Midnight Quest
Honor Raconteur
Published by Raconteur House
Manchester, TN
Printed in the USA through Amazon.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Midnight Quest
A Raconteur House book/ published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Raconteur House ebook edition/April 2013
Copyright © 2012 by Midnight Quest
Illustrated by Katie Griffin
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Other books by Honor Raconteur
Published by Raconteur House
THE ADVENT MAGE CYCLE
Book One: Jaunten
Book Two: Magus
Book Three: Advent
Book Four: Balancer
Advent Mage Compendium
Special Forces 01
The Midnight Quest
A man does what he must
in spite of personal consequences,
in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures
and that is the basis of all human morality.
Winston Churchill
Prologue
The utter stillness of the room started to unnerve her.
The guards had taken the lamps away when she was thrust into this closed room, laughing and joking that she didn’t need the light after all, so they would make use of it. She let them come and go without a word. They were ruffians really, little better than thugs. What use would it be to banter with them?
No, her true enemies were the men who’d ordered her caged like this.
Jewel had no idea how long she’d been in this room. Without windows, and the heat of the sun to mark time with, she’d quickly lost track of the days. Three days would be her guess, but she could be off.
More than the loss of the sun, she missed activity. Her entire life she’d always had something to do, even if it was just make-work crocheting in her hands. She’d rarely just sat idle with no occupation to turn her mind to. This lack of things to do would surely drive her mad soon.
Well, there remained one task still within reach. She extended mental fingertips and touched the crystal that provided the protective barrier around her country. As High Priestess of Elahandra, it was her duty to monitor the barrier and to keep the crystal charged. Only three months ago, when she’d assumed the position, she’d been humbled by the calling and delighted at the chance to serve. That was before she’d understood the risks assumed with it. Now, only her mental connection with the massive crystal powering the barrier kept her from going mad.
They didn’t like that she could control the crystal even from here, on the far end of the castle.
Jewel shifted against the cool stone under her legs, seeking in vain a position that wouldn’t eventually turn her body numb. It had taken nearly an hour to drag her from her comfortable apartment to this cold, deserted space. She guessed it to be the dungeons, judging from the stone walls, stone flooring, and sturdy plank door that she could feel. The thick and cloying scent of mold and dampness lent credence to this guess. There were no chains hanging that she could find, which was reassuring. The solid feel of the walls was not.
She’d been praying nearly daily to Elahandra for some kind of instruction or help. The goddess had gently reassured her that she knew of her plight, and help was coming. While grateful that someone was coming, she couldn’t help but wish that they would come just a little faster.
The sound of metal being shoved against metal, like a key being inserted into a lock. Then a slight rasp as it turned. Jewel rose to her feet, head cocked slightly in intense concentration, ears straining for every wisp of sound as the door shoved open and someone strode through.
Heavy steps, slightly uneven because of an overly thick girth. The swish and slide of silk upon silk with each step forward. These characteristics could belong to several men, but with the sounds came the unique scent of sandalwood and the spicy tang of pipe smoke…ah. Of course. A cold fist twisted at her stomach, but she forced herself to give a cool greeting to her visitor. “Minister Corgen, this is an unexpected visit.”
“Priestess Jomadd,” he returned with false civility. His voice had more of an edge to it than normal, roughening his usual urban lilt. “I trust that you have had time to reflect on our earlier request?”
“I will not cut off Ramath from the barrier,” she responded glacially. “Your demands, Minister, are not only unethical but illegal.”
“And how would you know, my dear Priestess, seeing as you cannot read?”
The slur missed its mark entirely and she deliberately laughed out loud. “Because I cannot read the law from the books themselves, you think I cannot comprehend it when it’s read to me? Really, Minister, do you know how ridiculous that is?”
The abrupt swish of fabric and an aggravated step forward, close enough that she could nearly smell his breath on her. “Watch your tone, girl.”
“Watch your step, Minister,” she responded with matching heat. “I am not the only one who knows your actions and the motivations for those actions.”
“Ha! Your goddess hasn’t protected you yet.”
I’m not referring solely to her, Jewel bit back the words before they escaped her mouth. “Yet,” she repeated with a wise nod.
“I see that I’ll need to leave you down here for a few more days. Do send word if you change your mind before then.”
Jewel listened intently as he left, the door slamming with unnecessary force behind him, the key grating once again in the lock. She stood trembling for a moment more, trying to still her shaking hands by gripping them tightly together. She recognized Corgen’s visit for what it truly was—a warning that he was growing quickly impatient with her. If he grew impatient enough…
Elahandra, she prayed silently, whatever help you are sending me, make it quick. I’m afraid I’m out of time.
