The Heir of Jeragoth

“Your father will be very unhappy with you if you’re late for Master Gridius’ first lesson. It’s very important.” Ophelia replied.

“But ’Fee, I want to go play with Lily,” Alana whined.

“Lily has to work in the kitchen and you have to go to your lesson,” Ophelia replied firmly.

“Why can’t I work in the kitchen too?” Alana asked plaintively.

Ophelia shook her head impatiently. “Slaves work in the kitchen. Baron’s daughters go to their lessons. Now, get up and get going.”

“Oh, all right, I will do it,” Alana grumbled as she got up from the soft carpeted floor.

“Do you remember the way?” Ophelia called out after her.

“Yes, Ophelia,” she said aloud, then under breath, “but I wish I didn’t.”

Alana was seven now. It was time to begin her formal education. Her brother Bertrand III had been in them for four years now. He was always trying to make up excuses to get out of them. He would come up with elaborate illnesses and very important alternate tasks that demanded his immediate attention and always seemed to last just a bit too long to make it to class on time.

Her brother kept teasing her about how bad it would be when finally she had to take formal lessons as well.

“They’re all bad, but Grid-pus is the worst.” Bertrand always made a funny face when he said it. Alana always laughed whenever he made it. Alana would have but one teacher for the next six months—Master Gridius.

As Alana sulked down the long hallway toward the grand stairs to the third floor and her private classrooms, her eyes flicked over all the larger than life portraits of her mother, grandmother and so on back through history. She wondered if they ever had to go through these horrible lessons. When she got to the stairs she took them as slowly as possible.

Jena passed her on the marble stairs going the other way, stopped and asked, “Alana, why so sad?”

“Classes with Master Gridpus start today,” Alana said.

Jena tried not to laugh out loud. “You mean Master Gridius? He’s a good teacher. He taught your brother. He seemed to like him.”

“He’s pretending.” Alana would have much rather stayed here to complain to Jena, but she had to get going. She was probably late already.

“You are late.” Master Gridius said as she entered the room. Alana looked around the room. There were no toys in this room, just big windows, big blackboards, a big desk and a small desk. Master Gridius was standing behind his larger desk at the front of the room.

“Sorry,” Alana said looking down.

“You will preface your remarks with ‘Master Gridius’, or plainly ‘Master’,” he said.

Alana just stood there and looked at him.

“He means,” her father said from the back of the room, “when you speak to him, call him ‘Master Gridius’ or ‘Master’.”

She turned, looked up at her father and then back down at the ground again and said, “Yes, father.”

“Good,” he said as he walked over to her. He knelt down in front of her to get to eye level. He smiled a little. “He’s a good man and a good teacher. He taught your brother well and you’ll like him. Now give me a hug and I’ll leave you two alone.” Bertrand held out his arms and enveloped her in a bear hug. Alana was gobbled up in his leathers and lost. It was warm and smelled nice. She didn’t want to let go.

“She’ll be all right, Master Gridius,” Bertrand said, looking down from his six foot plus height at Alana.

“Yes, my Lord,” he replied and then looked at Alana, “We will begin with reading and writing.”

Alana watched as her father left the room and two guards closed the large oaken doors behind him with a resounding boom.

“Now, young Lady Candril,” Gridius said as he walked around from behind his desk towards the other, much smaller desk in the room, “This is your seat.” He motioned with his wrinkled hand. “I would like you to sit here now.”

What he said after that, she didn’t hear. He had called her young Lady Candril. Lady Candril was her mother, it wasn’t her. She wondered what he meant. Was Alana a Lady of Court? No, that was silly. Lords and Ladies were grown-ups.

“...written here on the front blackboard the alphabet of Seldonese. This is ...”

Alana stared blankly at the chalk board not seeing it. After an hour of this he let her go.

“That is enough for today. We will meet again the same time tomorrow. Is that clear?” Gridius asked.

“Yes Master Gridius,” Alana replied as she stood. She bounced from foot to foot eager to leave.

“All right, then. You may go.” He said. Alana was out the door before he got to the end of the word go. She ran down the long hallway back towards the main stairs and ran straight into her uncle, who was sitting on the top step. He caught her as she started to fall.

“Uncle Illy!” Alana screamed. She threw herself at him and he hugged her.

As he peeled her off of him he said, “Now you’d think you hadn’t seen me in a year. It’s only been a month.” He sat her down on the step beside him.

