Fire And Ice (Book 1) (23 page)

             
Coran had the feeling that Stemis was getting to the part that concerned him.  A quick glance at his father’s disapproving face told him that he was correct.  The seat was starting to feel very uncomfortable.  He could sense Katelyn’s tension beside him.  She knew too.

             
“Coran,” Stemis spoke to him, “I need you to go.”

             
Oran cut in, but he did not look like he agreed with what he was saying.  “No one can get past the patrols.  No one will try.  I have an old friend who owes me a debt.  He is a Western Karand.  The risk is great so he will only help me or...my son.”  He broke off and looked away.  It must have been hard for him to say that with Coran, still weakened, in the room.

             
“Will you do it?” Stemis asked.

             
Coran could feel Katelyn readying herself to speak.  He put a hand on hers to stop her.  “I still need to recover fully.  So I will think on it.”

             
“I understand,” the King nodded.  “Keep in mind that there is not much time.”  He turned to the white haired wizard.  “Do you have any advice for him?”

             
Gelarus glared back.  “You know I will not guide him.”  He turned to face Coran.  “I will say one thing to you though.  You must do what you feel is right.”

             
Katelyn tightened her grip on his hand.  She knew what the Lady in white had told him.  It was exactly what Gelarus just said.  “I will.  That is a certainty.”  The seriousness in his tone made the wizard look thoughtful.  “If.  I say, if I go, I will need more information, about Daes Shael, and about those Easterners.”              

“I believe Lord Oran's friend will know about the Karands,”  Gelarus suggested.  “As for the others, there is little else I can tell you.”

              “A name,” Coran countered.  He was determined to get something out of the old wizard. “If you know so much about these Maji you must be able to tell me something.”

             
“From my time in Herrinhall I was able to find out that the current Ra Majin is named Elthzidor.”

             
“And I suppose that he is a powerful wizard since he leads those Maji?”

             
“Very.”

             
“So is there any way to defeat him, or is he unstoppable?  I am just asking in case I happen to run into him.”  Coran’s tone held sarcasm, and the others were looking away from him uncomfortably.  He was upset, and tired, and unsure of his future. 

             
“Someone will stop him,” Gelarus replied calmly, “when the time is right.”

             
“You sound sure of that?” questioned Anne.

             
“No, but I can hope.” 

             
Anaaris waited for the large, brown skinned guard to open the two perforated doors.  The Karand wore a sleeveless, red shirt of silk, and baggy white pants of the same material.  His dark hair was cut short, and his dark eyes held little in the way of intelligence.  Those types made the best guards.  No thoughts beyond the duty they were assigned.  Much simpler for everyone.

             
Anaaris entered, and the guard closed the doors behind him.  The walls were white, and golden columns ran from floor to ceiling at each of the four corners.  A great, arched window set in the opposite wall, let in a generous amount of sunlight.   It allowed the room to be filled with potted plants.  In the center of the room sat a low table.  So low that no one could have used it in the traditional sense.  Cushions were arranged around the polished wood instead of chairs.

             
“Finally,” said the man with the hood of his black robe pulled back to reveal his face.  His hair was black and slightly curly.  A thin goatee framed his mouth.  His skin was pale as if he did not spend much time in the sun.  Elthzidor was completely recognizable to all who met him, unlike himself.

             
Besides Anaaris’ height he was unremarkable.  His hair was a medium brown, and his face clean shaven.  He was just good looking enough to be happy with his face, but not so handsome that he would be remembered. 

             
They were not alone in the room.  Seated upon one of the cushions next to the Ra Majin was a very beautiful, and very dangerous, woman.  Selisk was tall for a woman, and thin, with long, dark brown hair and pale skin.  Her narrow face was flawless, and her dark brown eyes, almost black really, held a certain look of cruelty in them.

             
“Now we can get started,” Elthzidor stated.  “Is everything progressing as planned?”

             
“Yes,” Anaaris replied as he sat on one of the red cushions, crossing his legs so they would fit under the table.  A silver chalice was on the table in front of him.  The other two had one as well.  “Our supporters are positioned in the right places.  I can move in and take over whenever you wish.”

             
“Very good,” Elthzidor said excitedly.  There was a peculiar light in his eyes.  Anaaris had seen madmen before, and although he knew Elthzidor was not mad, the man was showing some signs of it.  More so now that they were in the lands of the Westerners.  Elthzidor raised his chalice and looked at it in the light.  “Fine workmanship.  The former Zahr had good tastes.”

