Chapter 10: Proposals
Tar-esiir thrust his hands forward, palms out, and blue aura around them intensified. A powerful gust of wind tore at his cloak and swelled the sails. The coruscating light from the Navigator’s Compass became so bright that Kalen had to look away. The ship surged forward and her prow angled downward they were hurled against the railing.
“Shaal deliver us!” Jad invoked the Orhan god of the seas as the cousins had a sudden, vertiginous close-up view of the water -- then the prow lurched up, nearly sending them backwards onto the deck. Shouts of surprise and fear came from up in the rigging as the crewmen fought to hold on. The sea all around them burst into mounds of foaming, boiling water: a new lava vent must have just opened directly beneath them! Clouds of steam billowed up around the Naristral, blinding them in a stifling wall of white heat.
The spars creaked under the strain as Tar-esiir further increased the artificial wind’s force against the sails. His spell tore the steam to shreds, but Kalen still felt the heat all around them. The mist condensed on their clothes and skin, and all the ship’s surfaces — making them slippery and treacherous.
Bobbing like a cork on the foam, the ship rose and fell in sickening lurches that were playing havoc with Kalen’s gut — on top of the knot of fear already there. The Naristral suddenly seemed tiny and vulnerable in this vast treacherous sea.
The unpleasant movements began to subside, however, and it was clear that the ship was making progress against the currents. Soon – though it seemed an eternity -- they were once again on calm water. There was a steady, cool wind at their backs, and the isle of Aranmor was just a sullen-looking shadow retreating behind them.
Kalen exhaled, and realized that he had been barely breathing.
“That was more excitement than I care for, especially first thing in the morning!” Jad exclaimed, wiping his forehead with a shirtsleeve.
“I’m glad it was on an empty stomach,” Kalen moaned. “If I had already eaten breakfast, I think I would have lost it over the side.”
“I apologize for the rough ride.” This contrition clearly pained The Navigator. “I allowed us to approach the island more closely than was probably prudent.”
“You had no way of knowing that a new vent would open right under us, and so far out from the coast.” Kalen answered diplomatically.
Captain N’tanga joined them then at the rail, giving Tar-esiir a wary look before nodding to the youths. “Quite a ride, eh, young sirs? Even with a Navigator on board, unexpected things can give you a little scare. Are you both all right?”
“A little queasy, but otherwise unscathed.” The Marquess nodded. “I guess it just proves that nature is not so easily tamed.”
“Nature, or the wrath of Shaal.” The Captain said with a snort. Whatever you call it, the sea has ways of letting us know we can never take him for granted.”
Ruuth came shuffling up onto the foredeck then, looking puzzled more than frightened by the events of the last few moments as she carefully climbed the steep stairway.
“Quite a ride!” Jad said a little too exuberantly as she arrived at the balustrade.
“Indeed.” The herbalist furrowed her brows. “I have made this journey many times and never seen the waters quite so… agitated. My good Navigator, did you sense anything unusual?” She sent a questioning look at Tar-esiir.
“We have long suspected an Oread or Oceanid might reside near here. If he is feeling threatened it might explain this phenomenon. Beyond that, the Navigators have noticed quite a bit of unusual Flow shifting in recent months. I should have taken this into consideration.”
“What sort of ‘unusual Flow shifting’?” Ruuth pressed gently.
“I am not at liberty to say, more; I am sorry.” Tar-esiir smiled tightly. “Though most likely it’s really nothing more than periodic ebb and flow.”
“Of course.” The herbalist nodded, though Kalen got the distinct impression that she was as unconvinced by the Navigator’s explanation as he was.
Under a ceiling of leaden clouds, a stormy sea raged against a towering rock face. The sheer cliffs, along the southwest coast of the Jaiman mainland, were once the border of the Kingdom of U-Lyshak. Surmounting this ridge there once ran a series of watchtowers, spaced ten leagues apart along the coastline from Saralis all along U-Lyshak and down to the land of Ly-aran. They were lookouts to guard against attacks by the Warlord of Ulor.
