The Contention (18 page)

Once inside Sara looked around, noting more specific details. Against one wall was a bookshelf that besides books held a smattering of other items of little importance. Along the opposite wall sat a long wooden desk and chair. Upon the desk sat a large, leather-bound tome and a quill within an inkpot that had completely dried up. Sara approached the desk, and scanning through the last entry in the book, discovered that it seemed little more than a journal of sorts that the half-elven mage had been keeping of his own life and interactions therein. Boring. Sara looked around once more, completely prepared to leave, when she discovered that something was missing. Though the room seemed more than adequate in size to accommodate one, the chamber was bereft of any sort of bed to speak of. This had Sara utterly perplexed for she knew for a fact that Jud had spent every night in this room. Then she wondered if elves required sleep. Seth, having more than ample life within him no longer seemed to require it. Sara herself barely slept these days with the amount of life that Seth had bestowed upon her. Elves were said to be long of life, perhaps the longest lived of all the races of man. Maybe they did not require sleep at all, Sara thought while pacing the room. With nothing better to do than find out, Sara looked to the source of information that would tell her all she needed to know. It had thousands of pages about the man’s life, and surely if he spent so much time writing over the years it must tell if he slept or not.

Taking a seat at the desk, Sara flipped the pages of the giant tome back towards the beginning. Judilanthaliz had beautiful penmanship. His words were like feathers and flowers upon the pages, each one formed with flowing lines and curves as if the ink had come to life upon the page and danced across its surface leaving a thin trail upon the parchment. Sara admired the work, but flipped all the way to the front cover, where it met the first page within the journal. The tome was huge, and she knew it would take several days to read it all. She also realized that she had little to do during daylight hours, and so she began the first page.

My travels upon Thurr, volume three.

Volume three? Sara could hardly believe her eyes. The half-elven mage had managed to fill two of these enormous tomes with flowery words and nearly finished a third before he died. Days? It would take the better part of two weeks to make it through three of these vast journals. Sara, however, was up for the challenge. Even so, her body had been nagging her for hours, ever since she had bitten Borrik in order to save his life. Sara needed to feed, and would not be able to properly concentrate until she did. The werewolf seemed to do nothing for her thirst except exaggerate it. Sara needed a human. She needed one that no one would miss, one that perhaps she could keep for a while to feed upon, one that tasted and smelled good. Preferably one that was fairly young, like herself.

Thinking she knew just the place to go, Sara stood from the chair and exited the room, leaving the door open. Turning down the hall, Sara followed it to the end, magical torches igniting to light the way and extinguishing behind her. She headed down the corridor to the right. Walking a short distance further, Sara entered into the small dining hall upon the top floor of the mages’ tower. As she hoped, she could hear the fires crackling from the kitchen beyond. Above her a great chandelier covered in enchanted candles burst to life. In the next room, a candle there lit as well, signaling that the dining hall had a guest and food would be needed. Sara, ignoring the dozens of chairs in the room, sat upon the end of one of the tables, then laid back upon her elbows awaiting her meal.

Sara did not wait long, for only a few moments passed and the door to the kitchen swung silently open as a young woman named Fera entered the dining room carrying with her a pitcher of cool ale and some cups upon a tray. She was older than Sara, though only by a few years, having been chosen at The Choosing ceremony previous to the one Sara recently attended. Nothing was truly exceptional about her either. Her hair and face were plain, her figure was lean but pleasant, and she walked swinging her hips like a woman without a husband. Sara smiled to the young cook, thinking all the while that there were none who might miss her and raise an alarm. If anyone did mark her absence, they would simply assume she had been reassigned to another duty now that Jud was dead, or perhaps that she had volunteered to do something toward the war effort.

Sara greeted the woman, thanked her for the drink, and asked for her company, already pouring them both a glass of ale. Fera complied, of course. Even a lowly cook in a vacant floor of a tower knew that the young mage Seth and his wife were now royalty. As such the young cook could not resist speaking to Sara as a peer might, with the possibility of elevating her station if they became friends. They talked for quite some time, Sara frequently replenishing Fera’s drink as the conversation progressed. In little more than an hour, the young woman began to slur her words, unaccustomed to so much ale. Sara, on the other hand, had barely touched her glass, yet the pitcher was near empty. Now all Sara needed to do is show the young woman how kind she really was.

