The Andarian Affair
By Loren K. Jones
Twilight Times Books
Kingsport Tennessee
The Andarian Affair
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Loren K. Jones. Expanded and revised from a previous electronic edition published by e-Quill Publishing, Brisbane, Australia 2010 with title “The Andarian Affair.”
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
Twilight Times Books
P O Box 3340
Kingsport, TN 37664
www.twilighttimesbooks.com/
Revised Electronic Edition: February 2017. Author’s preferred version.
Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Prelude
THE EVANDIAN MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR’S face was dark red as he pounded on the council table with one fist and shouted, “King Kalin, this is an act of war! We cannot allow the Andarians to get away with raiding our territories like this!”
“We have no proof that it was anything but bandits, Lord Zel’Lamal,” the Minister of Trade shouted back, just as loudly. “The Army patrol didn’t capture even one prisoner to question, so we can’t even be certain which kingdom they came from.”
Another minister rose and shouted, “These raids have been going on for years, and we’ve done nothing to stop them!” as he waved his arms in the air.
“We’ve killed our share of the raiders,” the General of the Armies of Evandia said in a soft voice that served to quiet the others. He remained seated and looked around the room, his piercingly blue eyes locking on each of the other Ministers before continuing. “They’ve killed their own wounded to keep them from talking. That in itself is telling.” His hair was still mostly brown, but the hair on his temples was strikingly white against his well-tanned face. Lord General Zel’Fordal’s words carried a lot of weight in the Council. He was the king’s oldest and most trusted friend. And his brother-in-law.
Kalin Levand Revalan Zel’Andral, King of Evandia, sat back in his chair, impassively observing as the ministers of his council raged around the room. His well-groomed white hair and short beard helped hide his dissatisfaction with his ministers. The Ministers seemed oblivious to his presence. He let them carry on for a while. Once they had gotten their rage out of their systems he might be able to get some sense out of them.
A knock at the Council Chamber’s door drew everyone’s attention, and the king signaled for the door to be opened. An older-looking man in an Army Messenger uniform stepped into the room and looked around. Seeming to find who he was looking for, he walked half way around the oval Council Table to kneel at the king’s side. “My Lord King, I bring you a message from Major Zel’Roldan,” he said, holding out a message tube to the king.
Lord General Zel’Fordal had come to his feet as the messenger rounded the table, and took the message tube in the king’s stead. He gave the man a narrow-eyed glare. Army messages were supposed to go through him, not directly to the king. He opened it and brought out the parchment, then read aloud, “A force of thirty-two men was--”
The door burst open, slamming against the wall, and two Royal Guardsmen ran in, scanning the room quickly before dashing to the general’s side. Without a word one of them slapped the message from the general’s hand and stamped a foot on it.
The king half rose from his chair and roared, “What’s the meaning of this?” as his Ministers sat shocked silent.
“King Kalin, the guardsman who checked the message just fell over dead,” the guardsman who was standing on the message replied. “We don’t know if the message is poisoned or not, but it seemed best to take precautions rather than wait and see.”
Dahral Zel’Fordal was looking at his hands. “Kalin, I think--” The general fell to his knees as a terrified little boy’s expression crossed his face. “Oh, Kal, I think--I think I’m--oh, Gods Be--.” The general collapsed forward onto his face and the two guardsmen seized the messenger.
“What was on that message?” one of them demanded, but now the messenger was choking.
The king turned and shouted, “Markal, can you--?” and one of the Ministers stood and pointed at the messenger.
“Het Jao Hoa Jolad! Joa Ho Netat Demel! Wek Han Sol Oh!” the mage intoned in an echoing voice, but it had no effect on the messenger. He continued to choke for a moment, then went limp and collapsed.
The room was completely silent as the king knelt beside the body of his brother-in-law and friend. He whispered, “Always my protector, weren’t you Dahral? Right until the end.” The king looked up from the floor toward the two guardsmen and his expression hardened. He snarled as he commanded, “Find out who that messenger really was, and where he came from.” Then he looked back at the body of his best friend and his expression and voice softened. “And send Lieutenant Zel’Fordal to me. I should be the one to tell him about--” the king’s voice died as he focused all of his attention back to the body of his closest friend.
Chapter 1
THE ARCHIVE IN THE OLD FORTRESS that served the town of Kavinston as Town Hall, Academy, and Training Ground echoed with an unusual sound: the wail of an unhappy baby. Children were not usually found in the Archive or its attendant teaching rooms until they were five years of age, but this one was special. Little Karlin Kel’Aniston was the son of Apprentice Scribe Stavin Kel’Aniston and his wife, Journeyman Scribe Sharindis.
