by Bill Mays
“The scrying room,” he mumbled to himself hoarsely. His voice was all but lost to neglect. He immediately looked at his fingers. Two of the digits were scarred. “Yes, the acid!” His memory was starting to return. “I was watching the Messengers of Vergehen and I fell. Biswik!” Something happened to Biswik his familiar. Something very terrible and very painful had befallen his blackbird. “I was blinded, by the priestess and then came the pain. That’s all I can remember,” Arrivand whispered to himself. He needed to speak and to hear his own voice.
“So, you live?” Another warm voice spoke from behind a nearby curtain of dirty cloth.
Arrivand jumped with a start. It was hard to tell what sort of a place he was in. The building was obviously old, but it looked like it might be some sort of house of worship. He did not recognize the holy symbols, though. It did not look like any of the temples in the castle. An old man with a baldpate and the worn robes of a priest pulled the curtain aside. His face was round and cheery in stark contrast to his drab surroundings.
“Who are you, and where am I?” The angry apprentice to the Dark Lord demanded hoarsely.
“Relax, you are safe. I am Helious, priest of Mariksis and this is his humble temple. You were brought here because you were dying. I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of stopping that condition.” The old priest turned the corners of his mouth upwards in a smile.
Arrivand lost all his bluster with that revelation. “Thank you,” he mumbled in reply.
“Don’t mention it, and you should be thanking Mariksis, not me. I’m just a mortal vessel here to spread his good work. He is the Father of Community, and Master of Crafts, Music, and Dance.” Arrivand did not look impressed. Gods were gods to him. Real power lay in the magical arts of wizardry. “You should try resting a while longer. You’ve been out for months. I think the Dark Lord has given up on you. He hasn’t sent for word of your condition in eight days. I really can’t say I blame him, though.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Arrivand questioned quite put off by the statement.
“Oh, no offense, my boy, but you were in pretty poor shape when they brought you here. Your condition, added with the fact that Lord Meiron loses more apprentices than most lose childhood teeth, made me think he would lose interest in you sooner or later.” Helious chuckled at his own joke, but his patient did not see the humor. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to you? I know it had to be magical in nature. Besides the acid dipped fingers, you had no physical marks of injury.” The old priest looked on the resting man with a curious face.
Arrivand hesitated, and then spoke, “It was a mere accident, scrying gone bad.”
Helious did not believe the half-truth, but neither did he push the issue. “I would suggest you take another day at least of bed rest to regain your strength. Knowing Lord Meiron, the moment he sees you awake he’ll throw you right back into this disgusting war. You’re not ready for that.” The kind priest was making sure the worn blanket covered the apprentice‘s bare feet.
Arrivand nodded his agreement then adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. His whole body ached. He knew the man’s estimation of his lord to be correct, and he could use a little more time to think if nothing else.
“Tell me, how is the war progressing?” He asked out of bored curiosity.
Arrivand did not really care who won or lost as long as he got what he was after. If Meiron lost, then maybe it was time to move on taking with him what he had learned; but, if his master won, there stood the possibility for much more power gain under the ancient man until the time to seek out his own prominence arrived. Either way, Arrivand would find his path to greatness.
Helious wrinkled his brow and shook his head softly. “How does a war ever progress, my son? It has been bloody, pointless and destructive. From what little news reaches these walls, Lord Meiron has infiltrated Kandair. But, the Kandairians have formed a strong resistance. They don’t intend to just roll over and give up their homes. Who can blame them? I just pray it all ends soon. Less life will be lost that way and the healing can begin for both sides.”
The foreign mage nodded his understanding. It was a nice sentiment. It was largely wasted on the apprentice for he was not particularly concerned with the welfare of others, but he did appreciate the sincerity behind the words. A groan sounded from somewhere across the room behind another curtain.
“If you’ll excuse me, one of the gladiators needs attention.” Helious patted the apprentice’s leg. “I hope you’ll consider what I said, at least rest another day. It’s for your own good.” The priest was off to attend to the other patient.
Arrivand lay quite still in deep thought. How much did Meiron know? He still lived, so either his master was clueless as to what he had been up to when he was struck down; or the evil man wanted to extract some information from him before he died. The later seemed unlikely if he was left unattended here in this forgotten place. What a gamble this would be, the apprentice mused. He would walk right back into Castle Drackmoore as if nothing had ever happened. He would have to gaze back into those black hungry eyes and lie to his master, the all-powerful wizard. Could anyone successfully lie to the Dark Lord? There was only one way to find out.
“Time to concoct a believable story, or two,” he smiled to himself.
There was a nervous excitement tickling the pit of his stomach. Facing Meiron again was an enormous risk. It reminded him of the time he bet everything he owned on one round of dice. That time he had won, but would he be so lucky this time? Arrivand did so love games of chance. There was nothing like them to get ones heart pumping and blood flowing.
