A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Igan let out a sigh and rocked his chair, watching the warriors. The men were sparring or drilling forms with their weapons. It was a comforting sight to see them practice. Mages needed a strong wall of defense during a battle, and these men were just that.

  “Aren’t you getting anxious?” Vargos asked.

  No, he wasn’t. Igan was a patient man. In fact, this entire part of their quest was quite relaxing. Igan glanced to Vargos. “Are you?” he asked.

  The rugged barsionist stopped beside the rocking chair, his hair disheveled as if he’d barely awoken from a nap. “Ha!” Vargos grunted. “Don’t twist things around on me, boy.”

  “Boy?” Igan smiled. Well, Vargos was several years his senior. The barsionist was in his thirties when Igan and the others first accompanied him on an adventure. Igan was eighteen. He was a boy back then. My, that was a long time ago…

  “Yeah,” Vargos said. “Don’t you think they should be saving their strength?” He pointed to the warriors.

  “We’re leaving today,” Igan said matter-of-factly.

  Vargos grunted, sauntering to another rocking chair. “So what do you make of ole Krindal disappearing?”

  “I don’t know,” Igan said, narrowing his gaze at the warriors. He rested his elbows on the chair and brought his hands together, clasping them beneath his chin. “I’ve been wondering why he disappeared, but haven’t come up with anything reasonable.”

  “Krindal better turn up.” Vargos fidgeted in his chair, trying to get comfortable, but the chairs weren’t made with the best of craftsmanship. “Otherwise, we’re without a map. Then what are we supposed to do? Go unearth all those ruins?”

  “It’s only been four days.”

  “And why would Jahevial and Deglin disappear?” Vargos grunted again. “I hate this chair!”

  Igan grinned at the outburst, then said, “The other scholars found it odd. They were just as perplexed as we are about the disappearances.”

  Another pair of footsteps echoed into the porch. Igan turned in his chair. “Cor!” he blurted, eyeing the burly man as he approached, his gait confident and determined. The warrior always carried himself in a way that commanded respect. He always looked sure of himself, even when he was unsure. That’s why so many men followed him. He was the type of man that would run into a burning house to save those inside and somehow manage to inspire a bunch of others to follow him. How Cornar did it Igan didn’t know.

  Cornar stopped beside the rocking chair, putting his hands on his hips.

  “Do you have the stuff?” Vargos asked.

  “Nearly all of it. Fifteen wagons. Five of them are back in town. We’ll do another run in the morning.”

  “Any word from Krindal?” Igan asked.

  “Well, Jahevial and Deglin returned to our inn the evening I sent Nordal to find you,” Cornar said, scratching his beard. It had grown to what Igan was accustomed to seeing. Cornar could grow a good beard, but he only did it while away from home. “They said Krindal was raving about danger. He flew into a panic upon hearing that elves were staying at our inn. Jahevial was tired of Krindal’s paranoid behavior and left him. Krindal’s wandering somewhere around Kretin.”

  “Did they say what kind of danger?” Igan asked. He couldn’t think of many connections between elves and danger. Most elves were peaceful. In fact, no elf had ever participated in any of the recent wars. Not to mention, they rarely ventured out of their realm in the west. What would elves be doing all the way out here?

  “No,” Cornar said with a sigh. “I tried to pry it from them, but Jahevial said it wasn’t worth his time explaining.”

  “Pompous bastard,” Vargos grumbled.

  Cornar nodded. “The elves left port yesterday. I checked with the harbormaster, and he said their ship had come from Bradisar and was bound for Merath. I’ve sent Sharon and Ordreth to do some digging. See if there are any other elves around the city. Those I met were rude, but ultimately harmless.”

  Vargos went on a rant, but Igan ignored it, racking his brain trying to figure out a connection between the elves and Krindal’s flight. Elves weren’t typically explorers. Well, not Mainland elves—which were undoubtedly what Cornar and the others had encountered.

  But… elves from Merdan got around the world. What were they called? They had an odd name for themselves, not very elven-sounding—

  “Igan,” Cornar said, “do you want to join me in the morning?”

