CHAPTER FOUR
OF PLANS AND SCHEMES FACES
~Magi~
Xaro was in such a fine mood, he decided to treat himself to some sweetwater, which he flavored with expensive lemons imported from Adimand. He was seated in a comfortable, airy room at Sands End that opened to the hot air outside. While spring may have been slowly spreading across most of the realm, it was always hot at Sands End—forever summer in the desert. But today there was a mild zephyr that stirred through the meeting room, high up in one of the turrets. The room had a door that led to a circular balcony, which Xaro decided to throw open today, given the breeze. The airflow merely added to his good humor.
Kuth-Cergor has spoken, shaping events, bending them to his will even as we speak. It was a comforting thought, knowing he could call upon such power, and that He would answer. That was why Xaro was in such a good mood. Only Malenec could truly relate, but he also despised how close the other man was to his God as well.
He looked over at his enormous General, the half-ogre Tar-Tan, his Dark Cleric, Malenec, along with the shadowy images of Veronica and Trevor, both of whom were attending his update meeting from afar. All of them were looking at the newest invitee, Krishnan, with his dark skin, white eyes, and a pointy chin covered in a meticulously-trimmed, well-oiled, black goatee. Krishnan just smiled, somewhat nervously, as he looked around from his seat next to Xaro.
“Ah, good. All assembled. It has been some time since our last update, and I am eager to know how your tasks have progressed.” Xaro began with a smile as he sipped his lemon sweetwater. “Ah, excellent in this heat.”
He turned to face the shimmering image of Trevor first. “Let us start with you, my Master Thief. Tell me, where are you in your journey back to Sands End?”
The shade of Trevor smiled. “All is well, Master. We sail aboard a vessel called Sheila’s Bane northwest of the Whirlpool and will cross the Forgotten Land Bridge at high-tide within a fortnight, or so I’m told. Another fortnight and we should be anchored in Sands End.”
A month. “Very well, and do you have the ring?”
“I do.” Trevor did not take it out to show anyone.
“And that gemstone—the Purple Sun of the Elfs—the one you had to steal as part of your Final Test…you showed that to me long ago. Do you still have that with you as well?” Xaro asked.
Trevor hesitated, narrowing his eyes. He did not answer immediately. “You have never expressed any interest in that, Master. Why now?”
“Just tell me whether you still have it, Thief.” Xaro was still smiling when he said this, but there was a keen edge in his voice.
“I suppose I do,” Trevor replied, choosing his words carefully. “It is a gem of great worth and value to me.”
Xaro never hesitated. “It is a gem of great worth and value, for sure. And you shall receive much gold in exchange for it.”
Trevor’s shade seemed to shift, whether in discomfort or from the rocking ship was hard to know. He finally said, “I would prefer to keep it, Master.”
Xaro narrowed his eyes. How much do I share with this group? He then softened his face and smiled. Kuth-Cergor has ordained this, what have I to fear from my own council? “Trevor,” he began. “I would like to introduce you and the rest of my council to our newest member. His name is Krishnan.” Xaro smiled warmly and pointed to the Mage, who slowly nodded. “Krishnan is an alchemist. That pendant, whether you know it or not, can turn base metal into gold. Did you know this, Trevor?”
“I did not, Master.” Trevor’s image appeared to lean forward.
“I suspected as much. Neither did I. Even our alchemist didn’t know. That is why alchemy is a failed discipline within our Art: without the Purple Sun, it does not work. Krishnan was led here by Kuth-Cergor, just as you are being led here. All these events are moving forward by the grace of his unseen hand.” Xaro said with a flourish of his own hands. Malenec nodded while everyone else looked on eagerly. “His appearance is not by coincidence.”
Xaro continued. “Soon we shall have our unlimited supply of gold, and I can assure you, my little Thief, that what you will be paid for that jewel will far exceed whatever you hoped to earn on the black market. Besides—it is a well-known artifact. Why would you risk trading it for gold anywhere else, knowing that the sale could trace the thievery back to your hand? Think before you do anything rash, Trevor. You do not want the Elfs hunting you on one side, and me on the other, do you?” He was smiling at Trevor, but the threat was plain.
Trevor just shook his head. “Of course not, Master. I am also eager to see how this might work.”
“Good. Very wise decision. Now, any further updates?” Xaro asked.
“Only that I brought Tarsh, the Mage Marik was going to introduce you to. I did not invite him to our private meeting, but I can attest that his power is strong. He pulled our entire ship from the grip of the Maelstrom, Master. Your ring and this jewel would be at the bottom of the sea if he hadn’t been aboard. We’re all lucky.”
“I can assure you that luck has nothing to do with it. As I just said, Kuth-Cergor moves events to pursue his will. I look forward to meeting this Tarsh. Magi would have been on that boat helping our cause, had events not led to his untimely death.” Xaro looked at his assassin Veronica, who started to speak, but Xaro talked over her to address the rest of the group. “Yet Kuth-Cergor equips your boat with yet another Mage to help you deliver that ring and jewel to my hand. Never doubt that you are all caught up in larger events, supported by a real God of unlimited power and resolve.”
“Yes, of course, Master. We are fortunate to have such a God on our side,” Trevor said, somewhat woodenly.
