Darkstone - An Evil Reborn (Book 4)

by Guy Antibes

  Vishan thought the best course was to have some food. At least they wouldn’t have to talk while they ate and he wasn’t too sure he could master his tongue for such a long period. His mother had never taught him how to court women and, he had to admit, that was the project his father had sent him to do. He’d have to learn along the way. He looked at Vestya rummage around in the basket. He’d just be honest about it.

  “I’m afraid I’ve learned many things in my life, but I’ve never learned courtly manners around eligible women. You will have to excuse rude outbursts and comments made at seemingly inopportune times. Perhaps you can tutor me as we go.”

  Vestya grinned at him. “I’m a harsh taskmistress. But if that’s what you really want, I will do my best, a preliminary lesson, if you will. Don’t complain about the food unless you are agreeing with the lady. I will play the part of the eligible lady in our sessions, since I’m more than eligible. Do you agree?”

  Vishan had to smile at her approach. Perhaps if he were older, more practiced around women, he might purse his lips and say something witty. He had tried at dinner and didn’t seem to be so bad. But such expertise came with practice.

  Vish thought about something useful to say. What was her passion? The Darkstone. “How do you intend on finding the Darkstone?” he said as he took the thinly sliced meat and fruit that Vestya had placed on a plate.

  “Father always insisted that I take an escort and I could never find one suitable. I imagine that you would do.” She gave him a fetching smile and put her forefinger underneath her chin.

  Vishan finished swallowing the very tender meat. “I suppose I should agree to go. Won’t that be the proper course?”

  “Actually not. A woman and a man, even betrothed can’t just go off on an expedition, you know.”

  “So something,” Vishan gulped, “after we are married?”

  “After we are married. The fall will be a better time after all of the leaves drop. Until then we can go over all of the legends and work together to find the likeliest places.”

  “I thought you knew where the tomb was located. Not far from here?”

  “Now a suitor doesn’t question the lady’s knowledge.” Vestya laughed. At least she was enjoying their conversation despite his awful gaffe. “Anyway, there are conflicting accounts.”

  “As one might expect.”

  “Uh-huh, as one might expect. I’ll show you my collection of books.”

  “I don’t think we can do so in your rooms,” Vish tried to be sensitive to their awkward situation.

  “Actually there is a map room that has sat in disuse for ages. It is at the bottom of your tower. We can leave the door open.” She looked at him sideways and gave him a sly look. Playfully conspiratorial, Vishan thought.

  “Should we adjourn to the map room?”

  “No, I’ll have a servant move my books, for there are a trunkful of them. We can start tomorrow. For today, I think your lady would like to know what life was like living in the house of a Princess of the Emperor.”

  Vishan thought about what information he should present to Vestya. He decided to describe what his sisters’ lives were like. He knew enough about them although they were never particularly close. Vestya would be able to identify more with their upbringing than with his.

  She asked lots of questions about details that made Vishan struggle to recall, but before he had finished, the sun had left the garden.

  “We can continue another day,” Vestya said. “You did very well, my prince. I’ve decided to give Fateem another chance dining with us. I hope you can do as well with her as you have with me.”

  A dark look passed over her face, like a cloud on a bright day. Vishan was at a loss to interpret the woman. He suppressed a sigh and helped her gather the remains of their midday meal and walked her to the middle of the castle courtyard.

  “You go there and I’ll go this way,” she nodded towards the South tower. “You can meet us in the sitting room at any time. Dinner is at the seventh hour. You remember the pull in the sitting room? There’s one like it in your rooms. Please use it to call for a servant to guide you, if you still need to.” Vestya turned and walked to a set of window-filled double doors leading into the baron’s living quarters.

  Vishan dusted off his hands and headed back to the stables. Perhaps he could run into Ovyr. He stepped into the stables through an open door and saw Ovyr pitching hay.

  “Ovyr, I wondered if you have a length of rope I might borrow. I want to tie up my trunk.”

  “Not wanting anyone to look in it? Secrets?”

