The Elementalist : Next of Kin: The Kothian Chronicles

by Andrew Wood

  After spending an hour or so just wandering around the keep chatting, Maxim and his father stood watching from atop the outer wall. The chilly winter wind had eased of late, but was still cold enough to make Maxim wish he had put on some warmer clothes. He looked over to his father, wondering how it was that he was not shivering as he was. Surely if Icenia were a much warmer place, as his father had made out, the man should be feeling the cold much worse than he should, but yet here he stood not looking remotely uncomfortable. "Father...do you not feel the cold?" Maxim finally asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

  His father smiled at him, "Another use of our magic Max," he said, "I know you have the ability of manipulating the air around us, you have already shown me that much, and from what I hear, you are somewhat familiar with fire." Maxim nodded, and listened as his father explained that by utilising the two together, he surrounded his body with a barrier of warm air, and with a wave of his hand, he included Maxim inside that cocoon of warmth. "This is the kind of thing you would have been taught as a child, once your magic had been brought to the fore. I can teach you if you like?" Joren asked. Maxim smiled, feeling the difference of the warm air around him, was certainly much more comfortable than shivering in the cold. "I would like that very much...thank you," he replied.

  The pair watched on, as Zack and his father were each stood beside one of the red robed figures from Icenia. "They will probably be able to travel much further, much more quickly than you and your friend would have done," Joren said trying not to sound to condescending. Maxim just took the remark for what it was, a matter of fact, and not one that sounded boastful. He watched his friend disappear with a flicker of light, off into the distance and then completely out of sight.

  After lunch, the pair stayed in the dining hall to chat, despite it now being mostly empty. The staff from the kitchens continued their work, preparing food for the evening meal, whilst the serving staff went around the room clearing and wiping down all the tables. One of the young ladies doing so came over to ask if they would like a drink, and although Joren had not, Maxim had asked if they might have a pot of tea.

  Already knowing that his father held some high position in the way Icenia was run, he enquired whether the nation had an outright leader, such as a king. Joren shook his head, explaining the nation had not had a monarchy ruling them for a very long time. "We have always deemed it better that one man does not have the power to make all the decisions; that is why we have three of us doing so," he explained.

  Maxim picked up on those last words immediately, "Three of you...does that mean you are one of the leaders father?" Joren grimaced a little, knowing only too well, where this conversation would lead once more. Just as it always seemed he was getting on well with his son, the subject always appeared to revert to the subject of his refusal, in not helping Kothia in their war. Despite knowing exactly where the conversation was leading, Joren explained that Icenia was governed by three high lords, of which he was indeed one. Each was responsible for a number of lesser Lords, who in turn ruled over allotted towns and villages. The lords and high lords were positions held by families and passed down as a monarchy would be, to the eldest son.

  Joren was not then surprised when his son asked the next question, "How is it you will not help us, when you are the one making the decisions?" Maxim snapped the annoyance clear in his voice. Joren held up a placating hand, explaining it was not quite as simple as all that. He told his son that he was bound by law, "All such decisions must be agreed by all three high lords, and to do otherwise would mean breaking the very laws I was sworn to uphold. I am sorry Max, but my nation has lived in peace for many centuries, partly because of the system we have in place." Maxim was clearly not giving up though, and enquired why he could not just help anyway, "Nobody would know," he said almost pleading. Joren smiled slightly, sighing heavily, "I am sorry I can not...Can we please not talk about this again?" he asked, hoping his son would change subject.

  Maxim paused for a few moments as he sipped from his cup, before gently placing it back upon the table. "Father," he said, "Did you know that the people attacking our country," he said stating he was Kothian and not Icenian, "Kidnapped me, and tried to manipulate my mind to use me as a weapon?" Joren nodded, "I sensed you were in danger, even from so far away...it is the main reason we sped here as soon as we could."

  "Did you also know that the very people you wish for me to leave and fend for themselves, are the very same ones that travelled through the enemy's own country, to try to rescue me?"

  Joren placed both his hands flat down on the table; he had always thought being reunited with his long lost son would be a joyous happy occasion; it was clearly far from that at the present moment. If he were ever to persuade Maxim to return to Icenia, he knew he would have to give some leeway on the decision to help Kothia. "Come back with me son, and I promise I will do all in my power to help, although swaying the opinion of the other two high lords will not be easy, and I cannot guarantee they will allow me to intervene. I hope your story might help swing them to our side," he added.

  Maxim thought about the offer, and although he knew he was making the relationship with his father a difficult one by doing so, felt he had no option other than to refuse. "I am sorry Father, I cannot leave them. They will need me should the enemy make a move to attack." Joren however had thought of a possible solution to that as well, "Take me to your king...I have a proposal for him," he said standing, feeling he was probably going to regret what he was doing.

