The Road to Teracor
By Emily M. Hanson
Prologue
* * * * *
The topaz sun passed through a layer of wispy amethyst clouds and hovered for a few minutes in the sliver of sky between the two cloud layers before slipping into the bottom pocket. Like a great banner unfurling, darkness spread across the sky. One by one, twinkling stars appeared like curious children poking their heads through mysterious windows in the sky. A large shadow momentarily blocked out the smaller of the two moons and vanished.
"What do you think that was, Fenrek?" Trin asked.
She was a petite, slender young woman with sapphire-blue eyes and cascading ebony hair that concealed slightly-pointed ears. She wore a dark blue silk dress and a violet cape. Her mount was a lovely white mare who often acted as if she were the queen of the world. For that reason, Trin had named the horse Sela, which meant queen in her native tongue.
"How should I know?" Fenrek retorted.
With a height of about four feet, he was short, even for a Melosean. He had a comical nose that looked like a lump of clay stuck on as an afterthought. His gray eyes resembled smooth pebbles. One of his ears was slightly larger than the other. He wore a brown tunic, black riding breeches, and a buff leather cloak. He carried two short swords at his waist, but to him, they were the equivalent of long swords. He rode a plump, dapple-gray pony with sleepy eyes named Bagley.
"It could have been a dragon," she suggested.
"Aye, and gold could grow on trees."
Trin gave Fenrek an exasperated glance. She wondered what he would say if she told him that gold did grow on trees, at least on the trees at her father's palace. "Do you have to be so...so incredulous?"
"Trin, I could no more be unskeptical than you could be pessimistic. Was it not the great Cigmus who said that all things must abide by their specific natures?"
"Yes, but Firuna the Wise said that all things are subject to change."
He groaned. "You're impossible to argue with, Trin. Do you know that?"
She laughed. "I am not impossible to argue with, Fenrek. On the contrary, I enjoy a good argument. It stimulates the mind and excites the heart. You just concede far too easily."
He sighed. "Do all faeries argue so much?"
"We are taught to respect the mind, and thus we must exercise it often. Debating is but one of many ways to accomplish that. We have many philosophers, artists and writers among our people as well."
The Melosean didn't have the heart to tell her that his question had been rhetorical. Instead, he said with uncharacteristic grace, "Thank you for satisfying my curiosity."
Trin raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
As Kiperreth's claws touched the ground, the air around him shimmered with colors of every hue imaginable. The magnificent dragon was transformed into a human man with blond hair and emerald green eyes, dressed in various shades of green. He carried a staff and wore a backpack. Pinned to the collar of his tunic was a gold pin in the shape of a dragon with emerald eyes.
He had seen Trin and Fenrek from the air, even though they were ten leagues away. If the sun had been out, Kiperreth could have seen them from twenty leagues away. He had recognized them. He had known Trin since she had been a wee babe, and he had met the grouchy gnome in a tavern somewhere -- Daranor, probably. He visited the port city often for its world-famous ale. He also liked to keep up with current events, unlike most dragons, who were territorial and reclusive. Looking forward to seeing his old friends again, Kiperreth set up camp.
Trin and Fenrek camped in a cluster of trees near the road. There were just enough trees to hide them and their horses from passers-by. While the Melosean started the campfire, Trin cast spells to ward off harm. By the time she was finished, Fenrek had found their rations and was preparing to make soup with beans and dried beef. He could make a delicious soup out of almost anything.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Fenrek sighed. "That's why I hate sleeping in the open. Half the time you can't sleep because the ground's too hard, and the other half because it's cold and wet."
"I'm not so sure that's thunder," Trin remarked. "Look to the east, Fenrek, the way we came."
He squinted. "You know my eyes aren't as good as yours, Fair Lady, especially at night. I can just barely see a glowing dot."
"That glowing dot is moving toward us."
"You're right, it is. Do you think it's someone carrying a torch?"
"I think it's a lot of someones carrying torches," she asserted.
That got Fenrek's attention. "I wonder what's going on?"
"I am curious as well," Trin agreed.
It didn't take very long for their curiosity to be satisfied. Four Torgesian troops rode past. The soldiers wore plate mail, and their horses had barding. Two soldiers in front carried a silk banner with a gold dragon on a black background. Most of the other soldiers carried torches. None of the Torgesian lords had any standards like that, and King Ulven's standard had always been a lion. Besides that, the soldiers were heavily armed, and two supply horses carried heavy loads. In short, they looked as if they were ready for war. Fenrek mentioned this to Trin, who agreed that it was peculiar.
"Perhaps we should pay King Ulven a visit," she suggested. "I am, after all, Princess of the Faeries, and have a duty to keep myself appraised on human affairs."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Fenrek replied. "Are we bound for Teracor, then?"
Trin nodded. "It will not interrupt our goal for more than a few days."
"I'm not all that eager to get to Daranor, anyway." Fenrek owed a lot of people money there -- in particular, a man named Shen Mallen. Shen was a high-stakes gambler who was wealthy enough to hire assassins if he needed to. Rumor had it that he'd already done so, on a number of occasions. That was why Fenrek was going to Daranor, to pay off his debts. He had recently acquired some money from a business venture. Trin was going there for other reasons, which she kept to herself. It didn't matter. They had traveled together before, and got along fairly well.
For the next few hours, Trin kept herself entertained by reading a book, and Fenrek kept watch. The night was uneventful. Trin and Fenrek were on the road early the next morning. They passed by a village or two, and spoke to a few travelers along the way. No one else seemed to know anything about the soldiers, but there were plenty of rumors about King Ulven that sounded far-fetched and ridiculous.
It was about mid-morning when they met a flaxen-haired man dressed in green and carrying a sturdy walking stick. He bowed and spoke haltingly in the Faery language, which Fenrek did not comprehend.
Her eyes widened, but she smiled. "Kip, it's good to see you again." The two of them embraced. "Fenrek," she said, "this is my old friend, Kip."
"Er, pleased to meet you." Fenrek stuck out his hand, and Kip shook it. Why did the other man's name sound familiar? Fenrek hated it when he couldn't remember things. It was like losing a favorite pair of socks.
"But we have already met," Kip said. "I believe it was in a tavern in Daranor."
