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Two Merchants and a ThiefBy R.A. Baker
© Copyright December 2021 Apollo House Press, Inc. All rights reserved 

2 Part One: The Quest Prologue ~ Motris “Dance for me!” the Chaotic Prince commanded the jester, who was dressed in a floppy hat with garments covered with colorful patches, and cloth shoes trimmed with tiny bells that jingled incessantly whenever she took a step. The jester bowed, and complied with a jaunty jig—all while juggling five overly-ripe tomatoes. They were in the war room, and Captain Tangor—dressed in full leather armor—waited patiently for the Prince to return to discussing battle plans with him. However, Prince Motris liked entertainment during war meetings, though such meetings seldom went well for the entertainers. If Tangor remembered correctly from previous meetings, most of them ended up rotting in the dungeon…or worse. As the spectacle went on, two stiff guards stood by the door, staring ahead, at nothing at nothing in particular. The round table the captain and Prince sat at was a massive sculpture, which surface was made from the shields of fallen enemy captains and generals, who were defeated on mundane lands conquered by Motris. The shields were layered and welded together, like a patchwork quilt of iron, bronze and steel. As a result, the surface of the table—though aesthetically impressive—was smooth only in certain areas. This was important for scribes, who took great care to sit at the smooth sections of the table when summoned. As always, the Prince wore hooded robes, enchanted to change colors at random. Tangor, a calculating man, first thought the colors were tied to the Prince’s mercurial moods, but he soon learned that the robe would turn red or black or green regardless of whether he was pleased or furious. Due to his cowl, no one had ever seen the Prince’s face, and that made it

3 impossible for Tangor to read the man. One minute, Tangor could be taking to a deliberate, tactical genius—and the next minute—a manic madman. “Make me laugh—sing for me!” the Prince ordered, and the juggling, dancing jester began to look nervous, but broke into song. She must have understood that to drop a single tomato, or hit one unpleasant note would mean imprisonment in the Prince’s notorious dungeon. No one quite knew what went on in the dungeon, for no one ever returned from there, except the dungeon keepers—and the Prince had made them all mute. The jester’s silly song rang throughout the war room: A jig, a jig, a jig is like a pig. Fast with a wiggle, slippery in the middle… As the jester sang on, Prince Motris turned his attention to Tangor. “Are we ready to invade Jhargus, Tangor?” he asked in a subdued calm voice—far different from the tone he used with the jester. “Yes, my Prince.” “Good. I will give the order soon, but my spies tell me Queen Ti and King Bramen plan to send champions, armed with the celestial Brands to assassinate me.” “I can arrange to double your guards my Prince.” “Now hop on one leg! Must I tell you everything? You try my patience with your unfunny act!” the Prince yelled at the jester. The jester’s eyes showed clear distress as she continued to sing, juggle, and hop on one leg—all with a false smile pasted on her face.

4 “I have already doubled the guard,” Motris said quietly, almost in a whisper. “Tell me why I made you Captain, Tangor.” Tangor cleared his throat and carefully chose his words. “Because I have sworn all loyalty to you, my Prince and that my commitment to your cause has never wavered.” “No,” Prince Motris said softly. “I made you Captain because the captain before you failed me.” The Prince’s voice rose dramatically, without warning. “So I had the worthless fool tied to a tree, and let the vultures feast on his flesh while he still drew breath!” Tangor remained silent. He knew better than to speak when the Prince was like this. He forced his eyes away from Motris’s changing robes and looked down at the table where they sat. Many seconds passed with no one saying anything, other than the poor jester singing in the background; she was sounding out of breath: What glee for flea, who was found drinking tea? And would he share with me? Well, he answered my plea, and said, off with thee! Man, can’t you see? It’s my bloody tea! Blood, blood, bloody tea! “I will not tolerate failure in those who serve me,” The Prince went on, back to his calmer voice. “I am the most powerful mage in Chrosynthium, and so, I have many enemies. Enemies who wish to destroy me.” Motris paused, his cowl facing Tangor. “Are you my enemy, Tangor?”

