-CHAPTER THREE-
Corann-Thar. A city of Jewelled.
Wearily, Leila slumped to the floor. Zephyr hovered beside her uncertainly, pondering whether his honour let him carry her to the bed; or for that matter, whether his honour let him watch her without aiding.
Leila sighed miserably. ‘I seem to run into enemies wherever I go.’
The sadness in her voice reached Zephyr and he suddenly stepped forward and raised her off the ground.
As he moved to lay her gently on the bed, he felt her green eyes regarding him intently.
He flushed in response and quickly laid her on the bed, and retreated.
‘Funny how no one in the inn heard the racket. They were probably silenced before we were attacked.’
‘No, those who attacked us were the people in the inn.’
Leila started upright. ‘What? How do you –’
‘I recognised some faces.’
‘But there were only seven attackers. There were nine at the inn last night.’
Zephyr was impressed by her memory and the attention she paid to small details. Another trait admirable for a spy.
‘There were two, dressed in dark cloaks, sitting in the corner conversing. You may have missed them as you were injured, but I scanned the room thoroughly.’
‘Tell me,’ she urged quickly.
Zephyr shook his head. ‘It couldn’t have been them; they had nothing conspicuous about them.’
‘You’re a killer! I specialise in analysing information.’
Hurt considerably and startled into anger, Zephyr drew himself up.
‘A killer? A fine thing for you to say! To you, I am your saviour!’ without considering, Zephyr stormed out of the room.
Outside, leaning against the gently swaying trees, Zephyr knew she was right. He was a killer and she was obviously better than him at evaluating information. After all, he had just left a captive alone and unwatched!
What a fool I am …
He looked around. There wasn’t much to see. The inn was isolated, a stopping place for travellers to relieve them on their journey between Firador and the nearest city.
Looking back at the inn he gritted his teeth against a surge of emotions. She was his captive. But she was Sarcian.
Making up his mind, Zephyr disappeared into the trees, leaving the inn and all that had come to pass.
Leila buried her head in her pillow.
I’m such a fool! He … he did save me. What have I done …?
Suddenly, she was aware of the wetness on her cheeks. Realising she was crying, she stopped.
Why do I cry? He means nothing to me. I owe him gratitude … but …
She remembered his solemn face and the cold, hard eyes that were filled with a flaming determination and tears rinsed her cheeks unchecked.
Then her slender body was racked with sobs as she released her grief, made more painful by the fact the she did not know why she cried.
She sobbed for a long time, half expecting and half hoping that the young Sarcian would return to comfort her. He did not.
Have I hurt him that much? He must feel as I do. Never knowing family, friendship … or love … And I just showed him what a fellow Sarcian is like. I have shamed myself …
Rising, her face still wet and the pillow damp with tears, she gathered her things and whatever she found on the bodies that fancied her, she exited the inn.
Noon was approaching. She shielded her eyes from the glare. It was bright. She did not like that, it was too revealing.
But what worried her most was that Zephyr was nowhere to be seen. She tentatively began to make for the forest, knowing that if the young Sarcian was near, he would halt her.
After all, I am still his prisoner.
But he did not halt her. Nothing hindered her path, save the trees and the detritus and a thick undergrowth of brush.
Unwilling to accept he had simply left her, a kind act but one that startled her almost to tears again, she ran through the woods. It was only until noon that she stopped, tears now coursing down her cheeks, to look around.
No Zephyr. She was in a glade, but to her, even the trees seemed to have left her side. Aching from wounds not recovered and from the weariness of her fight, she fell to her knees and cried again.
No! Since when have I broken to this?
Straightening, she furiously wiped the tears away. She had not cried since she was a child. Since the death of her people. Tears … they were strangers to her. Why did she cry now?
Because he is my mission! I must not fail Irith; he has done so much for me!
But somehow it didn’t seem true. She wanted family. She wanted friendship with a people she knew. And she wanted … love.
‘There, I admitted it. I ache for love. Love I have not known since the death of the Sarcay Plains people. Since the death of my family and my kinsmen.’
‘How sad,’ a voice intruded.
Leila took a moment to notice. Whirling around, hoping to see Zephyr but knowing it was not him, she came face to face with a large emerald.
Looking up, he saw that the man was dressed in armour, as if a knight, and had a handsome, shaven face. A pair of bright blue eyes regarded her kindly.
