Chasing the Prophecy

by Brandon Mull

  Nedwin drew the sword. It rasped faintly while escaping from the sheath. Copernum mumbled and shifted slightly. Nedwin raised the weapon high and brought it down hard.

  The sharp blade sliced through the scrawny neck. Nedwin did not pause to relish the success. It was simply a mission accomplished. He moved away from the bed, back toward the fireplace. But then he paused.

  The sword was sharp and heavy. Almost a cleaver. And Copernum had a skinny neck. But the neck had bones and muscle and tendons. The blade had cut through too cleanly. And why had there been no blood?

  When Nedwin turned back, the body was leaning over the far side of the bed. There was still no blood. The severed head remained on the pillow, glaring at him. It was not an expression that had frozen on the face at the moment of the execution. The traitor was clearly still alive.

  Copernum was a displacer! No wonder the head had separated so neatly! The knowledge stunned Nedwin. The secret had been kept perfectly. Yet there was the proof, a decapitated head that clearly remained alert.

  Raising his short sword again, Nedwin charged the bed. The headless body turned, lunged, and plunged a sword into him. Nedwin staggered back, falling to the floor. Copernum must have kept the sword by his bedside. There was no mistaking that the wound was fatal. It didn’t hurt, but he was going to die.

  The body reclaimed the head, and Copernum came to stand over him, his eyes narrow. “That was very foolish, Nedwin.” He rubbed his neck. “You could have injured me. Fortunately, I have a few secrets. It will take a better man than you to claim my life. Revenge is an ugly business, Nedwin, as you are aptly demonstrating.”

  “Justice,” Nedwin managed. At any moment he would pass out. He clung to his awareness.

  “Justice, you say? Yes, you learned much about the emperor’s justice at my hands. I would love to give you another taste of justice. Or why just a taste, when we could have a feast? We used to have such times, the two of us.”

  Hands trembling, Nedwin produced a vial from around his neck. He swiftly uncapped it, raised it to his lips, and upended it, swallowing the contents.

  “No need to poison yourself,” Copernum chuckled. “You have escaped me. Your wound is plainly lethal. This time death will have to be justice enough. It would have been more entertaining to take you alive, but I can still make an example of you.”

  Nedwin tried to reply, but his voice would not cooperate. There was still no pain, but his vision was dimming, and he could hardly breathe. Copernum continued to talk, the words unintelligible, like a low conversation heard through a thick door. An irrelevant conversation, Nedwin realized. He had failed. He closed his eyes. No! What if he got up? What if he found the strength to pull the sword from his body? What if he used it to strike down the traitor? Maybe Copernum would finally stop talking. The man had always talked too much, especially during torture.

  Nedwin tried to sit up. He could not even raise his head! He tried to swallow, but his throat was not working. He could not open his eyes. He seemed disconnected from his body. Where was he? Oh, yes. The royal bedchamber. He had failed. He was dying. So this was what it felt like. He wondered what would come next. While Copernum droned on, he painlessly slipped away.

  CHAPTER 31

  A PRUDENT PRECAUTION

  Tark trudged toward his tent, a steaming bowl of stew cradled in one arm. No longer stationed inside East Keep, he now slept near the shore of Lake Fellion with Ferrin and several others who had worked around the clock to learn the secrets of the lost mine hidden below the water.

  After entering his makeshift home, Tark sat and blew across the surface of his stew. He dipped his spoon and tried a tentative sip. It would not do for him to burn his tongue and ruin the taste of his final supper. With the armies of Maldor poised to arrive sometime tomorrow, the cook had included extra meat, vegetables, and seasonings.

  Most men who understood anything about the coming battle believed that tonight would be their last. They had no idea that tomorrow morning Galloran would initiate a massive retreat. If Tark succeeded in his task, most of the host Galloran had assembled should survive.

  Tark sipped the salty broth. Whether he succeeded or failed in the mine tomorrow, he would not see another sunset. He had paused to ponder that thought on the way to his tent, gazing westward, appreciating the red highlights on the distant clouds as seldom before.

