Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (4 page)

“Of course not Berelle, he always enjoys
speaking with you, but…” Jatar glanced over his shoulder to make
sure that no one was near enough to listen, “…I don’t have the
family ring right now.”

Berelle looked puzzled. “I thought you
always wore it?”

“G’Taklar, a young cousin, is on his first
embassy to
Zinterdalin
to
negotiate some trade agreements for Lindankar. Those negotiations
are very important, so I wanted to give him my personal
attention,
after
all,
G’Taklar has to deal with Lord Ufer
Hervet
.”

“Do you think it was wise to send your
inexperienced cousin to deal with Lord
Hervet
? He will be lucky to come away with his shirt!”
Berelle scoffed.

“I know, but with Michael’s official
recognition as heir coming
up,
I
couldn’t be away. I made the decision to send the family cathexis
ring with G’Taklar. I’ve worn it long enough to imprint, so when he
needs advice he can consult with my personality within the cathexis
ring. I know it was a big risk sending the ring, but in a way I’m
still with it, guiding G’Taklar from within. My cousin is an honest
and intelligent youth who only needs some seasoning to make a fine
man. He’s spent too much time studying in the palace and not enough
time experiencing real life. The negotiations are important enough
to be worth the slight risk to the ring, yet not so difficult that
G’Taklar can’t handle them with an occasional input from my imprint
within the cathexis. Besides you can well bet that I sent some
worthy protection with G’Taklar. No one knows of this, except me,
Elizabeth and now you, so I would consider it a great favor if you
would keep it behind your beard.”

“
Of course,
Jatar, am I not your bond brother, sworn with blood?”

Jatar smiled and looked at the faint scar on
the palm of his right hand. “
Yes,
you are; which is why you are one of only five people that know the
Ardellen signet ring is made out of cathexis. I also remember the
day we cut ourselves with that rusty old scullery knife and clasped
hands. You know, it’s a lucky thing we didn’t die of the rot from
that filthy thing.”

“I know, but I still honor that pledge and
always will, brother,” Berelle held out his hand and Jatar clasped
it in a tight grip.

The two men turned away, each ignoring the
wet eyes of the other.

At that
moment,
Lady Elizabeth Ardellen arrived looking
resplendent.

Her gown was designed in the Kirnath School
colors of maroon and gray with the bodice cut low and laced tightly
at her small waist. Her brown hair with bronze highlights was done
up tight with small ringlets hanging down on the left side of her
neck. Lying on her skin, just above the bodice of her gown was a
silver chain holding a tiny Aurora Stone that glowed white from her
aura power. Gone, for the moment, was the playful girl that had
been with Jatar earlier, in her place was the Sorceress Lady
Elizabeth Ember Ardellen. The aurora stone displayed her full power
for all to see, and her regal Hevarnan lineage showed in every
graceful move.

The two conversing Lords paused to gape;
stunned at the captivating vision of the sorceress.

Smiling warmly at Jatar’s
long-time
friend and foster brother, Lady
Ardellen approached and said, “How are you, Berelle? I trust
Pricilla and the children are well.”

Her radiant smile flustered the northern
Lord even more; he wasn’t used to the spectacular dress of
Lindankar’s court, or the extraordinary beauty and regal bearing of
Lady Elizabeth. “Ah, fi-fine thank you,” stammered Berelle. He was
having some trouble deciding who was in control of his eyes.

“And?” she asked, giving him an even broader
smile.

“And what, milady?” he asked, having missed
her second question completely.

“Priscilla and the children?” she
prompted.

“Oh! They are fine, fine. You’re looking
very, ah, very…”

“Very what?” she asked, totally amused.

“…very fine this evening,” he finally
managed.

“Thank you, Berelle; it’s so nice of you to
notice. I’ll miss seeing Priscilla again, but I understand she has
your next child well on the way?” Elizabeth prompted.

“Who?” he asked, his mind not caught up to
her words yet.

“Your next child,” she said as she reached
up to take his large left ear in her hand so she could use it for a
handle to shake his head.

“Oh, yes, of course! I’m leaving soon to get
back for the birth!” he said, massaging his ear while grinning at
Elizabeth ruefully.

