Into the Fray: Volume 1 of The Sorcerers of Jhanvia Series (19 page)

The Valtyr fetched the bedroll. Kaitra tucked it up under her head and lay in the cool grass. It took several minutes before the soft snore of her sleep began to float on the breeze.

Kidreyli walked over and stroked Tyral’s ears. In her mind, she said, “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I did not wish to interfere.”

“You don’t interfere, my friend. You know I place great value on your wisdom. Tell me what you are thinking.”

“You know the bonding spell is not designed for outsiders. I hope you haven’t injured her irreparably.”

Kidreyli said, “She is strong. She can handle it.”

“I hope you’re right. I don’t think I’ve seen you so centered and happy in all the years I have known you. Kaitra brings balance to you.”

“I’m not sure why, but ever since we met, being around her feels so comfortable. I’ve only known her for such a short time, but I knew straight away she could fill that void in my life that I’ve been carrying for so long.”

Tyral interjected, “And I believe you fill a similar void within her. The two of you were certainly fated to be together. I am sincerely happy for both of you.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Kidreyli patted the side of her neck.

“You realize that you have forfeited your birthright to be with her in this way?”

“Yes, it does create complications,” the Valtyr conceded.

“There are no ‘complications’, as you put it,” Tyral countered. “If your people become aware of your bonding, and they most certainly will, they will kill her at the first opportunity.”

“If I could find someone to defend our bond to the elders, then we might be…I don’t know…tolerated, for lack of a better word. We would not be allowed to live in our homeland, but we may be allowed to visit on occasion.”

“I do not believe that tactic has been successful in three hundred years. Employing a defender is risky. Are you really willing to sacrifice Kaitra’s life to test your theory?”

Kidreyli reached down and picked up several small stones while she pondered the words of her Katrion. She tossed a stone into the stream and replied, “I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?”

“Of course not. I think that you are a bit blinded by the love you feel for her, and maybe you’ve not fully come to grips with the consequences of what you have done.”

“I’m really banished from my people and my culture?”

“Forever, my dear,” Tyral concluded.

Kidreyli tossed the remaining stones into the stream and leaned on her Katrion’s neck for comfort.

Tyral continued, “I realize that your mind has been rather occupied these days, but have you felt anything floating in the air about your mother?”

“My mother? No,” Kidreyli was surprised. “What have your sensed?”

“I don’t know exactly. I can’t get any focus on it, but I feel there is something happening with your mother. There seems to be something interfering with my ability to communicate with other Katrion. I occasionally get some brief insight, but nothing sufficient enough to discern what the messages actually mean. I’ve never encountered this problem before.”

Kidreyli was doubly concerned. “I hope she’s all right. She is almost sixty-nine years.”

“Yes, and she has been a good friend to me for nearly all of them. I share your hope.”

The Valtyr pondered quietly for a minute or so and then posed, “Do you think the problem you’re having has anything to do with Satreka?”

“Probably not him directly, but I sense that his sorcerers may be the culprits. They may have conjured up some sort of magical energy designed to interfere with our mind links.”

Kidreyli reasoned, “And ours as well. If there was something wrong with my mother’s circumstance, I should certainly have felt it straight away. In our earlier visions, both Kaitra and I saw a dark cloud engulfing the sky. Maybe this is what that image represents.”

Tyral continued with that thought, “Yes, yes, very good insight. If Satreka’s sorcerers are able to block mind links, it would have widespread devastating effects on many cultures, including mine, the Clannya and the Valtyr. If strong enough, it could disrupt the bonding spell of the Valtyr, which would make your people extremely vulnerable.”

“And we are central to his plans.”

“I hope we’re wrong about this.”

“Do you have any other good news to report today?” Kidreyli was sarcastic.

Tyral’s tone became more lighthearted, “Well, let’s see…it’s not rain-ing...two of my favorite people bonded last night, and, yet again, it was I who was forced to suffer in lack of sleep due to all the commotion… my legs are tired from all this traveling…and I haven’t had sex in over a month.”

Kidreyli laughed out loud and hugged Tyral’s neck, “Where would I be without you?”

“Where, indeed,” Tyral replied.

ix months ago in Castle Caerlyk.

Two men stood at the far end of the great hall. It was an immense space, with a thirty-foot quadripartite ceiling supported by massive columns rising along the walls, and encompassing some one hundred forty feet of length and seventy feet of width. Constructed in ancient times, the builders used surprisingly large dark brown stones to create the floor and walls. They had been placed with such precision that not even a strip of paper could pass between, even though no binding material was used. Several thin rectangular windows had been placed high up to allow the light of day to shine in. A gothic-style door of thick, heavy oak and well-maintained black iron some fifteen feet high and twelve feet wide served as the primary entry. It opened inward from a long, oversized hallway that led to the courtyard. A few well-crafted long wooden tables with accompanying benches and chairs were placed in neat lines that created the illusion of an even bigger
space. Farthest from the entry was a raised platform made of great flat stones, where an intricately carved, high-backed wooden chair, covered in the finest red cloth, stood waiting for its current master. Swaths of alternating red and gold cloth were draped around the room from the ceiling down the walls to about eye level, interspersed with fine tapestries depicting images of courtly life from so long ago that they were now perceived as myths. Several iron stands, each holding ten or so burning candles, were placed about its perimeter, each contributing a warm glow to the room. There was the slightest hint of an unrepentant mustiness, but the servants had done well, placing fresh flowers about so that their scent was brushed into the air by those who walked past.

