by Randy Nargi
“It is not the Guild.”
“Who then?”
“I am not prepared to say.”
Melmest Faeorn shook his head. “Lord Governor, with all due respect, I fear this is a folly. The man refuses to cooperate.”
“Just a few more minutes, Vice Magister. I implore you.”
“Very well.”
Bryn Eresthar turned back to address the prisoner. “Meomannan Quill, the Guild has loyally served the Empire for over 300 years—”
“I do not need your history lessons, sir.”
“Would you throw all of that away?”
The Grand Guild Master remained silent.
“You have allies, you know,” Bryn Eresthar said. “We are not all enemies.”
“Were that true…” Meomannan Quill said in a quiet voice.
“When you come to your senses, ask for me. I will gladly return to hear the truth.”
Bryn Eresthar sighed and looked at Melmest Faeorn. “I fear you were correct. This was a waste of time.” He began to step off of the platform. “But I really thought I could get through to him. Please tell Tad Stircas that I—”
At that moment, Bryn Eresthar stumbled and lost his balance. The closest warden acted on instinct and stepped forward to try to catch him, or at least break the Lord Governor’s fall. The other two wardens and even Melmest Faeorn raced to his side. Silbra Dal also stepped closer and took his arm. No one noticed that she was a second or two slower than everyone else.
As he made a show of dusting himself off, Bryn Eresthar caught the mage’s eye. She gave him a barely perceptible nod. That meant she had been able to drop the thader crystals down into one of the pipes.
The emerald-colored gems were rare and valuable, but not for the usual reason. While they were not magical themselves, thader crystals were used by mages to boost magical energy. In the case of Meomannan Quill, Silbra Dal believed that the archmage was so innately powerful that the supplement of a half dozen thader crystals would allow him to summon enough energy to teleport out of the cell—even with all the relorcan. Bryn Eresthar just hoped that Meomannan Quill had the sense to delay his escape so it wasn’t completely obvious who had aided the archmage.
“Thank you, thank you,” Bryn Eresthar said. “I fear that I’m not as young and agile as I once was.”
BANDER RODE AS QUICKLY AS HE COULD THROUGH THE STREETS OF OLD RUNDLUN. The city was crowded with merchants, travelers, diplomats, bureaucrats, petitioners, and everyday citizens. He had decided it would be quicker for him to come alone. He also thought that might attract less attention. But he would have to be careful. Even though Chiran Hemmig was probably still tied up in the carriage house, others might be looking for him.
As he made his way up Tangate Hill, he came to the Whittington, the court building adjacent to Harsceaw Prison. There he dismounted and gave his horse to one of the many ostlers who worked to keep the front of the building clear of animals.
Behind the Whittington was the prison, a venerable seven storey structure constructed of malmar blocks. The prison proper was surrounded by a tall, thick stone curtain wall topped by towers and walkways. To reach Harsceaw, Bander had to make his way around the lawhouse to a square with offices of barristers, inns, taverns, and a few various shops. All had been constructed a good distance away from the prison walls.
He scanned the square for any sign of Bryn Eresthar. And although a fair number of people were milling about, Bander saw no sign of his friend.
But then a shadowy figure caught his eye—just barely visible in his peripheral vision. Someone moved backward in a slightly unnatural way.
Bander closed his eyes and tried to replay what he had seen. Long ago he had learned to trust his gut feelings—especially when it came to observing. The eyes saw everything, but it was the mind that sometimes got in the way. When he opened his eyes, Bander located the corner of the building where he had seen the figure. But when he walked over and looked around the corner, there was no sign of anyone.
He closed his eyes again and focused—brought the image back into his consciousness. The figure was not tall. Not short. Average size. There was a sense of draped cloth. Dark. Black.
With that image fixed in his mind’s eye, Bander turned in a big circle and surveyed the area. It was fairly crowded, although not nearly as crowded as the street in front of the Whittington. That suited him just fine. Crowds unsettled him.