“Do you have a story?” Iliard always told Alana a different bedtime story when he was around to put her to bed. Brave knights. Brave women. Mean Dragons. Evil Magicians.

“Yes, dear, I do. So how was your first day with old Master Gridpus?” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Alana burst out laughing.

“Bad. He smells. He looks like he needs to go to sleep.” Alana said with a small pout.

“He gets better. He’s a really good teacher. You’ll get used to him over time.” Iliard comforted her. “But that’s not why I came. I thought we could celebrate your first day of lessons.”

Alana brightened up immediately. “Did you bring me something?”

“Yes, but I have something even better than that to share,” he said. Then his smile dipped a little and he looked distant for a moment and said, “Young Lord Bertrand, please come join us.”

Bertrand Rascar Candril III slowly came out from behind a suit of armor in a small niche in the hallway. He was now a young lad of eleven and already up to Iliard’s shoulder. “I can’t,” he said with a dejected voice. “My mother says I’m not allowed to talk to you.”

Iliard twisted where he sat on the stairs so he could see his nephew. “Well, how about you just come sit here and I’ll keep talking to Alana and you don’t have to say a word. We wouldn’t be talking then would we?”

The struggle on young Bertrand’s face was evident. He took a hesitant step forward then stopped, then started again. He seemed to settle for moving over to the brass topped wood railing on the opposite side of Iliard from Alana.

“Oh, c’mon, I don’t bite,” Iliard said with a smile, “Well, sometimes I do.” Both Bertrand and Alana laughed at that.

Alana blurted out, “Ha ha. Mama let’s me talk to Uncle Illy.”

“Shut up, brat,” her brother barked back at her.

“Now you two had better stop fighting or it’s no gifts and no story.” Iliard said.

“Yes, Uncle Iliard,” they said in unison.

Iliard pulled two small boxes wrapped in shiny green paper with white ribbon and held one out for each for them. Alana grabbed hers and began to tear it apart. Bertrand looked at it with longing but wouldn’t take it.

“No thank you,” Bertrand mumbled as he looked down at the marble steps.

“Don’t tell me your mother won’t let me bring you gifts either?” Iliard said. Bertrand nodded. Alana was through her paper and had opened her box.

“Did she also say,” Iliard continued, “that your sister cannot get you any gifts either?”

Bertrand’s face lit up. Iliard swiveled back around to face Alana and said, “Alana, please give this to your brother,” as he handed her the second green box. She grabbed it without looking up from her own box and thrust it in her brother’s direction.

“Thank you, Alana, for the gift,” Bertrand said taking the box. He unwrapped it quickly as well, but without quite as much frenzy.

“Wow!” Alana said. She held in her palm a miniature animated knight on a muscular white stallion. The horse pranced around her palm and the knight raised his hand to her in salute. She saluted back to it and the knight lowered his salute and bowed forward at the waist. She laughed.

Bertrand’s eyes stared wide at his little sister’s palm and the prancing stallion there. He opened his own gift eagerly. Out of the box he pulled two small robed figurines. They were a dueling Wizard and Magician. The Wizard wore white and the Magician wore red. They shot small bolts of lightning at each other across Bertrand’s palm. Every now and then the Magician would look up at Bertrand and send a small ball of fire half way up his arm, then shake his tiny fist at him.

“Uncle Iliard, er, I mean, Alana, it’s wonderful.” Bertrand said. His eyes were aglow as he stared transfixed at the tiny spell casters. Iliard knew his nephew wanted to be a Wizard more than anything.

“Please come sit with us,” Iliard asked him again. “I can tell if any of your mother’s spies are lurking about. I’ll warn you in plenty of time.” Bertrand laughed and sat down on the top step on the far side of Alana from his uncle.

“Now, I also came here today to tell you a story.” Iliard said. “This story, though, is a little different from the ones I’ve told before.”

“Uncle Illy, they’re all different,” Alana interrupted.

“And you know what?” he asked her as he looked down and smiled at her. “They are all true.”

“What makes this story so special,” Iliard continued, “is that it’s as alive as those little figurines in your hands. And I’m going to take you right in to the middle of the story.”

“You’re taking us adventuring?” young Bertrand said slack-jawed. Iliard was sure he would make a good Wizard some day. But then just as fast he was crestfallen once more. “I cannot.” he said.