‘My dear child, come with me. I shall see to it that you are housed and fed, and that those wounds are seen to.’
He began to reach for her but was startled to see a dagger at his throat.
‘Whoa! Lady, I mean you no harm! I merely saw you wounded, crying and saying the most saddening things. Tis natural that a man would help.’
She sneered. ‘Help? It depends on whose opinion. I do not –’
‘I am not guilty of conspiring such unmanly deeds!’ he interrupted. Jerking his hand up to place it between Leila’s wrist and his neck, he forced the blade away.
‘You are a desirable woman, and obviously not as dainty as you seem, but –’
‘Enough. Fine, I believe you. Who are you? What do you want?’
‘I am Thirn Isgard, a Knight at your service, m’Lady.’ He took a graceful bow, practised so well his armour did not make a sound. This explained his being able to approach her without her noticing.
‘A knight? Of? No wait,’ she added quickly as Thirn began what seemed like a lengthy explanation. ‘Can you take me to the nearest city?’
Thirn bowed again. ‘Of course, m’Lady. Corann-Thar that would be.’
Corann-Thar? We’ve drifted east too much. Now we’re along the border and nearing the Mountains of Ilsren.
‘My Lady, surely you do not travel alone in these woods? Tis foolhardy.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ she replied coldly, not seeming to be able to trust his openness or his kindness. ‘I notice you’re alone too.’
‘Not so!’ said another voice, this one much deeper.
They turned to see a large man, larger than Thirn and dwarfing Leila, step out of the trees. His breastplate bore the same emblazon as Thirn’s save that the gem was a ruby.
‘Ah! Illis. What news?’
The man moved up to Thirn, a grim expression on his face. ‘A wrecked inn. No, not a brawl,’ he added when he saw Thirn’s expression. ‘There are dead bodies everywhere. Weapons. Blood. It’s a grisly sight.’ He paused and closed his eyes. Then suddenly he said, ‘who is this?’
Leila could not mistake that tone.
Here’s one who won’t underestimate me simply because I’m a woman.
She met his hard grey eyes squarely.
Thirn clapped his companion on the back cheerfully. ‘Never mind the inn. There’s nothing we can do now. She’s travelling to Corann-Thar. She was probably caught up in the fight at the inn, weren’t you?’
Leila, a master of deceit, felt Illis’s eyes on her. The safest course was to answer truthfully where she could, and tell half-truths where necessary.
‘Yes, I was, but I don’t know how the fight started.’ This was true.
Illis did not pursue the matter but neither did his face relax. It seemed set in an expression of grimness, as hard as stone, as if he had seen so much suffering that happiness was a sparse thing.
‘She’s travelling with us to Corann-Thar! We shall escort her and give her shelter and see that her wounds are treated!’ Thirn said cheerfully.
‘You mean you asked her to travel with us,’ replied Illis. ‘But yes, we must see that she is treated well.’ He turned to Leila. ‘Do not mind my friend, he is too carefree for his own good. And a fool, a happy fool.’
Thirn looked disheartened over his comrade’s shoulder.
‘Come now! Illis … Ah!’ Thirn brightened. ‘This is Illis Orfist. You have yet to bless us with your name, Lady.’
Leila looked sceptically at Thirn. ‘Leila …’ she said. ‘Though my blessing is of death,’ she muttered to herself.
Thirn leaned forward. ‘What was that?’
‘Oh, nothing! Come, sir Knights, let us go.’
Thirn nodded and led the way, Leila following behind him. Illis waited to take the rear, but as Leila walked past him, she felt his searching eyes on her.
She knew he was dangerous.
Damn, I shouldn’t have said too much.
Realising her mistake could cost her a sum equalling her life, Leila followed the knights to Corann-Thar, where she hoped to find Zephyr.
His feet were guided eastward. He could give no rational explanation why, but it seemed the right way. To find what he wanted.
What do I want?
The question suddenly shot through his mind. What was ultimately his mission? To please the Guild and his master? No. It was never meant to be that way.
I must find my people. I must find family. And if none still live … I must avenge them.
Time had reduced him, he knew now. His years in service under the Guild’s Law had stripped him of his true reason. But his fateful meeting with Leila return that to him.