  The exploration of the lake had succeeded. They knew where the mine was located. Ferrin had scouted it and given extensive details on where to find the sealed portion of the tunnels. All that remained was for Tark to follow the instructions, unseal the closed section, and cause an explosion like Lyrian had never known.

  His third bite of stew contained some meat and onion and required some chewing. He had tasted better stew, but not often. As his farewell supper it would suffice. How was he supposed to make up for all the meals he would never eat during a single sitting? The idea was ludicrous. It was enough to enjoy a simple stew while contemplating his upcoming assignment and all it would mean to so many.

  He heard the conversation begin in the tent beside him without heeding the words. It was not common to overhear conversations in Ferrin’s tent. Unless engaged in a scouting mission or a strategy session, the displacer kept to himself these days.

  “I want an explanation” were the first words from Ferrin that made Tark start paying attention.

  “Think it through,” answered a voice. Was that Naman? “Everything hinges on this operation. Must I elaborate? We simply cannot afford the risk.”

  “You could afford the risk up until tonight?” Ferrin replied with incredulous contempt.

  “Keep it down,” Naman replied in a softer tone. “There is no need to cause a scene.”

  Tark set his stew aside and walked out of his tent. Less than ten paces away, six seedmen clad in light armor stood in front of Ferrin’s tent. The seedmen did not seek to stop Tark as he crossed and entered.

  Naman and Ferrin both looked over at the intrusion. Naman seemed mildly bothered, and Ferrin looked disgruntled. An additional pair of seedmen guards flanked Naman.

  “What’s going on?” Tark asked.

  “Nothing you need fret over,” Naman said. “We’re just addressing some security concerns. You have a big day looming. Get some rest, Tark.”

  “Security concerns?” Tark asked, his eyes on Ferrin.

  Ferrin met the stare with a neutral expression. “Now that I’ve supplied the location of the mines and scouted them, I’m being arrested.”

  “No need to make it sound so dramatic,” Naman said uncomfortably. “It’s just that you know exactly how to stop our secret offensive tomorrow. The high command of the Amar Kabal will sleep better knowing you are free from any temptation of honoring old loyalties.”

  “Your soldiers have kept a close watch on me throughout this process,” Ferrin said. “Isn’t that insulting enough? If I meant to defect, I could have done it long before now.”

  “But not with such vital information,” Naman replied. “Invaluable information that could turn the tide of the war. Information that could earn you forgiveness from any past indiscretions. You have submitted to other measures to ensure your loyalty. We will release you after events play out tomorrow.”

  Ferrin shook his head. “I submitted to my friends. I submitted to Galloran. If he wants me with him tonight, I would oblige. But I do not sense his involvement in this.”

  “Galloran is trying to contact the girl again,” Naman said. “He has much on his mind. The logistics we will face tomorrow are intricate. It will be impossible to sufficiently prepare for all contingencies. There is no need to bring him into this.”

  Ferrin reddened slightly. “There is considerable need. I did not betray my people for you. I did it for a select few, including Galloran. Keep away from me, Naman. Despite appearances, I remain a displacer. We have a long history with you seedfolk. I will not be made the prisoner of my enemies.”

  Naman’s countenance darkened. “If you ope
nly admit that you view us as enemies, the need to take you into custody is increased, not diminished. I had hoped to keep this civil. Tark, you may want to step outside.”

  His expression unreadable, Ferrin looked to Tark.

  “Is this really necessary?” Tark asked. “Ferrin has proven loyal. He could stay with me.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Naman said. “I know you have spent months as comrades, and you are right to show some loyalty. Ferrin has served all of us well. We mean him no harm. He will be comfortable. He will be released tomorrow as a friend of the Amar Kabal, the first displacer to receive such an honor. We are simply ensuring that he can be released as a hero.”

  Ferrin fixed Naman with a level gaze. “If you arrest me this evening, do not ever call me a friend. It would be a greater insult than I could bear.”

  “As you wish,” Naman replied stiffly. “Will you come quietly, or must we drag you from here piece by piece?”