Iliard replied, “Well, I can just take Alana, but I’ll need to give her lots of warning before we teleport. Say, perhaps, a countdown from ten, I think. Who knows who could touch my arm during a countdown from ten?” He had a devilish gleam in his eye. “Ten...Nine...Eight...” he began. Alana bounced up and down on her bottom.

Iliard could see the struggle on his nephew’s face. Iliard got down to six and Bertrand grabbed hold of his arm, but then let go. On three, Bertrand reached out again, but this time did not go all the way.

“Two...One,” Iliard concluded.

When they arrived at the inn Bertrand fell over. One of the neatly dressed attendants rushed over to pick him up. Alana was still gripping her uncle’s hand.

“Slowly, please Effered,” Iliard said to the young man. “This was his first time.” As Effered helped Bertrand to sit up, Iliard crouched down in front of Bertrand and stared into his unfocused eyes. “Bertrand, are you all right?”

“I... I think ...Wow that was amazing!” Bertrand said, smiled briefly and then looked sick again.

“I’m sorry Bertrand. I didn’t know you had never been teleported before, and you’re already eleven. Hmm,” Iliard said with a smile, “I think someone’s been neglecting your training. Any Wizard worth hiring makes teleporting his specialty. By the time a Wizard reaches second order, they can teleport at will. You have some catching up to do.”

Young Bertrand looked up at him and smiled again, his eyes half closed. “Wizard...yeah.”

“Let him sit here for a moment,” Iliard said to the attendant. He turned his head around to look at Alana. She eyed her brother smugly. “Now Alana, you shouldn’t make fun of your brother. Most people have trouble their first time. You are a rare exception indeed to have no trouble at all.” With that he looked up at the front counter for the hotel clerk, who smiled back at him.

“Master Iliard. It’s always a pleasure,” the hotel clerk said as Iliard stood. He was a middle-aged man who looked very fit. His neatly trimmed black hair and beard bespoke efficiency. He was dressed for business tidy, with nothing out of place. Work went on there but never at the expense of looking good.

“Hello Argan. How’s the weather?” Iliard asked.

“It’s late Fall here now so you’ll want some cloaks if you’re planning to walk the bazaar,” Argan said and gazed briefly at another attendant who stood next to the wall watching the scene unfold. The attendant nodded, clicked his heels and hurried off out a side door deeper into the hotel.

Alana looked around at all the interesting people coming and going. A pair of men bristling with swords walked out the front door. On the other side of the lobby were two elderly looking Wizards, one in blue robes with purple runes, and the other in purple robes with white runes. They were having an animated discussion. All around the lobby people who were well armed, armored or well dressed were walking to and fro. Most of the travelers who walked by them looked their way and nodded. Some greeted Iliard by name.

Alana pointed at the front door, her eyes wide. “What’s that?”. Iliard and young Bertrand both turned to look. A creature with the body of a man and the wings of a condor, but larger was in the doorway. He stood a good twelve feet tall. His wings, even furled, covered his entire breadth and height. As he entered the lobby, his face and chest became clearer revealing detailed painting on his body feathers.

“He is a Borgantine and by the markings, I’d say he’s also a Priest.” Iliard said.

“Wow, a Borgantine! For real?” Bertrand stared open mouthed.

The Borgantine noticed them in the center of the lobby. He walked over. Alana ran around to hide behind Iliard and looked out around his leg.

“For real.” His voice was high pitched and shrill, not at all suited to his massive size. He held out a hand to Bertrand. Bertrand grasped the proffered hand and shook it vigorously, his mouth still hanging open. The Borgantine looked over at Iliard and said, “He doesn’t expect me to feed him does he?”

“No, your Grace, I don’t think so.” Iliard answered with a smile.

“What is your name, human boy?” He stated the question more like a command.

“B-Bertrand Candril, your Grace,” Bertrand stammered.

“You may stop shaking my hand now,” The Priest said and Bertrand quickly let go. “Good grip,” he said to Iliard.

“Yes, your Grace, he takes after his father.” Iliard said.

“That would make you Master Novadi Iliard Candril, yes?”

“Yes, your Grace. I am at your service.” Iliard inclined his head as he said it.

“I do not require your service at this time.” The Priest responded, still without emotion. “Blessings of Asaeria on you and your hatchlings.”

“And to you and your flock. May the wind rise to meet you in your flight,” Iliard responded. The Borgantine Priest walked away through the lobby towards the back end and the many meeting rooms. The two Wizards paused to pay their respects as he passed.