"I go to Daranor from time to time," Fenrek said. "In fact, I'm on my way there to visit some friends and repay some old debts. I am traveling with this fair woman as long as our paths cross, and Teracor happens to be along the route I am taking."
"Ah, yes. Well, I am also on my way to Teracor. I have a message for the king from the Great Circle."
"Your company would be welcome," Trin said.
And so they began their journey.
* * * * *
Chapter 1
* * * * *
Tanith frowned as she polished her scimitar. Her long coppery hair danced in the wind like flames. The leather armor she wore was only a shade darker than her skin, which had become golden brown from constant exposure to the sun. Her emerald-green eyes scanned the surface of the blade for scratches and marks, but did not find any. Tanith sheathed Sirocco and stood up. She walked over to her mount, a handsome white stallion that had been a gift from Master Nishar, and patted him affectionately.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, J'yar."
The stallion tossed his head. *It is all right, Mistress. I do not mind waiting. Some preparation is necessary for a journey.*
Tanith climbed into the saddle. "Let's go."
She had been on the road no more than an hour, when she glimpsed a flicker of movement behind a tree. As Tanith peered into the woods, she saw a glint of metal and a flash of color.
"Bandits," she whispered to the stallion.
*I see them, Mistress.*
Tanith's hand dropped to her scimitar's hilt. As half a dozen bandits leaped out from behind the trees, she drew Sirocco from its scabbard. One of the thugs stepped forward, wielding a long sword.
"Give us your horse, woman, and we will let you live."
"Never!"
"Then prepare to die."
The first horse-thief attempted to strike her with his sword and missed. She sliced into his throat with Sirocco and watched him crumple to the ground. Two more leaped forward. J'yar reared and kicked one of them hard in the chest. The unfortunate miscreant stumbled back and fell. Tanith brought Sirocco down hard on the other.
The remaining rogues hesitated. One of them hurled a dagger at Tanith. It struck her shoulder, but the wound was small. Ignoring the pain, she rode forward and slayed the attacker. While the villain who had received a painful kick from J'yar scrambled to his feet, the sound of approaching hoof beats was heard.
Fenrek's horse stumbled but did not fall. When the Melosean looked down, he saw a fresh corpse lying on the ground. The former bandit was still bleeding from a deep gouge in his neck. Fenrek looked up and saw a flame-haired woman on a beautiful white horse wielding a deadly-looking scimitar and three bandits who looked very grim. Then he saw two more bodies strewn about. It was no wonder that the rogues were disheartened.
"Would you like a chance to retreat?" Tanith asked, glancing at the three remaining brigands.
One of them turned and fled into the woods. Another swung at Tanith. She blocked his attack, and then slashed his arm. He howled in pain. The last bandit tried to lunge at her, but J'yar kicked him in the groin. He doubled over, red-faced and spouting curses.
"My Lady, would you care for some assistance?" Fenrek shouted.
Tanith maneuvered J'yar around and saw a short, dumpy Melosean on a gray pony. Behind him were two nobles on a white horse. She responded, "Thanks for the offer, but I have things under control," as the remaining bandits staggered off into the forest, cursing and groaning.
Fenrek rode up to her. "You handled those scoundrels well. Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"I spent seven years in Naborea with a blademaster."
"That would explain a little. May I ask where you are going?"
"You may. I am on my way to Daranor."
Fenrek grinned. "Really? So am I. What a coincidence."
Tanith sighed. "I suppose you want another traveling companion."
"Why not? Conversation makes the time pass by quickly."
*She's beautiful,* J'yar gasped. He was staring at the white mare. Her nostrils flared, and she whinnied.
*What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a female before? Stop acting like a colt!*
Tanith realized that she was hearing the other horse's voice.
*I. . .I'm sorry,* J'yar apologized.
*While you're at it, tell your mistress to join us. Someone who's trained with a blademaster might come in handy, what with all the humans playing at war.*
"War?!" Tanith exclaimed.
"Excuse me?" Fenrek asked.
"That horse said something about war!" She pointed to the white mare.
"You can hear horses talk?"
Tanith nodded. "I've been able to hear animals speak since I was a child. My father used to breed horses, so I have a special affinity for them. I'm not as good with other animals."
"Interesting," Kip noted. "I thought that talent had been lost forever, except among the Seekers."
"Who?"
"The Seekers. I believe they are also called Wanderers. They gave up their homeland long ago in exchange for autonomy. They seek a new place to call home. That is why they call themselves the Seekers."
"Oh. What is this war I hear of?"
"We came across some soldiers wearing strange uniforms and carrying a black and gold banner with a dragon. They looked as if they were going off to war," Trin supplied.
"Interesting," Tanith mused. "I have been away from home for too long. Who is King now?"
"Ulven is still King, but his recent actions have not gone unremarked."
"I think it may be a good idea to visit Teracor," Tanith suggested.
Trin smiled. "That is where we are going. You may join us, if you wish. I am called Trin, and my companion is Kip. Our Melosean friend is named Fenrek."
"I am Tanith Makri."
"You are the daughter of General Talden Makri?" Kip asked in astonishment.
"Yes," Tanith replied.
"I am honored to be in the presence of such company."
Fenrek was beginning to grow irritated. "Can we get moving, please? I'd like to arrive in Teracor before my hair turns white and I have a beard as long as Bagley's tail."
Trin looked annoyed, but Kip laughed. "Of course, my friend. The exchanging of
pleasantries can wait. Teracor cannot."
* * * * *
King Ulven Dekira, son of Rayadir Dekira the Wise and Lady Losira Jolarid the Fair, current ruler of the five provinces of Torgesia, groaned. His accountant had just given him a full report, and things were looking dim. Trade routes were vanishing due to brigands and pirates. The few caravans still in operation had to either hire their own bodyguards, or petition Ulven for the use of royal guards.
As if things weren't bad enough, the Tunosians were demanding tariffs for every edible product that crossed their border including herbs, medicines, and all agricultural goods. Before, they'd insisted on tariffs on luxury goods. It was enough to give any ruler a headache. Finally, Ulven dismissed his accountant and called for a servant to get him some wine.