Suddenly, he felt an unbearable aching to see her again. The only person he could trust in this world. The only one like him, who could understand him and … love him.
‘Love?’ he said aloud, surprised at his confession. ‘Since when have I, a killer, wished for love …’ Zephyr muttered to himself.
Since you birth. Since the death of your people. You have always craved love.
The voice rang in his mind, echoing the truth until he could not take it anymore. Clutching his head, he screamed.
The cry startled the wildlife around him. Birds scattered from their nests in fright and it seemed that even the trees leaned away from him.
He did not stop. He could not stop. It was only after a long time that his voice faltered and the screaming stopped.
Falling to his knees in weakness, he gazed at the floor.
‘I don’t want love …’ he said softly, with a voice hoarse from screaming. ‘I need it …’
He raised his gaze to the mountains looming before him in the distance, shrouded, as if, in a lingering mist that would not disperse.
Rising to his feet, he staggered towards the horizon. The mountains were his destination. He could not say why, but his instinct guided him.
He struggled to force limbs that would not comply to hurry along the path. Weariness encased him and he felt a strong urge to sleep. Everything melancholy in his life crashed about his mind until he was blinded by sadness.
Finally, he collapsed at the foot of the mountains. His fading consciousness did not register surprise that he had staggered so long as to reach this place, which had to him, moments earlier, seemed on the horizon.
A majestic city stood proudly before him. His dwindling consciousness did not register that either. For the first time in his life, he slipped into the darkness, as if weak; his last thoughts of the sparkling green eyes that were those of the only one he could call family or friend.
Corann-Thar, the City of the Jewelled.
Leila did not have much information on the place. She only knew it was reputed to be a city of marvels and of beauty unsurpassed. And so far, she agreed.
But the knights were what piqued her curiosity, not the grand marble buildings or the ornate temples. For knights to take her to this city would mean that they must have some power here. Perhaps an order.
Leila sighed. She had too little information on this area, as her attention had been, for the most part, directed to the centre of the kingdom where strife was abound. Now she regretted not regarding the importance of the border cities.
As Spy Master, she had been educated by Irith himself. She was a quick study and learned much, but her study had been cut short. The untimely death of the previous Spy Master forced Irith to place her into the action. While he had regretted this, she had proved her worth many times over.
She knew the bordering kingdoms. Rynn, their world, was large. This continent alone held five great kingdoms, which formed the civilisation of Ansalon.
There were times, she had heard, that their continent, Ansalon, had been threatened by others. In those times, the kingdoms, still warring bitterly against each other for dominance, had been forced to unit and drive the threat out. Since then, the kingdoms held friendly relations.
To the east of Ilthindus lie the kingdoms of Elthestle and Garma, which holds part of the south too.
Garma, as she recalled, had been the most violent of the all the kingdoms. As a result, Garma occupied the most land on Ansalon. Their ways had been barbaric and their hordes were feared widely.
Somehow this information linked with the knights, some knights at least, but frustratingly she could not sharpen her fuzzy grasp on the memory.
Finally, she gave in and asked.
‘Thirn?’
The knight bounded up to her and bowed. ‘How may I be of service to thee?’
‘What order are you of? What does your order serve and protect?’ She glanced at Illis, fearing he might deem the information too sensitive, but the large man’s face remained impassive. Illis had proven to be a taciturn type.
‘We are the Knights of the Jewelled!’ exclaimed Thirn, apparently taken aback that she did not know who they were.
When his words showed now apparent effect on Leila, he elaborated.
‘To the commonfolk, we are known also as the Jewelled. In the days of warring, we were founded to protect Ilthindus from evil and those who sought to conquer her lands. We are knights of justice and loved by all!’
‘Not so,’ said Illis suddenly. ‘Many parts of Ilthindus have not heard of us. Some parts detest us. Mainly those ravaged, who heard of us and question why we never came to their aid. You are too inexperienced, Thirn.’
The ever-cheerful knight looked crestfallen.
‘The Jewelled,’ Leila muttered to herself. It sounded familiar. ‘The City of the Jewelled! So you rule Corann-Thar?’
‘Indeed! And Irgus-Thar farther south on the mountains!’
‘We do not rule,’ said Illis. Thirn looked dejected at being contradicted again. Illis ignored him and continued. ‘We simply protect. Our order is situated in the two cities, and hence or protection and word is stronger. But our influence has spread and this place, under our guard, flourishes as what you see now.’