His eyes drifted from person to person, matching size, clothing, stance. But nothing really matched. So he started to move again.
Bander circled around the building where he had seen the shadowy figure. He cut through a narrow gap between a line of buildings and found himself in an alley courtyard. There were a number of people here as well. Not surprising, since all of Rundlun was densely populated.
And then he saw the shadowy figure again, darting between buildings.
This time Bander did not try to follow. Instead, he turned and departed from the alley. He ran down the street, past four shops, where another gap led to the alley courtyard. He arrived just in time to come face to face with the shadowy figure. It was someone he knew: Hirbo Thrang.
“Why the cat and mouse?” Bander asked.
“That’s why.” The mage pointed toward the front of the prison where two men were milling about. One was armed with a short sword, the other with a light crossbow. Although they were not in uniform, Bander recognized the type. The men were undercover soldiers. Almost certainly Ministry of the Axe, although they could be Murmurs. They were watching the prison’s entrance, same as him.
Hirbo Thrang motioned for Bander to return back into the alley. “Bryn Eresthar has not emerged yet, but I expect him at any moment. And obviously, others do as well. Unless they are here looking for you.”
“I doubt that. No one knew I was going to be here.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why are you here?” Bander asked.
“To make sure we get away without trouble—” Hirbo Thrang interrupted himself. “There he is.”
Bander turned and peered out of the alley. A group emerged from the prison’s gate house. He recognized Bryn Eresthar among them. His friend was speaking to a government official and there were a number of guards flanking them. One of the guards had a very slight build and was dressed in Laketon’s colors. He looked out of place.
“Who is that guard?” Bander asked.
“You have keen eyes. That isn’t a guard. It’s Silbra Dal.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what the two of them were doing in there.”
“Freeing Meomannan Quill.”
“I would expect a bit more commotion and alarms if that were the case.”
“Silbra Dal was planting the seeds for his escape. Thader crystals. If all goes well, the Grand Guild Master will choose the proper time and make his escape.”
“Isn’t he bound in relorcan chains or such?”
“No, they have him in the Pit. You remember that?”
“Of course. I still would have had him chained.”
“Luckily for us, you are not in charge of the prison. Here comes Bryn.”
Bryn Eresthar bowed to the official and motioned for his “guard” to attend him. Then he walked towards the alley where Bander and Hirbo Thrang were waiting. The Imperial soldiers casually followed.
“I could take those soldiers out, but it would certainly attract unwanted attention,” Bander said.
“No need,” Hirbo Thrang said. “Just follow me.”
He quickly led Bander to a doorway and they entered one of the buildings. A hallway stretched in towards the main room of what Bander assumed was an inn or public house. Behind another door, a narrow staircase spiraled up to the second floor. Hirbo Thrang opened the door and headed upstairs.
“We’re going to be trapped,” Bander said. “Unless you plan on teleporting us out.”
“That is indeed the plan.”
The staircase opened up to a narrow hallway lined with doors. Hirbo
Thrang chose the third door and they entered a guest room.
“Stand clear, please.” The mage began casting a teleport spell. The portal shimmered into existence just as the sound of footsteps echoed outside in the hallway.
“Where are we going?” Bander asked.
“Osthalor, of course.”
The door opened and Bryn Eresthar and the disguised Silbra Dal entered.
“The downstairs door is held,” Silbra Dal said. And then her eyes widened as she noticed Bander.
“What is he doing here?”
“Later,” Hirbo Thrang said.
Bryn Eresthar’s reaction was very different. He clasped his friend in a hug. “Dynark’s blood! You really are alive!”
“Yes, thanks to Silbra Dal.”
She refused to meet his eyes.
Bryn Eresthar turned to Hirbo Thrang and embraced him next. “I was wondering when you’d show up again, my friend.”
“Again, later if you please. That spell won’t hold your pursuers for long.” He ushered them all through the portal.