I will deal with your patronizing tone later. He turned to Veronica. “And you, my dear? I think you wished to speak next, yes?” He took another sip of lemon sweetwater, rolling the cool liquid around his tongue to savor the taste.
“Magi is not dead,” she said.
Xaro started coughing as his drink slid down the wrong pipe. After hacking a minute, he composed himself. “What did you just say?”
“Magi is not dead, Master. He lives. I saw him with my own eyes. And he carries an odd staff. He calls it the Staff of Wisdom—says it belonged to an ancient mage. Quix-something-or-other. I can’t recall the exact name, as I had to focus on some other things at the time. But I can verify that it gives him some form of ability to see the truth in a person’s words. It nearly got me killed.”
“But—how? How did he get it?!” Xaro shouted, louder than he’d intended. “Veronica, tell me everything, right now.”
She recounted the scene of her escape. “He claims to have died, and have been sent back to Tenebrae with this relic. I can only tell you what I saw and heard and did. I know he was dead when I slit his throat. I picked up his limp hand and removed the ring from his lifeless fingers, standing in a pool of his blood. Just yesterday in Rookwood, I saw the scar I gave him across his neck, as plain as lightning in the night sky. He died, and he now lives, and he carries an ancient staff.” She paused. “And I would bet that he is following me even as we speak now.”
“Of course he is. That’s what I would do. He seeks revenge.” Tar-Tan spoke up for the first time at the meeting. “The Mage wants to take your life.” His little, yellow eyes were staring at the Master Assassin, his arms crossed, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Perhaps,” said Veronica. There was no smile on her lips. “I expect him to follow me because he wants his ring back. When I released my hostage, Magi asked me if I still had it. I told him I did.”
“And?” asked Xaro.
“He knew I didn’t. He gave me this message: ‘Tell your Master that he cannot win. Tell him that faith in Dymetra has stirred, and that She hears. And tell your Master that I will have my ring.’” She shrugged. “He then watched me turn and head into the city. Looking back, I saw him lingering a minute or two after I had disappeared into a crowd. He will come, Xaro. I am sure that is his intent.”
After a brief period of silence, Malenec started to laugh. A cold, mirthless laugh. “Let him come. Let Her come, for that matter. If She wishes to fight for this realm, so be it. None can stand the power and fury of Kuth-Cergor, neither man nor spirit.”
Xaro kept his face expressionless. This changes things. He did not fear an attack on Sands End from a single Mage, but hadn’t developed much of a defense plan, either. “Does he know where the ring is?”
“Only that I do not have it…but he knows I’m going to meet someone who does or will. He knows I’m headed to Sands End. There is simply no lying to him while he carries that staff.”
An idea began forming in Xaro’s head, but he wanted all the reports before he issued his orders. More time to think.
~Queen Najalas~
Peter, Jonathon, Niku, and Simon all came up to Strongiron, clapping him on the back, poking fun at his new armor (Simon thought it might save his life in a blizzard, but get him killed otherwise), and welcoming him back in general.
The Queen observed this for several minutes, in part because she wanted to see how he’d changed. To her eye, except for the white armor, he hadn’t changed much at all. He always was holding court; he held court now. The man just leads.
As Strongiron recounted his time at the Tower of Dariez, she noticed other things. Magi seemed a bit impatient, though he let the old friends catch up without interrupting. Belara was staring at Strongiron, listening attentively. Kari, it seemed to the Queen, was trying hard not to stare. Strongiron caught her eye at one point, and Kari looked away quickly, almost as if she was embarrassed. The Queen sighed; she’s hardly the first maiden smitten with my General.
It was the islander, however, that surprised her. At one point in his story, as Strongiron was relating how he had seen Dymetra, Herodius stepped forward and introduced himself with an unusual question:
“How do you know you were speaking to a God, and not some Illusion? Your sorceress could convince me that the dead lived if she set her mind to it. How can you be so certain, Strongiron?”
The conversation stopped. Everyone glanced toward Belara, who simply returned their gazes with a half smile and single raised eyebrow. Strongiron walked over to Herodius with a kind face and a gentle smile, extending his hand.
“I don’t believe we have met. My name is Strongiron. You are?”
The islander clasped hands briefly, clearly out of politeness. “Herodius Cromwell. I come from the Uncharted Isles. Your Queen has shown us great kindness. Xaro and his army destroyed our homes, slaughtered our families, and enslaved our men. I will not sour your homecoming with the details, but I have pledged whatever strength I have to our common cause, and the men that escaped their fate serve in whatever manner they are able. Some farming, most fighting.
“This is now the second time I have heard a member of our Queen’s court speak of a firsthand encounter with this ancient God.” He nodded at Magi. “And I am certainly not unfamiliar with miracles—the fact that we are even here is one of the greatest miracles I’ve ever seen.
“But I find it hard to understand a God who sends this one back to the living—” he again gestured toward Magi, “—with an ancient staff, and then shows Herself to you to raise an ancient elf back to health only to allow the elf to die hours later, to hear your tale.” Herodius looked into Strongiron’s crystal-blue eyes and finished his thought. “Tell me, Cleric—where was Dymetra when my Maria’s life needed to be returned to me?”
The Queen sucked in her breath a little. It was the first time she had heard Herodius mention his wife’s name.
