by Dara Joy
“What do you want?” His frigid tone froze the poor servant to his spot by the open door.
“I-I most humbly beg your forgiveness for disturbing you, b-but there are some visitors at the gate demanding entrance.”
Traed crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat. The caravans which sometimes traveled this way often traded with his people who lived inside the keep. But they were never called visitors. There was only one person who had ever visited him in all the years he had lived here. The blood in his veins turned to ice. “It is not my father, is it?”
The servant backed up a step at the fierce expression on Traed’s face. “N-no, my lord Traed. They did not say who they are.”
Traed’s features relaxed slightly with the news that these visitors were not his dreaded sire. “They seek me?”
“Yes, my lord Traed.”
“Send them away. I do not wish to be disturbed.” Traed turned back to his book, dismissing the servant.
“B-but, Master Traed, they said it was most urgent, and that they needed to see you—”
Traed exhaled noisily. “I said send them away.”
“Yes, my lord Traed.” The servant scooted from the room.
Traed looked down at his book again, not really seeing the words before him. Sometimes when he sat lately, the hours would sort of slip away as if he were in a trance. He wondered if a man could let all his hours slip away, until, blissfully, there would be no more.
Such thoughts gave him reason to live. He smiled at the irony of it, wondering if he was not already half mad.
It had taken them three days to fially reach Traed’s keep.
The trip had been tiring and difficult; they had never once crossed an outpost during the journey. Rejar was becoming sullen, Deana was irritable, and Lorgin remained…Lorgin.
They were sitting by the gate in the broiling sun waiting for the gatekeeper to let them enter.
“I wish he would hurry up. I’m about to fry out here,” Deana complained.
“It will not be much longer, Adeeann.” Lorgin’s calm response seemed to irritate her even more.
“Doesn’t anything ever bother you, Lorgin? My God, this has been the most hellacious trip I’ve ever been on.” She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “What I wouldn’t do for a nice cool bath…”
Lorgin’s mouth lifted slightly in a faint grin. “You will get your cool bath soon, zira. Perhaps we can share it.” His eyes sparkled with sexual mischief.
{Must you talk of such things now? I vow I am getting tired of it.}
Lorgin raised an eyebrow. “Rejar, it is not like you to be so edgy.”
Rejar rubbed his eyes. {Forgive me, Lorgin. I am…wound up.}
Lorgin chuckled. “Yes, it is not usual for you to go so long without your comforts. Yaniff says sometimes abstinence is good for the soul. It can renew your heart and spirit.”
{Yaniff is an extremely old man. He has probably forgotten exactly what such comforts feel like to a man. Besides, you are a student of his, yet I do not see you practicing this philosophy he preaches.}
“I am his student, this is true”—Lorgin grinned slowly and wickedly at his brother—“but I think a man must also have his own beliefs to follow.”
Rejar grinned knowingly back to his brother.
“What are you two talking about?” Deana had only heard Lorgin’s side of the conversation, as Rejar had shielded his thoughts from her.
Lorgin answered her. “Rejar is thinking of joining the Charl.”
{Not in this lifetime, brother.}
Deana looked from one to the other, somehow doubting by their very male expressions that that had been the topic of conversation. She was about to inquire further when the gatekeeper returned.
“He will not see you. Go—be gone from this place!” He was about to go back inside the keep when Lorgin grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, turning the man back around to face him. Lorgin’s voice was deadly low.
“Then you will go back to your master again. We have come a long way. It is hot in the sun here. I grow annoyed at being kept waiting.” Well, Deana, thought, Lorgin is human after all! She chuckled to herself.
The gatekeeper began babbling. “B-but he will not see you!” He wrung his hands together.
“Tell him Lorgin ta’al Krue is on his doorstep. Tell him I have come to challenge him to a game of dizu.” The gatekeeper hedged. “Do it.” At Lorgin’s forbidding tone, the servant ran to do Lorgin’s bidding. When he was out of earshot, Lorgin turned to Deana. “I wonder why I do not have that effect on you, Adeeann?” He raised a commanding eyebrow at her.
