by Dan Zangari
A thick fog blanketed the main deck of the Promised Maiden. Cornar reached beside him, fumbling for his sheathed weapons. Their presence brought him comfort. Cornar felt naked without them, especially after what he had just experienced.
That was no ordinary dream. It was more than a nightmare… It was fear incarnate!
Rubbing his head, Cornar shook off the horror and hoisted his weapons upon his belt. As usual, he had fallen asleep in his clothing.
“Are you okay?” a crewman asked.
Cornar glanced at the man and nodded, then stalked across the main deck. He descended the stairs to the first deck below the main where the quarters and the galley were located. Cornar made his way to the galley and found Captain Salisar and Krindal talking over steaming mugs of tea.
“Good morning, Cornar,” Krindal said with a smile. “Care to join us?”
“Certainly,” Cornar said. Normally he would have wanted a moment to himself. Cornar wasn’t much of a morning person, but after his strange dream he wanted to be around other people. The immediate disappearance of everyone in his dream was unnerving. It was as if he were the only man in the world.
“Still foggy?” Salisar asked.
“Yes,” Cornar said. “Can’t even see over the rails.”
“That doesn’t bode well,” the captain said, and sighed.
Soon, the ship’s chef came over. She was an older woman with braided gray hair. The chef looked a lot like the captain; she was her mother after all. “Your usual?” the chef asked Cornar.
Cornar nodded.
“And do you want more?” the chef looked to Salisar. “An extra cup will fight back the chill.”
“Yes, mother,” the captain said.
The chef hurried across the galley, and after she disappeared Krindal cleared his throat. “The good captain here thinks we’ll be mooring today.”
“As long as the fog doesn’t deter us,” Salisar said with a chuckle. “Hopefully it will clear soon.”
* * * * *
The fog did clear by noon. The Promised Maiden had gone off course, but only slightly. By evening the port of Kretin was visible on the horizon. The city was smaller than Soroth, or so it seemed from this distance. According to maps, Kretin was the largest settlement on the Isle of Klindala. Other towns and villages lined the coast, but most were insignificant to foreigners.
Cornar stood at the bow with Igan and Vargos. As they eyed the city, the three men discussed plans to start outfitting the expedition. None of them had ever been to Kretin.
“I say we wait a few days,” Vargos said.
“Krindal wants to be ready to leave when Kaescis arrives,” Cornar said. “He seems antsy.”
“Did he say why?” Igan asked. The wizard always asked questions that cut to the heart of people’s motives. Igan liked to understand the reasoning behind a man’s actions. That trait made him quite valuable.
“No,” Cornar said. “Krindal was close-lipped about it.”
“He’s hiding something,” Vargos whispered. “There’s something he’s not telling us.”
“Maybe we can get it out of Kaescis when he arrives,” Igan said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Why would you need five hundred soldiers for a simple scholarly expedition?” Vargos asked.
That was a good question. Cornar had wondered that very thing these last few weeks. There was no need for that many soldiers, at least from what Cornar understood of Krindal’s quest. Then there was that dream… the strange voice said his dreams would unfold answers concerning this expedition. Could his dreams really tell him what was going to happen? Neither had shown him anything. At least nothing he translated as useful. And what of that warning, “Beware the evil behind the eyes of allies.” What did that mean?
“Cor?” Igan asked. The wizard nudged Cornar, drawing him from his reverie. Cornar snapped a glance to Igan. Both mages looked warily at Cornar.
“Are you okay, boy?” Vargos asked. “You looked like you were somewhere else. And it didn’t look pleasant.”
“I’m fine,” Cornar lied.
“You don’t look fine,” Igan said. “Something is bothering you. You can tell us…”
Cornar studied Igan and Vargos. They were genuinely concerned. He could tell them what had happened. They wouldn’t dismiss him as mad. But Cornar didn’t want to bring up what might be a onetime thing. It was just a dream. A very vivid dream, but still a dream.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Cornar admitted and turned his attention back to the port before them.
“It’s all that sleeping on wooden planks and sacks of beans,” Vargos said. “You need to sleep in a bed.”