The warm smile on Strongiron’s face quickly gave way to creases of concern as the awkward moment lingered. He finally said, “I can see that you have suffered greatly in this Dark World, Herodius. I am sorry for your loss. Dymetra gives us no assurances of an easy life. If Faith guaranteed safety, food, warmth, and long life—there would be none who did not follow Her.”
He slowly approached the tall, dark islander, and put a hand on his shoulder. Herodius was one of the few men there as tall as Strongiron, and they were looking at eye-level with one another. Strongiron continued. “I would like to speak to you more about Dymetra, Herodius. I have learned much that I can share. But you had a specific question. You asked where She was. I can tell you that She is where She always is—” He gestured around the room with his other hand. “—all around us. She never left, Herodius. We left Her—”
Herodius stepped back from Strongiron, letting the Warrior-Cleric’s arm fall as he interrupted. “I never left. My wife never left. My family never left. My village never left.” His eyes smoldered with anger, but he composed himself. “I understand that my Queen has put her hope in this ancient God. And this Mage claims to have seen this same God, as do you. I mean no disrespect, but the war that is coming to Rookwood has already come to my home, my life. If this God aims to help us, then help us! If She aims to soothe us, then soothe us! I have seen neither, and I do not plan on dropping to my knees when the first sword is drawn. Our enemy surely plans for our death, while you stand here speaking of a silver waterfall and peaceful elfen clerics.”
He turned to Queen Najalas. “My Queen, we are not yet prepared. Not nearly enough for the onslaught that is coming.”
“Know your place, Herodius,” said Simon. The Captain of the Queen’s Guard apparently did not appreciate the islander’s tone.
Before the Queen or Herodius could say a word to Simon, Strongiron spoke up. “Be at ease, Simon. Our friend has suffered greatly.” He looked at Herodius. “No offense taken, Herodius. I understand you have questions. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do know this—good can still come from all this. It may not be clear, easy, or quick…but good can yet be made of your tragedy. We may not deserve to have our Dark World brightened, but She can shine brightly still within it. Do not lose hope.”
“Hope.” Herodius chuckled cynically. “You and the Mage both lecture about hope. Well, I have hope. You don’t have to worry about that. I have the same hope that every clear-thinking man, woman, and child in Rookwood ought to have. I hope to find Xaro and his men, and kill them. Especially his ogre. That is hope enough to sustain me.”
~Xaro~
Xaro turned his attention to his fellow Cleric. Hopefully, we are perfecting how to orchestrate a battle with the dead and living fighting alongside one another. “Malenec, your update?”
“The undead have gathered, and as you know, we have tried to simulate some battle scenarios that blend my army with yours. They—”
“All are my army, brother.” Xaro interrupted, staring his Dark Cleric down.
“Hmmm. As you say. If we are going to be exact in our choice of words, let me rephrase. The undead and live fighters have fought together somewhat. My will keeps them from attacking ‘friendly’ troops, if you will, but as I have shared with Tar-Tan, they are meant to be a separate fighting force. The coordination of the mindless is, frankly, exhausting, and it is difficult to relay troop movements from your field general to me to them. I am, however, experimenting. With a different prayer, I am hoping to create a small subset of wights to complement our zombie horde. The wights kill by inflicting unbearable pain—they torture you to death, basically. But raising a wight from a corpse is far more complex, and requires far more energy for me to control, as they have a will of their own that I must constantly subvert. But they also can follow orders and react intelligently to changing battle scenarios, which makes them superior for grouping with our human troops. Of course, if you would just listen to reason and allow me to turn our entire army into undead warriors—”
“You will not lay a finger upon my men, Cleric,” said Tar-Tan. “I allow the co-training, but only because Xaro requests it.”
“These wights,” Xaro began, ignoring his Cleric’s request and his General’s retort. “Who are you experimenting on, Malenec?”
Malenec’s eyes glinted dangerously. “If you must know, there have been a few children in Misk that have gone missing recently. I started my experiments with children, as they are much easier to control in general. I wish to see how many I can control as wights before they begin to exert themselves as independent creatures. Six children seem to be doable when I am spending my resources on the thousands of zombies as well. Would you like to meet them?” Malenec smiled fiendishly, standing up and gesturing to a side door leading off the upper room.
“I did not approve of this, Malenec!” Xaro screamed at his Dark Cleric. “We are to protect Misk, not abduct their children in the night and turn them into undead wights!”
“You are not the only one who speaks directly to our Lord and Master, Xaro. He answers my prayers, too. Perhaps I just pray for bigger things.” The side door blew open, and six grotesque bodies walked out. Three boys, three girls, none of them could have been older than eight or nine, though their ages were impossible to discern because their little bodies were distorted: long necks and arms, thin, pale with crooked fingers that looked more like meat hooks.
The tallest one sneered, stepped forward and approached Krishnan, whose white eyes looked nearly circular. “I am Justin. I want to touch you…”
Before the Mage could recoil, the boy snaked out his arm and gripped Krishnan’s wrist like an iron shackle.
The True Mage let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling to his knees.
“Enough!” Xaro shouted. He instinctively cast a force spell and flung the wight away from his alchemist, thumping it against the far wall. Undeterred, the wight sprung back to its feet, gazing hungrily at Xaro.
“That was fun. You prefer me to touch you? I come to you now.” Justin took three or four long, quick strides across the room, coming within arm’s reach of Xaro before hissing and stopping as if he had run into an invisible barrier. He spun his head around to face Malenec. “I wish to touch this one. I wish to touch him now! I want to grab him—let me grab him!”