  Igan blinked, staring at Cornar for a moment. What was that name?

  “He’s daydreamin’…” Vargos grumbled.

  “Yes,” Igan said.

  “Good.” Cornar stretched his arms. “I’m going to join my men, let off some steam. We’ll leave at sunrise.” Cornar continued across the porch to a short flight of stairs and hurried into the pasture.

  “I can’t believe you were daydreamin’,” Vargos said, shifting in his chair.

  “I was thinking,” Igan corrected the old barsionist. He was not daydreaming.

  “Same thing,” Vargos said, flicking his wrist as he sighed. “These chairs are horrible…” The old barsionist rose from his seat and stalked away, grumbling annoyances about the inn’s poor accommodations.

  Igan chuckled, but watched Cornar join the ranks of his men, where he fell in line and began drilling forms with his weapons.

  Oh! Igan thought. The Elven Aristocracy of Merdan! That was their name. Those elves were a strange bunch. Igan had never met any of them, but from what he understood, the Elven Aristocracy of Merdan acted more like men than elves, most definitely not like Mainland elves. Igan had only ever met one elf from Merdan—well really, a half-elf. Iltar’s apprentice, Balden. Balden was definitely more man than elf in many ways.

  Igan narrowed his eyes in concentration, watching Cornar with his men. But why would Krindal be afraid of them? The Elven Aristocracy of Merdan was a merchant coalition. Why would a necromancer be afraid of wealthy merchants?

  * * * * *

  Krindal sneaked behind a caravan of five wagons driven by Cornar, three of his men, and the wizard Igan. The warrior didn’t know he was following them, of course. Krindal had stumbled upon them and overheard their plans to deliver the rest of the carts to the others in a village named Klarin. He couldn’t just make his presence known. That would be foolhardy. Anyone could be watching.

  A cool afternoon breeze wisped past Krindal, and he pulled his invisible robe tight around him. Just because he wasn’t discernible to one’s eyes didn’t mean he wasn’t detectable by one’s ears.

  Someone could hear him rustling! He couldn’t have that…

  The wagons turned a corner, rounding a grove of trees with turning leaves, and then a cluster of buildings appeared. Was that Klarin? It looked so small. Village was probably the wrong term for such a tiny place.

  Krindal continued creeping behind the wagons as they moved through the only street in the village. Watchful eyes stared at the wagons as they passed.

  For magic’s sake, he gasped inwardly, I can’t appear here.

  The wagons turned onto a dirt path near the southern part of the village. The path was the only thing that diverged from the road.

  Krindal peered around the caravan. A large farmhouse stood at the edge of a sprawling field.

  Why would they be staying here? Krindal thought. We don’t have enough money to rent a farmhouse!

  The caravan neared a wooden sign with faded paint. It read, “Thurgar’s Farmhouse, the only place for travelers to stay in Klarin.”

  Oh. Krindal felt slightly ashamed. He took another look at the field, and it looked barren, besides the wild grass.

  The caravan pulled up beside ten other wagons, each full of supplies. Cornar dismounted and gave orders to his men, then walked to the farmhouse with Igan.

  Krindal followed.

  “I hope he shows,” Igan said as he and Cornar stepped into a covered porch. “It’s a pity she couldn’t find him.”

  Who was he talking about?

  �
��Kretin is a fairly large city,” Cornar said. “Sharon’s still looking. I told her and Ordreth to stay in town for another day.”

  Oh, that thieving woman. Krindal had heard of her and her troupe using some kind of tevisral to see through invisibility. He felt some relief that she couldn’t find him. If she couldn’t, perhaps those elves couldn’t either. But he wasn’t safe yet.

  Krindal had to hide.

  Igan took a seat in one of two rocking chairs, but Cornar remained standing, talking about his plans until Prince Kaescis arrived.

  Ignoring the conversation, Krindal scanned the area around the farmhouse. It was a good five hundred phineals away from the road. He could appear… but what if they were watching him? He’d be seen, and they’d come in their wrath upon Cornar and his band. They would slaughter them. No, Krindal couldn’t have that! It was best he remained hidden. Perhaps the farmhouse had an empty attic…

  Footsteps reached Krindal’s ears, and Cornar walked away from Igan. I better stay close, he thought as he crept toward the warrior.