With a last amused glance at Jatar's foster
brother, Elizabeth gestured in the direction of the dining hall.
“If you’re both ready I suggest we make our entrance. I’m sure the
snarling
weff
pack is waiting to
tear into us,” she noted, but smiled to show that she looked
forward to the challenge.

Jatar glanced at the still stricken Lord
Berelle. “
Ahmmm
, yes, shall we?”
He said while clearing his throat and using his hand to hide a
smile. He offered his arm to his beautiful wife, and they walked
down the hall to the ornate double doors of the banquet hall.

A servant opened the doors as they entered.
Lord Berelle Trask followed along a few steps behind.

A low murmur of conversation hummed around
the banquet hall. Most of the sound emanated from clusters of
people who stood about like islands in a sea; occasionally a lone
ship would chart the unfamiliar waters to test the climate of a
different port.

The room was dominated by a long dining
table adorned with white and gold tablecloths with polished silver
and shining goblets. Giant crystal chandeliers situated above the
table at three places reflected rainbows of light in a myriad of
glittering sparkles.

Four unobtrusive yet vigilant guards stood
on duty in the corners of the room. They were attired in white
leather and highly polished light mail chest armor. Their uniforms
were accented in Lord Ardellen’s colors of white and gold.

With his head held high, Lord Jatar entered
the hall with his Lady’s hand placed lightly on his left forearm.
He stopped and surveyed the
room
while nodding to some of his supporters and gazing sternly at his
few known adversaries. Conversations faltered and then slowly
picked up again when the Lord and his Lady moved to join one of the
nearest groups of people.

Elizabeth and Jatar stopped to speak with
the ruler of Olsk and his wife and Lord Trask joined the group.

“Good evening, Brik, and how are
you,
Lady Margret?” Jatar said, greeting Lord
Rinholt
and his wife. “We’re so
glad you could make it to our celebration.”

“Glad to come, Jatar,” he answered, and then
nodded to Elizabeth. “We hear you put on quite a banquet. And good
evening to you, Lord Trask,” Brik added, noting the arrival of the
large ruler of Bralter.

Two other men moved over to join Jatar and
Elizabeth’s group. Like light and shadow, they arrived together.
The blond hair color of Lord Verdew contrasted starkly with Lord
Pellev's
long dark brown hair.

“Lord Pellev and Lord Verdew; speak of the
Darknulls and here they are!” Jatar said jokingly. “Berelle and I
were just talking about our fostering years, and here the four of
us are, together again.”

Berelle stepped forward with a big grin for
their foster brothers. “Yes, Jatar and I were just remarking that
Pellev was an excellent mud and manure collector when he was
younger.”

Lord Pellev Welter looked puzzled as he
said, “Excuse me?”

“You remember Pellev, don’t you, riding the
snergs
!” Lord Verdew prompted.

“Of course, riding the
snergs
, I’d almost forgotten.” He turned to face
Lord and Lady Rinholt, and then explained with a smile. “Jatar,
Berelle, Verdew and I were fostered together; we each spent a year
at the other’s homes. We got into all kinds of boyhood
shenanigans.” His sparkling gaze flicked to Jatar as he added, “Now
your son will be getting into trouble soon, won’t he, Jatar?”

“The sooner the better, I can’t wait to see
the man he will grow into,” Jatar replied with pride.

“Is fostering always done in your
countries?” Lady Rinholt inquired politely.

“It is an old custom that our fathers
revived,” Jatar explained, “they decided to send their sons to
other kingdoms so that they would understand their neighbors and
form personal friendships that might help them avoid wars in the
future. Spending a year growing up somewhere gives you a whole new
outlook on that place.”

Berelle nodded in agreement and said, “I
know and trust my foster brothers Pellev, Verdew and Jatar because
I shared a piece of life with them. It is people like him,” Berelle
gestured toward where Lord Tysol and Major Von Dracek, the Tchulian
merc, were conversing, “that I worry about because I don’t know how
they think.”

Pellev turned slightly and looked over his
shoulder to where Berelle had gestured. His eyes squinted with
intensity and he said, “You're right, I don’t trust Lord Tysol;
that man bears watching.”