  Chapter 21.

  Gorius stood beside his window looking vacantly out across the courtyard below. Despite his forces defeat at Pitford, the news Davan had now captured the Kothian capital city of Berxsley had more than made up for any disappointment he had felt. Despite his neighbour not quite yet being fully vanquished, Bosaria now held control of most of north Kothia. However, he was also aware that taking over and keeping under control, were quite different, and hence dispatched another one thousand troops to help. Five hundred were to go and hold the prize asset of Berxsley, the remainder to be split amongst the other larger towns they had captured, to ensure they remained in Bosarian control.

  He had hoped to celebrate the good news with Shonna, but the elderly lady had, and seemed intent on still doing so, remaining fixated on the task of finding some great magical power, from his large collection of scrolls, parchments and artefacts. Naturally, Shonna was pleased at the success of her king, but she was also wise enough to know that as long as the magicians at Pitford remained, any outright victory was still a long way off.

  Sifting through the pages of dusty old papers may not have been a glamorous task, but she was convinced that if there were to be a solution to their problem, it would lie there. Shonna was sat at a small desk, and under the flickering light of a burning lamp, she carefully scrutinised each and every piece, occasionally making notes as she went. Despite knowing it could take her weeks to examine every item carefully, she was willing to do.

  The collection, a mismatch of items, mainly gathered by Davan, was in fact quite extensive. Apparently, the man had a talent for finding such things, and Gorius explained he thought Davan had some power that drew him to objects of magic. Many of the pages were in fact written in languages she had never seen, although by taking notes and cross-referencing some of them, she had managed to get a rudimentary idea of what some words meant.

  There was one particular artefact that had caught her attention, and despite not knowing why it had drawn her back several times to examine it. Looking like nothing more than an elaborately carved doorframe, Gorius had explained he and Davan had thought it some kind of long distance teleportation device. Shonna on the other hand was certain it was much more than that.

  The wood was clearly very old and dark in colour, and the markings were more than just a pattern. Shonna was convinced they were in fact instructions on how to use the item, perhaps she thought, some kind of spell to make the object work. She had spent the bes
t part of the previous afternoon, cleaning away the years of dust and grime from between the markings so they stood out, making it easier for her to see them. Having done so, she had then drawn out onto several pages of parchment, the symbols and lettering around the frame, hoping that by breaking it down into smaller sections might make her task easier.

  In truth, she had already achieved some small success in working out what a couple of the words were, although she knew that if she were ever to get the object to work, she would have to decipher every last piece of it. Naturally, her biggest concern was not whether she could actually manage to interpret the entire inscription, but even if she did, was there still a magician powerful to make it work? The object had obviously been built in a time when magic was at its zenith; a time when many more people had powers long lost to today's society. The young elementalist they had captured and failed to control, had been the most powerful she had seen in her long years. Many of the magicians of the current day had been self-taught, and many were barely little more than conjurors capable of tricks for entertainment.

  Despite her king thinking she was probably wasting her time, he had sent servants to visit her regularly to take her refreshments and food. He had also offered her the services of a few of the cleverer members of the Bosarian magicians to help her if she required. This offer she had refused, as Shonna always felt she worked better on her own in situations such as this.

  With ink stained hands from the pen she was using, she stood once more to examine the frame more closely, running her bony fingers along the intricate carving. Whoever had constructed the item had obviously been a very skilled person. She held the lamp a little nearer, and noticed something that had not been visible before her cleaning it. Above one of the words was the depiction of a human skull; something she knew usually referred to death. If this were a teleportation device as Gorius had thought, then why would such a symbol be etched upon it? No she thought, this was definitely something much more, and she was determined to find out exactly what.

  In Berxsley, Davan wandered the corridors of the royal palace. The building he thought would have Gorius quite jealous, as it was far more extravagant than its Bosarian counterpart was. Not only were its walls far brighter, and its floors covered with plush carpets stretching along the wide corridors and stairways, it also had much larger rooms. The quality was obvious to see everywhere he looked; even the small items that might otherwise be overlooked had clearly been painstakingly made to look their very best. He ran his hand along one of the doors as he passed by, stopping just briefly to examine the image intricately painted on one of the panels.

  Many of the rooms in the palace had obviously been left just as they were the day the royal family had been forced to flee. Aside from the two rooms that had been ransacked and a little dust atop the surfaces, the place was immaculate, and somewhere Davan had already decided he would be calling home for a while. Naturally keeping such a large place operational would require many staff, and although he would use some Kothians for the more menial duties, he would ensure those who had access to him, would remain Bosarian; especially he thought in the kitchens.