- Chapter 3 -
Sage Advice
“This is a language I don’t recognize,” the old sage stated bluntly. “It’s a very, very old language. You can tell by the structure of these markings and their arrangement in this flowing pattern.” Herrin studied the rune-covered parchment with intense interest. She pointed out the subtleties but her guests hardly seemed to notice. “Where did you say you found this?”
Tark had to calm himself to answer. He grew extremely frustrated to hear the sage say she did not recognize it either. They visited four others before her. All were people the respective towns noted for their intellect and knowledge. One monk, one apothecary, two scribes, and now a sage, and no one could give him any answers. This search for a purpose was growing intolerable. Was he to wander the whole of Pangias with nothing but a glowing rock and a bunch of scribbled symbols that meant nothing, hoping that his quest would appear before him? He never wanted any of this to begin with.
“I didn’t say, but it was wrapped around this gem.”
Tark pulled the pulsing stone from beneath his shirt. This was the first time he revealed the all-important item to one of the supposed experts. The gladiator knew he had to keep its presence under wraps. He knew it was something very valuable. Out here in the wilds, it seemed doubtful she would be sharing his secrets with anyone besides her strange woodland friends. What use could a couple of fey creatures have for the item? The gem, tied securely in a leather cord about his neck, hung over his heart, beneath his leather jerkin.
“King Airos of Kandair told me I was a ‘chosen one’. I’m not really sure what that’s supposed to mean, but he said that I had to take the artifact to its true destination. I don’t know where that is. That’s why I need your help. None of this makes any sense to me.” Tark let his head sink to rest on one of his hands.
“Oooh! Pretty!” The exclamation came from the old sage’s assistant, Nivit, who had just reentered the small shack through an open window.
To Tark’s surprise and Ado’s dismay, Nivit turned out to be a fairy. She was a sun fairy to be exact. The tiny creature flitted to within inches of the pulsing gemstone.
“What is it?” She asked, still mesmerized by the pulsing light. The more she stared, the more reluctant she grew to remain near it. Eventually, she began to drift away from it cautiously.
&nb
sp; “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Ado snapped irritably.
The gem radiated an intense aura of magic. Normally, this would have drawn the gremlin to its side immediately, but not this time. The magic was simply too strong. It glared with power and frankly, it frightened the little mage. Ado could hardly stand to look upon it, or Nivit, for that matter. Something about the cherubic, elfin-featured girl annoyed the tremlin to his core.
“Nivit, please bring our guests some more tea.” Herrin was overly obsessed with the drink. The sage was very proud of her tasty concoction. Apparently, it was one of the few herbal inventions she found to be well received by others.
She was also trying to pull her assistant away from the artifact. It was clear Tark did not trust anyone so near the precious item. After the brief explanation of how he acquired it, she could not say she blamed him. The fairy nodded enthusiastically and then darted off to retrieve a new pot of the stout stuff. The pretty glowing stone made her uncomfortable anyway.
“So, do you have any idea what it means?” Tark asked, disappointment tingeing his deep voice.
“I have my suspicions,” the old woman replied cryptically. “I will need to do a bit of research before I commit to anything, though.” The sage scrutinized the runes again. “If this pans out, you might have a difficult task ahead of you, young man. It looks like you‘re playing with dangerous, dangerous toys.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Ado grumbled from his nearby seat.
“So, what are your suspicions?” Tark persisted. He wanted something to go on. His hopes were in definite need of a boost. This was the first sign of any insight at all.
“No, no. Sorry, but I never speculate outside of my own head. It’s not good for a sage’s reputation, you know.” Seeing the big man’s defeat, she decided to throw him a hint. She was a softy at heart. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the writing of the ancients,” the old woman chuckled excitedly. She took a sip of her tea and smiled over the rim of the cup.
“What ancients?” Tark questioned.
“You mean THE ancients?” Ado was now the one in awe.
“Just a possibility,” Herrin grinned. She tried to seem calm but her excitement was barely contained.
“How can that be? What would Kandairian royalty be doing with an artifact of the ancients?” Ado was entirely intrigued by this revelation.
“Like I said, I’m not positive just yet, but I have come across similar writing once, long ago.” The rag-covered woman clapped her hands together excitedly.
“Will someone please tell me what we’re talking about here?” Tark all but shouted.
He was tired of the two speaking over him. Herrin and Ado both looked to the big man with sympathy. He suddenly felt like the slow child in class.
“Very well,” Ado smirked, “Here is a quick lesson in Pangian history. According to most historians, the ancients are the ones who founded this world. They also called all of the gods down from the heavens and brought the intelligent races to live upon EL. They created everything, if you believe the legends. Very little is known about who or what they were, and even less is known about what became of them. There, feel better now?” Ado’s sarcastic tone helped further to annoy the gladiator.
“No, I’m not better now! How does that help us in any way, shape, or form?”
“It gives Herrin a direction to research, of course!” Ado rolled his eyes. “Really, this isn’t some form of surgery or complex mathematics. Sometimes I think you get dumber by the day.”
“You little …!” Tark began to move towards Ado’s chair.
