A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Cornar nodded and latched the cloak but didn’t fasten the clasp to make him invisible.

  “You know, those things are rare.” Solidin gestured to the cloak. “I’ve only heard tales about them.”

  “It’s not for sale,” Cornar said.

  “I wouldn’t have assumed it was,” Solidin smiled.

  He doesn’t talk like an elf, Cornar thought. There weren’t many places in the world where elves talked like men. And using contractions… this elf must not have spoken his ancestral tongue as a first language.

  “We should get moving if we want to escape this place,” Solidin said, turning around. He held out his lightstone, studying the ground before taking a step.

  Cornar stood still. Should he follow this elf? Krindal’s fears nagged at the back of his mind. Where there were two elves there were probably more. Was this Solidin part of a larger group, the group Krindal was so terrified of encountering again? Cornar felt to his sides. His weapons were still girded around his belt.

  Solidin continued forward, cautiously studying the ground as he moved.

  He has a lightstone, and I don’t, Cornar thought, frowning. If he were to navigate his way through this abysmal maze he’d have to ally with this elf.

  “So, do you know where to go?” Cornar asked, hurrying after Solidin.

  “Not that way,” the elf gestured behind them. “I barely made it through before everything collapsed.”

  Cornar glanced over his shoulder. The lightstone barely illuminated an angled wall of curved stone. Curved stone? Was this part of those tunnels under Klindil? It looked like it might have been a ceiling, judging by the angle by which it fell. Cornar remembered seeing several tunnels that spread from the ruins to the plains. Krindal had shown the leaders of the expedition a close-up view of Klindil on his mapping tevisral. Cornar had taken the time to memorize the map. Which tunnel was this? It was northwest of the path. There were two tunnels in that direction; they ran alongside each other until they reached the ruins.

  Cornar looked ahead, noting the angle of his fall and the direction he was walking during the earthquake. His and Solidin’s current heading would take them toward Klindil.

  “So what brought you down here?” Cornar asked.

  “I was looking for my friend,” Solidin said. “He wasn’t as lucky as you.”

  So the not-creature was right, Cornar thought. What else had that strange being been right about? Cornar wondered if he had been wounded. Did he really receive some type of healing through that dream?

  “Your friend was another elf?” Cornar asked.

  “Yeah,” Solidin said, focusing ahead.

  “I’m sorry he didn’t make it,” Cornar said with half-hearted sympathy, and his thoughts turned to his men. Hopefully none of them had come looking for him. Would they have been as lucky as he or Solidin?

  “It’s one of the dangers of being in the wilds,” Solidin said flatly. Did he not care about his friend? The elf seemed callous. “Our group’s leader sent him to watch another party, a large one brandishing the flags of the Mindolarn Empire. When he didn’t return, I went looking for him. I found his corpse under stone, but another tremor shook the debris around me, and I had to flee. And now, here I am.”

  Cornar studied the elf. Solidin carried no weapons, unless they were hidden in his pack. The elf wore simple clothing, nothing extravagant. The other elf—the dead spy—wore something similar.

  “So why are you here?” Cornar asked.

  “Besides the obvious?” Solidin chuckled.

  “Yeah,” Cornar nodded. “Why are you on Klindala?”

  “Exploring,” Solidin answered. “It’s what I get paid to do.”

  “You’re a mercenary, or a hireling?”

  Solidin raised an eyebrow at Cornar. “You’re full of questions.”

  “Well, we’re both trapped down here,” Cornar said. “If we’re going to make it out of here alive, we need to trust each other. What better way by getting to know each other?”

  Solidin grinned. Did he see truth in Cornar’s words?

  “My employers sent us here,” Solidin said, “to explore the ruins.”

  “So you are a hireling,” Cornar said.

  Solidin nodded grimly. That made Cornar’s mind churn. An elf without an accent, begrudgingly working as a hireling. There was only one place Solidin could be from… the Isle of Merdan, more specifically the city of Keth.

  Was Solidin forced into this life? Cornar knew of Merdan elves who sold themselves as cheap labor. Life was hard for Keth elves. They were the dregs of that city. Some had been taken in by bands of adventurers. Cornar had run across one such group several years ago. Those elves were treated like pack animals. Despicable… Solidin was probably an expendable scout, just like his crushed friend back there.

