A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  The warrior glanced down at the small device and picked it up. He handled it gently, looking intrigued.

  “It tells time,” Krindal said. “I’ve heard of things like this, but they’re all mechanical and rely on gears and weights.”

  Cornar handled the tevisral gently, his stern expression softening. The man could look imposing, but in this instant he appeared to be something gentle.

  “And here I thought these were just myths,” Cornar said, sounding amused. “There is a tevisral like this in my favorite novel,” the warrior said with a chuckle. “But the ones the characters had were strapped to their gauntlets. I wonder what that would be like,” he said, placing the tevisral on the back of his wrist—

  White-gold light shone from the tevisral’s edges, wrapping around Cornar’s wrist to form a bracelet of sorts. The light conformed to his wrist, then became a metallic substance. The tevisral spun, orienting itself so that the number denoting high-noon was oriented near the outer edge of his wrist.

  Krindal watched with horror. This tiny thing defied the laws of magic. It formed matter out of light.

  “Incredible!” Cornar jumped, laughing triumphantly. He extended his wrist, admiring the time-telling tevisral. Several others at the table heard the warrior’s outburst and turned toward him. They caught sight of the tevisral on Cornar’s arm and gathered around him.

  Krindal felt a tinge of jealousy as the members of the royal retinue fawned over Cornar’s accidental discovery. Calm yourself, Krindal thought. Remember who you are. Just because they aren’t paying you homage doesn’t mean they think of you as mad. He continued reassuring himself until he heard his name.

  “… Krindal found it,” Cornar said.

  “What an extraordinary device!” Admiral Kaetet said.

  “Imagine how useful that would be on the battlefield,” Grand Marshal Hezidex said, nodding. “Like in Towers of Comdolith.”

  “Exactly,” Cornar said, twisting his wrist to eye the tevisral’s face.

  “Your Imperial Highness,” Hezidex said, “when we return to Mindolarn, will you requisition the duplication of this? We could outfit all of our officers with them. Imagine how this would improve our effectiveness.”

  “I will mention it, Grand Marshal,” the prince said. He didn’t even look at the time-telling tevisral.

  Did Prince Kaescis not find the tevisral interesting? Perhaps the simpler things were too mundane for him. The prince was interested in far grander things… but he wasn’t even surprised. Nor were Bratan and Laeyit. Those two regarded the discovery with indifference. It was almost as if the prince and his friends saw the timepiece as trivial.

  How absurd.

  Those at the table quieted down and returned to their seats. Cornar studied the metal wrapped around his arm, probably looking for a way to unlatch it. The warrior tugged at the metal to no avail, and it just remained there.

  Serves you right for taking it, Krindal thought smugly.

  Cornar tugged at the part where the numbers were located. The metal immediately became light, then flowed back into the domed disk.

  “Wow…” the warrior muttered, extending the time-telling tevisral toward Krindal. Krindal, however, didn’t take it.

  “Don’t you want it back?” Cornar asked.

  “No,” Krindal said, folding his arms and relaxing in his chair. “You can keep it. You were the one to unlock its secrets. I’m sure there are more around.”

  Cornar looked dumbfounded. That pleased Krindal, but only a little.

  “Thank you,” Cornar said. He set the tevisral back on his wrist, and the unfathomable transformation happened again.

  * * * * *

  Before long, the chefs brought out the evening meal. The food wasn’t anything spectacular, as their supplies were reduced to rations. They had fished along the way to Dalgilur, but the fish they caught were not the tastiest of creatures.

  Krindal sat quietly, picking at his food. He watched Cornar devour the meal and was amazed that the man could eat something so bland so veraciously.

  After everyone at the head table finished eating, Prince Kaescis stood, assuming a regal posture. The prince always evoked a sense of royalty whenever making a speech.

  “My friends and allies,” Kaescis said, holding up a goblet of wine, “I wish to congratulate you on this magnificent discovery. You are the first men in over a thousand years to set foot in this great hall. In fact, you are probably the first men not vowed as Keepers of Truth and Might to set foot here, and that, my friends, is to be commended.”