“We should get an inn,” Igan said. “I’m sure we could all use more space. I know I could.”
* * * * *
The Promised Maiden moored an hour later as the sun was setting in the east. Kretin was situated along the northern banks of a wide peninsula, so the sun hung to their left. The sunset was pretty, accented by the turning leaves. A colorful sight, really. Unlike Soroth—which was in the southern hemisphere of the world—Kretin was experiencing the cooler seasons. Fall was upon the island.
Cornar stood at the starboard rail with his more senior warriors: Kalder, Gregan, Nordal, and Midar. Captain Salisar was yelling orders to her crew while the warriors conversed.
“So we’re staying in one place?” Midar asked.
“Why not?” Nordal asked. “It’s not like we’re trying to hide our expedition.”
“Well, I’d like to stay somewhere nice,” Gregan said.
“If they have anything nice,” Nordal said. “This is a remote part of the world.”
“We do have a budget,” Cornar said. “The Necrotic Order only allotted so much for the entire expedition, and we’ll have to use most of it to reserve horses and wagons.”
“I’ll make up the difference,” Nordal said, patting a satchel hanging at his waist. Coins jingled within it.
“That’s generous of you,” Midar said, a surprised expression on his face.
“Don’t give me all the credit,” Nordal said, grinning. “If it wasn’t for Hemrin, I wouldn’t have the coin to spend.” He was referring to his most recent gambling spree. Nordal had told Cornar the story. He was proud to beat the men not only at Sharzen but in a fistfight as well. Nordal could be brutish sometimes. He loved confrontation, thrived on it. That was a good trait on the battlefield, but it could turn a pleasant social experience sour.
“I was looking at the map,” Kalder finally spoke up. “There’s a smaller town outside Kretin, along the path we want to take to Klindil. We should stay there.” Gregan sighed; he obviously didn’t like the suggestion.
Kalder’s words were wise. The rates would be cheaper, though they would have to come into Kretin to supply the expedition.
“What are you all whispering about?” Ordreth asked as he approached.
“Debating where to stay,” Gregan said. “Ol’ frugal here wants to stay in the sticks.” Ordreth raised an eyebrow.
“Why don’t we just split up?” Midar asked. “Those who want nicer accommodations could stay in Kretin and gather the supplies while those of us who don’t care can wait in that village.”
“Are you trying to get out of work, Midar?” Gregan grunted, raising an eyebrow. Midar simply smiled.
“Splitting up doesn’t seem like a bad idea,” Cornar said with a nod. It would make things easier and cheaper. Cornar was one for saving coin, here and there. Once they gathered the supplies, they could send them to those outside the city. “Let’s have ten of us stay in Kretin, the rest will go to that village.”
“I’m in Kretin,” Gregan said quickly.
“Same,” Nordal affirmed.
“I’ll stay too,” Cornar said. “That leaves seven more. I think we can share three rooms, or get one suite. What do you two think of that?”
Nordal nodded.
“I can live with that,” Gregan said.
“I’ll round up everyo
ne else for that town,” Kalder said. “It’ll probably be late once we get there.”
“Do you have cabin fever, Kalder?” Nordal quipped.
Kalder hummed a sigh. That made Nordal and Gregan laugh. They loved giving Kalder a hard time. Nordal had once said he did it to see if Kalder would ever react with anything more than a simple reply. It was hard to get a rise out of that man. Kalder’s even-keeled temperament was one of his best qualities, making him reliable in the toughest of situations.
The warriors continued bantering with each other as Krindal approached. Two of the necromancer-scholars from the Order of Histories, Jahevial and Deglin, accompanied him. Both men were average height with white hair. They looked like the typical Sorothian, with olive skin and brown eyes.
“Are we ready to disembark?” Krindal asked, stepping close to the warriors.
“We are,” Cornar said. “We’ve decided to split up part of my band. Ten of us will stay in the city to purchase supplies, and the rest will go to a village outside Kretin. It’s along the path you showed me that we’ll take to Klindil.”