“Because I know you are all bark and no bite.”
He rubbed the back of his head as if thinking over her words. “This is not what you said last night.” Deana’s face flamed as her hand went unconsciously to a spot on her neck. Lorgin winked at her.
{Why did you challenge him to dizu?}
“When we were children we played the game constantly. I never beat him. Not once. Of course, it never stopped me from challenging him.”
“Of course not,” Deana said dryly. Now, this sounded more like the Lorgin she knew. He threw her a look.
“It became something of a joke between us.” Suddenly Lorgin became serious. “Before he left us the last time, he said to me, ‘I will never refuse your challenge.’ I replied that I would never stop issuing it.”
The servant slowly made his way back to Traed, dreading the confrontation. The gatekeeper had given him a ridiculous message to relay. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, knocking on the door. There was no response for a full minute.
“What is it?”
The servant tentatively opened the door. “The man at the gate asked that a message be sent to you.”
“Yes? Come on, man, be quick about it.”
“He said his name is Lorgin ta’al Krue and he is on your doorstep to challenge you to a game of dizu,” the servant finished apprehensively.
For an instant, the corner of Traed’s mouth lifted in what could have been the beginning of a smile. But it passed so quickly, the servant was sure he had been mistaken.
Traed ran a weary hand across his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Lorgin! What was he doing here? He did not want to see him, or anyone else for that matter. But…he could not turn him away.
He shocked the servant by saying, “Bid him to enter. Tell him I will be down shortly.”
“Yes, my lord Traed. But he is not alone, he has a woman with him, and—and a Familiar.”
Rejar. It could only be Rejar. And the woman? He would find out soon enough. “Show them in.”
When the servant left, Traed stood looking out of the tower window onto the desert below. The suns were sinking in the sky. Night fell quickly on Zarrain. Mirroring life. He desperately tried not to think of a time long gone when he had been so innocent and his life had been happy. A time before his father had come out of the night to take him away. When the darkness began…
They were shown into a large sitting room and told to wait. A servant came in and lit a fire in the stone fireplace. They didn’t have to wait long. A side door opened and Traed ta’al Theardar entered the room.
He was tall, although not as tall as Lorgin and Rejar, Deana thought. About six two. He had a beautiful body. Muscular, but not brawny, he moved with a characteristic sleekness that Deana had observed in the brothers. In fact, something about him reminded her of them, though he didn’t bear an actual physical resemblance to either of them.
As she observed him, it suddenly occurred to Deana that nothing about this man was as it seemed, and everything about him required a second look, a deeper look.
Traed was a man of contrasts.
His hair, at first glance, would be mistaken for black. On closer inspection, it revealed hidden highlights, the color a deep mahogany black/brown. Long, straight, and silky, it was pulled away from his face to hang down his back to his waist in a ponytail.
His eyes, a compelling light green, the color of clear peridot, appeared emotionless and flat, reflecting only what they saw. But further examination revealed them to be deep and fathomless—the eyes of a man who had been forced to see more than what was visibly apparent.
The expression on his face was no less than forbidding, perfectly suited to his angular, chiseled features. But, Deana curiously noted, when the firelight reflected on those features, they were sensual and promising.
The man was a strange brew of enigmatical changing facets.
Traed stood before Lorgin, and at that moment the firelight caught all three of the men in its glow. Deana raised her eyebrows as she took in the view. If this is an example of Aviaran manhood, perhaps it wouldn’t be so awful to visit the wretched place. The scenery would certainly be enticing…She grinned mischievously. Lorgin caught her expression, throwing her a “behave yourself” look. She blushed right where she stood. How did the man do that?
Lorgin broke the silence by stepping toward Traed, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “Traed!” He slapped him soundly on the back. Unlike the unfortunate artist so long ago at the convention, Traed did not move an inch.
