell, and many spells like it, but I have never seen someone obliterate stone with it before. She has a lot of talent.”
Cyrus looked at her curiously for a moment and then nodded. “I will keep that in mind for the future, but the answer is still no. Now go and get some rest.”
Kyra shrugged and gathered her things. She turned as the door opened and Lepkin walked in.
“Wrong room,” Cyrus called out.
Kyra could see from Lepkin’s face that something was wrong.
“I need to speak with you,” Lepkin whispered.
Kyra turned to Cyrus. The wizard nodded and waved his goodbye. “We’ll resume again tomorrow. Try to concentrate more.”
Kyra nodded and rushed out the door. Lepkin grabbed her left wrist and was pulling her down the hallway. “What is it?” she asked.
“There have been some attacks,” Lepkin said. “The dragon slayers are preparing to head out in the morning.”
“Out where?” Kyra asked. “Is this about Leatherback?”
Lepkin pulled her along through the halls and into the laundry room where the entrance was to their special eavesdropping place. “Come on,” Lepkin said as he peered around the room, ensuring they hadn’t been followed. “Herion is calling his group together
. We need to hurry or we’ll miss what they decide.”
The laundry room was full of large vats of steaming water and they had to duck under several rows of linens hanging on lines. They snaked around the large tubs and then stopped at a grate that was about three feet long and two feet wide. Kathair bent down and pulled the grate up.
Kyra glanced around to ensure they were not being watched, and then they dropped down. Lepkin went first, so as to offer his assistance to Kyra as she dropped into the tunnel beneath the laundry room. When they were both inside, Lepkin reached back through the opening, grabbed the grate, and pulled it into place.
Lepkin tugged at her arm again. He was more insistent than she had seen him in a long time. “Hurry up, we have to get there before they start.”
The two of them hunched low and waddled through the tunnel as quickly as they could.
The light from the laundry room stretched for quite some way into the tunnel. Whenever it appeared to dim significantly, there would be another drain from above that would allow in more light to help them see by. None of the other drains were nearly large enough to crawl through. They were all the normal kind that appeared to be just a few inches across, nothing like the one from the laundry room.
They made their way through a series of turns and twists, and then they emerged from the tunnel to stand in a room that was ten feet across and about fifteen feet long.
The two of them rushed past the table and chairs and went to the book case. Lepkin pivoted the thing out to reveal the small doorway leading to the ladder they used to get into position.
The ladder went up at least two stories before reaching the platform where they could crawl into a small space at the top that led into another tunnel. There were cracks in the wall, spaces where the mortar had fallen out, that let in enough light to see by.
“They’ve started,” Kyra whispered softly as she moved to her preferred spot.
Lepkin nodded and sat close to her, watching through a different space where the mortar had fallen out.
Through the crack she saw the rectangular room where Headmaster Herion held his secret meetings with a few of his favorite instructors at Kuldiga Academy. The sconces along the far wall were brightly burning and a set of braziers was set upon the long table in the center of the room. Wooden, high-backed chairs were situated along the table. A few people were already sitting there, their backs turned to the wall behind which Kathair Lepkin and Kyra hid.
A door on the right, bearing a large engraving of an eagle, opened, and in walked Headmaster Herion. The old wizard was dressed in a black tunic and green trousers. He moved into the room and then stopped at the head of the table.
“Those aren’t masters,” Kyra said as she noted the forms sitting in the chairs with their backs to the wall.
Lepkin shook his head. “Priests,” he confirmed.
“Why aren’t they speaking?” Kyra asked.
Her answer came when a strange portal opened on the far left of the room. Kyra had to stifle her surprise as a large painting swung to the side and in walked a large man. He stepped into the room more confidently than any Kyra had seen before. He stood as tall as Feberik, and was heavily muscled as well. His hair was gray along the sides, but the top had not yet fully yielded to age and was still fairly dark. His eyes were stern, but not cold.
He approached the opposite side of the long table and then he drew out his sword. Kyra cocked her head to the side at the sight of the strange, black metal. The sword looked sharp enough, but it looked different somehow. It felt different too.
“Telarian Steel,” Lepkin said breathlessly. “That sword is legendary,” he added. “The runes along the blade are an ancient spell. The metal itself is the toughest in all Terramyr, and capable of withstanding a dragon’s flame.”
Kyra was about to ask who would have such a weapon, but the meeting started and she fell silent.
“Be seated,” the stranger said.
Kyra found it odd that Herion was not leading the meeting himself.
One of the priests turned to the stranger and bowed slightly before standing up to address them all, but from behind all of the priests looked alike to Kyra. She had no way of knowing which one it was.