Leila made a show of marvelling at her surroundings. But her eyes only vaguely saw the opaque white walls and intricately carved railings. The majestic spires and perfect buildings held no interest to her. Only the knight’s dull tone did.
It was as if … the knight had no emotion. As if he was set in eternal gloom. She had not heard him laugh, nor had he shown any signs of amusement. Illis seemed too serious, it made her uncomfortable.
Thirn, of course, was the complete opposite. He was loud, he joked, he spoke so much and so cheerfully. Leila regarded him as a fool but generally likeable.
‘We’re here.’
Thirn clapped Illis on the shoulder. ‘Of course we’re here! We’re always here. You see? If I stand here, I’m here. But even if I move, I’m still here! Do y –’
The young knight’s voice and laughter faded out as Leila turned to gaze in wonder at the sight that beheld her.
They were standing on a level higher than the city, so that she looked down in wonder at the mass of white spires and buildings. It was so white, as if pure and perfect, but mixed in were other soft colours. Gentle blues and faded pinks. It was a harmonious swirl of colour that depicted Corann-Thar as an awe-inspiring city straight out of a fairytale.
The sight held her in thrall. Never in her life had she seen such beauty in anything man-made. The city seemed to sparkle with light, teasing her eyes with its perfection. She knew she would never be able to properly describe to anyone the sight that greeted her eyes.
‘It’s lovely isn’t it?’ said Thirn softly, walking up beside her. His playful voice stilled sombrely. He looked dreamily at the place. ‘This is what I became a knight for. To protect this.’
Slightly startled by Thirn’s sudden change, Leila looked at his handsome face. His eyes were unfocused, as if seeing something they could not, but they refocused and he looked at her and smiled.
‘Come, let us enter the gates to the Order of the Jewelled.’
An hour later, Leila was lying comfortably on a soft bed. The room was well furnished and comfortable, worthy of someone of nobility. She was surprised it had been given to her to recover her wounds.
She had, however, been forced to give up her knives upon entrance. The loss of the blades made her feel light and unprotected, but she grew accustomed to the feel, as she never had before, and soon found herself enjoying the luxurious surroundings.
Whatever was said of the Jewelled, they were undoubtedly wealthy. Wealth often stemmed from power. Leila could guess that the knight’s order was very influential.
The halls were elegant, gold and gems ever-present. There were fine oak tables and ornate flower vases aligning the hall, along with suits of armour so beautiful they hardly looked suited for battle.
Then there were the knights themselves. She had developed a rough view on their system of ranking. The different jewels embedded in their armour were symbols of rank.
From what she garnered, and from what Thirn had informed her, crystal was the lowest rank. Then came emerald, ruby and finally diamond.
When Leila had pointed out Thirn was the second lowest rank, he dejectedly mentioned that he was third highest in rank. She laughed and patted his back, which seemed to cheer him up.
Leila was beginning to see the knight as a faithful puppy. She had seen nothing to him that hinted at strength, merely unbreakable positive thinking and a cheerfulness that was sometimes infectious to those around him. He also harboured a generous spirit.
She remained for a week. Everything was lovely and while she did not pay for anything, the knights still kept her, still respectful and caring. Such generosity and kindness was a foreign thing to her.
As far as things to do went, she had a fairly empty schedule. Out of guilt, she had volunteered for some chores, but aside from that she had nothing much to do.
So she roamed the majestic halls of the Palace of the Jewelled, admiring openly at every wonder that met her eyes.
She explored, and the more she discovered about the palace, the more it become so dreamlike and perfect to her.
Yet something nagged her. There was a door that was always under heavy guard that she had not been allowed near. It was a huge silver door, its blazon the same coat-of-arms the knights bore on their breastplates. This was the only door in the entire palace that she had not been allowed to enter and she felt that it held great importance.
But grateful for the shelter, she forced her nagging curiosity down. There was another room that granted her limited access, but she had seen it before. It was the great council room where the Council of the Jewelled, or Jewelled Council held meetings that concerned them.
The interior was a vast spread of chairs, each rising higher in a platform level. She assumed that the seating arrangements were adjusted by rank.
