Tomorrow Man – Part XIII

“Halt!”

The caravan pushed up against the old horse as Simmion came to a stop atop the drawbridge. Ahead of him the iron gate closed off the entrance to the courtyard within the great drum of the castle. The man who was not a wizard tipped the ash from his long pipe and stowed it within his robes. He cast his eye across the gatehouse. Four archers poked arrows from above the gate, two guards approached from either side, one of whom had called out to him.

“What is your business here, Wizard?” The guard asked as he pulled his sword a few inches out of its sheath.

“What makes you think I am a Wizard?” The man replied.

The guard paused. “You look like one.”

“And all things are as they appear, are they?”

“What?” The other guard asked.

“A man who is not a wizard can appear as one, can he not?”

“I suppose.” The first guard said.

“And a Wizard certainly can appear as one who is not a Wizard.”

“Right.”

“What do you know of Wizards?”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“Do you think a Wizard would need to pass through these gates to enter this castle?”

“Well…”

“And do you think that, if a Wizard did choose to pass these gates, that you could stop him?”

“I think…”

“Would you even know he was a Wizard?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then I cannot be a Wizard, can I?”

“What is your business here then?” The second guard asked.

“I am a simple seller of wares. Cloths and linens, I came at the request of the Lady.”

“Why would the Lady send for a common merchant?”

“I couldn’t possibly say, perhaps you should ask her?”

“Open the back.” The first guard said.

“Excuse me?” The old man replied.

“There’s no way you’re getting through that gate until we see what you’ve got in there.”

“Excuse me, guardsmen.” Another voice called from the other side of the gate. The old man looked up to see a finely dressed man wearing a sword. “Is there a problem?”

“Sir Allian!” The old man called out. “Why yes, could you please explain to these snowarks that I am here at the request of her Ladyship.”

“Lady Wetherhall is expecting him, let him through.”

“Sorry sir.” The first guard replied. “I ought not allow passage until I’ve consulted with the Lord, his orders sir.”

“Well the Lord is breaking fast with the Lady, perhaps you wish to disturb them?” Sir Allian shot back. “Let him pass.”

“Right you are sir.” The first guard said eventually. He cried up to the gatehouse. “Raise the gate!”

“Raise the gate!” The response came from above. After a few moments the gate began to raise, slow under the power of sweat. The guards vanished into either side of the gatehouse as the knight ducked under the metal teeth at the bottom of the gate. He strode to the side of the caravan and looked up to the old man.

“I must admit, Justin, it is good to see a familiar face in such unfamiliar parts.” The old man said.

“Am I supposed to know you?” Justin said under his breath. The old man regarded him with a wrinkled brow. After a short pause with only the grating of metal against stone he replied.

“I would imagine not.” He gestured to the knight, who climbed up to the drivers’ bench and sat next to him.

“Are you the one Wise Christen sent for?” Justin asked.

“I am.” The old man replied as the horse started to pull the caravan through the open gate.

“He said you would arrive quickly, I had no idea you would be this prompt.”

“I make it a point never to arrive before I am summoned, nor after I am needed.”

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your name?”

The old man laughed. “I have so many names.” He thought for a moment. “I would imagine you know me as Athaleon.”

The horse pulled the caravan to one side of the courtyard as a stable boy came out to unharness the creature.

“Tell me.” Athaleon continued as they walked around to the back of the caravan. “I was lead to believe that Lord Miteus had gone to the capital at the King’s request.”

“You are correct in that belief, Wise Athaleon. His uncle, Commander of the Fleet, has sat the seat in his absence.”

“And I will have to wait until she returns from breakfast, I suppose.”

“In truth she has not broken fast with the Commander for nearly a week.” The knight said as he directed Athaleon towards a side entrance. “I am to take you straight to her.”

Athaleon smiled as they began to walk. “If I may make a suggestion, Sir Allian, I may have attended the towers of Otzia but I never completed my studies as a wizard. Addressing me as Wise is unnecessary.”

They passed through a small wooden door and into a cold stone corridor. As they moved towards the main body of the castle they passed only the occasional servant, from whom Athaleon could not help to notice they drew strange looks.

“Wise Christen has been with the boy and the Lady since he arrived. They have taken refuge in the Temple of Banthos. He seems to believe the child is a mage.” Allian continued.

“There can be no doubt of Micharus Wetherhall’s ability, given the circumstances a place of Sanctity is likely the safest. I see Christen’s mind has not lost its edge.”

“He seems to trust you, Athaleon, yet in all the years I have known him your name has never come up.”

“We have what you might call a long friendship.” Athaleon replied as they ducked into a staircase and began to descend. “However I am not surprised that he has not mentioned me. My name is not one that Wizards speak of lightly.”

“The anamosity of Otzia is not easily earned if I recall. Surely you are not a Dark Mage?”

“My relationship with Otzia is a long tale, not easily repeated. I keep out of their way, they don’t concern themselves with me.”

“I learned a long time ago not to try and understand the dealings of wizards.”

“A wise decision. They sit in their towers and talk without end or meaning. I never understood their methods.”

