by Dan Zangari
Alanya touched Iltar, drawing him from his reverie. “Let’s eat,” she suggested. “I’ll have Hazais fetch us when Elsia and your students wake.” Alanya grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the kitchen.
* * * * *
Nearly two hours had passed when Agen, the last to wake, joined the others gathered in Alanya’s grand dining hall. Iltar, his acolytes, and the ladies sat around a table large enough to seat twenty-four. The servants had prepared meals for Elsia and the boys as they awoke, serving eggs with fruit alongside slices of bread. It seemed an odd breakfast to Iltar.
“Take a seat, Agen,” Iltar said. “Your breakfast should be here soon.” The boy nodded and sat with some trepidation.
“Did you have nightmares too?” Bilda chimed. Agen nodded but didn’t speak.
“It looks like we all did,” Pagus said, looking to his aunt.
Elsia hadn’t said a word since she awoke. She had come to in a frenzy, crying hysterically. Since then Elsia had sat quietly in the dining hall. The countess hadn’t even touched her meal. Iltar wondered what had frightened her.
“Mine was pretty bad,” Bilda said, tracing a line on the table. “Kinda like Master Iltar’s. I was back home, and everything was burning. Then there was this armored man roaming the city, killing everyone with a black whip, turning them to dust.”
Iltar narrowed his eyes. A black whip that turned its victims to dust? That sounded like something composed of the Darkness magic. Most of the boys shared their nightmares, horrible experiences that threatened their very lives. Only a few of them saw the door with the symbol Iltar had told them about, but none of them were able to reach it. Bilda came close, but the armored man barred him each time he neared the door.
After the last of the boys shared their experience, Elsia grabbed her fork and picked at her meal. It had since cooled beyond what Iltar would have deemed edible.
“Are you okay, Elsia?” Alanya asked, extending her hand across the table to her friend. The countess took a deep breath and poked the eggs on her plate.
“I’m sorry, Aunty,” Pagus said. “But it was just a dream.”
Elsia lifted some of the egg to her mouth but stared at Pagus. Finally, she spoke. “You… you stay away from Soroth, you hear?” Her voice was shaky. “Whatever you do, never go back there.”
Everyone looked at each other in confusion, except Iltar. He narrowed his eyes at Elsia. What had she seen? Elsia said nothing more and resumed eating her cold food. A servant entered the dining hall soon after, delivering Agen’s morning meal.
“We’ll resume our research at the Hilinard today,” Iltar said. “I want most of you gathering more information on the Will and the nature of the Cherisium god. Agen, I want you to find any references you can about something called Dalgilur. Pagus, you and I are going to look for more information on Vabenack.”
“But I already exhausted those tomes,” Pagus complained, leaning back in his chair. “Unless…” He perked up with a smile.
Was the boy stupid? Iltar didn’t intend to send Pagus on a pilfering task. That would be foolhardy. Iltar had a better idea, one that would prove less dangerous. They would access that forbidden part of the Hilinard meant for Mindolarn Royals, but it wouldn’t involve burglary.
* * * * *
Worry didn’t often distract Raedina from her work. Most of the time, she could push extraneous matters out of her mind. But not today. The report she’d received from Constable Hashar of the City Watch nagged at her so much that she became preoccupied with it. Unnerved, Raedina paced to the window of her office at the Hilinard, clutching Hashar’s letter. It told of their attempt to apprehend an herbalist named Yenig, who they found dead in his shop. They didn’t know the cause. Yenig didn’t have any family, and those who knew him barely associated with him. The herbalist was a loner.
Something doesn’t feel right, Raedina sighed, clutching the roll of parchment. Letters on parchment seemed so primitive. Hopefully, soon, they would move past such archaic ways of communication for the empire’s general populace.
“Are you finished, Raedina?” Dalkalin asked. He stood nearby, dressed in a black coat that hung to his knees.