But U-Lyshak was gone long ago, and most of these towers were since fallen into ruin. At least one survived, however: a day’s ride north of the old city of Cynar, it stood alone upon a precipice, defying the angry storm.
Wind-driven sleet battered in waves at the narrow leaded glass windows of a high chamber in that tower, but the man within paid no notice. His attention was turned elsewhere. Arnak Priest Korianas sat before a massive stone table, staring at the object on the slab before him.
There, a misshapen red bowl squatted on three legs. The liquid in it was black and covered with an oily sheen that swirled in shimmering rainbows in the flickering candlelight. Korianas cast a Long Eye and fixed his azure Elven eyes on the images flickering across the liquid’s surface. A cruel smile spread across the priest’s face, disfiguring his handsome countenance. What he saw pleased him.
In a cell dug out of the rock foundations of that same tower, Loremaster Drey Laachek curled on a mildewed straw pallet. His wrists and ankles were locked in manacles affixed to the wall with heavy chains. Drey rested his head against the cold, sweaty wall — trying to find a spot where the stone wasn’t too bumpy — and considered his options. The guards had taken all his equipment, but despite a fairly thorough search (he shuddered at the memory) they didn’t find the tiny shaalk lock pick in the seam of his tunic. That was about all he had, though. That Priest had done some magick that drained all his spell energy; Drey felt even more violated by that process than the rough search by the guards. Maybe it was because of the pleasure the Priest of the Unlife had obviously gotten from it…
In any case, he had no spells, and only one small lock pick that might open the manacles but would probably not be strong enough for the door. And there were at least two guards right outside, plus at least a dozen more Drey had seen on the way in. That didn’t even include the Messengers, who were probably lurking around here as well. Things were looking bleak. But it was imperative that he notify his order that Prince Kier was indeed alive. All he needed was to get free of the manacles and cast one Invisibility spell and he’d surely be able to sneak past the guards. Drey eased the pick out of his sleeve hem and started to work on a manacle…
Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6050, Orhan 5, day 57
Aboard the Caravel ‘Naristral’
The last two days have passed more-or-less uneventfully aboard ship. This morning we saw the island of Plasidar – larger companion to Aranmor — vanish into the mists behind us. The Navigator kept the Naristral just within sight of the coast as we sailed along the north then western shores of the infamous isle of pirates. Fortunately, however, we encountered no raiders. We have however passed several other trade ships, and two Rhakhaan warships. Once yesterday Jad thought he saw a whale pacing us. By the time he got me to the rail to see, however, it was gone beneath the waves.
Since the weather has been fair, we mostly while away the days on deck. Jad, Bertram and Taluk spend much of the time practicing their martial skills. (Bertram has been drinking his medicinal tea every day, and I am pleased to report that he has hardly suffered any queasiness.) The Viscount Ridgeston frequently joins them in practice, and I must admit he is a skilled swordsman, giving even Jad a run for it. When Ridgeston is not on deck, I reluctantly spar with my cousin, knowing that if I don’t keep at it he will only continue to get better while my skills stagnate. It is also a lever to get Jad to, in return, submit to a little book learning. Though sometimes a reluctant student, he has a sharp mind. For instance, he has picked up the rudiments of Iylar more quickly than I did. Ruuth the Herbalist is also teaching us some basic Shay, which is a common language in northern Emer.
The other passengers are less athletically inclined, though most will still lounge on deck most of the day just to get fresh air and be out of the small cabins. Only Lukas’ tutor rarely makes an appearance. When I asked the Viscount about it, he just shrugged and said that his teacher preferred to remain indoors to meditate and read. After the Navigator’s unusual admonition to me suggesting that I avoid Yandar Vit, I was relieved not to see him about, yet more curious about the reclusive Elf than ever.
But now, as we enter the open waters of the Forbidden Sea, we leave my home continent of Jaiman behind. In two days we are scheduled to arrive in the port city of Artha, capital of Danarchis, in the great continent of Emer. I can’t help but feel a twinge of apprehension. I have never been this far from home. But indeed, what has home to offer me? I care for my parents but have never felt a deep bond. My closest family is my cousin – more like best friend I suppose – Jad, and he is thankfully here with me. Without him I might feel homesick, but knowing he joins me on this journey I feel little regret at leaving the dark, cold lands of Rhakhaan.
