Treachery in the Kingdom

by Dan Zangari

  A rapidly pounding knock penetrates the door, then one of the Estate’s guards hurriedly opens it. He stands at attention and firmly declares, “Master Almar, a man was caught prowling around the Inner City, possessing prohibited magical devices. We have him in our custody.”

  “Who?” Regas blurts.

  “He hasn’t identified himself. When asked, he refuses to speak.”

  “Bring him here,” Almar commands with a nod.

  The guard clears his throat and adds, “He was bound and delivered to the doors of the Main Hall by another man dressed in black with a mask.” He hurries from the door, leaving it open.

  Balden raises his brow in surprise, then folds his arms, thinking of the last of the guard’s report, while the mages patiently wait.

  Amid the silence, Almar says, “It seems Iltar’s accomplice was found.”

  “How do you figure that?” Griffith asks. He stands and moves his chair to the middle of the room.

  “You would have had to been in our deliberations to understand, Griffith; but, I believe this apprehender was the same who stopped Iltar’s escape.”

  Soon after, the guard returns with another, both carrying Nath between them, his feet dragging on the floor. Magical cords bind the thief’s ankles while his hands are tied behind his back. His pack bounces against his chest, slung around his neck.

  “Nath…” Balden mutters.

  “Do you know him?” Almar asks and looks to the half-elf, then back to the thief.

  “Yes.”

  Noticing Balden, Nath struggles to break his bonds and growls, “You traitor! None of you pointed-ears can be trusted!”

  Amid Nath’s outburst, Griffith points to his chair. “Put him there.” He puts his hands together, uttering an incantation, and green magic swirls between his hands.

  Both guards roughly set Nath on the chair and hold him in place as Griffith completes his incantation. A magically composed cord hangs between his hands, then he hands it to the guards.

  They swiftly tie Nath to the chair and one removes the pack from his neck and throws it at his feet.

  “Send word to the other council members,” Almar commands the guard nearest the door. “We’ll interrogate him once the others arrive.”

  Once the guard leaves, Almar slowly approaches Nath. With a stern expression upon his face, he stares at the thief in silence for almost a minute then says, “Some would consider you lucky, Nath. If you cooperate, we won’t associate you with Iltar’s criminal actions.”

  Nath defiantly narrows his eyes at Almar but doesn’t respond.

  “However, there’s still the matter of what is in this,” Almar bends down and picks up the pack. He turns to Regas, who is still sitting, and says, “Look through it.”

  The conjurer quickly obliges and empties the pack’s contents onto Almar’s desk. Nath’s golden rimmed spectacles fall out, followed by his shape-shifting thieving rod, and lastly, his shimmering cloak of invisibility.

  “That doesn’t look too good for you,” Griffith remarks and folds his arms. “You’ll get at least five years for those lenses alone.”

  “He’s right,” Almar sighs. He grabs Regas’s chair and sets it in front of Nath. The grand mage sits and firmly says, “You have some time to think about what you’re going to say.”

  * * * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, Thranar enters Almar’s office. Nath is still bound to the chair and Almar sits in front of him, silently staring at the thief. Griffith leans against the desk beside Balden, both whispering about the situation. The other six council-mages stand along the wall behind Almar while the guards and Regas stand behind Nath.

  “Where is Dorith?” Thranar aggrievedly asks while moving through the office toward Almar.

  “He still hasn’t returned,” Fren answers from Almar’s left.

  “Let’s start without him,” Mathal scowls. “I want to see what this fool knows.”

  “Are you ready to talk?” Almar asks calmly. “And are you familiar with our laws? We have sufficient evidence to place you under mind control if you choose not to cooperate.”

  Nath silently nods his head and returns Almar’s gaze.

  “Very well,” Almar clears his throat. “Guards, please leave us.”

  Once the guards leave the grand mage’s office and shut the door, Almar begins his interrogation.

  “Where is the activating scroll?”

  “What are you talking about?” Nath coyly responds, aloofly looking at the mages. “I don’t know anything about a scroll.”

