The Heir of Jeragoth

“Master Philip! The courtyard! Quickly!”

When Philip teleported to the courtyard, he was met with the sight of Iliard Candril, his clothing torn and covered with blood and his breath coming in shallow gasps, being supported by two other Novadi. His face was ghostly pale and there was a white line around his lips that told Philip he had lost a considerable amount of blood. “Bring him to the infirmary,” Philip said at once and turned to precede them.

“Wait,” Iliard rasped weakly. Philip turned back to face Iliard. The wounded man spoke so softly that Philip had to lean in to hear him, “Alana is safe.”

Philip squeezed his shoulder lightly and said, “Well done, Iliard.” He motioned to the men and repeated, “Bring him to the infirmary.” To his healer he called out, “I need you. Now.”

The infirmary in the Novadi stronghold not only tended to wounded Novadi, it also aided in the restoration of a Novadi’s life energy. By the time they laid him on the table, Iliard was near death. Philip cast a worried glance at the healer, Leandra, and said grimly, “He’s almost spent.”

Leandra nodded silently. “Grandmaster, I will need your help in this.”

Philip was mildly surprised—Leandra rarely asked for his help. But then this was a special case. Iliard’s physical wounds had been healed but, he had not allowed himself enough time to rest and recover his spent energy. Philip also sensed a great deal of emotional turmoil in the injured man.

“Are you ready?” Leandra asked quietly. Philip nodded. He closed his eyes and gathered his energy into a single concentrated core. He let out a long, slow breath and placed his hands on Iliard—one on his head and one on his chest. If they transferred life energy too quickly they could put Iliard into shock. If they gave too much, one or both of them could find themselves in the same condition as their fallen comrade.

Philip turned his thoughts inward and focused on creating a narrow channel through which to pass his energy. He reached out to Iliard’s psyche, “Iliard.” Anger, hurt, guilt and regret all warred within Iliard, hindering their attempt to help him. Philip glanced up at Leandra, who shot him a worried look. He closed his eyes and reached back down into Iliard’s mind, “Iliard, let it go. Let us restore you and then, together, we will heal the hurt.” For a moment Philip felt Iliard resist, but the resistance soon gave way to acceptance and, finally he felt Iliard open himself up to healing. Philip let out a small sigh of relief and allowed his energy to flow into Iliard.

#

Lucine sat at her desk silently fuming. This was just the last and most egregious in a line of egregious defamations of the Candril name. This Baron Candril seemed to be trying everything in his power to ruin the Candril family. His first twenty years had been a nightmare. Whores and vagabonds in and out of the castle, day and night, month after month, year after year. And then he had met Mirasol, eldest daughter of the High Baron of Emeldius, a high born lady who wouldn’t stand for such behavior. When Baron Candril had proposed to her, Lucine had rejoiced. At last a stabilizing influence in the castle.

That lasted for three years. Then the baron had made the baroness angry and she had denied him her bed. This time the baron had been more discreet—until today. Lucine couldn’t believe that he had actually brought his slave whore and her bastard child into the castle to live under the same roof as his wife and son. Lucine was beside herself with indignation.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her dark thoughts. “Come in,” she called. To her surprise Olivia walked in. Lucine stood up. “Olivia. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” In fact, Olivia never came to this part of the castle—she deemed it beneath her notice. Olivia pursed her lips and sat down in the chair across from Lucine. Lucine resumed her seat. “What can I do for you?” Lucine asked diffidently.

Olivia leaned forward and said very quietly, “I believe you and I share a common problem.”

#

“Anarcorwin has failed,” the High Priestess told him. “Her dagger was never used. She is dead.”

“How do you know she failed?” the Mage asked. “Perhaps she used another weapon.”

The High Priestess drew herself up erect. “The Dagger of Igea must be used only on the intended sacrifice. No other weapon may be used on the sacrifice or it is tainted. Anarcorwin was the best of my Assassins, she knew this. If she did not use the dagger, then she is dead.”

“Damn you and your outdated rituals!” the Mage shouted. He glared at the Seer and demanded, “Where is the child now?”

The Seer turned blind eyes to him. “The child is hidden from my sight. The half-breed’s blood no longer tells of its whereabouts.”

The Priestess stared at the quivering form of the half-elf who lay on the altar. “A sacrifice is required of us to compensate our goddess for our failure.”

The Mage turned cold eyes to Crusas and said flatly, “Take him,” and then walked out of the sanctuary. Crusas’ screams followed him down the long hallway.

#

“You see Bert,” Gormin began as leaned back again his desk with his arms folded, “It would be a mistake to try to completely bar all teleportation into the castle. As you well know, it was very convenient that you and Iliard could teleport into the castle. Also, Esras often teleports in and out of the castle when he’s going about court business. So, I brought the problem to Esras and he suggested a teleportation alert spell over the castle. It would take a few days to set up and we would have to hire the services of two other Wizards to help him, but in the end it would be well worth the price. What do you think of that idea?” When Bertrand didn’t respond right away, he said, “Bert?”

