by Robert Day
“It looks like we get to ride again, friend,” he whispered, but then a thought struck him and he began to look around. “Where is Kaz?” He had half expected the Moorcat to be at the heels of the horse, for even Shakk could not outpace the fleet footed cat.
A thin trail of dust rose some distance away, and Valdieron barely made out the loping form of the banded Moorcat, looking as if he were in no hurry, but it was a second form running behind Kaz that made him gape. The figure wore a dark cloak, and as he ran, twin lengths of steel flashed in the sun, and Valdieron began to breathe a little easier, recognizing the easy gait and form of Javin.
The Cat obviously saw him and sped up, leaving Javin behind as he covered the distance in barely a handful of long stride, then he was on top of Valdieron, growling low in his throat as he playfully bit at Valdieron's hair and arms. By the time the cat let him rise, Javin was approaching at an uncertain walk, eyeing Valdieron as he might an oasis, thinking that any step could see it disappear.
“Valdieron. You are alive! How?”
Valdieron gave a laugh and stepped up to the Darishi, clasping him warmly by the shoulders. “It seems your serpent is selective about what he eats. Too sweet!”
Javin chuckled and eyed Valdieron, plus the caverns beyond, with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
“This is unprecedented.”
Valdieron smiled, though he could not tell Javin about the Dragon, or at least not yet. “Where is Jalek?”
“He is back at our camp. This morning I heard your whistle, but passed it off as a play on my mind, but your second call came within moments of Shakk's appearance, passing by us as if we did not exist. I knew it was no coincidence, and made to follow, then Kaz also went by. Luckily, Jalek and I had not gone far after what happened yesterday, so it was not a long run for me. He will also be glad you have survived.”
“That is good, but I must be gone again, for all purposes dead. It will be better if few know I have survived, Javin. I am not afraid of Khalan, but if he thinks I will return to accuse him of Dhalan's death again, he might just take it upon himself to see me disposed of for good.”
“Where will we go?” asked Javin softly.
“I cannot take you with me, Javin, as much as I would like to. There are things I have to do, and I don't even know how I will do them, but what I do know is many dangers await me. I cannot ask you to face them beside me.”
“What danger is there that cannot be faced better with me beside you? There will be no questions from the Equinaries; especially if Jalek returns and tells them I fell to the serpent. It has happened before, and he can say he waited behind while I delivered you to the beast and did not return. Besides, there is nothing waiting for me back on the plains, while I sense you have much to see and do, and what better way to see the world. I have long wanted to travel widely, see other races and visit legendary cities.”
Valdieron was silent for a time. He did concede having Javin with him would at least make it easier, especially in times of danger. Another sword and another pair of eyes might be priceless when in need, but could he take Javin with him, knowing what dangers lay ahead? He knew if he did, he would have to let Javin at least know what dangers there were, and what it was they were searching for.
“Your company will be greatly appreciated, Javin. There are things you will need to know, but I can fill you in as we go. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Let's go and tell Jalek and Akor, and then we can get started.”
Leading Shakk and letting Kaz caper about, they made the return trip to the camp where the other two waited expectantly. Both faces split into smiles at the sight of Valdieron, and even the presence of Kaz did not seem to bother Jalek as much as usual, though he did eye the big cat uneasily. Smiles soon faded, however, as Valdieron told them he and Javin were leaving.
“It is probably for the best,” conceded Jalek, “but I will be sorry to see you leave. The time you have been amongst us has seen a great stir amongst not only the Equinaries, but also the Darishi as a whole. You have set some things into motion, Valdieron, and I think it will see us change as a people, and hopefully it will be a change for the better.”
“I hope so as well, Jalek. You know what to tell the Equinaries about Javin?”
Jalek nodded, a slight smile lighting his face as if he contemplated some mischief.
“Good, and remember if you ever long for a change, go and see King Dhoric at Thorhus. He will have need of some good men soon, especially light infantry, and I think he will welcome the Darishi. Farewell, Jalek, and Akor of the Black Lion Clan, and thank you. Even when I was a prisoner, you treated me with respect, this I will not soon forget.”