  Ferrin looked to Tark. “Make sure Galloran hears of this.” He turned his eyes back to Naman. “Or is Tark to be detained as well?”

  “Tark’s allegiance is not in question,” Naman replied. “He is welcome to convey whatever information he likes to Galloran. I will stand by this decision before any authority in the land. It is a just and prudent precaution.”

  “Take me with him,” Tark offered. “If Ferrin is to be held under guard, hold me alongside him.”

  “No,” Ferrin said. “I would rather that news of my arrest reach Galloran. I’ll go quietly, Naman, though under protest.”

  “Your protest is noted,” Naman said. He nodded to the two soldiers in the room, who moved forward, seized the displacer, and ushered him from the tent.

  Tark followed. The seedmen outside formed up around Ferrin, marching him away.

  “Make no mistake,” Tark heard Ferrin say, “the Amar Kabal have not made a friend tonight.”

  Tark stood outside the tent in the fading twilight. It would do no good to seek out Galloran immediately. The king was on the water, and would be for the better part of an hour.

  Returning to his tent, Tark found his soup still reasonably warm. The musician had never trusted Ferrin, but he disliked the decision to arrest him. Keep watch on him? Sure. But seizing him like this seemed a certain way to provoke him. Tark would definitely share the news with Galloran. Now that the seedmen had made their move, he hoped the Amar Kabal would keep the displacer under very close guard. Something about Ferrin’s brooding calm throughout the confrontation had left Tark feeling uncomfortable.

  CHAPTER 31

  A PRUDENT PRECAUTION

  Tark trudged toward his tent, a steaming bowl of stew cradled in one arm. No longer stationed inside East Keep, he now slept near the shore of Lake Fellion with Ferrin and several others who had worked around the clock to learn the secrets of the lost mine hidden below the water.

  After entering his makeshift home, Tark sat and blew across the surface of his stew. He dipped his spoon and tried a tentative sip. It would not do for him to burn his tongue and ruin the taste of his final supper. With the armies of Maldor poised to arrive sometime tomorrow, the cook had included extra meat, vegetables, and seasonings.

  Most men who understood anything about the coming battle believed that tonight would be their last. They had no idea that tomorrow morning Galloran would initiate a massive retreat. If Tark succeeded in his task, most of the host Galloran had assembled should survive.

  Tark sipped the salty broth. Whether he succeeded or failed in the mine tomorrow, he would not see another sunset. He had paused to ponder that thought on the way to his tent, gazing westward, appreciating the red highlights on the distant clouds as seldom before.

  The exploration of the lake had succeeded. They knew where the mine was located. Ferrin had scouted it and given extensive details on where to find the sealed portion of the tunnels. All that remained was for Tark to follow the instructions, unseal the closed section, and cause an explosion like Lyrian had never known.

  His third bite of stew contained some meat and onion and required some chewing. He had tasted better stew, but not often. As his farewell supper it would suffice. How was he supposed to make up for all the meals he would never eat during a single sitting? The idea was ludicrous. It was enough to enjoy a simple stew while contemplating his upcoming assignment and all it would mean to so many.

  He heard the conversation begin in the tent beside him without heeding the words. It was not common to overhear conversations in Ferrin’s tent. Unless engaged in a scouting mission or a strategy session, the displacer kept to himself these days.

  “I want an explanation” were the first words from Ferrin that made Tark start paying attention.

  “Think it through,” answered a voice. Was that Naman? “Everything hinges on this operation. Must I elaborate? We simply cannot afford the risk.”

  “You could afford the risk up until tonight?” Ferrin replied with incredulous contempt.

  “Keep it down,” Naman replied in a softer tone. “There is no need to cause a scene.”

  Tark set his stew aside and walked out of his tent. Less than ten paces away, six seedmen clad in light armor stood in front of Ferrin’s tent. The seedmen did not seek to stop Tark as he crossed and entered.

  Naman and Ferrin both looked over at the intrusion. Naman seemed mildly bothered, and Ferrin looked disgruntled. An additional pair of seedmen guards flanked Naman.

