The Warlock Senator (Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  “But you didn’t,” Raisa asked.

  “I always felt more comfortable with metal and stone than with people.” Al shrugged. “I made this hammer to show my father what I wanted. We fought for weeks.” Al slipped the hammer into his bag. “Finally my brother took my place in King’s College and I was allowed to pursue smithing. I spent the next several decades perfecting my craft. My father never accepted my choice to give up the throne. He kept hoping I would come around to the idea of ruling. It never felt right to me though. I hadn’t asked to be king. I wanted to pursue my own life. When my father passed on I left Roegudok Hall. My brother assumed the throne and the hammer has been with me ever since.”

  Raisa nodded and folded her hands together. “So, if your father wished for you to be king…” her words trailed off.

  Al guessed what she was getting at and nodded. “I am the eldest, the throne is mine if I choose to challenge my brother for it.”

  “Have you considered it?”

  Al wrinkled his nose. “Why would I want to do that?” He looked into her eyes and immediately understood what she was digging for. “I never went to King’s College,” Al huffed. He started to close up his pack.

  “Is that a requirement?” she pushed.

  Al shook his head sharply. “I can’t lead my people. They no longer want to follow the old ways, and I…” his words caught in his throat.

  “If the time comes that you choose to be king,” Raisa began as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “I believe they would follow you. It may tip the balance in our favor.”

  Al gruffed, but said nothing. He tied the flap over his pack, and looked up to her with a warm smile. “First, I need to get Master Lepkin to Drakai Glazei. Then, I believe the best way for me to help is to stick with your son. There will be difficult days ahead.”

  Raisa’s shoulders slumped and she turned her face away from him.

  “We’ll get Lord Lokton back,” Al promised. “Lepkin is a living legend, and with me at his side, no one can stop us, especially not a bunch of wrinkly old high-browed senators.” He offered a smile but Lady Lokton’s tears fell over her cheeks anyway.

  “I can’t get Tukai’s words out of my mind,” she whispered.

  Al closed his eyes and sighed. “I haven’t known Erik as long as you have, but Tukai is wrong. Erik has nothing but love for you both. Tukai’s prophecy is a lie, nothing more.”

  Raisa raised a handkerchief to her face and wiped her eyes clean. “We have prepared a horse for you,” she said after a moment. “Please remember you are always welcome here, good dwarf,” she said.

  “I will protect your family to my utmost ability,” Al replied. “I may not be a king, but I will always come to House Lokton’s aid.”

  The two embraced and then Al hefted his pack over his shoulder and left.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You wanted to see me, Master Orres?”

  Orres set his cold, pewter mug down on the long table and looked up to see Master Wendal. The narrow faced, thin man stood stoic, showing little emotion. The man brushed aside his black locks from his brow and folded his hands together behind his back.

  “I did,” Orres said with a slight smile. “How long have we known each other, Master Wendal?”

  Master Wendal scrunched his brow. “Perhaps twenty years.”

  Orres nodded. He pulled a short parchment from his lap and laid it on the table next to his mug. His pointer finger twirled the paper around so that the writing faced Master Wendal and then he pushed it toward him. “I should have noticed something,” Orres said.

  Master Wendal took the paper and began to read aloud. “Master Orres, it is with the deepest regret that House Lokton informs you of your brother’s passing. During open hostilities with House Cedreau—”

  Orres cut in. “During open hostilities with House Cedreau, Janik turned on Erik Lokton and revealed himself to be working with the warlock Tukai and his order. Erik survived Janik’s attack with the help of Aldehenkaru’hktanah Sit’marihu. Enclosed is the amulet Janik wore around his neck when he attacked Erik.” Orres finished repeating the note’s message and clunked a golden amulet on the table.

  “Janik worked with Tukai?” Wendal asked skeptically. “That doesn’t make any sense. Perhaps House Lokton is lying, or mistaken.”