There was a small dais in the centre. She had stood on it and looked up to the highest level, feeling as if the room opened to the heavens. The roof admitted filtered beams of sunlight, casting across the room a mystical feel of holiness. It was such that the one being questioned at the plinth would feel as if confronting the gods, whether for advice or for pardon.
Not being one of the Order, merely a guest, she had not been allowed to witness a council taking place. Somehow, she didn’t wish to. Having spent her life besting others at almost everything, she would feel oppressed by thousands looking down on her as she stood as a tiny individual in the midst of a ring of knights.
Time passed.
The palace had become familiar to her, so that she knew it better than many who had abided within it for years. It was her training as a Spy Master that had contributed to that particular ability.
But as boredom intruded, her inquisitiveness of that large, silver door returned. Determined to garner as much information without intruding on the Order’s privacy, she ventured outside.
The palace looked as grand outside as inside. The towers and spires reached high into the sky, outlined by the rising sun each dawn. She noticed that, as the rest of the city, the building was white.
She located the silver door that so captured her interest by using her remarkable talent of coordination. In wonder, she saw that the door guarded not a huge hall or room such as the council room, but a tiny room.
At first, she had thought the door was false, for from the outside, all that appeared behind it was a small, square chunk of stone, as if the base of a tower separate from the smooth surface of the main wall. And yet, she realised it would not be so.
Was it a treasury perhaps?
No, something that so many precautions had been taken to keep secret and safe could not be something so simple. She felt it had to be something more sinister.
But she lacked any other evidence and she knew it unlikely she would find more. The guards were too many, and she had come to find that the knights were not unaccustomed to swordplay, despite their chivalric ways. And then there was the matter of that huge door. It appeared to have no handle, nor indeed any means of opening it. So the secret room and what it hid remained a continuing enigma to her.
But what had shocked Leila the most was an unexpected encounter with someone …
* * *
Zephyr stirred. His memory was bleary, but somehow he could not see how the last moments of his consciousness had any relation to the comfortable warmth that now swallowed him.
Finally, his heavy eyelids flickered open slightly, admitting a fuzzy blur of reds and yellows and in the background, white.
What is this?
He forced his eyes closed and opened them again. The blurs sharpened into objects.
He was lying in a room, apparently in a bed. The roof was ornate, so richly decorated that it seemed fit for a noble.
Am I dead? Is this my payment for the suffering I have endured? A decorative roof and a warm bed …why are my family not here?
Then his sleep-weary mind told him that he was not dead. And he could hear footsteps approaching.
Two people. One big, one smaller, perhaps a female.
Zephyr had been trained to use senses other than sight, which came in handy right now as he was feeling too weak to move his body.
The footsteps came closer.
He twitched his fingers, feeling for his daggers. They were not there.
Then, to his ultimate surprise, there were hands on him, gently stroking back his untidy hair. To his mouth, a spoon was placed.
Zephyr only briefly tasted the vile liquid when he shot upright out of fear invoked by caution. In his hands appeared the blades he had concealed in his clothing and the one in his boot.
He briefly caught a glimpse of a pair of startled brown eyes before they disappeared below the side of his bed with a startled cry accompanying.
Caught somewhat off-guard by this, he barely noticed the glint of steel.
‘What is this? Come to your senses child!’ boomed a deep, commanding voice.
Zephyr looked to the speaker, grimly holding his daggers between the large, shining sword and his neck.
The pressure on his daggers was not much, signifying that the man did not intend to kill him, but any weapon-bearer was dangerous.
To his surprise, he saw a great shining knight, a pair of stern, amber eyes regarding him wearily under a head of brown hair. And upon his breastplate shone the loveliest jewel. An amethyst by his judge.
‘Lower your blades, son. It is dangerous for a child to play with such things.’
Zephyr sneered. ‘You lower your blade!’
Heaving upwards, the assassin threw the knight’s sword up away from him and leapt out of the bed. His quick reflexes saved him from the counterattack, a heavy sweep from the side. Instead, he parried with his daggers, managing to avoid a cut but winding him nevertheless.
Darting forwards towards his enemy, he slashed out in a rapid sequence.
Astonishingly, the knight avoided the blows with agility equalling Zephyr’s and managed to encircle a strong, armour plated arm around him.
Caught tightly in a grip he could not break, Zephyr felt his knives being forced from his hands.
