I knocked on Maeral’s door. There was no answer. He was probably asleep.
I went one door down and knocked at Tibaron’s. There was no answer.
He was probably asleep.
I went down one more and knocked at Lyrandor’s door.
There was no answer.
They were all probably asleep.
I frowned. The hallway was empty. My headache was beginning to dull, which was a good sign. I drank just enough last night; not enough to cause a scene and ruin the next day, but not so little as to… I don’t know. Not so little that I didn’t drink at all, I guess.
I walked down the hall and up the stairs. Maybe Ortham or Dawn knew where my friends were – or, better yet, maybe they would want to come too.
I knocked on Dawn’s door. There was no answer. I knocked again just in case – still nothing.
I walked over to Ortham’s door. But once I got there I hesitated; Dawn wasn’t in her room. Could it be…?
I laughed. Of course it couldn’t be. Ortham was way too much of a melancholic stiff to have seduced the princess. I knocked.
Once again there was no answer.
I folded my arms. I was rather disappointed. I turned around and caught my reflection in a tall mirror. There I was, ready to go out, and looking quite dashing. Coat draped rakishly over one shoulder, cavalry sabre hanging at my hip… and two very small antlers.
I couldn’t help but grimace. Just two little spikes, sticking out of my skull. Was my head crooked? Or were they growing in unevenly?
I walked back down the hall, down the stairs. Where was everyone? It wasn’t even noon yet.
I stopped as I walked by Majira’s room.
Did I really want to? Did I really want to invite Majira to go out? She didn’t even wear shoes. And we didn’t exactly get along.
I sighed as I stood outside her door. There was no one else to ask. She would probably say no. But I could at least invite her. Plus, she needed to see just how good I looked when I tried.
I knocked on the door. There was no answer.
I turned on my heel to leave. At least I had tried!
Then the door opened.
“Yes?” came a deep voice from within.
“Uh… Majira?” I asked, peering into the dim-lit room.
It wasn’t Majira at all. It was Maeral.
“Maeral!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt. But good job! Really, I mean it. I’ll just leave you two…”
Then I looked over his shoulder. They weren’t alone; Lyrandor was in there too. And Tibaron, and Ortham, and Dawn. And by the Maker, somehow they had fit Perethon in there too.
Dawn came prancing to the door.
“Finally, you’re awake! Get in here!” she urged, opening the door wide.
She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in.
“What’s going on…” I asked, unnerved by the grim atmosphere.
The curtains were closed. The whole room was dark; the oil lamps were unlit. Perethon knelt in one corner, arms folded. The rest were seated on the floor around a table. Majira sat above all on a high stool, legs crossed.
“You finally decided to join us,” Majira said airily.
“Well, I would have come earlier if I had been told about this… whatever this is,” I replied.
“I tried,” said Tibaron. “But you just threw your boot at me.”
So that’s why it had been all the way across the room… no matter. I didn’t remember any of that anyway.
“Well I’m here now. That’s what matters,” I said and sat down with them. “So, what’s this little party for? And why are the curtains closed…?”
Majira refrained from rolling her eyes but I could tell she wanted to.
“Last night I finally succeeded in seeing Magus Bram Tan Heth. But he is not where I originally believed…”
“So he’s not in Valethucia? Do we need to turn around?” I asked.
“No, he is not in Valethucia. When I saw him he was in a desert – or at least, a place covered in sand. How he arrived there, I do not know. I could not tell exactly where he was – I believe he is in a place that distorts magick. That warps it.”
“So he’s in a desert? Or just a place covered in sand? That could be anywhere. That could even be a beach. He could be right here in Safon, enjoying the summer sun!” I said, exasperated. “I mean, couldn’t you just tell him to meet us somewhere?”
Majira was getting frustrated by my questions. I loved it.
“No, Herace. I could not communicate with him because he was not dream delving when I found him, and I did not have the power to contact his waking mind. It took almost all my energy just to find him.”
