Chapter 28: Nomikos
Kieron help me, what a hangover… was Lukas Austrenos’ first conscious thought. But the pounding in his head soon became a lower priority when he realized that he was not in fact in a soft bed, but sitting more or less upright in a hard chair, his arms tied uncomfortably behind him. He raised his head, opened his eyes and squinted into the lamplight. His vision would not focus, but he was aware of at least two people moving around him. Then someone spoke.
“He’s finally coming around. You put too much of that monuk in his wine. As usual, subtlety is not your strong suit, Seylars. He’s no good to me like this. I need him alert.”
“Maybe I can wake him up then.”
Lukas heard someone step closer. Then the dull throb of his hangover was replaced with sharp pain as a hand connected with his right cheek and jaw. The smarting did clear his head a bit. He tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth.
“Here he comes, Minister, our little nobleman is rejoining the party.”
“Shut up, you idiot.”
Lukas blinked and his vision began to clear. Standing in front of him were Security Minister Koren Maas (now wearing a black tunic and breeches) and an Elf he recognized from the party. He hadn't actually met him, but assumed he must be Seylars.
Lukas had a sick feeling in his stomach. Koren Maas was illegally holding him hostage, and seemed to have no compunction about the Jaimani nobleman knowing his identity. That could only mean that the Security Minister had no intention of releasing Lukas… at least with his mind intact.
Koren Maas looked at Lukas appraisingly, twirling his crystal pendant as he did. We don’t have much time. That damned ‘tutor’ of his will no doubt come looking for him when he doesn’t turn up, and I’ve no stomach for dueling with one of those Priests Arnak. This boy is my last source of information about the pendant, so I might as well just wring what I can out of him now. We’ll see if there is enough left to make him useful to the Gugulon slavers, otherwise it’ll be face-down into the canal for him.
The Viscount shut his eyes and turned his head away. At least I’m not going to make it easy for him to put a spell on me.
The cousins were awakened by a soft rapping on the cabin door. Kalen cautionsly opened his eyes to a squint. Sunlight streamed in through frost-encrusted portholes. The ship had righted itself in the night, though it still creaked in protest against some unaccustomed strain and their bed rocked slowly back and forth on its gimbals. Kalen could also hear the muffled roar of a strong wind outside.
“Yes?” Snarled Jad, poking his tousled head from under the blanket. His word erupted in a cloud of steam. The brazier had gone out and their room was freezing cold.
“Your breakfast, sirs!” It was the Skywind’s surprisingly exuberant cabin boy.
“Great! I’m starved!” Jad sat up, suddenly more interested.
The boy flung the door open while expertly balancing a tray laden with covered containers. Kalen detected the aroma of coffee as the cabin boy unfolded a table, set his burden down and busied himself with laying things out. “Quite a ride, aye sirs? We’re flying south-southwest at over thirty knots and that storm is following right behind us. The captain is estimating our arrival at Ormian Island before the end of the midday Quintar. The question is,” he paused and looked over at the cousins with a grave face, “Will the storm stop at the bay?”
The suspense was lost on Jad, who was already in the process of shoving a piece of jam-covered roll into his mouth while simultaneously peeling an orange. The menace of the storm was pretty much lost on Kalen as well just then, faced with a tray of coffee, fresh bread and rolls, cheese, jam, honey, and citrus fruit. “Are these grapefruits and oranges from Námar-Tol?”
“Yes, m’Lord.” the boy sighed. “The coffee as well; the captain’s personal favorite blend, at Loremaster Randae’s request. When you are ready, Master Terisonen would like to see you on deck.” He replaced the brazier with a burning one he had waiting in the hall, then left them to their feast.
After breakfast they washed (the boy brought them towels and a jug of hot water at least) and dressed, donning provided heavy wool coats before going out on deck. Kalen was immediately glad for that coat; not only was it bitter cold, but a continuous icy wind blew from the north, despite their swift southward movement. All the ship’s sails were deployed, the masts, booms and yards heavily secured with extra rigging as the cloth strained against this powerful wind. The sun was bright in the southeast yet pale, and did nothing to warm them. Northwest was a dark grey haze.
After spying Randae on the foredeck with the Navigator, Kalen edged over to the port railing and ventured a look over the side. Broken low clouds seemed to slide away below them, and beneath those he glimpsed a river. As the Marquess looked back, he could clearly see the edge of the snowstorm, like a great curving, churning wall of hazy grey stretching away into the distance. All seemed dark beneath it.
