Azosh focused on Gabrion. “And if the king refuses these requests? What guarantee can I have that your forces here will not retaliate?”
“You have only my word.” Gabrion held the man’s stare and it was here that he understood why this unimposing youth was at the gate’s entrance. Like his contest with Herchig, he felt his soul being scoured during the silent exchange.
At last the man nodded. “Very well. Then your safety within the walls will be assured for the duration of your stay, so long as you remain to your intent and raise no trouble within. You will be allowed to enter, but your presence and intent must first be announced to his majesty. Settle your troops out here and I will fetch you when the time is nigh.”
He couldn’t ask for more than that. He agreed and the man whisked away down a flagstone path and toward the castle, where he disappeared.
“That went well.” Ervinor snorted. “At least we weren’t banished immediately, right?”
“I wonder if I will actually meet with the king or speak with a chancellor or something,” Gabrion agreed. “Keep your eyes open for additional guards entering the marketplace. They might be delaying us so they can prepare an ambush.”
“It would seem the best course of action on their part. That and he took notice of our armor, so they must be extra suspicious of your purpose.” Ervinor then turned and barked out a few orders to his lieutenants, who in turn set the troops at relative ease. They were to mingle casually among the market, but remain alert for the order to reassemble. In groups of four and five, the army dispersed, though a number of them remained in the central square.
Gabrion admired Ervinor’s command of the army. Sure, he had spent time getting to know them, too, but Ervinor held their utmost respect. He still believed they were more Ervinor’s troops than his own. After all, what had he actually done to bring them together anyway?
Much of Gabrion’s quest had involved waiting and this request for an audience with the king was no exception. He adopted a stoic pose and focused his energies on his purpose for coming. He would request Mira’s release and he would ask about the piece of jade remaining here. Dariak might currently be stuck in Magehaven, but he trusted Randler and Frast to find a way to free him. They would still need the jades if their hopes to bring peace would come to fruition.
“Deep in thought,” mocked a voice Gabrion had not heard in some time. He started at the sound of it, and turned to look at the thief who had snuck up behind him so successfully.
“It’s been a while, Poltor. I’m glad you’re well. Have you seen—?”
“Shh,” the man interrupted, keeping his voice low and menacing. “Ask not of people I may or may not know. I will not tell you anything in either regard, but I’d rather not be connected to anyone else in any form. However, you’re someone I respect in some way and so I will enlighten you about some recent events since my time here.”
“Any light—”
“Shh,” Poltor hissed again. “I’m not telling you anything that’s newsworthy if you’re in the know. And if you’re seeking to speak with the king, then you ought to be in the know.”
“I’ve only just arrived.”
Poltor jabbed him in the ribs before Gabrion even registered any movement. Apparently, The Mist still had all of his skills in check. “There was some sort of attack on Magehaven not long ago. The foolish mages sent for help. I guess their skills were not strong enough.”
“Sent for help?” Gabrion asked, already knowing about the altercation, having played a major part in it. It was unnerving to think of troops approaching Magehaven while Randler and Frast attempted to rescue Dariak.
“Indeed. Defensive measures here require the king to dispatch a troop of soldiers to their defense. They’ve already left and should be reaching the tower by now if they haven’t already.” The thief pressed Gabrion’s shoulder as a warning not to move. He then stepped off and disappeared in the shadows.
Moments later, the verdantly clad page appeared and saluted to Gabrion. “His royal majesty of Hathreneir will hear your request. He has accepted my council and you are to be admitted alone.”
“Alone?” he balked, remembering the last time he had entered a castle without help, over a year ago. “Surely I am permitted a handful of my men as a show of good faith.”
The man frowned. “Very well. You may bring two others. I will collect you an hour hence.” Azosh clicked his heels and stormed off, annoyed that Gabrion hadn’t accepted entering alone, though clearly he hadn’t been expected to.