And, just like that, Bander found himself thousands of miles away, far to the north. He half expected to feel sick once he went through the portal, but as he stepped out into the shadow of an icy cliff in the Anga Wastes, all he felt was cold—intense cold—which cut right through his warm-weather clothing. But at least the wind wasn’t blasting like the last time he was here.
Bryn Eresthar led them into the ice cave which served as the outer keep of Osthalor. They wound their way down into the tunnel and then into a man-made passage built from immense carved stone blocks. At the end of the passage was an immense sculpture of a throne. Bryn Eresthar knelt before it and spoke the pass-phrase: “By the might of Klothar!”
The throne sculpture slid down, revealing a magically-illuminated corridor that was warm and dry. They all stamped their boots and knocked the ice and snow from their clothes.
Bryn Eresthar said, “It’s good to be home.”
Silbra Dal pulled off her helmet. Bander noticed that her hair was cut short, like a boy. He didn’t say anything about it, but the sorceress seemed changed in other ways. She was distant and preoccupied. And she radiated anger. He wanted to find out what had happened to her, but it could wait for a few minutes. Instead, he turned to Bryn Eresthar and said, “I have a lot to tell you.”
“And, I you. But what are we going to do about her?”
Bander noticed that both Silbra Dal and Hirbo Thrang tensed at the question.
“What do you mean?” Bander asked.
“She forced me to gain an audience with Meomannan Quill so she could free him. She’s not who you think.”
Chapter Two
THREE OF THE FOUR TOWERS IN GREDARL KAR’S FORTRESS WERE DEVOTED TO HIS ARCHERS AND LOOKOUTS. The fourth—on the southeast corner—he reserved for his own use. He often liked to take a cup of tea up to his tower and gaze out on the land. It was so flat that Gredarl Kar could see the only stand of trees for miles: Staiger’s Grove which was at least eight miles away. To the east was prairie, to the west was prairie, to the south was prairie, and to the north was prairie and his waystation, which was located a mile away on the wagon road. It was almost like a sea, this prairie. But Gredarl Kar did not have fond memories of the sea.
A very long time ago when he was not more than a boy, and when he was known by the name Fandrei, slavers raided his village on the shores of what the Harionese call ’Gadmark’ (but was ’Zimla’ in his mother tongue). The slavers spent the night slaughtering all the males old enough to have stubble on their faces and those who stood shorter than seventeen hands. Only women and children were left alive, but nearly all of them had been brutally used by the invaders—including his own mother. That was the last time he had seen her.
Fandrei and five other young men from his village, all tall and strong, had been beaten to the edge of death, then dragged aboard the slaver’s warship, a wickedly sleek galley with thirty slaves manning the oars. For the next year, Fandrei was chained to the oars and helped to propel the warship on its mission of piracy up and down the Manatamorai coast. They slept during the day and rowed at night when the attacks were most effective.
During that year, Fandrei saw all of his fellow villagers perish—either from exhaustion or from a slaver’s whip. But one night, Fandrei got lucky. He was able to jam a sliver of wood from his oar into the lock on his manacles and prevent it from closing completely. When a pair of guards returned to the hold to check on the prisoners, Fandrei grappled with them and was able to toss one of the guards into a row of slaves, who torn him apart while Fandrei dealt with the other guard.
For hours, Fandrei kept the slaves quiet until he was ready to strike. Then, at high noon, while most of the slavers slept, Fandrei led his men above deck where they quickly cut the throats of their captors. The captain and the first mate, quartermaster, and the other officers had a different fate. Fandrei used a boarding axe to chop off the feet of the remaining slavers and used the severed appendages as chum to attract sharks. Then, one by one, the officers were tossed overboard with a rope tied around their waists. The former slaves bet to see who would last longest among the sharks. It turned out to be the First Mate.