‘A mistake to call you a child perhaps. You fight like a demon despite your age, son. Such skill speaks of much training and a physique to match. Yet surely you are not over sixteen years …’
Zephyr did not answer, but continued to struggle against the iron grip of the knight. So far, all he had managed was exhaust his spent limbs. The arms were immobile.
‘Ah now, do not struggle. For all your talent you are still a growing young man. Your strength is no match to mine. I will let you go. Do not attempt to attack or flee, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ answered Zephyr bitterly, his face shadowed by frustration.
Beaten again! My second loss against a single target …
The grip on him loosened and he let himself be guided to a chair. Silently fuming, angered that he had allowed himself defeat more than once.
As if able to read his thoughts, the knight spoke kindly. ‘Do not be ashamed you lost to me, boy. I’ve run through hell and back again. The wars and battles that have hardened me would seem like a nightmare to you.’
‘I have neither nightmares nor fears. Were I of mind, I would run in hell beside you,’ retorted Zephyr defiantly.
The knight grinned. ‘Ah, such determination is a lovely trait. Master that temper and I could make a knight out of you. A fair one too.’
Zephyr snorted. ‘Knights and their cumbersome armour. I wish not to be such a pathetic warrior, I fight as I am.’
‘And yet you lost against me,’ came the answer.
Stunned, Zephyr did not reply, which gave the knight an opportunity to stoop and pick up a slender figure in his arms.
Zephyr recognised the pair of brown eyes. It was a young woman, her long brown hair falling smoothly over her shoulders as she was set down. She blushed shyly and thanked the knight.
‘Don’t thank me for that. You may leave. Have some rest, Ilea, you’ve been working hard.’
She nodded timidly and exited with a smooth step that caught Zephyr’s attention. He felt a sudden shame that he had frighten such a small, lovely figure.
‘Notice her did you? Ilea helps the wounded, such as we found you, but out of her kindness she did not expect one she had treated for a day to suddenly leap up and attack her.’
Zephyr’s shame burnt and his cheeks grew hot. ‘I’m … s – sorry.’ The word stumbled uncertainly from his mouth. It was a word he did not use often.
‘No need to apologise to me, lad, it’s her you should be speaking to! But never mind that now, we have to talk.’
Zephyr looked up from where he was staring at his feet gloomily. He could not banish the startled look from his mind.
Since when did I feel guilt! he thought viciously. Looking up, he met the knight’s gaze squarely and waited.
‘Why did you attack?’ he said at length.
‘I was surprised. I did not know what was happening, as the last I remember, I was charging through the forest. Then I tasted that … thing in my mouth and I –’
The knight chuckled. ‘Ah this? It is a little reviving drink. It certainly seems to work, for you jumped right up from your unconsciousness.’
A silence lapsed between the two. The knight’s face was impassive and his gaze unwavering as he looked down at Zephyr.
Feeling uncomfortable, Zephyr asked questions. ‘Knight? Where am I? There are few cities in Ilthindus that King Bermond sees fit to guard with his knights.’
The man chuckled. ‘You are not in a city of Ilthindus, lad. You are in Corann-Thar, city of the Jewelled. And just to be precise, I am no knight. The Knights of the Jewelled bear crystals, emeralds, rubies and diamonds. I am a paladin of the highest order, for I bear an amethyst. Though the orders are being disrupted. There are frequently paladins bearing topazes or lapis-lazuli with greater influence than rightly their’s.’
Zephyr sat silently, attempting to assimilate what he heard. The knights were interesting, and most important, but what pressed him most was that he was not in Ilthindus anymore.
Corann-Thar …
The city sounded unfamiliar and he was sure that he had never heard the name. Not surprising, in any case, for he knew few city names.
‘Well, now that I know you are not of evil intent, you are free to stay and rest. You may wander the halls as you wish and even enter the city. When you are feeling better, you may leave. Until then,’ he snatched up Zephyr’s weapons. ‘These will be kept safe for you. We had believed your weapons all taken but apparently we were wrong.’
The paladin rose and made to exit.
‘Wait!’
The man stopped and looked back.
‘I … ah …’ Zephyr hovered indecisively over what to say. ‘What is your name?’ he said finally.
‘Wren, I am known as. Wren the Gallant. But my name is Reyth. Reyth Stormblade.’
