Darkstone - An Evil Reborn (Book 4) (6 page)

“There you are,” the Emperor walked in. He threw off the white and gold robe he wore to Council Meetings, and then he removed a white enameled breastplate that his robe hid, letting it drop onto a chair. Vish noticed the gouges and scratches on the armor. “That’s better. It’s nice to see you again. I thought we had lost you.” He sat behind a vast desk.

“I made it out of the forest alive, barely,” Vish said.

“How did the boar get to you on the ground? You told my physician that your mount shied and you struggled with the reins and dropped them. Did the horse throw you? Did the boar get to you then?”

It would be so easy for Vish to merely say yes, but he couldn’t do it. What would be the advantage? He hadn’t thought of a lie in all the time since he had been back.

“That was a story for the physician, father.”

“Father? Not Imperial Highness?”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

“Father will do among the two of us. I will permit it.” He smiled and leaned forward on his elbows.

“I’d like that.” He told the truth to his father and named Fenakyr and Astyran as his attempted murderers.

“Who told you to wear the mailed shirt?”

“Sulm, my tutor. He said that I needed to be prepared for anything on the hunt.”

“A wise man, this Sulm. He saved your life.”

“Many things saved my life, father. The horse you gave me to ride, the food and wine that I hid at the hunt banquet, the mail shirt, the knife that cut my bandages.”

“I’m impressed, Vishan. Not many men of any age could have done what you did. I’m sure the pain was awful.”

Vishan nodded and pressed his lips together, while the unpleasant memory of is escape from the forest played in his head.

The Emperor clapped his hands twice and Fenakyr and Astyran entered the room. Vishan’s mouth opened. He tried to say something, but couldn’t.

“I sometimes test my sons a little harder than others. Fenakyr is what he says he is, a baron on the Serytaran border. Astyran is your half-brother, one of many, as you know.” The Emperor’s gaze went to his older son. He nodded and Astyran smirked.

Vishan still sat, dumbfounded at the revelation.

“You weren’t supposed to be in mortal danger. The mail shirt truly saved you since these two were a little enthusiastic in their poking. They will be punished for their exuberance.” Astyran lost his smirk and Fenakyr began to sweat. “The horse is trained never to leave its rider. I assigned men to that general area, but you had left before they found you. I’m sorry if I put you through a great deal of pain, but I wanted my own measure of what you are made of before I threw you back into that snake den of a Tower. You passed. At this point, I would rather you not join them. I’ll leave you alone until you are fifteen and become a man. How does that sound?”

“I am speechless, your Imperial Highness,” Vish said. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to call the man ‘father’ again. He remembered his tour of the Imperial blacksmiths. Vish felt like a tool and nothing more. His trials on the hunt had been the forger’s fire and this revelation had been the quenching. Sulm had told him of such things before, but Vish had merely thought them to be tales. He suddenly felt harder and colder. “What about Peleor, the sorcerer?”

“The farmer? He didn’t know a thing. As it turns out, Yalla rewarded him sufficiently before I had a chance to,” the Emperor smiled.

Vish’s hand went to his dagger. At the moment he wanted to plunge it into the Emperor’s chest, but he did all he could to stifle the urge. “And this?” He pulled out the blade and handled the point of the blade so he wouldn’t be tempted to kill his tester. “How can a guard know I can take it into the Palace?”

“The finish. It’s one of the blades I’ve had made with that unique stone and the dull finish. There are a few others… very few.” The Emperor looked at Astyran.

Vish had already noticed his brother’s dagger didn’t even have a stone in the pommel.

“You also didn’t lie to me. Impressive, since I gave you an easy way to explain your wounds. I’ve notified Princess Yalla that her hired assassins will stand down.” The Emperor smiled. The fatherly demeanor had vanished, but Vish thought that was because of his perception. “Enjoy your three years of fun. You have my permission to be taught magic by your sorcerer friend. I’d rather you learn from him than the sorcerers at their tower. He has been investigated and used most of the money from Yalla to pay off long-standing family debts. Other men would be drunk with women surrounding them as they vomited on their new silk clothing.”

Was that his father’s impression of the world? Were most men so corrupt and wrong-headed?

“You may go, all three of you.”

