by Mark B Frost
Myris nodded. “I believe I have found him. He must be the Lord of Kargaroth. It is the only way he could know such power.”
“Do we make our move now?”
“No.” Myris halted and turned to her. “We follow the will of Lord Vaelius. We are not interested in the man, only Kargaroth itself. We must find where he has hidden it. Until that time comes, you are never to speak to me of this again, do you understand? I will not have our mission uncovered.”
She stepped back and gave a bow. “Of course, great Myris. Forgive me.”
Chapter 9.
Relm of Sarin
Cildar sat relaxing in the warm sunlight, the vast Sarin Plains stretching around him for miles in every direction. Tall grass waved in the breeze as birds flew overhead. Behind him, his army took a break from its long march home.
It had been nearly a month since the war had come to an end. After the fall of the dragon, the Knighthood had little trouble bringing the city to order and establishing a new government. The report from Vantrisk’s officials and military brass was that the dragon had killed their previous ministers and claimed the city as his own. Cildar was moved to compassion by the dreadful tales he had been told of a city held hostage, but he could not change the result. It would be many years before Vantrisk would regain trusted status with Felthespar. He had left part of his forces to occupy the city, and the rest of the army had begun the march home.
He had allowed the army a leisurely pace because of the number of soldiers traveling injured. Under normal circumstances they could have reached Felthespar by now, but they were only just entering the southern stretches of the Sarin Plains. Shasta estimated that at their current pace, it would take another week.
Cildar looked over the vast stretch of lowlands that lay before them. Sleeping on the plains always presented a challenge. Nightspawn wandered Sarin in the darkness. First there were the vampirics, former sorcerers who had tapped into Morolian ether seeking power. They possessed a weakness to sunlight, and had no ability to restore their vital energy. This left them with a need to feed on other creatures by night, and hide away during daylight.
Worse than vampirics were the shadow wights, an evolved form of nightspawn that had learned to feed on shadow ether found in darkness. Though they were no longer bound exclusively to the night, it was there that their powers were the most potent, and they typically avoided the sun. Then, there was the lich.
Cildar narrowed his eyes as he thought of the mythical adversary of the paladins. He was unsure how liches came to be, but he knew how dangerous they were. They were capable of casting spells at the level of the most adept mages, and could absorb spells cast against them. They had developed a dark equivalent to the healing spells of priests, allowing them to reverse any damage done to them. Worst of all, when a lich defeated an enemy it would devour the vanquished man’s soul and steal the body for itself. Each time they did this they gained greater power. Many warriors claimed they would face a hundred dragonspawn rather than come within a mile of a lich.
He removed the Trine Lance from his back and stared into the holy aura it generated. The Lance was his birthright as an Emle. A relic from even before the Arocaen, it was said that the Trine Lance could slay all dark creatures—even liches—with ease if the wielder possessed the strength to face them. Cildar had never tested his will against a lich, and felt no desire to do so. Yet as he stared into the triple-pronged crystalline blade of the Lance and felt energy flow from it, it assured him that no lich was his equal.
Galbion appeared at his side and gave a bow. Cildar returned his weapon to his back and asked, “How is Daemon?”
“Not well. I remain unconvinced that he’ll regain consciousness without significant surgery. Even if he did, his body would be a wrack of inexorable pain. The coma he’s fallen into may be a gift from Pecoros.”
“What about the poison?”
“His case isn’t as easy as yours was. Red dragon poison isn’t particularly dangerous, but it’s carried in their fire, and Abaddon absorbed a great deal. He needs treatment at a level we’re just not capable of, and if he doesn’t get it soon I’m not certain his burns will ever heal to a degree that will leave him functional. He needs to reach the Church soon.”
Cildar shook his head sadly. “I don’t like separating on the Plains. To get him to the Church quickly enough to matter would require sending a small party, and I’m not going to leave them vulnerable to nightspawn.”