Majira turned to a parchment rolled out on the table. It seemed to glow – I looked in. It was an intricate map and it really did glow; the water shimmered, the forests shook. I was in awe. I had never seen such a thing. I immediately distrusted it.
“What – what is that?” I asked.
“It’s a map,” she replied simply, probably thinking she was very clever.
Maeral snickered. I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Thank you for the enlightenment, Majira. But actually. How does it look like that? It must be magickal… but what’s the point? Esthetically pleasing, of course. But does it do anything special?” I asked.
“It does,” she replied, eyes half shut.
She reached her hands out and touched the map with a finger. The point she touched got bigger; everything else got smaller, condensed to the sides. It looked very odd. The spot got bigger and bigger until she let go – then it stopped. The map then simply read ‘SAFON;’ a stylized city was shown straddling a small peninsula. Water glistened around it.
I was even more impressed than before. But I daren’t show it. I had so many questions about how that incredible instrument worked.
“Well that seems useful,” I said drily.
“It is. And I believe I know where our missing magus is…” she said, changing the image on the parchment with a few movements of her hand. “Right here.”
I looked down. There was an orange splotch in the centre of a much larger swathe of beige; and at the bottom, a scattered coastline.
“Ah, perfect. Information with no context. Shall we head there now, or after lunch?” I said.
I heard someone stifle a laugh. At least someone was amused.
Majira readjusted the map. The scattered coastline became a sea. Not a sea; an ocean. The map read ‘VIOLET OCEAN.’
I inhaled sharply. Valethucia sat on the south coast of the Violet Ocean; and this orange splotch was on the north coast of the Violet Ocean. We currently sat on the north coast of the Southern Sea.
“So he’s in a desert on a continent across the Violet Ocean. Which is already across a continent from us,” I said aloud. “I thought you said he was in Valethucia!”
“He was. I don’t know why he is where he is. I wish I did. But I have a plan,” Majira said. “I may not have the reservoir required to contact Bram, but Dawn does.”
“Majira’s going to dream delve with me tonight,” explained Dawn. “We’ll contact Magus Bram and I’ll learn everything I can. He’ll teach me in the dreamscape until we meet.”
“It isn’t the best way, but we must work with what we have,” Majira said. “We should continue on to Valethucia regardless – it is the most remote college in Vindaya and as far from both the Witchlands and the Empire of Un as we can get. And the further we get, the less it is worth finding Dawn; those who hunt her now will turn their efforts elsewhere. At the very least, going north will keep us mobile and thus harder to track.”
It all made sense to me. A little annoying that Majira had convinced Dawn to take magick lessons or whatever from some crazy wizard who was out in a desert, but oh well.
I got to my feet and stretched.
“Sounds like a good plan. I especially like the part where pretty much nothin
g changes at all,” I said, then looked around the room. “Now, who wants to go look around town while we have the chance?”
All my friends jumped to their feet. I couldn’t help but notice they had their cloaks over one shoulder too – clearly we had all been sober enough at some point last night to notice the current trend.
Then Ortham got up. He was dressed more like a slightly impoverished beetroot farmer. He looked far better when he wore the Black Cohort getup. I resolved to fix that.
“I would love to… but I think Majira and I are going to practice,” said Dawn.
Perethon got up too. But he didn’t come with us. He had Royal Guard things to do. Like stand around and look scary.
Wasting no more time – it was already past noon at that point - the five of us handsome bachelors bade the fortress farewell and headed into the city.
The first thing we did was go buy some better clothes for poor Ortham. He needed to look more the part he was supposed to play – Princess Dawn’s (unofficial) personal battle-mage, as well as (unofficial) honorary member of the Guardians of the Amber Bower. He had fought for the king at Ithtine; played a crucial role in fighting against the enemy mages. My friends vowed to him, as we wandered the streets of Safon drinking honeyed wine, that as soon as they attended another Guardian council they would put forward a motion to have him become an official honorary member. He was so flattered he barely mentioned it.