Ah what a difference a hundred leagues or so makes! Randae Terisonen settled into the comfortable wing-backed chair, enjoying the cool breeze wafting through the open doorway to his balcony. They say the canals stink in Sel-kai, but I’ve never smelled anything too awful in the times I’ve been here. Though… it is winter; apparently late summer here is another matter, and I have yet to experience the canal city then. The Loremaster had secured a suite of rooms at a luxurious inn known as simply The Manse. Situated in the Library Quarter, it was convenient to the University of Kalingen, the ferry service to the sky-city of Eidolon, and (not surprisingly) the Sel-kai library. His suite on the third floor featured a large sitting room and comfortable bedroom, each with glass-paned doors which opened onto balconies facing north and overlooking the Canal of Lilacs. All the walls were faced with oak paneling stained dark and polished to a rich luster. Deep blue draperies framed the doors and surrounded the bed, and there were lovely (if somewhat faded) hangings on the walls. There was also a private bath with all the facilities; another luxury the Loremaster would certainly not deny himself. Overall, the Manse conveyed a sense of graceful aging: the structure had to be several hundred years old, but it was maintained with care.
Randae had sent out discreet messages to his fellow Loremaster Luronen Moje and several other contacts in the city to let them know that he was here and that he needed to meet with them. He planned to spend his time here doing research, but surely that could wait until tomorrow. Today was such a fine day…
Through half-closed eyes, the Loremaster detected a slight twitch of a drape that wasn’t consistent with the breeze. Though his balcony was almost forty feet above the canal, a skilled climber might still be able to scramble up this high. But who would know that Randae was here already? It seemed unlikely that a random burglar would be dropping in on him. He prepared a spell. If that failed there was always the dagger in his boot… or the shim in his forearm sheath… or…
A man dropped lightly onto the balcony threshold perhaps a dozen feet from the Loremaster. He was silhouetted in the afternoon light: a lean man of average height, wearing snug-fitting breeches and a belted tunic. He held his hands out from his body, fingers splayed. “Choosing rooms on the top floor was hardly a deterrent, Loremaster Terisonen. And I know you detected my arrival. But I do believe I could have surprised you if I had bothered to be more stealthy.” The man had a soft tenor voice; his Erlin tinged with an accent Randae recognized immediately.
“I must be getting sloppy in my old age,” Randae grinned, rising to his feet, “To allow just anyone to drop in on me unannounced.”
“But not uninvited.” The man came forward, moving with the grace of a dancer. The lamp next to Randae’s chair illuminated his features: light brown skin, shaggy coal-black hair that hung down to his shoulders, small, flattened nose, full lips, and the distinctive almond-shaped eyes of the Y’nar people. He smiled and extended his hands; he and the Loremaster gripped each other’s forearms in the greeting of the man’s people: the Nuyan-Khôm of eastern Emer, south of Sel-kai.
“Kyan Kim! Well-met indeed. Though you could have used the stairs.” Randae smirked.
“I need to keep in practice. Playing doorman at Trevor’s Tankard hardly challenges my skills.”
“Ah, true, though sometimes the Tankard has an intriguing clientele. Perhaps you will be pleased to hear that I may have more interesting work for you. Make yourself comfortable.” Randae gestured to a chair near his own. “Can I get you some refreshment?”
“No, thank-you. But that reminds me: you know not to drink the water here?” Kim sat lightly in a straight-backed chair. He didn’t appear to completely relax; instead he seemed poised to leap to his feet at any moment.
“I remember. But I should think that the water in this inn is safe? And being an Elf, I’m immune to most of the bugs in the canal water anyway. Dealing with the taste is the biggest challenge.” Randae wrinkled his nose.
Kim nodded. “I would hope that for what you are paying here that the water is from rain collected in cisterns, untainted by the canals. But you never know. Even boiling doesn’t necessarily make Sel-kai canal-water safe.”
“I’ll just stick to wine and ale then.” The Loremaster smiled and settled back into his own seat.