Malenec smiled despite Xaro’s fury. “I do apologize, Xaro. Figuring some things out still, obviously. But the possibilities! Surely you can appreciate that. Master,” he added with a grin.
I will need to deal with Malenec. And soon. He is too bold by far. Xaro looked at Krishnan, who was only now back on his knees, crawling into his chair, trying to breathe. “Here.” He handed his alchemist the rest of his lemon sweetwater. The mage held the glass in a trembling hand as he gulped the drink down.
Xaro turned to Malenec. “You are not to create another wight, and you are to keep those monsters away from our men, our camps, and our fortress. Send them to the desert until I figure out how to use them, if at all. Do I make myself clear?”
“Xaro, I didn’t imagine you to be squeamish. Just think for a min—”
Xaro hurled a jet of flame at Justin so hot that the shades of Trevor and Veronica shimmered in the heat, and even Malenec recoiled. The wight screamed before its body was consumed by fire, leaving angry, black burn marks on the stone wall behind it where the rock was scorched.
Malenec started to yell something when Xaro shouted over him, his voice amplified: “Am I clear, Malenec?!”
The silence after the roaring of Xaro’s fire spell and his booming voice was unsettling to all, especially the wights. “We understand one another, Xaro. Yes.” He nodded at the five remaining wights, and the two former boys and three former girls begrudgingly walked back out of the room, through the side door. They were whispering to one another in hushed, whiny tones. The only word Xaro could make out was “touch.”
Xaro let the silence hang in the air a little longer,glaring at his Dark Cleric before finally exhaling. He turned to his half-ogre General. “Your update, Tar-Tan.”
The half-ogre stood, his beady, yellow eyes shifting uncomfortably between Xaro and Malenec. He cleared his throat and slowly walked over to a small table, where he opened a large scroll case and unrolled a detailed map of Tenebrae, which he spread out. He motioned for the others to come closer. Soon even the shadowy images of Trevor and Veronica stood behind Tar-Tan, peering at the map. The half-ogre kept looking over his shoulders uncomfortably at their shades. Can’t say I blame him after that.
“As you requested, Master, I have formulated a battle plan. Rookwood is mountain stronghold that is well defended. It will not be easy to defeat, but it is possible.”
Xaro looked at his giant general. Now we shall see how well you plan. He waved, encouraging Tar-Tan to proceed.
“The key to victory is in siege. Who knows what escape routes they may have built within the mountains—we cannot let the Queen escape. She must fall if the east of Elvidor is to fall. The west…I’m not too worried west of the Crystal Mountains. They cannot provide swords or comfort to the Queen any easier than she can exert much in the way of law there. We will rule those villages through fear and occupation, but the Queen must fall, and for that to happen, we must cut off every avenue of escape.
“Therefore, here is what I propose: The Elfs must be taken down, as they protect her Southern border. They man the cliffs overlooking the Strait of Holstine. I would land two of our four divisions in Shith. One of our divisions will be led by me, and will travel north across Lake Calm and cut off the retreat for the Elfs. I would have—” He nodded at Malenec “—him lead his undead troops in the other division to head straight for Thalanthalas. It is unlikely that the Elfs would burn down their precious woods to fight off those things of yours.”
“Doubtful they would,” Malenec agreed.
“That will force all the Elfs back to Thalanthalas to defend their capital. Trevor can go with you—you’ve been there before, correct?”
“Yes, but—” Trevor began.
Tar-Tan kept talking. “It will be impossible to keep a pending assault on Rookwood secret once the Elfs are directly attacked. We must be swift. Our third division will be making its way down the lightning road to choke off any escape to the North. Xaro, I believe you are the best equipped to lead this group on land.”
Xaro did not immediately say anything. Tar-Tan continued.
“Finally, that leaves the Sea of Joy to the East. Once the Elfs are pre-occupied, someone must take our fourth division and sail through the Strait of Holstine to bottle up their port. I would prefer a Mage to lead this. Marik would have been my first choice. Perhaps you?” He looked at Krishnan.
“I am a metal changer, not a warrior. My role is to finance this conquest.” He looked at Xaro hopefully, still rubbing his pale wrist where the wight had grabbed him.
Xaro pursed his lips, and looked at Krishnan a bit disdainfully. “No, I don’t think that is to be your role.” He turned to Tar-Tan. “We don’t need to name the leader yet. Perhaps this Tarsh might have the right mentality. You say he has served you well already on the seas?” He looked at Trevor.
Trevor shrugged. “He has, Master. He seems powerful enough to me.”
The General narrowed his eyes. “That is the plan. Once we converge on Rookwood, we will have time to probe its defenses without worrying about their escape. We can lay siege, or we can attack. We have options, dominant land positions, resources, and time on our side.”
Xaro looked at Tar-Tan. A prudent, well thought out strategy. Not bad for a half-ogre. Not bad at all. “I agree. When we have the gold, we’ll start the building process for the ships we’ll need. This is a good plan, Tar-Tan.”
Veronica, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. “And where do I fit in, Master?”
Everyone turned to look at her shimmering shade. Xaro flashed an exultant smile. “You may be the key to the whole thing, Veronica. When you return to Sands End, I shall explain.”