  “You’re from Merdan, aren’t you?” Cornar asked.

  Solidin started, leaning away from Cornar. “How do you figure that?”

  “By your accent, or lack thereof,” Cornar grinned. “And by everything else you’ve told me. You weren’t working with those elves back in the tavern, were you?” The question was more rhetorical than inquisitive. “They were Mainland elves. One of my men learned they were from Merath.”

  “No,” Solidin said, laughing. “And you’re right. I am from Merdan.”

  “Half-elf?” Cornar asked. “That’d explain the goatee.”

  “My goatee?” Solidin smiled. “I take it you’ve never seen a full-blooded elf with a goatee?”

  “I didn’t think elves could grow facial hair.” Cornar had never seen one with a beard. Their faces looked so smooth, like that of a child.

  “It’s possible,” Solidin said. “It takes conscious effort. I prefer the goatee. Allows me to blend in better. People tend to forget the pointed ears when they see the goatee. Puts people at ease.”

  “So you’re around men, mostly?” Cornar asked.

  Solidin gave Cornar a sidelong glance. “How about I take a turn at the questions?”

  That seemed a fair request. Cornar had just badgered Solidin for a great deal of information. He wasn’t here to interrogate the elf—well, he didn’t want to make it seem that way. But Cornar did want to know more about him.

  “Go ahead,” Cornar said. “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you part of that Mindolarn envoy? Or another group?”

  “I’m with them,” Cornar answered. “But I have my own band. We’re tagging along for support.”

  “Support?” Solidin burst into laughter. “Since when has the Mighty Mindolarn Empire needed support?” His tone was mocking.

  Solidin’s sarcastic quip made Cornar think. Kaescis didn’t need him and his men. That had been demonstrated thus far. The scholars from the Order of Histories were just as superfluous as Cornar and his men.

  “What does that empire want with Klindala, anyway?” Solidin asked. “There isn’t anything of military importance here.”

  “It’s scholarly,” Cornar answered. Did he dare tell him more? Cornar doubted this elf could get back to his band faster than Kaescis and the others could secure the Keepers’ Temple. He could probably tell him the truth.

  “We have a scholar among us that is seeking to validate some old truths.”

  “Really?” Solidin said, sounding intrigued. “What kind of truths?”

  “About the ancient world. We’re following the footsteps of an ancient Order of men. The Keepers of Truth and Might.”

  “Never heard of them,” Solidin said quickly.

  “Well, there’s a temple of theirs hidden somewhere in Klindil,” Cornar said, not wanting to say more. He didn’t want to give away too much to the elf, but just enough to gain his trust.

  Solidin grunted and shook his head. “And here I thought you Mindolarnians were all about weapons and tevisrals.”

  “I’m not Mindolarnian,” Cornar spat with contempt.

  “Really?” Solidin asked, surprised. “Well then, where are you from?”

/>   “Soroth.” Solidin eyed Cornar up and down. The elf turned away, looking like he had seen a ghost.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I know who you are,” Solidin said. “Cornar Dol’shir, one of the greatest adventurers in the Kalishir Ocean. Those are his weapons, aren’t they?”

  “Are you referring to my father?” Cornar asked. “They were his, but they’ve been mine longer.” Well, now that this elf knew who Cornar was, perhaps he could get more information out of him.

  Cornar’s stomach grumbled.

  “I doubt there’s anything edible down here,” Solidin said.

  “There could be creatures lurking about,” Cornar said, sounding hopeful. People didn’t often hope for creatures lurking in dark confines, but Cornar was hungry. He just didn’t have a way to cook it…

  “Wow…” Solidin shook his head. “You’re hoping there’s something down here for you to kill and eat? I knew you were fierce, but I didn’t take you for a ferocious savage.”

  “Well, when you’ve been through things that I’ve endured, you learn to eat whatever you can get. Even if it’s some disgusting creature.”

  Solidin laughed. “Tell me, what’s the most disgusting monster you’ve ever eaten?”

