by Kris A Hiatt
The two men looked at each other uneasily.
Brental realized it then. The old men were afraid to show him what they knew. That explained the looks the seven men were giving each other when he first said he was the new Archmagister. What he wanted to know was why they were afraid. “I know you know the old teachings,” Brental told them.
“Did he pass it on to you?” Destin asked carefully.
“Destin,” Joran scolded, giving the man a hard look. “No.”
“I’ve got to know,” Destin told him.
“He named me the Archmagister before he died, yes,” Brental replied, deciding to see where this line of questioning went.
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Destin said angrily.
“He doesn’t know,” Joran stated with confidence.
“Enough of your games,” Brental hissed. “Speak plainly.”
“We aren’t the ones playing games,” Destin replied. “You are. We haven’t taught anyone, I swear. So if you’re here to kill us, just get on with it.”
“He’s not going to stone-face us,” Joran assured his friend. “He doesn’t even know how.”
Brental didn’t understand what they were talking about and it was bothered him. His ire rose quickly. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about.”
“You may actually be right,” Destin told Joran.
Brental couldn’t take it anymore. They were mocking him and he wouldn’t stand for it. He could feel the red in his face as he took a step toward Destin.
“Okay, okay,” Destin said, holding up his hand while taking a few steps backward.
Brental stopped his advance. Why did he always have to threaten people to get what he wanted? He tried to have a simple discussion and they wouldn’t listen.
“When he forced us to retire,” Joran began. “He said he’d stone-face us if we taught anyone or told anyone about what he called the ‘old teachings’.”
“Idiots,” Brental chided. They were nothing more than old men terrified of a joke Nimbril played on them.
“I’m not an idiot for being scared for my life,” Destin contested.
“No, but you’re an idiot for thinking he could do that,” Brental told him, now much more in control of himself.
“He could,” Joran argued. “Look at what happened to Truntil.”
“He stone-faced himself practicing magic,” Brental stated. It was in the history books that every member read.
“That’s what Nimbril wants you to believe,” Destin replied.
“But, instead, he was the one who stone-faced Truntil,” Joran added.
“Impossible,” Brental assured them. He didn’t think Nimbril was capable of such magic, nor did he think the old man was a killer.
“Is it? Really?” Destin asked. “Who became the Archmagister after Truntil died?”
“Nimbril,” Joran answered.
“Convenient,” Destin observed.
“He was named because no one else ran against him,” Brental said, correcting them.
“Because everyone was terrified of the man,” Destin argued.
“Preposterous,” Brental told him. He found it very difficult to believe that people were scared of the Nimbril he knew.
“Were you even alive then?” Destin asked. “We were there.”
“None of us bought it,” Joran went on. “Truntil was good, very good with magic. To hear that he stone-faced himself practicing? Doubtful.” He scratched his face and shook his head with the last word.
“It’s very possible,” Brental alleged.
“Nimbril was with him,” Joran added.
“They were always together,” Destin said, picking up where Joran had left off. “Always locked in the Archmagister’s quarters using magic on each other.”
“Everyone knew,” Joran chimed in.
“So they were friends?” Brental asked skeptically. That wasn’t in the history lessons. Not at all. Nor was it in any of the journals either.
“Yes, but think about it,” Destin instructed him. “They were close to the same age. If Truntil were still alive, do you think Nimbril would be the Archmagister?”
“Don’t think so,” Joran said animatedly.
Brental barely had time to think, let alone speak. They were following each other’s sentences like they were of the same mind. There wasn’t even a pause from when one stopped speaking and the other began.
“So he killed him,” Destin stated, slapping his hands together.
“Just like that,” Joran added, also clapping his hands.
“So if he could do that to his own friend,” Destin began.
“Then what would he do to someone running for Archmagister against him?” Joran finished.
“Likely the same,” Destin answered.
“Likely the same,” Joran agreed.
“And then he forced all existing magisters to retire,” Destin went on again. “Hell, half of us were happy to.”
“He paid us, sure,” Joran added. “But he said if he ever heard of us teaching the old ways he’d find us and we’d regret it.”
“We knew what he meant,” Destin assured him.
“He’d stone-face us,” Joran stated.
The two of them finally stopped talking and just sat there looking at Brental nodding their heads. He didn’t miss the mild fear he saw in their eyes.
“Idiots,” Brental said, dismissing their story. There was no way what they were saying could be true.
“We’re telling the truth,” Destin protested.
“Oh, I’m sure you firmly believe what you are saying is true,” Brental replied. “But I’m telling you what you believe is a lie.”
“How do you know?” Destin asked.
“Did he tell you something different?” Joran asked.
“I know because there’s no way for a secret like that to be kept for thirty years,” Brental assured them. “And no, he did not tell me anything different.”
“Surely you must see that it’s true,” Destin begged.
“Even if it is, he didn’t pass anything on to me. I can’t stone-face you, though right now I wish I could,” Brental told them. He was getting annoyed with their antics.