Before the warrior could think about whom to bring with him, Poltor was back, standing behind him and whispering in his ear. “Leave your commander here. He will need to maintain order in your absence. Take another soldier and one of your mage friends, so they can watch for subversion while you are inside.”
“How about you?” Gabrion breathed. “You’d be a better bodyguard than anyone.”
Poltor scoffed at the notion. “I do not show my face without good reason. Besides, I have other work to attend to. Go and choose wisely, but ask your mates if they’ve heard news. I must be off.” And with that, the thief was gone.
Gabrion cleared his head and sought out Ervinor to update him on the situation. He agreed with Poltor’s advice and suggested that Gabrion take Quereth with him and Morrish, an orphan of Kallisor who felt tremendous pride for his homeland, despite the harshness his life had shown him.
“But before you go, the others have heard some interesting things, Gabrion,” Ervinor noted. “A faction was sent off to support the mages. Also, some major scuffle happened within the castle recently, but no one knows what it was about or what happened. Defenses have been ramped up because of these things. Apparently, sending troops off to Magehaven didn’t sit well with some people in light of other events. Everyone is on edge.”
“That probably explains why they tried to get me to go in alone.”
“I’m sure it does,” Ervinor agreed. “But there’s more. The biggest news, Gabrion, is that the fighting apparently hasn’t been going well at the border, so though they’re on alert here, many fighters have been dispatched to the east.”
“That’s either good or bad for our visit.”
“Yes. So be careful, Gabrion. If we have no word from you by nightfall…”
Gabrion clapped Ervinor’s shoulder. “Be at ease, friend. If I am well and night approaches, I will send word to you so you’ll know.” They established a set of secret messages and if none of them was included in the missive, then Ervinor would know that Gabrion’s safety had been jeopardized.
Azosh approached Gabrion at the end of the hour. “Are you ready, my lord? These are the two who will accompany you?”
“Yes. Quereth and Morrish,” he said by way of introduction.
“Very well,” he responded with a hint of impatience. He then strode purposely forward while Gabrion and the others followed closely behind.
The inner sanctum of the castle was as cold and hard as the external walls. Gabrion wondered how anyone actually chose to live with such stark features and jutting lines everywhere. There was a militaristic elegance to it, but he would have preferred a little more softness here and there. He wondered idly if the king sat upon a rock-hewn throne or if at least the throne room would have better furnishings.
Of course, the castle was designed as such to keep visitors on edge. Most of the castle grounds were loaded with lush tapestries and rich gardens, but this direct passageway toward the audience chamber and its anteroom were kept bare of any welcoming elements.
They hadn’t had much time to strategize, but Quereth gently touched Gabrion’s left shoulder blade, an indication that magical wards were protecting this room, but that there was no immediate danger. Had the hand touched Gabrion’s shoulder, then the warrior would have gone on deeper alert. Morrish spotted no hidden guards and so kept his hands to his side and his eyes wide.
After a short delay, the three were brought to King Prethos’ chamber. They walked in respect
fully, with heads slightly bowed and backs held straight. Gabrion noted a richer atmosphere in this room, but it was still mostly barren and uninviting.
Two elegantly carved wooden thrones awaited at the end of a slate walkway that was highlighted with cobblestones on either side. It looked more like a town road than the welcome carpet to the king; nonetheless, he walked with pride and knelt briefly in respect.
“Rise, citizen of Kallisor. My page tells me you have requests?”
The king’s voice cut like steel and held more power than arrogance. He truly sounded the part of a man whose word was rarely questioned, if ever, and whose decisions were enacted without hesitation, yet with respect. His own king had sounded abrasive and bullying, compared to the rich tenor in this man’s voice.
“Greetings, your majesty. Indeed, I do have some requests.”
“By what intent do you enter my court to make these requests? Come you here by the will of your king? Does that explain the presence of your troops at my gate?” He never raised his voice, but Gabrion could feel the anger anyway.
“No, sire. In the end, I seek a means of ending all the warring.”