“Yes,” she said, still staring out the window. “But go on without me.” Dalkalin adjusted a pair of spectacles on his face and sighed. “You’ll be fine without me,” she said. “You’re just as skilled in tevisral construction. Besides, I’ve made plenty of advancements in tevisral development. You can bask in the glory for at least one project.”
“Very well,” Dalkalin said, sounding disappointed.
She heard him walk away, his footsteps fading as he left her office. Raedina continued gazing out the window. She was too distracted to focus on such delicate tasks. One mistaken movement or jolt could ruin the tevisral’s other mechanisms, setting the project back weeks or even months. Though she wanted to be present at this particular tevisral’s completion—a gauntlet-type device that could manifest various types of magics—it wouldn’t kill her to sit this one out. Besides, it was one of many weapons Raedina and her cohorts at the Hilinard were constructing. She would have other chances to stamp her name on the completion of something grand. For now, this herbalist was a more pressing matter.
“His death seems too convenient,” she muttered. Then there was High Duchess Alanya Tasivir’s testimony of the incident. Alanya claimed that her friend Iltar—the so-called powerful mage from Soroth—froze during a stare-down with the herbalist.
Was the herbalist one of those vile metallic beasts? Raedina knew they liked to lurk about in the world, spying on humanity and searching for the Children of Cheserith. But there are many of us here, she thought. Had one of those beasts ever lurked in the seat of the empire? If so, they must have gone unnoticed. They were clever, just like those accursed Alathians…
That brought Raedina back to the matter of Iltar. He looked so much like the man who had slain her beloved uncle, the late Emperor Monddar. Could he be the murderer? Raedina wondered. Alathians were clever and full of guile. The persona of Iltar could be a ruse for her uncle’s assassin. No one would suspect an Alathian masquerading as a mage from Soroth, especially one posing as a bodyguard.
If this Iltar were the murderer, and this herbalist one of those metallic beasts, were they in collusion? Had that freezing stare-down been a means to communicate a sinister plot? It wouldn’t be the first time an Alathian colluded with a metallic beast…
The siege of Angolith. The decisive battle between Mindolarn and the Kingdom of Los, where my uncle—Emperor Monddar—was slain. Thinking of her uncle’s death filled her with rage. It reminded her of a time long ago, when the Butcher of Tor made a vicious attempt against her family at the castle on the shores of Laelin Lake. Raedina could still remember seeing them filing into the banquet hall, and that murderous man leaping into the air and hurling disintegrating magic. Those memories sickened her, especially the recollection of watching her cousin’s wife fall, her unborn child murdered.
“This world needs purging,” she said beneath her breath.
“That’s the spirit!” her brother’s voice declared. “Weapons should be crafted with such hostile attitudes. It imbues them with a hunger for death.”
Raedina spun from the window, seeing Malvonican standing at the threshold of her office. He wore his typical regal garb, a red suit with golden tassels and black pants with matching boots. “But in the future, when plotting genocide, you should do it behind closed doors, dear sister.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, not amused.
“What’s with the fierce gaze?” Malvonican asked, closing the door behind him. He tromped across the office, weaving around a sitting area with two couches and a low table.
I don’t have time for this, she thought, returning her gaze to the window.
“I’m surprised you’re here, actually,” Malvonican said, stepping beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why aren’t you overseeing the construction of my new blade?”
�
�Your blade?” Raedina demanded with a grunt. What audacity. That particular tevisral wasn’t slated for completion for several months.
“Yes,” Malvonican said, his tone arrogant. “It makes sense to give it to me. Uncle Marden doesn’t need it. Jeridi doesn’t plan on riding into battle, nor does Xalutir. Negaris is a mage, and Laedar and Kaescis prefer their Ko’delish blades. That leaves me as the next choice,” he said, stepping between Raedina and the window.
“The possession of these weapons does not correspond to the order of succession to the throne,” Raedina said, looking past her brother to the grounds of the Hilinard. Clouds were rolling in from the west.