  “Something like that. Ten yards worth, I’d imagine would work. I’ll just coil up what I don’t use.”

  Ovyr took Vishan to a supply room. “I imagine this is longer than what you want, but it’s thin and supple.”

  Vish hadn’t seen rope woven quite like that before. He tested it and it seemed strong enough and took the coil. “Thanks, I think I can find my way well enough tonight.”

  Ovyr nodded. “You are welcome, Sir Prince.”

  The coil was as light as it looked as Vishan put it over his shoulder and walked across the courtyard to the North tower. He looked inside his empty trunk and put a few ornaments from his rooms inside in case someone decided to shake it. He uncoiled the rope and it would work well enough to give him an escape route should he need it.

  Vishan walked to the window facing outside the castle. He looked down to the moat below. If he escaped he wouldn’t slide down to the courtyard as most expected, but down on the outside.

  He used as much rope as he could and tied elaborate knots around the trunk, but they would come undone easily with an uttered spell. He felt better about his situation and looked forward to dinner with Vestya. She seemed compatible enough and he decided that his father could do much worse in pairing him with someone. He thought their conversation had ended well enough.

  Fenakyr still seemed to loom over the castle like a dark storm that could emit thunder and lightning with a rain that could dampen the nascent relationship with his daughter at any time.

  The path to the sitting room seemed easy enough to find now. Fateem sat in the same chair as the previous night reading. She attempted a smile, but the coldness of the gesture made Vish shiver. Vestya hadn’t yet arrived.

  “How are you this evening?” Vish said trying to give the woman a second chance at civility.

  “Well enough, and you, Prince Vishan?” He noticed that the gray streaks in her hair had gone and her dress fit her much more fashionably, taking years off of her appearance.

  “I’ve had a tolerable day highlighted with an afternoon in the garden.”

  “I noticed. It’s a pleasant enough place. I’ve frequented it enough,” she said and buried her face back in her book. Vishan noted some kind of message with her comment, but he couldn’t decipher her undertone.

  Vestya walked into the room. She seemed like a bright torch in a dark cave. Vish could see again, after groping in the darkness trying to make conversation with the frigid Fateem.

  “Dinner is served,” Gornytar said as he opened the door to the dining room.

  Fateem walked in first, followed by Vestya, who didn’t offer Vishan her arm. It seemed a little strange, but then he played a game where he didn’t know the rules.

  They sat down, but Vestya and Fateem switched places with the older woman sitting closer to Fenakyr’s seat.

  Vishan noticed that the Baron’s place had been set for dinner. Now he felt totally lost with all of the antics.

  “Ah, there you are Prince Vishan,” Baron Fenakyr said as he rushed into the room. “I see you’ve met my daughter and Fateem, my ward.”

  “Your ward?” Vishan said, now thoroughly confused. Did his ward manage the castle affairs? She no longer looked like old enough to mother a grown son. His stomach began to turn. They continued to play with him.

  “I am Fateem,” Vestya said. “My parents were killed in a fire that burned down our mansion three years ago. Th
e baron took over our lands and gave me a place in his castle.”

  “And you are Vestya?” Vishan asked of the housekeeper.

  She gave Vishan a wicked smile. “Yes, betrothed.” Why did she say it with such triumph?

  Vishan felt as if he had plunged into a house for the insane. “I am sorry, Baron. There has been some misunderstanding.” There was no misunderstanding. He had been played a fool from the start to put him off balance. Any fool could see that, and right now he felt very, very foolish.

  “Only on your part. I’ll see you wed to my daughter and I’ll collect one hundred thousand golden dreks. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Fenakyr laughed. “Your father wants you to settle down with a woman who understands what the Emperor wants.”

  “What about the sorcery story?”

  The baron glared at the younger, prettier Fateem, who colored with embarrassment. “You didn’t tell him that drivel, did you?”

  She lifted her chin. “I still want to seek out the Darkstone. Vishan is a sorcerer, so he can help me.”