  Orres shook his head. “After I received the letter with the amulet inside, I went to his private chamber. I found a letter instructing my brother to travel to a tavern to meet and discuss how to ‘deal with the boy’ and proceed with House Lokton.” Orres raised his mug and drained the contents. “I knew him a lot longer than twenty years, yet he deceived me.”

  Wendal shrugged. “The letter may have been planted,” he suggested.

  Orres nodded. “That is true, but my gut tells me that is not so.”

  “With respect, one should be careful not to let their emotion cloud their judgment.”

  Orres slid the mug away from him and rose from the table. “Come with me,” Orres said. He motioned for Wendal to turn to the northern corridor. Orres scooped up the amulet, took back the letter from House Lokton and then proceeded ahead of Master Wendal. He walked with a determined gait, forcing the tall Master Wendal to quicken his pace in order not to fall behind. They walked to a far corner of the academy that was well removed from the other offices and classrooms. They passed a few old storage rooms and then Orres stopped and pulled an old, tarnished brass key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The tumblers clicked and the door popped open.

  Inside the room stood a few barrels with labels on them. Some contained flour, others whole wheat grain, and others had labels that had been scratched out and appeared to be empty. A couple old brooms stood in the far corner, collecting cobwebs and old flies. Otherwise the room was unremarkable in every respect.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Wendal asked.

  “Because I feel you are someone I can trust, and I hope that my intuition will not let me down.” Orres stepped up to the first barrel labeled flour and opened the lid. He placed his massive hand in the flour and pushed the white powder aside to revel an iron ring. He pulled the ring and a series of clicks and metallic pops echoed in the small room. A portion of the rear wall detached and swung away, revealing a passageway that led to another chamber. Orres replaced the flour and the lid before walking through the doorway.

  Master Wendal looked behind him to the corridor before following Orres into the secret passageway. The air was warm and damp, but there was plenty of light coming from a series of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. “I never knew this place existed,” Wendal said.

  “From time to time, some of us at the academy have been called upon to execute orders from the king,” Orres said. “In order to aid us in our duties, those of us with special commissions meet here to organize information, discuss orders, and strategize.”

  “What kind of information?” Wendal asked.

  Orres stopped walking and opened a heavy, iron door after sliding a long, hexagonal key into the lock. Orres reached up and took the nearest oil lamp from its hook on the ceiling and walked through the doorway. A moment later the room beyond was illuminated in warm, golden light. Wendal slowly walked in.

  Several chests lined the left wall of the chamber. Each had bands of iron and three hefty locks holding them closed. Along the back wall stood a series of black bookshelves enclosed with iron mesh doors. A long wooden weapons rack stood along the right wall, and beside it stood a great mahogany wardrobe. Orres moved to stand at the head of an eight person table.

  “Have a seat,” Orres instructed. He went to the back wall and unlocked one of the bookshelves. He pulled a long parchment out and returned to the table. He eyed Wendal curiously. “It’s alright, have a seat,” he insisted.

  Wendal moved to take a seat near Orres and watched the headmaster unroll the long parchment to reveal a map of the Middle Kingdom. “What is this?” Wendal asked. “Every noble family is listed on the map with their houses and lands
clearly outlined.”

  Orres nodded. “Surely you are aware that there are factions conspiring to assume power when the king passes.”

  Wendal nodded. “I have heard the rumors.”

  Orres smiled and nodded his head. “Kuldiga Academy was founded during a time of great need. A group of shadowfiends had conspired to assume control of a region in the kingdom.”

  Wendal nodded. “And it was Master Heimdal with his mighty sword, Stormfang, who crushed the shadowfiends and established Kuldiga Academy over the ruins of their fortress. I know the legend.”

  “It is no legend,” Orres countered sharply. “It is all fact.” He gestured to the room around them. “Look at the stone in this room. It does not match the rest of the academy. This room was the shadowfiends’ planning room. In this room, Master Heimdal discovered texts that revealed secret plans and plots, as well as detailed maps and records that listed the kingdom’s resources, and details various noble families and their true loyalties.”