“Tea anyone?” The sweetly cheerful voice rang out at just the right time.
In came the fairy with a teapot larger than she was floating in the air before her. Tiny sparkles danced around the base of the pot where some sort of magic held it aloft. The fairy was only about six inches tall and could not hope to carry the pot by conventional means. Herrin’s wrinkled face brightened at the sight of her beloved drink.
“Yes, yes, another round for all! I do so enjoy having guests over for tea.” The elderly lady clasped her hands together in her lap. “Nivit, why don’t you join us? I think you might find these two quite interesting. There is an extra seat next to Ado there.” Ado rolled his eyes again; this just kept getting better and better.
“Really? I’d love to!” The little fairy cheered as she curtseyed. “Why thank you, Herrin.” She glided over to the empty chair and went about fluffing the pillow she would sit on. The tiny girl seemed very dainty. “We get so few guests way out here, and Lilelee doesn’t like tea,” Nivit giggled with excitement. Herrin frowned at the last statement. How could anyone not like her tea?
* * * * * * * * * *
After what seemed like endless hours of senseless babbling to Tark, they learned quite a bit about their new hostesses. Ado was quite the talker himself and the old woman simply fueled his ranting fires. It did tickle Tark a bit to watch the way the fairy’s whole persona grated on the gremlin’s nerves. It was just what Ado loved, the fey folk at their finest. Tark did have to give the tremlin credit, though. He was an expert at divulging information. No question was taboo to the little man. Herrin was a renowned scholar of Pangias who went into exile after her research on a certain antidote for spider venom was used to create a deadly poison, a poison that turned the tides of battle between two powerful noble houses in Merintz some thirty years past. Evidently, the woman had never totally recovered from her unintentional involvement in the feud. Nivit was captured by a traveling merchant in a distant land who was then ambushed by some of the resident lizard men on a journey through these swamps. Herrin rescued the fairy from certain doom at the reptilian hands. Lost and alone, Nivit stayed on to help the kind old woman however she could. Ado managed to describe the companions’ entire journey up to the point where they split up. He added some of his own rather colorful exaggerations, especially where his involvement was concerned; but all in all, he was a pretty accurate storyteller. Tark added a comment here and there, including the portion about his escape from Drackmoore and encounter with the trolls. He included his first meeting with the Lady Dalia and Teevo.
“I’m so sorry!” Nivit blubbered as she flitted over and embraced the gremlin in a hug. The last part of the story, about their child companion, Teevo, sent the sensitive fairy into tears. When Ado’s voice cracked during the telling she nearly burst into wracking sobs.
Ado struggled to free himself of her sniffling embrace. “Release me, woman!” He demanded in disgust.
The fairy let go and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Of course, I understand. We should all be strong, for Teevo’s sake.”
Her doe-like eyes were sparkling with wetness and her bottom lip stuck out trembling. Tark wanted to laugh, but he held it in. The display between tremlin and fairy was quite entertaining. The tiny woman’s dramatics were on par with the gremlin’s own.
Herrin seemed a little more confused than normal. “What happened to the others? Lady Dalia, Flade, and the beautiful priestess … what was her name again?”
“Arianna,” Nivit supplied the missing name eagerly. The tiny girl was very engrossed in their story. She especially liked the description of the tall and beautiful priestess of love.
“They have gone their separate ways by now, I guess,” Tark mumbled. “I can only hope they are safe.”
“Ogre brains over here decided to leave them behind,” Ado spat as he gestured to the gladiator. Tark shot the tremlin a warning glare.
“But why?” Herrin studied Tark intently. “It seems to me if you have a task the likes of which I think you might ahead of you, then any additional assistance would be welcomed. Grand quests are better with friends at your side, or so all of the stories would lead one to believe.”
“This is my problem, not theirs,” Tark snapped angrily. “They were loyal and foolhardy and I’d rather not drag anyone else down with me if I can help it,” the gladiator grumbled. Before either of the women could c
omment he grunted, “The gremlin doesn’t count.” Ado sighed loudly and dipped his head for effect, as if the slight actually bothered him.
Tark thought through his decision to separate from the others many times. He did not need anyone else second-guessing him now. It was hard enough for him as it stood.
“Forgive me,” Herrin whispered, “It isn’t my place to judge.”
Tark shrugged away the apology. “What will it take for you to be certain what those runes stand for?” The big man was eager to shift the conversation back to his goal.
“I will need to take a trip to the Temple of Nickadameous. There is a great library within that dates back several centuries. I’m certain I can learn more there.”
“How long will that take?” Tark did not like the sound of this. He had been wandering the countryside for months now. His patience was wearing thin.
“A couple of weeks there, a few days of research, a couple of weeks back.” The sage was mulling over the variables in her head. “A month, give or take a week.”
“A month!” Tark was not happy with the woman’s estimate at all. “We haven’t even discussed payment, and what are we supposed to do while we wait?” The gladiator tangled one hand into his wavy black mane as his head fell forward again. He felt as if another day of waiting would drive him mad.