In front of the raised platform, one of the men, wearing the finest woolen, floor-length red cloak with silver embroidered trim, paced slowly back and forth, obviously waiting for something and visibly impatient. He was a tall man of about six feet with a meticulously well-maintained black beard, perfected with a streak of silver running down the middle of his chin, an unusual feature for his age of twenty-eight years. It painted an air of maturity about him. He had a full head of deep black hair that fell to his shoulders and his muscles were toned, but he was certainly not muscular. His black shirt was tucked inside his black leather pants, which were adorned with a red stripe running down the outside of each leg. His slender waist was marked by a black leather belt finished with a most opulent silver buckle. As the time slowly passed, his bright brown eyes would occasionally stare unmercifully at the man standing motionless just a few yards away.

That man, of an age somewhere in his mid-twenties, stood with his overly muscular arms folded, chain mail flowing off his broad shoulders from underneath a heavy black leather vest. A blood red shirt could be seen lurking beneath, its sleeves ending well before his black leather bracers. His powerful six and a half foot frame had a large two-handed blade strapped over his back with an assortment of knives located in strategically thought-out places. His leather pants
were black, also with that same red stripe running down both legs to his shiny black leather boots.

“So, Zakrell, tell me again about these sorcerers,” Satreka was terse, his naturally deep tone commanding.

The big man replied, “They come highly recommended, my lord. The Councilor of Jhanvia assured me that they were the most powerful sorcerers on the continent.”

“I don’t care about reputation. I only care if they can deliver. We have been at this for weeks without success.”

Zakrell was hesitant to explain, “I understand your frustration, but this has never been attempted before. There are complications….”

Satreka threw up his hands, his gruff voice echoing through the halls of the castle, “Complications! What complications?! All we are trying to do here is get a woman pregnant with a male child.” He pointed his finger at Zakrell’s face, “These new sorcerers of yours better produce immediate results or I may have all your heads.”

A young blond-haired soldier entered wearing the standard issue uniform, white shirt over black pants and boots, with a fine red tunic tied at the waist with a black belt. He also carried the standard, unremarkable knife and sword. He stood in front of the door at the main entrance to the great hall and announced, “My lord, the Sorcerers of Jhanvia.”

The soldier moved to the side and three tall men wearing hooded black robes entered the room. Their hoods were pulled forward so their faces were hidden. They strode confidently up to him.

The sorcerer in the lead addressed him, “My lord Satreka, the Valtyr is pregnant with a male.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, my lord,” the sorcerer replied without emotion. “We have completed our task. We expect payment as agreed.”

Satreka felt a little put upon by the abruptness of his request, and it showed on his face. He waved over to one of his aides to bring a purse of silver coins, which he held on to for the moment and restated his question, “You are absolutely certain she is pregnant?”

“Yes, my lord,” the sorcerer stoically replied.

Satreka paused briefly before reluctantly handing over the money to the sorcerer. The man in the black robes passed his hand over the purse and it instantly disappeared from sight, then he placed it in a pocket inside his cloak.

“Very clever,” the warlord noted.

“We shall take our leave.” The sorcerers bowed, turned and walked away.

He let them get half-way back to the door before calling out, “Gentlemen, please. May I have a word?”

The sorcerers turned and waited for the Scecian to come to them.

Satreka explained, “I have been working to develop this little enterprise here for quite a long time. You gentlemen have succeeded where many have failed, and your success today is a great milestone on the path to achieving our goals. I was wondering if you might be interested in working for me.”

“What are you proposing?” the lead sorcerer asked.

“You could stay here in the castle and provide a much needed magical boost to my efforts. I could pay you, say…twenty silver pieces per week. In exchange, you would proffer your talents for our mutual benefit. You would have the protection of this castle, with all the food and drink you desire.”

The sorcerer replied, “An intriguing proposal. Would you mind if we discussed this amongst ourselves?”

“Please, take whatever time you need.”

The three sorcerers turned facing each other and appeared to remain silent for several minutes.

Zakrell whispered to Satreka, “That was a very generous offer. Are you sure you’ll receive sufficient benefit?”

Satreka whispered back, “As I said, Zakrell, they have succeeded where many have failed. I think having them with us in this venture will make our lives much more rewarding.”

“What of Dulica and his assistants?”

“We can keep them around for simple tasks, but he and his minions couldn’t hold a candle to these men. They had their chance to prove their worth and they failed miserably. We need great talent to ease the burden of success.”

While Satreka and Zakrell were conversing, the sorcerers were communicating telepathically.

“This could be an excellent opportunity for us,” said the lead sorcerer.

The second replied, “Yes, I agree. It provides us significant benefits at little cost.”

The third conjectured, “I am not sure about working for this petty man. He is weak and has no chance of success.”