They made their way forward to join the Elves. Sulfean the Navigator was reticent as usual, and Kalen thought he even looked a bit worried. When your Navigator is worried, you know you’re in deep Toykaal dung.
“Good morning!” Randae smiled amiably. “I hear you enjoyed your breakfast—so much so that Master Jad appears to be wearing some of his.” Of course Jad started swiping angrily around his mouth with his coat-cuff, to the Loremaster’s delight. “Merely jesting, Squire!” He laughed. “Your grooming is unmarred, as no doubt Kalen made sure before leaving the cabin.”
Jad favored Randae with a hostile glare. As if he didn’t dislike the Loremaster enough already.
“Hopefully we will soon know the boundary of this storm,” Randae said, turning back towards the prow. “The coast should be visible within the hour, and we will reach Ormian soon afterwards. Sulfean and I are both convinced that the storm is artificially created, so there is no way of knowing how far it will extend. I believe that it will be limited to the Jaiman mainland.”
The sun climbed further, and it was not long before they glimpsed the shimmering waters of the Bay of Ormian. Soon after that reassuring sight appeared, a call went up from the stern. Randae hurried aft with Jad and Kalen in tow. Captain Nankara stood at the wheel, tight-lipped as she gestured towards the aft lookout. He, in turn, pointed to the wall of grey. “Do you see it?”
At first it looked the same as before, but after staring for a few moments Kalen thought he knew what the lookout meant. The billowing clouds seemed to be breaking up, thinning as they continued south.
“Perhaps we shall be all right after all.” Randae said, his soft-spoken words audible as the wind faded.
A moment later, Kim arrived on deck with the Dúranak and Myr in tow.
Jad elbowed his cousin. “Now that’s an odd pair if there ever was one.”
Kalen’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the newcomers. “You’ve seen Dúranaki and their Myr servants before, they are from Tanara. They look like members of their guard, the Thavan I think they are called. But I thought Thavan squads were always in threes, with two Myri for each Dúranak.”
Kim pulled his robe tighter around him against the wind and led the two Tanarans to join the cousins. “Good morning Kalen, Jad. I’d like to introduce you to T’tania Al-Nirak and Sten Kadeson of Tanara. Kalen Avanir, Marquess of Endar, and his Squire, Jad Hurok.”
T’tania boldly stepped forward and extended her hand to Kalen as if to grip his in the manner of two men shaking hands, rather than the more delicate greeting between a lady and a gentleman. As he hesitated for a moment, she raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. He extended his hand and she squeezed it firmly. He noticed that her palm was somewhat rough with the calluses of a warrior, and only then saw that inside her cloak she wore some sort of harness across her chest holding three daggers.
After that a moment seemed to freeze in time for Kalen, suddenly both Jad and Sten stepped up and almost pushed their respective companions back protectively and tried to cover it by shaking hands with each other. 'Awkward' was an understatement.
Voriig Kye had a strange sensation: that if he were in Dragon form, his tail would be slithering back and forth, snake-like, behind him. It was something that Dragons – like many lesser creatures – did instinctively when they felt they were in a threatening situation. Of course he was in the shape of a little tail-less human now, so the feeling was ridiculous; but his deep animal instincts didn’t care about his artificial form. In fact he realized that he was unconsciously fighting the urge to transform into his natural shape even now. It was an understandable reaction to what he was facing: A powerful Essænce Lord and an ancient Elder, probably two of the most powerful humanoids remaining on this world. Normally a couple of small mammals – even those who had some spell mastery – held little threat to Voriig, but these two were each formidable in their way. But he sensed that they were as wary of each other as they were of him – perhaps more so. Both these mammals had a power over the Essænce that probably exceeded his own -- even though he, a Dragon, was by his very nature in tune with the energy that flowed through and around Kulthea. He had to remind himself that both these beings were far older than he was. His only chance to prevail would be in his natural form, and even then he wasn’t all that sure he could defeat either of these beings. The Storm Wizard would not be such a great threat, except that Voriig suspected that his staff possessed the power to resist lightning. The Silver Dragon’s most powerful weapon – his breath – was lightning.
That gave the Dragonlord pause.
“Welcome to Storm Castle, Voriig Kye, I am honored.” The Storm Wizard bowed slightly. “I suspect that the two of you have not met. Lord Dænku, may I introduce the Dragonlord Voriig Kye. Voriig, this is Essænce Lord Dænku, also known as Andraax. And I am Thule, Storm Wizard of Emer, an Elder from the Dawn Times.”