“Oh my,” Sara said. “We seem to have run dry,” she added holding up the pitcher.

Fera began to rise but Sara protested.

“No Fera, you sit and relax, I will refill it,” Sara said standing.

“Really?” Fera asked, her breath reeking of alcohol.

“Sure. Where can I find some more ale?” Sara asked, a grin on her lips.

“There is a large cask in the kitchen, past the cooking fires and around the corner,” Fera replied, gesturing somewhat wildly.

Sara nodded her understanding and turned without hesitation and walked through the door to the kitchen. Once inside, Sara placed the empty pitcher upon the counter before returning again to the door. Leaning against the wall beside the door frame, Sara waited a few moments.

“Fera, I can’t find it!” Sara shouted. “What is a cask?” she added for emphasis of her stupidity, and though she could not hear it, Fera replied.

“Seriously, she can’t find a cask of ale?” Fera murmured, completely disgusted with spoiled, rich people. “Let me come and educate you, your majesty,” she added for spite.

Rising somewhat unsteadily from her seat, Fera staggered through the door into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed behind her. Sara was nowhere in sight, and so Fera, thinking her around the corner, moved as if to walk in that direction. However, she did not complete a single step before Sara was upon her.

Sara stood as still as death as the door swung open to permit the entrance of her chosen meal. As Fera walked in, the door completely concealed Sara’s hiding spot behind it. As it swung closed once more, it revealed to Sara a perfect opportunity. Taking the single step needed to approach her prey, Sara quickly wrapped an arm around the small woman’s torso, pinning both of her arms to her sides. With her free hand, Sara grasped a fistful of Fera’s brown hair and wrenched her head to the side somewhat violently. Hearing the young cook gasp in surprise, Sara bit into the warm flesh of the woman’s neck, and gasped as the blood filled her mouth and joined her own blood through the tubes in her altered teeth. Ecstasy washed through her veins as she fed, and Sara enjoyed the bliss, careful not to kill the young woman. She hoped to enjoy her over and over again in the days or perhaps weeks to come. Succumbing to blood loss, Fera fainted, falling bodily into Sara who still clung to her as a lover might. Then, carefully lowering the woman to the floor, Sara looked around for the objects she now required.

First Sara found some clean rags and binding the small wounds on Fera’s neck, she hoped to preserve her life and stop the bleeding. Fairly certain the girl would live, Sara needed a way to prevent her from leaving. The kitchen was the most remote room upon this floor of the tower and as such would be the best place to keep the girl. Locating some lengths of rope and twine usually used to suspend meat from hooks in the ceiling, Sara bound Fera’s hands and legs, and then pulled the young woman to her feet. Tossing the length of rope securing Fera’s hands over a hook in the ceiling, Sara secured her victim in a standing position, not wanting to leave the woman any slack to move around with. Finally assured she could not escape, Sara took a remaining scrap of rope and used it to gag the woman as a means to keep her from alerting anyone with her screams for help.

Sara stood back admiring her work. It was not that she was proud of her actions, but this was a simple means to an end. She needed to feed, and here was a source of the blood her body craved. Why attack several people, making herself a monster, if she could simply enslave a single person to her cause? Besides, it was temporary. Eventually Seth would correct her transformation and the need for blood would be gone. Then, Sara reassured herself, she could set the cook free, and it would be as if it had never happened. After all, Sara the princess would never have to fear persecution so long as she was royalty. Satisfied that all was well, Sara left the kitchen without so much as looking back, ready to figure out if elves required sleep or not.