Argan’s attendant returned with soft, sturdy brown cloaks and offered them to Iliard. Iliard took them and thanked the attendant.

“This place is incredible!” Bertrand said. Iliard just chuckled. Argan raised an eyebrow and his smile deepened slightly. Alana came out from behind Iliard’s legs. She was looking at the twelve foot bird man who had just finished conversing with the Wizards and had moved off towards the meeting rooms.

“He said it was Fall,” Bertrand said looking up at his uncle. “That means we’re south of the equator. We’re not on Ranwar anymore. I’ve never even been out of Seldonia.”

Iliard’s brow furrowed. “Well, we will have to get you out more often. You should have been adventuring years ago.” With a smile he continued, “So tell me young master Bertrand. Can you guess where we are before we go outside?” Bertrand brimmed with excitement. Argan looked on with interest.

“We’re in an adventurer’s hotel. Anyone can tell that.” Bertrand looked longingly over at the Wizards. “Those are high order Wizards. The Wizard in blue is above fifth order. So this is a really high adventurer’s hotel.”

“In more ways than one,” Iliard said.

“Uncle Illy, I wanna go outside,” Alana whined.

“Patience small one. We’re almost done here.” Iliard said.

Argan knelt down beside Alana and produced a small dancing flame creature in his hand. Alana was spellbound as it danced back and forth and jumped from hand to hand. While he played with Alana, Argan still listened intently to Bertrand’s guessing.

Bertrand looked around and breathed deeply. “We’re high in the mountains or,” his eyes got wide, “we’re on a cloud.”

“Why do you say that?” Iliard asked.

“I can’t breathe. There’s no air.”

“Well, not no air,” Iliard replied. “Just not a lot of it. That’s very good Bertrand. You’re very observant. You’ll make a fine Wizard.”

“Excuse me Master Iliard, did I hear you correctly?” The Wizard in the purple robes with white runes had come over. He looked down at Bertrand. “Did you say this young baron would like to be a Wizard?”

Bertrand couldn’t speak. His mouth was open again. His cheeks were bright red. The Wizard looked down at him with his aged but sharp eyes and smiled. “I would be honored to teach a young lad as bright as he. He comes from a long line of adventurers, though most have taken the brutish route.” He flashed a quick glance at Iliard. “I do not mean to offend, Master Iliard.”

“No offense taken.” Iliard smiled. “What is your name master Wizard?”

“I am Arch Wizard Kanil Tangar, Wizard of the Fourth Order, Ward of the white Wizard net on Pendor.” Then turning his wrinkled and hairless head to look down at Bertrand again he said, “I am very pleased to meet a descendant of Sarah Nadran, White Mage of Ranwar.” Bertrand’s cheeks got even redder.

“There, you see Bertrand,” Iliard said, “Wizarding is in your blood.”

“That’s not all that flows through this young man’s veins. In fact,” the Wizard continued, “all the descendents of The White Mage Nadran are also descendents...”

Iliard cut across him politely. “Now good Wizard Tangar, that’s about all we need to know about that.”

“As you wish, Master Novadi,” the Wizard replied. “Please remember my offer.”

Bertrand looked up at his uncle. “Can I Uncle Iliard? Can I learn to be a Wizard?”

“If it were up to me, you would have started already, but it is not. It’s up to your parents.” Iliard said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Wizard Tangar we have a little exploring to do.” With that the arch Wizard bowed deeply first to Iliard and then to Alana and Bertrand in turn. Alana smiled up at him and giggled.

Argan, who had been talking to one of his assistants, turned back to face Iliard. “The view is quite clear today. You may want to stop by there before the bazaar.”

“Good idea, thank you Argan,” Iliard replied. He made sure the children’s traveling cloaks were snug. “Well,” he said to them smiling broadly, “Let’s go see what lies outside that really bright door. Alana pulled at her uncle’s hand to hurry up. Bertrand followed along behind but kept looking back at the two Wizards. They were talking together but both looked at him as they did so. The Wizard in the blue robes looked quite impressed by what the Arch Wizard Tangar was telling him. Bertrand would have given his soul right then to find out what they were saying about him.

