“I will see you back in Boraila then,” said Saroth, turning to leave.
Balthus stepped before him. “I envy you, Saroth. I wish that I could come with you and that I had the skill to enter the Rotian capital unseen. Should you come across the one who cut this scar into my face, I would not be angry if you killed him.”
Saroth smiled coldly and brushed past him. “Vengeance is not my priority, invoker.”
Balthus watched him walk away and glanced at Draliak.
“We will be going back to Boraila soon,” the commander said. “Help the men search the rest of the fortress. There may be something of worth here to take back with us.”
Balthus barely heard him. Instead, he remembered the words Sephonis spoke to him when they were last together.
One day, you will find the one who did this and, when that day comes, you will have your vengeance.
A smile played across the invoker’s face. Sephonis had always been right before. He looked forward to that day.
Chapter 20
Sephonis stood before the gateway, staring into its cold darkness. He shivered and could not help but feel vulnerable for the first time in months.
The Dar’ota’s link had been temporarily severed and this left Sephonis alone to contemplate. When the link was in place, his mind was focused on the task ahead and no negative thoughts arose. Now, he considered what he had allowed himself to become; an almost mindless servant of the Dar’ota.
If the link was not reconnected, then Sephonis knew he would be dead within the month. Before he had agreed to the link, he had been a sickly man with an incurable illness. In Shada-Kavielian society, those who were weak were often cast aside but the Dar’ota had seen something in him; a power surpassing the other mages. In order to ensure that Sephonis’ power was not lost, the Dar’ota formed the link to channel raw energy direct to him so as to both sustain him and increase his abilities.
When he was made high mage, Sephonis had been stunned but soon learnt that he had been chosen for a reason unbeknownst to the rest of Shada-Kaviel. The Dar’ota had ruled their land for decades but his power was diminishing.
Once a Shada-Kavielian mage like Sephonis, the Dar’ota had bound himself with another entity; a demonic being who offered him the power he sought. Once the two were bound together, it gave them the power to rule both Shada-Kaviel and the dark lands where the demon’s minions roamed. Over time, the Dar’ota became more demon than man and shut himself away in the throne hall, allowing access to only those closest to him. As the demon’s minions drained their own lands dry and began dying, his own power began to weaken and he was forced to seek out new realms to conquer so that they would thrive again. Ultimately, this world would be consumed by the demonic army the Dar’ota was nurturing and the Rotian Kingdom was simply the next land to face annihilation.
Sephonis felt his chest ache and his limbs grew weary. He needed the power the Dar’ota gave but in return he was leading Draliak’s army to an empty victory over the Rotians. He could not attempt to usurp the Dar’ota as, even if he did, he would surely die soon after. He hoped that fate would eventually lead him to a cure for his illness and, at that time, he could consider his future again. However, for the moment, he had to remain focused on their invasion of the Rotian Kingdom.
Still, the gateway remained black and the thought crept into his mind that perhaps the Dar’ota had decided to cut the link permanently. Shaking his head clear of paranoia, Sephonis imagined that the Dar’ota had needed to shift his focus back to the more unholy minions briefly but he did not want to guess for what reason.
He looked down at his hands and saw that the skin on the back of them was thin; veins and bone standing out. He was becoming more and more like the Dar’ota each day, he knew, but he was determined not to lose his mind.
Unable to look at what he had become any longer, he closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted to Draliak and Balthus. They would be returning to Boraila soon to give their report on the Turambar attack and he needed to ensure that neither of them discovered the Dar’ota’s plans yet. If the commander knew, then he would surely refuse to continue with the invasion and Sephonis needed him.
Balthus was his student and he did not want the young invoker to head down the same path he had. The Dar’ota would naturally look to Balthus, having seen the potential in him, should anything happen to Sephonis.
Feeling a shift in the air, the high mage opened his eyes again and watched as the gateway began shimmering. The Dar’ota’s attention was returning to him and he breathed a sigh of relief, then turned his palms upwards and awaited the link to be reestablished.
“I don’t know whether this is wise,” Talgan said as he stood watching the young soldiers go through their training exercises.
“What do you mean?” asked Jolas, moving alongside him.
“We are putting so much resource into training new recruits for the army and I believe that we should be spending the money in other areas.”
Jolas glanced at the youngest member of the council and noticed the troubled look upon his face. “Go on.”
“The king talks of travelling to the other cities and of the new plans for expansion of the army but surely there are other aspects of the kingdom we should be focusing on.”
“Such as?”
“Building more docks to allow for an increase in our fleet. We should be exploring further than the nearby islands to the west. It is surely a time to expand the kingdom first and then build the army.”
“And what of the men who are being trained as agents to infiltrate Naskador’s criminal network?”
Talgan shrugged. “I agree that Naskador’s underworld could easily begin spilling out into the rest of the kingdom so we should be looking for ways to keep it subdued. However, why the king insists on going there himself defies logic. When the killers lurking there learn of his visit, they will certainly intend on capturing him.”
“The thought had crossed my mind too. They could ransom him for any price.”
“You’re his closest advisor, Jolas. Can you not persuade him to stay here for the time being? Or at least advise he visit Shulgard first?”