Chapter 10

Grim Discoveries

It was nearing midday as Seth and Jonas neared the outer wall of the city of Valdadore. The sun was high in the sky, having already burned away the chill of the previous night. Seth walked down the crowded streets surprisingly unhindered, his cowl pulled low over his face shielding his eyes from the sun. For though as the population of the city swelled by the minute as people poured in from neighboring cities and towns, the dark prince was given a wide berth. His was a tale that spread like the plague, and even as he walked the streets he witnessed as people pointed and whispered stories of him to those nearby. Seth prowled the streets once again clad in his black robes, his cowl pulled low over his face to keep out the sun. Those who knew him by sight, or marked him by the werewolf that walked on his heels, moved well out of his way. Those who did not were pulled aside by those who were better educated. The stories of the prince’s abilities had spread and changed, mutating into hardly credible half-truths. Some said the prince could turn a person to ash with a look; others said that if you touched him you became a monster like the ones that served him already. None dared come near him, at least until he finally made his way to Blacksmith’s Row.

Here metal clanged on metal. Fire, prevalent everywhere, heated the very stone of the city walls that in turn heated the air of the nearby street. People ventured here during the warmer seasons out of necessity, but now as winter quickly approached, more crowded the road as a means to keep warm and watch the spectacle that was playing out upon the street. It was unlike anything anyone in the city had seen before, and there were some who did not even see the approach of the prince because of the display that they watched.

One such young mother stood there, her blue eyes transfixed upon a young battle mage a dozen paces away from her. Such was his work that he had stripped off the top half of his robes, letting them fall around his waist where a belt cinched them in place. His well-muscled body showed a life of discipline, and upon it sweat beaded everywhere. In the daylight, it appeared already as if the young mage shone with a light of his own, but it was his craft, which he was performing now, that really made him shine.

Before the young mage stood a blacksmith, and beyond him were his apprentices. Each of the tradesmen held a pair of tongs designed for holding heated metal, which would then be beaten into shape with a large hammer. No one here wielded that tool, however, as the mage worked his abilities miraculously.

With reflected fire blazing in his eyes, the young mage held one palm directly above the lump of metal that was gripped in the blacksmith’s tongs. Though no flame was visible, heat radiated out from the mage’s hand in a constant wave and the metal began to glow within seconds. First it turned red, then orange and next yellow before finally turning white. Just as it would have become molten the mage raised his other hand near his face, as if looking down his fingers to better aim that which he was about to unleash. And unleash he did. From his first two fingers small bolts of fire lanced out, smashing into the superheated metal. As he moved his fingers, the beams of fire moved too, pressing here and there as the blacksmith rotated his tongs slowly. Within seconds, the young battle mage relaxed his focus, re-containing his power, and watched in satisfaction as the blacksmith held his tongs up for the gathered crowd to see what it was they had created. The crowd made many sounds of appreciation as they viewed the finished spear point, something that usually took an hour to make.

Today, through Seth’s ingenuity and the battle mages’ abilities, spear tips were being produced in minutes. Even so, this battle mage particularly impressed Seth. Something about him seemed unique. As the blacksmith walked off to fetch another piece of metal, one of his apprentices took his place, and the spectacle started again. Seth filtered out his human vision and watched as the gods would view the mage. He could see the tendril of power reaching down from the heavens, connecting with the spark of life within the man. He could see the mage’s temporarily bloated aura swelling with the power of Zeranthil. Seth looked deeper, and as he did, his own jaw dropped in realization. Combing through his memories, Seth extracted mental models of his and Sara’s own auras, the ones he had studied but a few short weeks ago in an effort to save Sara’s life.

Seth’s own aura had one piece that Sara’s had not, and this, Seth had presumed, was the difference between someone born with magical ability, and someone who was not. The battle mage had such a piece, though it was much smaller than Seth’s own pattern. It was this piece of the mage’s aura that swelled beyond capacity as the god’s power streamed into the mortal man like a torrent. Seth worked quickly to memorize the battle mage’s extra pattern and discovered that it was in fact a collection of four other patterns. Seth compared his own extra pattern to that of the mage and saw that his own was far more complex. Now Seth was truly confused, and at the same time he was enlightened. He had just discovered many things all at once, and yet they left him with many more questions.