Dracon Kaldaan, the king's financial advisor, entered carrying Ulven's wine. He set a bottle and glass on the table, then bowed respectfully. His deep violet eyes missed nothing. The King was under stress, no doubt from the accountant's latest report. And why shouldn't he be worried? The kingdom was headed for a fiscal catastrophe.
Unless something was done to get rid of the bandits, and the Tunosians could be talked out of their latest demands, most Torgesians would be paupers in less than a year. The noble men and women Dracon met with on a daily basis could see it coming, and they wanted no part of it. If something wasn't done soon, Ulven could very well lose his throne. There were several contenders already, spreading the word discreetly among those they trusted, and watching the king like a hawk. When Ulven made a mistake, they would pounce.
"Sire."
"Dracon, have you any good news for me?" The king's eyes narrowed.
"No."
Ulven sighed and took a swallow of wine. "All right, what brings you here?"
"As you know, Majesty, our current financial state of affairs is not good. Something needs to be done about these blasted brigands! They're choking off our livelihood."
"Yes. Well, I've stationed all the guards I can at major crossroads and other checkpoints, but I just can't spare any more men."
"Perhaps you could send an assassin after their leader, Sire."
"If I had one." The king sighed. "Unfortunately, the thieves guild is no longer hiring out their services."
“There is one other thing, Majesty. I fear that if this situation does not change, someone may try to take your throne. There are already rumors of would-be contenders.”
"I'll keep your suggestions in mind, Dracon. Any other news?" King Ulven grimaced. His headache was getting worse, not better. Blast it!
"No, Sire." Dracon frowned. "Are you all right? You look ill. Perhaps I should send for a physician."
"Yes, do so. Tell him I have a splitting headache."
"As you wish."
Suddenly, Ulven felt a sharp pain in his forehead and cried out. Then, he collapsed.
"No!" Dracon exclaimed. He ran to find the nearest physician.
A few hours later, the king sat up in bed. Disoriented, Ulven looked around. There was a tall, slender Naborean woman with light brown skin and long black hair. She wore a physician's white robe. Embroidered around the sleeves and neckline were small red drops, meant to represent blood. She wore a silver ring with a ruby stone that was shaped like a drop of blood, which all physicians received upon graduating from the university. The ring was engraved with silverheart leaves, a common base for many medicines, and which also appeared on the standard sign above most apothecaries. Her amber eyes looked golden in the flickering candlelight.
"What is my condition?" Ulven inquired. His voice cracked with strain.
"You had traces of poison in your body. They are no longer present, as I have cleansed you.”
"What sort of poison?”
"Bloodroot."
That was traditionally difficult to cure. This physician must be talented indeed, if she had flushed it from Ulven's system. The king nodded. "What is your name?"
"Jacina Marai Temuri.”
"You will be rewarded for saving my life. Was the bloodroot present in the wine I drank?"
"No."
That meant Dracon was not a likely suspect, but the kitchens needed to be searched and the staff questioned, and more money had to be paid out to guards. Ulven sighed. At this rate, the royal coffers would be depleted within the year. He started to get out of bed.
“It would be best if you stayed in bed until dinner time. The antidote I used is known to make patients light-headed. That feeling usually lasts for several hours.”
“Sire, I’m glad you’re awake,” Dracon said, after knocking on the door.
“Let him in,” Ulven said. The worry-lines on his forehead gave away his concern. His face was slightly ashen.
“How are you feeling now?” the Royal Accountant asked.
“Much better. Pay this physician well, for she has surely saved my life.”
“What type of malady were you afflicted with, Sire?”
“Bloodroot poison.”
Dracon looked even paler. “It is what I feared would come to pass.”
“You are the only one I dare trust,” Ulven told him. “We must root out the traitor.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“It might be easier to discover where the poison came from, rather than to interrogate everyone at first, since bloodroot is so rare.”
“An excellent thought. Have the guards search the herbalists’ shops, and thoroughly question any of the proprietors who have it in stock.”
“As you wish, Sire.” Dracon bowed.
* * * * *
Aliya shivered. The sewers were cold and dark, and she had no desire to be here. Unfortunately, Zebyl had insisted on the meeting place. She huddled in her cloak and wondered how much longer to wait. Suddenly, one of the shadows moved forward.
A man stepped out, hidden in a shadow cloak. The pitch-black fabric concealed him until he lifted the cloak’s hood. It was Zebyl. His dark azure eyes scrutinized Aliya as though she were prey, and not a member of the thieves’ guild.
“How did the mission go?” Zebyl asked in a raspy voice that came from years of smoking halil, an addictive hallucinogen which came from bright flowers that were often dried and used in decorative floral arrangements in upper-class homes. The drug was easy enough for a thief to come by.
“I was successful. Who was the bloodroot meant to poison?” Aliya asked. All she’d had to do was sneak into the palace kitchen and deliver it to one of the cooks without anyone else noticing.
“It is better that you do not know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Zebyl, I am close to becoming a master thief. I’m not green anymore.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “Very well. It was for King Ulven.”
Aliya gasped. It was one thing to poison a greedy merchant or stuffy noble who deserved it, but quite another to murder the king. Her world was suddenly ripped asunder. She would have to flee, or be discovered and hanged as a traitor. Aliya felt faint.
“Are you all right?” Zebyl asked.
“No, I have to go.”
He clutched her shoulder. “Be careful. I would not want to see you hurt.”
You’ve already hurt me more than you know, Aliya thought but didn’t say. The thief fled the cold, dark sewers with seeds of fear growing in her chest.
Chapter 2
* * * * *
Trin, Fenrek, Tanith and Kip stopped at an inn for the night. This was their third evening traveling together. Tanith struck up a conversation with a merchant’s bodyguard in hopes of finding out news. Joros spoke of brigands on the road, which kept him and his fellows employed. They’d fought off a dozen or so within the past six days. The caravan had lost two horses to the attacks, enough to slow them considerably.
Another bodyguard had attempted to follow the surviving brigands, but lost them in the forest. Joros supposed that if their lair could be found and destroyed, the attacks would be hindered considerably, but no one knew where they were hiding. When asked where the rogues had run, Joros simply said, “Into the forest.” Tanith thanked him and rejoined her companions.
“We could search for them,” Trin suggested.
