The Heir of Jeragoth

Alana leaned against the stone parapet of south tower and stared longingly out over the wide plains a thousand feet below. Off in the distance she could see the tiny figures of horsemen riding out onto the plain. She knew her father and brother were among them, heading for the first drive of the year.

“Why so sad?” Alana started at the sound of her uncle’s voice, but didn’t turn around. Iliard walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Still angry with me?”

Alana shrugged his hand off. “I should be out there with them.”

Iliard sighed softly. They had been having the same argument for months. “Alana, I told you, after what happened on the drive last year, your father and I thought it best if you didn’t go again for a while. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”

“It’s not fair!” Alana exclaimed. She turned to Iliard. “Bert’s the one who should be staying home. He’s the one who got hurt, not me. I got a long coat for saving his life. Doesn’t that count for anything?

Iliard frowned. “Alana, your brother is not permitted to go on adventures with me, but you are. I have begun to train you in dagger fighting. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Alana bowed her head and blinked away tears. “It’s just…I want to be out there. I liked staying out on the plain. Whenever we adventure together, we always have to come back the same day. Why can’t we stay overnight sometimes?”

“It’s your father’s wish that you come home the same day.” Seeing her about to protest, he added firmly, “And it’s mine as well.”

“Why?” she demanded. “I hate it here.” Her words came out in a rush. “There’s nothing to do. Every time I try to play with Lily or Caleen, someone shoos me away because they’re slaves and they have to work. I used to ride with Brom and Martin until they got in trouble for taking the horses because they’re slaves. I told them I said they could, but nobody listened to me. Now even Francis can’t ride with me anymore.” She halted her outburst to wipe away tears. “He was the only one who I could do tricks with.”

Iliard shifted uncomfortably. “Well, Alana, he is the Foreign Minister’s aide. He’s very busy.”

Alana shook her head angrily. “That’s not why. Papa said it’s ’cause he’s a grown man and I’m a little girl.”

“Alana, he’s just trying to protect you.”

Alana stamped her foot on the hard stone. “Why? You’re a grown man and he lets me go places with you.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Iliard replied.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your uncle and I’m charged with your care.”

“Then why can’t we stay overnight when go adventuring?” she asked again.

Iliard let out a sound of frustration. “Alana, it’s not as simple as you think.” He paused a moment, carefully considering his words. “You’re only nine years old. You show great promise as an adventurer, but you need a great deal more training and you need to be older in order to survive on your own.”

“But, I’m not on my own, I’m with you.”

“Alana, anything can happen when you’re out adventuring. I will not take the chance that something happens to you while we’re together and you’re not fully prepared to meet it. Besides, you won’t always be adventuring with me. That’s why you need more training.”

“Then why can’t I start now?” she whined. “I want to be a Novadi warrior like you and Grandma Kate.”

“If it is your destiny to be Novadi, then you will be,” he replied quietly. “But being a Novadi warrior requires great patience, and you haven’t shown me much of that yet.”

Alana, who had been about to speak, closed her mouth with a snap. She bowed her head and murmured, “I’m sorry, Uncle Illy.”

Iliard put his arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s difficult to wait for something you want so badly. Your time will come. You just have to have patience.” He put his fingers under her chin, “Now, if you’re done being angry with me, I know this place in Nel Burath…”

Alana didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. Her eyes widened with excitement and she tore off down the six flights of stairs toward her bedroom. Iliard chuckled and shook his head. He knew that she would not long find these safe places exciting. He only hoped her skill kept up with her enthusiasm.

As he was leaving the South Tower, he took one last look across its windswept top. His mind reached back more than a hundred years and saw a boy, too small for his age, looking out those same battlements after escaping another beating from his father. He turned to follow Alana, thinking how ironic it was that she also had chosen South Tower as a place to brood.

#

“Lord Iliard, Alana’s changing for traveling,” Ophelia said when he got to Alana’s rooms.

“Thank you Ophelia. How are you doing?” Iliard replied, smiling at her.

“We’re fine, my lord. We’ve not had any trouble ’round here for a long while,” she replied. “Between Colonel Gormin and Master Cranerock, I think they’ve got the castle pretty safe. Although,” she added, “I did mention to Colonel Gormin about that Gellmy fellow. I didn’t think it was right for a man his age to be around a little girl so much.”