  Master Wendal frowned.

  Orres held up a finger. “After discovering this chamber, Master Heimdal worked with the king to create a special team of officers who would protect the information, and use it to foil enemies of the king.”

  “How did the information help them do that?”

  “Not only did it indicate other potential people who threatened the kingdom’s security, but the system of records itself showed Heimdal how such information could be recorded and preserved in an effort to stay one step ahead of further developments that could harm the kingdom.” Orres tipped his chair back and kicked a leg out to the side. “Since then the task of monitoring, collecting, and acting on the information has passed from one headmaster to the next. As has the task of identifying other individuals who have the right skills and integrity to join the select group.”

  “Was Janik a part of this group?”

  Orres nodded. “Ever since the battle that crippled him, he had been assigned to the group. He was a great asset, and helped us prevent several disasters.”

  “Lady Dimwater is also a member, isn’t she?” Wendal guessed. “That is why she went to Kuressar.”

  Orres nodded grimly. “She first went to Spiekery, to deal with a shadowfiend that was forcing human sacrifice on the small town. Afterward she went to Kuressar to deal with Lord Hischurn. We had some information indicating that he was working with the warlocks of the Order of the All Seeing Eye as well as gathering resources for battle.”

  “She told us that the orders came from the Royal Court to arrest a suspected shadowfiend,” Wendal commented.

  “And she told you the truth,” Orres said. “We gathered the information, but only the king or Judge McTeabe of the Royal Court can authorize the actions we take. That way the king maintains control over us.”

  “So, why have you brought me here?” Wendal asked.

  Orres sniggered and pointed back to the map. “Several families have been making moves over the last several years to consolidate their power. While there are many that remain loyal to the king, there are others who are not only positioning themselves to take power, but they grow tired of waiting for the old king to die. I have some reason to believe that a few of the other Masters here at the Academy are aligning themselves with some of these impatient, power-hungry families.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Wendal scoffed. “Who here would do such a thing? We have all sworn our allegiance to the crown.”

  “But the king has not yet named an heir,” Orres pointed out.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Wendal argued. “In the event the king dies without a legitimate heir or appointed replacement, the senate and the Keeper of Secrets are to rule jointly.”

  Orres nodded. “I know the law, my friend. However, I also know that many of the senators grow hungry themselves. Many do not relish the thought of sharing power with Master Lepkin, and several noble families have grown very close to some of these senators.”

  “What you speak of is treason,” Wendal said sharply.

  “That is exactly why this special council was formed under Master Heimdal’s leadership those many years ago.” Orres stabbed the table with his index finger and locked eyes with Wendal. “Heimdal’s mighty sword, Stormfang, rests in a glass cabinet not more than fifty paces from the armory next to my office. It is there not only as a reminder of the great battle Heimdal won, but the oath that I took as Headmaster. The battle continues today.” Orres rose to his feet. “What I want to know from you, Master Wendal, is will you stand beside me and help me run these traitors down?”

  *****

  Lady Dimwater couldn’t sleep. She tossed back and forth on her bed. She threw the blankets off and then pulled them back over herself. Nothing worked. Her body ached for rest, but her mind was far too active to allow her to sleep. Finally she left her bed and draped a dark robe around her shoulders. She slid her feet into soft leather slippers and quietly exited her room.

  She walked down the hallway to a set of stairs. A couple of days previous, Marlin had taken her to a large archive of books and records in the basement level of the temple. Now was as good a time as any to go back and do some additional research. She saw only a few guards as she descended down the spiraling, smooth marble steps. She returned their nods and greetings, but did not slow her pace.

  Once she reached the bottom she found the door to the archives already ajar. She slipped inside to discover Marlin sitting at a table near the entrance; a slew of books and papers strewn all around him.