“So what brings you to our city? Weary of the snow?” Kim shivered dramatically.
“That and the Yinka refugees nearly knocking at my door. Things are becoming unstable in Tanara. How is the situation here?”
“I’m sure your fellow Loremasters could give you a more succinct briefing.” Kim demurred, templing his fingers.
“Perhaps on the politics and petty infighting of the merchant barons, but I’m as interested in the rumors on the street.”
Kim looked thoughtful. “Nothing springs to mind, beyond the usual Elven-human tensions that ebb and flow. There have been a number of disappearances of late, and I suspect House Gugulon may be involved.”
“Slave-trade?”
“Yes. And the Redcapes – or at least some of them – may be paid off to look the other way.”
“Unfortunate, though I suppose not surprising.” Randae thoughtfully tapped his lower lip with the tip of a long index finger. “Are you familiar with a certain Agonar of Teusilya, who is a permanent guest at the Tharal mansion?”
The Nuyan smirked. “Ah, you do have some interesting connections! I know him on sight but have not made his acquaintance. I was not aware that he was currently in Sel-kai.”
“He is. I would be most appreciative if you could deliver a message to him personally at House Tharal.” Randae rose, opened a wardrobe and fished through a number of garments before finding what he had apparently been searching for. He spun around and tossed it in Kim’s general direction.
With almost blinding speed the Nuyan’s arm snapped out to catch the glinting object. He slowly opened his hand, exposing a plain ring of dull steely metal. “Interesting connections indeed!” He pocketed the item, knowing better than to speak the name of the secret organization known only as the Grey Ring even in this private room.
“Does anyone talk about what’s happening in Jaiman?”
“With all the trade ships, naturally we get a steady flow of news. Skyship crews are somewhat less likely to cut loose at Trevor’s than surface ship mates, so our information tends to be a bit dated, but we know that the Pretender seems to be gaining the upper hand in Rhakhaan, and than the Emperor has got his hands full on several fronts.”
“Just so. In fact, several of the nobles are sending their sons down to Emer to ‘vacation’ out of harm’s way.”
“Indeed?” Kyan Kim frowned. “That is worrisome.”
“It’s not widely known yet, but I imagine it will be soon. A Navigator-guided ship carrying no less than two ducal heirs will be arriving here in a few days.”
“Anyone special?” Kim asked, knowing the answer. Randae didn’t waste his time on the mundane or trivial. Every topic of conversation he raised had at least one point.
“Perhaps. Perhaps very special, both of them, but for different reasons. I don’t know yet, and that is where you will come in.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Lukas flopped limply down on the deck next to Kalen; startling the Marquess enough to make him almost drop the book he’d been reading.
“Um, what?” Kalen blinked at the handsome grinning face suddenly close to his.
“Are you interested in the Essænce arts?”
“I… I suppose so, though I have no real training. A couple of spells taught to me a few years ago.” He was reluctant to mention that he had learned one at the secretive Gryphon College. While he was beginning to like Lukas, he was still not ready to trust the Viscount with something that sensitive.
“Yandar started me with some magic training a year or so ago. It’s really quite fascinating.” Lukas sprawled out on the boards, lacing his fingers behind his head and squinting at the sky. “Nothing all that fun: no fireballs or teleportation, but some interesting spells all the same. I bet with some study you could pick it up yourself.” He turned his head to shoot Kalen a conspiratorial smile.
“Magic development needs a tutor, doesn’t it? You can’t just learn spells out of the book, can you?” Kalen had never heard of just being able to pick up a tome of lists and cast spells without being taught how to cast them. It just wasn’t that simple… or was it? He had to admit that he really didn’t know all that much about the arcana.
“Oh, the Magicians just perpetuate that fallacy to keep themselves in business. Smart people with the gift can pick it up without a teacher. You seem smart to me.” Again the smile. And the Viscount locked his gaze with Kalen’s until the Marquess had to look away. Kalen began to wonder if Lukas was teasing him.