Bertrand started slightly and looked at Gormin as if he had not quite understood what he said, but then answered quickly, “Yes, that sounds good. Tell Esras to go ahead and let me know how it goes.”

Tabor put his hand on Bertrand’s shoulder and said, “He’ll be all right. He’s a strong man. It’ll take a lot more than that to kill him.”

“It’s been two days, Tabor,” Bertrand replied. “I should have heard something. Neridius hasn’t heard anything either.”

“You’ll hear something soon,” Tabor said.

“I hope so,” Bertrand replied as he turned to leave. “Let me know how things are going with the wards.”

A knock sounded on the outer office door. The guard who stood at the door opened it to admit an elderly servant. “My lord,” the old man said somewhat urgently, “Lady Candril is here and wishes to speak with you.”

Bertrand growled, “Tell Lady Mirasol that I’m in no mood for her histrionics today.”

“But, my lord,” he said insistently, “It is Lady Katherine.”

Bertrand’s stomach tightened into a knot. He glanced over at Gormin, who returned his gaze with a worried frown. His mother was here? “Where is she?” he asked gruffly, already heading out the door and down the long hallway.

“She said she would meet you in your study, my lord.”

Without another word, Bertrand hurried towards his study. As he entered the hallway that led to his study, Neridius came around the corner from another part of the castle. The two men looked at each but neither spoke.

Lady Katherine Candril—known as Master Kate to her Novadi compatriots—stood by the window of the study and looked out at the valley. Tall, lithe and slender, there was no hint of her true age on her face, and her long, dark brown hair had only a few streaks of gray. She turned from the window when she heard Bertrand and Neridius enter the room, but because the sunlight was behind her, Bertrand couldn’t see the expression on her face. “Mother,” he said hoarsely, “Iliard…is he…” Bertrand found that he couldn’t speak the words.

Kate came out of the shadow of the window and said reassuringly, “He’s going to be all right, Bert. It was very close. Grandmaster Philip put him into a deep sleep so that he could recuperate properly because, knowing him, he would have tried to come back here as soon as he could stand upright.”

Bertrand’s eyes misted over and he found that his hands were shaking. “He probably would, the idiot,” he said.

Kate looked directly at Bertrand. “What I’d like to know is what happened here to cause Iliard to forget one of the fundamental practices of the Novadi?”

Bertrand flushed and cleared his throat. “I…” he cleared his throat again, “I said some things I shouldn’t have.” When Kate continued to stare at him without speaking, his face went a deep red. “I accused him of wanting Erienne all to himself.”

Kate shook her head, “Oh Bert, you didn’t.” She let out a long breath and closed her eyes, her mouth drawn tight as if she were reliving an unpleasant memory. When she opened her eyes again, it seemed to Bertrand and Neridius that they were bright with unshed tears. “Don’t you know,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly, “he loves you more than anyone else in the world?”

“Mother, I know,” Bertrand replied, his voice hoarse. “I was angry and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Kate shook her head again, “I’m not the one you have to apologize to. Iliard will have to come back here after he’s recovered. He’s the one you owe an apology to.”

“He’s coming back?” Bertrand asked uncertainly. “What if he refuses?”

“He has no choice,” Kate said firmly. “He made a vow that he would take on this charge. A Novadi’s word is a sacred oath. Only death can release him from it. But,” she said tightly, her eyes reflecting a private pain, “Remember this—Iliard’s oath is to protect Alana at all costs, even if that means taking her away from you.”

A thunderous look came over Bertrand’s face at Kate’s pronouncement. Kate raised an eyebrow. “None of that, Bert.” She walked toward the study door. “You need to introduce me to my new grandchild. I’ll be staying here until Iliard comes back.” When he didn’t move right away she said, “It’s no use having a tantrum Bert. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Why would Iliard think he needed to take Alana?” he asked gruffly.

“At the moment there’s no reason at all, so why worry about it?” Kate held open the study door. “Are you coming?”

#

Erienne curtsied deeply and said, “I am honored to meet you, Lady Candril.”

Kate smiled at the nervous young woman. “I haven’t been Lady Candril in quite some time. Just call me Kate.”

Erienne’s eye went wide. “I…thank you…Kate.”

“You’re welcome dear,” Kate replied. She knelt beside Alana, who was sitting on the floor happily playing with her toys. “Hello little one,” she said brightly.

Alana looked up at her grandmother and smiled, then reached for the jade-green hilt at Kate’s side.

Kate chuckled and gently guided her hand away. “You’ll have to wait a few years little one.”