“It is an honor to have the Keeper of Secrets with us,” the priest said. Kyra recognized the voice, it was Warty. Of course, that wasn’t the man’s real name, but the priests had never offered their names to her, not even after they had begun their examinations of Leatherback. Therefore, she had given them names herself. The priests were known to her as Dumbly, Glumly, and Warty. Warty had a rather large wart on the back of his hand, which was the reason for his name. He was also younger than the other two, and apparently in charge of the trio.
“It is always good to be among friends,” the stranger addressed as the Keeper of Secrets replied. “Headmaster Herion, I have heard some rather troubling news of late.”
Kyra glanced to the wizard. He nodded and clasped his hands atop the table as he leaned forward. “I have also heard the reports. However, I should like to point out that the priests have had access to the dragon known as Leatherback for some time now. They have never seen even the slightest evidence of taint within his soul.”
“So it is your opinion that the attacks are coincidental?” the Keeper asked.
Warty looked back and forth, and then apparently decided that he was not needed to conduct the meeting and he sat back down and let the Keeper and Herion work things out directly. Kyra couldn’t help but smile at that. The snub served the pretentious priests right.
“It is my opinion that the attacks are related to something else entirely,” Herion replied.
The Keeper nodded. “Yes, I have heard of the recent attacks by a shade as well.”
“It appears you are fairly well up to date, then, Keeper.” Herion replied. “Yes, we have had a couple of run-ins with a shade, though he has been slain by one of our very own students, with Leatherback’s help I might add.”
The Keeper nodded. He then turned to Warty. “This student is the one you spoke of in your letter?”
“What letter?” Kyra asked.
Lepkin nudged her with his elbow and put a finger to his lips.
Kyra nodded and looked back through the hole in the wall.
“It is,” Warty replied directly. “Kyra Caspen is her name.”
“That’s not my name,” Kyra growled through gritted teeth.
Headmaster Herion cleared his throat and held up a finger. “She prefers to go by her mother’s name, Dimwater.”
“Kyra Dimwater,” the Keeper said aloud. “I knew her grandfather. He was a good man.”
A proud smile appeared on her face.
“What do you think, Herion, is Kyra worth testing?” the Keeper asked.
“Testing?” Headmaster Herion echoed curiously. “I thought you came to discuss the dragon?”
The Keeper nodded. “I did, but now that the topic has been broached, I see no reason we can’t decide both questions at once.”
Headmaster Herion shook his head and sat back in his chair, folding his arms as his back slapped the wood of the chair. “I have to admit, I have never been a devout follower of any religion. As such, I don’t buy into most prophecies, regardless of their source.”
“What is he talking about?” Kyra asked.
Lepkin shook his head as if he didn’t know, but his eyes were transfixed on the black sword lying atop the table. It was as if he was almost hypnotized by it. Kyra sighed and returned her attention to the room.
“Still, a man of your experience should be aware that prophecies are fulfilled; some of them religious, and others brought about through magical visions. You cannot outright deny this fact.”
“It is rare,” Herion replied. “Rarer still to have the vision be literal. I find most oracles shroud their prophecy in vague language. It helps them mold it and keep their vision pliable.”
The Keeper let out a throaty laugh and tapped the table with his right knuckles.
“Then I will posit the question a different way. Do you think that Kyra Dimwater is a capable enough student that we should test her abilities in the hopes that she might one day grow powerful enough to defeat Nagar’s Blight?”
Kyra felt her heart stop in her chest. What had that man just said? Nagar’s Blight was a terrible curse. One that, for all she knew, was omnipresent throughout the Middle Kingdom and had no single source of power to destroy. Yet, here was this seemingly imposing warrior asking whether she might be able to reverse the curse that had been set upon the land for nearly five hundred years.
“She is strong,” Herion replied. “She is possibly the greatest student I have ever seen in my lifetime. However, she comes with a curse of her own.”
That stung. Kyra had not expected Herion to talk about her as if she was something tainted like that.
“Her mother was a wonderful woman, and a powerful sorceress in her own right, but her real father was a vampire,” Herion went on. “I would suggest waiting another couple of years to see how her father’s blood will affect her.”
Kyra pushed away from the wall. She felt angry and sick all at the same time. What had happened to the kind man she had spoken with in the basement? Was everything a ruse set up to use her for her abilities? Her father had seen only the possible future dowry he might win by marrying her off. Was it possible that Herion was only nice to her in order to win her loyalty against Severin the vampire?
Suddenly a hand gripped her shoulder. “Hey, don’t let them get to you,” Lepkin said. “If your happiness depends on other people never speaking ill about you behind your back, then you will often be sad and let down by those close to you.” Kathair Lepkin smiled then and gave a tight squeeze on her shoulder. “Be confident in who you are. You are the only person who knows your whole story. You just be sure never to let yourself down. Take pride in your heritage.”
Kyra smiled but shook her head. “Take pride in being the daughter of a vampire?” she whispered.