“So you didn’t stone-face Kint?” Destin asked.
“Who’s Kint?” Brental asked.
“One of your men visited him just before they visited us,” Destin informed him.
“Only this one had Kint demonstrate his power to him. After he did so your man requested him to go to Haven with him,” Joran added.
“And now he’s stone-faced?” Brental asked, not following.
“We don’t know,” Destin admitted. “We haven’t seen him.”
“Then why would you think I killed him?”
“We went to his house,” Destin explained. “As we usually do every week just to catch up, and he wasn’t there. But he left a note saying he was with one of Shamir’s men going to a meeting in Haven.”
“So once we were summoned, we just assumed you killed him,” Joran stated.
“So he’s another magister?” Brental asked. He didn’t know of any of Shamir’s men taking a former magister to Haven.
“You should know, your man found him,” Destin replied.
“This was two, three weeks ago?” Brental asked.
“Yeah,” Destin confirmed.
“Interesting,” Brental muttered.
“Is he alive?” Joran asked.
“How should I know?” Brental asked. “I’ve never seen the man. But I do have some questions for him.”
“So if you didn’t kill him and your men don’t have him, who does?” Destin asked.
“Good question,” Brental pointed out. “One I need answers for. Guard, come here.”
The nearby guard snapped to attention and walked briskly across the room to stand before Brental. He snapped a quick salute as he did so.
“Take two others with you and escort these men,” Brental b
egan. “They’ll tell you where to go. If a man named Kint is there, bring him back to Captain Disdane. I’ll be back from Kilindric in a week.”
“Sir,” the guard said, snapping off another salute. “And if the man’s not there?”
“Tell the captain. I’ll speak with him before I leave. He’ll instruct you from there.”
“What do you want us to do?” Destin asked.
“And make sure they don’t leave your side either,” Brental told the guard. He ignored Destin’s question. He thought his next statement would be a good enough explanation for the man. “They aren’t prisoners, but they are to stay here.”
“Understood,” the guard replied.
“Great, so basically we are prisoners,” Joran moaned, obviously unhappy with the situation.
“Cheer up,” Brental told him. “You came here thinking you were going to be killed.”
~~~
He had been waiting for well over twenty minutes so far while the captain practiced his martial skills with his men. Practice is what they called it, but to Brental it looked more like Disdane was having fun bludgeoning his men into unconsciousness. He used some sort of practice sword that wasn’t sharpened, but the five foot wooden blade still looked heavy enough to lay a man out if it connected. And that it did, several times. He took on at least fifteen men while Brental watched, usually three or four men at a time. He was currently fighting four. One man’s face was already bloodied, making Brental believe he had went up against his captain once before. How many times could one get soundly thrashed before finally giving up?
The captain was a brutish man that stood closer to seven feet tall than he did six and was powerfully built. His men didn’t seem overly enthused to fight him. With the scared look in their eyes and hesitation to attack the large man it was obvious to Brental they didn’t. He couldn’t really blame them. Duke Raythien was the leader of Kadenton’s forces and commanded an excellent group of archers, but Captain Disdane was the man Shamir had been rumored to favor. Brental wondered how long it would be before Disdane commanded all of Shamir’s forces. Brental recalled one of the planning meetings to take over the College. Raythien had advised against Drokier’s plan to use Baron Liernin’s son Liern as a hostage. Disdane was in full favor of it. Shamir agreed with Drokier and Disdane and the plan had worked flawlessly. While Disdane had no real part in it, the man did agree with the plan while the duke cautioned against it. Brental knew first-hand what happened when you disagreed with the king. If he could somehow win over Disdane, he knew he would have a powerful ally. A powerful ally that he believed could be easily manipulated. He was large, but he probably wasn’t all that bright.
“What can I do for the king’s advisor?” Disdane asked, cleaning sweat off of his body with a towel as he walked toward Brental.
“I’m leaving for Kilindric and won’t be back for several days,” Brental told him.
“So?” The large man asked impatiently.
“I have instructed a guard to find someone for me.”
“Again. What does this have to do with me?”
“Well, I’ve instructed him to bring the man to you if he finds him and to notify you if he doesn’t.”
“I serve the King, not his advisor,” Disdane stated. “And so do my men.”
“By serving me, you serve the King.”
“Don’t toy with me, wizard. I’m not your lackey,” Disdane cautioned.
“Look,” Brental said plainly. “I could have gone to the duke with this, but I’m coming to you for a reason.”
“Which is?”
“I’m certain the King would show favor to the man who brought in a spy.”
“He might,” the man agreed. “Is the man you’re looking for a spy?”
“Perhaps. We don’t know yet.”
“But he might be,” Disdane said, brows furrowed in thought.
“Would you rather the King show favor to you, or the duke?” Brental asked, laying it out for the man.
“Why?” Disdane asked, brows no longer furrowed.