             
“Former?” he asked, ignoring Selisk’s warning look.               Elthzidor frowned at him.  “Azevido proved unfaithful.  You do not approve?” he said it innocently, but Anaaris knew better.  The Ra Majin expected complete cooperation.

             
“I do not approve, or disapprove.  I only wonder if it was wise.  We need the Karands to bolster our numbers.  To get them they must be rounded up in an orderly fashion.  The Zahr would be the best one to accomplish that.”

             
“I see.  Your worry for our cause is admirable,” Elthzidor complimented him, but he detected the underlining threat.  “But I have taken care of the situation.  Helimey, his son, understands his duties perfectly.  We will have the Karands, at least the Eastern ones.”

             
“That is good to know,” Anaaris said carefully.  Then he glanced around the room to make sure no one else was there.  “I do not see Kere.  I thought this was a meeting of the Majin?”

             
“Kere is overseeing the arrival of our forces in T’loth.”

             
Anaaris nodded.  Someone had to do it.  “I was wondering about your plan.  If I am going to help, I should know all that I can.”

             
Elthzidor smiled.  “Selisk?”

             
“The fleet will be ready by the beginning of autumn,” she informed them.  “The Etrani Karands are being gathered in Lornth to help build, and then sail that fleet.”

             
“Another fleet?” questioned Anaaris. Then it became clearer as he recalled the map of the West with which he had familiarized himself.  “You are going to sail through the narrows?”

             
“They will be taken completely by surprise, Elthzidor stated happily.  “Selisk?  How are the other preparations in the West coming along, will they be ready in time?”  His voice echoed slightly in the chamber.              

“All will be ready," she answered.  “When the fleet sails the distractions will begin.  We will be on them before they know what is happening.”

              “Excellent.  Then I have a task for Maji Jeshon,” he said to Selisk.  “I want him to find Coran Tyelin and kill him.

             
“Are you sure he is the one to do it?” questioned Selisk.

             
“He has made it clear that he wishes to prove his worth.  Now is his chance.”

             
“As you wish,” Selisk inclined her head.

             
“Anything else?”  Elthzidor glanced at each of them.

             
“One thing,” stated Selisk.  “In closing all the ports, I believe that the Northmen have become intrigued with Daes Shael.  Their ships have been spotted moving further east.  They could pose a threat to our transports coming over.”

             
“The Northmen?  Ah, yes.  Reputed to be fierce warriors, especially at sea,” the Ra Majin mused.  “Some of the Maji will have to travel with our ships to protect them.  Send word to Bedalsh.  Have Aemei and Akuma assigned to the fleet.  Anything else?”  Neither of them spoke.  “Then the meeting is over.  I have much to do.”  Elthzidor rose from his cushion and walked purposefully out of the room, his black robes flowing out behind him.

             
Selisk sipped from her cup, but Anaaris had not touched his yet.

             
“I think we should be ready in case our esteemed leader should fail,” she said, setting down her chalice.

             
“I hope you are not suggesting we help in making that come about?”

             
“Of course not.  I would never go against our Master’s wishes.”

             
“Nor I.  So what are you saying?”              

“The Master does not want to wait another thousand years.  He is tired of waiting.  If Elthzidor should fail it will be up to the rest of us to carry out his wishes.  I am only suggesting that we keep in touch so if something does happen, we will be in a better position to do just that.”

              It made good sense.  Of course he didn’t trust her either.  If Elthzidor fell, than she would want to be the next Ra Majin.  He would have to be careful with this.  “I think that is a sensible precaution,” he agreed.  “But do you really think the boy is a match for Elthzidor?”

             
“No.  But who would have thought Eryk or Soros a match for the great Zir’Thenn?”

             
“Point taken.”  He had to concede to her logic.  Rising up off the soft pillow, he spoke.  “I must go and do the bidding of the Ra Majin.  Until I see you again?”

             
She inclined her head slightly.  Anaaris left her sipping her drink in quiet contemplation.   

Chapter 14

A Promise

              Stemis watched Gelarus enter his study and stand before his sturdy, dark stained desk.  He heard Oran cough from where he stood to one side of the small room.  Books were stuffed onto tall shelves that lined almost all of the wall space. 

             
He knew he was tired.  He had his suspicions confirmed that the Great War was coming.  It was time for the West to prepare for the fight and the Voltians, Grendins and those other lords who shared their views were playing at politics.  He questioned whether he was the one to lead the Alliance in this time of danger.  He questioned his own abilities as King. 

