A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Salisar simply cocked her head and moved around the old necromancer as he continued to stare, dumbfounded, at Cornar.

  Both Kalder and Gregan heard Krindal, turning their attention to Cornar. Their eyes widened, and Gregan grinned so widely his mouth almost tore apart. “Cor!” Kalder shouted. The name drew the attention of everyone else. The warriors and mages scrambled into the dining hall, gasping and muttering surprised phrases about their leader’s appearance.

  Cornar rose from his seat, maneuvering in front of the table so he could greet his men properly.

  “I knew it!” Vargos shouted from the middle of the men, pointing at Cornar. “You couldn’t stay away!”

  “Oh, Cor!” Gregan shouted, hurrying across the mess deck, bumping chairs as he darted. The warrior hugged Cornar and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re here! You’re really here!”

  Nordal laughed, pushing his way to Kalder. “Did you think him an illusion, Gregan?” Several of the warriors chuckled.

  “Uncle!” Ordreth’s voice rang above the crowd. He picked his way between the tables. When he reached Cornar, he grabbed his uncle’s arm. “You came! But, I thought…” Ordreth’s eyes saddened. He knew what his uncle had sacrificed. Cornar simply nodded. He’d speak with Ordreth about the matter of Karenna in private.

  “So, did you swim aboard like I predicted?” Vargos said, chuckling as he took a seat near the rear of the room.

  “No,” Cornar said, grinning. Being here with his men felt good. It felt right! This was where he was meant to be.

  Several others voiced similar questions—each curious about how Cornar had gotten aboard the Executor’s Breath.

  “I’ll go into greater detail later,” Cornar called to them, his simple promise satisfying their curiosity. “But Prince Kaescis found me on the pier and kindly allowed me to board his ship.” That was a good enough answer for many of the warriors, and they took their seats.

  Several of the others, including Kalder, Nordal, Midar, and Aron approached Cornar to express gratitude that he had reconsidered.

  “I’m glad you decided to come,” Kalder said, clasping Cornar’s shoulder.

  “You’re not upset?” Cornar asked. “I’m stealing your job, so to speak.”

  Kalder shook his head. “You’re our leader, Cor. It’s your job to lead us.” Those words rang true.

  Igan stood at the back of the mess deck, his arms folded. The wizard smiled at Cornar, nodding to him. Cornar nodded back. Igan took his seat beside Vargos, but continued looking fondly at Cornar.

  Several more men filed into the mess deck, all dressed in black robes—the other necromancers recruited by Krindal. Cornar didn’t know them. Two of them were older, probably about Krindal’s age. The others were graying but not as wrinkled. Those scholars were probably Iltar’s cohorts during his training at the Necrotic Order. They looked to be about that age.

  All in all, there were fifteen. Cornar hadn’t expected that many.

  Cornar thought he recognized one of the necromancers. Was his name Bredaryn? Yes, that was it. Bredaryn had studied the conjuration arts under old Amendal’s brother, Arintil Aramien. Bredaryn was a dual-disciplined mage. It was a common practice among the members of the Necrotic Order to take upon themselves the study of necromancy when the Order had changed some forty years ago. Iltar was an illusionist-necromancer, at least in formal training, although he was more than either of those two disciplines.

  Krindal stepped up to the table, still staring at Cornar. The old scholar hadn’t said any more.

  “Master Krindal,” Kaescis said, gesturing to the seat between his and Cornar’s. “Please sit here.”

  Krindal didn’t respond, but looked Cornar up and down. He seemed shaken by Cornar’s presence. “How?” Krindal muttered. “Master Iltar said it would be impossible for you to come. He told me of a promise you made to your wife.”

  Cornar nodded. “Karenna wanted me to come along,” he said. “She said it was one of the greatest adventures of my life, and that I shouldn’t miss it.”

  “A wise woman,” Kaescis interjected.

  “Yes, she is.” Cornar smiled. He always took pride when others complimented his wife. What other woman would sacrifice her desires for his happiness? Cornar was a lucky man.

  “I see,” Krindal said, walking around Cornar and taking his seat. Cornar followed the old necromancer-scholar, then sat and watched the others shuffle about the room.

