The Stewards of Reed, Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl

by RM Wark

  *************

  “I understand you had a visitor from Reed.” The curiosity in Lord Milton’s voice was obvious; to his knowledge no one from Reed had ever ventured to Mt. Xavier.

  “Aye, it was the Steward himself who came to see me. He came for the King, actually. But my father cares not for the affairs of man – even those who are marked – so that honor befell me instead.”

  “And is the King’s beautiful daughter allowed to speak of the meeting’s purpose?” It was a playful question.

  “In exchange for a kiss perhaps, my lord.” Lady Delia giggled as Lord Milton leaned in to embrace her. It would be some time before the caressing stopped and the talking started.

  Lord Milton listened to the tale of Steward Elijah and the twins with much curiosity. “That is quite an interesting predicament. Twin successors – mirror images in every way – mark and all,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “What advice did you give the Steward?”

  “It was not my advice but my father’s.”

  “You sought advice from the King?” Lord Milton teased. The constant warring between Lady Delia and her father was well known.

  Lady Delia shrugged. “What do I know of such matters? I may not agree with my father’s tactics, but I cannot deny his wisdom – especially in the matters of leadership.”

  “And what did your father say?” Lord Milton pressed.

  Lady Delia frowned as she stared out into space. “To kill one of the twins.”

  Lord Milton raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The one whose mark was the opposite?”

  “No,” replied Lady Delia, shaking her head. “The one who proved to be less worthy.”

  “That seems a bit … extreme, does it not? They are just boys after all. And surely the chosen twin shall never forgive the Steward for killing his brother.”

  Lady Delia shook her head. “I gave the Steward a vial of the fever potion. No one would ever suspect it was anything but illness that took the life of the twin.”

  “I see,” said Lord Milton, frowning.

  “My father made a good point,” Lady Delia said. “The Village of Reed cannot have two Stewards. No village in history has ever prospered under dual leadership. At some point they must make a decision. My father fears that if both boys are allowed to live, there shall always be questions as to whether the twin not selected was in fact the true Steward. Such questions would serve to undermine the leadership of the chosen twin, and no good would come of that. ‘In the end, only one shall lead,’ he said.”

  Lord Milton fell quiet for a moment as he considered the King’s argument. “And was the Steward receptive?” he asked finally.

  Lady Delia shrugged. “I cannot say.”

  “I suppose only time shall tell if the Steward elects to follow your father’s advice.”

  “Aye,” Lady Delia agreed. “Though I hope in the end he finds another way.”

  *************

  Selma approached the large wooden door and willed her hand to rise. She had not set eyes on Lord Cephas since learning of her brother’s death, and she was afraid to look into the eyes of the man who broke the tragic news, afraid of falling to pieces all over again. But the Emperor wanted to see his son, and it was her duty to obey. She took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Go away! I am busy!” came the angry reply.

  When she heard the giggles that followed, Selma knew the wizard was not alone. Selma cursed beneath her breath. She should have expected as much. Wendell had told her all about the Lord’s exploits. “I have never seen him with the same woman twice,” he once said, “and sometimes he entertains two at a time!”

  Selma had often wondered if any of the common women Lord Cephas had slept with ever gave birth to his child. In truth, she had seen more than one child who resembled the wizard, but she never voiced such a question aloud. One must never speculate about half-wizards, especially when they might be the illegitimate grandchildren of the Emperor. Such an offense was punishable by banishment to the dungeons.

  Although that fate would not be so insufferable if I were placed near Oren, she thought. Selma had very much been enjoying their talks as of late.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” Selma said, raising her timid voice as much as she dared. “The Emperor would like to see you.”

  A few moments later Lord Cephas opened the door, wearing nothing but a thin sheet loosely wrapped around his waist. He seemed poised to argue until he saw the messenger was Selma, at which point it became clear he was ill at ease.

  “Tell him I shall be there in a few minutes. I have things to finish up first,” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

  “Aye, my lord. He is expecting you in the throne room.” Selma gave a quick bow.

  Lord Cephas shut the door.

  *************

  Traveling as a wolf made for better time, and Lord Edmund was pleasantly surprised at how keen his senses had become. He could hear the softest of sounds from miles away.

  No wonder that wolf found me so easily. And now Lord Edmund did the same to many unsuspecting prey. His hunger pangs of old were quickly forgotten.

  Given the desolate conditions he had observed thus far in the interior portions of the Eastern Territories, Lord Edmund hoped he might have better luck finding people – and therefore information – near the sea, where fish could still be caught and eaten.

  The mariner’s map showed several towns along the southern coastline, including the Village of Asan, which was due south from his current location. It was hard to judge distances given the mountainous terrain, but he reasoned it would take the better part of two weeks to reach the village.

  He had been traveling for several days when he spotted a village in the distance. The sea was still many miles away, so he knew it could not be Asan. The sky was already hinting at the coming of dawn. If there was life in that village, he would find out soon enough.