Iliard nodded, “Yes. Thank you for that. We can always use another set of eyes.”

Alana ran out of her bedroom and pulled up short in the outer room when she saw her uncle and Ophelia there. “I’m ready, uncle,” she said a little out of breath. She had changed into traveling clothes, donned and tied down her dagger, and laced her heavy boots, all in the time it took Iliard to walk to her rooms. The heavy cloak she had worn on South Tower was replaced by her new adventuring outer garment—her long coat.

“You’re getting very good at getting ready Alana,” he said with a smile. “Take my arm and we’ll be off.” As Alana took hold of Iliard’s arm, she noticed his left hand went to the pommel of the sword on his left hip.

#

Nel Burath was always chilly. It wasn’t the city of ice that Relothere became each winter, but of the five portal cities, it generally had the worst weather. A person just couldn’t seem to get warm. On this day, a raw wind blew through the cobblestone streets and whipped around the light gray and white stone buildings. The buildings in most sections of the metropolis were built right next to one another, as if they huddled against each other for warmth.

It didn’t help much, Alana thought as they walked quickly up the sloped street. The buildings just forced the wind to get a running start. Iliard had run several errands on their arrival. Now that those were all complete, they set out for what Iliard promised would be a meal that would make the whole trip worth it in any weather.

As the pair turned to enter an unmarked building, the warmth that blasted Alana caught the breath in her throat. The inner room was large and smelled of beef stew. The many round tables were placed as if the patrons moved them wherever they wanted. It was midday and this inn was crowded and loud. Few noticed their entry.

A beaming fat man hurried up to them, his beefy hand outstretched, a broad toothy grin filling most of his sweaty face. “Master Candril it has been too long.”

Iliard took the man’s hand, smiled broadly and pulled him into an embrace. He let go and lightly backhanded the portly innkeeper’s stomach. “Soonik, you’re fatter every time I see you.”

Soonik turned and yelled at a burly bouncer, who was leaning against the back wall with his arms folded, “Randor! Clear Master Candril’s table.” Randor shambled over to a table that was on a raised part of the floor on the side wall next to the bar. He stood in front of it glaring down at the people sitting there. Most looked up at him and prepared to leave. One gave Iliard a nasty look, but also got up and moved to another table. Randor then resumed his post against the back wall.

The barkeep hurried on in front of Iliard and Alana, took a dirty rag that had been hanging out of his back pocket and wiped the table to replace the dirt on the table with that from his rag. A barmaid brought over and hastily spread a nearly white tablecloth, upon which she then sat an empty blue vase made of thick glass. Soonik bowed slightly and said, “Your table, sir.”

Iliard said, “You really shouldn’t have cleared a table for us. We could have taken the empty table.”

“Nonsense!” Soonik replied, “Master Candril gets the best table in the house no matter what, whenever he comes. If it wasn’t for you, there would be no Soonik and no inn.”

Iliard glanced over at the men who had been ousted from the table. They were all staring intently at the display the innkeeper was making, all except one. One man was staring angrily down into his beer mug.

“I’m sorry,” Iliard said to them. “I didn’t mean to take your table.”

“Well, you’ve got it now,” one of the men answered bitterly.

Iliard’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked more intently at the man brooding over his beer. He motioned for Alana to sit on the far side of their table from them.

Soonik beamed at the Novadi. “Master Iliard has saved my life and saved my inn more than once from robbers and thugs, but why he comes here I’ll never know.”

“It’s the beer,” Iliard tried to joke. Two of the five men smiled back at him. They had obviously tasted Soonik’s beer. He continued, “Please I’ll gladly give you back this table.” He was beginning to worry Soonik had caused a real problem.

The angriest of them looked up from his beer and growled, “I don’t care if you’re the dammed king. You had no right kicking us off our table.”

Iliard glanced around the room quickly, appraisingly. A few people watched and waited. He looked back at the five of them and finally at the main problem. “Let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink.” Two of the others looked eager for a fight. They looked at their instigating friend with hungry eyes. The last two were still much calmer. They looked ready for some free beer. The bar was quite crowded. A fight now would probably spread to the whole bar.

Iliard looked over at Randor. He was now standing up straight with his arms unfolded, looking at Iliard, waiting for him to make the first move. Iliard shook his head slightly and the bouncer nodded slightly in return, but did not relax.

