The Lords of Anavar

by Jim Greenfield

  She saw him watching her and smiled.

  "This is not a normal summons," said Faeya Ryr. "There is much more to this, and I believe you know the entire tale."

  "Yes, I do. At least, I know the cause of the summons, but I cannot guess the mind of Tyman Stile. And so, the response of the Council is unknown to my mind."

  "Do you not trust Tyman?"

  "His mind is foreign to me. His quest is of power and influence. I do not have time for such a trivial pursuit. Despite my years, there are more things that I do not know than I do know. Tyman Stile will never come to that realization and the Council suffers for it."

  "Why don't you ask to lead the Council?"

  "I led it for many years, but the last three hundred or so I've been told I was too old for such a stressful position. I last led the Council fifty years before Petyr Wolk was born and he is the next eldest in the Council."

  "You are a sorcerer. That's the only answer. Yanor, Petyr Wolk, Doad Bess and you are the only sorcerers and are always passed over for leadership. They had to appoint you librarian only because you know the last 800 years from personal memory."

  "And Tyman Stile even questions that."

  "How am I to act among them?" asked Faeya Ryr. "I have only been to one other Council meeting and I am unsure of the alliances."

  "As I am. Do not trust Tyman Stile, Cehana, Yanor or Hile Berbac. That much is for certain. Place no absolute trust in anyone, other than myself of course, but there are two individuals who may surprise me: Zae Pol and Artus Endria. While their strength is limited, their minds are open to new ways."

  "What about Petyr Wolk?"

  He looked out the window and sighed.

  "I cannot answer that anymore. Once, I would have counseled to trust him with your life, but he has changed much over the last years and I wonder if he spends too much time in the mountains of Curesia."

  "Why? What's there?"

  "It is rumored, and I cannot verify it, that Macelan's body lies hidden in a cave in those mountains."

  "Macelan? It would be ashes by now."

  "Not Macelan. He vowed never to die and whether he is truly dead I cannot say with any certainty. Macelan knew more about this world and the forces around it than anyone who ever lived. I learned some of his lore, more certainly than the council suspects." He winked at Faeya Ryr. "I doubt if he taught me a fifth of what he knew. I would catch him working on something that he would hide away as soon as I appeared. There were many such occasions. I saw him appear out of a mist when I knew him to be a hundred miles away."

  "He could travel great distances at will? Across the continent?"

  "Yes. Most things that you can think of to be impossible he could do. When he vanished Macelan left a statement behind that would herald his coming. I imagine some cataclysmic disaster is what he had in mind."

  "Why does it concern the Council so, that Macelan should return? Jealousy?"

  "No. Macelan changed over the years. He was a bitter man who felt he deserved more praise from people. However, he was feared more than adored, and adoration was what he sought. The people of the land ran from the sight of him. He began to revenge himself upon them in little ways. Sick animals, fouled water and the like incited the people against him. He fled into Curesia, to the mountains and there set off the spell that killed his pursuers and he was never seen again. It is rumored that he vowed to return to the land and crush it under his heel."

  "Do you believe it?"

  "We are summoned because such a sign was revealed. I am sure of it."

  The wagon bounced one last time before moving onto the smooth roads of Osaha. The small shacks of the countryside slowly gave up to brick and mortar dwellings crowded together as the wagon neared the center of town. They slowed as other vehicles and horses moved in to congest the streets. Shouts of the drivers accompanied the jostling of the wagons and carts. The voices died down when Gerrand was recognized in the wagon. The bystanders bowed to the sorcerer. He waved his hand jerkily.

  "Just like the High Priestess," said Faeya Ryr. "No wonder she fears you."

  "Fears me? Ridiculous."

  "It would explain Torby Mola's interest in you. The High Priestess wants you watched. What are you up to, Gerrand?"

  "Nothing, nothing." He threw up his hands. "I am an old man. Why do people care what I think?"

  "I remember you griping about the lack of respect you receive from the Council. You have plenty of respect here. Why is this different?"

  He turned to her. "Are you trying to point out my faults?"