We picked out a high-collared shirt and a pair of good riding pants. He insisted he keep his old cloak, which was fine; it had character. And he simply could not be separated from that hat. I guess that had character too. I tried to convince him that Dawn might like to see him wear a more attractive hat, or no hat at all, like us sylfolk. But he said Dawn actually liked his hat, which I found hard to believe. And of course I paid for it all – it wasn’t much, and Ortham was as poor as his clothes suggested.
There was also the issue of him lacking a sword; he had an oversized dagger, which was passable. It would have to do for the time being. If anyone asked we would just tell them he was a battle-mage. That should more than make up for his evident lack of nobility.
Once we were all equally dashing (we even showed Ortham how to wear his coat on one shoulder) the five of us headed to the richest district in the city. It wrapped around the base of the eastern castle and was filled with old stone buildings and rooftop gardens. Only the wealthy lords-merchant lived there, their urbane homes sitting atop counting houses and banks. There were a few palatial exchange markets and banquet halls, as well as scattered gardens of walnut trees.
We passed a good part of the day there; I was doing my best to enjoy the company of Maeral, Lyrandor, and Tibaron. We were parting ways the next day; I was going to sea, and they had to return to their estates. So we made the most of our gallivanting, touring the city we once fought for, and all the while we drank that Safonian honeyed wine. We drank so much we almost ended up in a public bath-house, but at the last moment we thought better of it.
Eventually the sun began to set. We walked back to the castle, disposing of our empty wine jugs as we went, giddy as children. We passed through the public square, flanked on either side by the merchant’s exchange and the big chapel. The chapel cast a long shadow upon the flagstones, a shadow that looked like a sulking giant with hunched shoulders and bowed head. Then we climbed up the stairs to the massive keep, the guards letting us pass after a little hesitation.
Immediately upon entering we were greeted by Perethon and two of the Royal Guard. They were in full regalia, which was very disconcerting.
“Finally, the princes return. I need you all to come with me,” Perethon said, face graver than usual. “We have a diplomatic issue to resolve.”
I was taken aback – a ‘diplomatic issue?’ None of us were court functionaries. We didn’t even sit on the crown council.
“And what exactly does that mean?” I asked as he led us to the great hall.
“You’ll see when we get there. I won’t muddy the waters,” he replied darkly. “Just be ready to preserve your kingdom’s honour with the edge of your blade.”
With that ominous note we entered the great hall. There were benches around the edges, and the tables from last night were cleared to the sides. Groups of folk were huddled together whispering. They hushed when we entered.
Very ominous.
Perethon and the Royal Guard flanking him all halted. Then Perethon stepped forward, hooves clip-clopping on the smooth marble floor.
“To these witnesses I present Lyrandor, Lance of Safon, Prince of Gaer Brihd; Maeral the Swift Prayer, Prince of Avel Doern; Tibaron, Eye of the East Fold, Prince of East Ombriaèd; Herace the Redeemed, Prince of Plin Oèn; and… and Ortham… battle-mage,” Perethon announced to the hall in a booming voice, voice stumbling a little as he introduced Ortham.
Which made sense. Ortham was just… Ortham. Not a prince or anything. In fact, I didn’t even know where he came from. Either way, I was just impressed that Perethon had managed to memorize our epithets and princedoms so well.
Across the hall a soldier stepped forward.
“To these witnesses I present Lady-Merchant Tavinia Tratha of Cautes,” he said in a high, nasally voice that I immediately disliked.
A she-elf in an ornate burgundy dress walked forward. She had a gilded walking stick in one hand and her hair was done up quite extravagantly. She looked very wealthy and very troublesome.
Every step echoed in the cavernous hall. All eyes were fastened to her as she walked imperiously toward us. She stopped in front of me, to my amusement – I was the closest to her. I looked down.
“Which one were you?” she asked. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. You sylvans all have strange names. Your horse there refused to give me audience with the princess, so you will have to do.”