The angry patron stood up. Soonik walked quickly back behind the bar. Several people seated near the two tables got up quickly, their chairs toppling to the ground, and moved to the far side of the room. The tavern seemed to hold its breath. Alana noticed her uncle’s hand was not on his sword. The other four men stood up. Alana stood up and moved back away from the table and the five men.

The angry patron took a few steps toward Iliard. “I’ll teach you some manners. You can’t go pushin’ people around.” Iliard threw aside the lower half of his long coat to reveal one of his swords and the man stopped in his tracks. None of the five of them were armed with more than daggers. The angry patron grumbled his way back to his seat, as did his four friends.

Iliard sat down and Alana returned to the table. Peaceful disorder resumed. A waitress came and asked if they were eating. At Iliard’s nod, she left.

“He stopped wanting to fight after he saw your sword,” Alana said quietly. She watched as the five men talked amongst themselves and spared an occasional glance back at her and her uncle.

“He’ll be back. Right now, he is trying to think of a way to fight me, or perhaps get someone else to fight me,” Iliard said as he accepted the beer stein Soonik brought over. Soonik set a brown mug of mead in front of Alana. She picked it up, sniffed, and furrowed her brow slightly. Iliard continued, “He’s very angry and very bitter. He’ll probably do something very rash and might even die this night—but not by my hand.” He briefly looked off into the distance and past, then smiled and replied, “It’s something Terin Novar Arianna always says: ‘Stupid people don’t necessarily deserve to die.’ Keep your eyes on that one. He’ll attack someone in this bar tonight and he’ll bring his four friends into it fairly quickly.

“But if you know he’ll do it, why don’t you tell Soonik or his bouncer to kick them out?” Alana asked.

“They haven’t done anything wrong yet. It is Soonik’s right to allow them to stay or make them leave. Unless he asks for my help, I will not interfere,” Iliard said. “However, as I said, I believe that man still wants to pick a fight, so the next person who upsets him will be his next target.”

Alana nodded and looked around the room and tried to guess who would be the next target. She looked down at her brown mug and furrowed her brow again. “Is this honey mead?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Iliard smiled back at her. “The food, at least, is very good, and just what the body needs when one of these Nel Burath howlers whips through.”

The waitress brought over two very large, steaming bowls of stew. Alana breathed hers in deeply. It smelled great. Her mouth watered. She wiped off her spoon and took a huge spoonful. It was easily as good as anything she had ever had at the castle. She looked over at the bar and Soonik was beaming back at her. She smiled at him, her cheeks still bulging a little. He laughed, inclined his head slightly to her, and then went to speak to a neatly dressed patron at the bar.

The clatter of cast of chairs announced that a wiry man at a table opposite from where Iliard and Alana sat finally took the surly man’s bait. Alana looked at her uncle who ate while he kept one eye on the beginning altercation.

It didn’t take long for mayhem to break out in the bar. All the table mates of the victim of the angry man joined in eagerly. Ten people fighting became twenty, with furniture suffering and a few patrons scrambling for cover. When the fight looked to the angry man to be self sustaining, he turned his attention back to Iliard. He walked back to their table and bent over slightly to get into Iliard’s face. Backed by his adrenalin and two men from his table, he took a swing. Iliard stood up, took one step forward and to the right. The man’s fist went behind Iliard’s head. Iliard placed his hand gently on the man’s chest, but he could see in the angry man’s eyes that he didn’t understand the gesture. Iliard pushed him back, but not over.

The angry man got angrier. Now the two who were with him attacked Iliard together. One lunged to grab him. Iliard grabbed his hand and smacked the other man with it, knocking him to the ground. One man threw his chair at Iliard, who caught it and set it down, to Soonik’s obvious relief.

“Gentlemen, please,” Iliard said as he pushed the chair into his table, “There is no need for this. Please, let us drink together.”

“You’ll drink your blood before the night is over,” said the man who had just been smacked to the ground. He stood up and pulled out an ill maintained dagger. Alana noticed her uncle’s mood change subtly. The other assailant tried again to connect with Iliard’s jawbone. Iliard took a quick step forward under that man’s swinging arm and walked around behind him. He struck the back of the dagger wielder’s hand hard with the back if his hand, which sent the dagger deep into the ceiling wood. In the same motion, he backhanded his temple and knocked him out cold.