“It’ll take time from our journey,” Fenrek said.
“Not as much as you think,” Kip replied. “Once we find their trail, we can track them down.”
Fenrek shrugged. “There’s likely to be a reward. If you don’t think it’ll take long to find them, let’s try.”
Tanith went back and asked Joros exactly where the brigands had attacked the caravan. After he told her, they went out to the edge of the forest and discovered the bandits’ trail.
Kip muttered a few arcane words and the footprints began to glow with an eerie green light. “This way.”
Fenrek’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”
“If I tell you, I’ll have to eat you.”
The Melosean blanched.
“Kip,” Trin protested, knowing that he was kidding.
Kip sighed. “Oh, very well. It’s a rather simple spell, but one that is not widely known. If you like, I can teach it to you sometime. Now, let’s go before the trail fades.”
When the footprints were covered by dirt, leaves or grass, the objects that obscured them glowed as well. The four adventurers followed the green trail through the forest until it stopped in the middle of a clearing. There were no brigands to be seen.
“How can this be?” Fenrek asked no one in particular.
“It could have been done with a translocation spell,” Kip replied. “The bandits must have a wizard working with them.”
“Why would any self-respecting wizard have anything to do with bandits?” Trin asked.
“That is an excellent question. We may be able to find out in Teracor.”
No one argued, so they continued onward.
* * * * *
Aliya surveyed her room at the Wayside Inn. It was dingy, despite a last minute cleaning by the maid. Spider webs occupied most of the corners and a fine layer of dust blanketed the windowsill. As dirty and cramped as the room was, it would be fine for just a few days. After King Ulven’s attempted assassination, she had fled the city in panic. She was able to think more clearly on the road.
There was a thieves’ guild house in Daranor where she could stay and find work. Until then, she would have to be as inconspicuous as possible. A woman traveling alone was very conspicuous, especially with the brigands waylaying travelers. Aliya hoped to join a group of people heading in the same direction. For the time being, she might earn a few coins by playing her flute in the tavern. She wasn’t adverse to honest work, as long as it paid off.
The day passed quickly. When evening came, she found the innkeeper and asked permission to play her flute that night. He couldn’t afford to pay her, but any coins she got from the crowd were hers to keep. In return, he would give her a free meal. There were not many patrons. However, several men showed up in the tavern. They were probably locals who came for the ale and the chance to talk without their wives being present. The tavern food was greasy, but at least it was hot. Her audience was also willing to listen. They even made song requests.
This wasn’t a bad way to make a living if you had to, Aliya thought. She even considered becoming a full-time bard. Unfortunately, women weren’t often taken seriously as bards. They could only make a living on the street corners in a well-populated city, or as part of a theatre troupe. Aliya played until well after sunset, then retired to her room and counted the money. She’d gotten six copper coins, one from each of the men. It would pay the cost of another night and perhaps a bath as well. Sliding under the thick wool blanket a few minutes later, she fell asleep.
* * * * *
Fenrek, Trin, Kip and Tanith had a peaceful night camping out. There was a village with an inn within a day’s journey. The Melosean was looking forward to sleeping in a warm bed and having a hot meal, rather than beef jerky and dried fruit. He was also looking forward to a bit of gambling. Trin frowned on it, Tanith had never learned how to play dice, and a sane man never gambled with a dragon.
Sela and J’yar were gazing at each other as if nothing else existed in the world. Fenrek rolled his eyes and saddled his pony. “At least you’ve still got your senses, Bagley.”
The dapple-gray pony snorted and tossed his head in reply.
“He says, of course, he’s got more sense than to mate,” Tanith translated.
Bagley snorted again.
“Besides, he’s not one to steal another horse’s filly.”
“That’s my Bagley.” Fenrek patted the pony’s furry head.
As they traveled, the sky became increasingly overcast and the temperature grew colder. It was late summer. Snow was out of the question, but rain wasn’t. Fat raindrops began to sprinkle from the sky. Luckily, the next village wasn’t far. Quickening their pace, they set off at a canter and then a full gallop.
* * * * *
Aliya went downstairs as new guests arrived in soaking wet clothes. The innkeeper offered seats by the fireplace. A Melosean haggled for the two best rooms available and a hot bath as his companions sat down. She blinked in surprise as one of them, a tall man with fair hair and green eyes, shimmered briefly. It had to have been a trick of the light. As he sat down, she noticed that his clothes had mysteriously gotten dry. He must be a wizard of some sort. Then she noticed a dark shape looming behind him with scales and wings and a tail. She felt her mouth go dry.
“Are you all right, Miss?” Fenrek looked at her strangely.
Kip turned around and gazed at Aliya with perceptive emerald eyes. “You can see it, can’t you?”
“What?” she asked.
“My true form. Don’t be frightened, lass, I won’t hurt you. I’m a dragon.”
It was the innkeeper’s turn to gape. “A dragon? Here?”
“We travel occasionally, and prefer doing so discretely. What is your name, Miss?”
“Aliya.”
“That is an unusual name. Where are you from?”
“I grew up on the streets of Teracor. I never knew my parents.”
“And now you’re leaving to seek your fortune?”
“Something like that.”
“Come a bit closer, please.”
She really had no other choice. It was rare to defy a dragon and live. Many tales were told of those who were foolish enough to do so. One was told of a merchant who refused to give a dragon a percentage of the gold he earned from passing through the dragon’s territory. He’d been roasted on the spot, and his ashes had been returned to the merchants’ guild with a message asking for the dragon’s dues. Of course, the merchants paid. Facing the dragon in human form, Aliya gazed into his eyes. “How old are you?”
“Older than you,” he replied with a chuckle. “Younger than some of my kind. I am called Kip among humans. I use the name Kiperreth among dragons. Since you’re just leaving Teracor, perhaps you could tell us some news. What is the King doing about the bandits?”
“As far as I know, he’s using his guards to look for them. There are rumors that the King is sick, and that the Tunosians want more gold from us. Nothing else is new,” she replied with a shrug.
“How sick is Ulven?” Trin asked, concerned.
Her eyes narrowed at the use of the King’s first name. “I don’t know. The rumors range from him having the flu to being on his deathbed, or maybe even being poisoned.” A bit of the truth was usually safe, as long as you didn’t embellish it.