  “Captain Salisar,” Kaescis said, his voice ringing across the mess deck. “Your seat is here.” Salisar turned in her chair. She sat by several of Cornar’s warriors and another woman dressed in a sailor’s garb; probably her first mate. “Unless you desire to sit there,” Kaescis added.

  “I’m fine here, Your Imperial Highness,” the captain said, and resumed talking to the woman beside her.

  “Perhaps Kalder would like this seat?” Krindal asked. “I will move over.” The old necromancer rose and sat on the other side of Kaescis.

  “I appreciate that,” Cornar said, waving Kalder over. The brawny warrior nodded and sat between Cornar and Kaescis. Only one chair remained unoccupied at the head table. Was Laeyit going to sit there?

  Each of the other tables was filled with the visitors from the Promised Maiden. It seemed Kaescis and Laeyit were the only Mindolarnians in the room.

  A moment later, Admiral Kaetet entered the mess deck. He strode to the head table and took the empty seat. The admiral didn’t speak at all; Kaetet just sat there, surveying everyone in the room.

  Kaescis took in a deep breath and stood. “Welcome to the Executor’s Breath,” the prince said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am Prince Kaescis Midivar, sixth in line to the Mindolarn throne. At this time, I wish to convey the pleasure of working with each of you. Master Krindal has spoken briefly about you, but tonight I wish to get to know each of you. We are, after all, embarking on a momentous quest, and I think it wise for us”—he gestured to the Mindolarnians and Krindal—“to become acquainted with you.”

  Kaescis looked at each of them before continuing. “Many of you are adventurers, so you know that trust is vital when exploring the wilds of Kalda. We do live in a dangerous world.”

  The prince’s words had truth to them, but the ruins of Klindala couldn’t be that dangerous, could they? Cornar had never set foot on that island, only heard stories about the Wildmen who inhabited the remote parts of Klindala. The Wildmen were savages, but they weren’t dangerous, at least not to his band. Cornar and his men could handle primitive people.

  “As we feast tonight, I would like for each of you to stand and speak about yourselves,” Kaescis said. “Tell us about your past, some of your strengths, and any interests you have outside your careers. Practil, please notify Chef Gesin that everyone is seated.” The prince said the last bit to a man dressed in a black uniform who stood at the base of the stairs.

  Where had he come from? Cornar hadn’t noticed this Practil enter the mess deck.

  “While my servant fetches the chefs, I’ll begin,” Kaescis said, relaxing from his regal stance. “I’ve lived in the capital most of my life. I have rooms in the palace, but I have my own home on the western side of the city. I was married, but my wife died some time ago.” The prince paused. Kaescis looked like he was steadying his composure.

  That must be awful, Cornar thought. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing Karenna. That would be devastating.

  “I have no children, but perhaps one day I’ll have an heir.”

  Practil returned, followed by several chefs carrying platters of food. They distributed the platters while Kaescis continued talking. “Throughout my life I have enjoyed the study of history,” Kaescis continued. “That hobby is one of the reasons I’m on this quest. I want to unlock the secrets of Kalda’s past and share it with the world,” his tone was bold and determined “Our people need not be shackled by archaic laws founded by delusional men.” Delusional men? Was he referring to the kings of Los and their supreme la
w?

  “I also enjoy the study of tevisrals. My cousin, Raedina, has founded an organization devoted to the replication of current tevisrals and the development of those told of in stories. So, I often dabble in that with her.”

  Some of the mages in the room were surprised. Even Cornar was intrigued. People didn’t make tevisrals. There were a handful of magical objects in the world. The only way to obtain them was to inherit them or discover them in the remote reaches of Kalda. Of course, if one had plenty of coin they might be able to buy a tevisral. But people making tevisrals? Was that even possible?

  Kaescis continued talking about himself as the chefs returned to the galley. They soon came back with another course of food. What a grand meal! How many courses were they eating tonight? Cornar was used to eating at upper-class establishments where meals were served in multiple courses. But this was hospitality at its finest.

  Now, the chefs were placing bottles of liquor on the tables. The various contents were red, pale blue, orange, and green. What was the green one?

