Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series (44 page)

If his day had ended here, it would have been
mildly acceptable. Sure, he would’ve never forgotten the girl’s
pitying frown nor her words that he was unjust, yet he could’ve
lived with that. No, it was the last case that really upset
him....

A light rap sounded on the door, knocking him
from his thoughts. Setting himself upright, and placing his hands
in a more regal position, he bid the outsider to enter. This had
better be important.

No sooner had he fully composed himself, than
his trusted royal advisor Arvage strolled in, his tall-imposing
form, clean-shaven face, and heavy brown cloak giving the man the
very essence of dignity. Arvage’s handsome features made him very
admired among all the women in his kingdom, yet for some reason,
he’d never claimed to find any one that suited him.

He’d called Arvage a proud fool before and
told him to stop fastening his eyes on the sky, but his counselor
had never faltered. He simply admitted that he found none of the
ladies worthy of him.

Boastful arrogance aside, though, Arvage had
a wise, kind disposition that made him extremely popular among his
citizens. Not only did he have knowledge about all the important
day-to-day happenings in Sarith, he also kept his focus locked onto
other kingdoms as well. In all truth, it appeared as if Arvage knew
a little bit about everything. Better yet, he could communicate it
in a way that made sense.

“I see you’ve got quite enough work to keep
you busy, My King,” said Arvage, as he stood in front of the table,
his dark brown eyes deepening with concern. “If you have no need of
me tonight, I will depart.”

“No, Arvage, I want you here,” said King
Ralin, with a little more desperation in his voice than he’d
intended. “And please stop with the formalities. I can’t handle
them right now.”

“As you request,” said Arvage, as he took his
seat across from the king.

If anyone else had walked through that door,
Ralin probably couldn’t have handled it, but seeing Arvage somehow
made his heart lighter. Besides, he’d scheduled this meeting with
his advisor no more than two days ago. How could he be so
distracted as to forget about it?

Arvage smiled as he put his hands on the
table. “So, what shall we go over first?”

“The military,” said Ralin, who couldn’t help
but grin at his advisor’s nonprocedural way of conducting business.
Every single meeting, Arvage gave him the option of deciding what
to discuss first, and, depending on his mood, the responses
differed wildly. Today, all he could handle starting with was the
military. After all, it seemed to be the brightest spot in the sky.
Not much could go wrong with his army with Head Commander Exalon
and his fellow three commanders Vardis, Gavar, and Tavim in charge
of it.

Smiling faintly, as Ralin waited for the
military report, the royal counselor folded his hands as he began,
“The southerners are training heavily each day and within two weeks
should be ready to join our forces.”

“How many are there?” Ralin asked, the news
already lifting his spirits.

“At least three thousand,” he replied.

This number was a huge addition to his army,
and frankly, it surprised him at the fast response he’d gotten from
them. Though he’d known the southerners to be bloodthirsty, cruel
people, he’d never guessed they’d be so eager to fight in a war.
Smiling, he turned his focus to the upper regions of his kingdom.
“And what of the northerners?”

“None have arrived yet except one young man,
but our reports show that the majority of them should be coming in
two days at the most, and there will be at least two thousand.”

Always liking to find humor in a situation if
he could, Ralin couldn’t resist. “So, this lone man was ambitious
then?” he asked.

“Ambitious or foolish,” replied Arvage dryly.
“By the winds, it can’t be safe traveling alone like that.”

“No, it certainly cannot,” said Ralin,
finding laughter easier than he’d expected. After chuckling a
little, he added, “I think I can handle the Chardin Academy
now.”

“Switching subjects already,” Arvage said
with a mock frown. “I wonder why you pay me so much.”

Ralin just bit back a smile. “Continue.”

“The ninety-nine students are learning at an
average pace, and ten of them are expected to pass their mastery
exams by next week.”

“Ninety-nine?” asked Ralin incredulously, as
if hearing this for the first time, though in reality, he just
wanted to argue. Right now, this low number just seemed ridiculous.
“Surely, we have more than that.”

“No, that’s it,” replied Arvage.