  “Perhaps Iltar didn’t tell his henchmen,” Fren speculates.

  “No,” Balden remarks. “I’m sure they know. Nath has been through a lot with Iltar. When we left the fortress, he wasn’t with the rest of us. He arrived later with Iltar and Cornar, most likely helping them secure the amulet housing.”

  Nath darts his eyes toward Balden, fighting back his contempt, but his disdain shows.

  “He’s lying!” Mathal barks furiously. “Just put him under a mind controlling spell! We don’t have time to waste!”

  Almar turns in his chair, looking at Fren and Callun; they nod, and Almar glances to Thranar, Nemmerin and Grensil.

  “Do it,” Nemmerin states. “We have the evidence and witnesses. We are well within our rights.”

  Dread smears across Nath’s face as Almar utters the mind controlling incantation, and gray magic gathers between the grand mage’s hands. As he finishes the spell, the manipulating magic wisps into Nath’s nostrils, mouth and ears.

  Nath relaxes and a blank expression forms over his face.

  “Where is the activating scroll?” Almar repeats the question.

  “It was in Iltar’s pack. He lost it when we were attempting to scale the wall. I think the others picked it up.”

  “What others?” Mathal harshly demands, his arms folded.

  “Tilthan, Nemral and Dendra. We’re part of a private thieving troupe based in Soroth. We’ve worked with Iltar for many years. The man who taught us our trade had been employed by him and his guild several times in the past; that’s how we eventually came into Iltar’s service.

  “Dendra is Nemral’s cousin, and a former Frontier Guardswoman. She just joined us–”

  The door to Almar’s office swings open, and Dorith hastily enters, anxiously asking, “Have you discovered its location?”

  “Not yet,” Thranar answers.

  Dorith quickly closes the door, pushes his way past Thranar, and steps up to Nath while urgently demanding, “Where are your three friends? I know they were headed east.”

  Fren and Griffith gasp in surprise while the other mages glance at each other in confusion, astounded by Dorith’s outburst.

  “There is a grove of trees about two grand phineals southeast of the outer city’s east gate,” Nath answers Dorith. “We had planned to meet there in the event that Iltar was caught before we could help him; but when we couldn’t teleport back to the others we decided to make use of that plan. I’m sure they’re still waiting for us.”

  “So, they’re at a grove two G.P. southeast of the eastern gate?” Dorith asks rhetorically.

  “He just said that…” Regas mutters quizzically.

  “And where is the crystal bound?” Dorith demands.

  “The Aquinn Grove Retreat,” Nath answers. “That’s where the rest of our band is hiding. It’s just outside Klath.”

  “How many are there?” Mathal angrily demands.

  “Fifteen.”

  “I’ll organize a party,” Thranar states and takes a deep breath. “We will apprehend them and bring them here.”

  “They’ll most likely resist,” Almar speaks up. “And remember, they were able to storm Merda and vanquish those who controlled it. It won’t be easy.”

  “I’ll assemble a brigade from our mage-guard patrolling the outer city,” Mathal scowls. “We’ll outnumbered them two hundred to one.”

  “Then let’s prepare, Mathal,” Thranar looks to the elementali
st across the room.

  “Wait,” Balden interjects warily. He approaches Thranar and grabs him by the arm, “There’s a young woman with them. She’s an apprenticing conjurer named Nilia. Please, don’t harm her. I ask that you would send her to Merda.”

  Thranar glances coldly at Balden’s grasp and responds, “I can’t promise anything. If they resist, we will use whatever force is necessary.”

  Saddened by the response, Balden takes a deep breath but is jarred by Dorith’s beckon, “I am going to lower the barsion veil, Balden come with me.”

  The half-elf glances to Dorith, who continues, “Almar, keep questioning him to see what else he can tell us.”

  The grandmaster of the Estate maneuvers around Thranar and to the door. He waits until the half-elf is at his side, and then leaves Almar’s office.

  While the duo treads down the corridor, Dorith asks, “Did you hear all that?”