  “What’s going on?” Tark asked.

  “Nothing you need fret over,” Naman said. “We’re just addressing some security concerns. You have a big day looming. Get some rest, Tark.”

  “Security concerns?” Tark asked, his eyes on Ferrin.

  Ferrin met the stare with a neutral expression. “Now that I’ve supplied the location of the mines and scouted them, I’m being arrested.”

  “No need to make it sound so dramatic,” Naman said uncomfortably. “It’s just that you know exactly how to stop our secret offensive tomorrow. The high command of the Amar Kabal will sleep better knowing you are free from any temptation of honoring old loyalties.”

  “Your soldiers have kept a close watch on me throughout this process,” Ferrin said. “Isn’t that insulting enough? If I meant to defect, I could have done it long before now.”

  “But not with such vital information,” Naman replied. “Invaluable information that could turn the tide of the war. Information that could earn you forgiveness from any past indiscretions. You have submitted to other measures to ensure your loyalty. We will release you after events play out tomorrow.”

  Ferrin shook his head. “I submitted to my friends. I submitted to Galloran. If he wants me with him tonight, I would oblige. But I do not sense his involvement in this.”

  “Galloran is trying to contact the girl again,” Naman said. “He has much on his mind. The logistics we will face tomorrow are intricate. It will be impossible to sufficiently prepare for all contingencies. There is no need to bring him into this.”

  Ferrin reddened slightly. “There is considerable need. I did not betray my people for you. I did it for a select few, including Galloran. Keep away from me, Naman. Despite appearances, I remain a displacer. We have a long history with you seedfolk. I will not be made the prisoner of my enemies.”

  Naman’s countenance darkened. “If you openly admit that you view us as enemies, the need to take you into custody is increased, not diminished. I had hoped to keep this civil. Tark, you may want to step outside.”

  His expression unreadable, Ferrin looked to Tark.

  “Is this really necessary?” Tark asked. “Ferrin has proven loyal. He could stay with me.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Naman said. “I know you have spent months as comrades, and you are right to show some loyalty. Ferrin has served all of us well. We mean him no harm. He will be comfortable. He will be released tomorrow as a friend of the Amar Kabal, the first displacer to receive such an honor. We are simply ensuring that he can be released as
a hero.”

  Ferrin fixed Naman with a level gaze. “If you arrest me this evening, do not ever call me a friend. It would be a greater insult than I could bear.”

  “As you wish,” Naman replied stiffly. “Will you come quietly, or must we drag you from here piece by piece?”

  Ferrin looked to Tark. “Make sure Galloran hears of this.” He turned his eyes back to Naman. “Or is Tark to be detained as well?”

  “Tark’s allegiance is not in question,” Naman replied. “He is welcome to convey whatever information he likes to Galloran. I will stand by this decision before any authority in the land. It is a just and prudent precaution.”

  “Take me with him,” Tark offered. “If Ferrin is to be held under guard, hold me alongside him.”

  “No,” Ferrin said. “I would rather that news of my arrest reach Galloran. I’ll go quietly, Naman, though under protest.”

  “Your protest is noted,” Naman said. He nodded to the two soldiers in the room, who moved forward, seized the displacer, and ushered him from the tent.

  Tark followed. The seedmen outside formed up around Ferrin, marching him away.

  “Make no mistake,” Tark heard Ferrin say, “the Amar Kabal have not made a friend tonight.”

  Tark stood outside the tent in the fading twilight. It would do no good to seek out Galloran immediately. The king was on the water, and would be for the better part of an hour.

  Returning to his tent, Tark found his soup still reasonably warm. The musician had never trusted Ferrin, but he disliked the decision to arrest him. Keep watch on him? Sure. But seizing him like this seemed a certain way to provoke him. Tark would definitely share the news with Galloran. Now that the seedmen had made their move, he hoped the Amar Kabal would keep the displacer under very close guard. Something about Ferrin’s brooding calm throughout the confrontation had left Tark feeling uncomfortable.