The Dragonlord bowed to each of the others, no lower than the Storm Wizard had. “An honor, my Lords. Strange that we have not crossed paths, in all the millennia that we have traveled Kulthea.”
Andraax smiled tightly and nodded his head. “Indeed. But I have been in the East for quite some time. I met one of your brethren there, Kydak Dum.”
“Really!” Voriig controlled his emotions with an effort. “When did you see him? Was he well?”
“It was some centuries back; he was well enough, but also keeping his presence there a secret to most. The East is a dangerous place.”
“So I understand. A fact that it seems might become of concern to us here in the West soon.”
“And that is what I wished to discuss with you.” Thule interjected. “The creation of this storm was to serve two purposes: to slow the Pretender’s armies across Jaiman was only one. The other was to see who would come to investigate the source of such an obviously artificial storm. I wished to gather what powers there still were in the Shadow World to form an alliance against Ondoval. However, while honored by your presence, my Lords, I am disappointed that only you two have come. I had hoped that the Loremasters would send someone, and that perhaps a few other Duskwalkers and Earthwardens remained.”
“If there are others, they are in hiding.” The Essænce Lord said flatly.
“What of Tethior?” Thule ventured.
“He is afraid.” Andraax said with a shrug.
“Tethior is alive!?” Voriig erupted.
“Oh yes, he has a talent for survival.” Andraax said with a derisive laugh.
“It us we three then for now.” Thule said quietly. “Assuming the both of you are willing to oppose Ondoval.”
“I have been trying to get the support of my fellow Dragonlords towards just such a goal, but they are an independent-minded group.”
“I already have plans in place for stopping my fellow K’ta’viir, which I am not at liberty to divulge at this time. However, I welcome any and all aid. Attacking Ondoval on multiple fronts might be the best approach: force him to disperse his resources. Perhaps we can even throw him off-program before he goes after the Eyes.”
“So he is going to try to destroy the Eyes and open the East.” Thule pursed his lips. “When do you think he will make the attempt?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
The storm did indeed dissipate at the bay’s shore: the Starwind was just a few leagues beyond the rocky coast before the sun came out and the temperature began to rise. Strangely, though, the storm continued to expand south on either side of them, covering the land but leaving the ocean clear.
They proceeded without incident to the isle of Ormian, descending to dock at the port of the same name. Kalen caught a glimpse of the famous library complex up on the island plateau as they swung around, its golden dome gleaming in the midday sun.
Kalen had some knowledge of Ormian and the famous Nomikos Library, mainly from references in Haalkitaine and Sel-kai. Nomikos was generally accepted as the oldest and largest library in the known world. It predated the Six Kingdoms, and has somehow managed to remain independent throughout its history. Besides the library complex high up on a stony bluff, there was a small port town that existed mainly to serve the library, its large staff, and the many scholars who came there to study. To protect this priceless collection, the Nomikos Library employed a large contingent of Changramai monks, the most famous mercenary warriors in Emer or Jaiman.
They said their good-byes to Captain Nankara and her crew while Randae and Sulfean held a hushed conversation on the foredeck. The Navigator then stepped back and briefly touched his right palm onto his left breast in what appeared to be some sort of salute… and for a moment he was bathed in a shimmering light, then… the light flickered and the Navigator was still standing there. Randae whispered an interrogative, but in answer the tall Elf pursed his lips and raised both hands to eye level as if angrily grasping at the sky. Brilliant, tiny blue balls of lightning danced over his fingers, then enveloped his entire body. With a sound like a thunderclap and blinding flash, Sulfean vanished. The vortex in his wake made the ship rock and strain at her moorings.
Randae joined the group, straightening his cloak and looking apprehensive. “Even here at the edge of the storm, the Essænce is disturbed; Sulfean was barely able to transport back to the Navigator Nexus. If that is any indication, safe teleportation inside Jaiman won’t be possible until Spring — or longer.”
Without another word, he proceeded to lead the group through the village and onto the steep, switchback road to the library.
The town was far below them when they had reached the gate of Nomikos. The day was not unusually warm for Ormian Island – where it remained surprisingly temperate even in winter -- but the humidity was oppressive, and there seemed remarkably little breeze for a coastal location such as this. Kalen was winded and felt a trickle of perspiration run down his back, but their Loremaster guide continued up the steep road tirelessly. Nearly everyone else in the small party was gasping audibly. Even the usually inexhaustible Jad seemed to be puffing as they finally arrived at the main entrance.