  Disgusting? There were a few… Cornar remembered the time he and Iltar were stranded halfway across the world, wandering the Desolate Lands for months. They ate the strangest things.

  “A mages’ parasite,” Cornar answered. Mages’ parasites were vile creatures. Old Amendal was fond of summoning them, as they could absorb magic and reflect it back to the mage. As conjurations, they were quite useful, but they were far from a tasty meal. Just the thought of eating one again almost made Cornar puke.

  That rubbery flesh. The putrid taste. And the smell… Oh, that was the worst of it. Cornar gagged. Disgusting! Solidin narrowed his eyes and raised his upper lip.

  “If we find one of those down here,” Cornar said, “I’ll pass. We’ll eat the next monster.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  They continued onward for a while, not talking. The thoughts of the mages’ parasite had sullied the conversation. Finally, Cornar spoke up.

  “Are you good with magic?”

  Solidin shook his head. “What makes you think a Keth elf would be trained in magic?”

  “Well, aren’t all your kind adept?”

  “Those that try.” Solidin shrugged off the question. Silence lingered between them again.

  “Are you getting tired yet?” Solidin asked. It was probably late, but this tunnel didn’t look a safe spot to rest.

  “Yeah, but we should keep going.”

  * * * * *

  Nordal looked down into that abysmal pit. It had swallowed his friends, his comrades… He wanted to stab it until it bled. But this was not some beast he could slay, and that infuriated him.

  “The other hole is just like this,” Ordreth shouted. He marched toward Nordal with Sharon, Demsal, and Hem. They each carried lightstone lanterns. Demsal and Hem also held a glowing green rope, woven from the illusionist’s magic. “And it was deep, a couple hundred phineals to the bottom.”

  Sharon looked troubled, as if she were about to cry.

  Buck up, woman, Nordal thought. This is no time for tears.

  “Didn’t find anything?” Nordal asked.

  “A crushed corpse,” Ordreth said. “Smashed between huge slabs of stone. It wasn’t Uncle, though. His skin was too pale, and he wore the wrong clothes.”

  Nordal narrowed his eyes. Was there someone else out here during the earthquake? He wondered if it could be the spy from the other night. They hadn’t encountered anyone else spying on them, although Cor had thought he saw someone by the statues outside that fortress. It was probably just his imagination.

  “Nordal!” Midar’s voice rang through the trees. “Nordal!”

  Nordal turned, his fury for the pit still boiling within him. “What is it?” Nordal asked, seething.

  “Krindal has called a meeting,” Midar said, looking concerned as he approached. “Any… luck?”

  Luck? Perhaps they should have brought Hemrin on the search…

  “No,” Ordreth spoke up. “The pits don’t lead anywhere.”

  Midar looked confused. “So… where are the others?”

  Nordal ignored the question and stomped through the forest. He climbed the unnatural slope made by the earthquake to the tilted war camp. Tilters… that’s what he would call these blasted fools. Damned Tilters. Why couldn’t they have gotten lost in those pits?

  Nordal hurried through the wreckage of the war camp. That bastard, Jahevial, stood in a tent with the other scholars, each babbling and marveling at the destruction in the ruins.

  How dare they? Cor and the others were missing, probably dead or dying, and these pompous, ass-kissing scholars were more concerned with decrepit heaps of stone rather than men in perilous circumstances.

  That only fueled his rage.

  It’s your fault, Nordal thought, his anger boiling. He lowered a hand to his waist, palm hovering over the hilt of his sword. If it wasn’t for this bastard, Cor wouldn’t have gone off alone, and then Kalder wouldn’t have chased after him.

  Jahevial buried six of his comrades as surely as pushing them off into those pits himself. If Nordal couldn’t make the pits bleed perhaps he could—

  “Sir!” a Crimson Praetorian called, stepping in front of Nordal. “You are wanted in the Imperial Tent.”

  “You can piss on the Imperial Tent!” Nordal shouted. The Praetorian started, leaning back in surprise. He glanced to Nordal’s weapon and his hand hovering over the hilt.

  “Come with me,” the Praetorian insisted, his tone firm. “We don’t want trouble.”