  Taking the form of a rat, Lord Edmund watched (and sniffed and listened) carefully for any signs of villagers. His eyes – poor as they were – saw no hint of movement. His nose smelled nothing of interest. Everything remained quiet.

  Trying to be as discreet as possible, Lord Edmund slowly made his way towards the first structure he saw. It looked to be a small house, and the door happened to be ajar, so he quietly scampered inside.

  He found himself in a kitchen. The air smelled mildly of rotten food, but that was all. It did not appear that anyone was home. He climbed up the leg of a small table in the corner, only to find dirty dishes and a healthy covering of dust upon the table’s surface. Whoever lived here had been gone for some time.

  It was not until Lord Edmund made his way through his sixth house without finding signs of life that he decided the village was likely abandoned. A puff of smoke appeared, and when it faded away, a wizard stood in place of a rat. It felt good to be in his own skin again.

  Lord Edmund continued to walk through the village structures, searching for anything that might explain what this village was, or where the villagers had gone. By late afternoon he had searched through more than half the buildings in the village.

  Through his search, Lord Edmund had learned that this place was known as the Village of Govi, a logging village at the north end of the Keirko Forest. The village was home to at least three hundred people, according to one document he read. But those villagers were gone, and there was no clue as to where they went.

  With hope quickly fading that he would discover anything of strategic value within this abandoned village, Lord Edmund made his way into yet another house. It was smaller than most of the others he had searched, comprised of a single floor containing a kitchen, a small bedroom, and what looked to be a sitting room. A quick scan revealed no desks or important documents, so he turned to leave. But before he made it to the door, he heard a sound. It had come from one of the kitchen cupboards.

  He raised his wand and waved it at the cupboard doors.

  “Aperire ostium!”

  Wh
en the doors burst open, he was surprised to find a small child hiding inside.

  “Please, no!” the child begged in a thick Eastern accent.

  Lord Edmund approached the boy and offered his hand. “I shall not hurt you, child. Where are your parents?”

  The boy reluctantly grabbed Lord Edmund’s hand and crawled out from the cupboard. The child was mere skin and bones; he clearly had not had a decent meal in weeks.

  “Where are your parents?” Lord Edmund repeated as kindly as he could.

  The child did not answer, and his entire body began to shake in fear.

  “Perhaps I can help find them. But first I must know where they might be,” Lord Edmund offered.

  Tears poured down the boy’s cheeks. “The Chindi. The Chindi!” he cried.

  Lord Edmund was not familiar with the word. “I beg your pardon?”

  The boy looked up at him and, without warning, quickly ran for the door. Lord Edmund started after him, but realized it was pointless.

  There is no more to be gained from that frightened child. He is not of my concern.

  *************

  Selma could tell that the Emperor was growing quite impatient with his son. Lord Etan had been awaiting the arrival of Lord Cephas for more than a half hour.

  “He is coming, is he not?” Lord Etan asked.

  “Aye, Emperor. He said he would be here momentarily.”

  She had told the Emperor this before, and the second telling did little to appease him. Against her better judgment, Selma found herself adding, “He had … company, Emperor.”

  She quickly lowered her gaze so as to avoid the Emperor’s angry glare. At that moment the main door to the throne room opened, providing a most welcome distraction.

  “Father,” Lord Cephas said in a curt greeting.

  Lord Etan remained silent, as if waiting for an apology or explanation for his son’s tardiness, but no such words were uttered, and an awkward silence ensued.

  “I was told you wished to see me,” Lord Cephas prompted, making his own annoyance clear.

  For a moment it looked as though Lord Etan might lash out at his son, but instead he exhaled audibly.

  “Aye. I have another task for you,” the Emperor finally said. “I have decided to release the Western Wizards, and I need you to guide them to Nurlat. I have arranged for a boat to take them to the West.”

  “Are you mad?” Lord Cephas cried. “Why would you even consider such a thing?”

  Selma was equally surprised, and amused. This should make for an interesting discussion with Oren.

  *************

  Fallon had been working the fields for a few weeks, a most grueling chore. The soil was rocky and lacking in essential minerals, and the crops were feeble at best. He scooped up a handful of dry earth and let it fall through his fingers back to the ground.

  How do they live on this? But he knew the answer before he finished the thought. Memories of the Komanites’ last raid on Reed during his 16th year filled his head. The winter had been particularly brutal that year; he could only imagine how the Komanites’ crops had fared.

  “But they need not steal and set our barns afire,” he mumbled aloud.

  “What was that?”

  Fallon raised his head to find Jezebel standing before him.

  “Hello, Jezebel.” It was a cautious greeting. Their last meeting had been awkward.

  “Hello, Fallon,” she replied, smiling brightly.

  Fallon found himself returning the smile.

