VASTUK – HOUSE TIRILANI, MASCHERATA, DRASAK
[https://i.imgur.com/JSiGeDV.png?1]
11TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Vastuk slid shut the wooden panelled door behind him and stepped into his private study. This was a place of solitude and privacy, and as he reached into his pocket and removed the now faintly warm, faintly glowing purple orb he felt anxiety and nervousness begin to bubble up deep inside him.
He knew the orb lighting up like this meant that Carthas wished to speak to him, and Vastuk was both excited and scared about what he might be about to hear. Would the Princess be dead? Could their plans have come asunder? He briefly imagined having to leave his home tonight, to begin a life on the run. He immediately chastened himself for such foolish thoughts. Tirilani’s did not flee like common criminals.
Vastuk pushed the area of the orb that would open the communication, and immediately a light pulsed deep within the Orb, and then a blue apparition of Carthas appeared before him. The apparition almost looked like a glowing ghost image of the person at the other end.
“You wished to communicate?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
“The pass-phrase?” intomed the image, without emotion.
“The highest must learn that they have the furthest to fall,” Vastuk said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. He could see Carthas, and Carthas could see him presumably, so the need for this secretive banter seemed a waste of time.
“And yet others must climb to ascend to their rightful place,” replied the image.
“Yes, yes. Very good. Just as I told you. Now… your message?” the irritation clearly showing in Vastuk’s demeanour.
“I am afraid the target has escaped us momentarily.” Carthas delivered his report calmly, and almost as if he was oblivious to how bad this news was likely to be to its intended recipient.
“What?... How?” stammered Vastuk.
“A case of mistaken identity led to our presence being announced a touch prematurely. It was during the chaos that followed that the target, and a Lotese merchant with whom she was dancing, made their escape.”
“Have we given ourselves away?” Vastuk could hear the desperation in his own voice.
“No. The deception protocols you devised appear to have worked. The Klydorians believe it was the terrorist group, Human’s Purity League.”
Vastuk felt the speed of his heart slow just a little.
“Do you have any leads where she is now?”
“No. Our network and that of your local associate are attempting to locate her now. However, my contacts that are watching the secondary target have indicated he is aware of our attempt, and even now he is being moved to a safer location. If you wish to authorise a switch in targets, this would need to happen now.”
Vastuk carefully considered what to say next. Drasak was certainly not the most patriarchal society in Driax. But as the women gave up their family names in a wedding, taking that of their husband, most powerful nobility still much preferred a son to a daughter, just to ensure their name continued on.
‘Killing the only son is a more significant event, and it will make the necessary negotiations with the Drasak King more difficult later. But killing neither would make us seem weak. And House Tirilani must never appear weak.’
“Kill him. I met him once, and he is an arrogant fool of a boy. The kingdom is better off without him.” It was true. The young Alesi Jadesson was young, good-looking, virile, and had that combination of arrogance and ignorance that Vastuk usually associated with a spoiled upbringing and a sense of entitlement.
‘At some point we would likely have had to take control of him too. Perhaps the young girl will prove more malleable as a ruler. Perhaps we could even choose her future husband.’
The last thought was quite an exciting prospect. ‘Dare we dream of putting a Tirilani on the throne?’
“Very well. Does our previous authority regarding international boundaries still apply?”
“Which country’s wrath am I risking now?” asked Vastuk.
“The secondary target is currently south of here, preparing to watch the gladiatorial games.” The empire of Cthrag Merlo would be an excellent place to kill someone. And during the gladiatorial games, even easier. Massive crowds, plenty of alcohol, and the masses already attuned to bloodshed and violence.
“Excellent. That should present you excellent opportunities to succeed. You have my authority, but do not let failure become a trend, Carthas. For the price and the risk, I expect the best.”
“I will remind you that the magick we are using is not necessarily secure, so please communicate appropriately, Deceiver” cautioned the Capellan assassin.
“I know. I just want to make sure you have as much riding on this as I do, Carthas, Drakin of the Capellan clan.”
“Do not play games with me Deceiver. You might not like the next move I make.” With that the image blinked out, and the orb in front of him slowly went dark. Vastuk sat alone in the dark for several minutes, imagining alternatively the dreams that could unfold if he were successful, and the shuddering nightmares that could come if his plans went wrong.