5 The question had taken Tangor aback, but he knew his life depended on keeping his composure. The Prince seemed to enjoy making his subjects ill at ease—always testing them, searching for weakness…for fear. “Never, my Prince!” was his reply. “Good. Then never ask me again, about my personal guards, or offer to increase them. That is not your duty. It is mine.” “My apologizes, my Prince. Please forgive me.” Another long pause. “Do you like the jester’s song?” the Prince asked. “I…I was so intent on your words, my Prince, I neglected to hear hers.” “Hmmm. I don’t think I like her singing or her performance at all.” At that moment, the jester, exhausted from non-stop juggling and hopping, dropped two tomatoes; they fell to the floor and burst open—splattering red juice by her feet. The jester caught her breath and stopped singing, but continued to hop and juggle the remaining tomatoes. Her eyes were bright with the forming of tears. “A thousand pardons, my Prince! The fruit became slippery after a while. Please allow me to get new ones, and I shall sing new songs.” “Yes, I want you to sing me a new song,” Prince Motris declared and motioned for the guards to grab her. “Take her to the dungeon he ordered. She may ply her poor act from there.” The jester’s eye grew wide as the two guards took her by the arms and began to pull her from the room. The three tomatoes she juggled fell and joined the other two on the floor as splattered, red pulp. “No!” she screamed. “Please, my Prince. I can make you laugh, just give me another chance!” The guards pulled her with her jingling feet dragging the floor; she struggled wildly against their grip, to no avail. Her screams were still heard, echoing down the hall, after she was gone.

6 The Prince’s cowl nodded with approval. “Now that was funny,” he said. Slowly, a deep dark chuckle rose from Motris’s throat, and became louder and louder, until it crested into hysterical screeching. Cold sweat crept down Tangor’s face, but he resisted the impulse to flee from the room. The insane laughter stopped, and the Prince turned to Tangor, and said, “That is what happens to those who fail me. Failure is death. Do you understand?” “Yes,” Tangor answered. “Failure is death.” “Excellent,” Motris said, his voice sounding pleased. With that, the two stood and left the room.

7 Chapter One ~ Pursuit The city of Jhargus was one of great wealth and great poverty—both halves bond together by common cords of mutual need. The rich required the services of their “lessers”, while the laboring classes and the poor took what compensation the wealthy offered, to hold back the specter of hunger and death for yet another day. A precarious alliance it was, but it had served the city well enough over the years. In this city, two brothers walked together along a squalid, mud-laden road, far from the clean avenues their feet were accustomed. The first brother was tall and thin, with dark hair and kind eyes. The other brother was bulkier, covered with reddish brown hair. He had a distrusting, piercing gaze, full of grim displeasure. The streets were crowded, filled with yelling vendors hoping to squeeze a coin or two from the milling masses as they passed. An old beggar with a hump in his back approached the pair, pleading, “Please, kind sirs. Can you spare a wretch like myself a copper to feed me starving, lame daughter—too ill to beg for herself?” Before the first brother could protest, the second had already opened his purse, and presented the beggar with a single coin. “A copper would not even buy you a loaf of stale bread,” the second brother explained gently. “Here, take this gold so you both may eat together many good meals.” With wide eyes and a near toothless grin, the old beggar thanked the young man with a profuse display of bowing and backing away before abruptly turning and melting into the crowd. The first brother studied the second brother briefly before letting out a cynical laugh. “Kelric, you trusting fool. Do you truly believe that old cretin has a sickly daughter?” Kelric shrugged his narrow shoulders. “He gave me no reason to suspect otherwise. Tell me Laran, why do you insist on looking for the worst in everything?”

