Author’s Preface The following is the story of Lord Kalen Avanir, the young Marquess of Endar, the son of the Duke of Prevan in the Empire of Rhakhaan. A combination of standard narrative and entries from Kalen’s journals, it recounts his adventures with his faithful Squire, cousin and friend, Jad Hurok.
Note: This text is of a slightly different nature than that previously published. Those familiar with the Shadow World will hopefully find this tale enjoyable, and that it enhances their understanding of my world. However, be advised that this story at times deals with what some might call ‘mature themes.’ It is also very much a work in progress, and reader input is welcome.
Prelude
Four voices speak in the darkness.
Voice One: (A beautiful, liquid baritone) “Thank you all for coming.”
Voice Two: (A lilting, High-elven tenor) “I assume this is not an official meeting of the Circle.”
Voice One: “You are correct, Astrologer. I wish to confer regarding your predecessor to this hallowed group, the Lord Ondoval.”
Voice Three: (A female voice, but one with harsh tones) “We discussed him at the last gathering of the Full Circle; he has retreated to his fortress at Ahrentorg and is of little concern to us.”
Voice One: “We failed to consider fully the extent of his powers. I am afraid that a few of our esteemed order are unable to realize the threat Ondoval may pose to our plans.”
Voice Four: (Another Elven voice, slightly deeper; every sentence tinged with casual derision) “That explains four empty chairs.”
Voice Three: “Let us discuss, then! Lay before us the evidence of threat, Elder Mind!”
Voice Four: “I am more interested in why the Elder Mind has chosen not to invite half of our order to this meeting. That may be a threat as great as an insane Lord of the Essænce in a distant citadel.”
Voice One: “As head of the Circle my reasons for whom I summon to council are my own, Iæn Shiin.
“To answer you, my dear,” the voice adopted a gentler, almost patronizing, tone. “I need only remind you of Ondoval’s origins—and that he possesses the Book of Gates. I believe that with it he may have already recovered an item of consummate power… the Shadowstone.”
Voice Three: (After an uncomfortable silence): “You have evidence of the existence of this item? I was lead to understand that it was lost at the end of the First Era when Utha defeated the Empress Kadæna.”
Voice One: “Indeed, that is the tale. However, I need only call your attention to the upheaval of a few days ago. The disruption of the Flows was not a natural aberration. The tremors and storms were caused by interference with our planet’s ancient defense.”
Voice Two: (Incredulous) “You are suggesting that one of the Eyes of Utha is failing?”
Voice One: “I am suggesting that Ondoval assaulted one of the Eyes—the orbs which shield our world from the Flowstorms of Space. He was unsuccessful the first time, but he might not be again. And who is better capable of recovering the Shadowstone from the past? Ondoval is of their kind, a Lord of the Old Race, and with the Book of Gates he might travel to any time or place. He could literally journey to the past and take the stone.”
Voice Two: (now sounding uncertain) “The Book is arduous to use; the flows of time are powerful and difficult to travel.”
Voice Three: “That is insane! No one could want to destroy the Eyes; to do so would leave the world open to—”
Voice Two: “Only a servant of the Unlife itself could be so crazed. He invites his own destruction. That is madness.”
Voice One: “That is my assertion. Ondoval is indeed mad.”
Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6047, Orhan 5, day 15, morning
Along the old Steppe Highway
Eastern Prevan
The morning of the fifth day on our journey from the capital city of Leathes to the northern border of my father’s lands greeted us with dense fog. It added to the cold, the chilling dampness creeping under the thickest wool cloak. Jad and I packed up with hardly a word—unusual for my normally talkative squire. I knew that in part his silence was due to his growing reservations about this journey. I couldn’t blame him; here we were, two teenage boys traveling alone in the northern hinterlands of Rhakhaan, and as my squire he was responsible for my safety.
It’s true that wolves and bears are known to range through these woods, but they almost never attack people. There were legends of stranger creatures: monsters or demons from beyond our world. But though I had read of such, and been assured by my tutors (and my mother!) that they did indeed exist, I have never seen anything more exotic than a small wyvern. And that was in a cage in Haalkitaine.
I suppose a Marquess such as myself would provide a worthwhile hostage for Frelik the would-be usurper, and we had also heard rumors at the last few villages of ‘wild men’ from the Zor wastes clashing with Imperial troops north of the Rhakhaan border. But that was leagues away, we were armed and able swordsmen (Jad certainly more so than myself, even though he is barely sixteen years old and I am three years his elder), and if we weren’t safe on the roads of my father’s duchy in the greatest empire on Jaiman, where was safe?