Akor seemed close to tears again, and Jalek did not answer, though his face welled with pride and his eyes began to water, something he seemed a little ashamed about. Rather than embarrass him, Valdieron leapt onto Shakk and assisted Javin into position behind him. With a call to Kaz and a final wave, he kicked Shakk into motion, and the big stallion soon had them far away from the camp.
Kalamar's steps were heavy as he strode slowly towards King Dhoric's private chambers. There were few servants and soldiers in these corridors, but those who were seemed to notice his silent anger and brooding and kept respectfully clear. He clutched in his hand a small silver tube, less than the size of his thumb, and he weighed it unknowingly several times when he wasn't frowning down at it.
Dhoric was once again in his study, which seemed even more mussed than it had previously. The King himself appeared just as worse for wear, his graying hair and beard unkempt, and his clothes rumpled and unmatched. For some days, the King had attended few formal meetings or gatherings, leaving matters of state to his officials unless of extreme importance, or having anything to do with the coming confrontation.
He looked up as Kalamar entered, and the momentary frown the spy made at his appearance passed so quickly the King barely noticed it. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and he looked to have aged ten years in the last week alone.
“Is there news, Kalamar?” The King knew his chief spy so well he knew something was amiss, and his troubled eyes moved to the small cylinder Kalamar opened his hand to offer him. The King took it uncertainly, as if expecting the worst from its contents, knowing Kalamar would have spoken of its contents if it were anything else.
The cylinder twisted apart in the center, revealing a rolled strip of parchment, less than a hand in length. On it was a small line of spidery script the King read slowly, as if in disbelief.
“Father. Kitara taken. Ka'Varel gone. Going to Lloreander. Will find her!” It did not have Andrak's name scribbled on it, but the King knew his son's writing, and did not discredit the authenticity of it.
“It arrived just now by white Dove, sir,” revealed Kalamar softly, knowing as did the King that the white Dove was the favored messenger bird of the Elves.
Dhoric eyed the floor silently for some time, the parchment crumpling in his large hand as he clenched it, then let it fall to the floor to lie with the other litter and rubble.
“You must find her, Kalamar. Whatever you do, Kitara must be found. If ever there was a need for your services, it is now.”
Kalamar nodded, expecting this sort of response. Indeed, he had already set into action several plans for the location and return of the Princess. “Do not fear, Majesty. You have agents everywhere. The whereabouts of the Princess will be known within the week, I have no doubt.”
Dhoric only nodded, as if resigned that what had to be done would be done, but it was a defeatist attitude as far as Kalamar was concerned, totally out of character for the usually voracious ruler. More than a little worried, he excused himself and left, his concern for the King fading with his new concern for Kitara. Finding her would not be as easy as he had alluded to the King, even with the many agents he had throughout the cities of the realms, especially if there were measures taken to keep her hidden.
“What times are these into which we head?” he whisper
ed softly, though not too softly for one servant rushing past him not to have heard. He did not see her bemused look or startled gasp at his musings as he headed straight for his chambers.
If not for his brooding, he might have sensed the attack before it came. Stepping into his chamber, he might have noticed the slight chill, though the fire burned low, as if it had recently been opened. He might have even sensed the figure as he strode across the room to his lower study, a thin curtain partitioning off the tiered room. The figure who struck was fast and quiet. If Kalamar had not been as good as he was, he would have been dead within an instant.
As it was, the dagger that would have punctured his lungs sliced across his chest, and for a fleeting moment he hoped the dagger was not poisoned as he cursed his inattentiveness and hooked the Assassin's arm away, while parrying a second punch and a short kick aimed at his knee. He managed a straight- fingered thrust at the Assassin's throat, but the figure moved fast to intercept, batting his feeble strike aside with a flick of his wrist. The hand holding the dagger spun to make another strike at Kalamar, but the Spy was no longer within reach as he stepped back.
