Conflict (10 page)

By now she had no doubts that her mission was to be in some way tied to the destiny of the two young warriors. Their paths ran parallel, their missions followed the same road. That was why she had to calm herself, put a stop on her inner fury and keep it in check. She must not jeopardize her relationship with them, whatever Lotas might reveal next.

“Let me crush his skull, Komir, please!” Hartz begged his friend, looming behind Lotas like a menacing tower.

When she heard the northern giant’s voice, Kayti was filled with a sea of contradictory feelings which fought inside her. On the one hand was a visceral dislike for him, which was rapidly soothed by a deep, unfamiliar feeling of well-being. This rough, untamed mountain-dweller got on her nerves with his nonchalant ways, he infuriated her. But on the other hand, his mere presence nearby filled her with a warm, even pleasant sense of safety… She stared at him for an instant, as if hypnotized by his magnetic presence. She shook her head energetically and all those feelings vanished at once, replaced by rejection.

Think! Concentrate! Be alert!
she chided herself.

“Before I let you crush him I want to ask him a couple questions,” Komir said with the coolness of a slave-dealer. He stood beside Kayti so as to face the smuggler.

“What do you want to know?” Lotas asked, with a distrustful glance at Komir.

“Who wants us dead and why?”

“Ah, good questions, yes sir… questions I could answer. But for that, as in any transaction, there must be an exchange of goods. I can give you the information you’re looking for. What can you offer me in exchange?”

“I can make your death quick instead of slow and painful,” Komir replied.

“Your offer is not good enough for me to give you the information you’re looking for.”

Komir looked at Kayti, and with a nod signaled her to lower her weapon. Kayti, understanding what was about to happen, put down her sword. Hartz stepped up and delivered a brutal left-hand blow to the liver, followed by a tremendous right punch to the helpless man’s jaw. Lotas crumpled to the ground like a felled tree.

“Don’t believe anything he says, he’s a compulsive liar,” Santes warned them from the corner where he was standing, watching events unfold. “He’d say anything just to save himself.”

“Get up!” Komir said, and kicked him where he lay on the ground.

Lotas, still dizzy from the blow, tried to stand without success. He sat on the floor with a lost look on his face, apparently on the verge of vomiting and barely able to hold himself up.

Komir bent down to Lotas’s level so as to look him in the eye.

“Now look, Lotas, my friend here isn’t fond of people who try to kill him from behind. So either you tell me what I want to know or I’ll let him beat you to a pulp. It’s your choice.”

“Wait…wait…I’ll tell you… don’t let him beat me any more…” Lotas managed to say. “A servant… of a rich merchant who lives in the upper city hired me. He offered me six thousand gold coins for your lives: three thousand up front and the other three at the end of the job when we gave him your heads, literally.”

“What merchant?” Komir asked.

Lotas hesitated for a moment and Komir looked at his friend, which made Lotas reply at once.

“Guzmik, his name is Guzmik… he’s a foreigner, nobody knows exactly where from, but he’s not local.”

When she heard the name Kayti shivered involuntarily.
Damn! This is what I was afraid of!
The two Norriel did not know the name, of that she was sure, but she did. If they got to him there would be trouble, he could reveal information about her which would put her in a very awkward position. Matters would get extremely complicated.
Calm down, let’s see how things turn out…

“Are you sure it’s him?” Komir asked.

“Yes, I always make sure who I go to bed with at night. I don’t like unpleasant surprises in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time someone careless had woken up with his throat cut, in a manner of speaking. I had the servant followed closely for several days.”

“Did he say why he wanted us killed?”

“Give me something in exchange and I’ll tell you. Let me leave here alive and I’ll tell you everything. I’ve got money, a lot of money. I’ll share it with you. Everything!”

“Hartz…” Komir suggested, with a glance at his friend.

The giant took a step forward, and Lotas said hurriedly, “Wait! Don’t hit me again! I’ll talk!”

Komir said coldly, “I’m listening, vermin…”

“He paid to have the three of you killed. The contract was for the three, without making too much noise. He didn’t want to arouse any suspicions. A quiet job, nothing to attract attention. But the one he specially said mustn’t survive was the redhead in white armor.” Lotas pointed at Kayti from the ground.