“You could go with him yourself, or Shasta. Either of you have the white magic necessary to make such a journey.”
“Enough! You know that we don’t show officers preferential treatment, not when others are wounded as well. I am trying to save the lives of all the soldiers here. I cannot place one above the rest.”
“It just seems like, after all he’s done for us, we could make an exception in this case.”
“I’ll consider it.” He turned to move back to camp, and saw Shasta heading his way at a run. He waved a hand to dismiss Galbion and waited for his fellow Dragoon to reach him. “What’s wrong, Shasta? It’s daylight still. I wasn’t expecting problems until sundown.”
“We’ve found a tent, sir. A thousand yards to the north.”
“A tent?”
“That may be an exaggeration. It’s more of a hut. It’s made from a combination of thatched grasses and animal hides.”
“Something like that would have taken a while to build.”
“Possibly. I checked a few maps, and we don’t normally take this line through Sarin. We’re farther to the east than our usual route. This could be someone who’s been living here for some time, and we’ve just missed them.”
“Could be nothing. But it could be a trap placed by a more clever nightspawn. Perhaps it’s best to move west and avoid it.”
“Your call, sir.”
There was a moment of silence as Cildar thought over his options. “I’ll feel better knowing what it is. But we’ve got to stick to our mission and get everyone home. You and Galbion start getting the army ready to move. Give me an hour and if you haven’t heard from me, head west. Tell Myris to come find me. If it’s a trap, his instincts will be useful.”
A short time later the two commanders stood fifty yards from the small hut, crouched low in high grass. It was as Shasta had described, but upon seeing it Cildar noticed that it had a flimsy and makeshift nature to it. It seemed unlikely that it could have survived the seasonal storms that would have hit the plains a few months prior. This gave him no reason to rule out a trap, so he motioned Myris forward.
The dark man slid slowly through the tall grass, casting illusion spells as he went. Even while focusing on him Cildar found it difficult to make him out, and within a minute had lost him altogether. He noted that Cainite stealth was as impressive as he had heard, and waited for the man’s return.
A few minutes later Myris appeared in front of him, uncloaking in an instant. Cildar barely managed to suppress a startled response.
“What do you make of it?” he asked.
“Little. There is a rune structure around the area, but it is weak and seems tailored against nightspawn. I cannot find any evidence of a trap, and the hut seems domestic enough. I believe it is worth approaching.”
Cildar nodded and stood. “Hello there! Is anyone home?”
Almost immediately, a head popped out of the tent flap. It was a young girl with red hair. Upon seeing the Dragoon she stepped out and waved enthusiastically, inviting him over. He approached with caution, making certain Myris was close at hand as he sized the girl up. Her attire was composed entirely of animal hides, but did not appear as makeshift as the hut. A few sharpened stone knives hung from a belt. Whoever she was, Cildar was certain she was a capable survivor.
“For a minute there I thought you were a nightspawn!” she exclaimed when he was within speaking distance. “I mean, I don’t know why. They never bother me except at night, but there’s no one else around here, and it was either a nightspawn o
r a tiger, and I’ve never heard a tiger talk. Have you heard a tiger talk?”
“Uh, no,” he answered in confusion.
“It’d probably be weird. Although dragons talk and I guess that’s not that weird. At any rate we’d probably get used to it. Do you want to come in? I’ve got soup!”
“I don’t think so. We were just checking things out, and—”
“I wouldn’t mind some soup,” Myris interrupted.
“Great!” she dashed back inside, leaving the hut’s door ajar. Cildar glared at his companion with displeasure.
“What? I can’t like soup?”
“Did you forget there’s an army waiting for us?”
“You told Shasta an hour. Besides, do you not think this bears a bit more exploring than finding out she has soup?” He went on into the tent without awaiting an answer.
“Actually, I was perfectly satisfied,” the paladin muttered, then followed. As he entered the girl was speaking again, almost jabbering to herself as she poured Myris’ soup into a bowl that Cildar was certain had once been a tiger’s skull.