Outside the main door to the hotel the white stone walkway switch-backed down to the city a hundred feet below. The entire city was built in a large cut out of the side of a mountain. The hotel was on one end, on the outer wall of the city. The mountain climbed up on the left out of sight, lost in wispy clouds that melded into the snow and shrouded the peak. To the right out over the wall, the valley floor thousands of feet below stretched out flat as far as the eye could see.

On the top of the wall was a ten foot wide walkway. There were many people and a few creatures walking to and fro. Many stood and stared out at the valley. The wall curved away to the left quickly as it wrapped around the rest of the city below. Clearly visible from here in the heart of the city, at the bottom of the bowl was a bazaar. Its hundreds of tent tops, blinding white in the sun, were flapping angrily in the high wind.

“Let’s go stand on the wall and look at the valley,” Iliard said.

“But there’s no railing.” Bertrand looked worried.

“I won’t let you fall. Just hold on tight to my arms. No wind can take me off that wall,” Iliard assured him. Alana sank her fingers as tightly as she could into his arm. One part of the pathway leading from the hotel led over to the wall. It looked well traveled. Several people passed by them headed back towards the hotel and down to the city as the three of them walked towards the wall.

Alana stayed at the back of the pathway away from the edge and shook her head quickly but silently when Iliard asked her if she wanted to go to the edge. Bertrand was also quite content to go no closer. Even from here they could see thousands of miles in every direction. The land was a blur of a patchwork quilt. Here and there a small cloud floated lazily below. The wind was strong on the wall. It whipped their cloaks about them. Iliard, however, did not move at all even though it buffeted the two children.

“This city,” Iliard said above the wind, “is called Ker Deledia, and other than the monastery on top of Mount Kelric, it is the highest inhabited place on Gorthus.” When they had seen enough, he took them down into the city. After only a short way along the path they were in amongst other buildings and the wind died down considerably. They walked down red and blue cobblestoned alleys ever slightly downward and to the center. The further into the city they walked, the more crowed the streets became. The sleepy white stone houses higher up the south end of the city were replaced by bustling shops selling all manner of clothing and weaponry.

“Uncle Iliard, they all look strange,” Alana said, referring to the majority of people who walked the streets.

Iliard chuckled. “This city is very hard to get to. Other than the adventurers such as ourselves who teleport or fly here, not many people come to or leave it.”

“What?” she asked.

“What he means, dimwit,” Bertrand said, “is that this is an isolated community. They all breed separate from the outside world so they all look like each other and like nobody else.”

“Very good, Bertrand,” Iliard said, “except the dimwit remark.”

Bertrand didn’t pay attention to the rebuke. “Are we going to buy adventurer’s gear here?”

“Well, not really,” Iliard said. “This is more of an exploration for us, since it is both of your first time adventuring. Also, there’s a shop in Candril that I prefer to go to for adventuring clothing.”

Alana turned around and pointed back up at the mountain behind them. “Uncle Illy, who lives up there?”

Iliard followed her gaze and said, “No one lives above Ker Deledia except dragons.”

Her eyes went wide. “Real dragons?”

Iliard chuckled. “That’s really just a legend. I don’t think anyone really lives up there.”

Alana frowned. “Oh.”

“Come on,” he said, “There’s a lot more to see.”

When they got to the entrance of the bazaar the crowd was so thick it pressed against them. Iliard held both their hands tightly and forced his way through. Bertrand marveled at how many apparent adventurers there were around.

Noises, music and shouts filled the air. Bertrand and Alana looked around wide eyed, their heads swinging quickly to and fro as they tried to take in all the miraculous sights. They had never before seen the likes of what was on sale. From small pet flying lizards to smoking bottles that seemed to boil without being heated, the bazaar was full of curios and powerful items.

Several times Alana tried to pull away from Iliard to go look at this or that. Several times he had to caution her to not let go of his hand. “Stay close, small one. It is very easy to get very lost in this bazaar. Even though most people here are good, every town has its criminal element.”

Unlike at the hotel, most people here in the bazaar paid them no mind, excepting only the hawkers of wares who universally, upon appraising Iliard, tried their hardest to sell him their most expensive items.

“Uncle, I had no idea,” Bertrand said of all he saw, “a place like this existed.”

“Well, your mother hasn’t been very receptive to that part of your education,” Iliard said with a slight smile. “She would much rather you not get involved,” he continued and then did his best Mirasol impression, “in the ‘nefarious, vagrant and suicidal life’.” Both of the children laughed at the words.