  "It is a good custom prior to marriage. There would be no surprises later."

  "Marriage? Were you actually serious?"

  "Gerrand, I am hurt. Do you think I flirt with everyone?"

  "I do not know. I only see you with me, rarely in other company."

  "Trust me. I have eyes only for you." She smiled at him.

  "Now I'm worried."

  She hit his shoulder.

  "Why I try to be serious with you is beyond me."

  "You are beyond me, Faeya Ryr. You are young and pretty and I cannot see your interest in an old, old man."

  "It is the fact that you are a man that makes your comment believable. Do not place such value in appearances. I thought you might have learned something over eight hundred years, but then as you say, you are a man."

  "You are quite cruel. You would be a formidable opponent."

  "There's another of your habits. When cornered, resort to flattery. Now be quiet, we are here. I don't want the captain to overhear us. He is friendly with Torby Mola."

  "Why does everything have to do with Torby Mola?"

  "You are the wise man, O Ancient One. You tell me."

  "I am afraid, Faeya Ryr, that your discourse on relationships and marriage have scared my wits into hiding and I cannot recall them at this time. For future reference, do not touch upon such topics if you are to require my mind, for the two do not mix well."

  "You are a most unusual case, my dear Gerrand. One that will require much in depth study."

  "Oh, why did I agree to this journey? An old man needs to stay home and comfortable."

  A servant opened the door to the coach and Faeya Ryr stepped onto the back of another servant kneeling in the mud. Gerrand followed her; the servant's back bowing under the weight of the sorcerer. He stepped over to a plank walkway and followed Faeya Ryr into a building with no windows. However, glass covered the ocean wall of the building, allowing more light than Gerrand expected into the interior. A rugged man with graying hair and a trimmed beard greeted them. He stood a hand taller than Gerrand and still carried much of his youthful muscle. He scowled at them.

  "You are Faeya Ryr? Then this is Gerrand?" He looked closely at the sorcerer. "Not at all what I expected."

  "What did you expect?" asked Gerrand gruffly.

  "Someone taller," said the man. He raised his hand in greeting. "I am Captain Har Tonle. My ship is ready to sail within the hour. Are you prepared?"

  "We are ready," said Faeya Ryr.

  Har Tonle nodded his head. "My men will assist you in loading. Three servants will accompany you?"

  "That is correct," replied Faeya Ryr.

  "Servants? You are taking servants to the Council meeting?"

  "I take my servants with me everywhere."

  "No one else will have servants," replied Gerrand.

  "I see this does not concern me," said Har Tonle. "I will see you on the ship." He walked away without hiding his amusement.

  "Why should that matter to me? Am I portraying the wrong image? Is there an ideal that I should aspire to?" Her voice rose as she spoke and Gerrand began to back away in the hope of following the captain to the boat.

  "It hasn't been done, that's all. Forget I said anything."

  "I shall not!"

  Gerrand pressed his hand against his forehead as he followed the captain to the ship. Faeya Ryr's pounding footsteps closed the distance behind him.

  A cry sounded
from their quarters. Gerrand raced ahead to where Faeya Ryr's servants were fleeing from the room. Crew members filled the corridor. The third servant laid dead in the room, his blood pooling on the floor.

  "Oh, Donnelin," said Faeya Ryr. "He has served me since he was a boy." She knelt down beside him, cradling his head.

  Gerrand closed his eyes and concentrated on the energy in the room, trying to find someone out of place. There were too many people close by; he couldn't separate them from his senses.

  Sudden movement electrified the old sorcerer. Gerrand wove a spell as the murderer charged him. The attacker rolled to the floor and came up with a dagger. Gerrand gripped the attacker's wrist. The attacker's eyes widened at the strength of the old man. Gerrand twisted his arm and bones snapped. The man cried out in pain and pushed away from Gerrand. The sorcerer gestured, releasing his spell and the man was frozen in place. The Captain thundered down the passage into the room. He cursed long and loud.

  "One of yours, Captain?" asked Gerrand.

  The captain stared at the man. "No. I have not seen him before. How did he get on board?" He glared at his first mate.