Vish followed the same man that had escorted him through the Emperor’s quarters. Fenakyr and Astryan walked behind. No one had anything to say.

Out in the corridor, Vish spied Sulm looking out a window. His tutor’s eyes opened when he noticed him.

“I hope there are no hard feelings, Prince Vishan,” Fenakyr said.

“For not killing me? You didn’t get to feel the pain, sir. You didn’t get to struggle to mount my horse. Was throwing away the bridle your idea or the Emperor’s?”

“Mine,” Astyran said in a voice filled with arrogance. “You should have died. I will kill you eventually, you know. You’re more of a threat now than you were before the hunt.” He swept down the corridor, followed by a seemingly dejected baron.

Sulm’s eyes followed the pair down the corridor as he approached Vish. “What happened?”

Fenakyr turned to give Vish one last look before her turn the corner. Vish didn’t trust a soul in the Palace, least of all his father—not that he had ever thought of the man in terms of trust, but now he had specific reasons.

They exited into the Imperial Compound. It seemed more closed, menacing even, to Vish. He spoke in a low voice. “The attack was a set-up planned by the Emperor. A test of my courage. I nearly died out there. He said he had people in the area, but if I hadn’t worn the mail, I’m sure I’d be dead regardless of the Emperor’s instructions to Fenakyr and Astryan. He told me to enjoy the next three years. I’m going to learn to defend myself with sorcery. That’s an edge, isn’t it Sulm?”

“Among others.”