While Iliard’s back was to him, the angry man drew a short, well-kept dagger and lunged at him. Iliard kicked backwards with his right leg and sent the dagger into the ceiling next to the first one. Another chair came at Iliard but missed wide right and headed instead for Alana. She ducked and it shattered on the wall behind her. She moved to draw her dagger, but Iliard shook his head quickly. A scuffling pair lurched towards their table. Iliard picked up his bowl and the blue vase. Alana scrambled with her bowl out of her seat to her right, towards the wall. The two men careened into the table and knocked it over.

Iliard turned to Alana, handed her the blue vase and said, “Hold this. Be careful, it’s very important to Soonik.” He set his stew bowl on the ground near the wall, and turned back to the fight. The vase was thick and heavy. Alana thought it would take a giant’s maul to damage it.

Those who could fight were making a mess of the bar. Those who could not or did not want to fight tried to scurry out of the former group’s way, to no avail. Iliard waded into the mob and asked, one by one, each person to stop fighting. Those who agreed, he told to go stand against the walls for safety. Those who disagreed, he sent to the floor with one rap to the forehead too fast for anyone to see, let alone block.

A few more people fought their way to where Alana was standing. She thumped each of them on the head with the blue vase. Randor was knocked to the ground by a heavy chair to the head. Alana could see blood coming from his nose in an ever widening pool. “Uncle!” she shouted. Iliard turned quickly to look at her, ducked slightly and flung a charging man over him and across the room. Alana pointed to Randor’s body.

Iliard looked, then nodded once to Alana, mouthed the words “please be careful with the vase,” and made his way to the bouncer’s huge, immobile frame. He placed his right hand on the man’s neck and closed his eyes. He held up his left hand to grab a chair coming at his head, wrenched it from its wielder, hit him with it, sending him sprawling, then opened his eyes, looked at Alana and mouthed, “He’ll be all right now, thank you.” Iliard stood back up and set the chair down.

Iliard was a blur of legs, feet, and hands as he calmed down and cleaned up the bar, dropping people and picking up furniture. During Iliard’s walk around the bar, an assailant came at Alana. He had glaring eyes and a weird sort of grin Alana had never seen before.

She stood close to the wall, one hand on the hilt of her dagger and the blue vase in the other. He noticed the dagger, slowed and then lunged to grab her. She swung at his head with the vase but he knocked it away. He stopped when Alana drew her dagger and stared at him steadily, as Iliard had taught her.

“You should be more careful with this vase,” Iliard said to him, right behind his left ear. “It’s very important to Soonik.” The man looked back but only saw stars, then blackness, as the vase struck his temple with a heavy thunk.

As Alana looked around the room at the bruised and subdued brawlers, she began to get a healthy respect for Terin Novar Arianna’s simple but profound wisdom. Most of the furniture was still intact. All the people were alive.

“That was amazing,” Alana said. “I want to learn to fight like that.”

“Terin Novar Arianna taught the Novadi to fight without weapons. Wait here and keep alert in case there’s a second wave.” Iliard walked over to Randor, rolled him over onto his back, and placed his hands on his chest to finish healing him. Randor coughed up blood, rolled on to his side, vomited, and then opened his eyes. Iliard helped him sit up.

“Go slowly, Randor,” Iliard said. “Everything is calm now. Sit here a while. I’ll stay until you’re better.” Iliard looked around the bar. “Soonik,” he spoke loudly, “it’s over.”

Soonik popped his head up from behind his bar. He looked around nervously at first, and then stood up. To his amazement, he saw that most of the bar was still intact; all the ruffians were unconscious or mollified.

“Master Candril! I can’t believe it. You saved my home again,” Soonik said. He looked relieved until he saw Randor covered in his own blood. He came quickly around the bar and kneeled next to him. “Randor, are you all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” Iliard said, “but he shouldn’t stand just yet. Stay with him a while.” Soonik nodded and Iliard stood up to survey the room once again. There was very little real damage to the tavern. Patrons were moving back to their tables. Several patrons helped the instigators into the darkening street. Iliard walked back to his table, turned it back upright and sat down.