  Cornar went straight for the farmhouse’s side entrance, opened the door, and called for Kalder as he entered. Krindal slipped inside right behind him.

  The warrior continued calling for the man, but Krindal didn’t care to listen. He had to find some stairs.

  Careful not to make any noise, Krindal crept through the farmhouse. He tiptoed into a kitchen where a middle-aged couple—probably the owners of the place—were cooking a stew and talking about their guests.

  Krindal stopped to listen. They couldn’t be spying on them, could they? He had to be sure.

  No, it was just casual chatter. That’s a relief. Satisfied, Krindal crept through a butler’s pantry and into a dining room. Cornar and another man were talking nearby. It wasn’t Kalder.

  Where were those darned stairs? He crept toward the sound and found the warriors in a hallway. No stairs there…

  This place is confusing, he thought, and continued down the hall. It turned a corner, opening to another part of the home that didn’t seem part of the original construction.

  Soon, he found a staircase, with windows all along it. Too many windows, he thought and climbed the steps. A floorboard squeaked, and Krindal froze, sucking in his breath. He looked around, panicked.

  No one was nearby.

  Relieved, he continued up the stairs, ever careful.

  Faint chatter echoed from behind the closed door of the second-story room. Krindal recognized one of the voices, but not the others. No other guests were staying here besides Cornar’s band, were they?

  He definitely couldn’t appear! Steeling himself, Krindal crept through the upper floor of the farmhouse-turned-inn. He searched the entire floor but didn’t see an entrance to an attic.

  What was he going to do now?

  He couldn’t just appear, not without arousing suspicion. And if he did appear, Cornar would probably recall those two who were looking for him, and what if they overheard that recall, or saw it and wondered why the thief-woman stopped looking?

  No, it was best to stay hidden. But Krindal couldn’t stay in this hallway. What to do? What to do? It was times like this he wished he knew how to conjure something or make an illusion. He could find that attic with either of those.

  Do I start checking doors? he wondered.

  Footsteps echoed from the hallway, accompanied by a faint voice.

  “… up here,” the voice said. It sounded like the man in the kitchen. “We haven’t used them since the farm shut down.”

  “I appreciate you lending them to me,” Cornar said.

  The footsteps grew louder and Cornar rounded the corner with the farmhouse’s owner. They were walking straight toward Krindal.

  Krindal froze. His heartbeat quickened. He could feel it thumping in his chest. By all that’s magical, calm yourself! he chided himself.

  “This door,” the owner said, grabbing the handle of the door beside Krindal. “Just bring the tools back when you’re done.”

  The farmhouse’s owner opened the door, revealing a dusty anteroom and some stairs. Stairs!

  Yes! Krindal cheered.

  Cornar followed the owner, and they climbed the rickety stairs. Their footsteps were loud and sounded like they could echo throughout the entire farmhouse.

  Krindal better be careful on that staircase.

  After they were well inside the attic, Krindal crept to the anteroom. He climbed the stairs, taking one step at a time. There was some creaking, but it was muffled by the clatter of things moving and the conversation between Cornar and the owner.

  The noises ceased as Krindal left the top step.

  Phew… just in time, he thought. He stepped aside and surveyed the space. Sunlight shone through a pair of dormers to his left. Those dormers would be facing the village if he correctly remembered the course he had traveled thus far. He’d have to be careful moving around those. But piles of things—old furniture, children’s toys, clothes, paintings, and farm equipment—were scattered all over, so Krindal could easily evade the sight of any prying eyes.

  Footsteps echoed through the attic and Cornar returned with the owner, carrying a metal box. They talked while descending the staircase and then shut the door.

  I should look around, Krindal thought. But I can’t get comfy until Cornar returns those tools. Can’t let him find me here.

  “He will suffer in the depths of the void for a season. No light shines there, nor can it be made manifest.”