Fandrei and his crew managed to beach the ship on a sandy strip of mainland near the village of Preyut. There he burned the ship. Most of the former slaves scattered, but a handful remained with Fandrei and they became brigands, preying on merchant caravans. They avoided the well-guarded caravans on the Deroga, the vast road which ran from Yafiem to Kreed’s Keep, but struck on the lesser traveled north/south routes. In time, Fandrei amassed enough gold to buy a caravan of his own and after nearly twenty years of hauling goods across the desert he retired to the West and took the name Gredarl Kar. But he still vividly remembered his past, his travels. These days, though, Gredarl Kar rarely left his fortress. Everything important came to him.
His reverie was interrupted by Daras Mirth, his First Man.
“Pardon, My Lord.”
“Sit, Daras Mirth. I was thinking of the old days. Some tea?”
“No thank you.”
“You have news?”
“Yes. Genton has been taken care of.”
“Regrettable, but necessary. He was weak.”
“Yes. But, he did mention something. Something troubling.”
“Are you trying to ruin my peaceful morning, Daras Mirth?”
“Of course not—”
“What is it, then?”
“Genton described one of his assailants. Big. Old. Brutish.”
“That could be me,” Gredarl Kar smiled.
“Genton called him a ’great ape of a man.’ Over twenty hands hall.”
“Bander.”
“It sounds like him.”
“So he’s not dead?”
“Perhaps not. I must admit it, I am concerned. As we’ve discussed, he’s a formidable opponent.”
Gredarl Kar sat back in his carved chair. “Do not be concerned.”
“Why?”
“Because this will all be over soon. Besides, what can he do?”
“He’s like a hound that catches a scent. He discovered our arrangement with Unton Holt. And he didn’t stop until the Imperials were alerted.”
“Ah, and that, Daras Mirth, is what makes him ineffectual.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Bander came up within the ranks of the Guard, did he not?”
Daras Mirth nodded.
“Then he was an Imperial investigator.”
“The Imperial Investigator. For a decade or more. The man is brilliant.”
“But what does that tell you about how he operates?”
Daras Mirth was silent.
“He may be skilled at deduction, but his thinking is rigid. He trusts in the establishment, the Imperial bureaucracy. He knows no other way. He is a dangerous hound, but he is a hound confined to the yard.” Gredarl Kar could almost see the wheels turning in his First Man’s head.
/> “He will always work with the Ministries,” Daras Mirth mused.
“Exactly. And once he finally realizes that we have men placed in the Shield and the Axe, it will be too late.”
“Flawless planning, my liege.”
“I told you we have nothing to worry about.” He clasped Daras Mirth on the shoulder. “Now make sure we are ready for our visitors.”
Chapter Three
“I NEED AN EXPLANATION,” BANDER SAID. “Now.”
They were all sitting around the great hearth in the drawing room, but his request was directed to Silbra Dal. In response, she just shook her head in disdain.
"I care not of your needs, Captain. Not anymore."
“What happened to you?”
She remained silent. Sullen. Instead, Hirbo Thrang stepped forward.
“Knowledge,” he said. “That is what happened to her.”
“You know that I hate when you speak in riddles,” Bryn Eresthar said.
“I taught her what I know.”
“About what?” Bander asked.
“About everything,” Hirbo Thrang said. “Magic. The Guild. Her destiny…”
“Her destiny?” Bryn Eresthar almost laughed. “What destiny? She is merely—”
Bander held his hand up to cut the Lord Governor off. He turned to Silbra Dal. “Enough of everyone else talking about you. I wish to hear from you directly. What happened once you left the Merythir hall?”
Silbra Dal didn’t answer at once. But then Hirbo Thrang nodded at her, and she spoke.
“He trained me. And through my training, opened my eyes to the truth.”
“What truth?”
“The truth about the corruption within the Guild. The hypocrisy. The lies.”
“Less than two months ago you were a staunch defender of the Guild.”
“Less than two months ago I was blind. And stupid.”
“And now?”
“And now I know the truth. And that truth has made me powerful.”
“She is extremely powerful,” Hirbo Thrang said. “I can attest to that.”
