Into the Fray: Volume 1 of The Sorcerers of Jhanvia Series

by Aderyn Lonigan

  Tyral continued with that thought, “Yes, yes, very good insight. If Satreka’s sorcerers are able to block mind links, it would have widespread devastating effects on many cultures, including mine, the Clannya and the Valtyr. If strong enough, it could disrupt the bonding spell of the Valtyr, which would make your people extremely vulnerable.”

  “And we are central to his plans.”

  “I hope we’re wrong about this.”

  “Do you have any other good news to report today?” Kidreyli was sarcastic.

  Tyral’s tone became more lighthearted, “Well, let’s see…it’s not rain-ing...two of my favorite people bonded last night, and, yet again, it was I who was forced to suffer in lack of sleep due to all the commotion… my legs are tired from all this traveling…and I haven’t had sex in over a month.”

  Kidreyli laughed out loud and hugged Tyral’s neck, “Where would I be without you?”

  “Where, indeed,” Tyral replied.

  ix months ago in Castle Caerlyk.

  Two men stood at the far end of the great hall. It was an immense space, with a thirty-foot quadripartite ceiling supported by massive columns rising along the walls, and encompassing some one hundred forty feet of length and seventy feet of width. Constructed in ancient times, the builders used surprisingly large dark brown stones to create the floor and walls. They had been placed with such precision that not even a strip of paper could pass between, even though no binding material was used. Several thin rectangular windows had been placed high up to allow the light of day to shine in. A gothic-style door of thick, heavy oak and well-maintained black iron some fifteen feet high and twelve feet wide served as the primary entry. It opened inward from a long, oversized hallway that led to the courtyard. A few well-crafted long wooden tables with accompanying benches and chairs were placed in neat lines that created the illusion of an even bigger space. Farthest from the entry was a raised platform made of great flat stones, where an intricately carved, high-backed wooden chair, covered in the finest red cloth, stood waiting for its current master. Swaths of alternating red and gold cloth were draped around the room from the ceiling down the walls to about eye level, interspersed with fine tapestries depicting images of courtly life from so long ago that they were now perceived as myths. Several iron stands, each holding ten or so burning candles, were placed about its perimeter, each contributing a warm glow to the room. There was the slightest hint of an unrepentant mustiness, but the servants had done well, placing fresh flowers about so that their scent was brushed into the air by those who walked past.

  In front of the raised platform, one of the men, wearing the finest woolen, floor-length red cloak with silver embroidered trim, paced slowly back and forth, obviously waiting for something and visibly impatient. He was a tall man of about six feet with a meticulously well-maintained black beard, perfected with a streak of silver running down the middle of his chin, an unusual feature for his age of twenty-eight years. It painted an air of maturity about him. He had a full head of deep black hair that fell to his shoulders and his muscles were toned, but he was certainly not muscular. His black shirt was tucked inside his black leather pants, which were adorned with a red stripe running down the outside of each leg. His slender waist was marked by a black leather belt finished with a most opulent silver buckle. As the time slowly passed, his bright brown eyes would occasionally stare unmercifully at the man standing motionless just a few yards away.

  That man, of an age somewhere in his mid-twenties, stood with his overly muscular arms folded, chain mail flowing off his broad shoulders from underneath a heavy black leather vest. A blood red shirt could be seen lurking beneath, its sleeves ending well before his black leather bracers. His powerful six and a half foot frame had a large two-handed blade strapped over his back with an assortment of knives located in strategically thought-out places. His leather pants were black, also with that same red stripe running down both legs to his shiny black leather boots.

  “So, Zakrell, tell me again about these sorcerers,” Satreka was terse, his naturally deep tone commanding.

  The big man replied, “They come highly recommended, my lord. The Councilor of Jhanvia assured me that they were the most powerful sorcerers on the continent.”

  “I don’t care about reputation. I only care if they can deliver. We have been at this for weeks without success.”