Karlin’s parents were unusual in many ways. His father was a man who had never grown much beyond the size of a ten-year-old boy. He had shown extreme bravery in his fifteenth year when he climbed the wall of the Kel’Kavin caldera alone to enter a cave reputed to hold a dragon’s hoard of gold. The gold was protected by The Fear: a psychic projection that chased everyone away in terror as soon as they saw the gold. Only Stavin, of the hundreds of boys who had entered the cave, hadn’t run. He’d been determined to prove his bravery, or die trying. He’d come close to dying, but the fear cut off and he dis
covered the true nature of the great pile of gold everyone had seen. It wasn’t a dragon’s hoard: it was the dragon itself.
The dragon had been impressed by Stavin’s courage. Not only had he not run away from The Fear, he didn’t run away when the dragon swung its great head around to stare him in the eyes. As a reward for and proof of his bravery, the dragon had made Stavin armor of its own golden scales, and a weapon called a Dragon’s Tongue as well. The Dragon’s Tongue resembled a quarterstaff with a large spear point on each end. Made of dragon scale, it was unbreakable and sharper than any steel blade could ever hope to be.
Sharindis was unusual in that she was a scribe who could barely see. Her sight had been dimmed by a blow to the head when she’d fallen from a horse as a teenager, and Master Scribe Kel’Zorgan had taken her on as his assistant. Sharindis could see well enough to copy scrolls in bright sunlight with the aid of a magnifying crystal that her godmother’s husband had provided. She was also two years older than her husband, who was her best friend’s little brother.
Together, the young couple worked through the winter in the archive under the direction of Master Scribe Arlen Kel’Zorgan, Sharindis’ uncle, but Stavin had other duties as well. Every man of the community was required to spend five summers in the lowlands, working as caravan guards to provide the gold to buy supplies and necessities that the community could not provide for themselves. Stavin had already spent two springs and summers on the expeditions, and had surpassed every boy in the two-hundred-year history of Kavinston.
On his first visit to the lowlands, Stavin had been named a Friend of Evandia, the kingdom that bordered his native Farindia to the south, by King Kalin and Princess Marina Zel’Andral. That status made him very valuable to a trader because he and all who traveled with him were exempt from taxes and tolls throughout the kingdom. It had also made him a target for kidnappers and scoundrels of every kind. In the course of defending himself and his employer’s caravan, Stavin had racked up a kill count that was unheard-of. Thirty men had fallen to Stavin’s dragon-made weapon during that first season, making him the first person in the history of Kavinston to earn an officer’s star on his first expedition.
Stavin’s star had been upgraded on his second expedition when he’d managed another nineteen kills. He’d also done something else no other warrior of Kel’Kavin had ever done: He’d founded a Trading House of his own in Evandia in order to keep his employer’s caravan from being seized by the Evandian Traders’ Guild representatives in the city of Valovad.
On their way out of Evandia, the caravan had travelled to Evandia’s capital city, Twin Bridges, and stopped in the East Bridge Caravansary to trade. Stavin had been summoned to a meeting with King Kalin soon after they arrived. That meeting had been interrupted by an Evandian lord bent on assassinating the king, but Stavin had interfered. He’d killed the assassin, continuing the duties of his ancestors in the Farindian Royal Guard, and had been rewarded with an officer’s commission in the Evandian Royal Guard for his service.
Now at home at last with his wife and new son, Stavin was back to doing what he loved best: practicing the scribe’s art in hopes of one day being made Kavinston’s Master Scribe.
Stavin picked up his fussy son and sniffed. “Again? How can such a little body make so much poop?” Taking him off to the side, he quickly changed the diaper and then went over to his wife. “Shari, he’s up again.”
“I heard.” Sharindis chuckled. “Bring him here.” Stavin complied and she pulled the neck of her blouse down to bare one breast. Once she had the baby settled, she sat back and relaxed. She couldn’t get close enough to see her work with the baby between her and her desk. “How are your students progressing?” she asked as she looked down and smiled at her son.
Early in the winter Stavin had been summoned to the training ground for his normal training session. Every young warrior who was eligible to go on the expedition had to spend every third day at weapons drill to ensure they kept their skills sharp through the winter. Warmaster Kel’Carin had met him his first day with a different set of instructions. He and Karvik, Stavin’s best friend, were assigned to drill the boys who would be joining the expedition for the first time with Dragon’s Tongues all winter. Stavin and Karvik were considered to be the best fighters with the Dragon’s Tongue that the valley had ever produced, and the Elders’ Council wanted them to pass on as much of that skill as they could. Karvik hadn’t matched Stavin’s achievement of earning a star on his first expedition, but he hadn’t missed by much. He’d earned his star halfway through their second season.
Stavin laughed, then shook his head. “They’re doing better every day. Kar and I can still beat any of them two out of three times, but those third times are coming too close together these days.” Stavin continued to smile as he thought about her question.
“I can just imagine.” Shari laughed. “With twenty-three of them, you and Kar must be spending a lot of time bowing to the victors.”