Sir Allian stopped outside the temple doors and knocked loudly. From the other side of the wood and steel door he felt Christen’s mind skirt around the edges of his own. The door thudded and opened just wide enough to admit them. The knight and the man who was not a wizard slipped into the temple and the door closed behind them.

Jalice dashed towards Justin distraught. She sobbed into his breastplate as Wise Christen stepped towards Athaleon.

“You’re late.” The wizard said.

“I am precisely on time.” Ahtaleon replied. “What is the commotion?”

“It’s the boy.” Christen replied. “I placed a seal over his magic but he appears to have vanished. The door didn’t open, there could be a secret passage but I can’t find any trace of one.”

Athaleon nodded and silently turned his focus to the Nexic energies that surrounded him. The normal ebb and flow of the Nexus seemed greatly diminished here. He found what he suspected he would find, the slightest ripple. An afterglow of magic that none other than a Nexic mage could detect. It was small, but so was the child.

“It seems the young Micharus has slipped your seal, my friend.”

Before Christen could answer Athaleon had turned towards the crying Jalice.

“Do not fear, Lady Wetherhall.” He commanded. “Your son is quite safe.”

She watched wide-eyed as tendrils of green magic surrounded the stranger and, within moments, he became engulfed in a blast of green and vanished.

***

Lord Miteus’ feet struck hard against the gleaming stone floor as he strode through the Crystal Ring. The sun high above sent its light through the thousands of triangular glass panels that gave the great corridor that circled the Keep its name, assembled in a beautiful arched skin that split the sunlight and scattered its colours across the floor. As he paced through the glinting passage he cast his eye towards the centre of the Keep, where an arched silver doorway stood flanked by two palace guards. Towards the city outside he saw the Tower of Morjiathwaine, a great column of bare stone. The dragon-steel doors to the tower bore no seal, flanked by two hooded monks each embracing their silver Morjian medallion that hung over their chest. He pressed on until he saw the blue-and-silver banners of the Tower of Artellathwaine. The guards that stood either side of the dragon-steel door wore the colours of his realm, but he did not know them. They straightened as he approached and kept their eyes forward. He cast his eye over the gateway to his tower, a seamless circle of metal engraved with the crest of House Wetherhall. A single fissure appeared in the centre of the crest and the two halves of the door opened inwards to reveal a marble staircase leading up to the office of the Seat of Artellathwaine. To the right and left a spiral stair arced gracefully towards the upper and lower levels of the tower. The entrance was adorned with the banners of his house, a guise of his home. He ascended the stairs and found the carved wooden doors of the office closed and guarded.

He looked to the two guards, strangers clad in his family’s colours. They looked at him unsure of their action.

“Open the doors.” Miteus commanded. One of the guards moved to open his door, followed closely by the other.

Within he found the desk of the Appointed Seat empty, a smaller desk to one side he found covered in scrolls with an old man haunched over them scratching away with a nib.

Miteus cleared his throat. The old man looked up, his blue eyes enlarged by two glass lenses balanced on the bridge of his nose.

“Lord Wetherhall.” The man spoke in barely a whisper. “How may I be of service?”

“I would speak with my brother.”

“I am afraid Lord Treston is presently indisposed. I can however make an appointment?”

“An appointment?” Miteus spat. “Who are you?”

“I am Lord Treston’s humble scribe, my Lord. I pen his letters, transcribe his missives and dictations, manage his…”

“I know what a scribe does.” Miteus interrupted with a raised hand. “What happened to Revered Marcosh?”

“Marcosh passed some years ago, my Lord. I am Revered Preyt, I was appointed in his stead.”

“Appointed by whom?”

“The Council of Reverence, my Lord.”

Miteus grunted. “I will not wait for his convenience. Have him summoned.”

“I am afraid that might be somewhat difficult, my Lord.”

“How difficult can it be? Send a guard.”

“Lord Treston is not within the Keep, my Lord.”

“Then where is he?”

“It would not be my place to say.”

“Not your place?” Miteus replied with a rising anger. “You serve my Appointed Seat. You serve at my discretion, if you wish to continue doing so then tell me where he is.”

***

Wood splintered and tore as Miteus slammed his foot into the door. The iron bolt ripped away and fell to the floor as the small wooden door swung away from the stone arch frame. He heard the screams of the women before he saw them. The smell of the place had been bad enough, but the stench that now filled his nostrils was an entirely new experience of filth. As he forced back the urge to gag he stepped into the small windowless room. Scented candles burned in the corner, their dim light barely masking their futility. The two women were young, arguably attractive and, perhaps once, beautiful. They lay naked on a stain-brown straw mattress, their limbs entwined with the man. Miteus gestured towards them.

“Remove them.” He commanded. Two of his guards moved into the room and reluctantly picked the women up. They dragged them towards the door before the women put their feet to the floor and left willingly.

Treston Wetherhall stirred and snored as he lay alone in the centre of the room. Miteus looked over his little brother and gritted his teeth. The man must have doubled in size since he last saw him, his hair had thinned and his teeth were yellow. A discolouration infested the skin around his manhood and some kind of fungus had consumed the toes of his left foot.