Vish picked up the tentativeness in his tutor’s voice.

~~~

Chapter Five

~

A
flame burst out from the fireplace and danced
in the air as if it were tightrope walking to a wall sconce, igniting the candle within.

Vishan clapped his hands as Peleor nodded with approval.

“It’s about control and patience,” Vishan said. “I don’t lack the concentration, but today, the patience made the difference.”

“Something you can show your mother next week on your fifteenth birthday.”

Vishan laughed. “She’ll be glad not to receive the crafts that you have taught me to make.”

“You aren’t much behind what the Tower would be teaching you at this point. You’ve easily learned to shield yourself to avoid drawing energy from other people. I’d say you are doing very well, other than for glamours.”

“Glamours?” Vish said.

“Illusions. The walls, the tables that you saw through in your testing. It may seem like a trivial ability, but they only let the Adepts train in their use.”

Vish narrowed his eyes as he looked at Peleor. “Were you an Adept?”

He returned the question with a wry smile. “No, but I learned the technique by being stealthy. I read ‘forbidden’ books and stood close to windows when I knew they were teaching illusion. I’ve done a bit of practice and I’ll teach you all that I know.”

“I can use it as a defense?” Vishan said.

“Not to a sorcerer. They can detect something wrong with an illusion. You did so at your test.”

Vishan tilted his head. “I did. That’s because I had Affinity?”

Peleor shook his head. “No, you touched the table and the feel was different from what it appeared. That required no magical ability, just an inquisitive mind. The wrongness that you sensed about the room was due to your Affinity. There is an emergence of the nexus within the Sorcerer’s Tower compound and that probably sensitized you even more to their little trick.”

That made a great deal of sense to Vishan. He gazed into the fire and extracted five tongues of flame and made them dance in a circle until they came to rest on the unlit chandelier of the room.

Peleor laughed. “You’ve been practicing behind my back!”

“I have, sorcerer. Control and patience, I’ve grown to love them both. Now, on to illusion.”

~

Sulm arrived late to Vishan’s room. “I’m sorry, Prince. A meeting lasted longer than intended.”

Vishan noted the sweat on the man’s brow. “It’s my birthday celebration in less than an hour and I need you to drill me on the ceremony.”

“There is not much to learn. The words are similar to your sisters’ when they reached fifteen.”

Today, at this hour, at this minute, I now walk forward as a man of Dakkor. I pledge loyalty to my Emperor, respect to my parents and I thank the gods for the opportunity to serve them all.

Vishan repeated the mantra three times until he had perfected the words. A priest from her mother’s favorite temple would accept them. Normally, a father would be in attendance, but that only happened when a father was available. The Emperor obviously didn’t have the time for his manhood ceremony. Vish’s pledge of loyalty would be said, but he didn’t know if he meant it or not. He still hadn’t forgotten the Test of the Hunt as he thought of his ordeal three years ago.  His hand felt the scars on his other arm.

Tradition spoke that a fifteen-year-old Dakkoran youth would leave his parent’s house and seek his own fortune. Typically, they would be apprenticed until they learned a formal trade. That wouldn’t be the case with Vishan. At Shalil’s instructions, the Emperor’s sons would train in some art until they reached the age of twenty and then they would leave their mother’s houses in the Imperial Compound and make their own lives. They also couldn’t marry until twenty, but at fifteen, they could take on concubines who might or might not become wives.

A knock on the door interrupted the fourth recitation. “The priest is here, Vishan” Therya’s voice, an older sister, said through his door. Sulm smiled. To Vishan it looked more like a grimace. Their relationship would soon come to an end. It was time anyway. Vishan had learned most, if not all, of what Sulm offered. Shelves filled with books and scrolls now covered the paintings that once adorned his walls. Vishan’s rooms contained more writings than the rest of the house combined.

“We are ready,” Vish said. He nodded at Sulm who placed the black cape, trimmed in purple, around his shoulders. Black for men and red for women. Purple for royalty. He walked from the room leaving Sulm to catch up.

Yalla held the ceremony in a garden pergola surrounded by dwarfed palm trees. Most of Vishan’s sisters stood in a line waiting for him along with his two full brothers, six and nine years younger than him. A priest of Galla, the god preferred by most of the Emperor’s wives, stood dressed in a white robe, trimmed in red. Vishan didn’t care much for these priests. They seemed more like women than men with painted faces and their odd wigs with spiky bright red hair.

He didn’t see any reason to object. Once Yalla registered the ceremony, it didn’t matter who administered it. Vishan managed a smile as he walked up with Sulm by his side. Peleor slipped along his other side. Only one man was required, but his sorcery tutor’s presence put a genuine smile on his face.

“Under the auspices of Galla, the Great Goddess,” the priest looked into the heavens and sighed, “and our beloved Emperor Daryaku, we accept the presence of the boy Vishan Daryaku, as a candidate for manhood.”

“Is there a sponsor for this boy’s advancement to a Man of the Empire?”

Sulm and Peleor took a step forward. “We are,” they both said nearly simultaneously and then they both stepped back.

“Come forward, Vishan Daryaku. Do you take upon yourself the mantle of a Man of the Empire?”

Vishan lifted his chin and advanced to stand in front of the priest and invoked the ceremonial words.

“I hereby declare you a Man of the Empire. In addition, I bless you with the curiosity of a scholar, the judgment of a sage and the strength of a lion.” He twisted Vish around. “I present to you Vishan Daryaku, Man of the Empire.” The priest smiled and then turned to Yalla, where he said with less ceremony, rubbing his long fingers, “Where is the feast?”

Yalla laughed and took the priest by the arm, leading him into her home followed by Vishan’s giggling sisters with his little brothers in tow.