  “Of course. I was standing–”

  “Not you, Balden,” Dorith glances to the half-elf, who quizzically furrows his brow. “Zanxsthy’ll, I’m lowering the Ri’nak’ma.”

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile, in a grove of trees east of Alath, the evening sun casts shadows upon Dendra, Tilthan and Nemral. The latter thief sits on the grass, propped against a tree and holds Iltar’s small pack in his lap; its strap is cleanly severed, yet the rest of it remains whole.

  “The sun will be going down soon,” Nemral remarks as he stares at the Alathian skyline in the distance. At the city’s heart, the barsion magic forms a towering pyramid, soaring over a dozen grand phineals high. “Do you think they’re okay?”

  “Do you mean, have the mages caught and tortured them yet?” Tilthan quips with a chuckle.

  Agitated by Tilthan’s callous attitude, Nemral glances at him, but returns his gaze toward the magically encased Inner City.

  “We were lucky to escape when we did,” Dendra sighs, pacing beside Nemral. “I’m just so surprised at how big that magical pyramid is. It’s enormous! What kind of mage could do such a thing?”

  “You know,” Tilthan says flirtatiously while eyeing Dendra. “When we fought those vampires in Merda, a big living statue cast some magic like that to protect us while we fought. It saved us.”

  Disgusted, Dendra looks over her shoulder to Tilthan then shakes her head.

  “No,” Nemral corrects Tilthan. “It was Iltar and the others that fought the vampires. You and Nath were too busy looting the treasure trove.”

  “Thanks,” Tilthan sarcastically smiles at Nath. “But really, it’s probably a bunch of magical object–” He abruptly stops, his eyes widen in surprise while his jaw droops.

  “Oh no…” Nemral mutters and stands.

  The city’s magical barrier dissipates from its highest point. The pillar of barsionary light at the center of Alath vanishes and the magic emanating from the walls quickly moves back toward the towering alabaster walls of the Inner City.

  “I suppose they found them,” Dendra swallows hard. “What are we going to do?”

  “We need to get out of here!” Tilthan shouts and darts to Nemral, “Give me his pack!”

  “Why?” Nemral asks frantically, but the masterful thief rudely swipes it.

  “Because. I have an idea!” Tilthan blurts, quickly rummaging through the pack.

  After a moment, he removes the wand Iltar had discovered within the secret vault of the Estate’s Inner Depths.

  With the wand in one hand, Tilthan throws Iltar’s bag to Nemral then carefully examines the wand. He meticulously puts the tips of his fingers into the oval indentations near its base.

  “I don’t think we can make it too far without them catching up to us,” Dendra stressfully sighs and grabs her weapons, hoisting them on her belt. “Let’s get going.”

  “Wait,” Tilthan motions with the wand in his hand. “If I produce a means for us to escape, will you spend one night alone with me?”

  Flabbergasted, Dendra shakes her head then walks past Tilthan into the small grove.

  “Well, Dendra darling?”

  “Fine,” the former guardswoman shouts exasperatedly, and glances at Tilthan, “Yes. But there’s no way for you to get us out of here! Now let’s go!”

  “Nah uh,” Tilthan smiles, waving the wand. He points it at the ground several phineals in front of him and adds, “We’re going to fly out of here and return to the Retreat.”

  A moment of silence passes, and Nemral speaks up, “Nothing happened.”

  “Maybe I did something wrong,” Tilthan raises his brow and examines the wand.

  Dendra throws her hands in the air, sighing with annoyance, she begins walking off but Tilthan calls out, “Wait! I got it!

  “A hawk!” Tilthan waves the wand, pointing it at the same spot.

  White magical light glistens from the wand’s tip then bursts forward, penetrating the dirt. The ground rumbles slightly, jarring Dendra off-balance from her hasty gait through the groove.

  She turns around, watching the transmutive magic shift the ground; the dirt and grass contort, then flow upward and form a hawk.

  “Incredible,” Nemral chuckles.

  “It’s too small,” Dendra retorts while returning to the thieves. “You can’t possibly think we can ride upon its back and fly out of here, do you?”