Miteus called his name, but the bloated oaf merely snored and scratched at his groin. He looked over at a bucket of water resting near the door, and in one motion lifted it and threw its contents at his brother. The liquid struck the sleeping man square in the face and burst back in a cloud of droplets. Only then did Miteus notice the smell.

Treston’s bloodshot eyes flew open and he lurched his body upwards.

“That’s not water!” He screamed as he coughed and spat. “You Saudian shit! I’ll have your fucking balls off! Do you know who I am?”

“I could ask the same question.” Miteus replied with a menacing calm.

The brothers’ eyes met.

“You look a lot like my brother Miteus.” Treston replied as he struggled unsteadily to his feet. “But he’s… never in the capital.” He stumbled and kicked over a bottle of blood-red wine that began to pool on the floor. Miteus surged forwards as Treston reached for a discarded robe. He planted a hand under the enlarged chin of his younger brother and threw him against the wall. He slid silver wind from its sheath and brought it to the naked man’s neck.

“Please Gods!” Treston whimpered. “Whatever I owe you, look, I’ll pay. Just need to wait for next season, you know I’m good for it!” He cried. “You know I’m good for it!”

“Eighteen years! Eighteen years and not one message from you! The King himself summons me here, tears apart my family and where do I find you?” Miteus growled. “Where do I find my brother?”

“Oh, Miteus, it is you! Thank the Gods!” Treston whimpered. “Wh… what are you doing here?!”

“Give me one reason not to cut open your treacherous throat…”

“F… family, brother! Brother!”

A flash of pain erupted in Miteus’ hand. He reflexively pulled the sword back and dropped it to the floor, where it rattled to a stop. He lessened his grip on Treston and turned towards the door, where a black-robed Wizard stood between two of the city guard.

“Lord Wetherhall, I hope you are not planning to shed blood in the King’s city on such a fine day.” The wizard said. His brown eyes fixed their gaze on Miteus as he crossed his arms beneath cascading curls of blond hair and beard.

“Who are you?” Miteus asked.

“Forgive me, my Lord.” The wizard replied. “Captain Saigen of the Mage Guard. Protecting the King’s peace.” He gestured towards Silver Wind. “It’s a nice sword, Lord Wetherhall. Perhaps it is best to put it back before you damage it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I could not threaten a Lord of the Realm, I assure you. However I am not one to falter in my duties, so let us not force animosity between us if we can avoid it. I am sure Lord Treston will be quite able to explain himself if given adequate opportunity.”

Miteus lifted his sword from the floor. He felt the gaze of the wizard as he slid it back into its sheath.

“Would you grant the honour of walking with me, Lord Wetherhall?” Captain Saigen asked.

Miteus inhaled deeply and released the tight grip of his fist. He turned to one of his guards.

“Bring my brother to the tower, and make him presentable.”

“Yes my Lord.” The guard replied as he moved towards Treston’s quivering form. Miteus stepped through the door and proceeded towards the street outside, the wizard falling in step behind him.

“Word of your wisdom was not exaggerated, my Lord.” Saigen began.

“Spare me your empty flattery.” Miteus snapped back. “I have nothing to say to you or your kind.”

The wizard missed a step but continued on with a slight smile. “Forgive me, my Lord. I forget how difficult it must be for you in this place, where magic runs so thick.”

“I require your pity as much as your flattery.”

“There are those who wonder why your family fears magic so.”

“And you are one of them?”

“On the contrary, my Lord, I am of the Mage Guard. This city is shielded by the enchantments of the greatest wizards in the New Kingdom’s history, yet I have had to stand against more of my own kind than I care to count. Magic brings wonders, but it also brings terrors. There isn’t a wizard in the land who would deny it.”

“I do not need a man in a pointy hat to tell me magic is dangerous. The ruins beneath Artella tell me that every day.”

“Magic is a power. Men do not fear power, Lord Wetherhall, they fear those who would abuse power.”

“Magic is an unnatural temptation that nearly destroyed this kingdom before it was even born. To use it is to abuse it.”

“It is also the force by which the old kingdom was overthrown. It can be used for both good and ill. As I said, men do not fear power.”

“Men fear evil.”

“I’m sure those elves were afraid.”

Miteus stopped and turned to the wizard. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it quickly. My patience is wearing thin.”

“Very well, my Lord. My point is this: The King does not want an alliance with the elves. He needs it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t give your opinion any weight.”

“You should consider my opinion, my Lord. The Blessing is not what it once was, it has grown weaker and the shadows to the west are no less dark. The old enemies watch us, some think war could dawn in our lifetime. We need all the friends we can get, the good of the Kingdom may well depend upon it.”

“Do you sway many people with those children’s stories?”

“A great man once said that ignorance is your enemy’s greatest weapon.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Miteus said as he strode away. Captain Saigen stood motionless and watched as the Lord and his entourage disappeared around the gentle curve of the street. Finally he uttered.

“Damn.”

Part XII | Contents | Part XIV

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