“Because I like to have powerful allies,” Brental told him when it was clear the captain understood. Perhaps he wasn’t stupid after all. “And you are more powerful than Raythien by far.”
Brental stood silently as the big man mulled it over. After a short time Disdane nodded. It was enough of an agreement for him.
Chapter 5
They decided to travel by horseback instead of taking a ship. They couldn’t risk being recognized in either Kilindric or Kadenton, which were the only two locations to make port. While war hadn’t been declared, they didn’t feel safe after what had transpired at the College. They were also traveling under the guise of simple travelers, trying to see Kadenton while they still could, before the inevitable war closed the roads. Both wore common clothing with no markings of Liernin anywhere. They had traveled the first couple of days mostly in silence. A few exchanged words here and there, but nothing of any real meaning. Treace didn’t mind it too much. He had been through a lot lately and it was good to have time to think. He guessed Moff felt the same way.
“I’m sorry, Treace,” Moff said, breaking the silence and bringing Treace from his thoughts.
“For?”
“I know you were really looking forward to seeing your parents again.”
Treace didn’t feel like correcting Moff that Jensen wasn’t his father. But he understood the meaning behind it and he appreciated the thought. “I still am. I just have to wait a while longer, that’s all.”
“I know,” Moff replied.
They once again rode in silence for a while. He couldn’t keep his mind from venturing back to their conversation where Moff said he knew why he wasn’t finding The Calm. “You’re wrong, you know,” Treace told his friend.
“Rarely.”
Treace was glad his friend at least outwardly showed his typical confidence. “And yet in this case you most certainly are.”
“Well since you’re clearly dancing around the subject,” Moff told him. “I’ll have to figure it out all on my own, as usual.”
“No need,” Treace replied. “You just proved my point.”
“See, I’m rarely wrong.”
“You didn’t get into the College because of your father’s donation.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I’m sure it helped,” Treace admitted. “Actually required, but that’s not it. You just said so yourself. You’re rarely wrong and you figure things out on your own.”
“If I had smarter friends,” Moff told him. “I wouldn’t have to do it all myself.”
“But alas, we’re too stupid,” Treace offered.
“I’m glad we agree.”
“Why else would we call you a friend?” Treace asked, smiling quite broadly. He was happy to be able to pull that insult off.
“Well look who’s finally grown up in the insult world,” Moff said, giving Treace a look of approval.
“You know I’m right,” Treace told him, leaving it at that.
“Maybe.”
“Do you think we’ll have any trouble getting to Kint?” Treace asked a few minutes of silence.
“Not as much as getting him to come with us if we do,” Moff replied.
“Why do you say that?”
“Did you see how scared he looked when we told him Drevic was excited to meet him?”
“You noticed that too?” Treace asked. He was glad he wasn’t the only one who saw it.
“Yeah,” Moff said, nodding his head. “I thought about bringing it up to Drevic but I just feel like there’s something else there we should find out about first.”
“Do you think there’s some sort of secret between them?” Treace asked. Not because he believed it was true, but to see if Moff did. Something was out of place, but Drevic was a good man. Even if there was a secret, he didn’t believe it was anything to be worried about. Besides, Kint lived in Kadenton and Drevic was from Haven. When would they have met?
�
�No,” Moff replied. “Drevic didn’t know who Kint was before we talked about him, I’m certain of that.”
“How so?”
“He lies as often as you do,” Moff explained. “Which is rarely.”
“And?” Treace asked, still not catching on to what his friend was trying to say.
“And you don’t get good at lying by rarely doing it. His face didn’t change at all when we first said Kint’s name. If there was a secret between them, I would have seen it on his face.”
“It must be tough remembering all your lies,” Treace teased. He guessed Moff didn’t actually lie nearly as often as he wanted people to think that he did.
“It’s not the number of lies. You can have a few that you just tell over and over.”
For some reason Treace got the feeling that for Moff, that was the truth. Moff wasn’t joking about that part. He wondered what secrets his friend had to tell. Maybe someday he’d ask, but for now, he let it go and focused on Kint. “Beyond him being scared, I have other doubts as well.”
“Like what?”
“Why would he help us? What’s the incentive for him to do so?”
“I was actually thinking the same thing,” Moff said.
Treace was glad to hear he wasn’t the only one having doubts. He wasn’t typically a negative thinking person, but he didn’t see any real reason for Kint to help them. He was from Kadenton so he most likely wouldn’t have any ties of loyalty to Haven or Liernin. “We have to give him a reason to want to come back with us.”
“I have seven kadens with me, maybe he’ll accept that.” Moff suggested.
He appreciated his friend’s willingness to use his own money, but he felt there needed to be something more than money. Something that could last longer. “I think it’s going to take more than money. Kint said he was forced to retire, perhaps we can work with that.”
“Yeah, how so?” Moff asked.
“What if we offer to give him his old job back?”
“We don’t even know him,” Moff protested. “And you want to make him a magister again?”