They stopped at a large booth for a lunch of greenish brown sausages on sticks. “An ale for myself and the boy,” Iliard said as he paid the man for the food.

“I want an ale,” Alana said.

“Not yet, small one,” Iliard replied, and then to the merchant added, “Just juice, please.” Alana pouted. They sat and ate, drank, and absorbed the sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar. After lunch and a little souvenir shopping they were back in Castle Candril. They stood again at the top of the right main stair case in the grand foyer.

Bertrand, feeling much better after his second teleportation, stared at his souvenir. It was a small glowing sphere in which the lights seemed to be swirling liquid. It was a Magician detector out to about thirty feet. The swirling glow, now blue, would turn red, green or black, depending on the type of evil mage who drew near. It was not very useful against a powerful Magician who could blast a room to bits from a hundred yards away, but it could ferret out a first order one who was hiding nearby.

Alana was totally engrossed in her souvenir—a flower which changed colors each time you breathed on it, changing sometimes into a rainbow assortment.

#

The bazaar in Candril City wasn’t nearly as interesting as the bazaar in Ker Deledia. There weren’t nearly as many adventurers and there were only humans there, no creatures or demihumans to be seen. Since they had only been to the city on the cliff that morning, the images from it were still running through Alana’s mind. The bazaar in Candril City seemed dull by comparison.

“Uncle Illy, why didn’t Bert come with us?”

Iliard frowned slightly, “Your mother wants him to concentrate on his school work.”

“Ha ha. I don’t have to do any schoolwork and he does.”

Iliard stopped walking, turned to Alana and knelt down in front of her. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Alana listen to me. Bertrand probably will not be able to come with us ever again. How would you feel if you could not ever go places with me again? Do you think you would like that?”

Alana’s eyes widened and she looked like she might burst into tears. “Uncle Illy, I want to go with you.”

“I know you do,” Iliard said. “So does Bertrand, but he cannot. Have some compassion for him. He is your brother.”

“Yes, Uncle Illy,” she answered, subdued.

“Now,” he said more cheerfully as he stood up, “Let’s get you some new clothes.”

Alana nodded and her eyes brightened considerably as they started walking across the street. Alana stopped after a moment and tugged on Iliard’s sleeve to get his attention. When he looked down at her, she asked, “Uncle Illy, why does mama let me go with you but not Bert? It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair,” he answered. Choosing his words carefully, he went on, “Your mother thinks that Bertrand should focus on the skills he will need when he becomes Baron Candril.”

“But that’s not for a long time,” she said. “Why doesn’t she let him have any fun?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I guess she thinks that being baron is serious business.”

“I guess,” Alana said, unconvinced.

“Come on, small one,” Iliard said, pointing across the street, “We’re going to that shop over there.”

The pair made their way across the busy street to a tailor’s shop. The shop was in one of the larger buildings in the bazaar and appeared to be quite busy. Alana looked up at Iliard and asked excitedly, “Are we going to get adventurer’s clothes?”

“Yes, we are small one,” he answered with a smile. Alana was so excited she started to jump up and down. Iliard laughed and said, “All right Alana, settle down. They cannot measure you if you’re jumping around like that.”

When Alana was ready, the pair entered the shop. On one side were fine silks, linens and laces, in addition to the lightweight cotton that was popular for most people. On the other side were the heavy linens, broadcloth and leather that adventurers needed for their life on the road.

The shop owner’s eyes lit up when he saw Iliard walk in and he hurried over to greet him. “Good afternoon, Lord Candril. It’s good to see you back in Candril City.”

“Thank you Semicus,” Iliard replied with a smile, “It’s good to be back.”

Semicus looked down at Alana and asked, “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“This is my niece, Alana,” Iliard replied.

Semicus’s gray eyebrows went up. “Baron Candril’s daughter?” He bowed slightly and said, “I am delighted to meet you, Lady Candril.”

Alana curtseyed as she had been taught, but then just stared at him, a little puzzled. That was the second time today someone called her “Lady Candril.” It seemed odd.

“I have a special request for Lady Candril,” Iliard said. When he had Semicus’s attention he went on, “She needs clothes suitable for adventuring.”

Semicus looked at him in surprise. “Surely, my lord, she’s far too young for that.”

“No younger than I was when I went on my first adventure,” Iliard replied.