  - Prophecy of Soron Thahan

  The sea looked calm to Iltar. The Yaelinum had left Soroth two-and-a-half weeks ago and would moor in Mindolarn any day now. Iltar stood at the bow, gazing at the waters. The fresh sea breeze was a welcome change from the stuffy cabins. Iltar had spent countless hours these last few days rereading The Codices of Soron Thahan with Countess Elsia. She was an inquisitive woman with a keen mind. At first, Iltar had considered Elsia an annoyance and a burden, but after a few days she began to grow on him.

  Elsia had cross-referenced much of the information in the tome. She took particular interest in the group called the Chosen. From what Iltar and Elsia deduced, the Chosen were a select group of humanity that was entrusted to see that the world stayed aligned with the ideals of the ancient Kaldeans. The Chosen were to watch over the inhabitants of Kalda and make corrections to their civilization. Iltar couldn’t help but think of these Chosen as individuals who ensured that the river of men—as spoken in parable by Reflection—stayed on the right course.

  But Reflection claimed that the Chosen had faltered. The Chosen obviously weren’t doing what they were supposed to do. Soron didn’t come right out and say it, but Iltar deduced that at some time after writing the Codices tome, the Chosen would stop performing their duties.

  Elsia also made meticulous notes on the various foretold acts of the person called the Unspoken One. Iltar made a copy of that list for himself. If he truly was this Unspoken One, he’d best understand the things he must do… or had done.

  “Master Iltar,” Bilda said behind him. Iltar turned as the boy approached, holding fast to the rail. Bilda looked a little scared.

  “What is it, Bilda?”

  “Well… uh, we’re just wondering if we’re going to be there today.”

  Iltar grinned and returned his gaze to the horizon. “I don’t know.”

  “Can’t you use some magic to see how far away we are?”

  What? Iltar grinned. He turned back to Bilda, who looked sheepish. “I have no means to measure nautical distance,” Iltar said.

  “Oh…” Bilda sighed and turned around, tightly gripping the rail. The boy acted as if he were about to be tossed into the ocean.

  Iltar watched Bilda creep across the high deck and descend the stairs to the enclosed parts of the ship. Once Bilda was gone, Iltar returned his gaze to the horizon. He stared at the line between ocean and sky until a sailor from the crow’s nest shouted down a report.

  “Fleet spotted off the starboard bow!”
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  Intrigued, Iltar turned and watched as another sailor ran across the high deck to the mast where the crow’s nest sat. The sailor up top yelled down the specifics. It sounded like a merchant convoy.

  We should be there soon, Iltar thought.

  Another hour passed, and more ships were spotted off the port and starboard rails. The Yaelinum was definitely nearing Mindolarn.

  Iltar strode across the high deck, following the path Bilda had taken. The boys wanted to be told when the ship neared Mindolarn so they could see the grand city across the horizon. It was a sight that intrigued Iltar as well, since he had never been to Mindolarn.

  Once below deck, Iltar approached one of the ship’s parlors, where his acolytes were enjoying the pleasures inherent to the vessel. The Yaelinum was meant to host lavish parties and entertain the most sophisticated of minds. Luxurious was an understatement. Iltar didn’t see any harm in permitting them to enjoy themselves, since they would have their work cut out for them in Mindolarn.

  The twelve acolytes were spread throughout the room. A few were reading while others played games. Bilda was sitting with Tigan at one of the tables, playing a strategy game called Tambrino. The game was played atop a fourteen-by-twelve grid, with the objective to capture your opponent’s pieces using your own. Each piece had a predetermined set of movements to advance and capture. Tambrino had various rule sets, but the game typically ended when one player lost their last piece.

  Iltar had once witnessed a Tambrino tournament in Comdolith. The tournament used a modified rule set that awarded points based on the capture of certain pieces by other pieces. One could theoretically lose the match but win based on overall points. That exact thing happened to the man who won the final match. He had won each of his matches, but lost the tournament because his opponent had a better overall point score.

  Several boys noticed Iltar, and each turned toward him. “We’re getting close,” Iltar said, passing the parlor. “But no land has been sighted.”

  Sighs reached Iltar’s ears as he continued toward Elsia’s cabin. Soft chatter sounded through the ajar door, the voices of Pagus and Elsia.