“Her? Why her?” Hartz thundered.

“I don’t know! That’s all he said, I swear!”

Komir raised his hand to stop Hartz, who was already preparing to lunge at Lotas. He snorted and stepped back, calming down as he did so. Komir looked at Kayti, taken aback.

“Do you know anything about this Guzmik and why he wants to kill you?”

Kayti swallowed and tried to stay calm. There was a knot in her stomach. It was not the time or place to explain the situation. She knew they would not understand, not yet. She had to lie, there was no other way. She felt deeply sorry, but it was for the good of everyone.

“No, I have no idea who this Guzmik is or why he’d want to kill me,” she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.

Komir and Hartz looked at her, then exchanged a cold glance, as if they did not believe her. This worried her.

“All right, Lotas, guide us to his residence. If you’ve lied to us I’ll cut off both your ears, then your nose and each and every one of your fingers and toes before I let Hartz play with you. Do you understand me?” Komir sounded as cold as a sadistic torturer.

“It’s the truth! I haven’t lied! I swear it!”

The sewer entrance in the ceiling of the circular hall opened, letting the sun pour in. A head and half a body emerged hanging upside-down from the vault and stared down at the group below.

“Everything all right, friends?” said Lindaro, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Everything’s fine, Lindaro. We’re going for a visit,” Komir replied, smiling broadly.

The group of twenty riders galloped into the courtyard in front of the tower. The jet-black building, shaped like a stylized triangular needle, was an impressive ninety feet tall, and it radiated a mystical aura in the heart of the great aspen forest which surrounded it. The beautiful tower reflected the sun from its three polished surfaces, an esoteric island in the vast Rogdonian forest. The officer in command of the column pulled sharply on his courser’s reins and stopped before the entrance. He studied the base of the arcane building and jumped off his horse. The enormous embossed door of wood and steel opened with a piercing squeal as a middle-aged man in a simple blue and green woolen tunic came out to greet the soldiers.

“Good day, gentlemen, welcome to Mirkos Tower,” he said, bowing courteously to the officer. “My name is Froitin, valet and personal advisor to the illustrious Mirkos. How can I be of service?”

“Good day to you,” the officer replied. “I’m Captain Jorgen of the Second Regiment of Royal Lancers of the Army of Rogdon. His voice was rough and military. “I have orders to deliver an urgent message to Mirkos the Erudite.”

“Wait a moment, please. I’ll announce your arrival to my lord.” The servant turned and disappeared inside the polished tower.

A few minutes later, Mirkos the Erudite came slowly out of the majestic structure, without showing any apparent interest. The fact was that the old Mage did not appreciate interruptions or unannounced visitors to his residence of more than forty-five years. Froitin, the faithful assistant in charge of his property, followed him in silence. Mirkos looked at the proud soldiers in the tiled courtyard in their shining armor and helmets, all mounted on their coursers expectantly except for the young officer, who was looking back at him with a determined expression. Twenty soldiers in shining armor bearing the colors of Rogdon. He eyed them an instant longer, and a feeling of unrest filled his heart. Soldiers rarely brought good news.

“Mirkos the Erudite?” the Captain asked without preamble as he stared at the Mage like a hunting dog.

“That is what I’m known as in this kingdom.”

“I bring you orders from His Majesty Solin, King of Rogdon.”

“Orders from the King? Has anything serious happened?”

“My orders are to hand you this message and escort you to the capital,” the Captain said as he handed over the document, sealed with the stamp of the Royal House of Rogdon.

Mirkos opened it warily and read its contents. The note was brief, written by King Solin himself:

My dear Mirkos,

It is with great sorrow that I must request your immediate presence in Rilentor. War is imminent. The Kingdom is in grave danger.

As King of Rogdon and your lord, I request your services as the King’s Battle Mage.

For Rogdon

Solin

King of Rogdon.