“Really?” Malvonican said. “So why did Kaescis get the Triaindium Suit instead of me? The others have our uncles’ armors…”
Raedina turned, looking squarely at her brother. Malvonican stood at a height equal to hers, gazing at her with his aqua-green eyes. Raedina was the only one of her siblings who did not share that eye color. Of all the Royals, she had the most vibrant emerald eyes.
“Well?” Malvonican asked, his expression demanding an answer.
“You know why,” she said coldly.
Malvonican laughed. “Because some mysterious stranger came to him and told him that he would deliver our empire? That he was destined to find some weapon cache of our ancestors’ enemies?” He shook his head and turned to the window. “I’m just as good a warrior as Kaescis.”
Raedina grunted. Malvonican was so arrogant. But he had lived in Kaescis’s shadow for decades, always trying to surpass their cousin’s feats. Yes, Malvonican had led successful skirmishes against the enemies of the empire. He’d even held his front at the Battle of Angolith, though his forces suffered many casualties. But he was no Kaescis.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Malvonican said. “Why aren’t you working on the blade?”
“It is not scheduled for several weeks,” she said, folding her arms.
“Oh?” her brother asked. “Then why aren’t you finishing whatever else you’ve deemed more important?”
How dare he? She pursed her lips. “My work is being completed by Dalkalin. I am… distracted, and I’d rather not be working on anything at the moment.”
Malvonican eyed her, then settled his gaze on the parchment.
Is he going—
Her brother swiftly snatched the parchment, unrolling it while stepping back. Raedina tried to grab the report, but she was too slow.
What a child, she fumed.
“Does this herbalist mean anything to you?” Malvonican asked, brow raised and lips pursed.
“No,” Raedina said coldly, “I was helping a friend with an incident that occurred yesterday.”
“With an herbalist?” he asked, laughing. “And a dead one at that.” Malvonican re-rolled the parchment and handed it back to Raedina.
“I’m not so sure he’s dead,” Raedina said, taking the parchment and returning her focus to the window. Her eyes were drawn to a group of people, three adults and several boys, walking through the Hilinard’s gardens. They were nearing the building that housed her office. A scowl instinctively formed upon Raedina’s face as she got a better look at the only man in the group, Alanya’s so-called friend.
“If you keep that up you’ll start looking your age,” Malvonican smirked. Raedina ignored him, not amused, and continued staring out the window. “What’s making you so angry, anyway?” Malvonican asked.
“I think that’s Uncle Monddar’s murderer…”
“Oh…?” Malvonican sounded intrigued. He leaned closer to the window, getting a better look at the so-called mage from Soroth. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Raedina said. “But he looks like the Alathian that Kaescis and I encountered in the palace.”
“Interesting…” Malvonican said. “You’ve seen him before, I take it?”
“When the matter of this herbalist came to my attention. He was with my friend when the herbalist assaulted them. He claims to be a Sorothian mage.”
Malvonican hummed with amusement. “A hostile herb peddler and a backwater mage… the plot thickens.” Raedina rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m sorry,” Malvonican said half-heartedly. “But if you think he’s the murderer then we should just kill him,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’d need an edge against him though. My new blade, perhaps?”
You sly snake, she thought.
“We could lay a trap for him. Perhaps use Uncle Marden as bait—”
“Malvonican!”
“Well, not Uncle exactly,” Malvonican said, sighing. “Do you think me heartless?” Sometimes she did.
Malvonican began to pace around the room, smiling giddily. “We make an announcement for an event at the palace. A feast—no, that’s too repetitive. A ball!” He nodded, looking pleased with his idea. “Yes… we ensure that this man receives an invitation. You said he’s an acquaintance of a friend of yours? A noblewoman?”
Raedina nodded.
“Perfect! We just need to ensure that she attends with him. If he is the murderer, then he’ll be compelled to come. When he does, he’ll undoubtedly make an attempt on the emperor—or at least who he thinks is the emperor.”