The Assassin was dressed in skin- tight dark silk, which seemed to exude darkness, and Kalamar guessed some magic was involved to make him even more difficult to spot in darkness or shadow. Pale light from the shuttered lanterns on the wall and ambient light from the main room seemed to dissipate as it struck the cloth. Same with the dagger, the blade coated with a dark paint so it would not reflect light, probably why it was not poisoned. The blade itself was double edged, thin and long enough so that it would easily reach vital organs it struck in the correct place.
“You have come a long way, Kiroba!” spat Kalamar as the Assassin regarded him briefly, somewhat arrogantly allowing him to draw a dagger of his own. It was one of the many he carried on his body, not long but single edged and thick enough to parry a strong sword blow, though the grey adamantine blade was very sharp. It was Dwarven made to his own specifications, a weapon from his past.
If the Assassin was surprised Kalamar knew him, or at least his identity, he did not show it, instead sneering from beneath his dark cowl. “No distance is too far to face you, Hibbaki Tamar!”
Kalamar was the one surprised now. The Hibbaki Tamar was an ancient order of Assassins from feudal Zarn, where House warfare had been a way of life for many centuries. Once, it was said they were the finest Assassins in the realms, but now, with Zarn becoming more of a merchant oriented society, there were few uses for such a class of deadly killers. There were only two such sects remaining that Kalamar knew of, one of those being the one he had been taught by, the Tigers Claw sect.
“Your desire to face me will be your downfall, Kiroba!” It was simple fact as Kalamar saw it, for despite the legendary aura of the Kiroba, he was all too familiar with their ways, and more so, his own. There was no overconfidence on his behalf when he knew the Kiroba could not match him.
But to his credit, he did try. Both met in a flurry of slashes and punches, locked too closely together for more than a short foot strike or attempted trip. Sparks flew as short blades met, the crystalline clanging echoing through the small chamber. There were few furnishings here in the study, just a bookcase, a large table and a chair, allowing the two some ability to separate or give ground, though it was the Kiroba who gave most ground, and when he separated, his dark clothes were damp at his side and thigh where Kalamar had sliced through his defenses.
Without word he attacked again, a desperate feel to his movements that made Kalamar cautious, for a desperate foe could easily do something unforeseeable and make an unexpected maneuver.
Which he did. Using a series of low feints, the Kiroba spun with a short jab kick at Kalamar's right knee, meaning to disable him. The kick scraped across clothing as Kalamar shifted away, but then a dagger was arcing through the air at his throat as the Kiroba straightened and continued his spin. A parry was not an option here as he snaked away from the dagger, which seemed to grow larger as it neared him, despite his movement, so that when it passed, there was a flash of pain at his throat.
Ignoring the pain, Kalamar saw the Kiroba now open, the flashing attack sending his arm wide. Stepping inside the arc of the man's dagger, he used his left hand to hold the assassin's weapon arm at the wrist and snapped his right foot into the man's instep. There was a crack of bone and cartilage as the leg bowed, and the Kiroba barked a cry of pain, a credit to his self- control and pain tolerance. Then Kalamar's dagger was at the man's throat, the razor sharp edge drawing a faint line of blood from the slight contact.
Knowing he was defeated, the Kiroba released his dagger to clatter on the hard tiles, but as he did so, his jaw tensed and Kalamar sliced his throat before rolling away. He came to his feet warily as the body collapsed on the floor and blood began to pool on the floor.
Cursing the young Kiroba's foolish action, Kalamar sheathed his dagger and moved to turn the body over. Blood still flowed from the man's slit throat, but Kalamar removed the man's cowl and placed it over the wound, stemming the flow slightly.
The Kiroba was young for an assassin, a few years over twenty perhaps, which was probably why he had not been very good. Kalamar wondered why a second rate Assassin had been sent to kill him, especially if these people knew his background and knowledge.
Stripping away the man's clothing, Kalamar methodically began to search him for clues of his origin. Although he knew the Kiroba were based in Dak'mar, it was possible this Assassin had been sent from somewhere else that he or his spies did not know about.
