The Orb of Wrath (The Merchant's Destiny Book 1) (4 page)

When she received the sign she aimed at the circumference of six, trying to get as close as possible to the shot of the previous round. The arrow hit the target just a few fingers above the other arrow. With this, the round concluded. She was in the semifinals.

The tournament coordinator congratulated all the participants between great applause from the public, and then began to name all the archers who passed to the next round. Twelve in total. The announcement left a name echoing in her mind: Butholith. She had used that name to enter the tournament. It was the name of her father.

Butholith was a traditional and conservative man. The expectation he had for his daughter was the one expected for most of the elven maidens from a good family: compose poetry, sing, knit, make small artistic works of great filigree and stay home in the depths of the Zon forest, the sacred forest of the elves.

But the situation with her father had become more difficult after the unfortunate death of her mother Lirith, a few years before his departure. Her father became sad, taciturn and also more conservative and less tolerant. Her mother had worked as a retaining wall, while she was next to her father. Without her mother, her father had lost part of his balance. All this had made Samar lose a part of her freedom and had ended up feeling suffocated in that house. Her father was a good man, and she loved him, but they thought very differently about things.

After some years, she decided to leave in search of adventure. This situation was sad for a while, especially because his father was alone, but she could not ignore the desires of her heart. Among them was the desire to someday find the person responsible for the death of her mother, and make him pay for it.

Lirith traveled in a caravan to the Duchies Carition to trade, when they were attacked by a party of orc explorers, and even though they managed to repel them, she was mortally wounded by a poisoned dart. The survivors, including Lirith, managed to return to the domains of the Zon forest. The healing magic of the elves is the most powerful in the world of Oris, but it was too late for her. Fortunately, she could at least tell what had happened, and give some last messages that were then transmitted to Samar and her father. It was through these stories that the elf understood the description of the logo that the party of orcs had inscribed on their clothes and armor: an emblem with a large spider on a full red moon.

She later found out that this was the badge worn by the slaves and servants of Skidea, an evil and powerful sorceress. No one knew where her hideout was, even though her forces had been sighted several times in the area where the Duchies Carition, the kingdom of Bor and the kingdom of Fugor, have their border. There were stories about Skidea that dated back to the time of the Great Alliance, at the beginning of the Fourth Age.

On her advanced age, there were different theories. Some said that her powerful magic had given her great longevity. Others who had made a pact with Darken, the god of Evil, swore their allegiance in exchange of eternal life. A final group claimed that Skidea had become an undead being of great power.

A new save of trumpets heralded the start of the semifinals. Samar turned her attention to what was happening in the tournament arena. The twelve semifinalists were split into two groups of six. She would compete in the second group. This time, the rules dictated that the five best scores, that hit at least one bull’s eye, would move on to the finals.

In the first round only two archers got at least one hit in the bull's”eye: Nemelas the elf and Nemegrim, the gnome. Both with very high scores. Finally, it was her turn. Samar shot, one after another, all the arrows to the ninth circle. She managed to get three hits in the ninth circle and one in the eighth circle. A sudden change in the wind intensity had deviated slightly that arrow, placing it in the immediate outer circle. Finally, in her last shot, she aimed again and got a nine. It was the highest score in the tournament so far, but she was disqualified because she didn't manage to hit the bull’s eye.

Samar knew that in the end, the archers would receive a greater scrutiny. The finalists shot one by one and not as a group, like the previous rounds. The attention of the entire public would focus on her when it was her turn. In addition, the contestants had to wear the official archers of the Bor Army uniform for the final. It was part of the honors they received for reaching the final and this ruled out any option of partially hiding her face.

Samar was dissatisfied; but not for having been unable to win the tournament; not even for not being able to compete until the end. The elf felt she had failed to take her skills to the limit, that she hadn't faced enough hardship. And so, she hadn't learned much. It had served to prove that, even in a national tournament in the capital, there were no rivals that surpassed her, at least in that kingdom. Or perhaps the true champions did not participate in those tournaments? In any case, she now understood that she would have to find new and different challenges if she wanted to continue making progress in dominating the bow and arrow, if she wanted to become the best archer in the world.

The competition was over for her and, after collecting her things quickly and quietly, faded from the public, looking for a place for her to watch the rest of the competition. The final ended with the victory of Nemelas, the noble elf. None of the archers managed to beat the score that she had achieved in the semifinals.

CHAPTER 4: THE GARDEN OF JASMINES

Erion's boots sank into the mud more than he wanted while he trudged through that marshland. The sky was dark, sinister, as if someone had covered it with ash. He could barely make out a ray of sun, although they were in broad daylight. The equipment made it difficult for him to pass. He wore a silver-edged short sword in his right hand, decorated with amazing watermarks, probably elven. No doubt, it was a very valuable sword and it was probably powerful.