  “Oh you’re not getting out of our deal,” Tilthan smirks and winks at Dendra. “Watch this.”

  The masterful thief takes a deep breath, briefly closes his eyes; he waves the transmuting wand in an exaggerated motion through the air and says, “A hawk twenty times its normal size that can fly.”

  In a similar manner as before, the magic clusters at the wand’s tip then bursts forward. The ground shakes, then flows upward, forming a large hawk; it slowly shifts on its legs and flutters its wings.

  “And how are we going to ride it?” Dendra asks skeptically.

  “Easy,” Tilthan smiles at her, waves the wand again, and points at the transmuted bird. “With a triple saddle and reigns!”

  As before, the wand reacts to Tilthan’s command and the saddles transmutively form upon the bird’s back.

  “You know,” Nemral interjects frankly, placing Iltar’s pack within his, and secures it around his shoulder. “I don’t think you need to wave it.”

  “He’s right,” Dendra says and climbs upon the transmuted hawk’s back and sits in the front most saddle. “It’s not becoming of you.”

  Chuckling, Nemral quickly follows after his cousin and sits behind her.

  “Why not?” Tilthan demands as he climbs atop the bird. “It makes me look like a mage.”

  “But mages don’t use wands!” Nemral laughs as he looks over his shoulder.

  “Oh, forget it!” Tilthan blurts and sits. “Fly!”

  The over-sized transmuted hawk rapidly flaps its wings and takes to flight. It barely clears the treetops and soars into the air. Tilthan turns his head, gazing at their hiding spot which quickly blends into the vast Alathian vista.

  Epilogue

  Golden light gathers at the foot of the bed in Cornar’s bedchamber within his suite at the Aquinn Grove Retreat. Within an instant, Credal appears within the magical illumination.

  He lowers himself into a wide stance, raising his left hand above his shoulder while splaying his fingers; the concealed fiery magic swiftly dances around his opened palm. He cautiously examines the room, noticing he’s alone.

  “I thought this would be well guarded,” Credal mutters and straightens himself in a relaxed manner. He whispers a magical incantation, and the fiery magic compresses into a single sphere of glowing orange magic.

  Taking a deep breath, Credal closes his hand around the magic, then continues examining the bedchamber. The mage places the rogulin crystal in the outer pocket of his tunic, then fumbles for another object inside it.

  After a moment, he removes a silver ring and slips it on his forefinger of the same hand.

  An empty bag catches his attention, between the edge o
f the bed’s right side and a desk further in that direction. The rest of the room is devoid of recent activity; the bedding is pulled tight with a thin layer of dust upon it.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone has slept here recently,” Credal furrows his brow and looks to his feet.

  Directly beneath him rests the black conjuration anchor. He steps back, then drops to one knee and glides his fingers across its smooth surface.

  How fortunate, Credal grins and grabs the conjuration anchor, slipping it into the same pocket as the rogulin crystal. He stands and walks to the room’s only window.

  Slowly drawing the curtains, he looks outside. In the courtyard below, he sees several men dressed in green and brown clothing with quivers strapped upon their backs. Many hold bows while a couple clutch crossbows.

  Raising his brow, Credal looks beyond the courtyard and to the trees hemming the woodland retreat.

  “Hmm,” Credal sighs then observes. “A hunting lodge of sorts. Iltar’s companions are shrewd…” Turning from the window, Credal moves around the bed and reaches for the bag, but discovers its empty.

  Without a word, the plainclothes-mage gracefully strides to the door and slowly opens it, finding an empty hallway leading to the suite’s common room. It’s neatly kept, with a folded blanket and pillow atop the sofa.

  Credal takes a deep breath, They must be enjoying the amenities of this lodge. And now it’s time to find that Cornar.

  The Agent of the Order stealthily moves around the seating arrangement and strides to the suite’s main doors. He gently leans against it, listening to faint footfalls in the adjoining hall.

  After a moment, Credal opens the doorway, casually exiting Cornar’s suite.

  The End

  the search for the Au’misha’k continues

  in

  Treachery in the Kingdom

  Glossary