Krindal clapped his hands. “Perfect. We’ll accompany you.” He gestured to Jahevial and Deglin. “We can send the other scholars with your men.”
“That sounds fine,” Cornar said, then gestured to the gangway. “Shall we?”
Krindal was the first to disembark, followed by Gregan. Jahevial and Deglin were next, and then Nordal hurried after them.
“Kalder,” Cornar called, “see who wants to stay in Kretin, then gather the others and head to that village.”
As Cornar stepped to the gangway, Ordreth called, “Uncle, mind if I come with you?”
Cornar glanced over his shoulder. “Of course not,” he said. “Come along.”
The two familial warriors followed the others, who were already partway down the pier. Krindal seemed awfully hurried. He kept looking at the various ships moored nearby. What was he looking for?
“Uncle,” Ordreth whispered. “I overheard Igan and Vargos before I came topside. They sounded worried about you.” Cornar raised a brow at his nephew, attempting to feign ignorance.
“I woke up early today and came on the main deck to see if you were awake, but you were thrashing about. It looked like you were having a night terror.”
Cornar frowned and took in a deep breath. “It was just a bad dream, Ordreth.”
Ordreth looked at his uncle with disbelief. Was it that difficult to hide his emotions? His nephew kept looking at him, expecting a better answer.
“It was another dream about my father,” Cornar whispered. “It was… disturbing.”
“What happened?”
“They were having a meeting, plotting revenge against a prince named Alegar. But that wasn’t the disturbing part.”
“And that was…?” Ordreth asked, prying for more information.
That was not something Cornar was ready to speak about. He wanted to forget that last part. Kandish not being Kandish. That booming voice. And those strange blood-red clouds. Those clouds were probably the most disturbing part of that dream. There was something evil about them, something unholy.
Ordreth put his hand on Cornar’s shoulder. “If you want to talk about it, you can,” he said. “If not, that’s okay. I’m here for you, Uncle.”
That brought a smile to Cornar’s face. Ordreth could always sooth his worries.
“It was just a dream,” Cornar said. He wrapped his arm around his nephew, and they continued into the city.
* * * * *
Not far from the Promised Maiden’s wharf, Cornar and the others arrived at an inn, Heldergan’s Flower. The inn was a decent place, but probably not something Gregan or Nordal were expecting. But it was nice. Probably the nicest place in Kretin. They filed inside and waited in a cramped welcoming room. There was a window to a clerk’s office opposite the doors. A hallway lay to their right, leading to the other parts of the inn.
“Anyone here?” Krindal asked, stepping up to the clerk’s window.
“Hold on,” a cranky voice shouted, sounding old and husky. Soon, the top of a head bobbed beneath the window, and then a very short woman climbed atop a stool. She stood no taller than a child.
“Yes?” she asked.
“We’d like a suite,” Krindal said. “For ten.”
“Sorry,” the woman said, “those darned elves took the last one.”
“Elves?!” Krindal asked in a panic, backing away to the doors.
“Yeah,” the midget woman said, “the people with pointed ears who speak that weird language.”
“I know what they are,” Krindal said, frantically grabbing the doorknob. “We’ll find other accommodations.”
The midget woman grunted. “Don’t have to be a bigot. Not everyone can be normal-looking like you.” Krindal ignored her and hurried out of the inn, Jahevial and Deglin close behind him. Cornar and his men, however, remained.
“Fine!” the midget woman shouted after Krindal. “We don’t want to serve intolerant riff-raff like you anyway!”
Gregan glanced to Cornar and sighed. “This seems like the nicest place. The other inns we passed didn’t seem suitable.” Cornar shrugged.
“They’re not!” the midget woman shouted. “You won’t find a better inn in all Kretin!”
“Get a room or two,” Cornar said. “I’ll reimburse you. I’m going after Krindal.”
Gregan stepped to the counter and apologized to the woman. Nordal was right beside him, being very cordial. Ordreth, however, stayed with Cornar, and they hurried into the street.
Krindal had darted off in such a hurry that Cornar couldn’t see where he went.