Chapter One
Sarvell was having the weirdest dream. It felt like he floated, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and rich, velvet softness. He was so comfortable that he couldn’t fathom why any part of his brain wanted to be aware. Yet, at the same time, a small part of his mind screeched in alarm. He hummed to himself and tried burrowing into the softness a little more.
“—up!”
Ah, a voice was saying something. He wisely nodded to himself, still not truly awake. Loathe to move, he seriously contemplated ignoring the voice and going right back into the deep depths of true sleep.
“Sarvell Sorpan, wake up right now!”
How odd. His head rang a little from that, but his ears didn’t hear anything…
“SARVELL!”
In less than a heartbeat, Sarvell sat bolt upright in bed, scrambling for bedcovers, and trying to get both eyes open and focused. The glowing figure at the end of his bed did nothin
g to help him gather his scattered wits.
There, in all of her frustrated glory, stood the Goddess of Light and Protection. At the moment, she clearly leaned toward her protection side, as she did not wear the airy white gown normally depicted in pictures, but instead dressed in thick metal armor from head to toe, a long sword strapped on her hip. Her long dark hair lay in a workmanlike plait over one shoulder, and the delicate crown normally on her forehead had been exchanged for a sturdy helmet. Her toe tapped in an irritated rhythm, and she stared at him through narrowed eyes.
Sarvell could hardly do a proper bow while still in bed, tangled up in covers, but he did manage to find his tongue. “Elahandra, how may I serve?”
Some of her irritation eased when he spoke. “Sarvell Sorpan, my high priestess has been locked away in the depths of Belthain Castle. You are to go rescue her and then stay with her, protecting her from any harm, until I release you.”
The alarm that he had felt finding an angry god at the foot of his bed tripled. “Someone dared to lock up your high priestess?!”
“They’ll do more than that in a few days’ time unless she caves to their demands,” Elahandra informed him grimly, frown deepening the furrow between her eyes. “She won’t, though. She will die before doing anything those drecks want her to. Sarvell, you have very limited time. I suggest you move tonight.”
He translated suggest to move or have lightning strike you without difficulty. This was not the time to point out that she was not his god and that technically he didn’t have to move when she ordered him to. Sarvell sensibly chose to live and said instead, “I’ll leave as soon as I can. Am I the only one you’ve called?”
“No, there will be one other. His name is Rialt, from Ramath.”
He’d met people from the Ramath Clan before. They were devout, certainly, but had interesting ideas of how a goddess should be worshipped. The fact that Elahandra was not technically their goddess just complicated matters even more. Hoping not to get his head bitten off with this question, he ventured, “You’ve already spoken to him, then?”
She knew full well what he was truly asking, and her mouth quirked up slightly. “He’ll agree, even if I have to bash his fool head in. You have two days to get her out, Sarvell. I can’t guarantee her safety beyond that.”
Breaking into a castle as heavily fortified and guarded as Belthain in two days…would be difficult at best. With just two men? Well, he’d say impossible if a god hadn’t ordered him to do just that. “I leave within the hour,” he assured her.
“Good.” About to turn and go, she paused and looked back to add, “Don’t take the main highway.”
That would lengthen the trip to Belthain by a good two hours, but Sarvell didn’t even think to question her. “I’ll take the back way in.”
With a nod of approval, she disappeared, taking all of the light with her.
Sarvell took a moment to breathe, flung the covers off, and dove for his pants.
~*~*~*~
"You want me doin’ what, now?!"
Elahandra sighed deeply. As a goddess, she was used to being obeyed without question. After all, what mortal would dare to argue with a god?
Someone had obviously failed to teach him that. "Rialt, stop arguing with me. The safety of your people depend on her safety."
"I ken," the irritable man snapped. Like everyone else at this time of the night, he had been deeply asleep when Elahandra had shown up at his bedside. Unlike Sarvell, who’d taken the nightly summons in stride, Rialt awoke like a bear just yanked out of his winter hibernation. The wild snarl of dark hair around his head served as an excellent frame for his scowl. His thick brogue, already steep because of his northern heritage, became even more incomprehensible with a half-asleep tongue. "But what be you about, wanting me to guard her? I be no pet guard dog!"
Ramath clansmen were known for being independent, Elahandra reminded herself patiently. Her sister had made them that way on purpose. Give her a moment and she might remember why Juven had done such a thing. "You are the strongest in your clan, Rialt. She needs the best and you're it." Elahandra's voice hardened in warning. "Now get moving."
Ramathans were stubborn and independent, but even they didn't cross certain lines. Rialt grumpily backed down. "Fine. Where she be?"
“Belthain Castle. You are to meet Sarvell Sorpan on the way there. The two of you will break her out and guard her. You have two days, remember.”