Separate from any other groups, the young
Tchulian Major, Harland Von Dracek, spoke conspiratorially with
Lord Tysol of Datoria. Von Dracek wore the brown military uniform
of his country’s famous mercenary corps. He stood to Lord Tysol’s
right to allow the Lord of Datoria to look directly across the room
at Lord Jatar and his foster brothers.

Tysol was of medium height and build. His
eyes were too small and close together for his face, giving him a
slightly cross-eyed appearance. He wore a gaudy gown of turquoise
silk and had gold chains with embedded multicolored gems around his
neck.

The Major gestured slightly with his head
toward Jatar and Elizabeth as he said, “Do you see, milord, how she
never lets him out of her reach?” Von
Dracek’s
voice was almost a purr and his intense dark
eyes never left Lord Tysol’s as he worked on the man's mind.

“Yes I see, that sorceress bitch has him
completely enthralled,” agreed Lord Tysol with a fanatic’s
conviction, “It’s just as you have told me, Jatar isn’t master of
his bed, let alone his kingdom.”

“You are very shrewd, milord,” the Tchulian
merc agreed, though he thought,
As shrewd as a farmer’s snerg,
but your amazing stupidity is what makes you perfect for my
purpose.

Tysol glared intently at Jatar’s handsome
face and said, “But he was once a real man, before this monster,
this `woman’ sorceress, destroyed him?” Tysol asked and nodded his
head as if this was an original thought he had just conceived.

“Yes, Lord, a man’s man, a warrior Lord,
like his father,” Von Dracek agreed. “But the Kirnath sorceress has
robbed him of his honor.”

“Is he as good with his sword as they say?”
Tysol asked for the hundredth time since Von Dracek had begun
teaching him to fence.

“Good yes, but not up to your artistic
skills. With the Tchulian fencing style that I have taught you over
the past few months there are few men who could match blades with
you now,” the merc assured him as he thought,
Come on you
sniveling coward, don’t try to talk yourself out of this again! It
took me six months of hard work to turn you into a decent
swordsman; you might actually make him sweat, but kill Jatar, ah;
if we wanted that I would have dueled with him myself.

Tysol smiled in grim anticipation. “Yes,
it’s been good
of
you to come and
instruct me in the finer arts of the blade. I would have come to
the Tchulian academy myself when I was younger if my father had not
needed my help so much.”

To which Von Dracek thought.
The more
probable truth is that his father was too cheap and you were too
afraid,
but he said, “Of course, I’m sure you would have been
an excellent Tchulian battle commander; perhaps we can work on that
next.”

“I would like that, they’d call me `General
Tysol, commander of conquering armies,’ it has an appealing ring to
it. A battle commander like in the old days, before any of these
Kirnath conspirators and meddlesome
women,
infiltrated the nobility to sap the strength from
the warriors.”

You couldn’t command the latrine
scrubbers successfully you pompous dolt,
the
merc
thought in amusement, but said, “You are
correct;
battle
is the only way to
test a man’s true mettle. These treaties and coalitions must be
halted. Each country should govern itself, and control that which
it is powerful enough to hold. You don’t want these Kirnath or
anyone else taking control of Datoria away from you, milord,
correct?”

“Of course not, nor would I permit them in
the first place! Kirnath
are
turned away at our borders, and hung if found within illegally!
No,
I must make a stand against
their tyranny! Lord Jatar must be released from the control of this
foul sorceress. He lives as a shell of what he was because of that
woman’s control, but he will be set free to die as a man. I will
give him salvation, a warrior’s honorable death in battle, and as
he coughs out his last breath on my sword he will thank me for
setting him free at last.” Lord Tysol spoke in oratory fashion with
a fanatic’s bright gleam in the depths of his eyes as he gazed off
to nowhere. After a
moment,
he
raised his glass to toast with the mercenary.

Major Von Dracek raised his goblet to meet
Tysol’s and his thoughts were masked behind a face of
stone
.
The sooner I am done with your supreme
stupidity the better. If Jatar doesn’t kill you then I will enjoy
the pleasure.
He smiled at the Lord of Datoria as they drank,
but his slight smile was for a different reason than his companion
imagined.