Mirkos read the ominous message several times. The King was asking him to hurry at once to the royal castle in the capital. The situation had to be really serious. Mirkos remained standing for a moment, thinking about what the note really meant, deeply worried. The King had mentioned the dreaded word:
War
. At the prospect of death, misery and destruction, his natural optimism vanished like mist scattered by the breeze. He thought for a moment longer, trying without much success to come to terms with the bad news. During his long and busy life he had found himself immersed in numerous battles and wars; he knew them well, unfortunately. He stroked his long thick white beard, which together with his long hair and bushy eyebrows of the same wintry white showed the more than seventy winters his thin body had endured. He knew very well the horrors of war, he had witnessed evil, destruction and pain perpetrated on innocents, and it made his stomach turn…

So once again he had to leave his studies, his beloved experiments and mystical research, to attend to the requests of the Crown, with the shadow of baleful atrocities hovering overhead and stalking his beloved kingdom. The Court had demanded his presence on many occasions; Mirkos and Haradin were the only two Battle Mages of the King since Golmar had died in combat several years ago. The situation must be very complicated indeed. Ill winds were about to blow over Rogdon, as though in a summer storm, bringing darkness to the now beautiful blue sky. A presentiment of evil ran through his body, like a freezing draught from the cold mountains.

“I need some time to arrange all my personal affairs before I leave for Rilentor,” he said to the officer, without taking his eyes off the letter.

“My orders are to escort you back to the royal castle immediately.”

“I understand your orders, my young Captain, but I’m sure that despite your youthful dash you’ll understand that I need to take care of my duties and my estate before I leave,” the Mage replied condescendingly.

The officer did not flinch.

“You have a couple of hours, until noon,” he said curtly. “I can’t delay any longer. The way back to the capital is long, it’ll take us more than a week to get there, so we must leave as soon as possible.”

“Till noon? It’s not enough time!” the old Mage protested. “I have a thousand tasks to organize, people to arrange my personal business with. I foresee a long absence. I need to leave everything clearly laid out and in good order.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all I can do. Orders are orders.”

The Mage waved his arms agitatedly. “By all the gods of heaven and earth! There’s nothing more irrational than a soldier with orders!”

“I’m perfectly rational, and that’s why I say we must leave before sunset,” the Captain replied. He turned round to look at his men, who were waiting on their tired mounts.

“Attention, column! Dismount!” he ordered sternly. “Tend to your horses and set a perimeter watch on the road to the tower. I don’t want any surprises while we’re resting.”

“My good Froitin, give them whatever they need: water and food for them and their horses,” said Mirkos to his assistant. “Also, would you please prepare supplies for the return journey?”

“I will, my lord,” he replied with a small bow.

“Don’t dally too much. We’ve got all manner of subjects to talk about and many things to prepare.”

Mirkos looked at the young officer once more, realizing that asking for more time would be useless. He knew military logic well. For a moment he thought how easy it would be to set fire to the man’s clothes, and how much he would enjoy it; a small incantation, a sphere of fire the size of a cherry, and how he would laugh at the sight of the hapless officer running around with his backside burning.
Ah… that would be a sight I’d enjoy, oh yes! I can just see it. Thank goodness that with age comes good sense. Time was when I would’ve laughed till my sides ached while the smell of burnt pride filled the patio! But no matter how powerful the Mage is, and how much the subject deserves it, one shouldn’t take advantage of the power of magic.
He grinned mischievously, turned his back on the officer and went into the tower to prepare the untimely journey to the capital of the kingdom.

When he walked into the building, he saw the two apprentices he had been training for the last five years. They were waiting for him, concern showing on their young faces. His eyes rested on them, so young and innocent, so much to teach them still… so many things to enjoy in life still… and a war was lying in wait at the very gates of the kingdom.

His heart filled with sorrow.

“Master, what’s going on?” said Jofer. “Is everything going to be all right? We saw the soldiers from the study window.” He was the oldest of the two, a bright, quiet boy of sixteen. There was anxiety in his tone.

The Mage sought to reassure them. “Don’t worry, boys, it’s nothing serious. The King has summoned me, that’s all. I must leave at once for Rilentor.”

“But…but…you can’t leave now, Master. Who’s going to take care of our studies, and of us? Magic is too complex, and without your help and guidance we’ll never make any progress,” said Felton. Serious worry showed on his round freckled face. The restless, lively apprentice, two years younger than Jofer, rarely showed anxiety or worry. But today was different, and even he realized the presence of the soldiers meant only trouble.

“You’ll have to go on with your studies without me until I come back. I want you to promise me you’ll go on learning, even though I’m not here to supervise you.”