~Queen Najalas~
The Queen studied the two men standing in front of her. She would never doubt Herodius’s passion. Ever. He stood facing Strongiron with an unwavering gaze. Not trying to be his friend, not fawning over him, not hoping he’s going to save the day. The man wants to act!
“Herodius,” she began. “Your point is well made. I sent Strongiron on an expedition to help Kari find God. Apparently God found him, so to speak, and hopefully we shall all be blessed for it.” She held up her hand before Strongiron could interject. “Yes, yes, She never left, She doesn’t need to be found—you know what I meant.” The Queen smiled. “Good to have you back, my friend.”
She stepped down from the raised dais she had been sitting on and hugged her General. “So. You are a True Cleric now. I look forward to hearing more of your time there, but Herodius is right—we must turn our attention to our defenses. You have reappeared at a moment where our focus is turned to planning. My initial thought is that our Northern boundary—”
“My Queen” Strongiron interrupted. “Najalas.”
Everyone stopped to look at the General. The Queen cocked her head at the interruption.
“Queen Najalas,” Strongiron started again. “I will gladly lend my thoughts to this planning, but you need to know that I have another mission to fulfill—one that I fear will take me away from Rookwood for some time. Dymetra Herself has asked me to seek out the Shield of Life. It is a blessed artifact—one of the three Artifacts of the Ancients—this one belonging to the True Cleric Windomere.”
Magi stood and approached Strongiron as soon as he mentioned the Shield. He had never been introduced to Strongiron, and didn’t bother to introduce himself now. “Do you know what it does?” he blurted.
Strongiron turned to the True Mage. “I know that it protects the bearer from dark prayers. Like your Staff, it is blessed by the One True God who will protect the Shield-bearer from all forms of spiritual harm that Kuth-Cergor might attempt, including undead spirits, as long as the Shield-bearer has faith.” He winked at Magi. “I don’t think even that ring you were talking about earlier can do that.”
“Where is this shield, Strongiron?” asked the Queen.
He sighed. “I don’t know, my Queen. But I know that my search begins in Adimand. Windomere is buried somewhere there. I will go and visit his grave for starters.”
“Adimand?” said Peter. “That is on the other side of the world! We are preparing for war here, General!”
“This is absurd, Strongiron,” weighed in Simon.
“The defense of this stronghold must be your priority, my Queen!” said Herodius.
Jonathon said nothing, but shook his head.
Kari, however, simply stared at the True Warrior in white.
Belara waved her hand, and a large map of Tenebrae appeared upon the very floor they stood on. “Even though you Teleport now, and apparently across water, look at the size of Adimand. You are looking for an object likely no bigger than this table over an entire continent. No one has found this shield in centuries. Have you considered this is a distraction from our enemy to pull you away from Rookwood when your Queen needs you here? We know they have tried to kill you already and failed…perhaps if they cannot kill you, they will simply make you disappear on a hopeless chase under the illusion of your God’s will.” She subtly moved her hands and the map image on the floor began to coalesce into the shape of a woman. The form of Dymetra. “As Herodius has rightly said—illusion can cause strange decisions.” The Queen noticed that while she mentioned Herodius and was facing Strongiron, her head was turned toward Kari.
More shouts ensued, while Strongiron sighed. He finally held up his hands. “Friends, friends—I hear your concerns. I do. I would like nothing more to stay and fortify our defenses and prepare for battle. But I have been given this mission by our God—not some conjurer’s fantasy.” He waved his hand, and Belara’s Illusion dissipated into smoke, to the amazed looks of everyone.
He has changed, thought the Queen.
“I will give you my thoughts, but Rookwood needs a General that will be here. It is for this reason that I will travel North to recall my Lieutenant General, Sir Victor, Knight of Thunder, to assume overall leadership of the forces here. Upon my return, I will provide any final input into the planning process that I can, and relinquish my command, by your grace, to search for Windomere’s shield, and to bring it back for our protection against whatever terrors Xaro and his Dark Cleric may formulate. My Queen…it is not that I leave on the whims of a God. It is also the most prudent use of my skills. You are thinking and preparing for a physical battle. That is good, for there will be one, and we must be physically prepared. But what good are traps, walls, swords, spears, and provisions against undead spirits that walk through walls? Against curses that confound even our best Mage-guards?
“This war—I am trying to tell you—is to be won or lost by faith. If we trust only in wood and metal, bone and sweat, we will surely be abandoned to these devices. Our hope rests in Dymetra, or no one,” he finished.
Herodius stepped toward him. “Very well, then by your logic we should just sit and wait here for you to bring us a shield—one that has been lost for a thousand years. Is this your council?”
Strongiron shook his head. “Herodius. You take everything past its point. The Queen needs you to help her prepare. Sir Victor needs men like you. The realm needs men like you. Dymetra needs men like you, too.” He smiled at the hard-looking islander. “We will devise some defensive plans that give us options, rest assured. Dymetra calls us to have faith in Her. That does not mean we sit around and do nothing, my friend.”
The Queen turned to Magi and Strongiron. “Then it would appear the two men who have been closest to our God have chosen to leave Rookwood when it would seem their presence is most needed here.” She held up her hands, palms outward, immediately trying to pull her words back in. “That came out wrong—I am…frustrated. But I understand why each of you are doing this, and I won’t order you to stay.” Could I? Would they listen? Am I the highest authority in their lives?