I couldn’t help but scoff at her vitriol.
“That’s alright, I forgot your name too. It is a displeasure to make your acquaintance, lady-merchant,” I retorted.
She cleared her throat, ignoring my remark.
“My name is Tavinia Tratha. Four years ago my home city of Cautes joined a coalition against Safon. My son, may his name rest in glory, was killed while leading a retreat from the Siege of Safon. I have it on good sources that he was slain mercilessly at the hands of a sylfolk mercenary, contrary to the Laws of Conduct,” she explained, tears welling in her eyes but her voice never quavering, never breaking. “Now, to restore honour to House Tratha, I put forth a grievance against your kingdom.”
I didn’t even know that was possible. A grievance against an entire kingdom? This lady was insane.
“What are your terms, Lady-Merchant Tratha?” Tibaron asked tactfully.
“My terms are a duel to restore the honour of both parties; House Tratha against the Kingdom of the Untouched Wood,” she replied simply.
I couldn’t help but smile. A duel? In a court? While I was drunk? Last time this situation came up I spent three months in a dungeon. And my antlers still hadn’t recovered from that catastrophe.
“Lady-Merchant, we are of course eager to satisfy the demands of honour. But allow us a moment to reflect on your grievance - ” Tibaron began.
“Alright, I accept,” I said aloud, cutting him off.
Tibaron turned to me, surprise on his face. I don’t know why he was surprised; he knew what I was like. I couldn’t help it.
My friends grabbed me and pulled me aside. The great hall was already alive with muttering from my quick acceptance of the duel. If they wanted to see a fight, they would get one.
“Herace, are you a fool? We’re all drunk! Do you really expect to duel now? We had an opportunity to hold out until at least one of us was sober!” Tibaron said in a hushed voice.
“I can do it. I’ve dueled drunk before. And won. I’m not even that drunk,” I replied cavalierly. “Regardless, I refuse to have my kingdom insulted by some merchant wench. Who’s she to pass judgment on us all for th
e actions of one?”
“Mm, fair enough… I think you’ll do fine,” Maeral said.
“Don’t encourage him!” Tibaron scolded.
“Tibaron. It’s too late anyway. He already accepted. No backing out now,” Lyrandor said. “If he’s not fine, we’ll know.”
“Fine. Go, fight your fight, Herace. My bets are on you, so don’t get distracted,” Tibaron relented at last.
I stepped away from my friends. Tavinia Tratha was waiting in the centre of the hall, walking stick tucked under her arm. She smirked when she saw me approaching.
“When I heard the heiress apparent was in Safon I knew that fate was upon us; that justice would finally be done. That honour would be restored,” she said to me. “And now we shall see what fate has prepared for us.”
“Fate doesn’t exist. No one knows the future,” I replied. “I’m ready to fight.”
She sniffed but did not reply. Instead she turned back to her consorts and summoned forward a long-haired elf. I could tell immediately by his dress that he was an Errant Nameless.
“As substitute I elect Yvrandar of Vindaya, to fight on my behalf,” said Tavinia to the crowd.
I had to stifle a laugh. So now I was fighting a duel against an Errant Nameless to redress a breach of the Laws of Conduct, a breach that neither of us had been there for. It didn’t make sense to me, but judging by the lack of reaction from the on-looking crowds, this was perfectly normal.
“Alright,” I replied, taking a step forward, “and I elect myself. Herace the Redeemed, Prince of Plin Oèn.”
The elf had long, white-blonde hair that was unbound and spilling over his shoulders. His eyes were pale blue. He was tall and certainly looked Vindayan.
“My name is Yvrandar of Vindaya,” he began. “I seek a noble cause to retake my name and return to Vindaya – “
“Yeah, I know. I know all about you Errant Nameless. I just have to ask, how did you get wrapped up in this?” I asked, cutting him off.
“I have waited long in Safon for an opportunity to take on a noble deed. It is providence, and I will not turn it away,” he replied.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 26