‘No path to greatness should be easy!’
AZZANON – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
[https://i.imgur.com/13l3JXM.jpg]
11TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
The door to the small chamber closed as the last of the others left. Azzanon briefly took in the wonderful stain-glass scenes in the roof above him depicting Faylen shielding Driax from the evils that threatened her.
‘Hope you are paying close attention to events right here, big guy!’
Maragon clung to a chair weakly, but he pulled himself up as upright as he could before he spoke.
“What I am about to say is probably unnecessary. But there is a possibility in the coming days or weeks you will be visited by the spirit of Javelin and he may ask you to take on his soul and to join the Seven”
‘I see we are just jumping into this. No small talk first.’
Azzanon considered the hypothetical offer for a few moments.
“I think I would be honoured by such a request, but I am not sure I could accept. I heard what your Knight friend said, and I understand the implications of having to devote yourself entirely to your quest. I have my own mission, and I could not easily forego my duty to my nation. My connection to Drasnia runs deep. Even here and now, when I am thousands of miles from home.”
“Gaebriel is really a Princess of Drasak?” Maragon asked.
“She is. And she needs my help. Someone is trying very hard to kill her right now, and I do not know who it is, or really why he is trying to do it, although I have my suspicions on the second one,” Azzanon replied.
“Then on the slim chance the soul of ShaShayla and/or Javelin approaches you, I recommend you decline,” suggested Maragon.
“So you get a choice?” asked Azzanon.
“Absolutely. This is a lifetime commitment that comes with great sacrifice and usually little reward.”
‘Feeding into my greatest fear. An unmarked grave on an unknown hilltop. My life and death forgotten.’
“Sounds like an amazing occupation. Not a lot unlike mine to be fair,” reasoned Azzanon.
“Our stakes are higher. The fates of entire empires might ride on things we do. Particularly at an apex like we are about to go through,” reasoned Maragon.
‘Ah, the part where he tries to convince me his cause is more important or noble than my own.’
“Maybe. But my stakes seem pretty high. You won’t be able to convince me my task isn’t important enough,” countered Azzanon confidently.
“I was not trying to. Each man must find his calling and purpose. If you have found yours then you are a lucky man indeed. Although many of the Seven thought the same before they joined. Eventually they realised our cause trumped theirs because if we failed at ours, it may not matter if they succeeded at theirs. And at some point you have to decide are you willing to let the fate of the world be decided by somebody else.”
‘That is a good argument. I would concur that most people are incompetent. It is how I ended up taking most of the stupidly dangerous assignments. But can I really look Gaebriel in the eyes and say “I am leaving you… good luck?” Of course I can’t.’
“That is a good argument. But it still doesn’t save the Princess. And my obligation is to rescue her first,” countered Azzanon. “After that is done, then we can discuss other employment opportunities.”
“Fair enough. I cannot fault you for wanting to finish that task,” conceded Maragon. “Thank you for helping my boy and the others on the streets the other night.”
“No problem. Can I ask one question of you?”
Maragon nodded.
“What was he like?” The ‘he’ needed not be said – Javelin.
“He was more dedicated to the craft of gathering information than I think anyone we have ever had in the Seven, ever! I am not a man given to false compliments, so I mean that as very high praise indeed. For twenty years he kept us safe and one step ahead of our many enemies. I will miss him greatly.”
‘That sounds very hard to live up to. And takes decades to do it. Not sure I have the patience for that.’
“But what was he ‘like’?” Azzanon asked again. “As a person, or as a man.”
‘Surely, he was a flashy, swashbuckling Drasnian, just like me. Please say he was like me.’
Maragon considered his response for a few moments.
“He was funny, but not like I suspect you are. He was quieter, with a dry wit that he unleashed only at special moments. He was so much smarter than most realised, always thinking steps ahead of everyone and how the seemingly minor consequences of an action might spill over into a catastrophe.”
‘Starting to sound like a much better person than me. Glad I don’t have to live up to him. One more shot at this.’
“Thank you,” said Azzanon sincerely. “What about vices? Did he like fine clothes and alcohol? Did he like to womanise? Perhaps he gambled?”