  Zakrell was hesitant to explain, “I understand your frustration, but this has never been attempted before. There are complications….”

  Satreka threw up his hands, his gruff voice echoing through the halls of the castle, “Complications! What complications?! All we are trying to do here is get a woman pregnant with a male child.” He pointed his finger at Zakrell’s face, “These new sorcerers of yours better produce immediate results or I may have all your heads.”

  A young blond-haired soldier entered wearing the standard issue uniform, white shirt over black pants and boots, with a fine red tunic tied at the waist with a black belt. He also carried the standard, unremarkable knife and sword. He stood in front of the door at the main entrance to the great hall and announced, “My lord, the Sorcerers of Jhanvia.”

  The soldier moved to the side and three tall men wearing hooded black robes entered the room. Their hoods were pulled forward so their faces were hidden. They strode confidently up to him.

  The sorcerer in the lead addressed him, “My lord Satreka, the Valtyr is pregnant with a male.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the sorcerer replied without emotion. “We have completed our task. We expect payment as agreed.”

  Satreka felt a little put upon by the abruptness of his request, and it showed on his face. He waved over to one of his aides to bring a purse of silver coins, which he held on to for the moment and restated his question, “You are absolutely certain she is pregnant?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the sorcerer stoically replied.

  Satreka paused briefly before reluctantly handing over the money to the sorcerer. The man in the black robes passed his hand over the purse and it instantly disappeared from sight, then he placed it in a pocket inside his cloak.

  “Very clever,” the warlord noted.

  “We shall take our leave.” The sorcerers bowed, turned and walked away.

  He let them get half-way back to the door before calling out, “Gentlemen, please. May I have a word?”

  The sorcerers turned and waited for the Scecian to come to them.

  Satreka explained, “I have been working to develop this little enterprise here for quite a long time. You gentlemen have succeeded where many have failed, and your success today is a great milestone on the path to achieving our goals. I was wondering if you might be interested in working for me.”

  “What are you proposing?” the lead sorcerer asked.

  “You could stay here in the castle and provide a much needed magical boost to my efforts. I could pay you, say…twenty silver pieces per week. In exchange, you would proffer your talents for our mutual benefit. You would have the protection of this castle, with all the food and drink you desire.”

  The sorcerer replied, “An intriguing proposal. Would you mind if we discussed this amongst ourselves?”

  “Please, take whatever time you need.”

  The three sorcerers turned facing each other and appeared to remain silent for several minutes.

  Zakrell whispered to Satreka, “That was a very generous offer. Are you sure you’ll receive sufficient benefit?”

  Satreka whispered back, “As I said, Zakrell, they have succeeded where many have failed. I think having them with us in this venture will make our lives much more rewarding.”

  “What of Dulica and his assistants?”

  “We can keep them around for simple tasks, but he and his minions couldn’t hold a candle to these men. They had their chance to prove their worth and they failed miserably. We need great talent to ease the burden of success.”

  While Satreka and Zakrell were
conversing, the sorcerers were communicating telepathically.

  “This could be an excellent opportunity for us,” said the lead sorcerer.

  The second replied, “Yes, I agree. It provides us significant benefits at little cost.”

  The third conjectured, “I am not sure about working for this petty man. He is weak and has no chance of success.”

  The lead sorcerer replied, “True, but I’m not suggesting that we do anything for him that would not serve our needs. Under the cover of his ravings, we will be able to actively pursue our objectives unnoticed. Besides, some of his plans fit comfortably with ours and could easily be syncretized with no one the wiser. It would also keep us close to the Valtyr’s child.”

  The third sorcerer paused for a moment and then said, “Your point is well taken.”

  The lead sorcerer turned to Satreka and announced, “We agree to your terms.”

  “Excellent,” the Scecian replied. He motioned for the soldier by the door to come over. “This man will take you to your rooms.”