“Let’s split up,” he suggested to Ordreth. “If you find him, stay with him until he settles on an inn, then come back here. I’ll do the same if I find him.”
Ordreth nodded and headed westward. Cornar went the opposite direction. He couldn’t see Krindal nor Jahevial or Deglin. Where had they gone to? No other streets branched off from this one. There were alleyways, but they were dead ends. The roads to the south were on a higher tier of land.
Had Krindal made himself invisible? But why would he do that? Did the mention of elves scare him so much that he wanted to be completely unseen? What could have caused that?
“He will leave the alabaster city desolate. Nothing shall remain. All shall be as nothing in the wake of his power.”
- Prophecy of Soron Thahan
Cornar searched for hours, until well beyond nightfall. Much of Kretin was retiring for the night. Even some of the taverns were closing. Despite all his searching, Cornar found no sign of Krindal. Cornar had checked every inn, asking after the three necromancers, but none of the innkeepers had seen them. If Krindal had indeed made himself invisible, no amount of searching would unearth the old scholar. Krindal could be anywhere.
Finally, Cornar returned to Heldergan’s Flower. He plodded into the inn’s foyer where Ordreth waited patiently. His nephew looked tired.
“Any luck?” Cornar asked. Ordreth shook his head. “Where did he go?” Cornar wondered aloud.
Footsteps echoed into the inn’s foyer, and Gregan appeared, holding a half-empty stein. “Where’ve you been?” Gregan asked, slurring his words.
“I was chasing Krindal,” Cornar said. How long had he been gone?
“It’s a three hours past midnight,” Gregan groaned woozily.
“And you’re still drinking?” Cornar asked.
“Yeah!” Gregan yelled, raising his stein. “I’m a proving that elves don’t hold their liquor well. Three of them already backed out. I just got-got to get the last one…”
Elves, huh? Cornar mused. Well, as long as they were around, Krindal wouldn’t be showing his face here. Cornar could resume the search in the morning.
Gregan peeled away and Ordreth followed.
“I need some sleep,” Ordreth groaned. “Sharon is already upstairs. Nordal said she and a few others arrived while we were searching.”
The me
ntion of the thief piqued Cornar’s interests. Yes! he thought. Sharon could help him search for Krindal. If Cornar had had her lenses, he would have easily found that Heleron-forsaken man. Those lenses were a type of tevisral, with the ability to see through invisibility spells and other magics.
Soon, Cornar was alone. He hurried down the hallway and entered the inn’s tavern and dining area. It was a quaint place, only able to accommodate twenty or so patrons. Only one table was occupied. Gregan sat there with several elves.
The elves were tall and lanky, as most elves were. They had smooth faces and sharp features. Their ears were pointed at slight angles, reaching only a thumb’s width higher than a man’s ear. They all looked the same, not that all elves were indistinguishable, but these elves looked like they could have been brothers, or cousins at the very least.
Gregan aggressively gulped the rest of his stein and then slammed it on the table, taking a deep breath. The elves all laughed and clapped their hands approvingly, apparently amused by Gregan’s ambition to best them.
“Can you handle another?” Gregan slurred, looking at the elf across from him.
The elf raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Of course!” He waggled his finger in Gregan’s face. “You cannot hold another, I wager.” The elf spoke with an accent and his words sounded sharp, choppy, and oddly formal. That was common with Mainland elves, because they didn’t use contractions. Iltar had once told Cornar that it was because the elven tongue had none.
“You want to make a bet?” Gregan slurred.
The elf laughed. “A tingarn,” he said, pulling the Losian iron coin from a satchel.
“A tingarn?” Gregan asked disappointedly. “That’ll barely buy me another drink!”
“Drink another one of those, and it is yours,” the elf said, pointing at the stein.
“Deal!” Gregan laughed and waved his hand high in the air, signaling for another drink.
A tired barkeep sauntered to the table, grabbed the stein, and disappeared behind the bar, where she refilled Gregan’s drink. As Gregan and the elves continued bantering with each other, Cornar scanned the room. His eyes were drawn to a tall figure leaning against another doorway.