“It was really meant to be more of a stew than a soup, but my potatoes aren’t growing yet. I think I did something wrong. It’s hard to find seeds out on the plains to begin with. I have to trek all over the place to find even meager supplies. I’m sorry about the bowl, I know it’s probably not very appetizing.”
Myris lifted his mask up to his nose and began to drink from the bowl. “It’s fine,” he said between sips. “Reminds me of home.”
Cildar was not sure what to make of this comment, so he turned back to the girl. “Have you lived out here long?”
“As long as I can remember!” she answered excitedly. Then her tone mellowed. “So, no. Maybe a few months, maybe a little longer.”
“You don’t know where you came from, then?” he pressed.
“I woke up in this field one day, somewhere near here. I don’t think I wandered very far before getting set up. I don’t know who I am, but I know a lot of stuff! Like, I knew how to catch tigers. Isn’t that cool? Look!” She flipped a hood over her head, showing the intact ears of the beast from which her cloak had been fashioned. “I kept them so everyone would know it’s from a real tiger.”
He smiled as Myris continued to eat wordlessly at his side. “There can be no doubt. The ears are strong evidence.”
“Exactly! That’ll show those naysayers! Oh this place is a mess. I’m sorry, I’m not much of a housekeeper, and it’s not much of a house anyway.”
Cildar looked around. Everything inside the hut was as makeshift as the outside. A bed made from animal hides was still being sewn together, animal-bone utensils were still being crafted, and on the lighter pieces of hide several crude drawings showed ideas for clothes and improvements to the hut. A few of these drawings contained advanced rune structures that Cildar was quick to pick out.
“Tell me,” he said while looking them over, “how you deal with the nightspawn.”
“They’re not so bad. The tigers are a lot worse, really. Nightspawn are scary, especially because they come at night, but they scare easy. I remember a few magic drawings, and I’ve got a perimeter set up. Most nights the nightspawn don’t notice me. Every so often they do, and I have to throw a fireball or something at them. It’s hard keeping spells prepared without decent ink, though, and I have no idea how to make the stuff. Tiger blood is too messy.”
“Do you like it here?” Myris asked as he sat down his bowl.
She slowed for the first time since they had arrived, looking to the floor timidly. “Not really. We all do what it takes to survive, right? I try not to complain. It gets lonely, though.”
He looked to Cildar, and the paladin gave a nod and stood. “You should come with us. We can find you a better home. Pack your stuff, grab whatever you’d like to bring along.”
She took a slow look around the room, then turned back and dropped her hands to her side. “Okay, ready!”
As they moved to rejoin the army Cildar asked, “Do you have a name?”
“I’m not sure. I think it might be Relm. It’s one of the only things I can remember. When I woke up, I knew something about Relm, and that I was hungry.”
“Alright then, Relm of Sarin. Do you remember anything else? Anything that might help us get in touch with your family, perhaps? Or at least trace you to a city?”
“There is something. I think I’m supposed to find the lord in red.”
“The lord in red?”
“That’s all I remember. I thought maybe it was just something from a book I had read, so I didn’t really make a big deal about it. But I can’t seem to let it go. It’s stuck in my head.”
Cildar rubbed his chin. “I actually know a man who could meet that description. Given your location, it’s not impossible that you were headed to Felthespar. When we get there, I’ll introduce you.”
“Is he nice?”
“I haven’t spent much time with him myself, but from what I hear he’s a very kind man, and well liked by the people.”
“That’s good. I’m not sure what to say to him, so I hope it won’t make him angry.”
“He is very busy, but I can arrange something.” They were within shouting distance of the army now, so Cildar signaled for Shasta to begin moving. “Come on, we’re heading north,” he said to his fellow travelers. They turned back, and Relm skipped joyously ahead.