Before he could continue, the king laughed mirthlessly. “Unless you possess the authority of your king to subjugate your country to mine, then that is unlikely to transpire.”
“I do not come at the behest of my king,” Gabrion returned sharply. “His will isn’t one of compromise, and I’m hoping that your mind is more open to a peaceable resolution to this ongoing threat to our lands. We endlessly lose resources, both in the lands that are trampled and the people whose lives are lost. There must be a way of ending this conflict.”
The king tilted his head ever so slightly. “You do not speak like a conqueror. Come then, ask of me your requests.”
“I have two, your majesty. In the first, over a year ago, your forces invaded my homeland of Savvron and you took a close friend of mine as prisoner. I would have her returned to me unharmed.”
The king’s brows furrowed. “We have no prisoners here, young warrior. Certainly not from some unnamed village in Kallisor.”
Emotions swirled up within Gabrion. His pride took a hit for the comment about his town being unnamed, despite having just offered its name, yet that blow was the least of what he felt. His heart felt like he had been stabbed, for if there were no prisoners, then surely Mira— He pushed the thought away, but it persisted. Mira’s face swirled into his thoughts but he already knew—of course he knew—that she was gone. Keeping a maiden from a random village prisoner for a year? Thinking about it now, it made no logical sense to him. Part of his conscience mocked him, while another piece crumbled miserably. A searing pain burned in his heart and all he wanted to do was fall to the ground and cry out in agony. All his questing, all his tribulations, and here at the end, there was no Mira waiting for him. Gabrion felt suddenly empty and he didn’t know what to do or why he was there.
“Your other request?” the king prompted.
There was something else he was supposed to ask for. Something important. Something that mattered. But all he wanted to do was raise his sword and cut down this man whose forces had attacked his village and taken his one true love away from him. And all this time later, the name of his village was insignificant to the man. It didn’t register to him. It mattered nothing. He wanted to skip the second half of his request and call out for Ervinor to set the army on the castle; to take down the fighters who were here and to simply destroy them all.
He wanted to leave them as empty as he felt now.
A hand clutched Gabrion’s shoulder tightly and brought him back to the moment. Morrish was shaking him, trying to bring his focus to the king. Glancing around, Gabrion could see that a few of the king’s guards had stepped forward with the warrior’s reaction to the news. His silence was clearly disturbing, but so was his hand, which was clutching his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles were white.
It took tremendous strength of will for Gabrion not to lose himself in the loss of Mira. Suspecting it and hearing about it were very different things. Now it was a reality and his world had changed. But, he reminded himself, his whole purpose in coming here was to help the world to change. He needed to continue Dariak’s quest and from there forge a new land.
He composed himself and cleared his throat. “I am sorry. She was a dear friend and—” He stopped himself and breathed deeply. “Since the one request is denied me, perhaps you will see fit to make retribution by honoring my second request.”
The king sat back in his throne, but he was clearly tensed and ready to move, in case the emotions warring on Gabrion’s face erupted physically. “Go on, though I make no promises.”
“At the end of the War of the Colossus, the mage Delminor summoned a giant from the power he claimed from the pieces of jade. Those pieces were scattered across our kingdoms. One such shard lies here in your possession. I ask for that piece of jade.”
The king stared at him intently and then laughed wildly. Already wounded by the first bit of news, Gabrion tensed into a fighting stance, though luckily he neglected to pull his blade. Quereth and Morrish both grabbed him to restrain him just in case. “Oh, young warrior,” the king said with an amused smirk. “Even if I could give you that jade, I would not lightly hand it over to one such as you. As it happens, it is no longer in my possession.”
Gabrion scanned the man’s face and realized that he spoke truly. “It is vital that I find it.”
“You’re no mage who can wield its power. Or is your friend here the one who would do so?” He looked over at Quereth.
“No, my lord.” The old mage bowed his head. “But his quest is true nonetheless.”