That argument had worked on my father the Duke, though my mother was less easily convinced. Finally she relented, but only after making us swear on our honor not to enter the Wastes…
Chapter One: Heading North
Lord Kalen Avanir and his Squire Jad Hurok rode side-by-side south down the wide Steppe Highway, allowing their horses to set the pace. The ancient paved road was thousands of years old, and once stretched from Rhakhaan’s coastal city of Lethys in the south to Verzor, the old capital of Zor in the north, and beyond to the Zorian city of Tezra near the pass to Wuliris far to the north. But Zor was no more, destroyed long ago in a terrible cataclysm. Beyond the Rhakhaan/Zor border, the road was left untended, and was now so overgrown as to be almost impossible to find.
But the Empire of Rhakhaan was still strong, and the Emperor saw to it that the old highway in his realm was well maintained. He wanted his subjects to travel easily across the empire, to encourage trade… and increase his own revenue.
As a horse-drawn wagon passed them heading north, they nodded and exchanged greetings with the middle-aged woman at the reins. Kalen noted how she stared then quickly looked away. Probably the ears, he thought.
After the woman passed, Jad glanced at him and rolled his eyes with a smirk. They were thinking the same thing.
Rhakhaan was home to many races, but some were naturally more common than others. Nine of every ten men were of the Shay people, the commoners. The nobility was almost exclusively made up of the Laan (‘High Men’), who tended to be taller, with raven hair and fair skin. Still more rare in this land were the immortal Elves. While the Elven races also varied in appearance, they all tended to have more delicate features than men… and ears, which rose to unmistakable points. Kalen’s father, the Duke of Prevan, was of pure Laan blood, but he married awoman of the dark-haired Loari Elves. His ears were somewhat pointed; enough that people might not notice at first glance… but they usually looked again. Jad, on the other hand, was son to Kalen’s mother’s sister. The exact lineage of Jad’s father was uncertain (and a story unto itself), but judging by the young squire’s appearance he must have been of the fair Linaer Elves.
As Kalen and Jad exchanged their knowing look, Kalen felt that familiar tightening in his stomach. Jad was so handsome, almost beautiful. With his golden-blond mop of hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, his gracefully pointed ears, upswept brows over wide blue eyes, full lips and boyish upturned nose, he was strikingly beautiful. On the other hand, Kalen thought himself to be an awkward half-breed. He’d inherited his father’s nose and grey eyes, and his hair was dark brown and unruly. Jad had also seemed to possess the legendary Elven physical strength in combat and gracefulness on a dance floor, while Kalen found both pursuits to be fraught with frustration.
Was he jealous of his cousin? He didn’t think so, at least not enough so as to resent him. But he was unable to understand why somehow Jad’s smile filled him with emotions he could not understand.
“You think she’d never seen a couple of guys riding down the road.” Jad said loudly enough to carry back to the woman, now past them.
“Don’t mock the poor woman.” Kalen said more softly. “Just by our clothes she must have known we were nobility. Of course she would stare.”
“You know she wasn’t looking at our tunics.” Jad cocked an eyebrow at Kalen while flicking his finger over the tip of his ear.
“People are curious about Elves.” Kalen sighed. Actually, most mortals looked upon Elves with a mixture of jealousy and suspicion.
“It’s not like we’re Trolls or something! We’re people too!” Jad exclaimed.
“Not to them. To them we’re strange and exotic.”
“I almost prefer when they just stare; it’s more honest than the nobles at court who make a point of not staring, except when they think you won’t notice.”
“Well, the young maids at court stare at you, but I think that’s for another reason.” Kalen could not resist teasing his cousin a little.
“They do not!” Jad’s face reddened. “Well, they stare at you too!”
“I’m only interesting because I’m heir to a Duchy. You, on the other hand, have them swooning in the corridors.” Kalen pressed. He had done this many times before, and always felt a little guilty afterwards. But he still felt reassured with Jad’s inevitable reply.
“Well, I don’t pay any attention to them. I’m not interested. I am your Squire and will be as long as you’ll have me.” Jad’s brow was furrowed now, matching the intense conviction in his voice.
“Thank you, my cousin.” Kalen mumbled with a sad smile. One day… one day friendship would give way to love, and Jad would leave him for a woman.
But not today.
Randae Terisonen stood facing the window of his drawing room, idly swirling the dregs of wine in his goblet. He stared out into the winter afternoon watching the large snowflakes drift down and add to the already deep blanket covering his estate—and most of Tanara. “So what are we going to do?” He didn’t have to face the other three occupants of the room to know that they were all scowling, and none of them was letting their gaze meet that of another. Randae spun around. The gold threads woven into his beautiful red velvet tunic glittered in the firelight.