Semicus seemed as if he were going to argue with Iliard, but then he appeared to change his mind. “As you wish, my lord,” he said with resignation. “Please follow me.” Semicus led them to a small room in the back of the shop. “Erienne,” he said as they walked into the room, “Lord Candril needs some measurements done for his niece.” Then he turned and went back to the front of the shop.

Erienne turned in her chair and stared wide-eyed at the pair, but then quickly stood. “Lord Candril,” she said faintly, “It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you,” Iliard said with a smile. “Erienne, this is my niece, Alana.”

Erienne focused her gaze on the seven year old girl. Her voice broke slightly as she curtsied and said, “I’m pleased to meet you Lady Candril.”

“Hello,” Alana replied shyly, curtsying in return. Then she seemed to muster up her courage and said, “You’re pretty.”

Tears sprang to Erienne’s eyes and she let out a short, musical laugh, “Thank you,” she answered, blinking rapidly in an effort to hide her tears, “I think you’re pretty too.” Alana smiled and her cheeks reddened.

“Alana needs to be measured for clothes that she can adventure in,” Iliard interjected.

Erienne looked horror struck. “Adventure? But, she’s so young.”

“She will always be safe with me,” Iliard replied firmly.

“Of course,” Erienne said softly.

“I’ll leave you to do the measuring then,” Iliard said as he headed for the door. “She will need breeches, a shirt, a tunic, and a sturdy cloak.”

“Yes, Lord Candril,” Erienne answered. After Iliard left, Erienne helped Alana undress to her undergarments. As she measured the little girl she asked, “When are you going to go adventure with your uncle?”

“We already went today,” Alana replied excitedly. “We went to this city high on a mountain. It was really windy and there were lots of strange people there. Uncle Illy said most of them were adventurers because the place was so hard to get to. And I saw a bird man. He was really, really tall—taller than uncle Illy and he had feathers all over and huge wings and his feathers were painted all sorts of colors.” Erienne listened to Alana chatter on about her trip to Ker Deledia and silently rejoiced at hearing the sound of her daughter’s voice once again. She found it difficult to hide her feelings and desperately wanted to take Alana in her arms and hold her tight. She took her time measuring Alana, but eventually she knew she had to finish before Semicus got impatient with her.

While Alana got dressed, Erienne went out into a short hallway where Iliard was waiting. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and whispered, “Thank you. I’ve wanted to see her for so long now. She’s so beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” Iliard answered with a smile. “Although I admit, I wasn’t quite sure you would thank me for bringing her here without warning.”

“I don’t care,” Erienne replied. “I’m just glad I got to see her.”

“Well, we’ll be back here quite a bit. She grows very quickly.”

Alana emerged from the fitting room. She went to Erienne and asked, “Can you help me with my laces?”

Erienne’s smile lit up the small hallway. “Of course, Lady Candril,” she said as she knelt down behind her to tighten the laces on her dress.

After Erienne finished with her laces, Alana tugged on Iliard’s sleeve to get his attention. When he bent down to her she asked softly, “Is it all right if she just calls me Alana? I like that better.”

Iliard smiled, “I think it will be all right when no one else is listening.”

Alana smiled happily. Turning to Erienne she said, “Uncle Illy said you can call me just Alana.

Erienne looked over Alana’s head at Iliard and smiled gratefully. “That was very kind of your Uncle.”

“All right, Alana,” Iliard said, “It’s time to go home now. It’s nearly suppertime and Ophelia will fret if you’re late.”

“But I want to stay longer,” Alana complained.

“Another time, small one. Right now we have to go.”

Alana scuffed the floor with one small foot, “All right,” she said with a pout. Then, on an impulse she ran over to Erienne and threw her arms around her waist. “Goodbye, Erienne.”

Erienne caught her breath in surprise and, once again, tears came to her eyes. She put her arms around her daughter and held her tightly as tears coursed slowly down her cheeks. After several moments, Erienne let go and hastily wiped her face before Alana could see. “Goodbye, Alana,” she said. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Iliard took Alana’s hand and said, “Goodbye Erienne. We’ll be back in a week.”

As Iliard and Alana made their way out of the shop Alana asked, “Uncle Illy, why was Erienne sad?”

Iliard looked down at Alana in surprise and asked, “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know, she just seemed sad and I thought I saw her crying.”

“Maybe she doesn’t feel well,” Iliard answered.

“Maybe,” Alana replied.

“Come on, small one, let’s go home.”