  The red was obviously wine, same with the orange. The pale-blue liquor—called keav—was distilled from a fermented vegetable with a blue leaf and flesh, kealor. It was a strong liquor, bitter and sour.

  “Feel free to drink as much as you want,” Kaescis said. “But I suggest you save room for the other courses.

  “Now, Laeyit,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “I believe it’s your turn.” Laeyit didn’t look amused. She set her jaw and then sighed. The woman wasn’t very eloquent with her words. Laeyit gave a brief history about herself and claimed she didn’t have any interests outside her duties to Kaescis—which she didn’t disclose. Strange woman.

  Kalder turned to Cornar and raised his brow. His expression asked, “She’s a dull one, isn’t she?”

  As Krindal stood to speak, the chefs picked their way across the room, pouring drinks for everyone. Krindal explained his past and how he became a necromancer. He was descended from the man who established the first mage’s guild—the Sorothian Magical Order—on their island home. That had been nearly four hundred years ago. Krindal’s choice to become a necromancer was also family related, as each man in his family line, dating back over a dozen generations, had studied the art of necromancy. He—like most necromancers—focused more on wielding acidic magics and life-draining energies rather than reanimating the dead.

  Amid Krindal’s autobiographical discourse, a chef approached Cornar with the bottles.

  “What’s the green one?” Cornar asked in a whisper.

  “Colvin brandy,” the chef replied, his voice low. “This batch is from Bradisar. It’s a darker green than other types, because the barrels they use to age them are made from trees with green inner barks. The bark adds an extra kick to it.” The chef smiled with a wink.

  “I’ll try it,” Cornar nodded, folding his arms. The chef poured the liquor as Krindal finished.

  The old scholar sat, and Admiral Kaetet stood, clasping his hands behind his back, a commanding presence. The admiral was brief with his past. As for interests, he said he enjoyed working in a vineyard, but nothing else. Cornar could relate to that. The admiral sat as the chefs finished with the drinks.

  “We’ll go around the room,” Kaescis said, motioning to the table on the far portside of the room, opposite Cornar. “Wind back and forth along the tables,” Kaescis said, gesturing with his hands. “Then you can go.” He pointed to Kalder. “And, we’ll end with you, Mister Dol’shir.”

  One by one, the men and women introduced themselves. They didn’t spend as much time talking as Krindal, but they weren’t short like Laeyit. Cornar knew them, so what they said wasn’t anything new. Most of them were from Soroth, except for Nordal.

  Nordal was actually very talkative about his background. He proudly declared his Losian nativity, undoubtedly to see if he could strike a nerve with the Mindolarnians. At the age of nineteen, Nordal had left Klath—the Kingdom of Los’s southwestern port—and come to Soroth. He was following his childhood friends, Tilthan and Nath, who had taken apprenticeship under the notorious thief, Cedath. Cedath and his troupe were freelancers and had worked with old Amendal several times. When Nordal arrived in Soroth, Cedath was a frequent addition to Iltar and Cornar’s band of adventurers. That was how Nordal met Cornar. One thing led to another, and Nordal became one of Cornar’s students. Nordal hadn’t returned home since then.

  Sharon was another non-native Sorothian. She too was from Klath and was the granddaughter of Cedath’s associate, Vilarin. Sharon was several years younger than Tilthan, Nath, and Nordal. She followed them about six years after they left Klath—about the same time her grandfather retired. Sharon was twenty-two then. That’s when Ordreth first laid eyes on her.

  Cornar still remembered his nephew gawking at Sharon. Ordreth was barely eighteen at the time. It wasn’t until several years later that Ordreth and Sharon began seeing each other romantically.

  Cornar continued nursing his glass of brandy until it came time for the necromancers to speak. He was interested in hearing about them. Cornar had heard of several of them by name, cohorts that Iltar had mentioned years ago. Many of them had taken up positions as scholars at the Order of Histories, a government-sponsored organization in Soroth dedicated to the study of the past. No wonder Alacor permitted them to join the expedition.

  The Order of Histories managed several libraries throughout the various islands of the Principality as well as museums on Sarn and Soroth. Several of the men were from the Sarn Museum. They came along to study the supposed temple Krindal sought, intending to build a replica of it at the museum.