“And you think we have a chance against the
elves with such numbers? How can so few annul their magic? We won’t
have enough to protect our troops.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for some
time,” began Arvage. “To solve this problem, I suggest you double
the enrollment rate.”

“To two-hundred?” asked Ralin, finding this
number staggering. “That’d flood the school. Master Zenari would be
outraged.”

“And that’d be nothing new.” Arvage
straightened his back against the cushioned chair. “Zenari’s always
had quite the temper.”

Ralin stared up at his advisor, surprisingly
amused. “Have you ever considered how our reputation is affected by
those we associate with and bring into positions of power?”

“I’m quite aware of it,” said Arvage with a
chuckle. “You did just appoint Master Zenari to the council last
week. I’m sure, though, that no one will think any less of you for
choosing him. Surely you know that Professor Kahna, Professor
Ravarnum, Professor Haxien, Professor Warlon, or Professor Undarvis
would’ve never even lasted one minute in the council--their
personalities, their dispositions, their appearances just wouldn’t
permit it.”

Picturing any of the five other professors as
council members just strengthened his laughter. Belavi, Sarid,
Callin, or Jalis would never put up with any of these professors’
antics--they’d sooner drop out. He wasn’t even sure that Gavar,
Yanar, or Arvage could handle them.

The rest of the comedy from this situation
draining, Ralin worked his way back to the current topic. “So, what
should be done about expanding the enrollment?”

“If you’re looking for the smoothest path, I
suggest holding a council meeting in two days,” said Arvage. “Then
we can vote on it.”

“But we can’t wait two days to approve such a
measure,” replied Ralin frustratedly, his humor all but erased
under the circumstances. “It’d take at best three days to fill up
all hundred positions, and then at least two weeks to train them to
a reasonable degree.” He paused. “No, that won’t work.”

“Then institute the law yourself,” said
Arvage. “Certainly you have the power.”

After thinking about it for only a few
moments, he smiled sternly. “Yes, I suppose that is the fastest way
to solve the problem. The six other council members will just have
to understand why I bypassed them in this decision.”

Jotting down a quick note to remind himself
to write this monumental letter to be delivered to the Chardin
Academy before he went to bed, Ralin paused as a particular thought
struck him. He quickly formed it into words. “So, whatever happened
to that prodigy from the north? Wasn’t he supposed to be here a
week ago?”

“Ferinor Eldred, you mean?” asked Arvage,
who, after seeing the king’s acknowledgment of his words, moved on:
“He arrived late this afternoon.”
“And?”

“He didn’t last the day.”

This news hit Ralin hard. He staggered in his
seat, as his eyes smoldered like a funeral pyre. “Impossible!”

“It’s all very true,” replied Arvage calmly,
not sharing in his king’s fury. “Master Zenari himself told me
about it. Though he kept out the particulars, it wasn’t hard to
sense that whatever Ferinor did, it must have appalled Zenari to
the root.”

“And what did Ferinor’s classmates say about
him?” asked Ralin, who for no apparent reason, found himself
already blaming this northerner for his awful day.

Smiling faintly now, the advisor leaned back
against the chair as he recalled today’s events. “His classmates
spoke quite candidly about him.”

“What did they say?” His question built in
intensity. He found himself wishing the worst for this excuse of a
genius.

Arvage took his time. “They said that when he
first arrived there that he couldn’t even speak the language and
that he spoke with the worst accent any of them had ever heard. It
was so bad that one of them swore he was speaking his own made-up
language.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “However, even
after Zenari gave him the Sarithian language, his problems didn’t
go away but rather seemed to intensify.” He grinned as if savoring
a rare type of seafood. “His cultural skills for one, were
downright barbaric.”

Now, Ralin, who couldn’t take any more,
swiftly lashed out, the bitterness freezing in his voice: “Have the
northerners truly grown so far apart from us as to not even know
our language or our culture?”

“No, not all northerners,” replied Arvage.
“The other ten northerners at the academy are some of Zenari’s top
students.”