8 Laran made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Perhaps because you have brought me to the worst part of town. This is the first and last time I’ll let you dupe me into walking these filthy, peasant infested streets.” “It is refreshing to walk among common everyday people.” Laran sniffed, wrinkling his nose with disdain. “It is an invitation to falling prey to beggars, cut-purses, and thugs. I find nothing refreshing about that. Little wonder father chose not to locate any of his shops around here—not that the locals could afford it if he did.” “I thought it would be nice to explore something different.” “Are not the pristine parks of Wrenchest a better place to explore? We are, after all, the sons of the wealthiest jewel merchant in Jhargus. We are nobility in money and power, if not in title.” “You are a snob,” Kelric quipped. “And you are a true virgin to the ways of this world, brother. Naïve enough to get us both killed one day.” Kelric feigned offense, saying, “You have hurt me, and I await an apology.” “Hummph! You will get an apology from my lips when you can tell me why they’ve started sheltering crippled, ill daughters in local pubs.” Kelric’s hazel eyes followed Laran’s pointing finger, which aimed at the beggar—who just entered a seedy tavern, aptly named the Sly Fox. Kelric gaped in astonishment. “He lied!” Laran shook his head. “It is hard to believe you are the older by an hour,” he said. “For what good it has done, you might just as well had stayed in our mother’s womb a while longer and let me be the elder son. Father certainly would have approved.” “Yes he would,” Kelric replied, the mirth suddenly gone from his heart. Though his words were veiled in a spirit of jest, Kelric knew his brother secretly wished to be the heir to their father’s inheritance. But by law, all worldly wealth would go to the elder son at the time of the

9 father’s death. Even if one was the elder by just an hour. It mattered not that their father hated Kelric and loved Laran, nor did it matter that Kelric desired his father’s jewelry business even less than a farmer would desire a swarm of locusts upon his crops. It was a sad irony that both brothers were painfully aware. Kelric’s reverie was abruptly broken by a faint rustle of movement—passing behind Laran—gone as quickly as it had come. “My purse!” Laran yelled in furious disbelief, and pointed a stiff finger to a hooded figure making a quick departure. “He filched my coin purse!” Eager to pursue the thief, Laran turned to his reluctant brother. “Well?” he asked in a demanding tone. “Will you not join me in bringing the scoundrel to justice?” Kelric hesitated. “Perhaps,” he began carefully, hoping to word his answer in a way that would not flare his brother’s volatile temper, “we should not follow. The money is but a pittance, and what need have we to chase down criminals when we can dispatch a guard to do it for us?” Kelric swore under his breath and growled, “Father once said you lacked courage. This is your chance to prove him wrong.” His dark eyes, following the thief’s movements, shifted to his brother for a fleeting moment. “I will not let that villain think he can rob a son of Tarsis, and not be punished. If there is any honor in your quivering heart, neither will you.” He drew his dagger and pursued the thief. His hand forced, Kelric followed. How, he wondered to himself as he struggled to keep up with his faster brother, did a simple trip to the city suddenly turn into a thief hunt? The thief was an accomplished runner it seemed, for he showed no sign of slowing—even as the minutes stretched on. Laran’s broad shoulders and thick, muscular legs managed to keep pace well enough. But Kelric found himself wheezing like an old man after climbing a long flight of stairs. If they did not catch this thief soon, he was sure he would collapse from exhaustion. They chased the thief past the limits of the city into Raven Wood—long believed to be where mages practiced forbidden magics. Few men dared enter these woods in fear of falling

10 victim to such arcane experiments. If one wasn’t blinded by prideful rage, and the other by guilty obligation, the twins would have avoided following the obviously mad purse-snatcher into the accursed place. Only when the looming trees threatened to swallow all light in their canopy of darkness, did Kelric finally speak up. “Perhaps we should turn back,” he breathed laboriously behind his brother. “This place is not safe for us.” “Not until I have buried the whole of my blade into that miscreant’s gut!” Laran shot back, pushing his legs to run faster. “I almost have him!” The woods opened into a small clearing—in its center sat a man-sized orb of fiercely bright light. Kelric had heard tales that powerful mages sometimes created orb-spheres like this as portals to carry them off to distant lands. He also heard that mages created such orbs to trap and kill intruders. He did not believe such stories until today. Three strangers were approaching the strange orb; they were not afraid of it. Though he was still a distance away, Kelric could discern them with some detail. The first stranger was a large brute of a man and carried a sword nearly as great as its wielder. He wore little clothing, apart from leather trousers and brown boots. His hulking frame was covered from crown to foot with solid muscle. The second stranger wore steel armor, so bright, it reflected the light of the orb like a dozen mirrors. But unlike the first, this warrior had a more refined air about him—seeming just as likely to use his tongue to settle a dispute as he would his sword. His sword was sheathed and discrete, but the shield he carried was prominent and bore the marks of countless battles. It was a testament to its owner’s skill at staying alive. The final stranger wore only a simple priestess’s robe and carried a common staff. And yet, there was something fierce in her eyes that convinced Kelric that she was the most dangerous of the three. Most priestesses were trained in magic-craft—especially healing magic. But certain orders of priestesses had no qualms about using the same magic to harm or kill. From the