Mithir walked to his right, also with difficulty, and some others followed behind. They breathed that heavy air. There was a putrid stench in the air and they still had to cover more than five hundred steps to reach the end of that field. They worked hard to accelerate their pace.

Suddenly, an arrow of black plumes crossed swiftly toward them and Erion heard as someone screamed and fell, probably dead, in the group behind. He had seen that kind of arrow before. They were goblins who had ambushed them.

Erion awoke sweaty. It had been a very strange dream. Very intense, real, unlike any dream he had ever remembered having. He breathed deeply and saw Mithir sleeping peacefully in bed next to his. He needed some air before trying to sleep again. He donned his leather shoes, which were very light and resistant. Their soles, combined with his ability, allowed him to walk without making virtually any noise.

He left his room at the inn and closed the door very slowly. He walked to the end of the hallway and opened the window. He slipped out very carefully. He reached up, raising his hands and grabbed the cornice of the building. With two quick movements he rose up, and was already on the roof of the inn. He walked to the highest part of it, next to the fireplace, and sat, leaning his back against it.

Although the inn was not a very tall building (it had only three floors), from its roof you could see a lot of the town of Andon. It was a quiet and peaceful night, with a pleasant temperature. He closed his eyes and concentrated on listening to the sounds of the city. The night was fairly quiet, but in the distance some noise of the low activity in those hours could be heard. An occasional dog barking could be heard, and frankly, not a lot more.

Erion took advantage to try and collect his thoughts. That afternoon, as agreed, the messenger had delivered the documents he had stolen from the Commander's house. As usual, the messenger had given him a small leather pouch containing the second half of the payment of his fees.

This customer was very good. He always paid half in advance and his payments were always reasonable and proportionate to the risk and complexity of the job. That being said, he was very serious. He didn't accept bargains. Once he tried to round up the fees for a job and almost lost the customer. Since then, he always accepted at once the amount offered. At the end of the day, it was always a reasonable amount.

Something very curious had happened during dinner. While Mithir and he were eating a roasted partridge in the dining room of the inn, a courier delivered a message to them. It was the same customer for whom they had worked on that trip. Normally, weeks passed between two orders. The note delivered to them was very brief. It said tersely:

"You will have to go out tomorrow and travel to Talmyra. After crossing the town, you will continue along the path towards Deepcliff. After nine leagues south, you will find a crossroads. There you will take the westbound road for about three leagues. At that point you should see a small but lush forest not far away there, northwest. It is the only wooded area in that field, so you won't miss it. We will meet in a camp in the middle of the forest at midnight after tomorrow. I am confident that the proposal I will make will interest you.
"

In the two years they had been doing intermittent work for this client, this would be the third time that they would meet in person. The first time they saw him was when he made his first request. Probably the client wanted to see how they looked before recruiting them. In any case, he remembered that that mission was simple and unimportant. It had essentially been a small test.

The second time they saw him was about nine months ago when he tasked them, perhaps the most important and best paid mission to date. Erion sensed that this job could be even more important. He was excited and eager to know what it was, and to receive a good commission in the process. The prospect of getting rich someday attracted him; almost as much as the possibility of continue helping the various orphanages in Bor. Also, he never said no to a good adventure.

After wandering for a while, he returned to his quarters. With slow and steady steps, he returned to the end of the ledge. There he fell, clutching the edge of the roof at the last moment. Finally, after a couple of minor swings, he jumped into the inn through the window. Then he closed it and returned to the room. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. At last, he could sleep.

*******

General Bellish had always liked to take strolls. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and he had to take advantage of the days when the weather was conducive to go out and take some air; too many hours in those rough and boring palace halls, often invested in small political issues, palace intrigue and other stupid discussions. How many times had he missed his years in the field when he was a knight! And then when he ascended to the middle-rankings in the Royal Army!

The old general thought best when he took a stroll and the doctors said they also helped him stay fit. The years of long rides astride his steed Nemerulak in full armor, a long shield, sword and mace, where long gone. What a fantastic rider he had been in his days as a knight! The majors and colonels who were the most flatterers told him that there had been none like him. Obviously, they exaggerated with the useless intention of wanting to win his favor.

Of all the places to walk, one of his favorites was the Jasmine Garden, extending from the northern part of the estate surrounding the Royal Castle. It was a beautiful, harmonious place and fantastically kept by the royal gardeners. It had a long, wide main street with several smaller roads diverged to the sides. In different areas of the garden one could admire a great variety of flowers of all kinds. But the middle of the main street was covered exclusively by jasmines that perfumed the whole park with the slightest blow of wind.

Besides its beauty, one of the great perks of the place was its proximity to the Royal Castle, where the Royal Army had its headquarters and where he spent most of his hours. It was very convenient. Whenever he felt weighed down, he could leave the castle and within minutes was in the Garden.