  An uproar of cheers resounded from the Mindolarnians—sailor, soldier, and mage alike. The Wildmen clapped awkwardly. But the Sorothians were silent, and so was Krindal.

  “As many of you can see”—the prince gestured to the table between his and the others—“our labors are already bearing fruit. These tevisrals that lay before you are only a fraction of those that lie hidden here on this island.

  “These next few days will be monumental,” he continued, speaking with a tone of finality. “Dalgilur holds ancient powers and wonders that will bolster our empire and expand our borders. The might of Mindolarn will be known once again. I hereby declare Dalgilur a new territory under the banner of the empire! Dalgilur is ours!”

  More cheers erupted throughout the colossal chamber.

  Cornar, however, jumped at the prince’s words. The warrior looked fierce.

  Krindal also started at Prince Kaescis’s declaration. This was an expedition of discovery, not conquest. Besides, the prince had agreed to grant all the discoveries to the Necrotic Order. Would Prince Kaescis dare rescind his word?

  Krindal felt betrayed.

  Careful not to let his emotions show, Krindal slipped out of his seat and hurried into the war camp. He hoped he could make it seem like he was going to relieve himself. But Krindal couldn’t listen to the prince any longer.

  * * * * *

  After the feast, Jahevial slipped away, clutching his communication tevisral beneath his robe. Grandmaster Alacor had to be notified of the prince’s betrayal. Kaescis had gone on for nearly a quarter of an hour, expounding on the great finds they would unearth and claim for his empire. How could Kaescis know they would find such things?

  Infuriated, Jahevial hurried through the normal-sized corridors of this Hall of the Guardians, as the prince had named it. Kaescis seemed to know an awful lot about this place, but he didn’t explain how he had obtained that knowledge.

  Jahevial turned a corner and entered another hall. After noting that no one was behind him—or anywhere else nearby—he mustered his invisibility magic and vanished.

  I might get lost down here, Jahevial thought, continuing down the hall. This place was likely a massive labyrinth, although not as expansive as the tunnels beneath Klindil.

  Turning another corner, Jahevial decided to mark the wall, so as to not lose his way. He drew a small knife and notched out a piece of the stone, about eye level. Jahevial wandered for a while, marking the corners as he made turns.

  Satisfied that he was far enough away from the war camp, Jahevial approached one of the many doors along the hall. He touched its surface, and it slid open. The very act made his skin tingle with excitement. How grand must it have been to live in a place like this?

  The room beyond the door was quite large, rising several stories. Odd-looking arms hung from the ceiling, metallic in nature, each arrayed above a table.

  Jahevial looked around. A smaller room was to his right, with a window allowing a view to the larger space.

  Over there will do, he thought. This way I can hide if need be.

  He dismissed his magic and removed his communication tevisral. Once in the smaller room, Jahevial swiped his forefinger across the tevisral’s activating gem. It pulsed a pale blue, then Jahevial flipped the receiving end to his lips.

  “Grandmaster Alacor,” Jahevial said, speaking into the tevisral. “We’ve reached Dalgilur. We passed through a treacherous storm in the World’s Fr
own, but we all made it through safely. However, I have grave news. The prince has betrayed our Order and rescinded our right to discovery. He is claiming everything on behalf of the Mindolarn Empire.”

  Jahevial tapped the activating gem again, then settled onto the floor. It would be quite late back in Soroth. Grandmaster Alacor was most likely asleep by now. But Jahevial decided to wait for a reply.

  Hours passed in silence until the gem pulsed, signifying it had received a message.

  He tapped the gem and listened to a reply from the grandmaster. “It pains me to hear this, Jahevial. But it wasn’t unexpected. Smuggle whatever you can. If this Dalgilur is indeed the isle of legend, then it must hold a bountiful yield of tevisrals. Seek what you deem would be most beneficial for the Order.”

  The message ended and Jahevial tapped the gemstone once again to send a reply. “I will do as you command, grandmaster. I have been working with Cornar Dol’shir’s men today. They too seemed displeased about the prince’s announcement. Shall I conscript them to help?”