11 distance he could not tell which Order she was from—even if he was knowledgeable of such things, which he wasn’t. The strangers apparently had not seen Kelric, Laran, or the thief—and they in turn, stepped into the orb-sphere, vanishing inside. Seconds later, Laran and Kelric reached the center of the clearing. “Where is that wretched thief?” Laran bellowed furiously, ignoring the glowing sphere as if it were simply an annoying distraction. ”He was just in my sight!” Kelric knew better than to try dissuading his brother now. Once Laran was overtaken by one of his rages, no reason would reach his ears. Suddenly, the two heard a muffled cough from above. The two brothers looked up to see the thief hiding in the very tree they leaned against to rest. With the grace of a cat, the thief sprung from its perch, neatly landing on the ground near Kelric. “Hold him!” Laran cried, charging ahead. Kelric made a half-hearted attempt to grab the thief, which the latter easily dodged, but not in time to avoid the rushing collision from Laran. Pushed off balance, the thief stumbled into the sphere and vanished. Laran could not control his momentum, and he too disappeared into the mysterious sphere of light. Kelric stood alone, terrified and uncertain. The orb began to shrink and recede—its light growing pale and erratic. Kelric surmised that it would soon close in on itself and disappear forever. Precious seconds passed as he debated his fate and that of his brother. If he followed the others into the orb-sphere, he could die instantly; the sphere could be nothing more than an elaborate death trap. If only he knew more of magic-craft! Kelric struggled to focus his thoughts. The three strangers, he reasoned, did not look like suicidal fools, and the priestess, who certainty would have known the nature of the orb, did not hesitate going inside. A calming resolve passed over the young merchant. He was going in. As rash and stubborn as his brother could be, he was still his brother, and his ward. He

12 could not abandon him. Wherever the illuminating sphere led, he would follow. Leaping forward, Kelric dove inside the sphere, just as it dissipated into nothingness. A blinding flash and strong wind enveloped Kelric and torrents of fear and wonder flooded his soul. Caught in the maelstrom of strange magic, he felt himself drawn deeper inside. An odd tingling sensation drew his attention to his right hand. His brown eyes widened in awe at what he saw. A circular imprint of sorts was somehow stamped onto his hand. Its simmering colors were vivid—almost alive. A tattoo? Kelric wondered, but quickly dismissed the notion. It was more than that. It was a kind of…brand. The embossed imprint featured a series of elaborate patterns wreathed in unknown, rune-like glyphs. More magic-craft? A series of pulsing heat waves washed over him, and suddenly like the wind, the light was gone. Kelric rubbed his eyes to adjust to normal light, and saw to his amazement that he no longer stood in the clearing of Raven Wood. Thick moss lay beneath his feet and a foreign forest with trees like ancient towers beheld his every side. He turned and saw Laran, standing dazed, shaking his head for clarity. The thief stood across from them—alert and poised for action. Two other figures were also nearby, and one of them—a short, balding man wearing a well-established scowl on his face—spoke first. “Eh? What’s this? You lot are not the three we left with! What have you done with Ral, Thance and Erin? Murderers!” Tugging anxiously at his knotted, gray beard, the frowning accuser turned to his taller, beardless companion—a mage judging from his garments. “Talos, we have intruders—agents of Motris no doubt! We must stop them before they escape!” The mage stepped forward and mouthed a cryptic phrase under his breath. Cobalt flames began to flicker around his hands. Kelric gasped. He had never seen a mage cast a spell before. “I pray you three can explain yourselves and quickly,” Talos whispered, “or I promise you, this day will be your last.”