She continued. “What is most pressing now is to understand when you are leaving.” She turned to Magi. “You still intend to track down the Assassin to find your ring. When do you plan to depart?”
“As soon as this meeting adjourns. I have what I need.” He tapped his staff on the ground. “I may visit the storeroom first, by your leave.”
The Queen nodded and turned to Strongiron. “And you, my friend?”
“Soon. Within a week or two, I would hope, my Queen. Time is of the essence—I am anxious to get to Adimand, but Victor may respond better to this order in person. Besides, it would be good to see our Northern troops after this last winter.”
“Very well, then. Let us meet again soon, before you depart, Strongiron.” She turned to Magi. “Good luck, Magi Blacksmooth. Come back to us with that ring. And the head of that Assassin, too.”
Everyone mumbled or chuckled darkly as they began filing out of the room, until only the women were left: Queen Najalas, Kari, and Belara. The Queen looked at the young Mage. “Yes, Kari? Is there something further you need?”
She turned to Belara. “I need her to show me how to climb the Staircase. I’m going to travel with Strongiron, and I’ll need to be able to Teleport.”
~Veronica~
The small room at The Last Call was filthy. It smelled like sour ale had been used to stain the wood floors. The beetles didn’t seem to mind too much, however, as they were quite comfortable crawling all over the room.
Veronica could care less. She’d seen worse, slept in worse, and lived in worse than a night in this cheap, dank tavern. She was grateful the meeting with Xaro had finally ended; it seemed that might go on forever. Discussing troop movements and battle strategy bored her to tears. Just give me my next contract.
Only an hour had passed since she felt the familiar, tingly sensation of being summoned to a meeting, though in truth it felt like four by the time Tar-Tan finished his update. The air was still cold outside, especially at night, though spring was approaching, and the ground was wet and soggy from melting snow. It was good to be inside tonight.
Veronica stared at herself in a cracked, greasy mirror. She did not have long—she trusted the Queen’s promise about as much as she trusted a thief to return a coin pouch. Knights, guards—even other Assassins in the employ of the Crown—they would surely send someone after her. Sparing Peter was the only thing that had kept Magi from his personal revenge, however.
Magi. She had no doubt he would follow her. He all but said so. Before she released Peter outside the castle walls, he had asked her: “Where is my ring?” In light of the given situation, with one knife at Peter’s throat and another one pressed against the small of his back, the question struck her as odd. A bit out of place, but telling. She had said she had it, at which he called her out as a liar. Then she said she didn’t know, to which he simply smiled. “When will you trust that you cannot lie to me, Veronica? I can read the half-truths and hidden truth behind your words. You know who has the ring and where it is headed. Tell your Master that he cannot win. Tell him that faith in Dymetra has stirred, and that She hears. And tell your Master that I will have my ring.”
How does he see that? She shared that part of their conversation with the others. It was what he said last that caught her completely off guard, however, and that she had kept to herself. “If Kyle can forgive me, then I can forgive you, Veronica. But your killing must stop, Assassin.” And that was it. He pulled his hood up over his long, reddish-brown hair, until only his white eyes were visible in the light of the gleaming white stone atop his staff. Magi then walked backward, never taking his eyes off her, up the long path through the outer wall leading up into the mountain stronghold. She caught herself staring at his white eyes growing smaller in the distance as he ascended toward the inner walls leading up to Rookwood Castle.
Forgive me? Veronica curled her lip reflexively, though nobody was around to see it. There is nothing for you to forgive, Mage. I pursue my own ends, as we all do. It’s a Dark World, and if someone wishes to trade gold for death, what wrong is there in accelerating someone’s peaceful sleep a bit? She scoffed at the entire concept. The only forgiveness I truly need is Xaro’s, for failing to execute a contract for the first time.
Shaking her head, she pushed that final conversation out of her mind. She had to move quickly. The whole reason she’d bought a room so close to the castle was two-fold. First, she needed to update Xaro (who conveniently reached out to her himself), second, and more importantly, she needed to transform herself into Vernon. In this terrain and season it would be impossible for her not to leave easy tracks wherever she headed, and men would take matters into their own hands even if the Queen had given an order to let her be. Her face would be splattered across posters, and a single woman travelling alone would be a dead give-away. She needed a quiet place to apply her disguise; thus the room at the luxurious Last Call…luxurious, at least, compared to the surrounding woods.
It took a couple hours to get it just about right—reshaping the nose, the eyebrows, the hair. The gray stubble was the hardest to create authentically, but it also did more to make her look like a middle-aged wayfarer than any other aspect of her disguise. She also changed clothes to complete the look. Vernon looked like a hungry farmer, desperate for work after a lean winter. No different than most, she thought with satisfaction. Only this farmer was deadly.
She then felt the all-too-familiar tingle. Xaro wanted to speak again.
“Yes, Master?” she asked. This time, it was only Xaro and her in the meeting.
“Veronica? Your transformation is—exceptional.” His shimmering image from Sands End now stood between the edge of her straw mat and the broken mirror along the far wall.
“Thank you, Master. This should be a workable disguise during my travels back to Sands End.” She grinned. Even her teeth had been worked on to show a gap or two, with more yellowing.