  Having rounded up all the government officials and had them executed, he now had the job of implementing his own people to oversee the running of the city. Naturally, there would be still be pockets of resistance, but he hoped that by clamping down hard on any perpetrators, others would be deterred from causing trouble. He had ordered his troops to maintain a high profile, patrolling the streets and making their presence seen in and around the inns and taverns; buildings he knew were often utilised for troublemakers meeting up. On taking the city, he had been surprised by the number of refugees clogging up the streets and public spaces, something he had changed immediately; either the people moved or they were killed, the choice he thought, was a fair one.

  Davan had been quite shocked at just how many government officials there had actually been. Why so many men were needed to run a country was beyond him, a few even pleading for their lives offering to serve his regime. He had quickly decided any man willing to change his allegiance could not be trusted, and hence he ordered them killed with the others. The magicians with him had been allowed to utilise some of the governor's houses, with many of them being fine and opulent residences in their own right.

  The soldiers given the task of defending Berxsley had been very indifferent in resisting. Some had merely surrendered en masse, giving up and dropping their weapons as soon as the fighting had started. Others however, had fought much more valiantly, and he had to admit, had showed great courage despite knowing their fight a futile one. A few dozen perhaps had managed to escape via one of the smaller trade gates, and although he had thought about pursuing them, had deemed it not worthwhile. Such a small number would not likely cause him any particular problems, and chasing after them blindly into unknown territory would only likely see him lose valuable men.

  The citizens of Berxsley had woken up to the dawning of a new era. No longer were they subject to the laws of Kothia, but now under the command of Bosaria. Davan had hoped he would not have to execute too many of the people, but had already made up his mind that anybody showing signs of rebellion against his rule would suffer the ultimate price.

  With supplies in the city being plentiful, he at last could afford to allow his own troops to eat as they wished, and not having to ration everything. The people of Berxsley would now be the ones who would have to be a little more careful. Davan had already had his crier's let the Kothians know things were going to change. If the people behaved and carried on their work as usual, they would be allowed food and to live their lives without hindrance. However, should even a small number cause problems, then he had let it known they would all be punished, whether that retribution be as severe as killing people or withholding food supplies, would naturally depend on the individual circumstances.

  After a long and tiring campaign, Davan had finally achieved the task entrusted to him by his friend. Now it was accomplished, he could at last start setting down roots, knowing that for the time being at least, Berxsley would be his home. As part of his reward for conquering the northern part of Kothia, Gorius had allowed him to oversee the lands he had taken, acting as if a king in his own right, although ultimately under the command of Bosaria.

  Chapter 22.

  Maxim and his father waited outside the small study being used by the young king. Within, the monarch was still in his meeting with Ramon and the others, attempting to work out plans to retake both the lands, and the capital city lost to the Bosarians. Maxim was intrigued as to why his father had wanted this sudden meeting, and despite enquiring on more than one occasion, had not been given an answer. "I may as well explain to you at the same time as the others," was the only reply he got.

  Maxim knew that his father would certainly not have changed his mind about aiding their fight against Bosaria, and was now worried that perhaps the man had finally had enough, of what he now thought might be deemed childish outbursts. He knew only too well that if his father wished it, he could take Maxim away by force if necessary, and there would be nothing anybody could do to stop him if he did. Had Maxim tried the man's patience so far, that he was now going to tell Anden they were leaving? He suddenly felt far more nervous about the meeting than he had felt about anything previous.

  Maxim did not have to wait long, as Anden thought it only good manners not to keep his special guest waiting too long. The young monarch stood as they entered the room, and Joren bowed his head just a little as a matter of protocol, "Please be seated," Anden said returning to his own chair. "If you do not mind I would like Ramon and the others to remain to hear what it is you have to say," Anden told him before he had chance to start speaking. Joren nodded, "As you wish your Majesty. I have a proposal for you," he said suddenly peaking everyone's interest, even Darion, who seemed more interested in the flask of brandy on the sideboard, than anything else.

  After being gestured to continue, Joren put forward his
idea. "I wish to take Maxim back to Icenia with me," he started. "Not gonna happen ginger bloke," Darion snapped from the back of the room, before taking another swig from his glass. Anden intervened, "Please allow him to speak Darion," he asked. The old man just shrugged, "Just saying that's all. If old copper top there is thinking of hightailing it out of here with the lad, then he'll have to go through me first."

  Joren had to admire these people for their loyalty to his son. True they only needed him for his abilities, but there was also a level of respect, from both the young and older folk for Maxim, that he found quite endearing.

  Joren started again, and firstly reiterated that he was indeed taking Maxim back home with him. The young elementalist felt his heart sink; it was, as he had feared. He had pushed and pushed his father to help, and in the end gone too far; the man had obviously had enough. "I am sorry...it is my fault father...I have tried to pressure you to help us..." He said once more interrupting the man. Joren merely smiled at his son, "Please let me finish Max," he asked placing a hand on his son's shoulder.