A great wide pointed arch of warm brown sandstone curved above the road, the blocks large and set with a skill now lost. On the left side rose a tower manned by lookouts, and the gate itself had huge reinforced doors and a massive portcullis (now currently raised and luring in the shadows of the gate structrure).
The group was granted passage by the gate-wards stationed in that pleasantly shadowed space: Randae presented them with a document and they gave the rest of the visitors a cursory look over.
They proceeded along the perimeter of the complex for a few hundred more feet, the outer wall on their left and a sheer drop to the right. Then they turned to pass through another portal to the actual library grounds. Before them lay an avenue paved in luminous white marble, where wrought-iron fences and low boxwood hedges separated the road from ornate gardens on either side. Then they passed through an inner portico. At the far end of a carefully manicured green courtyard towered the greatest library in the known world. The golden dome blazed in the afternoon sunlight, and hundred-foot tall buttresses of grey stone marched all about the perimeter of the monstrous cruciform structure.
Standing amidst the wide staircase leading to the library’s entrance was a mighty statue, carved of seemingly flawless ebony marble. It depicted a man with long straight hair and wearing a flowing robe. Under one arm he carried a book; the other hand was held at chest height, with the palm facing outward but close to the body. His expression and posture were difficult to decipher, though they seemed less than welcoming. At the base of the statue was carved, in ancient Loarik runes:
Dhædhromos Nomikos. Andraxis Ebatoa Vivliothiki.
Which Kalen managed to translate as:
‘The Great Library Hall. Andraax Welcomes Scholars’
“Who’s the statue of?” Jad asked idly.
For a long moment no one answered. Then, as they mounted the steps and the figure loomed above them, Randæ muttered, “First of all, the correct phrasing of your question should be ‘Of whom is that statue?’ But to answer: It’s supposed to be of Andraax, who supposedly founded this place many thousands of years ago.”
“You seem a bit skeptical.” Kalen couldn’t help pursuing Randae’s comment.
Meanwhile, the Squire had stopped, squinting at the statue in the sun.
“I just have trouble believing that this Andraax character could possibly have managed as many accomplishments as he has been credited with — even if he is immortal. He is also allegedly one of the three founders of my Order, the co-creator of the Six Crowns of Jaiman…” As the Loremaster spoke, he noticed that Jad had stopped to look at the statue. “What is it? Does he look familiar?” The Loremaster joked.
“As a matter of fact,” Jad scowled, “He does. I just can’t remember from where.”
Kalen came back down the stairs to stand by his cousin. “You’re right, he does look familiar… wait. It’s the same face as the ‘Magician’ card in the Seer’s tarot deck!”
Jad’s expression went from one of intense concentration to wide-eyed recognition. “That’s it!”
Randae stepped closer to the pair and asked in a low voice “What Seer’s tarot deck?”
Jad glared at the Loremaster and said nothing.
Kalen cleared his throat. “His name was Veriak, he was some Seer we visited back in Sel-kai a few days ago. He was a little… strange.”
“I see.” Randae glanced at the statue again, then back over his shoulder. “Let’s head on inside then.”
At the top of the long staircase they passed between a pair of very intimidating Changramai warrior monks dressed in their trademark white robes. They stood on either side of the tall arched doorway, with arms folded across their chests, staring straight ahead.
Jad stopped and bowed. “Good Afternoon.” He addressed them. They ignored him.
By contrast, Kalen noticed that when Kim nodded to them as he passed, they both nodded their heads in response.
“Sometimes I think…” Randae continued in a deliberately loud whisper as they entered the great vaulted foyer and approached the front desk manned by several scribes, “…that they claim that Andraax founded their library just for the added validity the name grants them.”
There was no question that the nearest scribe—an elderly man, tall and gaunt and completely bald with black piercing eyes — heard Randæ. He pursed his lips and leaned slightly over the desk towards the Loremaster. “What can we help you with today, gentle Iylar? Perhaps a short primer on courtesy?”
“Thank you for the suggestion, but no. Actually, we’re interested in these resources.” Randae slid a paper across the polished desk.
The scribe raised his eyebrows, then favored the Elf with an evil smile. “I’m afraid that most of these books and scrolls are in the restricted stacks, and I don’t believe …”
His smile evaporated when the Loremaster extended his hand again, this time showing the signet ring of his order. “This, I believe, grants me full access to the library’s resources. I also have a letter from the Council.”
“Ah, a Loremaster. I should have known you by your flippant attitude. And what of these others?” He made a dismissive gesture towards the rest of the group.