  “I thought you went to bed,” Lady Dimwater said.

  “I could not sleep,” Marlin replied. “I suspect you have the same problem?” Lady Dimwater nodded and Marlin gestured to a chair across from him at the table.

  “Have you found anything yet?” Lady Dimwater asked.

  “I have found something, actually, though I don’t know what to make of it.” Marlin directed her attention to a dusty, green tome. “This is a book of prophecies, written by an ancient mystic. I believe I have stumbled upon something to do with Erik.”

  “What language is this?” Lady Dimwater asked.

  “It is Taish, High Taish to be exact,” Marlin replied.

  “I can read High Taish,” Lady Dimwater countered. “This doesn’t look like anything I have ever seen before.”

  “True,” Marlin said with a nod. “This as a very ancient dialect; several thousand years old I believe. I would wager that you would be hard pressed to find any among the elves who can read this.”

  “What does it say?”

  Marlin leaned over the page and pointed to each word as he translated the passage for Lady Dimwater. “On the wings of death the champion will ride, laying waste to the seats of white. His anger ushers in the dark tide, and washes the world in the color of night.”

  “And that is about Erik?” Lady Dimwater asked skeptically.

  “I believe so,” Marlin nodded. “Several pages preceding this one speak of the Champion of Truth, and this passage references the champion in it. It seems to be about Erik, though I must admit it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

  “How could Erik wash the world in the color of night? I thought his destiny was to save us.” Marlin sighed heavily. Instead of responding, he sucked in the corner of his bottom lip and chewed on it a bit. “Marlin, I can see that something weighs on your mind,” Lady Dimwater said. “What is it? What have you found?”

  “There is another passage in this book here.” Marlin reached to his left and pulled a blue book close to him, opening it to a bookmark he had left in it. “This is written by a different person, the language is the same but the strokes are made differently. Judging from the texture of the pages, it is from the same era as the other passage.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Believe not your eyes, for a champion in false skin shall rise.”

  Dimwater watched Marlin carefully. “So, you think that Erik could be the false champion the prophecy spoke of.” She shook her head and crossed h
er arms. “There must be more than this.” she said. “Surely we cannot abandon Erik just because of this one piece of paper.”

  “It is not one piece of paper, Lady Dimwater. There is a third prophecy that I believe deals with these two. It is written by a third person, but again it is from the same era.”

  “What does it say?” She watched Marlin reach for a book with a red cover. His fingers deftly found the bookmark and opened the yellowed pages to the desired passage.

  “One touched of the dragon’s might, but not born of it, shall save the world from darkest night, and rule from the Stone Pulpit.” Marlin gently pushed the book away. “Each of these passages in each book is describing the same event, though they focus on different aspects of it. One is a warning that there is a false champion, the second warns what the false champion will do, and the third tells us who can stop the false champion.”

  “Lepkin,” Dimwater whispered. “It is said that those who are dragon-born are touched by dragons and given a gift. They are called dragon-born, but they are not exactly born of dragons.”

  “That is the same conclusion I came to as well.” Marlin pushed back from the table and wiped a weary hand over his brow. “You and I both know who steps in to rule the kingdom if the king fails to appoint an heir before his death.”

  “The Keeper of Secrets rules in connection with the senate,” Dimwater answered.

  “Correct,” Marlin said.

  Dimwater shook her head and tapped a pointed fingernail on the table. “Are you telling me that Erik might be a false champion, and has the power to destroy us all?” Voicing the question aloud left a bitter taste in her mouth. “You are telling me that Erik, the same young man that risked his own life for an adopted father, and saved Lepkin from the power of Nagar’s Secret, could turn?”

  Marlin sighed. “Up until now, I would never have believed Erik could so much as hold an evil thought in his heart, let alone act upon such a treacherous desire. But now…” He stood, displaying a grim expression on his face. “You know of the prophecy given by the warlock about Erik?”