“I suspect as a younger man he did. By the time we met him I think he was passed a lot of that. He would drink a single fine glass of wine with his meal. Never gambled. Said we all did enough of that every day with our lives. And he dressed very unassumingly. He preferred to remain unnoticed.”
‘Sounds like a character from the legends. No flaws. Almost too perfect.’
‘Hang on… he had a legendary soul inside of him. This comparison isn’t fair.’
“Which of the Seven heroes did he have inside him?” asked Azzanon.
“Kennitus Windtalker. He was a Solarian giant from the High Peaks, a mountain range on the far eastern edge of the world. Of course, around the time of the Battle of Micronia, most of the known world was what we now consider the far east.”
‘Wow. Drasnia is pretty far east. I know of the High Peaks. And I know of the Solarian giants. At least I know what they are today. Forest loving Giants, who share a kingdom with some forest loving dwarves. A nature loving giant probably isn’t too bad to have inside you.’
“What was he like? Do we know much about him?” asked Azzanon.
“We do. He was wise, and would not look for fights, but he did not seem to mind being in a fight once one happened. He was a powerful Druid complete with all the tricks; talking to animals and plants; he could shapeshift into some amazing animals. He didn’t speak unless it was necessary. But he loved to record and keep the lore of his people and those of the peoples around him.”
‘Sounds a bit more like a real person now. But nothing like me.’
“He understood better than most that the world is not black and white. It is shades of grey. In order to defeat evil we much accept and acknowledge this. Not all of our allies will be pure. And not all of our enemies will be truly evil either.”
“So now they move onto another host, huh?” asked Azzanon.
“No. Javelin will help Kennitus find a new host, and then his soul will pass on. Javelin’s service is at an end and he is dead, replied Maragon solemnly. “The soul is sacred and means too much to us to split it or keep any of it here. This is why the sacrifice of the Seven is so great. Their souls do not pass on. They stay and fight this war forever. So we genuinely mourn for him. He is gone. By the Gods, I will miss him.”
Maragon wiped a tear from his eye. Then immediately regained his focus.
“You should still consider what you will do if Javelin does turn up in your dreams to offer you his gift. While we assume it will be passed to Falcon, it would not be the first time the intended successor declines the gift when it’s finally time to take up the mantle,” warned Maragon.
“I will have my decline speech rehearsed,” replied Azzanon, his trademark swagger coming back.
“Do I need to worry about whatever past you and Samtha have?” Maragon asked simply.
Azzanon considered it only briefly.
“No. We ran across each other while I was wearing another guise, playing someone else. I fell in love with her. I do not truly know if she loved me back, but we both have tasks, and I suspect souls, which are not suited to playing happy families,” Azzanon replied.
Maragon nodded.
“If there is nothing else, could you please send in Peregrin next,” asked Maragon. “I must establish his purpose for being here and see if he should be allowed to remain with us.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Azzanon bowed and then exited the room. As quickly as possible he found Peregrin and pointed him towards Maragon’s door.
PEREGRIN – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
Peregrin closed the door, turned and bowed towards the old wizard in front of him. It was not a particularly deep bow, but by Peregrin’s standards it was a deep bow considering it was being done for an Ala-Lie human.
“Your presence is unexpected,” said Maragon simply.
‘I go where I wish, human. You should be honoured I am here.’
“Much about this life is unexpected. I do not understand why the Seers think humans are important or why the fate of my kingdom must be linked to the fate of this one,” replied Peregrin
“Do you have a problem with humans?” asked Maragon immediately in response.
‘My people ceded you half of our forest. And now you have contaminated it with your settlements and your filth. You plunder nature, with no idea how to live in harmony with it. Our women fall in love and marry your short-lived men, creating half-elves and widows who inevitably outlive them. And perhaps worst of all, our Queen listens to and seems to take orders from your Klydorian king.’
“No, I seek understanding so that I may see why things are as they are.”
Maragon remained quiet for a time as he seemed to ponder that response. He coughed, and Peregrin became more aware of the greenish tinge to his skin. He was sick and fading.
“Explain what you mean. How will you seek understanding?” asked Maragon.