Nor was he smiling.
“Why have you come here, Lorgin?”
Lorgin chose to ignore Traed’s rudeness. “You do not offer me keeran in your house?” Traed waved his hand in the general direction of a side table, implying that if Lorgin wanted keeran he could damn well get it for himself.
Deana sighed. This was not going well at all.
She stood beside Rejar as Lorgin poured himself a horn of keeran. He hadn’t asked her if she wanted any, but she wasn’t going to berate him for it now. The last thing he needed was her passing out on Traed’s floor. Her attention shifted to Rejar, who had a strange look on his beautiful face.
When Lorgin came back with the horn, he tried engaging Traed in conversation. It didn’t seem to be working. Deana took the opportunity to whisper to Rejar, “Is anything wrong?”
{No…I do not know…}
Uneasy, Rejar left Deana to walk over to the sideboard, slowly pouring himself a horn. He took the time to discreetly study their reluctant host. When last he had seen Traed, Rejar had been a young boy, years away from coming into his full Familiar senses. In fact, he was so young, he barely remembered him. Now what he sensed was making him uncomfortable.
He sensed Lodarres blood in Traed, and the bloodline was strong.
How could this be? he thought. Where is the connection? His thoughts strayed to his father, Krue, unacceptable possibilities presenting themselves to him. Rejar knew his father to be a man of honor, so what he was thinking could not be true. The answer must lie elsewhere. It had to. But his senses could not be deceived.
It had to lie elsewhere…
Rejar continued to observe Lorgin and Traed, realizing that neither of them could sense what he sensed. He downed half his horn of keeran in one swallow. He would keep his silence. He would not tell Lorgin of this until he had a chance to counsel with Yaniff. The old mystic would guide him.
It would not be the first time Rejar had to turn to Yaniff for help. If he thought about it, the old man had been there to help him throughout his life. Whenever he got into a scrape or trouble, he always went to Yaniff. Strange, he never realized it until now.
He relied on the old man.
Rejar finished his horn of keeran with the revelation. He mentally shook himself. It was not as if he were the wizard’s Familiar or anything. They were just…friends? That did not seem quite right either. Why had he not thought on this before? he wondered.
Rejar was quickly overloading himself. He cleared his mind, focusing back on Traed.
“For what reason do you stare at me so, Rejar?” Traed’s expression was cold, removed, and faintly condescending.
“I have not seen you since I was a young boy, Traed. I was trying to remember you.” Rejar purposely spoke aloud. For some reason, he did not think Traed would want him to enter into his mind with his thoughts.
“And have you?” The words were coldly clipped.
Rejar put down his horn. “In truth, I have not, Traed. The young man I remember was not you.”
Traed narrowed his eyes at the thinly veiled reference to the different man he had become.
Lorgin threw his brother a disgusted look. He had been trying to thaw Traed for several minutes. With one carelessly thrown comment, Rejar had destroyed the ground Lorgin thought he had made.
Traed leaned back against the stone mantel, crossing his arms. “Lorgin, you have not told me why you have come here.”
Lorgin smiled at him. “Yes, I have. I challenge you to a game of dizu.”
“You came all this way out here to Zarrain for a game of dizu? I think not.”
“You refuse the challenge?” Lorgin locked eyes with him, awaiting his answer.
Traed blinked once, as if he were not sure how he could respond. Caught in a quandary, he turned to stare at the fire in the grate. In that moment, Lorgin knew he had won. Traed would allow them to stay. It was confirmed with Traed’s words.
“No,” he exhaled, “I do not refuse.”
Lorgin inclined his head. “I expected no less.” He motioned to Deana to step forward. “This is my zira, Adeeann.” A glimmer of surprise flashed in Traed’s eyes.
Deana waved her fingers at the stern man before her. “Hi, how ya doing?”
Traed nodded to her, acknowledging her presence but not deigning to say anything to her. He spoke to Lorgin.