  Of course the fool didn’t want trouble… The Praetorian didn’t want a sword shoved through his throat. And Nordal would do it. But… that wouldn’t bring Cor or the others back. Nordal took in a deep breath, glanced to Jahevial one last time, then stalked off toward the Royal ring.

  He went straightway toward the Imperial Tent. The Praetorians moved to block his path with their fanisars but remembered he was now in command of Cornar’s band.

  He was now in command? Oh no. Nordal sighed inwardly, passing the guards. Nordal couldn’t lead them. He was too hotheaded!

  Why couldn’t you be here, Master Iltar? Nordal wondered as he stomped into the war room.

  Krindal stood at one end of the tilted table, his tevisral map covering most of it. The two grand marshals stood on the other sides of the table, studying the map. What frivolous titles… They should have just stuck with general. Stupid Tilter Mindolarnians and their damned pompous titles.

  “Nordal,” Krindal said, “did you find them?”

  “No,” he spat the word and leaned over the table. “We did find a corpse, but it wasn’t one of ours.”

  “Whose was it?” Grand Marshal Hezidex asked. What a name. Who in their right mind names their kid Hezidex? You get nicknames like Dexy and Hezy. Such a name would only condemn the kid to a life of wimpiness.

  “Nordal?” Krindal asked.

  Guess I should answer. Nordal thought. “Sorry… It wasn’t Cor or any of the others. He was wearing the wrong clothing.”

  “The spy,” Galiur said, nodding his head.

  “Cornar must have been chasing the spy when the earthquake struck,” Hezidex speculated.

  “The pits we found were massive,” Nordal said. He wasn’t about to tell them that their assumptions were wrong. “At least twenty stories deep.”

  “Twenty stories?!” Galiur gasped.

  “That must be these tunnels.” Krindal pointed to the map.

  Nordal leaned close. The mapping tevisral showed a few lines leading to the ruins. With his eyes, he followed the supposed tunnels into Klindil, where they met another mess of lines. It was like a maze down there.

  “His Grace will be another day?” Krindal asked warily, looking at the pompous-titled generals.

&nb
sp; “Yes,” Galiur said. “Are you worried about this spy?”

  Krindal nodded.

  What a coward. Nordal stared through the map, eyeing the mapping tevisral. All the while, the sissy generals and the cowardly scholar talked about the spy and the group they thought he belonged to. Nordal could use that tevisral to get to those tunnels… He wasn’t as good with maps as Cor, but he could follow directions. This was his missing comrades’ only chance. He had to go find them.

  “I’m taking your tevisral,” Nordal interrupted the conversation and leaned across the table. Galiur grabbed his wrist, stopping him a fraction of a phineal from the tevisral.

  “Let go of me,” Nordal demanded. “I’m taking that tevisral and finding my friends.”

  “You’re assuming they’re alive,” Hezy said. That very sentence made Nordal boil. Was this sissy general too afraid to go down there and look?

  “This is Cornar Dol’shir we’re talking about.” Krindal shrugged. At least there was one man who had hope in Cor’s survival. Stupid Mindolarn Tilters.

  “If there’s a chance that they’re alive, I’m going to take it,” Nordal said, a scowl forming upon his face. He wasn’t good at negotiating, unless it involved a little hostility.

  The generals looked at each other, then to Krindal.

  “We need this tevisral to get to the temple,” Galiur said, still holding tightly onto Nordal’s wrist.

  Nordal resisted the urge to break free of the grapple and beat the man to the ground. That’d probably bring down the wrath of the entire war camp… Not a good idea, Nord, he thought.

  “We can’t permit you to take the tevisral,” Hezy said.

  “I’m not going to die down there,” Nordal said with a grunt. “I’ll be taking the rest of my band with me. If we use the map, we can get back here by tomorrow evening.”

  The craven generals said nothing.

  “If it were you trapped down there, Cor would be looking for you,” Nordal said. He hoped a different approach might work. “Or any of your men. Cor wouldn’t forsake the lowliest soldier or servant. You should afford him the same consideration.”

  Galiur let go of Nordal, turning away from the table. Nordal continued for the tevisral.