“Poisoned,” the faerie gasped. “By whom?”
Aliya shrugged, hoping to remain inconspicuous. If they had any inkling of what she had done, they would surely turn her in. Though she hadn’t known who the poison was meant for, she had delivered it to the kitchen, and that would be enough to convict her of treason. The punishment for treason was death, but not a quick one. Those who were convicted faced torture, then dying from Blackroot, the slowest and most painful poison known to exist.
“I would imagine that the king’s guards are looking for the culprit as we speak,” Kip said. “Tell me, Aliya, are you going anyplace in particular?”
“Daranor.”
“What a coincidence,” Fenrek remarked. “That’s where I’m going. Maybe you could come with us, as long as you don’t mind going back to Teracor for a day or two.”
“I’d really rather not.” She couldn’t take the chance. On the other hand, traveling with such a group would make her less conspicuous. But they would almost certainly guess what she was up to.
“Oh, well. If you change your mind, we’re leaving at sunrise tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but I won’t be changing my mind.” She went back upstairs.
* * * * *
When evening came, Aliya played her flute again. Much to her surprise, she earned a silver piece and a handful of copper coins. The silver piece had been tossed in by Kip, who grinned and lazily leaned against the wall. Most of the local patrons had been giving him double-glances all evening long. Evidently, the innkeeper had told them. As she sat down, he got up and joined her.
“You play well.”
“Thanks. It’s a modest way to earn coins, but at the moment, I have no choice.”
“Why won’t you come with us? You’re obviously looking for another group of travelers to join,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“Young women do not usually travel alone without a good reason. Whatever you’re running from, we can help.”
Aliya shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“It can’t be that hopeless.”
Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “I can’t tell you any more. Please, just leave me alone.”
“As you wish. If you happen to change your mind overnight, you know where we’ll be.”
She nodded.
Later that night, a loud commotion woke everyone at the inn. Aliya glanced out her bedroom window and saw the innkeeper arguing with brigands. Apparently, they were trying to rob him. She grabbed her dagger and crept into the hallway. As she approached the stairs, another shadow moved close to her. Aliya froze. She was surprised to hear someone whisper her name.
“Kip?” she asked.
“Yes. My companions are still asleep.”
“Not anymore,” said a female voice Aliya didn’t recognize.
“Tanith, how kind of you to join me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied.
“I’m here, too,” whispered Fenrek.
“As am I,” Trin said in a soft voice.
“Aliya, this is not your fight,” Kip said.
He had a point, but feeling guilty about what she had done prompted Aliya to do something about one of the threats to King Ulven’s rule. “I choose to make it my fight,” she answered.
“All right. Let’s go.”
The innkeeper was shoved against the wall by one of the brigands, a large burly Naborean. Three of the others were Torgesian and one was a Melosean.
“Stop,” Kip commanded in a voice that would have certainly convinced anyone else to obey.
The brigand turned around, rage showing clearly on his face. “You will not order us about, little lordling. Go back to bed and forget about this, or we will have to kill you.”
He’d assumed from Kip’s clothes that the dragon was actually the son of a wealthy landowner, and fully human. That was exactly the wrong assumption.
Kip chanted in the dragon tongue and a glowing dart appeared, hovering in the air. “Let him go or I’ll strike you down. Believe me when I say that you mean nothing to me.”
His eyes widened as he paled visibly. “You’re a sorcerer?”
“Oh, I’m much more than that. Let the innkeeper go. Do not make the mistake of underestimating my companions and I.”
The Naborean glanced at one of the other brigands, a tall man with silver-white hair who nevertheless appeared in his 20’s. He nodded and the other man released the innkeeper.
Kip motioned with his hand and the dart vanished. “Leave this place.”
“No! We should fight them,” said the Melosean bandit. “We can’t let them tell us what to do.”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn many lessons,” said the white-haired man. “One of them is never, ever, mess around with sorcerers. Come on. There will be other targets later.”
“Curse you,” he replied and drew his dagger.
“If you want to die, be my guest. You’re signing your own death warrant if you stay. Let’s go.”
The white-haired man and the other thieves headed for the door, not even sparing a backward glance for their companion. Kip chanted again and the glowing dart reappeared.
“One last chance,” the dragon remarked. “I’d follow your friends, if I were you.”
The Melosean glanced at the door, then looked back at Kip and the dart. “To the Great Fiery Pit with you,” he swore, then turned and ran out.
“We’re not actually going to let them escape, are we?” Aliya asked.
“No, we’re going to follow their trail. Right, Kip?” Fenrek replied.
He nodded. “Everyone, go upstairs and gather your belongings as quickly as possible. Aliya, you’re welcome to join us, but you don’t have to.”
“I’d like to,” she answered.
“All right.”
She went upstairs to pack. Kip turned to the innkeeper, who was massaging his sore shoulder. “Are you okay? I can heal that.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. He just had a grip, that’s all. Thank you for what you’ve done.”
“I’m just happy to help.”
Soon, Aliya and the others returned, fully dressed and with backpacks slung over their shoulders.
“Let’s hit the road,” Fenrek suggested.
Trin gave him a blank look. “Why would you want to pound your fist into the dirt?”
“It’s a colloquialism,” Kip explained. “He means we should leave.”
“Oh.” The faery shook her head. Despite all the time she had spent in the mortal realm, there were still many things that she had to learn.
The adventurers set out on the road. It was still dark. The silver moon hung above them in a dark indigo sky filled with bright stars. As a result, they could easily see the hoof prints of the brigands’ horses on the road heading south. It was a direction that would take the adventurers away from Teracor, but only for a short while. The hoof prints eventually went off the main path and into the forest.
An owl hooted as Aliya and Trin rode under a particularly large tree. Kip and Tanith rode together in the lead position. Fenrek was the only one who had his horse to himself, but Bagley was too small for another passenger. He was behind everyone else. As the sound of the brigands’ voices drifted towards them on the cool evening breeze, Kip motioned for everyone to stop.
“Curse that blasted sorcerer.” This was the voice of the Melosean brigand. “We’ll be stuck here if he doesn’t show up.”
“Keep your britches on,” the silver-haired brigand said. “He’ll come. He always has.”