He nodded impatiently, already throwing back the covers and reaching for the clothes that had been flung over a chair mere hours before.
Satisfied, Elahandra turned and left. There were other matters she had to attend to now that this stubborn child was in motion. As she went to the next task, she finally remembered why Juven had made the Ramath so independent. She'd wanted at least one race that would not serve her blindly.
Did gods have moments of temporary insanity?
~*~*~*~
Sarvell spent most of the next two hours thinking.
He didn’t find navigating the back roads mentally tasking in any way. His horse had the harder part of the job, trying to canter along whatever half-formed deer trail that the farmers used in these parts. If not for the very bright moon overhead, Sarvell wouldn’t have dared anything more than a nice plodding walk. Even as he focused on the road in front of him, a part of his mind couldn’t resist trying to come up with some sort of plan.
Plans were difficult to form when you didn’t have any real information.
It wasn’t until he was out there, in the cool night air, away from an upset goddess, that he realized he really didn’t know much. In fact, he only knew three things: a Ramathan would be joining this rescue operation, the high priestess was a political prisoner, and she was in Belthain Castle. What Sarvell didn’t know could fill up a thick book, starting with where on earth he and the Ramathan were supposed to meet (or even if a meeting place had been set up for them?) and going downhill from there.
Well, a Ramathan shouldn’t be too hard for him to find in Thornock. The typical Ramath clansman stood a good head taller than a Thornock citizen, and dressed quite differently. Thornock prided itself on dressing in very fine material and looking very civilized at every moment. A Ramathan didn’t care what his clothes looked like as long as they could blend in with his environment, were durable, and fit well. Sarvell had heard people dismiss Ramathans as barbarians, but he thought of them as a practical, rugged people. Considering who their neighbors were to the north, he certainly didn’t blame them for being a little rough around the edges.
It probably fell to him to spot his new ally. Considering that Sarvell was Brynian, he would blend in fairly well in Thornock. Well, doubtless the Thornocks wouldn’t think so, as they leaned more toward politics and scholarly pursuits than business, but Sarvell came from merchant stock and he always dressed well. A well-dressed employee, his father always claimed, was the best advertisement that a merchant could have.
Alright, he mused to himself, if I were a Ramathan jerked awake in the middle of the night by an angry goddess, which route would I take? Alas, not the one that he was on. The Ramath Clan sat to the north of his people’s territory. There was one of two major highways that the Ramathan might choose, one coming from the north that went directly to Thornock, the other came from a more easterly approach and led more toward Bryn.
She told me to avoid the major roads. Did she tell him the same? Argh! The more he thought on this, the more confusing it became. He just didn’t know enough to make any educated guesses.
Should he even be depending on the Ramathan to show up tonight? Elahandra might spend the whole night arguing him into moving. Sarvell blew out an irritable breath. The road split in two very different directions soon, so he had to make a choice. East or west? West would take him the more direct route to Belthain. East would take him more toward Ramath.
West, he finally decided, just in time to turn onto the left branch. I’ll act as if I’m the only chance this poor woman has f
or rescue, and hope the Ramathan joins me at some point. Surely the goddess will guide one or the other of us so that we’ll meet.
Odd, why did that sound like wishful thinking?
~*~*~*~
What a mammering, hasty-witted, wanton fit of folly this night was turning out to be!
Rialt had spent three months on the northern border ambushing Daath patrols, tangling their supply lines, and generally making any Daath soldier within firing range sorry to see him. Generally, making those varlets miserable was a pleasant way to spend a bit of his life away. Rialt’s clan had been attacked by the Daath off and on for roughly three hundred years and the hatred between the Ramath and the Daath was as well-nurtured as it was legendary. Anything that Rialt could do to make their lives frustrating and miserable was time well spent for him.
If he had no been slogging through four feet of snow the entire time, he would have enjoyed it far more.
So there he sat, a man that had been deployed for three long, very cold months. A man that had tasted the home comforts of a warm bed he had sorely missed. He deserved at least a full night’s rest, did he no? He deserved a little time to thaw out, perhaps gorge himself on a well baked meat pie, dance a bit with the women. That was no so much to ask, was it?
How he got volunteered to be out on the road at this ridiculous hour, on a mission to save some giglet priestess, he could no ken. He had prayed to his own goddess, of course, asking if he should go, but had no gotten an answer. Herself being a passionate sort, and a bit flighty at times, a day or more could pass afore he got an answer. Thing was, he had only been given two days to get to Belthain and break the giglet out, so he could no bide for an answer.
Just in case, he reckoned it best that he go. If herself did tell him no, well, a little traveling never hurt a man. And if he saved the priestess afore he got an answer, it would just be a good opportunity to give the woman an earful for leaving his people out of the barrier six months ago.
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