“We’ll try, Master, but without your help I don’t think we’ll get very far,” Jofer said gloomily, lowering his head.

“I may not be here, my dear boys, but Froitin will help you. As you well know, my old comrade possesses something of the Gift, and has studied long years alongside me. Although his power is not remarkable, his knowledge of the material is, and he will be very valuable in your development. You’ll be in good hands.”

The two apprentices nodded reluctantly. The old Mage went up to them and ruffled their hair affectionately.

“Come on, you young rascals, let’s go up to the library. I’ll select some books for you to study and give you a list of what to do. I don’t want you idling for a single moment while I’m away, you hear me? Don’t let me find out, or you’ll soon learn what’s good for you!”

Both boys looked at their Master, somewhat taken aback by his stern tone. Then Mirkos winked at them and smiled broadly beneath his snowy beard.

The apprentices smiled in their turn, and hugged their dear Master.

They went up to the third floor of the tower, where Mirkos had patiently created an impressive library of priceless volumes. There were hundreds of them, perfectly ordered and catalogued on a number of shelves which covered the walls of the tower entirely. In the center of that solemn hall were two magnificent desks of carved oak. It was an intellectual and spiritual environment in which to feed the soul and the mind. Mirkos had spent all his spare time in acquiring and collecting this private library: his treasure of arcane knowledge, he called it. He selected and arranged the books which his apprentices would have to study in his forced absence, since however much he might dislike the fact, there was no alternative. He changed and reordered his selection a number of times, but at last was content with what he had chosen. Though the bulk of the studies involved were concerned with magic and the occult, he also added other books, mainly of geography and history, to complement the education and preparation of these two young men
. Man must be aware of his past mistakes in order not to repeat them in the future. Unfortunately, many are the mistakes committed in the past by this kingdom and others.

He called his pupils and showed them his selection, laid out in order on top of one of the large desks.

“These are the books of knowledge I want you to study in my absence.”

“There are so many of them! You’re going to be away for as long as that, Master?” the youngest asked.

“I hope to be back soon. Unfortunately it’s possible that my services may be needed for a longer period of time than I’d like…That’s why I want to make sure you’ll continue your apprenticeship if I should take longer.”

“What will happen when we need help with spells we can’t manage? With magic we can’t either understand or control?” Jofer said.

“As you well know, my dear pupils, the secret of magic, as well as many other disciplines in life, is practice. Practice, practice and more practice. That’s the key to success! If a spell or incantation resists you, practice day and night until you master it. Your inner energy is sensitive and attuned to the instability of incantations. Always let yourself be guided by your inner instinct. Embrace what your intuition tells you! When you feel you’re close, don’t give up, keep on practicing. In time you’ll learn to control that fickleness of the incantation and make it yours. Once that’s done, you’ll adopt it and it will be easier to invoke. Feldon, do you remember how long it took you to master the first spell, the one for the creation of a beam of light? We practiced for more than three months without rest, until at last you managed it.”

“Yes, Master, I remember. I was so convinced I would never get it. Day after day, nothing, only failure after failure. I nearly gave up in despair. But thanks to your insistence and advice, Master, I finally managed it. It was the happiest day of my life. I created light out of nowhere. My first spell, something only a privileged few get to accomplish. I will always remember, Master.”

“Your parents brought you to me to check your potential, to see if you really possessed talent, Magic. Remember how I tested your possibilities, and how I found out that you were gifted? That Magic, power, lay within you? Every year parents come to see me so that I can assess their children: some hopeful, most scared. Some come of their own volition, most are forced by circumstances. Unfortunately the Gift is quite rare in these lands and almost always I’m forced to give them bad news, which much to my chagrin, most receive with relief. You two are extremely lucky, and so I told your parents.”

“We know, Master,” Jofer said with a roguish smile, “we’re aware that we’re privileged. We do understand how fortunate we are, being blessed with the Gift. You have told us so many times.”

“It’s true, my dear boys. You do possess the Gift of Magic, and you must learn to master it and use it for the good of men. Always remember that, it’s your destiny, your obligation. Keep learning, so that in the future you may help your fellow men with your talent and power. And always, absolutely always, use your power in a sensible and responsible way!”