Stavin was laughing as he turned back to his desk. He was copying a scroll of decrees from Emperor Elvandar Zel’Borandal, Seventh Emperor of the Zel’Borandal Dynasty, that had been set down during the emperor’s twentieth anniversary celebration. Stavin couldn’t help but chuckle as he transcribed the scroll.
“What’s tickled you this time?” Shari asked as she smiled. One of the things she loved about him was his laugh.
“Emperor Elvandar seems to have had a lively sense of humor. Listen to this. Be it known that any man who dares to trespass upon the sacred precincts of the Imperial Daughters’ Chambers shall be condemned to listen to the chatter of the Imperial Daughters for ten days. According to the text, he had thirty-one daughters.” Stavin laughed as Sharindis turned toward him and glared. “I only had three sisters, and--UMPH!” Stavin crashed over backwards in his chair, still laughing.
Sharindis returned the pillow to behind her back and settled in. “Chatter, indeed. I’ll have you know that your sisters and I had a lot of very important things to discuss.”
“Yes, I know.” He climbed back to his chair as he spoke. “Boys. And fashion. And boys.” She reached for her pillow again, so he shut up and went back to his copying. But he was still chuckling.
The winter passed quietly, and soon the Elders’ Council Messenger was delivering the list of young men who had been chosen to serve in the lowlands. He made his rounds, summoning youths to the expedition as always, but there was one surprise: Stavin wasn’t summoned for his third expedition.
“What happened?” he asked his father the next morning. “Why didn’t they summon me?”
“I don’t know, Stavin, but we can go ask the Council,” Karlit replied, taking his son by the shoulder and guiding him toward the Town Hall. Of the five members of the Elders’ Council, only the Warmaster, Barvil Kel’Carin, was present, and he nodded knowingly as soon as he saw Stavin.
“You want to know why you weren’t summoned,” he said, making a statement rather than asking a question. There was a slight smile curving Barvil’s lips, as if he’d expected Stavin to protest his exclusion.
“Yes, Sir,” Stavin answered, coming to attention. Karlit stopped two paces back to let Stavin handle this on his own.
“Remember what I told you about our supply train and Traders?” Warmaster Kel’Carin asked, and Stavin sucked in a breath. Barvil nodded before continuing. “You are going to be summoned, but not for the expedition. You, Master Trader Stavin, will be leaving the day after the expedition to take our wagons to Kahrant’s Pass for our spring supply run.” He smiled at the look of disappointment on Stavin’s face. “Don’t worry. It will count as your third expedition. And once you return, you and ten others will be going to Trade Town as guards. I warned you that the Council was going to make the most of your status.”
Karlit was nodding when Stavin turned back to him. “It does make sense, Stavin. Your status will save the town more than your presence on the expedition would have earned.”
Stavin took a deep breat
h and sighed, them grumbled, “But this means Kar is going to get ahead of me.”
Karlit and Barvil both burst out laughing. Karlit looked at Barvil and shook his finger at the younger man. “You have no place laughing, Barvil. Not with you and Charvil reopening your competition.” Barvil laughed even harder as Karlit and Stavin left the council chamber.
Two days later Stavin watched with undisguised envy as the expedition left Kavinston. Six groups were once again going to Aravad and the Zel’Vandar Trading House, but only four groups were going to Trade Town. The extra groups from the year before had replenished the town’s account, and the Elders’ Council had decided that the standard ten groups would be sufficient.
No matter how good Kar does, I’ll catch up next year. Stavin heaved a huge sigh as he turned away. He was walking back to his father’s house when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned to find his father-in-law looking down at him.
“Stavin,” Charvil began, giving him a little shake, “don’t go moping because you aren’t going out with them again. You’ll be out all spring and summer anyway. I’m joining you on the supply run. As a matter of fact, Warleader Fifth Kel’Aniston, you are still going to be the lowest ranking member of the team.” He chuckled as Stavin’s expression went from sullen to puzzled. “Given the unusual nature of this supply run, the Council has requested that nine senior veterans make it. We don’t really expect trouble in Kahrant’s Pass, but better safe than sorry.”
“Who is going, Sir?” Stavin asked as he turned to face Charvil squarely.
“Well, you and I to begin with. Darak Kel’Norlan, Marlan Kel’Cavar, Barlat Kel’Vardil, Elval Kel’Kandell, Keval Kel’Carin, Ander Kel’Coris, my brother Stoval, and Jorvan Kel’Chamlin. Jorvan needs some supplies for his cobbler’s shop, so instead of ordering them, he’s going with us to get them himself.”
“Sir, if I remember correctly, Jorvan has forty-six kills. How am I--?”
“Because you haven’t completed all five of your expeditions, Stavin. I know, technically you have more kills than he does, but--” Charvil left the statement hanging and Stavin picked it up.
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