“This is the Marquess of Endar and his Squire; they have my personal guarantee. Our other friends will not be using the restricted materials, but we will all require lodgings in your dormitories.” Randae opened his money pouch, and from within he drew several slips of printed parchment: Eidolon platinum notes and at least one diamond note, worth one hundred gold. “I believe you accept Sel-kai currency here?”
“Very well.” The scribe sighed, and turned to a younger man. “Show the Loremaster and his party to the dormitories in the south grounds and make them comfortable.” His gaze returning to Randae, the scribe continued, “This is Apprentice Scribe Joss. He will be your liaison with the library for the duration of your stay.”
Joss led them through more beautiful courtyards. Kalen and Jad were to share a suite with T’tania and Sten: two bedrooms with a common bath, and sitting room. While simple in decor, this ‘dormitory’ was as fine as an expensive suite in a major city. The Loremaster told them to get settled and turn in early; tomorrow they would ‘get down to work’ as he put it, before vanishing into the garden with Kim.
Their new roommates, (‘the odd couple’ as Jad called them under his breath), T’tania and Sten, went into their room with barely a goodnight, so the cousins decided to also take Randae’s advice and went to bed with the sun. Through their open window came the scent of cut grass and aromatic herbs; quite a contrast from the bitter cold just a few miles north on the mainland.
Lukas whimpered. He had abandoned his pride hours ago, for all the good that had done him. Security Minister Koren Maas was a man without pity or mercy, and Lukas had learned that he was quite expert at using an arsenal of Mentalist spells to terrible effect to help him in his interrogations.
Unfortunately for the young Viscount, he did not possess the answers that Maas wanted, so the torture went on. Worse in some ways was the abuse he suffered at the hands of Maas’ Dyar-elf thug Seylars. The Security Minister’s attacks caused intense pain but no real physical damage. Lukas was afraid that when Seylars was done with him, his face would never be the same. Yes, Lukas admitted to himself in a haze of agony, he was vain. What else did he have besides his title and his looks? He wished Maas would just get it over with, before Seylars damaged him any more. He’d like to be a pretty corpse at least.
But it was not to be. He could not open one eye, and he kept spitting out blood. He was afraid he would lose at least one tooth. And Seylars was bragging about doing other horrible things to Lukas’ body…
Just a few yards beyond the room in the Canal Maze where Lukas was being held, Luronen Moje and Nelvana Baragon sat in one of her merchant-baron father’s skiffs. Two of her house servants were operating the boat, in between nervous looks in the shadows around them. Understandable, considering the neighborhood and that it was the dead of night.
“This is worse than I thought.” Moje sighed.
“What do you mean? Is Lukas all right?” Nelvana leaned close, her expression anxious.
“Oh he has not been seriously harmed. What is alarming is to learn who is apparently involved in his capture.”
“You mean the Red Dragons?” Nelvana snorted in a rather un-ladylike way. “I thought that black-haired Elf was one of them. They are involved in all manner of crimes throughout the city. But kidnapping foreign nobility seems brazen even for them.”
Moje looked at the young woman for a long moment before replying. “The Red Dragons are certainly involved, but they are increasingly just hired thugs for more powerful players. The man behind the Viscount’s kidnapping is none other than your Security Minister, Koren Maas.”
The Baragon heiress gasped. “But – he’s a Truthsayer!”
“Indeed. All the more disturbing. You had no idea?” Moje gave her a hard look – though it was probably lost on her in the darkness.
“Of course not. What you are claiming seems impossible; it goes against all we have been told about the Truthsayers.”
“Yet I notice you did not go to the authorities -- or even your father -- when you suspected that the Viscount Ridgeston had been the victim of foul play. You came to me. That seems like the choice of someone who at least suspected that the government was involved.”
“You’ve lived here a few years, Loremaster. Sel-kai is a merchantile city built upon money as much as wood pilings. The wealthy run the city and no one trusts the government because it is corrupt with bribes. What would you have done? Do you really think the redcapes would take action? And my father is a… cautious… man; he wouldn’t get involved in some international incident that could damage his trade agreements.”
“Disappointing, yet not surprising. However, there will come a time – sooner rather than later – when people will need to choose sides and stand up for what they believe. At least you chose to take action, whatever your motivation.”
“And so what are we going to do?” Nelvana asked impatiently.
“We are going to wait. I can shield our Presences from even Minister Maas, but I would prefer not to engage him in a battle of spells.”