“That is what I wanted to discuss with you, my dear Assassin. I don’t want you coming back to Sands End.”
Veronica nodded. It had seemed strange that she should spend a month or longer sailing all the way to Sands End if they were all planning on coming to Elvidor. But she didn’t question Xaro—he probably wanted her off the continent after her near capture by the Queen. And with Magi’s ability to glean information…she did need to get away.
“You want me to continue my efforts against Strongiron, Master?” It bothered her immensely that she had barely missed his neck with that dart.
“Yes and no. What I am going to tell you is to remain between us, Veronica. At least until I deem it worth sharing. Everyone thinks you are coming back to Sands End to avoid pursuit by that insufferable Queen. Even Magi would assume you’re coming back. But I have a different plan for you.
“In my recent prayers, Kuth-Cergor revealed to me that his enemy has been awakened to this world. I can only assume that my brother, the golden child of my father’s eye, was successful in finding the last three True Clerics at the Tower of Dariez. You said that he stayed behind—he wasn’t there at Rookwood when you returned. He must have stayed to study. If he has become a True Cleric, it will be difficult for you to kill him now; you’ve seen what She can do. I do not doubt that Dymetra raised Magi from his death and sent him back with the Staff She blessed. Two other Artifacts of the Ancients exist: A Shield a Blade. It is the Shield that I am most interested in at the moment.”
“Why the Shield, Master?” asked Veronica.
Xaro did not immediately answer, as if he was choosing his words carefully. He slowly answered her question. “The so-called Shield of Life is reputed to protect the Shield-bearer from prayers whose power is derived from Kuth-Cergor, Veronica. It would render Malenec’s prayers and my own…ineffective.”
Veronica cocked her head to the side. “So, why would you need such protection?”
“It is not my protection I’m interested in; I wish to deny my enemies this protection!” he snapped.
Veronica’s disguised face displayed no emotion. If I had Magi’s Staff, I bet it would tell me that you’re lying. She just nodded respectfully and followed up. “Of course. But what does this have to do with Strongiron’s contract?”
Xaro’s face softened a bit. “Kuth-Cergor has told me that the Artifacts are being sought. The Staff has obviously already been found. I suspect Strongiron, if he is truly a True Cleric, will seek the Shield. They have seen what Malenec can do, how he single-handedly turned a city into an army of the walking dead. I do not doubt that they will pursue the Shield; it is what I would do.”
“Why would the Queen send forth her General, Xaro?” Veronica asked, taking a seat on the edge of the straw bedding. She looked at a small colony of beetles huddled in a nearby corner, scrambling over one another for stale food and crumbs on the floor. “She just sent him away—she wouldn’t send him again, would she?”
“Perhaps. That is why I say ‘yes and no.’ I don’t really know. If he does pursue it, then perhaps you will have another chance. Although I warn you, killing a True Cleric is much different than killing a True Mage. If indeed Strongiron is a True Cleric, he will wield a formidable power. Do not take needless chances, my dear. You are too valuable to me.”
Veronica beamed and even slightly blushed at the compliment, but the effect was lost given her male disguise. “Thank you, Master. I only wish I had not failed you in the first place.”
“So do I, Veronica. So do I.” He held a brief smile before his shimmering image stood up. “Now then. I do need you to leave the continent of Elvidor, though. Even with your disguise, it is not safe for you, especially with Magi wielding Quixatalor’s old staff. Which brings me to the ancillary benefit of this plan: you may end up delaying Magi from reaching Sands End. If he breaks off his quest to regain his ring to instead follow you, it would give us more time to build up our armada. Perhaps even deploy if your quest lasts a year. While I don’t fear a lone True Mage…he could cause us an inconvenience if he showed up.”
“But wasn’t your plan for him to join you in Sands End at one point?” Veronica asked, somewhat confused.
“At one point, yes—he would have made a tremendous ally. Now I fear that ship has sailed, if you’ll pardon my pun.” Xaro said, somewhat wistfully. “No matter. If he comes, he shall be killed, and for good this time, as I will make sure Malenec puts his soul in limbo, forever out of Her reach. But if you can find and recover the Shield that once belonged to Windomere—the greatest True Cleric of Quixatalor’s generation—and in the process distract Magi and perhaps even Strongiron, if the Queen is stupid enough to send him…well that would more than make up for your failure with Strongiron’s contract.”
“It shall be done, Master. Do you know where the Shield lies?” Veronica asked.
“Not precisely. Legend has it that it was buried with him. And Windomere is buried somewhere in Adimand, where he was from. Sail there, hopefully drawing Magi at least to follow you. I would tell you to let him think that you have his precious ring, but we both know that won’t work.”
“Or you could put a contract on his head. I’ve killed him once before, Master, I can kill him again. There is no need for me to lead him astray. Killing is what I do, and apart from Strongiron, I’m fairly good at it, if you recall.” Veronica hands on her hips, indignant, caught the look of Vernon staring back at her in the dirty mirror. Coming from ‘him,’ the pose looked almost comical.
Xaro was serious, however. “Kill him again? So he can be sent back to us again, probably even stronger?”
“I can burn his body, Xaro. Surely She can’t raise him from ashes.”
“She can. And likely will. Do not waste your time. Kill him if you need to—and are able to—but unless you can bind his soul, I do not trust that he will stay dead. There is no contract on him. However, your contract will be ten times the normal rate for bringing me the Shield of Life. Kill as you see fit in search of this Artifact. Tell no one—not even your colleagues on my small council. This is your assignment. Do you accept?”