“We managed to keep his tavern in one piece, especially his heirloom vase,” Iliard said.

Alana laughed, “I don’t see how anyone could have hurt that vase.”

Soonik came over with more stew. Two barmaids were cleaning the room, but there was not much cleaning to be done. All through the brief brawl, Iliard did his best to put furniture back from where it had been thrown.

“Master Candril, thank you so very much for saving Randor. You brought him back from death. How can I repay you?”

“No payment is necessary,” Iliard said, “I am Novadi. This is my job.” Iliard set the vase back on the table.

Soonik said, “Again you have saved Soonik’s home and now Randor’s life.” He looked down at their table, at the vase. He picked it up and offered it to Iliard. “Please, Master Candril, I give this from my heart.”

Iliard stood and accepted the offered vase. “Soonik you are a great man to part with your family heirloom. I will cherish it and honor its memory. You have honored my family with your gift.” He bowed deeply as he finished.

Alana stood as her uncle spoke. She didn’t quite understand what was going on and her brow creased. Soonik returned to the bar with his head a little higher.

“Uncle, what just happened? Why did he insist you take the vase? Why is it so important? Why...”

“Slow down small one,” Iliard held up one hand and smiled. “Please let me eat some stew. I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”

Alana pouted at being forestalled and glared into her stew bowl and then around the room, having no stomach for eating with her nerves still tight from the fight. Many people around the tavern were looking at her uncle and talking about him. Several people were questioning Soonik about him as well. Soonik looked prouder than ever to explain, no doubt, Alana thought, telling the story of her uncle as his close personal friend.

“This stew is really good. You shouldn’t let it get cold,” Iliard said. “Believe it or not, it will help settle your nerves.” Alana turned a little red at his correct guess. She picked up her spoon and prodded her stew a few times.

Seeing there would be no calming her, Iliard began, “There is nothing particularly valuable about this vase, except to Soonik, it is the most valuable item on Gorthus. This vase has been in his family for four generations. Despite all the troubles that have come and gone, both this inn and this vase have remained intact, largely because your father and I took a liking to their stew.

“You see,” he continued, “I gave that vase to Soonik’s great-great-grandfather Malook after he took pity on two cold, penniless, young adventurers. He took your father and me in, fed us some of his great stew and awful ale. He saw the worth of us when this bitter city cared little.”

He saw from his niece’s expression that he was raising more questions than he was answering. “Your father and I didn’t start out as wise adventurers. We chose quite foolishly to leave our father’s wealth and title behind. We wanted to succeed on Gorthus under our own merit without any help from anyone. Gorthus had other plans. She soon taught us that no one succeeds without a lot of help.

“Even experienced adventurers need help. Very few of us travel alone. Life is that way as well. Don’t be hasty to cast off the gifts you’ve been given in a foolish attempt to prove your self-worth. Becoming successful with or without those gifts is more up to you than those gifts. How you use the gifts you’ve been given will determine your success, rather than the gifts themselves.

“As for the vase,” Iliard paused, smiled, and took another bite of stew. “Malook helped your father and I get some work riding a caravan.” Iliard smiled at a distant memory. “Someday I’ll tell you about that ride. We met some very interesting people. We each got fifty gold for riding the caravan. I got an extra ten for training one of their horses. We wouldn’t have gotten that job or anything else if Malook hadn’t taken us in, fed us, and given us a good night’s sleep. I took my sixty gold, bought the vase, and took it to a magic user to be charmed into unbreakability. As it turned out, I couldn’t afford unbreakability. I settled for as much of it as I could get for fifty-four gold and three silver. Your father thought I was barking mad.

“I raced back to this inn and presented the vase to Malook for keeping us alive. I have been protecting this bar ever since, though the ale has made me question the wisdom of that from time to time.”

Iliard watched his niece as she stared into the vase, perhaps seeing it for the first time. He could see her mind was lost in the story, in the past, and in the description of her father when he was young and full of life—the way Iliard liked to remember him.

Alana stared at the vase for a long time. Finally she asked thoughtfully, “Uncle Illy, how could you give that vase to Soonik’s great-great grandfather?” She knit her brows in concentration for a moment, then her eyes went wide. “That would make you a hundred years old. How can you be that old?”

Iliard smiled sheepishly. “Ah well, that’s another story altogether small one.”