  These necromancers, however, were more like archeologists. Yes, they were trained magic-wielders, but they had other interests. Magic was more or less a hobby to them. Amid the necromancers’ introductions, the chefs plated the first appetizer, fish cakes made with red filets.

  Eventually Captain Salisar spoke. She was Sorothian by citizenship only. Salisar was born, raised, and lived on the seas. The captain had inherited the Promised Maiden from her father, who had passed away six years ago. Her mother, however, was still around and tended to the ship’s galley. Salisar’s mother had no interest in furthering her late husband’s business, so their only child took over the shipping routes.

  The captain’s first mate, Emila, was next. She too was a woman of the sea; Emila’s father was Salisar’s father’s first mate. Emila simply inherited the position after her father retired.

  The chefs returned again, serving a dark green soup. It tasted bitter, with a tart aftertaste. Cornar was not impressed, but then he didn’t care for bitter things. The only tart foods Cornar enjoyed were desserts.

  Igan and Vargos introduced themselves next, followed by the younger mages.

  As the chefs served the first entrée—a meal with potatoes, leafy greens, and crab legs—the last of Cornar’s band finished. Kalder was next.

  The brawny warrior stood, eyeing the plate just placed in front of him. “My name is Kalder Galistrn. I’m an orphan. My parents were killed in a border dispute with rogue soldiers from the Mindolarn Empire.” Kalder paused, but continued speaking after a moment. “I don’t harbor any resentment for their deaths. I was a baby at the time. If it hadn’t happened, I don’t know if I’d be the man I am today. And I like who I am. Besides, I probably wouldn’t be as close to Cornar if my parents had survived. And I cherish that friendship.” He glanced to Cornar, smiling. Kalder was like a younger brother to Cornar, and Cornar loved him, probably more than any of the others that had trained and adventured with him over the years.

  “I’m sorry,” Kaescis said, speaking up before Kalder could continue. The prince looked pained by Kalder’s words. “On behalf of my people, I wish to extend an apology to you.”

  “It’s fine,” Kalder shrugged. “You weren’t around. It’s not like you had a hand in it.” Kaescis averted his gaze. “I am an adventurer and a warrior. There’s not much else to my life, and I like it that way.” With t
hat, Kalder sat.

  “You and Laeyit would probably get along,” Kaescis whispered. Kalder simply raised his brow.

  Cornar laughed inwardly. Laeyit was not Kalder’s type of woman. Kalder was straight to the point, not aloof as Laeyit seemed. He was the quiet type unless you were alone with him. Then Kalder opened up. Though he had never married, Kalder had had several long-term relationships. Was he seeing anyone now? Cornar didn’t know.

  Pushing the thought aside, Cornar stood, holding the glass of his Colvin brandy. “I’m Cornar Dol’shir, son of Melthas Dol’shir, a general who lived during the reformation of the Western Sovereignty. You know, I stand here amused at all of this.” He gestured with his half-empty wine glass to the assembly. “We come from a variety of backgrounds. We have some Losians, Westerners, Sorothians, and Mindolarnians. Our nations have not always been friendly to each other, but here we are, feasting together.” He sounded a tad drunk. This brandy was quite potent. “My parents were also killed by Mindolarn forces. My mother died at the same time as Kalder’s parents. My father died later, during a battle.

  “My father taught me everything I know about war and combat,” Cornar continued, his tone solemn. “That knowledge has carried me throughout my life. I too am a warrior and an adventurer. That’s why I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted. “Well, and my wife said I was sulking and that she’d leave me if I didn’t shape up.” Many of the men laughed at that statement. It was an exaggeration made up by his own fears… and drunkenness.

  “I love my wife,” Cornar said. He was drunk. “Karenna means so much to me. I wish I could pluck out the warrior and adventurer in me, and just be with her… But I don’t think that’s a fate meant for me.” Cornar paused, thinking about what else he should say. He was oversharing. “I enjoy horses—raising them, particularly. My wife does all the hard work. I just stand around ready to help move the heavy stuff and clean up the dung.” Many of his closest subordinates laughed. They could probably tell he was drunk. Nordal was looking at him, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.