“But Lukas…” Nelvana bit her lip.
“It’s nothing a skilled Healer won’t be able to patch up… so far.”
Kalen and Jad’s first day in the Nomikos compound proved to be one full of activity and new beginnings. They were awakened just after dawn by the sound of resonant bells after a night of restful sleep in a luxurious featherdown bed.
Donning robes and entering the common room, they found the Tanarans were already dressed and breaking fast on bread, fruit and cheese. Kalen spied a carafe of coffee as well, set on a silver stand above a small oil lamp to keep it warm. This I could get used to! He thought.
Sten greeted them cheerfully in his accented and somewhat broken Rhaya as he buttered a chunk of bread with gusto. It looked like Kalen wasn’t the only one to appreciate this spread.
Within an hour they had all washed and dressed and Kalen was on his second cup of coffee. Jad and Sten were beginning to hit it off, though T’tania was diffident. Kalen was about to ask how she made her hair stand up the way it did, when the door to their suite flew open with a bang – seemingly under its own power.
In breezed Randae, followed by Kim bearing an armload of packages. Behind him came a tall, gaunt man with a large duffel, a rosy-cheeked Laan woman of middle years who walked with a cane, and what looked like a street urchin staggering under the weight of a very large trunk.
“Good morning everyone!” The Loremaster half sang as his entourage spread into the room while they all gaped in surprise. “Introductions! This —” he indicated the tall man, who bowed solemnly “— is Darmin Chatay, master tailor. He will be measuring all of you for clothing, as new wardrobes will definitely be needed. And this is Lady Usa Augrytas, an associate of mine. She has graciously agreed to be Kalen’s Essence tutor.”
Lady Augrytas swept the room with her gaze and for a moment her pale blue eyes locked on Kalen’s. He realized then that this woman — who he had assumed for a moment to be a seamstress — was in fact an accomplished Adept, and that she seemed to guess his thoughts as easily as if they were written on his forehead. She raised an eyebrow appraisingly before turning back to Randae. “I’ll get settled. We’ll begin at the midday chime in my rooms.” Then she added with an ominous tone, “We have much work to do.” Then Lady Augrytas was gone in a swirl of grey cloak, the boy with the trunk in tow.
Meanwhile, the tailor busied himself with unpacking his bag. Kim handed Jad and Kalen each a long slender parcel wrapped in cloth.
“What is this?” Jad asked, even as he tugged at the folds of material, revealing a curved wooden scabbard… and a long sword-hilt with a green orb in the pommel.
Randae smiled like the legendary Uncle Karak giving gifts to children at the Karakatuk festival. “It’s time you boys had real blades to replace those barbarous hack-and-batter clubs you have now. These are Loari sabers: Sareni.”
Even as he said the word, Jad reverently drew the sword from its sheath, the alloy blade gleaming like silver. Intricate patterns were etched in the metal: runes and symbols which were more than decorative. He drew in an audible breath. “What a blade!” He swung it experimentally, and a whooshing sound followed its glimmering movements.
“Just so. The one you are holding Jad is named Phrurikanen which means ‘Guardian Whirlwind;’ and the other is Kynoregnuth: ‘Steely Whisper’”Phrurikanen had hilts of gold with teak inlay, Kynoregnuth had hilts of silver with hoen inlay. Both scabbards are of blue wyvern-skin and white hoen-wood with silver fittings.
“It’s beautiful…” The Squire whispered.
“And expensive.” The Loremaster added. “These were made in the forges at Tyrl Buir in Námar Tol. They are enchanted blades, which will not rust or dull. Kim will train you in the proper techniques; a saren is not a brute force weapon, it must be used correctly to fully benefit from its capabilities.”
“What have we done to deserve these fine swords?” Jad looked at the Loremaster warily.
“It’s not what you have done, but what I expect you may do.” Randae answered. “You two in particular need to be physically and mentally prepared for what lies ahead, which brings me to our schedule: Mornings, Jad, Kalen and Sten will train with Kim while T’tania continues her Magent studies. Midday and evening, Kalen is instructed in the Essence arts by Lady Augrytas while Jad continues training, and Sten and T’tania receive tutoring in language and other general education. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” muttered Jad, “Who died and made you emperor?”
And so it began.
PREVIOUS Chapter Table of Contents NEXT Chapter Return to the Haalkitane Library Foyer
Copyright © 1997-2007 Terry K. Amthor
Shadow World© is a trademark of Iron Crown Enterprises.
All rights reserved