“The Seers have taught us that the fate of the Llewyrr people is linked with Klydor, and if you read their prophecies strictly, one could argue linked with the line of Chandrilar directly,” replied Peregrin. “I seek to understand how that can be so when the elves are clearly superior by nearly any measure to that of humans.”
‘This one remains calm when what I say likely causes offence. He shows self-control absent in most other humans I have met.’
“Which measures are you using?” asked Maragon. Even in his sickened state, he appeared to be struggling to hide a bemused grin.
‘Are you serious? Is it not obvious?’
Peregrin held up a hand, and began counting off the points, “Knowledge, magickal prowess, dexterity, martial skill, wisdom.”
He brought up his second hand, “longevity, art, culture, history… shall I go on?”
“Birth rate?” Maragon retorted simply.
‘What?’
“That is the key one here. It actually trumps all the rest. The elves, whether you like it or not, are a people who have had their zenith, and your civilisation is no longer growing. Humanity is growing rapidly. The future of Driax is more theirs than anyone’s. Your Seers have the knowledge and wisdom to see this clearly.”
“We are too wise to go to war when we have all we need,” replied Peregrin. “Humans, and all the younger races, fight to take another’s things for no other reason than to prove they can take it.”
“You can have all the reasons you want for why it is as it is. But these are the facts,” stated Maragon. “You cannot afford to lose large numbers of your people to war. Humans can. The Seers recognised this, and knew for the elves to survive you would need allies amongst the humans. So they picked what they believed were the best of humankind and brought them here.”
‘We should not fear the other races. They are no match for us.’
“We could defend our borders well enough if we had to. We did not need this alliance.”
“Why fight at all? This alliance will keep many potential attackers away as they do not have the resources to fight the Llewyrr, and Klydor, and the Indian tribes aligned with us. Both of our empires are stronger together. For what it is worth, and I have a reasonably unique experience on history given part of my soul has lived through all of it… the Seers were right.”
‘This one is different. If he speaks the truth about having an ancient soul inside him, then part of him is older than the oldest elf. Does that make him more like us than a human?’
“If your nearest neighbours were the Cthrag Merlo, they would almost certainly invade you. And if you were allies, they would betray you and invade anyway,” reasoned Maragon, with some passion. “Their appetite for conquest is endless. If it were the Lotese who were your neighbours, they would exploit you through trade agreements, slowly taking what is yours and stripping your forest for resources they can sell. But of course, the Seers could see all this when they made their choice.”
“You are upset because you cannot see it,” said Maragon pointedly.
“Grey elves are used to being in control and looking down on everyone because that is how it was for thousands of years in the Silverestri Forest,” reasoned Maragon. “The Llewyrr left your homeland in much the same way as Chandrilar and his people did, to avoid fighting and civil war.”
Unaccustomed to being talked to in such a blunt way by any non-grey elf, Peregrin shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“I know of the civil war that tore your people apart before the fall of Micronia. Your histories are much slower than ours, because of your longer lifetimes, but the Llewyrr left all of that behind. To keep the peace your grey elf ancestors agreed to a wood elf queen, as the wood elves are by far the most numerous of your peoples. They accepted grey elves ruling as a noble caste was not the best thing for your new Llewyrr nation,” continued Maragon. “And then that wood queen agreed to share power and land with a Klydorian king. In the minds of some of your people, this has moved you too far down the pecking order, and you do not like some of the choices your ruler has made.”
Peregrin wanted to say something, to argue back and refute all of what was being said. But he could not come up with any decisive argument that was worth using up anymore of whatever energy Maragon had left.
‘It is true. My issue is I don’t understand the decision because I don’t believe the assumptions behind it are true.’
“You are young. This view comes from inexperience, or perhaps from elders within your family. Hopefully exposure to the world around you will enlighten you to the wisdom in the previous decisions of your empire and its rulers.”
Peregrin just nodded, eager for the conversation to be over, so he could exit the room.
“Do you acknowledge the threat of the Dragon God, Razilin’Tera?” asked Maragon.
“I do not know if it is a God. If it is, my people have no evidence of such, and we certainly don’t have any priests or churches to him in our lands. But I acknowledge it is possible that somewhere within Driax this Dragon God has followers sufficient enough to make him a God.”
Maragon nodded and was about to continue but Peregrin was not finished.