It did not take him long to find something, and he had to wonder if it were a set-up: so easy was it found and so unlikely an experienced Assassin would have made such an error. There was one coin lodged into the fold of the man’s purse, resisting his casual attempts at removing it, and when he did, it was not a coin found commonly in Thorhus, or for that matter, anywhere in Ariakus.
It was a merchant's silver Floren, small and not round, but with many flat edges. It had the emblem of a pair of scales on one side, the Symbol of the Merchant's Guild. On the other was the Royal insignia of Cartyl, a merchant city on the west coast at the border of Tyr and Ariakus, north of the Elvin land of Lloreander.
Finishing the search and finding nothing else, Kalamar rose and went out of his apartment to find a guard passing by. “Find Master Harkin for me, please. Tell him to meet me here in an hour.”
If the guard noticed the blood from Kalamar's throat, he said nothing, and gave a slight bow of his head when Kalamar dismissed him. Although not a member of the nobility, Kalamar was afforded certain rights and honorifics in the eyes of the soldiers and staff.
Returning to his chambers, Kalamar locked the door and began to make arrangements for a trip. This Assassin, and the disappearance of Kitara, was too much of a coincidence, and he began to suspect the Kiroba had been the ones to kidnap the Princess. Usually, the Kiroba were not so mercenary, but he knew they would have recognized Kalamar and his people as the ones who would discover this truth sooner or later, and decided to get him out of the way.
Which meant others who knew as Kalamar did were in danger!
With a curse, he dashed from his room towards the King's chambers, yelling at guards to follow him as he went. At the King's chambers, he found the door unlocked and charged inside, only to find the surprised King changing clothes, his worn face registering shock and then embarrassment before the guards began to withdraw at Kalamar's signal.
“I assume there is some reasoning behind this, Kalamar?” The King finished dressing, and Kalamar stepped forward to show him the coin he had found on the Assassin. Dhoric studied it as Kalamar told him of the encounter and of his plans. Surprisingly, the King did not argue with Kalamar's decision to personally lead the expedition.
“Take whatever you need, Kalamar, but find Kitara.” There was tiredness in the King's voice, almost a resignation, and once again Kalamar's smile was forced as he pressed his hand onto Dhoric's shoulder.<
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“Your daughter will be returned, majesty.” It was the best he could offer, and when he turned, he wondered if he had meant what he said, or had just spoken them for the benefit of the King. If indeed the Kiroba were behind this kidnapping, the chances of first finding them, and then rescuing Kitara, alive, were very slim.
But he would make every available effort. Kitara was the closest thing he had to kin, having no wife or children of his own, or even siblings. A determination beyond professional honor drove him as he returned to his chamber.
Chapter 16
Hammagor heard the distant echoing through his very soul, combined feelings of pain, fear and longing. He had not felt these for many centuries, indeed eons, though the source was not unforgotten to him.
Kay'taari.
It was not the Dragons, who he had felt also, and though his hatred for them was deep, he knew they were of lesser number than they had been centuries before, and had not even fought in the last wars alongside the Loremasters. This aura was faint, as if the Kay'taari was far away, or perhaps young and as yet come to full power. Still, the feeling fuelled great anger in Hammagor, who had sworn eternal hatred for the Kay’taari. He had the sudden urge to fly out and seek out the source, this lone Kay'taari, but even his revenge had to give way to the greater cause of his many eons of planning. If there were only one Kay'taari, and he had felt no others nor had his Demon scouts located any more, then it would be easily overcome in due time. There was no need to throw away what surprise they had by killing this Kay'taari, when the pleasure would be greater in time.
The tingling of expectation came over the Demon. His numbers were growing by the day. Soon, he would have five thousand Demons alone here under the caverns of Mount Drac, and the five other Portals that were opened held large numbers, and another two Portals were beginning to break open. His Demons at the Astral City were stalling for time: indeed, the unknown deaths of several of their masters had seen to this, while the Elves were as yet unknowing of their presence.