  “Fateem has her wild dreams and that’s all they will be, dreams,” Fenakyr said. His face had screwed up with displeasure. He obviously didn’t like his ward.

  “They are not dreams. Vishan promised to give my search a fresh look.”

  Vish didn’t promise anything, exactly, and the taunts by Fenakyr and his real daughter were anything but harmless. He wouldn’t be able to relax with his father in on the game.

  What did Fenakyr have to give his father? His life? There could be other games, layers and strategies that Vishan hadn’t a clue existed. His tutors told him that politics could be inscrutable. Vish couldn’t feel more lost. He couldn’t trust anything or anyone in this castle.

  He looked at his host, unable to speak or think. He felt like spluttering, but did what he could to control himself. “And the betrothal?”

  Fenakyr laughed. “We’ll see if you are worth one hundred thousand dreks.” Vishan couldn’t detect a shred of the respect Fenakyr should have had towards a son of the Emperor.

  For the first time in all of this fiasco, Vishan felt truly trapped, even with his thoughts of escape. He couldn’t come up with a solution at dinner. He smiled at the real Vestya and couldn’t see her in his future. If he had to marry her, he would set her aside as quickly as possible. If his father could have twelve wives, then he could have two.

  “I wouldn’t mind helping Fateem with her research, Baron Fenakyr. She said your map room isn’t used. It would help pass the time. Vestya would be free to join us.”

  “Free to join you? As if you have any status in my household. But go ahead. I’ll be having you watched, Prince,” Fenakyr said.

  “Thank you.” He didn’t say another word until he had eaten and left the trio still eating desert in the dining room. It was all he could do to put up with smug faces and never-ending insults from the father and daughter.

  “Father, you didn’t rub his nose in hard enough,” he heard Vestya say as soon as he left the dining room.

  He would leave from this madhouse. Would he have to kill Baron Fenakyr and his daughter? Was that what his father wanted? Escape might alienate the Emperor, but Vishan didn’t think he could abide any close relationship to Fenakyr.

  Finding his room was no problem, even in the dark. He lit a sorcerer’s globe as he walked up the stairs. He grimaced. This morning the situation held promise. Now? It seemed that everyone was in on the joke.

  He closed his door and magically locked it. Someone had moved the ropes around on his trunk during dinner, but they were unsuccessful in opening the trunk. Vish inspected the entire length of the rope and found three places where the rope had been sliced in half. He would leave the rope as it was after readjusting the knots so he’d know of they disturbed the trunk again. Vishan could always repair those cuts with power just before he escaped.

  He wouldn’t wait for a wedding and he was sure Fenakyr wouldn’t let him leave the castle on his own. Running might give Fenakyr a chance to kill him with the Emperor’s blessing. But then, what would his father really think if he killed Fenakyr? Vishan wasn’t ready to go to that extreme. Flight still seemed to be the right thing to do. He could travel to Serytar and take a ship to Besseth if he had to.

  What could he do in Besseth? He could always become a mercenary. He certainly had enough military skills for that. He could be a scholar teaching royalty all about life on Zarron, especially insight into the Dakkoran Empire.

  He tucked those thought away for the future. Right now he needed more information. He’d need to accumulate food and perhaps procure a horse in town that he could stable there. Stealing one of Fenakyr’s mounts would only give the man another excuse to kill him.

  He tossed and turned, running through different scenarios. The only realistic one was to stay for a few more days and wait for the time to escape that felt most comfortable.

  ~

  Ovyr brought up breakfast some time after Vishan pulled the servant’s cord.

  “I’m sorry about the deception, sir. You seem a nice sort and I didn’t much like telling a prince lies. Here is breakfast. Fateem still expects you to meet her at the tenth hour in the map room. It’s at the bottom of this tower.”

  “Thank you,” Vishan said. He wanted to make friends with the man, but now that he knew what he faced he still couldn’t trust anyone.

  As Ovyr walked out, he said, “I’d check out your trunk and the rope. No one could figure out how to break into your things.”