“Well, once we get to Sel-kai, I’ll have some sent over. I’ll try to get you one in the meantime, but Yandar would have a fit if he knew I was loaning his books out and it’s hard to do anything in secret on this damned boat.”
“I appreciate your generosity.” Kalen said softly, staring at the deck planks in front of him.”
"Oh, it’s nothing. You’ll probably turn out to be better at it than me, and maybe one day you’ll be able to use that power to do me a favor in return.” Lukas hopped to his feet and gave Kalen a quick squeeze on the shoulder before sidling off towards his cabin.
Tethior paced around the marble table, strangely grateful for the circular expanse of stone separating him from his old partner. The crystal orb nestled in the center of the table continued to give off an undulating light that rolled from color to color, bathing the room in an eerie shifting spectrum. He felt like his own Ilarsír had gone out of his control. But it always did this when a K’ta’viir was around.
And there was Andraax, his violet eyes — feline with their slitted pupils — alight in the orb’s glow. The Essænce Lord never bothered to hide his true nature from his old friend Tethior. But now that old friend found Andraax’s alien appearance disturbing rather than charming.
The Essænce Lord matched Tethior’s speed around the table, the two slowly circling like twin planets around the Ilarsír sun. Their eyes locked over the seeing-stone. Andraax let his fingers trail along the tabletop as he walked. Five long slender fingers and their double-jointed thumb glided over the smooth black and blue-veined marble. “I sense unease, my old friend. I thought you would be pleased to see me in these times of conflict and disruption.”
Tethior admitted to himself that while he held a sense of relief to know that the powerful Essænce Lord was still alive, there was also wariness. The last time he had seen Andraax, the Essænce Lord had been… not himself. Rambling -- sometimes incoherently -- about ‘starships’ and ‘wormholes’ and ‘interstellar portals,’ the immortal lord had mocked Tethior’s own attempts to avert disasters. Andraax had seemed resigned, fatalistic, claiming that the end of Kulthea as they knew it was inevitable. By contrast the Essænce Lord now seemed hyper-aware, his gaze almost too penetrating to tolerate.
“You persist in deceiving everyone else with this ‘Nameless One’ disguise, though the point of it continues to elude even me.” Andraax arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Why toy with the masses when there is real work to be done?”
“So you think Ondoval can be stopped?”
The K’ta’viir’s smile vanished. “It is my charge and my curse to make it so, whether or not I think it is for the best.”
The master alchemist scowled at this surprising attitude. “You would see our world stripped of the Essænce – or worse – torn asunder by magic gone wild?”
Andraax’s expression turned indulgent, but Tethior though he saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “After so long, you have yet to determine the real purpose of the Eyes?”
Tethior ceased his pacing. “What do you mean?”
The Lord, with his super-human reactions, stopped moving at virtually the same moment as the alchemist. The twitch at the corner of his mouth became a tic. “Regulating and maintaining the Flows of Essænce over Kulthea is merely a secondary function. Have you not wondered once, in your nearly ten thousand years of life, what exists on the other half of this planet? I would have thought that you at least could break the shackles of my father’s programming.”
“I have wondered,” Tethior retorted defensively, “But I have found no answers. I have assumed it was a wasteland.”
Andraax splayed the fingers of both hands on the table as he leaned towards Tethior, his face bathed in the seeing stone’s eerie glow. His pupils narrowed to slits. “Oh, no. Not a wasteland, but a prison.” He leered then, showing his many small, pointed teeth.
Tethior thought he saw a halo of blue energy building around Andraax’s spiky mane of sable hair. “A… prison?” He asked timidly.
“Containing a dozen K’ta’viir lords, former associates of Kadæna, all as powerful as me… or Ondoval.” The aura around Andraax continued to build; tiny lightnings raced over his skin. “They and their armies of followers are poised for their chance.” His mouth twitched again. “If Ondoval succeeds, the prison gates will be opened. There are already cracks in the walls. These Essænce Lords cannot be set free upon the galaxy. And I will need your help to stop it, my old friend, even if it means destroying the Eyes and Kulthea with them.”
The alchemist felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up, though he didn’t know if it was from the energy building in the room, or his own sudden rising panic.
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