             
Before he dealt with that, there were other things to attend to first.  “Gelarus, you have avoided me, ignored me, and refused me.  I want a straight answer.  Why will you not advise me, especially now when I need it the most?”  He was still upset over the whole sphere of influence nonsense. 

             
The wizard appeared to consider whether he should answer.  Stemis scowled, and seeing the set features of the High King, Gelarus made the right decision.  The only one as far as Stemis was concerned.  “I will try and explain it.”  He locked his hands behind his back.  “Soros decided to go and fight in defense of Mon Vusaar while his father tried to rally the Western kings.  Some of those who went with him were the sons of lords as well.  When Soros’ father and the Western leaders were killed at the Field of Despair, Soros and those who followed him became the new leaders.  Because of the bond they shared in fighting the enemy together, the Alliance was formed and Summerhall came to be.”

             
“Why do you tell me what everyone learns as a child and call it an explanation?” Stemis asked, trying to rein in his impatience.

             
“Because, what if someone else had advised Soros in his decisions?  What if that advice had affected his actions?  What if someone who knew some of what was to come told Soros that he would be the one to rally the people?  Would he have gone off to fight, or would he have tried to rally the West with his father?  Would he have died along with him?  If he had, we would not be here.”

             
Stemis tossed that around in his mind.  “I think I understand, but can you clarify your point?”

             
“I think,” Oran began, “that the point is you have to put your trust in others, or maybe in fate.”

             
“Close,” Gelarus said, “but it will do.”

             
“Wait.”  Stemis thought he understood something.  “Are you saying that I have to trust in those who are fated to make the choices?”  That wasn’t it exactly.  “Are you saying...?”  He was close to something that was just out of reach, but he couldn’t grab on to it.

             
“I am saying that advisers must know when it is best not to advise at all,” Gelarus stated in true wizardly fashion.  “Or that those who command must know when it is time not to give orders.”

             
There was still something about it that Gelarus was not telling.  The wizard wouldn’t give advice when it came to the coming war, or the possibility of Coran’s leaving.  He was also saying that he should not be ordering Coran around.  What did it mean?  What was he missing?  He knew the old man knew more than he was saying.  “So what you are saying is you will not give me any advice concerning the possible upcoming war?”

             
“I will tell you that you should keep in constant contact with the other kingdoms, especially Westland and Taragon.  They are the closest to Summerhall. I would also advise you to watch out for spies.  The enemy will have recruited as many as he can to his cause.  But if you are looking for some grand strategy for winning I would not tell you even if I knew of one,” Gelarus finished and he stood, daring the King to do his worst if he didn’t like it.

             
Stemis thought about it, but decided to let it go.  “Do you have any advice to give on Coran going into Daes Shael?”

             
“On that I will not speak.”

             
“Why not?” Oran asked him, not entirely pleased by the refusal.  It concerned his son after all.

             
“Because it must be his decision.  No one else can make it for him.”  The last was clearly meant for Stemis, and he got the message.  Let Coran decide.

              Coran sat in one of the two chairs that furnished the small outer room of his chambers.  The stone fireplace was empty.  The days were hot, so there was no use for the additional heat.  He was looking over the single scrap of paper he had used to copy down parts of the scroll he had found in the library.  He found another scroll in the King’s personal library, and he had not exactly asked permission to look there.  Since Gratus of Ithan was supposed to have predicted the Great Wars, he reasoned that there might be some clues in his writings.  Unfortunately, Summerhall did not contain a whole copy.  Only things written by others concerning Gratus’ work.

             
The first part was not a passage really, but just a couple of lines that had jumped out at him:

              He must choose his fate,

             
And defend the Sun.             
              

              That was too much like his own predicament.  He had to choose.  The one in the King’s library sounded more prophetic.

             
When the darkness comes again, the third war will               have begun.

             
Watch for the heroes’ return.

             
The Lord of the North shall rise again,
to lead the               people to war.

             
Death will walk the South, to bring an end to the               division
.

              Let the Queen of Battles reign
,

             
And the Champion of Light protect us
.

             
For with the sword forged of Ice
,

             
Only he may face the Destroyer.

             
So who was the Lord of the North?  Eryk wore that title long ago.  And Death in the South?  He had never heard any reference to that before.  Most importantly, who was the Champion?  Obviously he would not find any more answers here.