Erienne had just gone to pick up Alana when four-year-old Bertrand III ran into the room. “Papa, I want to see mama’s new baby.”

For the briefest of moments, Erienne’s face fell, then she pasted on a bright smile. Kate felt the young woman’s pain, as sharp as a knife. She threw a harsh look at her son, whose face reddened, then said curtly, “I’ll be outside.” On her way through the anteroom, she saw Olivia standing there smiling smugly. Kate stopped and stared at Mirasol’s maid until the woman turned positively white.

Outside the suite of rooms, Kate sat down on one of the padded chairs that lined the hallway. She shook her head and murmured to herself, “Bertrand, what have you done?”

While she waited, Kate sensed the presence of someone hiding on the secondary stairway. She stilled her body and caused herself to become unnoticeable, and watched as Mirasol came around the corner from the stairway. Mirasol walked quietly to the edge of the doorway and peered into the room. Kate couldn’t see what was going on, but she could hear Bertrand chuckling and hear squeals of delight coming from both children. Every once in a while Erienne’s light laughter floated up above the din. After a few moments, Mirasol turned away from the scene, the look on her face a mixture of hatred and despair, and started to walk back towards her own rooms. Kate let Mirasol go almost all the way past her before she said quietly, “He used to love you like that.” Kate got a bit of perverse pleasure out of seeing the usually composed woman nearly jump out of her skin.

Mirasol spun around and stared angrily at the seated woman. When she saw who it was, her frown deepened further. “What did you say?” she asked coldly.

“You heard what I said, Mirasol.” Kate retorted, totally unmoved by the woman’s dagger glare. “You could have had that. He would have given you everything, he loved you that much. But you chose instead to play the game. Were you surprised when you found out that Bertrand was not the kind of man who could be led around by his…manhood? He has a mind of his own. When you rejected him, you may have expected him to turn to other women for comfort, but I’m sure you never expected him to fall in love. Well, he did and it was you who gave him the freedom to do that. If you were wise, you would allow things to remain as they are. You are the High Baroness of Candril and so you shall remain until the end of your days. That is an honor many women covet. Why not leave it at that? You don’t love Bertrand, so why not let him be happy with another?” Kate shook her head and smiled sadly. “But I know you won’t. You believe that you must have total victory in order to be happy. I pity you. I think you’ll find that you’ll never be truly happy and that, in and of itself, is a great loss.”

Mirasol continued to stare at Kate, her lips pressed into a thin line, the pulse in her neck beating rapidly. Finally she said in low voice, “I will always win.” Then she turned on her heel and strode swiftly down the hallway.

#

Iliard woke to the sound of gently falling water. His rise to consciousness had been gradual and reluctant. When he finally opened his eyes he found himself in a sunlit room with high, vaulted ceilings. A rock garden in the middle of the large room proved to be the source of the falling water. After a few moments he recognized that he was in the infirmary in the Novadi stronghold. A second later he realized that he was totally naked underneath the cool linens that covered him. He turned onto his side and saw the Novadi healer, Leandra, on the opposite side of the room. She smiled at him and said, “Welcome back Iliard. Grandmaster Philip will be happy to hear you’re awake.”

As he was trying to clear the fog from his mind he asked, “Where are my clothes?”

“The clothes you were wearing when you got here weren’t salvageable.” She pointed to the foot of Iliard’s bed, “New ones are right there. I’ll leave you in peace. Grandmaster Philip will be here soon.”

After she left, Iliard sat up carefully, still unsure of his strength. When he found that he could move with ease, he stood up and began to put on his clothes. As he was putting on his shirt, he noticed the long thin line of a scar running diagonally across his chest. With a sigh, he ran his finger across it, knowing without a doubt, his goddess had left it there for a reason.

His weapons lay neatly arranged on the table next to his sword belt. His leather scabbards both had new bloodstains on them. He put on his sword belt and sheathed his long sword. His picked up his Novadi dagger and turned it over in his hands. It looked the same as it always had. Yet he knew that something about it had been different on the day he fought the Tagoni Assassin. Whatever force had empowered the dagger had saved his life and the lives of Alana and Erienne. Still holding the dagger, he sat back down and bowed his head. How could he have been so foolish as to call on his brother when the battle had turned against him? That decision would have gotten them all killed had it not been for the dagger. He should have called on Grandmaster Philip or another Novadi warrior. What was he going to tell his master now?

“Iliard, it’s good to see you up and about.” Philip said as he entered the room. Iliard’s head shot up and he leapt to his feet. The dagger slipped from his hands and clattered loudly on the stone floor before slid to a stop at Philip’s feet. The Novadi Grandmaster handed it back to Iliard and silently waited while he sheathed the weapon. When Iliard was finished, Philip said, “Come walk with me.”