  At least Vishan had an encouraging word from someone. Ovyr didn’t have to say anything. He read one of his sorcery books, the one on battle mages. He learned how to throw up dirt and topple trees. Perhaps the memorial garden might be a good place to practice, the errant thought, laced with vengeance, had popped into his head. Vish tossed the thought out. Vengeance against whom? Fenakyr? The real Vestya? No, it would be better to escape without the complications of having to kill them, something he didn’t want to do.

  Vish had no trouble leaving his rooms and descending to the main floor. He saw more guards and servants running around the castle. It looked like Fenakyr had permitted only the most loyal servants interact with Vishan for the first two days.

  The map room had seen more active days. It smelled musty and Vishan wondered if anyone had tried to preserve the maps rolled in scroll boxes. The scroll boxes had labels. Vishan pulled one out that said Province of Hustafal.

  He laid it out on the table and pursed his lips at the splotches of mold and faded lines. He looked for passes through the hills where he could make his way north to Serytar. When Fateem and Vestya walked in, he rolled up the map and put it back in its place.

  The baron’s daughter still looked pinched and angry, but she dressed better and looked more presentable. Fateem looked as pretty as ever, carrying a few old books and a portfolio under her arm. Vishan helped her put books from a crate on the map table along with the ones she hand carried from her rooms.

  Vestya took a chair by the large window and pulled a small book from a pocket in her dress and began to read. No greeting.

  Vishan refused to respond to his betrothed’s harsh treatment.

  “Good morning, ladies. Now Fateem, what do you have to show me?”

  “I have this portfolio,” she untied a sheaf of papers. “So here are where the three stones are...”

  Fateem went over the history of the stones that Vishan already knew, but he let her talk. She became animated and excited. Fateem certainly wasn’t faking her interest in the Warstones.

  She pulled out a handwritten map. “Here are the clues to the cave.” Vishan recognized the mountains to the northwest of Hustafal.

  “Let’s look at this map and compare,” he said and pulled out the old map. Fateem took her map and began to look for matches.

  “I don’t think you will be able to just compare the maps to find the burial cave. You’ll want to see what the different sources have to say and look for similarities.”
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  Fateem didn’t want to listen and began to twist her handwritten map this way and that, but looked more frustrated the longer she did so.

  “You don’t even know the scale of your handwritten map,” Vishan said, trying to keep from laughing.

  “You go ahead and put her in her place,” Vestya said, giving both a vicious smile, nodding, and then returning to her book.

  Vish wondered how much the woman read and how much she listened in. She had to be Fenakyr’s eyes and ears, not that the baron particularly needed any at this point.

  “Perhaps rather than trying to draw a map, we could write down the descriptions of the topography...”

  “Topography? What’s that?” Vestya said, showing that she didn’t ignore what they were talking about.

  “The lay of the land, where all of the mountains, forests, lakes, streams, dry beds, valleys are, that kind of thing. Do it for each of the sources and try to find commonality. If everything is different, then no one knows where the cave is.”

  Fateem put her mouth in a pout. She looked rather cute that way, Vishan thought, and wished that she hadn’t been part of the attempt to deceive him. Perhaps Fateem had no choice being Fenakyr’s ward... maybe.

  “We can do it together. One of us can read and the other can write,” he said. That made Fateem brighten up a little.

  “Perhaps we can trade off,” Fateem said. “You read first.”

  Vish shrugged and pulled out a paper. He told Fateem the facts and she listed them. He didn’t really believe that the Great Emperor would be buried close by or that there was something so important as the Darkstone left at large in the world.

  Their efforts went on for a few hours. Vestya yawned and then rose to put her book in her dress pocket. “I give up. You two are unbearably boring,” she said as she left the room without another word.

  Fateem let out a sigh. “I thought she’d never leave. This is rather dry work, though.” She giggled.

  “I’m used to dry work. Actually, I can see this is getting us somewhere. How many more accounts?”