“But my people have never placed the same level of threat or importance on this event as your people have,” Peregrin continued. “To us a charismatic or fearsome dragon convinced a horde of evil creatures to flock to his banner. He attacked and destroyed the largest empire your relatively primitive ancestors had built, and then he and his horde were destroyed without the assistance of any of the older races, elves included.”
“The fact the humans handled the threat mostly on their own is all the proof we need that this was never the existential threat is has since been made out to be.”
Peregrin remained calm and just stated the facts as he saw them.
“Will you help us in fighting him?” Maragon asked simply.
‘You choose not to get drawn into a debate on the subject. Is it because you are wise, or do you know I am right? You have dedicated your life to this. No, you believe this is a genuine threat. You just want my help, so arguing with me is unnecessary if I will help anyway.’
“I will travel with the young folk of Garet and help keep them safe,” answered Peregrin. “I suspect much of what you require of me, I will be willing to do. But I will not break the law and if another matter arises which requires I prioritise that, then that is what I will do.”
“That is good enough for me. If something more important than saving the world from the return of Razilin’Tera comes up, you feel free to do just that,” replied Maragon, a hint of derision in his voice.
‘Do not mock me human. You are asking for my help.’
“I suspect you would anyway, but if by some chance either of the souls of the Seven should seek you out, please decline,” requested Maragon.
‘You do not want me in the Seven?’
Even though Peregrin had no interest in joining, he was stunned at the suggestion he would not be wanted.
“Why?” asked Peregrin scornfully. “The Seven would be greatly honoured to count a Bladedancer amongst their number?”
“Let us be very clear. I think your martial skills would be a huge asset to our cause. But we need more than that. You will not sacrifice yourself for our cause. It will not become your entire life and focus. We have had very little luck with grey elf members in the past. And your long life means you are a pain in my ass for a very long time,” replied Maragon truthfully.
‘Why would I want to join such a ragtag group? The Bladedancers are a far more prestigious group than this!’
“Rest assured, I would not accept if it were offered to me,” replied Peregrin. “If you have no other information for me, I will be leaving now.”
Maragon indicated he was finished.
“Could I ask that you send in Mitchell when you leave?”
Peregrin nodded as he headed for the door.
AZZANON – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
Azzanon turned after sending Peregrin into Maragon, and went looking for Gaebriel. Instead, what he saw was Samtha walking purposefully towards him.
His heart skipped a beat. He was both excited and terrified of what she might be about to say.
“Hi!” he called out, somewhat lamely. He gave an awkward wave.
‘Oh, good one. Very smooth. Maybe try biting your tongue as you talk next.’
“So, you were a Drasnian spy and didn’t tell me?” she drawled. She retained that arresting grin on her face, but Azzanon couldn’t tell if she was being playful or was angry.
“You apparently had some secrets of your own,” he replied, gesturing with both hands to the people gathered around.
“I am not sure if I am more upset you didn’t tell me, or that I didn’t realise you weren’t who you said you were,” she responded.
“I was going to tell you…” he began.
“Sure you were,” she cut him off laughingly.
“Listen,” he said a little more forcefully. “That last night I was going to tell you. I dressed differently. I started talking without my Lotese accent. I was going to tell you the truth, tell you I loved you, and I was going to quit being a spy.”
Samtha went quiet. Her usual bravado and sarcasm absent.
“But you never gave me the chance. Once you were breaking up with me, it didn’t really seem appropriate to counter with ‘I love you’ or ‘I am a spy’,” he continued. “So I watched you leave. I got very drunk on that quite bad whiskey, and spent the rest of the night alone in a very expensive room.”
“Maragon called me back to Klydor. I had to leave immediately,” she explained. “As he said, this life I chose doesn’t leave me a lot of freedom for what I want.”
“Well, I would not be here if that night had gone how I wanted, and I suspect the princess would be dead right now. So I guess the Gods had purposes for us that trumped what I wanted that night,” Azzanon offered.
“For what it is worth, on another plane of reality, where I was free to make my own decisions, I would not have been unhappy with what you would have proposed,” Samtha replied.
Azzanon nodded his appreciation at her comment.
“Although I was really torn on why I was falling for an idiot weapons smuggler. I had thought I was past my ‘bad boys’ phase. No good ever comes from dating those sorts.”