13 Chapter Two ~ Chrosynthium Laran laughed disdainfully. “Surely you jest. You wear no hat, much less one with a feather. By what right have you to address me as such? I am Laran and this is my brother Kelric. We are the sons of the great merchant Tarsis, and you will do well to remember your station when—” “That man is a mage!” Kelric hissed to his brother, his nervous eyes never straying from the flickering spell waiting to be unleashed in the spell-caster’s gloved hands. “It matters little whether or not his blood is noble!” “If anyone deserves that blue fire you’re brewing, it’s that thief over there,” Laran shouted, undaunted. “He stole my coin purse, and by right of Jhargus law, I can reclaim it by any means I see fit!” “You are far from the land of Jhargus, loud one,” Talos replied quietly. With a thought, the mystic flame vanished, leaving but faint traces of floating blue ash. “You have entered the realm of Chrosynthium” “The land of mages,” Kelric thought aloud. “Yes, that is what your people call it, but in all fairness, Chrosynthium is divided into several territories and provinces—each with cities like your Jhargus. And not all of these provinces are…harmonious.” Talos seemed to enjoy the role of instructor and he shifted comfortably into lecture mode. “For example, the land of Nightwood, is a region of dense, enchanted forest that stretch as far as the eye can see. The Druid King Nim rules that land. It holds many secrets, and few who have entered Nightwood have ever returned to divulge such secrets. Tos is the province of the Chaotic Prince. Nothing there is as it first seems. The land is full of random features and sightings, thrown together without rhyme or reason. Tos is parched in some places, lush in others—often filled with poison and…unpleasant surprises. Perhaps the

14 less said of that place the better. Ayntis is a holy region located among rolling green hills and flowering meadows. It is home to a host of religious orders and temples—including Arma Gardens, the beautiful home of Erin, who had been our chosen priestess for this—” “Cease your endless explaining! The lands and affairs of mages are of little interest to me,” Laran scoffed. “Then you are a fool.” A neutral, measured voice rang out. It was the thief. “Death comes swiftly to the uninformed.” “So you finally speak,” said Laran. “I thought you mute as well as criminal. Hand me back my money!” “No.” Laran turned to Talos. “You see? The thief admits to the crime! I swear by the celestials, if you do not kill him I will!” “No, it is I who shall kill you,” the thief replied stoically. “You are not the only one who can hold a dagger and use it.” As if in afterthought, the thief added, “And before you meet whatever celestials you swear by, you should know something.” The thief pulled back the dark hood of her cloak, revealing the continence of a lovely woman. “I am not a ‘him’.” She was young like Kelric and his brother—fifteen or sixteen years of age. Her eyes were dark green and watchful, like a predatory cat; her medium-length hair was raven-black, and draped the sides of her face in perfect symmetry. Her face was delicately featured, but with sharp angles and prominent cheekbones. And her lips were the loveliest ruby red Kelric had ever seen. “Enough!” the bearded stranger declared. “The only blood-shedding here will be done by me and Talos if you don’t tell us what happened to our companions!” He stared at Kelric. “You there, beside the loud one. What is your name?” Momentarily stunned, Kelric had to tear his eyes away from the thief’s beauty, to answer. He swallowed. “It’s Kelric—”

15 The bearded stranger cut him off, “You look like the sensible sort. Do you know what became of the three that were following us through the portal? Speak, boy!” “Good sir—” “Call me Grak, boy.” “Sir Grak, I…I did see three others pass through the ball of light before us, but I have not seen them since. By my word, we have done nothing to them.” “He speaks the truth,” the thief said, restoring her hood. “They did not even see us approach. Whatever their fate may be, it had nothing to do with us.” “There is one other thing,” Kelric said. He raised and opened the palm of his hand, revealing the mysterious imprint. “When I arrived on the other side of the portal, I bore this marking. What does it mean?” Laran looked at his hand and saw it had a similar imprint, as did the thief. “By the celestials!” Grak exclaimed. “It all becomes clear now,” Talos said somberly. “What becomes clear?” Laran demanded, trying in vain to rub the raised mark from his hand. “Each of you,” Talos explained, “possesses what is known as an Eternal Brand. They contain celestial magic. They are also exceedingly rare—only seven such relics are known to exist—two of which are lost. My order is proud to own three.” “Curious,” the thief replied, stifling a cough. “You are an elemental mage, judging by the symbols adorning your robes. How is it that an elemental-mage should come to possess celestial magic?” Surprised, Talos stared at the young thief, viewing her in a new light. “You speak well for a thief. And you knew which order of magic-craft I serve, even though you are a mundane. Impressive.”