  “If it please your lordship, we would rather be seen to a place where we may conduct our rites. We require a dark, secure location, preferably in the deepest part of the castle.”

  “As you wish. Soldier, take these men to Dulica. Tell him it is my command that he give them anything they require.”

  “I understand, my lord. Gentlemen…,” the soldier motioned for them to follow.

  The sorcerers stood motionless and silent.

  “What is it?” Satreka asked.

  The lead sorcerer stated, “We require payment as agreed. Twenty silver pieces.”

  “You want me to pay you in advance?” Satreka’s face became a little flush with anger.

  “That was our agreement,” the sorcerer replied calmly.

  His fury was evident, but what could he do? He needed them much more than they needed him. He looked over at Zakrell and held out his hand demanding his purse. The big man gave it over and Satreka counted out twenty silvers. “Here is your payment. I expect to see significant benefits from this investment.”

  The lead sorcerer took the money and hid it in his cloak as before, and then said, “Please allay your anxiety. We will not disappoint.”

  “Tell me your names,” Satreka commanded.

  The lead sorcerer replied, “My name is Juun, this is Nalim and Aliko,” motioning first to the man behind him on the left and then to the man behind him to the right.

  “Very well,” Satreka replied. “Soldier….”

  The young man took his cue, “Gentlemen, if you will follow me.”

  The sorcerers turned and left the room with their caretaker. Satreka leapt onto the raised platform and took a seat on the high back chair. Zakrell stared at him.

  “What?” demanded Satreka. “You want your money back, I take it?”

  The young warlord silently smiled, but it was obvious that is what he wanted.

  “Soldier,” Satreka called out to the same soldier who previously handled the money, “Go get twenty silvers and give them to Zakrell.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the soldier replied as he went off to his assigned duty.

  “You don’t trust me, Zakrell?”

  “My lord, of course I trust you.”

  “I would hope so after all we’ve been through,” Satreka said with a smile on his face.

  A young soldier hurriedly entered and announced, “My lord Satreka, lord Kutrik and….”

  “Get out of the way, boy,” Kutrik pushed the young soldier to the side as he angrily made his way through the main door, his bold strides indicative of his state of mind as he determinedly walked toward his protégé at the far end of the room. He was a big, muscular man, maybe six and a half feet tall and he was wearing the finest, ornately designed, red woolen cloak with golden trim. His long blond hair showed streaks of gray as it fell over his shoulders to the middle of his back. Most telling was his scruffy full gray beard that hinted at his age of about fifty years. He was followed by three of his most loyal soldiers.

  Satreka was immediately out of the chair, “My lord Kutrik.”

  “What is this I hear about you capturing a Valtyr and holding her here?” Kutrik demanded in his naturally deep, gruff voice.

  “My lord, let me explain,” Satreka responded.

  Kutrik’s anger could not be contained, “What is there to explain? Are you trying to get us all killed? When the Valtyr realize that you are keeping one of their own here against her will, they will come at us with unrivaled ferocity. We will be lucky to catch a breath before they rip our throats out.”

  Satreka was hesitant to speak because he knew his words would elicit ridicule.

  “Well…?” Kutrik gruffly demanded.

  “She is my consort,” he said tamely.

  Kutrik laughed, “Your consort? That’s absurd.”

  “It is true. She is pregnant with my child.”

  “Zakrell, is this true?”

  “Yes, my lord, it is.”

  “Where is her mate?” Kutrik asked.

  Satreka replied, “She is in the dungeon under Klur’s watchful eye.”

  Kutrik was furious. “Are you really that ignorant? Don’t you realize that the Valtyr communicate with each other through mind links? The entire Valtyr clan are likely aware of her plight at this very moment.”

  “My sorcerers are blocking her mind links with their magic.”

  “The Valtyr know when they have lost one of their clan because their mind links have been severed. It never occurred to you that by breaking their mind links it would bring attention to this situation?” There was a telling silence. Kutrik was exasperated, “No, I suppose not. Where did you find them?”