“You know, the royal guards are probably all out looking for that girl thief who was stupid enough to deliver the poison. They might just ignore us if we came into town and looted the place dry,” someone suggested.
Aliya clenched her fists. Stupid, was she? She’d show him. But the dragon probably wouldn’t allow it…well, tough. Kip could go to the Great Fiery Pit, for all she cared. The thieves in Teracor respected her, and soon, that brigand scum would, too.
Noticing her reaction, Kip raised an eyebrow but kept his suspicions to himself. If Aliya was the very same thief who had delivered the poison meant for King Ulven, and she had done it knowingly, she was guilty of treason. Something about her was different, though. She didn’t seem like a thief, or at least, someone who was meant to be a thief.
He’d finally recognized her name. Aliya was the name of a Tunosian queen who had lived five centuries ago. That in itself didn’t mean anything, of course, but there was an obscure prophecy regarding that queen’s descendants. Kip couldn’t remember the prophecy word for word, but he knew that it had to do with powerful magic and the death of a king ushering in an age of war and darkness. He made a mental note to look up the prophecy in the royal archives when he arrived in Teracor.
“No,” the rogues’ leader replied. “It’s too risky right now. We should wait and see what Neteilu says.”
A strange humming sound suddenly pierced the air as a shimmering blue portal appeared. Out of the portal came a figure dressed entirely in gray robes. He carried a Darkwood staff carved into the shape of a serpent. That type of wood was extremely rare and grew only in Tunosia. Darkwood Forest was filled with ancient trees that supposedly contained spirits.
By law, no fires could be burned in Darkwood Forest and no trees could be cut, though branches that had fallen naturally could be gathered. Unicorns and tree dragons were said to live there, though very few had ever been seen. It was also said that Darkwood trees had their own ways of defending themselves against those who would cut or burn them. Nevertheless, Tunosian guards regularly patrolled the only road that went through the forest.
The sorcerer who had cast the portal turned to look at the brigands. His hood was pulled back slightly to reveal pale skin and ice-blue eyes. “I told you to be careful, but you allowed yourselves to be followed!”
“Impossible,” their leader said.
“Blasted fools. Look over there!” He turned and threw some sort of powder. There was a bright flash, revealing the adventurers’ position. “Attack them, and do not allow any of them to survive!”
“One of them is a bloody sorcerer,” the Melosean brigand remarked.
“Then he will rue this day, along with his companions.”
Kip chanted, casting a defensive spell as the enemy sorcerer hurled several glowing white stones at them.
“Those are hailstones! Look out,” Trin shouted, recognizing the objects.
The air grew colder as the magical stones came closer. Suddenly a frigid wind came out of nowhere, threatening to freeze everything solid. The ground turned white with frost and the plants around them sparkled with ice. Kip finished casting his spell. One by one, the hailstones struck the magical shield. They fell to the ground and became dark as the magical cold receded.
Aliya drew her dagger and jumped off the horse. “You’re going to pay for insulting me,” she told the brigand who had called her stupid.
He parried as she thrust at him. “Is that the best you can do?” he taunted. “That’s why girls like you should stay at home with their parents and get married off.”
“My parents are dead, you idiot.”
“Then I’d hate to be in their shoes.”
“You will, soon enough.”
He swung his blade wide, then made a sudden downward stroke that knocked her dagger from her hand. The sharp blade nicked her finger as well. A single drop of red blood formed and fell to the ground.
“Guess again,” he said.
She froze in fear, expecting to die. Suddenly the drop of blood that had fallen to the ground burst into a flame as a beam of moonlight struck it. The rogue swore and stepped back. The beam of moonlight widened, becoming a column that surrounded Aliya. Her injured hand felt very warm. Then a spark from her wounded finger grew into a glowing ball of silver fire. She threw it as hard as she could at the brigand, who turned and ran. But he couldn’t run fast enough to avoid his fiery fate.
“She’s a bloody sorceress,” the Melosean rogue shouted.
He was fighting Fenrek. They were evenly matched. It was only Fenrek's good dagger verses his opponent's rusty axe that gave him an edge. He stabbed the rogue, who howled as he collapsed in pain, clutching his wound. His axe fell to the ground with a thud. “Blast you…you’re a traitor to your people,” the rogue muttered.
His eyes widened. “At least I’m not attacking travelers who’ve done nothing wrong.” His fallen opponent reached for the axe that he’d dropped. Fenrek stabbed him once more. “You’re a fool,” he remarked. “You’ll die a fool’s death, then.”
Trin was good with a dagger but better at magic. She defended herself against a brigand who had to be the lousiest swordsman she'd ever seen, parrying until she finally found an opening. Then the faery struck and the bandit crumpled to the ground. Meanwhile, Tanith had killed three of the rogues and now faced the enemy sorcerer with Sirocco in her hands.
“You will die, woman,” said the sorcerer, using the word ‘woman’ as though it were a curse.
“Ha,” Tanith replied. “I’ve seen no magic yet that can beat someone with a good blade who knows how to use it.”
That was true to an extent. The whole trick was getting close to the spell caster in the first place, but once you got close enough, they were as vulnerable as anyone else without plate armor. Suddenly he threw some sort of dark powder at her. Tanith cursed as she was overcome by a sneezing fit, unable to fight. The sorcerer chose that moment to run away. He escaped into his portal.
"Aliya?" Kip inquired. He turned around and saw the brigand's corpse engulfed in flames. Aliya stared at her hand in shock. Some fallen leaves and twigs near her had caught on fire, but she appeared not to have noticed. "Blast," the dragon muttered as he saw the sorcerer's portal disappear.
But Aliya was still in trouble. The fire around her intensified until the flames surrounded her. Coming out of her shock, she gaped at the blazing fire. She shook her head in astonishment and reached into the silver flames. Kip began casting a spell to disperse the blaze. Aliya withdrew her unharmed hand, wondering if she could make it through the flames.
She took a tentative step forward, then another, and another. She felt incredibly hot, but free of pain, as she walked through the shimmering ring of fire. The dragon finished his spell and gazed at her as the silver flames vanished. His stare was not accusatory, but one of genuine curiosity and amazement.