  Silence lingered in the room for a while, then Grandmaster Alacor sent a reply. “If you believe they can be trusted. You may offer them payment in return, once the value of each tevisral is determined. Be safe, Jahevial.”

  “Thank you, grandmaster. I will keep you apprised of our progress.”

  Jahevial rose to his feet, re-concealing his communication tevisral within his robe. He hurried out of the room and back through that maze of hallways. As Jahevial rounded the corner and searched for the notch, but it had vanished.

  Surprised, Jahevial brushed his hand over the surface where the notch should have been. It was smooth and lacked any sign of ever being damaged.

  By all that’s magical… Jahevial cursed inwardly. He was both afraid and awestruck. Jahevial sucked in a deep breath, quelling his emotions. Hopefully he would remember each turn he made. Otherwise, he would be lost.

  * * * * *

  Nordal and his small band hadn’t returned to Dalgilur’s center as Cornar had instructed. They felt a tiny amount of guilt at disobeying Cor, but they figured he would forgive them. Besides, before the appointed hour to return, Midar had spotted the Mindolarnians marching around Dalgilur’s buildings. Their movement indicated that a spot for the war camp had been found.

  The three of them reasoned they could continue their search because what they were sent out to do was already accomplished. Now, they could seek the hidden wonders this mysterious place had to offer.

  As the sun set, Nordal and the others began their search on the eighteenth floor of this oddly pristine building. They hadn’t found anything that resembled tevisrals as they knew them. Whatever devices they had run across were beyond their understanding. Nordal, however, picked up a few things along the way, hoping they might be of some value.

  If Tilthan had been with Nordal, he would have called him stupid. Nordal clearly imagined his voice. “That could be a paperweight, you know.” The words would have had a snarky tone to them. “Do you really think you can sell that?” The notorious thief didn’t like taking such risks when it came to plunder, though he enjoyed gambling at Sharzen far more than any man should.

  “This all looks the same,” Tinal complained, falling behind Nordal and Midar. The two warriors glanced to each other, then back to the young wizard.

  “Well, maybe we’ll run into something different,” Midar said cheerily. “And if we don’t, then we’ve had fun exploring.”

  Nordal grunted. “I’d like to find an upgrade to my blade.” He patted the hilt hanging at his waist.

  Midar laughed. “What’s wrong with your current one?”

  “Well, nothing,” Nordal admitted. “I’d just like to find something that bursts into flame whenever I draw it.”

  “Just flame, huh?” Midar said, brow raised.

  “You know what I mean,” Nordal said, rolling his eyes.

  They came to a door on their left. It slid open, revealing a large room with a circular table. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the wall opposite the door, leading out to a balcony. Besides the table, there wasn’t anything else in the room.

  Still at the open door, Nordal frowned, disappointed at the dearth of tevisrals.

  “I don’t know about you two,” Tinal said. “But I’m getting hungry.”

  “I could eat,” Midar said, peeling away from the door.

  “Let’s make this the last floor,” Nordal said. “Then we can go find the war camp.”

  “Cheserith’s divine status was elevated by his introduction of an eighth Channel: a destructive force that tore apart matter. This Channel, which became known as the Ko’delish, was the foundation for his followers’ destructive arsenal. He taught man and dragon alike to harness the Ko’delish through his own unique Words of Power.”

  - From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 28

  Kaescis’s announcement about claiming Dalgilur for the empire had unsettled the Sorothians. Krindal himself had fled during the speech. Mister Dol’shir had reacted with restrained fury. The others in the crowd looked distressed. Each had mentally distanced themselves in a way that showed on their faces. But none of that mattered. Kaescis was being obedient to the vision he had received in Vabenack, and that was more important than appeasing those petty men.

  After the feast had concluded, Kaescis stood outside the war camp’s walls, eyeing the far end of the Hall of the Guardians. The Messenger had told him that this place—hollowed out of the mountain—was home to many of his ancestors’ enemies. Those pathetic Keepers lived in these towering columns when not infecting the world with erroneous beliefs.