  "Then whose man was he I wonder?" said Gerrand.

  "He is not familiar to me," said Faeya Ryr. "I know all the High Priestess's assassins by sight. He is foreign to Cothos."

  "Look at his knife. Yerasin assassin."

  "Not possible. I know them all," said Faeya Ryr.

  "You know all the assassins that they want you to know," said Gerrand. "There is another training center besides the one at Yerasin. I'm sure they have assassins scattered across the kingdoms. This might be only a message."

  "You mean he was meant to fail?"

  "Armed with only a knife to kill us? The Yerasin are well prepared for their contracts and seldom fail. This one was not prepared to survive."

  "Yerasin?" whispered Captain Har Tonle. "Could there be another on board?"

  "Perhaps. I will search," said Gerrand. "Safer for your crew that way. Set sail immediately. We will send this one for a swim once you are far from shore."

  The Captain ran off shouting to his crew.

  "It comes so quick," said Gerrand.

  "Yes, the game is in motion. Will we win?"

  "My dear, do you really want an honest answer?"

  Chapter 2

  Gerrand stood against the polished rail as the ship made its way south out of the harbor. Faeya Ryr stood beside him, her arm through his. The winds were rising and the water rough. The captain called to his crew who climbed the riggings like squirrels. The sails filled with wind and gained speed. Clouds hung on the horizon hiding the coast of Wierland from their view. They turned back to watch the green hills of the Isle of Cothos fall away from them. The salt air brought a smile to Gerrand. Riding the sea in his father's boat was his earliest memory. The wind slapped at his face and he felt the change in himself when on the sea. He felt lighter, happier, and turned and kissed Faeya Ryr. She pushed him away, but smiled.

  The captain gave orders to his mate who shouted at the crew. The barefoot men quickly found their places to reset the sails. Gerrand tried to remember the first time he sailed alone but could only find the memory of a damp chill. His boat had been swamped in heavy seas and he nearly drowned.

  "Do you sail much?" Gerrand asked.

  "I have sailed in smaller craft," said Faeya Ryr. "But only as a passenger, I have no sea-craft. I prefer watching the waves rather than outthinking them. And you? What experience do you have? I can't imagine you not having sailed a great deal."

  "Actually, my earliest memories are of the sea. My father was a fisherman and trader to the west of here. But my memory is not clear. I do not know how much I sailed although I did learn enough to sail alone to the southern coast of Anavar. Indeed, to the limits of the mapmakers of my time. I even clarified some maps once. I wrote of my journeys, but I do not know where the manuscripts are today. I vaguely recall that I spent almost two solid years at sea. However, I'm afraid whatever skill I may have possessed is beyond recall."

  "Were you a fisherman like your father?"

  "No. I was apprenticed to a smith. I worked with iron. Then the smith showed me arts I never guessed existed."

  "What arts?"

  "The smith's name was Macelan."

  "What? Macelan was a blacksmith?"

  "Yes. Humbling for the Mage Council if they were to know that Macelan and Gerrand were both common smiths."

  "Some members, but not all. Where did Macelan learn the arts?"

  "I never found out. I think he was far older than I knew. I have some suspicions but I never took the time to pursue my investigation. Something always came up. I heard him mutter Kerthon's name, but Kerthon's time was in the dim past, before Cothos was resettled. But as I recollected he did mention a woman that he had loved. Apparently, something terrible happened and he never saw her again. Daura, I think her name was. Funny the things one remembers."

  "It's hard to imagine you as a blacksmith."

  "No harder than imagining me as a twenty-year old."

  "You're right. It is impossible."

  "Wait! What about your romantic words back there?"

  "I'm not interested in twenty year old smiths. I like a mature, experienced man."

  Gerrand started to blush and turned away. He noticed two men along the rail watching them. One was tall with dark hair, and mustached. The man moved gracefully, his robes flowing - a noble of some sort. His companion, a shorter thin man seemed nervous; his eyes darted everywhere, trying to see everything. He reminded Gerrand of a man on his own deathwatch.

  Gerrand sensed no magic about the duo and relaxed. If they were assassins, he did not fear them.