“For a human who isn’t a magic user, that was quite a feat,” he finally said. “How did you manage it?”
“I’m not sure.” Aliya felt her cheeks grow red. “It happened all of a sudden.”
“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” he asked.
“No.”
Fenrek and Trin had just dispatched their opponents and approached quickly.
“That was some fire,” Fenrek said, sheathing his blade.
Aliya blushed even more and stared at her feet.
“Tell us the truth,” Kip said, his tone growing even more serious. “Did you poison King Ulven?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even know the poison was meant for him! It was just supposed to be a delivery job, that’s all. Nothing more. I didn’t find out until afterward.”
“You delivered the poison to whoever tried to kill him?”
She nodded. “I took it to the kitchen. Someone there must have done it.” Tears sprung to her eyes. “I didn’t know the poison was for the King, I swear! I figured it was for one of the politicians in the royal court. They plot against each other all the time. The Thieves’ Guild does a lot of jobs for them, you know. Please don’t bring me back to Teracor. If you do, I’ll be executed!”
Kip and Trin exchanged glances.
“She needs to tell her side of the story,” the Faery said.
“Yes, but will the King believe her? And even if he does, will he allow her to live?”
“I do not know,” Trin admitted. “The last time I spoke with Ulven, he was a much younger man. He may have changed over the years, but he did not seem hotheaded or temperamental then. I think he will listen to reason.”
“No,” Aliya exclaimed. “Please don’t bring me back there!”
“Listen to me,” Kip said. “You’re much safer with us than you would be on your own. We will make certain that the King understands the magnitude of your testimony. He cannot afford to kill you because he will need you as a living witness against the person or people who tried to murder him. Do you understand?”
Slowly, she nodded. “You’re sure I won’t be killed?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll come with us?” Trin inquired.
Aliya nodded again.
“Good,” Kip remarked.
They set off towards Teracor. Kip wondered if they would ever see the enemy sorcerer again.
* * * * *
Chapter 3
In his obsidian tower, the sorcerer Neteilu cursed as he saw what had happened in his scrying glass. He was very tall with pale skin, black hair with streaks of gray, and green eyes. Around him, golden candle flames flickered, casting eerie reflections in the black stone that made up the tower’s walls. Alriod was supposed to have led the brigands away, not gotten into a fight.
“Blast it,” he muttered. “Stupid young hothead. I should have gone myself.”
A glowing portal appeared in the room and Alriod stepped through. He pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing ice-blue eyes and shoulder-length silver hair despite his age of 20. Alriod was half-Faery, which showed in his unusually thin build and slightly-pointed ears.
“If you had gone, you’d have risked revealing your identity. Our plans would have come undone. That was no ordinary sorcerer, you know. He was a dragon in human guise. I realized it myself only too late.”
“I know that,” Neteilu snapped. “Are our surviving associates in hiding?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We have to lead the dragon and his companions away from our trail. We must make sure they believe it was another noble plotting against the king, and no one else,” Neteilu said. “We need a scapegoat.”
“I have the perfect scapegoat in mind,” Alriod replied with a grin.
* * * * *
Lord Brogan grumbled. He always grumbled, particularly when things annoyed him. It was just that most things tended to irritate him. His wife’s perfume, the servant girl’s mindless chatter as she helped him dress for the evening banquet, and the coldness of the castle floor seeping into his satin slippers annoyed him greatly. He didn’t wear boots unless he went outside because most boots didn’t fit him right. He’d had one pair custom made several years ago, but one of the king’s hounds had chewed them up last year. Nobody could explain how the hound had gotten into his bedroom.
Most of the servants called him ill-tempered behind his back. That annoyed him too, but nothing that could be done about it because no one had said it to his face. He’d only heard it from his wife, Lady Alenda, who actually spoke to her maidservant on occasion. Lord Brogan realized he was hard to please. His wife was probably the only person who had ever been able to please him.
After the servant girl finished dressing him, he dismissed her. Standing up in the stiff tunic and breeches, Lord Brogan realized that his tunic was itchy and would probably annoy him for the rest of the evening. There was no way he could get it off himself because the buttons were too tiny for his large fingers. Lord Brogan was a stocky man in his late 60’s. His fingers could no longer be forced to do what they had done long ago. He opened the door, but it was too late to call the servant girl back. She was out of sight. Cursing, he closed the door.
No doubt, the food at the banquet would be either too hot or too cold, the wine would be watered down too much, and the musicians would play off-key. Oh, well, at least it was something to do. Lord Brogan grabbed his cane and headed for his wife’s chamber. He rapped on the door several times.
“Alenda, are you ready?”
“Just a moment,” she responded. “Marai is still helping me with my gown.”
“Well, tell her to hurry up.”
He heard Alenda say, “I’m afraid my husband is a bit impatient, dear. Don’t worry.”
A few moments later, Marai said, “There! You look truly resplendent.”
Tired of waiting, Lord Brogan opened the door. He stopped in mid-stride when he saw his wife in a lovely emerald-hued gown that matched her eyes. Around her neck was a silver chain with an emerald pendant. Her long white hair had been done in an elaborate knot. Green ribbons trailed down her neck.
Alenda grinned impishly. “Was the wait worth it?”
“You look stunning, my love,” Brogan managed to say.
“Why, thank you.”
“Shall we go?”
“Of course. Thank you, Marai. You may go now.”
The girl curtsied and left without a word. Brogan offered his arm to his wife, and together they headed to the banquet hall.
* * * * *
As the adventurers traveled, they passed many soldiers on the road. The troops wore the black and gold of Torgesia and carried a dragon banner. The soldiers barely glanced at Trin, Fenrek, Kiperreth, Tanith, and Aliya as they rode past at a full canter.
“They’re heading south towards Melosea,” Fenrek observed. “I hope King Ulven hasn’t done something rash.”
“Perhaps they are only guarding the roads from brigands,” Aliya suggested.
“If they were, they’d have stopped and asked us questions about where we were going,” the Melosean replied. “No, they look like they’re heading off to war.”
“That would be stupid. Melosea hasn’t done anything to deserve a war.”
“As far as we know,” Trin replied. “Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye. In any case, we should make haste.”
“We have another day of travel, assuming the weather holds up,” Fenrek replied, then looked at the dragon. “Unless you have a trick up your sleeve.”