             
It had been two days since his meeting with the King and he thought he might be able to ride tomorrow.  It was just over a day since he had come up with this idea.  If there were prophecies on the next war he might gain some insight by reading them.  He had spent most of last night and this morning digging through the palace library to no avail.  He realized that if it was important the King might have it somewhere close at hand.  He regretted having to sneak into the King’s study, but at the time he was obsessed with finding something that might help.  His real question was why had he never seen this before, or why it was hidden away? 

             
He rubbed his forehead and put down the copied papers.  Hopefully, it would become more clear in time.  It didn’t help with the decision he had to make now.  His heart told him to stay.  His head told him that he had to go, since there seemed to be no one else who could do it.  He tried to decide what the right thing to do was, but it was all jumbled together.  It wasn’t just the fact of the dangers he would face, but he felt dread at the idea of going.  He couldn’t explain it.  The only thing he was sure of, was that it felt wrong to stay.  He had been thinking on it for two days and nothing became any clearer.

             
He stood and picked up the papers.  He went to the narrow bookcase and selected a volume titled ‘A History of Mon Vusaar’ and put the papers between two pages in the middle of the book.  He replaced the book on the shelf.  He decided to get some fresh air.  Maybe that would help clear his thoughts.

             
Coran reached the gardens and took a deep, calming breath.  The sun shined brightly among the full-leafed trees, and flower-tipped plants.  He walked the stone paths until he came upon the open area in the center where the round pool was located.  Passing a marble bench that faced the water, he stood before the pool, and watched the trees and sky reflected on its surface.

             
“I hope you do not mind, but I saw you going this way and decided to join you.”  Margery stepped into the clearing and came to stand next to him.  She wore her light yellow dress that set off her hair. 

             
“I never mind seeing you,” he replied truthfully.

             
She smiled warmly at the compliment.  “You seem better.”

             
“Much better, thank you.”              

“I never had the chance to ask, how did you find Westhaven?”

              He had the feeling she wanted to talk about something, and thought he knew what it was.  “Dangerous,” he replied, remembering duels and assassins.

             
“You survived, that is what is important.”

             
“Barely survived,” he amended.

             
“I can still not believe that you won the tournament,” she told him, changing the subject a little.  “When the news came, I thought your father was about to burst with pride.”

             
“Right up until he learned of my altercation with Torvilin,” Coran stated.  Meaning when he learned of Stemis’ plan for his son.

             
“Well, he was less than pleased with my father about that, but everyone was overjoyed with the result,” she informed him very diplomatically.  She didn’t want to get into that, he could tell.

             
“Yes, I much prefer winning to dying.”

             
Margery took his arm and turned him back towards the path.  He waited for her to continue pushing the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go as they walked. 

             
“This is nice,” she commented happily.  “We have not had much time to talk together lately.”

             
“I noticed that,” he replied.

             
“Was I that obvious?  I suppose even you could have figured it out by now.  I mean it was sort of obvious that I was not really busy all those times,” she told him with a little laugh.

             
So that was why.  He felt stupid for not seeing it earlier.  It had all been a plan for him to spend more time with Katelyn. 

             
“Still, it did take you longer than I expected,” she continued, not noticing his surprise.              

             
He tried to think of something to say that would not give him away.  “It took me a while to realize how much some people have changed.”  It was the truth too.

             
“Do you really think that?”

             
“That some here have changed since I left for Tyelin?  Yes.”

             
“Then you are mistaken,” she told him pointedly.  They passed some low trimmed hedges and turned right on the path when it split in two.

             
“Are we talking about the same thing here?” he asked when uncertain what she meant.

             
“My sister?”  She waited for him to nod.  She must have sensed his uncertainty when he hesitated.  “You seem troubled?”

             
“Would you not be?” he asked incredulously.  “Some wizard wants me dead.  Of course he will have to beat Torvilin to it.  I am contemplating going to a place that is most likely very hostile.  I find myself suddenly betrothed and everyone seems to have something to say about it.”

             
“There I go, being obvious again,” she abashed herself.  “You knew why I wanted to talk?”

             
“Fairly certain, yes, but I hope it is not only for that?”

             
“You should know better than to ask that.  I like being with you.  If you do not want to talk about my sister we won’t.” 

             
“Actually, I could use your help.  This whole situation is weighing on me.  I feel like everyone is waiting for me to make a decision.”  From the woman in his dream to Alys trying to talk to him, then his father asking about it, and now Margery, he did feel that way.

             
“Perhaps you fight making a decision because it was forced on you.”

             
“Perhaps,” he said and stopped in the middle of the path.  She did too and they both turned to face each other.