“Then what happened to Ferinor?” asked Ralin,
his tone both icy and fiery. “Is it possible we may have gotten the
wrong person?”

“It is possible, though highly improbable,”
replied Arvage, a shrewd look in his eyes. “The four guards
stationed at the gate of the academy scrutinized him sharply and
found him nearly an exact replica of the facial sketch they had of
him.”

King Ralin tapped his hands across the table,
growing rather irritated. “Is it possible the sketch is a fraud
then?”

Arvage’s face remained stolid. “Yes, although
it is extremely unlikely, as the academy sent a sketch artist to
Ferinor’s house and drew him in person, making it very difficult
for anything fraudulent to occur.” Here he paused for several
seconds before adding, his tone both diplomatic and stern, “Thus,
in all likelihood, the Ferinor Eldred at the academy today was the
real one.”

Becoming seriously annoyed, feeling that all
his valid questions were being torn apart, King Ralin started to
tremble with impatience. “Obviously his mother grossly exaggerated
his intelligence in her missives then,” he said sharply.

“True, that is definitely part of it,” said
Arvage. “Though it’s far worse than just that.”

The king just gave him a cold glare. “Explain
yourself.”

The advisor didn’t hesitate. “The students
seem to think he’s in a world of his own making.”

“He’s succumbed to madness then?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied Arvage, as he
stretched out his legs. “Though the worst part is, he sees himself
as perfectly normal--an obvious sign that he’s advanced to the
further stages of the malady.”

“Well, enough of this topic then,” said
Ralin, with pure disgust. “It’s clear I want nothing more to do
with the man. What more could possibly be said?”

After a brief bout of silence, Arvage not
answering this question as it appeared rhetorical, Ralin’s temper
cooled somewhat, as Arvage took the initiative, bringing the
conversation back to the agenda. “Our messengers report that
Emissary Sarid will be arriving in Carakoth sometime tomorrow
morning. As of now, we have no assurance that the meeting with the
dwarves has forged an alliance.”

“Send him to me when he arrives,” said Ralin.
“If this alliance succeeds, my plans for this war will be
drastically altered.”

But Arvage hesitated, his face slightly
uneasy. “But tomorrow's your birthday--”

“I have no time for such celebrations,” cut
in Ralin as he glanced over the stacks of brownish paper in front
of him. “Tell him to meet me.”

“As you wish,” replied Arvage with a bow.

“Good.” The king folded his left arm on the
table as he picked up a charcoal writing tool with his right hand
and poised it right above the document that Callin, his finance
council member had given him. Right now, authorizing the
construction of a new bridge in Taez didn’t seem as important as it
had in the morning. Besides, he knew that Callin would be thrilled
by such ready acceptance; it would put him on his good side. And
he’d need it when he issued the decree to expand the academy’s
enrollment.

Now if only he could find a way to appease
the other council members, especially Master Zenari who would most
likely be terribly displeased with the degree, everything would be
much more pleasant.

As the king continued thinking along these
lines, Arvage, observing the king’s state of stasis, pulled a metal
bell from his cloak and rang it once--his signature way of
adjourning a meeting. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss
with me before I go?”

Finished signing the paper, Ralin looked up
at his advisor and gave the customary question, which usually
didn’t engender any favorable results. “Did anything interesting
happen today?”

His lips curved into a smile. “I believe
today it did.”

This was unexpected, though he should have
expected it given his already unusual day. “Where at?” he
inquired.

“In the village of Sarette.” He let this
tidbit of information sit around for a few moments before beginning
his account. “Seven members of the Forest Scourge were captured by
our royal guards.”

“Seven? That can’t be possible.”

“My thought as well,” said Arvage as he put
the bell back into his cloak. “What makes even less sense to me is
how they were caught in the first place. Apparently, the royal
guards heard a bloodcurdling scream from far away and they went to
check it out. By the time they’d arrived, though, they saw six of
the murderers lying against the wall of a house as if they’d been
slammed into it, and another one, a young man, standing up on the
opposite end of the street with a knife in his belt as if he’d just
won a battle.”