That plan didn’t sound half bad. If this Iltar was their Uncle Monddar’s murderer, he would make an attempt on Uncle Marden’s life. But would he suspect a decoy? Any well trained assassin would. But it was worth a shot. And if the herbalist was one of those vile beasts, this ball would draw him out as well.
“Well?” Malvonican asked, sounding eager.
Raedina opened her mouth to speak just as a knock sounded at her office door. “I like it,” she said, crossing her office. “We will discuss the particulars in a moment.”
She opened the door and was surprised to see Alanya Tasivir standing outside her office, with none other than that man, Iltar. “Raedina,” Alanya said with a smile. “Do you have a moment? I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
Calming her demeanor, Raedina straightened up, resuming a regal pose. “Certainly. What is it that you need?”
Alanya sighed, looking a tad desperate. “We’re conducting some research and hit a brick wall. My friend, Countess Elsia Scurn, overheard some attendants speaking about the Royal Archive here in the Hilinard. She’s interested in perusing it, but I told her it’s accessible only to the Royal Family. My late husband, Scovis, mentioned its existence once in passing,” she added. “Would you be able to grant us permission to access it? It might hold the answers to my friend’s research.”
Raedina glanced to the so-called Iltar, then back to the high duchess. Helping them might lead to this man’s letting his guard down, or at least persuade him that they weren’t onto his ruse. Whatever they were researching—no matter how detrimental to the empire it might be—would cease upon this man’s death.
“Of course,” Raedina smiled. “Come with me.”
“The first indication of war was Cheserith’s seizing of the governing seat of the Ril’Sha—the highest draconic council. It was the first time that dragon blood had been spilt since the uncivilized ages, eons ago. That primordial act of passion spurred a division among the surviving Ril’Sha, eventually leading to the establishment of two separate pantheons of draconic rule.”
- From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 11
Are you sure this is going to work?” Pagus whispered to Iltar. There was an exceptional amount of doubt in the boy’s voice. Iltar glanced at Pagus but continued following Alanya and Raedina down the halls of the Hilinard.
Of course it would work.
They turned a corner, coming to a dead end in the hall. Raedina strode toward a reading alcove where a bald attendant was engrossed in a leather-bound volume. The princess cleared her throat, drawing the man’s attention.
“Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness,” the attendant apologized, standing upright. He closed the leather-bound tome, setting it on his chair.
“I need to access the Royal Archive,” Rae
dina said. “And my friends here are to be granted permission to peruse its contents for the remainder of their stay in the capital.”
“But, Your Imperial Highness, that cannot be allowed.”
Pagus leaned close to Iltar. “See… I told you this—”
“Hush, Pagus,” Iltar said between clenched teeth. The youth folded his arms and sullenly watched the exchange between Raedina and the attendant.
Raedina stared coldly at the bald man, causing him to flinch. “You will do as I say,” she said. “I will discuss the matter with my uncle, personally. But in the interim you shall afford my friends the same respect that you would pay to a member of the Royal Family.”
“Y-yes, Your Imperial Highness,” the attendant stammered. He rose out of his seat and looked behind Iltar and the others. Satisfied that no one else was around, the attendant turned to face the alcove, muttered what sounded like a prayer, and then extended his hands wide. “Eka’lum demi nocht’mil shur’inta,” he said, sweeping his hands across the stone surface.
A line of light appeared in the alcove, running from its top down to the floor. The alcove appeared to move away from Iltar and the others. Then the stone slid apart, revealing another corridor.
“Whoa…” Pagus muttered. “Did you see that, Master Iltar?”
“Of course I did.” Iltar raised an eyebrow at his apprentice, then returned his focus to the newly opened corridor. Iltar had seen nothing like that before. The whole thing was beyond mystical.
“Follow me,” Raedina said, glancing back to Iltar with a terse smile that seemed false. The princess led Iltar and his companions through the previously hidden corridor and toward a flight of stairs. As they neared the steps, Pagus tugged at Iltar’s sleeve, urging him to slow his pace. “Do you think that was some sort of incantation?” the boy whispered, obviously intrigued.