Another advantage was that the royal stables were located east of the garden. Although it was a long walk to get there, it was always worth it. Bellish adored horses. And those who were in those stables were the most beautiful of the kingdom. There were thoroughbreds of nearly all races, even the noble and brave horses of the Aurum Emirates. What fantastic animals! In his time as a knight, it was not so easy to import something as bulky as a horse from so far away. Only the rich and the nobility could afford a luxury like that back then. Even today, it proved extraordinarily difficult, since the Emirs controlled with great care how many horses were sold and to whom. You could say it was part of its State policy. Bor was too far away to be a crucial ally of the Emirates, although the relations were reasonably good at the present time.

After a while, he got to the golden pond, where different colored fish brought from the lakes of the other countries swam carefree. Then the General felt a shiver throughout his body. He had felt that feeling many times. He knew what it meant.

“Hi, Mengul. It's been a couple of months since I last saw you. How have you been?” he said, as he turned to the newcomer.

“Busy,” a figure that was covered by the shade of a nearby tree said.

The strange figure had appeared suddenly, as usual. Although it was difficult to see the man's features in detail, you could see he was very old. He wore a long black robe that covered his entire body and his head was also covered by a hood. His back was slightly bent, probably because of his age. His aquiline nose was inquiring. But the most striking feature was his eyes; extraordinarily bright, alert, intelligent, scrutinizing. It seemed that nothing could escape the scalpel analysis of those eyes.

“What brings you to this garden? Surely it's not the desire to accompany an old acquaintance on his morning walk,” the General inquired.

“Sure,” the old man replied curtly.

“And? What? What do you need?” Bellish asked, impatient.

“I don't need anything. I have come to speak about disturbing rumors I've heard.”

Bellish looked at the old man, but said nothing. He waited.

“It seems that certain factions of power in Bor plan to obtain a very powerful object: the Orb of Wrath. It is possible that at this time it's already in their possession.”

“Does such a thing even exist? I thought it was an old legend, a story for children.”

“Oh, yes. It exists. I can assure you. Although it had been lost for a long time.”

“But in the stories that were told, huge calamities were caused by that device. There was talk of wars, disasters, famine. This seems very serious.”

“It is.”

“Let's walk together to a more secluded part of the garden, while we speak,” the General suggested.

Although it produced him a strange feeling of unease to walk away from the most visible areas of the garden with his companion, he decided he needed to walk to think. He also wanted to prevent any servant from hearing such dangerous news.

“Do you know who is involved?” Bellish said.

“Not quite. But it points to certain sectors of the Chamber, let's say the most progressive ones, and from the nobility. It's possible that the Army is also involved.”

The word "army" sounded like a knife in his head. But the old general was not particularly surprised. There was a lot of politics and many agendas in the Army as well and not everyone understood the military life as a pure service to the country. Some saw it more as an opportunity for personal growth.

“Let's see, then. If the orb is a powerful object, that in experienced hands can be used to provoke a war, and if they are held by the groups you mention, what do they intend to do with it? Are they thinking of starting a civil war between counties? Are they trying to unseat the King amid the confusion? Segregate a part of the country?”

“Everything is possible. It is hard to be sure. “

“What would they get with all of this?” the General asked.

“The war generates lucrative and various businesses. Many would benefit. Especially if they are prepared for it,” the old man mused.

“True. But a scenario of civil war is very chaotic. Other businesses would suffer. At least until the situation wasn't resolved with a segregation of the country.”

“I agree, but there is another scenario that we must consider.”

The general pondered for a moment and suddenly understood.

“A war with the orcs!” he exclaimed.

“Exactly,” the old man said.

“That would bring some of the benefits of the war, but would keep the country united. In addition, the Marks have always been more belligerent against the orcs, for obvious reasons. Some of the marquis are very young and probably just conceive the easy and romantic side of the war, probably because they have never experienced one.”

“And then there's the Army,” the old man added.

“Some would try to seize the excuse of a large-scale campaign to demote me into the background,” the general understood. “That son of a bitch Vargarr must be involved in this.”

The old man didn't answer. He pulled back and sat on a bench under the shade of a namal; a majestic tree. The general approached him, sat down beside him and lowered his voice.

“What can we do? What have you thought?”

“There is an option we can try. It is very risky, but now I see no other solution. In addition we have little time, we should start several preparations.”

“What do you need me to do?” the General asked.

“Nothing.”

“I don't understand,” Bellish said, surprised.

“You must stick to your agenda and activities. If you change anything, our enemies might perceive that you know something of what they are up to. We'd lose our only advantage; an advantage that is worth very little now, unless we can understand in more detail how and when they might act.”