T’vaar Dekdarion, the Iylar/Dúranak Lord and member of the Loremaster High Council, was still sprawled on a sofa. Even reclining he was an imposing presence, his powerfully muscled body clad all in black leather breeches and sleeveless silk tunic. The studded leather bracers were not just for appearance, either: T’vaar was a warrior monk with few equals. Completing his intimidating image, T’vaar wore his hair cut short, bleached white and spiked out from his scalp in the manner of the Dúranaki.
After a sigh, T’vaar spoke. “As you well know, the Council is reluctant to interfere directly...”
Ren Thraysk rolled his eyes. “Oh, so making those six enchanted crowns and handing them out to the kings of Jaiman wasn’t ‘interfering directly’!” A much younger Loremaster than either Randae or T’vaar, he nevertheless looked a bit older; his mortal blood was aging him.
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” T’vaar said evenly. “We know now that such heavy-handed intervention creates more problems than it solves.”
Ren snorted. “So we just sit on our hands and watch everything fall apart?”
“The Council is weighing options, more than that I cannot say.” T’vaar said, as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Channi Ysanda, another Loremaster but the lone female of the group, tossed her auburn hair back from her face and regarded the contents of her own wine glass. She had heard variations of this discussion many times before, and she was the youngest member of the order present. “What do you think we should do, Randae?” She asked softly into the silence.
“There’s a lot of things I think we should do,” Randae turned around and strode to the fireplace. The warmth was reassuring somehow on this cold gray day. “We know that a Lord of Essaence has somehow managed to recover an artifact we all assumed was destroyed long ago, and that eight years ago he used that artifact—the Shadowstone—to try to destroy the Northern Eye of Utha, and nearly succeeded. We don’t even know for sure what would have happened if he had been successful, but we do know that the Eyes somehow filter and moderate the raw magical energy that blankets Kulthea. It’s a safe assumption that the consequences would have been devastating to our entire world. Our first priority must be finding a way to prevent him from carrying out his insane plan, the council’s reluctance to ‘interfere’ be damned. If he destroys the Eyes there will be nothing left to interfere with.
“Regarding the other issues, I’m somewhat more inclined to agree with T’vaar: we need to act carefully”
“I’m so glad that you are considering adherence to rules that you have sworn to obey.” T’vaar’s comment was heavy with sarcasm.
“You know I’m right about the Essence Lord.”
Dekdarion sighed. “Yes, and the rest of the Council knows that something must be done, but we don’t know what. And... we’re reluctant to expose ourselves to him. He’s obviously extremely powerful. We need to find an effective defense and a weapon to use against such an enemy before we strike, or we might as well just fall on our kynacs right now.”
“I appreciate your candor.” Randae smiled crookedly. “I assume that your research hasn’t turned up anything useful yet?”
The warrior monk shrugged his massive shoulders. “The last wearer of the Shadowstone was defeated by another Lord of Essaence wielding a weapon called the ‘Soulsword,’ which was also presumed destroyed in the cataclysm that ended the Lords’ reign many thousands of years ago.”
“That’s a start, I suppose.” Randae furrowed his brows thoughtfully.
“What about this ‘Secret Circle’ in Emer?” Channi prodded.
“And what about the Rhakhaan civil war?” Ren demanded.
“Or the rumored Cloudlord sightings?” Channi added.
“One crisis at a time.” T’vaar rose and shook himself, then turned to Randae. “I’ll speak to T’revor about what we discussed, but you know he’s... unpredictable.”
Randae nodded. “I appreciate whatever you can do. The situation here in Tanara is becoming untenable.”
“I need to be going.” T’vaar nodded to the others, then stood stiffly upright and immobile for a moment, his gaze directed at some point beyond the vision of most. Then he waved his arm in front of his chest in a sharp, vertical chopping motion. His body was enveloped in a faint blue-violet aura, and a moment later—with a rush of air that made the candle flames dance—he was gone.
“Channi, I suppose I should have told you,” Randae filled his glass from a nearby bottle of Danarchis merlot, “I have the Cloudlords situation under control.
“More wine, anyone?” He waved the bottle invitingly at his remaining two guests.
Ren stood and presented his glass, almost as if it were a chore. “What about the war, Randae? What can we do? And what of Helyssa? I’ve heard that a Priest of the Unlife is at work there.”
Randae sighed. “I have asked the Council about both issues. They are aware of the situation in Helyssa, and they have sent Loremasters to investigate. As for the situation with Frelik… you know the Council has no stomach for interfering in succession matters, especially where the Crowns are concerned. Unless there is evidence of agents of the Iron Wind, I doubt they will authorize us to intervene.”
“But civil war…” Channi murmured, staring into the fire at the hearth.
“At least we haven’t seen the White Mage recently.” Ren ventured. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was allied with the Unlife.”