Jolas laughed. “Do you forget what Afaron is like? When his mind is set on something, he cannot be deterred.”
“Are the ilfiltrators being trained here too?” Talgan asked, finding no amusement in Jolas’ words.
“No, they are being trained in another part of the city. It will be some time yet before they are ready to go to Naskador.”
Talgan scanned the young faces of the recruits below and felt the pangs of guilt stabbing at him again. The courtyard was split into four sections but many young Rotian men were being put through their paces. Some sparred with a variety of hand-to-hand weapons, learning to parry with a shield and thrust with a blade, whereas others were being taught to accurately use a bow or crossbow.
On the far side of the courtyard, Talgan could see a group of recruits gathered around an officer as he showed them how to move successful in combat whilst wearing full battle armour.
As the daylight diminished, he knew that all of the recruits would retire to the rooms within the training barracks to study. Afaron insisted that all soldiers understood the intricacies of combat tactics so that there was no hesitation in the heat of battle. A new recruit heading out into battle for the first time would be trained to react to every order and hopefully every obstacle they faced.
“Many of these recruits will end up being sent either to Turambar or Calden for their first assignment,” stated Jolas. “Turambar is relatively quiet but Sarin usually orders any newcomers out into the woods to train further in different terrain. He is a tough taskmaster when it comes to patrol schedules too.”
“What of Calden?”
“Very different. The first time a recruit stands on the eastern battlements and stares out into the Skardan pass, they understand the anxiety that the veterans based there feel every day. Imagining an army of Skardans approaching is e
nough to terrify even the officers at Calden.
It’s more the thought of what is happening beyond the pass, I expect. Many soldiers spend their nights wondering what the Skardans are doing on the other side.”
Talgan turned to face the older nobleman. “Have you told this story to these recruits yet?”
“Maybe later,” smiled Jolas. “When they are ready to be shipped out.”
“Shall we walk?” Talgan asked him, pointing along the battlement they stood upon towards the steps leading down into the barracks interior.
As they approached the steps, footsteps could be heard below and the councillors watched as a tall, blond-haired man emerged from the gloom of the interior. Dressed in chain mail and bearing a white tabard emblazoned with a crest showing two polearms crossed over a sun, he greeted them with a broad smile and a slight bow.
“Good day to you, my lord Jolas. I noticed you watching the recruits and thought I might speak with you.”
Jolas moved forward and shook the soldier firmly by the hand. “It is good to see you again, Arlath. Allow me to introduce Talgan Akalla, who as you know is also on the king’s council.”
Talgan moved forward. “So this would be Arlath Thellis, who I have heard so much about.”
With a respectful bow of the head, Arlath shook Talgan’s outstretched hand. “It is good to meet you, my lord.”
“How goes the training?” Talgan asked him. “I hear you have excelled in most aspects so far.”
Arlath’s pale blue eyes glinted. “My training has been intense but enjoyable. I look forward to joining the king’s army proper.”
“I hear your father was in Vylandor recently,” Jolas remarked.
“Yes. He only recently travelled back to Kaeril but it was good to see him.”
“Well what can I do for you, Arlath?”
“I was wondering whether you knew when Lord Orgillian and his son would be arriving in Vylandor?”
“I’m afraid not. They have obviously been delayed somewhat. Why do you ask?”
“My father and Lord Orgillian had kept in touch over the years since they last saw each other. Lord Orgillian knew that I was already amongst the recruits here and he wanted me to show Gorric the ropes once he arrived.”
“Well, I’m sure they will be here soon. If we hear anything, we will let you know.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Talgan watched Arlath intently as he spoke with Jolas. The son of Duke Thellis held himself confidently but Talgan detected a hint of arrogance, which was only natural considering that Arlath knew he was being looked at as officer material for his future in the army. Also blessed with looks that no doubt made him irresistible to the opposite sex, Arlath had reason to be arrogant. However, Talgan could not help but wonder whether this attitude would get the young recruit into trouble when exposed to the reality of his duties outside Vylandor.
“Will your officers not be wondering where you are?” Talgan asked Arlath, drawing a curious glance from the recruit.
“I did tell them I was coming up here to speak with Lord Jolas,” he replied, locking eyes with Talgan for a moment.
“You told them?” Talgan frowned.
“I meant that I asked whether I could speak with Lord Jolas.” Arlath looked back to the older councillor. “Thank you for your time, my lord. I must return to training.”
Arlath spun on his heel and quickly vanished below.
“What was that all about?” Jolas asked.
“Just because he is the son of a duke, it doesn’t mean he can dictate what he does and when he does it. He needs reminding of that.”
Jolas rolled his eyes. “You need to smile more, Talgan. Lately you have been quick to anger and your words are often accompanied by venom. Arlath is a model recruit and is setting the standard that others strive for.”
“I believe it is important for all recruits to understand humility. Sometimes even the best of us need to be brought back down from their pedestal.”
Jolas studied Talgan’s face for a moment, seeing his concerned expression. “You sound like something is playing on your mind, my friend. What is it?”