Azzanon laughed. “Then I apologise that my disguise was not good enough to conceal that deep down I was not a bad guy. I will try to work on that. It really could get me killed one day.”
“So, we are good then?” Samtha asked.
“I believe we are. I cannot promise I will not hit on you if I get a few drinks into me. And if you hit on me, all bets are definitely off. I am telling myself I am over you, but I am pretty sure even this conversation will have undone at least 50% of the healing I thought I had gone through. Maybe don’t smile at me. I find that pretty much irresistible.”
Samtha smiled, and that really did not help. Azzanon loved that smile, and how her eyes sparkled when she did it.
“Woo yourself a Drasak Princess and I am sure you will forget all about me,” Samtha drawled.
Azzanon looked to where Gaebriel was standing with Hawkin. She seemed to be watching he and Samtha, while Hawkin was eagerly watching all of her.
“Really not sure I should go there, even if given the chance. Getting involved with the person you are assigned to protect is an amateur move,” replied Azzanon.
“And how do you know that?” Samtha asked, a grin beaming on her face.
“Because we were told in training not to,” Azzanon responded, a grin breaking out on his face also.
“And…” Samtha probed.
“Because I have already done that twice. Both times ended up being huge mistakes which made the mission much more complicated. Not to mention afterwards on the second one, when I then had to provide protection at her wedding. So no… I am not keen to repeat those mistakes again.”
“Keep your mind on the tasks at hand. The forces aligning against us are very dangerous. A mistake could cost you, or someone close to you their life,” advised Samtha. “Unfortunately I also know that one from personal experience. Many times members of the Seven have made the mistake of getting involved, and many times, it has resulted in problems or disasters for the Seven. Enough that we have essentially banned it. Many of the Seven think any relationship is asking for trouble, but I think we all now know not to mix personal relationships and our roles within the Seven.”
“I will. Take care of yourself, Samtha.”
Samtha nodded. As she strode past him she slapped him on the ass, grabbing his butt cheek firmly through his pants.
“You do have a fine ass!” she called out, loud enough for most of the room to hear. “I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who is interested.”
A slightly sheepish and embarrassed Azzanon then made his way back towards the others.
MITCHELL – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
Finally alone, Mitchell raced across the room and gave Maragon a firm, but careful, hug. Maragon was not an affectionate man, and they did not hug often, but to Mitchell this felt like a hugging moment.
Maragon returned the hug with genuine affection, but Mitchell could see he was weak, and fading.
“How are you feeling?” Mitchell asked.
“I am quite unwell, and still in some discomfort from my injuries,” replied Maragon. “With the antidote I will be fine. Without it, I think things might be more uncertain.”
‘Please do not die!’
“You have done well getting the Stone this far,” commended Maragon.
“Nice strategy, sending me away with the original and then turning yourself and the tower into a massive decoy,” replied Mitchell.
Maragon chuckled slightly, although the laugher turned to coughing. “I thought so. The key was nobody would ever expect it. How long did it take you to figure it out?”
“When I held the stone when we were camping in the woods,” Mitchell answered. “Once I felt it attune with me, I was sure it was the genuine artifact.”
There was a look of surprise that quickly passed over Maragon’s face, then one of concern.
“You should not have taken it from the pouch. There is one who can sense that stone if he is near or if you use the stone. A high-priest named Josak Norgette,” Maragon explained.
“We were attacked that night. Not long after I first touched the stone,” replied Mitchell. “But I did not see anyone who looked like he might be a high-priest. Just some shoddily equipped mercenaries.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you got lucky,” surmised Maragon. “I would have expected Josak to come for the stone, but perhaps he was wary it was a trap. He is also cheap, so perhaps he just bought the cheapest help he could find, and they bungled it.”
“I would advise not using the stone again unless things are most dire,” counselled Maragon.
“What? You are letting me keep it?” asked Mitchell incredulously.
“Yes, I am afraid so. Do not tell anyone else you still have it. I cannot take it back. Now that I have been in Anders clutches, he may be able to summon or teleport me back to him. I will take precautions, but the risk is still too high.”
‘May the Gods protect us! I have to protect this thing from High Priests of Razilin-Tera?! Breathe… Breathe.’