Randae furrowed his brows. “One does not ‘ally’ with the Unlife, at least not for very long, you know that. One is either its enemy or its servant, and I do not believe the White Mage is its servant. And while he may be its enemy, he is not our friend. There are many other evils in the world. Lesser perhaps, but evil nonetheless.” Randae paused, deep in thought, then asked suddenly, “Speaking of evil, what of this Archprelate of Purll Kirn, this ‘Osaran’? Your last report mentioned him. And our friend the Truthsayer, Jorun, seems to like him little better than you do.”
“It’s a pity we cannot persuade Jorun or his brethren of Itanis to more actively help us.” Ren mused. “But I understand his motivations. He is loyal to his people, and their survival depends on the neutral, objective reputation of their Truthsayers.”
Randae nodded. “Just so. And I think he helps us even more by being just what he is. No one’s word is more trusted on Emer or Jaiman than the Itanian Truthsayers. Even we Loremasters are sometimes looked at with suspicion—probably because no one believes that we are willing to give something for nothing. But the Warlocks have traded on their impressive Mentalist skills and their neutrality; kings pay dearly for the service of a Truthsayer, and we lose nothing. The Loremasters have nothing to hide, while the Unlife thrives on lies and deceit. Ren, I know you like this Jorun, but I advise you to remain cool to him in council meetings. We would not want to jeopardize his value as a perceived objective advisor.”
“Point taken.” Ren nodded. While on many things he disagreed with Randae, on some he could not argue. And he had to admit this was one of them. Ren needed to be careful not to seem too allied with the Truthsayer in front of the King and Lords of Rhakhaan, or the value of both their counsels would be lessened.
No one in the room noticed that the conversation had veered away from the Archprelate of Purll Kirn.
“Well, if there is nothing else, I suppose I should get back to Haalkitaine. The nobles need babysitting.” Ren stood and set his wine glass down. His glittering alloy fingers clicked rhythmically over the crystal like delicate metal spider legs before he released it. A few muttered words and he was gone in a shimmer of light.
“And I should return to my home.” Channi also rose.
“Very well, I think we are done here.” Randae mentally summoned his Sulini valet, asking that he bring Channi’s cloak.
Janas arrived a minute later with the thick fur garment. Randae took it and draped it over Channi’s shoulders. “Take care.” He said softly.
She smiled shyly and nodded then stepped away. She templed her fingers and stood with eyes closed for a few seconds as a halo of light slowly enveloped her. Then the halo began to fade, and she with it. A few breaths of time later, she was gone.
Randae turned to his valet. “That will be all for tonight, Janas, please lock up the first floor. Thank you, as always.”
“My pleasure, Master Randae.” Janas bowed.
As his trusted servant began turning the crank which closed protective metal plates over the windows, Randae left the drawing room and went into the stair hall, closing the door behind him. He walked to the middle of the room and stood in the center of the marble inlay of a compass on the floor. The Bard sang a series of notes, and a moment later, accompanied by the sound of grinding stone, the center section of the floor began to descend. When the floor stopped a minute or so later he was deep underground, and a passage opened before him. The Loremaster entered the corridor and the floor area rose again behind him to conceal the secret passage. Casting a Light spell, Randae proceeded down the dank corridor, past a series of magical defenses, and down a stairway, to arrive at a locked door.
Nothing like a good old-fashioned mechanical lock, he mused, fishing a very complicated key out of his pocket. Before inserting it in the door, however, he slipped it into an almost invisible slot in between two stones on the wall. Two full turns clockwise and he pulled it out again. Behind the door Randae heard the sound of pulleys and cables at work. Seven metal mesh screens covering the seven walls of the chamber beyond were being slowly raised up and out of sight. And not of any normal metal were these screens. They were of Kregora, a special alloy which completely blocked any Essaence use. And here they were more than enough to shield from detection the object which rested inside.
A satisfying ‘clunk’ told the Loremaster that the screens were safely stowed. He inserted the key in the door lock, turned it counter-clockwise (never clockwise in the door!) and pulled the old iron barrier open.
The room beyond was small but comfortable. The seven walls were draped with fine tapestries (not only decorative, but hiding the slots for the Kregora screens), the stone floor covered with a thick carpet. In the center of the room was a round stone table and a large chair facing it. On the table, illuminating the room in a blue-green radiance, rested a perfect sphere of crystal.
Randae locked the door and turned to face the orb. “I’m almost out of options, this better work.” He muttered to himself. Then, afraid that if he waited any longer he would lose his nerve, he quickly took his seat. He held his hands close to -- but not touching -- the luminous crystal, and leaned forward. “And now, my fine Ilarsír, I need some answers…”
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