Sulm clapped Vishan on his shoulder. “Congratulations, now you can troll the taverns of the city with the rest of the Men of the Empire!”

Peleor folded his arms. “With such exaltation comes increased visibility and exposure to danger. Your relationship with your father only makes you a more tempting target, and your brothers will consider you more of a real threat.”

Vishan’s smile faded.

“However, tradition dictates that you take the risk and follow Sulm’s advice and visit some taverns, Man of the Empire.” Peleor grinned. “You already knew about the threats, so now let Sulm and I show you the seamier side of the city.”

~

The dark wine swirling in the grimy goblet didn’t look so appealing after a night with his tutors. Vish didn’t have a taste for beer and so much wine sat like lead in his belly. He lifted an eyelid, while struggling to keep his head erect. He had gone through many servings of wine during their tour, while the establishments that they visited dwindled in quality.

Sulm’s head lay on the table. Vishan twisted his head towards Peleor who looked into the dim recesses of the tavern. “Perhaps it’s time that we left. I’m not enjoying our night any longer.” He belched and felt sick.

“Certainly. Sulm can find his way home when he wakes.” Peleor squinted and pulled out a few dreks and tossed them among the mugs and goblets. “A table until morning for my friend.” He nodded towards the barman and helped Vishan to his feet.

“Today I am a man, but I am of the opinion, that my stomach hasn’t joined in my ascension,” Vishan said, trying to smile. He threw his arm around Peleor’s shoulders and both of them exited into the night. The lights were few as they helped each other walk through the empty streets.

A group of four men walked out into the road and stood with weapons in their hands. Vish’s realized, sluggishly, that they were in danger.

“Perhaps we stayed out a bit too long, tonight,” Peleor said. He blinked his eyes a number of times and stood a little straighter.

The prospect of danger seemed to wipe away the effects of Peleor’s drink and Vish found it did much the same to him. He grasped the jeweled dagger, the only weapon between them. He squinted in the dark street and noted the faint glint of a sword and the bulk of a cudgel. The cudgel told him that these were probably street toughs. His noble standing meant nothing at this time and place.

Vish thought he’d be more afraid, but his drunken state seemed to have deadened his emotions. He pulled out his knife and shook off Peleor. Vish looked down and barely made out the dull blade in the darkness.

Peleor muttered something and Vish’s blurry vision vanished. “Stay behind me,” Peleor said. Vish immediately reacted to the graveness in the sorcerer’s voice.

“Hey, Tutor!” a gravelly voice said. “Just step aside and let us do our work and we’ll let you off with a few broken bones. Our business is with the boy.”

Boy!  Vishan felt the anger and the effects of the alcohol rise within him. He was a Man of the Empire. He’d show the man. He took a step forward, but Peleor put out his arm and shook his head.

“Your business is with the both of us.”

“Books won’t help you here among men of the streets, Tutor.”

Did they think Sulm accompanied him? Vish thought. Peleor knew offensive magic, which he had steadfastly refused to teach him. He took another step back to give the sorcerer some room.

The men began to approach. Peleor pointed at the ground and it exploded in front of them, nevertheless the men moved forward.

“Tricks, eh?” the thugs’ spokesman said. “Now you’ve gotten me mad. You’ll both die tonight.”

A bolt of fire pierced one of the men. Another bolt flew towards the arm holding the sword. Vish heard the weapon clattering on the cobbled street.

An arrow’s hiss reached Vishan’s ear and ended with a thud that staggered Peleor, now clutching his thigh. Another struck Vish in the shoulder. He fell towards Peleor, knocking both of them to the ground. Peleor cried out and then went silent as his head hit stone.

The light of two torches now lit the scene as five men stood over Vish and the unconscious form of Peleor. The sorcerer’s face was gray and Vish spotted his dagger out of reach, next to a thug’s foot.

“Say a prayer to your favorite god, boy. One less heir to the throne.” The other men grunted their assent.

Vish looked at their faces. All of the men seemed to be common street thugs. He expected to see one of his brothers’ faces among those that ringed him. He looked at the torches and back at Peleor. His tutor had refused to teach him an offensive spell, but Vish new enough to turn a parlor trick into a pyre.

He bowed his head and concentrated. He schooled his mind not to try too hard despite the pain that shot through his shoulder. He’d been hurt before and could struggle through the discomfort.

“Time’s up.”

Vish raised his arm and drew the fire of the torches around in front of the circle of men. He spelled it into a rope of flame and then made a circle around the attackers. The ring of fire moved inward and struck each of the men at shoulder height, igniting their clothing. The flames grew and Vish guided the flames up into their faces and then up towards the men’s headwear.

Screams lit up the air as much as the flames lit up the street. Candlelight appeared at windows above and the thugs lay writhing as the flames moved downward on their own accord and covered the men.

Vish crawled over to his dagger and put it back into its sheath, unbloodied. As the stench of burning flesh assaulted his sense of smell, he drew Peleor closer to him. The man’s color had improved by the time the city guard arrived.

The soldiers grabbed buckets at the two watering troughs on the street as others filled their helmets with water to douse the fires. None of the thugs had survived.

An officer stood above Vish, waving away the awful smell of the smoke and steam emanating from the fallen men. “What happened? You seem to be the only conscious survivor.” The officer’s eyes looked at Peleor and then back to him. A guard rushed up with a box of medical supplies and laid out Peleor. The arrow had gone all the way through his leg. The man clipped off the arrowhead and pulled the arrow out from the feathered side. Peleor moaned, but remained mostly non-responsive.