  Footsteps drew Kaescis from his reverie. Laeyit approached, alone.

  “What are we to do next?” she asked.

  “We must go there,” Kaescis said, pointing across the hall. The other side was a good grand phineal away. “But we need Bratan.”

  Bratan emerged from the war camp a moment later. “The officers are gathering reports,” the Praetorian said. “And someone is collating the maps.”

  “Good, come with us for a moment,” Kaescis said, gesturing across the hall.

  The three of them walked together, reaching the end of the hall within several minutes. Kaescis and his friends stopped at the foot of four white-marble statues—a dragon, an elf, and two others that looked human. Though they resembled the ones outside, Kaescis knew they didn’t belong. After all, these four were not Keepers of Truth and Might.

  The draconic statue was smaller than it should have been but was still tall, rising seventy phineals. The dragon sat with his wings spread around the other three, his tail curling around the front of the smaller statues. His long snout was angled down, a stern expression etched into his muzzle.

  The elf—who stood on the left—was clad in armor that looked quite ancient. The armor’s design consisted of congruent angles that formed diamond-shaped plating. The weapon the elf held looked like a staff—though Kaescis knew it was much more than that. The weapon’s shaft was long and slender, divided into thirds by two narrow grooves a quarter of the way from each end. This weapon was a true fanisar. It was far superior to what was commonly wielded today. This fanisar’s blades were composed of coursing annihilation particles. It also could be separated at the grooves, bound by an ever flowing chain of magic, making this weapon perfectly useable at long range.

  “Who are these?” Bratan asked.

  “The monsters that overthrew the Karthar Empire,” Kaescis said. “This one is called Ulk’sha.” He pointed to the dragon, then gestured to the elf. “There is the elf that forsook his homeland for men.”

  Kaescis turned toward the other statue on the right. It depicted a man in a flowing robe wearing the emblems of the Mages of Alath. In the crook of his left arm rested a weapon similar to the one wielded by the elf. That weapon was known among the Losians as The King’s Scepter, wielded by Dorin, the Mage-King, the monarch who doomed the world. Dorin’s Edicts outlawing tevisrals had plunged the men of Kalda into a dark ag
e. Dorin’s pronouncements neared the brink of fanaticism.

  “That’s the Mage-King?” Bratan muttered, stepping to the statue on the right.

  “And that must be Lith,” Laeyit snarled, gazing at the statue in the center. Positioned squarely between the two smaller statues, the statue of General Lith Luzdom stood holding a curved sword toward the ground. Lith’s statue was clad in formfitting scaled armor that looked as if it was melded onto his person, lacking any seams or joints. Kaescis had seen armor like that several times throughout his life. It was always worn by one of those metallic beasts masquerading as a man.

  A fitting depiction, Kaescis mused, glancing at the sword hanging from Lith’s hands. The handle was forearm length, with a round guard that looked like the wings of a dragon. The blade was not in a scabbard, its tip hovering above the ground.

  Kaescis had been told nightmarish tales about this weapon. It was a sword that could amplify the soul of its wielder. This weapon was something of a myth, rumored to be one of two surviving relics from a far distant past, further removed than when the gods walked Kalda. No one knew what the weapon’s true form was, as its wielder could will it into whatever he desired.

  “I am wary of these,” Kaescis said.

  “But they are just statues,” Bratan said incredulously. “Or are you referring to who they represent?”

  Kaescis wished he could destroy the statues right then, but he knew he couldn’t. That very act might doom himself and his god.

  “Do you fear they are mis’thralim?” Laeyit asked.

  Bratan started furiously. “Then we should destroy them now! Before they awaken.” The brash Praetorian dashed back toward the war camp.

  “Bratan!” Kaescis spun, shouting to his friend. “That was not part of my vision.”

  Bratan stopped abruptly, looking frustrated. “Then why bring us to this spot?” he demanded.

  “Perhaps to come to this realization,” Kaescis said, speculating aloud, “but not act.”

  “At what point did your vision end?” Laeyit asked.