“You have mated?” He glanced at Deana’s neck, seeing the Shimalee. “So, Lorgin ta’al Krue, your destiny has spoken, as you believed it would when we were children. You are a fortunate man. Most men do not have a destiny to speak of.”
“I do not think you are amongst those men, Traed,” Lorgin replied quietly.
Rejar wondered if Traed had sensed the full scope of Lorgin’s prophetic words when the man visibly flinched. Despite Traed’s comments, it was obvious the man wanted no part of a destiny, his or otherwise.
Traed showed them to their rooms, his manner neither gracious nor inviting. He opened a door, ushering Deana and Lorgin into their room. Deana was surprised to see a regular bed, floor mounted. She peered at the floor looking for critters.
“You need not worry,” Traed’s voice behind her surprised her. It was the first time he had spoken to her. “On one of his unexpected visits”—his voice became bitter—“my father could not abide it, so he did his wizardly duty, banishing anything from the keep which is not invited to enter.”
Lorgin was surprised. “Your father visits you here?”
“On the rare occasion.” Traed ended the topic immediately. “My servants have brought food for you.” He pointed to a table against the wall before he exited the room, abruptly closing the door behind him.
“Jeez. He’s about as gracious as Dracula. Come to think of it, this place does sort of look like Dracula’s castle.”
“Who is this Dracula?” Lorgin removed his cape, swinging it over his shoulder onto the bed. A prautau snorted in the courtyard below.
“Listen to them, the prautaus of the night—what sweet music they make…” She tried to imitate Bela Lugosi.
Lorgin laughed. “What are you doing?”
“It’s—oh, never mind.”
“Tell me.” He patted the bed for her to come sit next to him.
“It has to do with vampires and—”
“Vampires?” His eyes flashed, recalling when she had last used the word. “I remember these—you called them monsters who—” She put her hand over his mouth. His tongue shot out to tickle her palm.
Deana giggled. Turning back into Bela, she salaciously eyed Lorgin’s strong neck. “I never drink…keeran, Mr. R-R-Renfield ta’al Krue.” She swooped down on him, causing them both to fall over onto the mattress. In true vampire fashion, she latched onto his neck, pretending to bite into his jugular.
“Adeeann, stop!” Lo
rgin was really laughing. Well! It seemed she had found a ticklish spot on the big guy. Hmm…now this was power! She moved in for the kill. He quickly rolled over, pinning her beneath him. Something sharp stuck into her side.
“Ow! Lorgin, get up, something’s sticking into me!”
“Not yet, but it soon will be.” In retaliation, he tickled her midriff in a spot he knew reduced her to mindless giggles.
“Pl-please!” she gasped between laughing. “I mean it.”
He had his doubts, but released her just the same, sitting up in the bed. She dug into the pocket of her tunic, finding Lorgin’s crystal earring.
“Aha!” She held it out to him to return it.
His lashes formed a dark crescent against his cheekbones as he looked down at the crystal in her palm. “The mark of a Charl.”
“I suspected as much. I noticed Yaniff wore one also.”
“Yes. It is a symbol of initiation. Such symbols often carry great meaning to a man, Adeeann. I want you to have it.” He looked up at her, his expression earnest.
“No, I can’t do that. It belongs to you—you should be wearing it.” He started to protest, but she placed it firmly in his hand. He reluctantly took it, placing it back in his ear.
“Lorgin, are there any women in the Charl?”
“You do not understand what the Charl is.”
“Then tell me.”
“This is not so easy. I can tell you the Charl are warriors, as well as mystics.”
“There are no women warriors?”
He smiled slightly at her question. “I have seen entire planets with nothing but women warriors. On my planet, however, the women are not warriors.”
“They cannot join the Charl?”
“They can, if they desire it. They choose not to. The women follow their own mystical pathways. Aviaran women do not desire to be warriors. They have no need to be. Their men protect them from any danger.”