By concentrating on his breathing, Mitchell was able to push down his feelings of anxiety and stress.
“There is something else. When I touched the stone it showed me something,” said Mitchell.
“It did? I am a little surprised. Usually attuning to an item, particularly that powerful, would take time. Days, weeks or even months would not be unheard of.”
“I swear, I only had it out of the pouch a few minutes,” declared Mitchell.
“Then it would seem the stone already felt a bond with you, but I do not know why that would be,” replied Maragon. “What did it show you?”
“The battle where the Black Knight rescued the future King. I saw where it happened, and I saw in the background two giant Indiana Peaks. I think I could find that hilltop now. The stone is helping us.”
“It would seem so,” Maragon replied, but in a tone that suggested he was not entirely convinced.
‘You do not think that is the complete answer. But you do not know what the answer is.’
“Who is Entreris Jarvis,” asked Mitchell.
Maragon was shaken from his thoughts by the question, and was a little slow to respond.
“He is the forgotten man,” he replied wistfully.
“Oh, Ok then,” replied Mitchell sarcastically. “Do I get anything else on that? Because you know, your answer did not tell me anything.”
“I am afraid that is one you do not need to know at this time. All you need to know is you can trust him as you would a member of the Seven,” explained Maragon. “And he will be helpful at the Black Market. He knows a lot of the wrong people.”
‘Typical. Even now, you play your games with the truth. It annoys me, but there is no point arguing with you over it. And you are dying. I should get going.’
As if on cue, Maragon suffered a coughing fit. His strength was now clearly failing, and Mitchell helped him back into a chair.
“OK. Well I better get going so I can get his cure,” said Mitchell, preparing to turn and leave.
Maragon had an uncertain look on his face, a rare look Mitchell usually only saw when he was battling in his own mind with something.
‘Possibly still puzzling what my bonding with the stone might mean.’
“I will leave you with your thoughts. Do you need anything else from the market?” he asked.
“Mitchell. Wait….,” Maragon began, before another coughing fit. He swooned as if on the verge of passing out. “There is something else I need to tell you.”
There was something ominous about how he said it.
‘This is important. He wants me to know, but he is struggling to tell me.’
A feeling of dread came over Mitchell, as he anticipated hearing something really bad.
“If either of the deceased members of the Seven approach you… I need you to decline,” advised Maragon, making it seem more like an instruction than a request.
“May I ask why?” asked Mitchell.
‘Am I not worthy yet? Have you decided I will never be worthy?’
“You are likely my chosen successor,” Maragon replied. His eyes seemed to struggle to focus on Mitchell.
It took a few seconds, but the impact of that response hit Mitchell, and he felt light-headed, and a combination of both elation and awe-struck. If Maragon wanted to choose him, then he must be both worthy and worthwhile. It was like the validation he had always craved was finally his.
For a few seconds Mitchell stood there with a stupid grin on his face. He wanted to hug Maragon again.
“But there is something else you should know…” coughed Maragon. “I have always taught you the importance of contingency plans… I have been consistent in this.”
Maragon half stumbled, half fell from the chair, and was now lying on the cold hard floor. Mitchell caught him enough to soften the landing, and then knelt beside his mentor.
‘Contingency… what are you saying?’ The feeling of pride and elation started to turn cold in Mitchell’s gut. He leaned in closer both desperate and terrified of what Maragon might say next. But more terrified he might pass out or die before he finished the sentence.
“You are … not my only apprentice.”
Maragon’s eyes seemed to focus briefly on Mitchell.
“I have trained another… his name is Zenghi.”
‘What does that mean? Am I competing with this Zenghi for the right to be your successor? Who is this Zenghi? Where is this Zenghi? Is he better than me? Are you giving him tests like this right now? Is this all just a test?’
Mitchell’s mind was racing over those and what felt like a thousand other questions.
Meanwhile, Maragon sighed heavily as though he had said what he was trying to, and then his eyes closed.
Mitchell’s mind was a maelstrom of emotions, but Maragon’s condition forced him to cease with coming up with questions he had no way of answering. He checked Maragon’s vitals. The old man was alive.
‘Thank the Gods.’
He got to his feet and ran to get the priests.