  She gave a quick look towards the guards in the distance and lowered her voice. “I am sorry about the other day,” she said. “My father did not explain why he wanted me to go with him to the Keep. I was afraid the guards had told him about my previous visit.”

  “Well, it is good to know that the guards did not betray you.”

  “Aye.”

  There was the briefest moment of uneasy silence before Jezebel spoke again.

  “Do you really believe I am supposed to guide you somewhere?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he replied. “I know it.”

  This made Jezebel smile again. “You look like you could use some water,” she said, holding up a canteen.

  “Thank you.” Fallon took a long swallow of water and handed the canteen back to Jezebel.

  There was a lull in the conversation as they both struggled with what to say next. Fallon kicked the dirt. Jezebel glanced back at the guards once more.

  “Good-bye, Fallon.”

  “Good-bye, Jezebel.”

  *************

  “I need the Western Wizards to deliver the Queen a message of apologies for the Easterners crossing into the West,” the Emperor explained.

  “Whatever for? I have never known you to apologize for anything.”

  The Emperor ignored the slight. “And, more importantly, I need them to finish the task you started with Lady Blythe – the task you failed to complete.”

  Lord Cephas frowned at the mention of the wizard. “Surely there must be a better option.”

  “You were my better option. You failed,” Lord Etan quipped. “Are you suggesting there is another Eastern Wizard more capable than yourself?” The Emperor knew Lord Cephas would never admit such a thing.

  “What about your spies in the West?” his son countered.

  “The spies who told us that Lady Blythe was weak and could be easily manipulated? Are you suggesting that I trust those fools with a task as important as this?”

  “No, I suppose not,” Lord Cephas conceded.

  “I have thought through every possible scenario, my son. There is no other way.”

  Lord Cephas continued to argue. “Do you not fear the possibility of the Queen’s retaliation for keeping the Western Wizards imprisoned long after the wars had ended?”

  “What more could the Queen do that has not already been done?” the Emperor replied with bitterness. “Besides, the prisoners were well treated. The same cannot be said for the Eastern Wizards kept prisoner on Mt. Xavier. They are all dead now.”

  Lord Cephas offered no reply.

  The Emperor sighed. “Regardless, it is a risk I must take.”

  “Are you certain that the prisoners would be willing to … carry out your plans?”

  “Aye,” the Emperor stated. “I believe they have developed certain sympathies for the East during their stay here in Cetahl. And anything is possible … if given the proper incentives.”

  “But only one wizard is needed for the task,” Lord Cephas argued. “Why release both?”

  The Emperor studied his son. It was a valid question to which there was no good answer – except that his instincts told him it would be better that way. And he trusted his instincts.

  The Emperor tried his best to articulate his rationale. “I fear the Queen might be suspicious of a long-lost wizard appearing at her doorstep after all this time with word from the East. She might wonder if that wizard has been … compromised. But if there are two wizards – both with the same story to tell – perhaps she might be more inclined to believe them,” he replied.

  The Emperor could not tell if the argument convinced Lord Cephas or not.

  “And besides,” the Emperor continued. “I find it is much more difficult to stray from the task at hand if you have someone constantly watching you. Someone who knows your secret. Someone who could easily end your life should you fail in your quest.”

  Lord Cephas nodded in understanding. “But if the Queen does not believe them?” he asked.

  “Then she shall dispose of them,” Lord Etan replied with a shrug. “But if she does give them the benefit of the doubt – if only for a moment – then that is all we need.”

  *************

  Late one evening, Fallon heard a soft tapping. It took him some time to figure out that someone was at the window in his bedroom. It was Jezebel.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking around nervously. Fortunately, there was nothing behind the Keep save the foothills
of the Cook Mountains, and the guards were not due to walk the perimeter for some time.

  “I have brought you dessert,” she explained, holding the basket up for him to see.

  She was wearing a red and yellow dress, and he had never seen her look more beautiful.

  “Well, are you going to help me up or not?”

  Fallon took the basket and extended a hand to Jezebel. “Why not use the front door like last time?” he asked, quickly pulling her inside.

  Jezebel frowned. “My father told the guards not to allow anyone inside save him … so I had to find another way.”

  “Are you not afraid they shall discover you are here?”

  “That is why we must be quiet, my dear Fallon,” she replied with a smile.

  They sat on his bed of straw, eating blueberry tarts.

  “Did you bake these yourself?”

  “Aye.”

  “They are quite good,” he said. “Although they would taste much better with a pint of ale to wash them down.”

  She responded with infectious laughter, but quickly covered her mouth. “I must be going now,” she said, “before the guards discover you have company.”

  Fallon’s heart sank, but he smiled anyway. “Let me show you to the window then.”

  As Fallon reached to push open the window, Jezebel caught his hand. She looked up at him with her soft hazel eyes but said nothing. A deep longing grew within Fallon. His heart pounding, he took a step closer. He closed his eyes and leaned in, with vague recollections of his one romantic experience with Talia entering his mind.