  Zakrell replied, “My men picked them up five or so miles northeast of Triami.”

  Kutrik motioned with two fingers for his lead soldier to come near. The young man, maybe of twenty-two years, stood out from the others with his red cloak embroidered with a border of interwoven black and gold. He whispered so Satreka could not hear, “Resali, this is a very dangerous situation.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the young captain replied quietly.

  “I think the best plan here is to kill both of the Valtyr and make it look as if someone else had done it. We should leave them near the place where they were first captured.”

  “As you wish,” Resali agreed.

  He continued, “I want you to see to this personally. Take Satreka and make sure the Valtyr are well with no telling marks that could be traced to us. Report back to me what you find. I will fetch some Dhoyan weapons. They and the Valtyr never really got on. Maybe we can deflect this problem off in their direction.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Kutrik addressed those in attendance, “Resali will go with Satreka and observe the two Valtyr. The rest of you, off to your duties.” As the men bowed and went to their assigned tasks, he called out to one of his lieutenants, “Gushol, I have a special task for you.”

  As they came up to a heavy wooden door at the end of a great stone hallway, Satreka put his hand on Resali’s broad chest. “This Valtyr is my consort. I expect you to show proper respect and decorum.”

  “I understand, my lord. My charge is only to observe,” he confirmed.

  Satreka nodded his acknowledgement. He knocked gently on the door and pushed it open. “Natilya, may we enter?”

  A Valtyr, statuesque at six feet tall, was standing by a large open window that allowed the fresh breeze to enter. She was wearing a grand floor-length woolen white dress with the faintest hints of lapis blue that accentuated her most feminine curves. Its rounded neck line was most revealing, richly embroidered with layers of tiny white petals in the thinnest cloth, which gave the illusion of multiple dimensions. Its long sleeves hugged her arms, finished at the wrists with tiny embroidered swirls of the darkest blue. A white braided cloth cord, looped in front, was wrapped around her waist and sat loosely on her hips. She turned to him, pushed her long blond hair away from her face a
nd replied, “Of course, my love.”

  The two men entered. Resali stood respectfully by the door while Satreka went over, kissed her, and then explained, “This is one of Kutrik’s most trusted captains. His name is Resali. Resali, this is Natilya, my consort.”

  He walked over, bowed and kissed her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He took note of her perfectly combed hair and finely manicured fingernails. Her barely-noticeable blond eyebrows, that centered with a rounded v-shaped at the top of her smallish nose, gracefully flowed over her deep blue eyes and slipped under her hairline, painting a perfect flowing accent to her face so unintentionally deceitful as to never betray her true years, and leading the eye to her softly pointed ears.

  “I am honored,” she replied to the captain. She looked to Satreka and asked with bright eyes, “Lord Kutrik is here? May I meet him?”

  “Maybe later. How are you feeling?”

  “I am well. Are we going to the lakeshore today?”

  “I hope we can, but I must attend to a few things for Kutrik first. Resali, we should proceed to our next task.”

  The young soldier bowed and said, “It was a pleasure, my lady. Will we see you at dinner this evening?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I look forward with anticipation to our next meeting,” Resali stated as he began backing toward the door.

  Satreka kissed her and said as he headed for the door, “I will look in later.” He closed the door with hardly a sound, and then he said softly, “The other Valtyr is in the deepest part of the castle.”

  “Lead on, my lord.”

  Satreka led him to a circular stone stairway at the end of the hall which took them down a three levels to the servant’s chambers. He continued along the hallway to a narrow, poorly lit staircase that took them ever deeper into the castle’s darkest recesses. They stepped off the last step into a large room lit only by a few torches. Most noticeable was the underlying stench of blood and urine. And then there were the chains, shackles, leather straps and other more creative devices that were located about, leaving no doubt over the intended use of this place. Satreka looked around and saw only his dungeon master, who was tending to things at the far wall.