#

Later that evening, as Alana lay snug in her bed dreaming of the day’s adventures, Bertrand waited in one of the outer rooms of his mother’s wing of the second floor. He sat in the small chair with a worried look. He was summoned there to answer for his days activities. When his mother was ready, she would call him in to her sitting room.

Olivia came out of the sitting room with a stern look. “Your mother will see you now.” As Bertrand got up and walked past her, she looked at him disapprovingly. When he was through the doors, she closed them behind him, leaving Bertrand and Mirasol alone in the sitting room.

“Come, sit next to me Bertrand,” Mirasol said. She was seated regally in a high backed chair.

“Yes mother,” he said looking at the floor.

After he sat he glanced up at her. Her expression was a mix of consternation and reproach. He quickly looked down at the table top. The silence dragged on.

“Have I not told you that you are not allowed to speak to your father’s brother?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t look up.

“Have I not told you the damage he’s done to this family?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why would you disobey me?” she asked and did not wait for an answer. “Why would you travel with him? Do you know how dangerous teleportation is?” Bertrand could tell she was getting wound up. This was going to be a long one.

She continued to list his transgressions, one by one, demanding from him affirmation after each. Finally she paused and stared at him again.

“Bertrand, look at me,” she said in a softer tone. He looked up. She continued, “You are my only...son. I love you and I care for your safety and your future. No one else does. You have a wonderful future ahead of you. You will be Baron Candril. You will have all these lands and all these people to command. This is a wonderful and great responsibility. You will have great power and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Mirasol beckoned to him. He walked over to her and knelt in front of her. She put her hand lightly on his cheek. “My beautiful son. You are better than the common vagrant adventurer. Your destiny does not lie skulking around the dark alleyways and plunging down deep caverns in search of unknown. As a Wizard you would never have much money or power and you would likely die an early death. Most of them do.” She paused and stared deeply into his eyes.

“Please, I beg you my son, do not cast your lot in with that terrible man. He does not care for you or your safety. He only cares for his niece. He was only there today for his niece. If you hadn’t happened along, they would have gone on without you,” she said. Bertrand could hear the worry in her voice.

She moved her hand back to her lap and sat up straight again. “Whatever he has given you today you must bring to me now. Anything he has given you. Do you understand?”

Bertrand bit his lip and nodded silently. He couldn’t speak through the lump in his throat.

“Now go and bring these things to me now. I will wait here for your return,” she said, dismissing him.

Bertrand ran the whole way to his rooms, tears streaming down his face. He pulled his deep crimson stained cherry trunk from under his bed and threw the clothes and books about the room to get to the bottom. There on the bottom, held in a small black velvet bag were his two gifts. The dueling Magician was casting lightning bolts at the Magician detector sphere and completely ignoring the Wizard who was doubled over with laughter. He stared at them for a moment. Should he give her the gift from the bazaar? Surely no one had seen the dueling Wizard and Magician. His uncle had said as much, unless he was lying just to get him in trouble.

He stomped all the way back to his mother’s wing and sitting room, a frown on his face but no more tears in his eyes. He handed her the black velvet bag.

“Is this everything?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he looked at the floor.

“Bertrand, look at me,” she commanded. Bertrand looked up. She repeated more slowly, “Is this everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again, with a hurt sound in his voice.

“Good then,” she said as she set the bag on the sitting table beside her. “Come give me a hug.” As Bertrand did so, she whispered in his ear, “I love you my beautiful son. I only want what’s best for you. Now go to bed.”

“Yes, mother,” he said as he walked out. In the outer room, Olivia sat near the outer door out of the wing.

“She really does know best, young master Bertrand,” Olivia said, looking down her nose at him.

“Yes, Olivia,” he said as he walked out. The two guards outside the wing bowed deeply to him as he walked past and they closed the doors behind him. When Bertrand got back to his bedroom he saw that someone had straightened everything back up. No doubt they had also searched for anything else his uncle might have given him. He made himself ready for bed and turned his bedroom lamps off.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. When he could wait no longer, he rolled out of his bed and under it. He reached to the wall and moved a secret wall board to reveal a small cubby hole hidden behind. The glow of the Magician detector sprang out at him. He stared at it for a long while before closing the cubby, getting back in to bed and going to sleep. He dreamed of being attacked by Magicians. Then he dreamed he was a Magician and was blasting away at the castle, huge sections of it falling away and tumbling down the hill to rest amongst the buildings in the city below.