“I see.” The king narrowed his eyes and considered Gabrion thoughtfully. “I will tell you this much, young warrior, in the hopes that you will recognize truth when you hear it and thus leave this place afterward. The jade was stolen several days ago and I do not think it likely that you will find it anywhere within my castle or its immediate surround—”
A guardsman entered from the western door and strode purposely toward the king, ignoring the visitors. He leaned into his monarch’s ear, whispered something, then fled as quickly as he had come. The king’s face turned to stone and he lost his path of thought as he looked at Gabrion and the others. Then he blinked several times and waved a hand in the air. The Kallisorians pushed themselves to alertness, wondering what was coming next.
“Forgive me this intrusion,” the king said with a dramatically formal tone. “An urgent matter has come to my attention and I must interrupt our audience momentarily. If you will follow my page here, I will reconvene with you shortly.” He then spoke to the page who appeared at his side, “Berral, take our visitors to the gardens.”
Gabrion didn’t care. All he knew was that he would be able to have a moment to digest his conversation with the king and to take a few moments to grieve before planning anew. He needed the hiatus, so he didn’t argue at all. He nodded to the king and silently followed the page out the eastern door, trying to hold himself together.
Chapter 26
The Imprisoned Mage
Dariak lay on the cold stone floor, cursing his luck. He thought he could talk to Pyron, but with the other masters in the room, he didn’t have a real chance. He wished now he had just gone for the jades.
As the magical bindings were set around him, he had crashed to the ground and anguished tears fell from his eyes. He had sworn never to be incarcerated again, and yet he was helpless at a time when he needed to be strong. The bindings trapped him like giant vines and he could feel the antimagic spells contained within them. They were designed to absorb magical energy and to cast it outward, inert. The energy came off in the form of heat and the more magic he tried to use, the hotter his cell became.
Also covered was his mouth, thereby limiting a majority of his power. No hands to form and shape the energies. No words to empower them. He was at a severe loss. He had a few spells he could call that would
respond to his thoughts alone, but, like most nonverbal spells, they were not enough to effect an escape.
For the first couple of hours of his newfound imprisonment, Dariak tried the few spells he could, hoping to work his way out from the spell-trappings. Yet neither fire nor water were helpful forces. The ribbons would not burn, and even wet, he was not slippery enough to wriggle out of them. Of course, he understood well enough that the bindings themselves were likely bound to him as if they were more alive than simple rope. It would be a complex spell, but he was in Magehaven. There would be no reason for them not to use their strongest abilities to ensnare him.
What he didn’t understand at first was why they didn’t just kill him for his alleged transgression. If he had truly murdered Kerrish, then why let Dariak breathe for even a moment more? Surely some of the others immediately petitioned for Dariak’s execution. And perhaps, he considered, his death would be made into a show against all who would thwart the Council. Considering some of its members, Dariak conceded that it must be the case.
It took time for him to calm himself enough to rationalize. There wasn’t time to postulate who would want him alive and who would seek his imminent death. He couldn’t waste effort on weak spells that were doomed to fail against his bonds. Yet the stress of helping Gabrion escape his Trial, the realization of Kerrish’s martyred suicide, and sudden imprisonment all took their toll on him.
Perhaps it was a day later—or maybe hours, he had no idea—when he could think calmly again. No one had come to his cell and it confirmed his suspicions of a public execution. He had no idea of the assault on the tower that Gabrion, Randler, and the others had led while trying to flee. He was unaware of all the other mages who had died during that escape. All he hoped was that his friends were gone from the tower and off somewhere safe.
Part of him didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he wasn’t entirely sure that their group could have escaped unscathed, not with the hundreds of mages who lived within the tower who could rise up and protect against those intruders. And though he didn’t want to consider that Gabrion and Randler had fallen, he had to admit that it could have happened. If he didn’t accept it as a possibility now, then it would swell up against him when he least expected it and, considering his predicament, he needed to be sharp and ready.
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