* * * * *
A week later Relm sat in Atheme’s office awaiting her audience. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk, uncertain how she was going to explain herself. The man she was seeing was the Lord Grand Councilor of Felthespar. Relm did not know exactly what that meant, but she had been told that it was the city’s highest position. She felt guilty for wasting such an important man’s time, especially when she had nothing to say.
He stepped into the office and shut the door softly, not looking up from a book he was reading. He moved to the other side of his desk and had a seat, still not acknowledging her. They sat in silence for several minutes, until he finally put the book down and looked up.
Upon seeing her he leaped back with a start. “Oh!”
“Oh!” she exclaimed as well and leaped to her feet. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
He waved a hand in front of his face and started laughing heartily, leaning against his desk for support as he slid his chair forward. “No, no, my dear, it is entirely my fault. On the way here I forgot why I was returning to my office. I forgot about our meeting. There are so many these days.”
“It’s really not a bother. I can leave if you’re busy.”
“Nonsense, please take a seat. It’ll come to me.” He stared at her for a moment as she sat down. Relm had new attire now, wearing a purple dress shrouded in a white hooded cloak with red trim. She had insisted, however, that her hood should still have the distinctive cat ear design she had come up with herself. It was this that finally jarred Atheme’s memory. “Ah, yes! You’re the young girl from the plains. Relm, wasn’t it?”
“Relm Sarin, yes.”
“A fittingly lovely name,” he said with a smile, staring into her light blue eyes. His delicate tone and genuine expression put her at ease. “Cildar has told me that you needed to see me.”
“Kind of. I don’t remember a lot. When I woke up on the plains I had this gash on my back. There’s still a scar, but you can’t see it through my dress. Anyway, it healed okay, but whatever happened I can’t remember anything before it.”
“Okay,” Atheme said with a confused expression. “So how do you know you’re looking for me?”
“I actually don’t. I have this vague memory of looking for the lord in red. Cildar said he knew someone who matched that description. He was hoping if I saw you, it would trigger something.”
“Sound reasoning. Does it?”
She stared at him hard for nearly a full minute, with her mouth twisted in concentration. “Nope!” she finally announced. “You are very red, though! I l
ike it.”
He bowed in response. “Thank you. I am of the House Saelen. It’s one of the three Houses of our Knighthood, which date back to the formation. See, we were founded by three Churches, Loren, Eidr, and Serene—”
“I know that name!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Serene! I’ve heard of her!”
“Ah, good! That would suggest that you are probably from one of the Knighthood’s territories. Serene is our city’s most sacred Saint, and several territories have her as their patron.”
“Ooo,” she answered with genuine interest.
“The Church of Serene evolved into the House of Saelen, of which I’m a member. Saelen has a few old nicknames, including ‘The Soldier’s House’, ‘The House of Passion’ and, most commonly, ‘The Red Robes’. As I used to be the Lord of Saelen and have always dressed to match the House colors, it’s understandable why someone might connect the phrase ‘the lord in red’ to me. However, there are a few other people we should introduce you to. The current Lord of Saelen is actually Cildar’s younger brother, Cyprus. He might be the man you’re looking for.”
“What about the other Houses?” she asked rapidly.
Atheme leaned back and smiled. The girl’s youthful energy was a stark contrast to every other meeting he had sat through the past week, and he felt like a wilted flower receiving a fresh ray of sunlight. “The Church of Loren eventually became the House of Lurin. They have been called ‘The Priest’s House’, ‘The Honest House’, or ‘The White Robes’. Eidr became Aithr, ‘The Mage’s House’, ‘The House of Discipline’, ‘The Black Robes’. In general, the Houses and their officiating body, the Eldram, discourage the use of these nicknames. The Houses are supposed to have equal representation throughout all branches of the country, but as each House has become associated with certain branches, it has created frustrating biases. Heralds from the House Aithr often get preferential treatment in the Arcanum, likewise for priests in Lurin.” Atheme came to himself and realized that he was rambling. “I’m terribly sorry, I hope I’m not boring you to tears.”