Talgan shook his head. “Ignore my ramblings. I have not been sleeping well and I am just worried about Afaron’s plans to visit Naskador.”
“We are all worried,” cried Jolas, slapping him on the back. “Now, come on, lets get you out of here before you upset any more recruits.”
Chapter 21
The journey from the settlement had been a sombre affair.
Rynn sat in the back of one of the wagons, staring north. He was almost expecting to see an army of the black-armoured invaders catching them up. He thought of his time in Barentin and images of Forven’s body kept entering his mind. A chill ran along his spine when he thought of the cleric’s body still lying in the mud at the back of the destroyed tavern. He was the only person who could mourn Forven’s death. Something had happened to the rest of the order in Boraila and he was angry at himself for not finding out where they had gone. Of course, he knew that they had either been killed or taken away but he began wondering why Ardan had kept him from the same fate. Three times he had encountered the invaders and each time he had escaped.
Rynn looked over his shoulder at Varayan, Khir and Kithia, who all sat lost in their own thoughts. They were the reason he had escaped death so many times, especially Varayan. It seemed that a lifetime had passed since the thief was trying to steal their money.
Rynn caught Kithia’s eye and she smiled. He felt his heart lift when she did so and quickly returned his gaze to the road behind them. His feelings for Gorric’s sister were getting stronger by the day but he was reluctant to dwell on them. Why would such a strong and independent woman be interested in an acolyte who could hardly fend for himself?
He saw the way that they all looked at him ever since he healed Ilkar’s wound. The mere fact that the corporal was walking and talking again was a miracle. Ever since he had been compelled to read the scroll back in Turambar, Rynn had felt a strange energy within him. He did not know how he healed Ilkar though. It was as if someone else had taken control of his body and he was simply observing like the rest of his companions. Occasionally, symbols from the scroll flashed in his mind and he desperately tried to make sense of them.
“How’re you feeling?”
Rynn was jolted from his thoughts by Kithia’s voice as she moved to sit opposite him. He looked into her green eyes and, for a moment, thought he saw apprehension in them. She had been frightened by his actions at the settlement and he longed to reach out to her; to hold her and show that she should not be afraid of him.
“I feel…tired,” he said, forcing a weak smile.
“We all are. You should try to get some sleep though. We do have a few more days left before we reach Vylandor.”
“I will sleep when I know those killers aren’t following us,” shivered Rynn, glancing back to the road.
“We’re safe for now.”
“We thought that at Turambar too.”
Kithia placed her hand on his leg. “It is a difficult time but we still have each other.”
“Kithia…” Rynn wanted to tell her how he felt but the words refused to come out. “I’m sorry if I scared you back at the settlement.”
“I was just shocked, not scared. I still don’t understand what happened though. I assume it has something to do with the scroll you read.”
Rynn nodded. “Yes, but the strange thing is that I can feel that power within me yet I cannot focus on it. It frightens me that I simply became a spectator in my own body.”
“Perhaps in time you will begin to understand it,” shrugged Kithia. “I have never seen anyone use magic before. I had heard tales of it but to see it right in front of me was…exhilarating.”
Rynn heard the excitement in her voice and felt himself blush. “To think that, just prior to leaving Boraila originally, I had been talking to Forven about the magical arts. Within the space of a few days, I have wit
nessed the dark powers of magic and now I apparently am a magic-user…of sorts.”
Kithia leant closer to him. “Well, you’re still Rynn to me and I’ll never forget our first meeting. I will always remember the look on your face when I leapt on you from the wardrobe.”
“How could I forget that?” smirked Rynn.
Kithia laughed and moved her hand from his leg to slap at his face playfully. “You were lucky my brother was there.”
“When you two have quite finished your lover’s quarrel,” shouted Varayan. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Kithia gave a scowl in Varayan’s direction and Rynn drew in a deep breath as he gazed at her, glad that this journey born of darkness at least allowed him to spend more time with her.
Karrid and Jolas stood staring down at the map of the Rotian Kingdom, which had been unrolled and pinned down onto the table in the meeting chambers.
“Well?” Afaron glared at them both from the head of the table.
“Our army stands at over six thousand,” said Jolas, glancing at the king. “Once the new recruits here in the city are fully trained, it will be much higher. It is all well and good taking word to Talabec, Kaeril, Shulgard and the rest that they are to increase their recruitment efforts but we do not want to push them too hard.”
“I agree,” added Karrid. “People will think that there is a reason for the army to grow so quickly and may start panicking.”
Afaron sighed. “If this kingdom is to grow, then we need an army to support it. Morassia rules nearly all lands in the north and Skarda the lands in the east. We barely cover the west and so we need to begin turning our eyes to Karnath.”
“So you plan to expand the kingdom south,” stated Jolas. “We’re not planning on conquering our neighbours, are we?”
Afaron scowled at the sarcasm in his old friend’s voice. “Of course not. However, what happens if we expand only to find Skarda doing the same. Or what if Skarda finally realize that the Rotian Kingdom is weaker than they think. The war against them meant that we had to rebuild and I know that we could not survive if they came again now.”
Severed Destinies Page 18