  "Greetings, fellow travelers," said the tall one. "My name is Festic Ells. My companion is Systin Farmoush." They both bowed. Gerrand inclined his head. Faeya Ryr merely stared.

  "If it is not impertinent," said Ells. "We would appreciate conversation with you. Systin and I are couriers and have been on the road for quite a long time. This trip across the straits is our first chance to catch our breaths. Then, of course, we are still stuck with each other. We talked ourselves out long ago. If you would be so kind as to discuss various topics with us, we would appreciate your conversation. Of course, any subject that offends you we shall leave off. Is it agreeable?"

  Gerrand glanced at Faeya Ryr. She shrugged her shoulders.

  "Excellent," said Ells. "Now, where shall we begin? Where are you from?"

  "Isle of Cothos," replied Gerrand, nodding in the direction of the port.

  "Where are you going?" Ells twisted the end of his mustache from habit.

  "Wierland."

  "Really? We have business there ourselves. What city?"

  "Inland."

  "Inland? Systin, Inland?" His companion shook his head. "We've not heard of it."

  "Idiot," snapped Gerrand. "In land. We are going in land. I did not name the town and I shall not."

  "Excuse me," said Festic Ells, reddening. "I didn't mean to offend you."

  "He didn't mean to," said Systin Farmoush. "His words often run faster than his head."

  "Could be dangerous in your line of work," said Gerrand, raising his eyebrow.

  "Couriers are often forgiven for sloppy speech," said Festic Ells. "Speed is the true test."

  "I wasn't speaking of couriers; I meant your true work."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "You are lucky my patience is bolstered by my lovely companion. I would say that you are from Calendia and Farmoush is from Curesia. Am I far wrong?"

  "Why no," said Festic Ells. "That is true." The couriers seemed pleased to have met such enlightened travelers.

  "Would High Lord Gharom and King Teslet be aware that you travel together? I assume they are aware of your true business."

  Ells and Farmoush said nothing. Ells' mouth hung open. Systin twisted a ring on his finger.

  "I thought so." Gerrand smiled to himself.

  "Who are they
?" asked Faeya Ryr.

  "Spies."

  "Spies?"

  "Wouldn't suspect them, would you?"

  "How did you know?" asked Festic Ells.

  "I am Gerrand."

  "Oh, how could we not know that?" asked Festic Ells. "The most famous sorcerer in the world and we do not recognize him."

  "For the very reason we travel together," replied Systin Farmoush. "It is hard to gather all the information necessary to satisfy our liege lords. We pool the general information to pad our reports. We do not share critical information; just the harmless stuff."

  "It would be hard to convince your lords otherwise."

  "True. But now that we know who you are we have a good idea of where you are going."

  "Do you?" asked Gerrand, his voice hardening. "I think you mentioned earlier that you agreed to stay away from some topics. This is one of those topics."

  "Of course," spluttered Systin Farmoush. "May we travel with you for a while in Wierland?"

  "What direction are you going?" asked Faeya Ryr.

  Ells and Farmoush looked at each other.

  "Very well. We shall drop the subject."

  "Don't follow us or I will know," said Gerrand. "I have no patience for either of your masters. My business is my own."

  "Wouldn't think of following," said Festic Ells. "To offer amends, we will share a tidbit we picked up just yesterday. Seems Warlord Torby Mola has some friends in Curesia."

  "What kind of friends?"

  "I'm not sure. I recognized a courier from Curesia at the Palace in Isle of Cothos. I saw him meet with Torby Mola. I do know there is money and power behind the envoy from Curesia. No names were mentioned but money changed hands. I am sure Mola knows the identity of the figure in Curesia. We do know that the High Priestess has not reopened relations with Curesia and Mola is too far down the hierarchy to conduct these meetings for her. Mola's brothers might be in line to do it, but they would never let the Warlord handle it himself. I have reason to believe his brothers think him a hothead and best left to battle.

  "I think Mola is maneuvering for his own interests without the knowledge of the High Priestess. We are trying to find out who his contact is in Curesia."