“There is a spell I could use to hasten our progress,” he admitted, “but it has side effects on anyone who isn’t a dragon.”
“Like what?’
“When it wears off, you’ll feel like you have the mother of all hangovers for a day or two.”
“Ugh,” Fenrek replied. “I hate hangovers.”
“Time is of the essence,” Trin said. “If Torgesia really is on the brink of war, we need to reach King Ulven with all possible speed. What do you need to cast this spell?”
Kip replied, “I need a drop of griffon’s blood, a hair from a unicorn’s mane, and a rabbit’s foot.”
“I don’t think we have any of that,” she answered.
“We don’t,” he confirmed.
They continued until they reached a village with an inn. The village was called Haldor and the inn bore the strange name of “Red Pocket’s Inn,” a reference to a famous merchant who lived several hundred years ago, known for wearing red and being quite wealthy.
* * * * *
While Aliya ate supper at the inn’s tavern, she felt the eyes of a mysterious traveler dressed in a gray cloak watching her from across the room. She knew that acknowledging him would not be wise. It was a gut feeling; something that every thief had learned to listen to. She continued to eat her meal but remained nervous.
Kip followed Aliya’s gaze as her eyes darted to the corner where the man was sitting. “Do you know him?”
She shook her head. “There’s something odd about him. He keeps staring at me. I can feel it.”
“All right. Stay here. I’ll ask him a question or two.” He stood and casually approached the gray-clad man, who was seated at a small table near the fireplace. “Good evening, friend.”
“That it is,” he answered. “Care for a game of dice?”
“I don’t normally gamble, but perhaps I will this once.” He sat down. “You may call me Kip.”
“I am called Cigmus the Gray.”
“Named for the philosopher, eh?”
“Yes. I suppose my parents had high expectations. However, my own aspirations are to wander until I find a beautiful woman to marry and settle down. I’m not averse to earning a few coins along they way. I do a little of everything --scribing, translating, and storytelling. I’ve even been known to sing for my supper on occasion.”
“And gambling,” Kip remarked.
“That, too.” Cigmus tossed the dice onto the table. “A six and a four. Not bad. Where do you hail from? Your accent is not one I’ve heard around these parts.”
“I’d be surprised if you had. My home is a very long way from here.” The dragon tossed the dice. “A three and a one,” he observed.
“Not very lucky, my foreign friend. Four coppers say I can beat that.”
“Let’s make it five.”
“Agreed.” The wanderer flicked his wrist and the dice tumbled onto the table. “A five and a six. That’ll be difficult to beat.”
“Difficult, but not impossible. Terrible, isn’t it, what happened to your king?”
“Yes, but that’s the nature of politics. I hear the guards don’t have any idea who did it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. However, word has it that a young woman, probably a thief, was seen sneaking away from the kitchen on the same day the king was poisoned. The girl over there matches her description. Your young friend would do well to dye her hair, or perhaps cut it shorter, if she wishes to avoid confusion. An illusion would be even better.”
“What do you know of illusions?”
“Not much. I once translated a scroll for a sorcerer. Ever hear of Neteilu the Black?”
“Once or twice,” Kip replied honestly. “Never in connection with anything good.”
Cigmus nodded. “The scroll I translated for him contained a rather interesting prophecy. It was the only copy known to exist. One day when Neteilu was not watching me like a hawk, I made a copy. I sold it to King Ulven for a few gold pieces, but I have part of the prophecy memorized. It’ll make your blood curdle. Even King Ulven blanched when he heard it.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
He cleared his voice and recited: “Five lands bound by royal blood will be shattered by a single root. One who commands the stars shall come out of the East, yet seemingly from the West. The wanderers may find what they seek, but they will also find betrayal and strife. If the betrayer is strong enough, the five lands can be overtaken. But if one travels to the sun, a way to defeat the darkness may still be found.”
“Travel to the sun?” Kip mused. “How is that possible?”
“I do not know,” Cigmus admitted. “But it was a bloodroot that poisoned King Ulven, and word has it that if he isn’t careful, Torgesia will slip through his fingers. I hear the other nobles are watching him carefully and waiting to pounce on the throne. But then again, those are only rumors.”
The dragon picked up the dice and tossed them. The first one landed on a six. The other landed on its corner and wobbled for a second before flipping over.
“Two sixes!” Cigmus exclaimed. “I’ll be a bloody sorcerer!”
“As I said,” Kip remarked, “difficult, but not impossible. Much like traveling to the sun, I’ll wager.”
“How much?
“Are you serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious. How much do you want to wager?” the Torgesian asked.
“If someone does find a way to travel to the sun, I’ll find you a wife. How’s that?”
“Heh. What woman would want to marry the likes of me?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect there’s one out there for you somewhere.”
“And you still think it’s impossible to travel to the sun?”
Kip nodded. “As far as I know. Perhaps there might be a way. Or maybe whoever wrote that prophecy was a fool.”
“You never know,” Cigmus agreed. “Enjoy your evening, friend. I’ll not waste your time any longer.”
*****
After an uneventful night at Red Pocket’s Inn, they rode another seven hours and reached the gates of Teracor. Aliya felt the nervousness inside her rising like smoke from a fireplace up through a chimney -- except in this case, the chimney was blocked. With Trin’s help, she had dyed her hair black the previous night and cut her formerly long tresses to shoulder-length. It would avoid her being caught and interrogated until they could reach the palace.
“Relax,” Fenrek said. “Let us do the talking.”
She nodded.
“Greetings,” said the guard. “Why are you here?”
“We hope to find work,” Fenrek said. “Prospects are bad elsewhere because of the drought and the brigands taking everything they can carry. The farmers have no crops left in their fields, and the merchants have nothing left to sell.”
“You won’t have better luck here, but I guess you can try,” the guard replied and held out a scroll. “Make your marks, or sign your names if you know how. I’ll give you all temporary passes. They’re good for three months. You can apply for permanent passes later.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Aliya stood inside Teracor. She had hoped to leave this place behind, but here she was again. She shook off the feeling of anxiety, then followed Kip and the others down the road that led to Teracor and only the Gods knew where else.
*****
The End