Ten times! Fifty thousand gold pieces! “Adimand it is, Master. This Shield shall be yours.” She then uttered another thought. “And what is the contract for both the Shield and the Staff, if indeed I can separate it from Magi?”
Xaro smiled. “I would caution you from being too greedy, Veronica. I would have you try your luck at grave robbing before you seek the life of a True Mage who you are unlikely to catch unaware again. That said…if gold is what you most desire, it is gold you shall have. Bring me the Shield. If you can get your hands on the Staff as well—then if it is in my power to grant, I will.” He smiled, nodded, and faded out.
Veronica took a deep breath and sat down on the sticky straw bed. The exorbitant contract was exhilarating; clearly Xaro was counting on this Purple Sun to deliver him his gold, but that wasn’t the final thought on her mind as she settled down for some quick sleep.
This was the first time she had ever seen Xaro afraid…of anything. Why would Xaro be afraid?
The last thing on her mind was the words of Silver, the head of the Black Guild. “An Assassin never asks why.”
~Strongiron~
It felt good to remove his armor. It wasn’t heavy—certainly not as heavy as plate armor should have been—but it felt good to be free of it nonetheless. Such a long day. He retired to his usual quarters in Rookwood, where he relaxed with a cup of particularly strong tea the Elfen clerics had taught him to brew. The bracing taste of spearmint always took his breath away at first sip.
“General Strongiron,” hailed a guard from outside his private room. “You have a visitor.”
Another one? He sighed. Surely a moment of peace is not too much to ask? “Thank you, Sir Henry. Perhaps we can schedule an audience tom—”
“It is Miss Quinlan, General,” interrupted the guard.
Strongiron sat up. “I see. Send her in.” He involuntarily tightened the cinch around his clerical robes.
Kari entered, and she had also changed clothes from their reunion with the Queen earlier. She walked in wearing an emerald green mage robe held tight around her slim waist with a simple brown cord—it had the effect of making her green eyes sparkle. The cowl was down, and her dark hair fell past her shoulders.
“I meant to tell you earlier—your hair has grown since you left the Tower.” Strongiron stood as she entered. “May I fix you something to drink?”
Kari smiled. “My hair can be any length I wish, Strongiron.” She inclined her head slightly. “But it is good of you to notice. Anything cool would be lovely, thank you.”
Strongiron poured her a glass of lemon sweetwater and handed it to her before he sat back down, gesturing for her to do the same. “To what do I owe this visit, Kari?”
She took a drink, wrinkled her nose, but smiled. “A bit tart to be called ‘sweet-water’, don’t you think?”
Strongiron shrugged. “Every palate is different, I suppose.” He leaned forward. “What is on your mind, Kari?”
She put her drink down and stood. “I…I want to go with you.”
“Where? To Adimand?” Strongiron stood as well. “Kari—”
She walked up to him and kissed him lightly, catching Strongiron off guard. He did not, however, pull away. “Kari—” he began again.
“Before you give me all the reasons why I shouldn’t, let me give you the one that matters. I felt something for you when we travelled to Dariez together. Tell me that you felt nothing when we first boarded the Queen’s ship to Urthrax—or all those weeks in the Tower—and I will leave you to your evening. I may have left to pursue my own destiny, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be separate. Why can’t I see the wide world of Adimand and give—whatever ‘this’ is—a chance to blossom?”
A dozen reasonable objections rose to his lips, but he voiced the over-arching one. “I must Teleport, Kari. How will you accompany me?”
“I’m working on that.” She flashed him a smile. Strongiron let his hands slide from behind her neck to grip both shoulders. By Dymetra, she is stunning when she smiles.
Strongiron slowly shook his head. “Kari,” he began. “I do not deny that you stir my emotions. But you must understand…this is not a camping trip. This is a mission given to me directly from Dymetra. The risk…”
“No greater a risk than when Dymetra sent me to learn about Her. Did I not prove my worth to you in Shu-Tybor?”
“But She gave me this task. You left Her. Why did you leave the Tower, Kari?”
Kari pulled away and began to walk around the room, turning her back to him. “Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps not. I felt like I was stagnating there, Strongiron! Scroll after scroll after scroll…I want to see the world—I want to see Tenebrae.” She turned back to look at him. “I would like to see it with you, I think.”
She folded her hands across her chest. “But I will see it regardless.”
Strongiron approached her with his final objection. “We are on the precipice of war, Kari. Your skill could best be put to use in Rookwood, defending the crown.” The irony of his argument was immediately apparent; he reflexively winced before Kari even opened her mouth.
“Now you make the same argument against me that was hurled at you this morning?! If you don’t want my company, have the spine to tell me plainly. I just assume—”
Strongiron reached forward and pulled her close to him, kissing her passionately. “For good or ill, I don’t know, but let me assure you of this: your company is desired, Kari Quinlan. God help me, but I do want you to join me. Learn how to Teleport—which I understand is no small thing for you mages—and we shall plan this journey together.” He kissed her again, grabbing a fistful of her velvety green robe near the small of her back, just above the waist, pulling her close to him.
“And Kari,” he whispered, more somber. “We don’t have much time to delay.”