16 The thief smiled faintly. “It is my job to know many things. One must, if one is to survive.” “I see. Well, you needn’t worry about the details of how my order acquired such talismans, but you should know this: The Brands you wear belonged to three warriors chosen for a quest of great importance.” “What does that have to do with me having this inane badge on my hand?” Laran shouted, his anger giving way to subtle fear. “Silence!” Talos commanded sharply, casting a cold eye at Laran. “You will learn if you are wise enough to listen. As I was saying, the warriors you saw were comprised of a life-mage, and two mundanes. They were selected by my king to bare the sacred Brands. I would have preferred that the mundanes not be involved, but those of my order and my friends are not compatible with celestial magic. The king decided it was best to find the most deserving of the mundanes to be the barer of the two remaining Brands.” Talos began rubbing his temple, as if to soothe a throbbing pain. “Alas, it was all for naught.” Kelric gave a nervous half-bow to Talos, to show extra respect—he seemed the less approachable of the two—and said, “If I may ask, sir mage, do you mean, these Brands somehow attached to us by mistake?” Momentarily lost in private deliberation, Talos did not reply. However, Grak spoke instead, his coarse voice sounding grim. “Aye. You see, a portal only has enough magic to transport five safely. Talos and I entered first, and the other three were supposed to follow close behind. When you three bumbled into the orb, you displaced them.” “Displaced?” Kelric echoed. The word did not sound very encouraging. Talos left his private thoughts and said, “Essentially, you scattered three of our party throughout Chrosynthium. Each of them is in a different place, somewhere, perhaps days or weeks apart in distance—assuming of course they are alive at all. Due to the random nature of displacement, there is good chance they materialized inside the slope of a hill, the corner of a

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wall or solid rock.” Kelric tried to suppress a sudden shudder as Talos went on. “Thedisplacement somehow caused a temporary disruption in the Brands’ cohesion, separating them from their true owners, only to re-bond with the next three to enter the portal. Fascinating.If it were not for the pressing circumstances in which this incident occurred, I would takedetailed notes to share with my colleagues back home.” Talos sighed with genuine regret. “Perhaps later.”  “Powerful or no,” Grak grumbled, “I knew we shouldn’t have involved celestial magic. It’stoo unpredictable—and it’s bad luck.”  Talos dismissed the remark with an irritated wave of his hand. “The absence of the Brands would not have changed the outcome. Your superstition is a poor substitute for fact, soplease do not interrupt my flow of thought with such rubbish.” The tall mage began to pace to and fro, as his ever-occupied mind sorted out his predicament. “Ral was a mighty warrior and wore the Brand of Swords— the Brand you now wear, Kelric.” Talos gestured to Laran. “And you, loud one, wear the Brand of Shields, which once was Thance’s, our paladin.” The mageturned to glare at the thief, who met his imitating gaze without fear. “And you, snatcher of purses, wear the fabled Brand of Staves, once upon the hand of Erin—a priestess, and one ofthe most gifted life-mages I have ever met.” Talos rubbed his temple harder. “And now I am faced with the task of completing our quest with two merchants and a thief!” “I have no desire to go on any mage’s quest,” the thief said. “I must return to Jhargus atonce. I am not well, and my medicine supply is low.”  Talos raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Not well? With what manner of illness?” “Blood Cough—most fatal if left untreated.” As if perfectly timed to prove her claim, the thief was suddenly overtaken by an uncontrollable, retching cough, in which droplets of darkblood fell to the ground.  “By the celestials!” Laran sneered in disgust. “Mage, I demand you send us back toJhargus before that diseased wench infects us all!” 

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Talos turned to Grak. “What do you see?” Grak narrowed his eyes in concentration, and shook his head sadly. “Aye, the disease is well-spread all right, but this variety of Blood Cough is the kind that afflicts at birth. It doesn’t spread to others—but it gives off a nasty green glow all the same.”  “How do you know this?” Kelric asked, forgetting his fears. Perhaps it was her beauty, but he felt a growing concern for the thief. “I can see no glow.”  “I am a seer, boy, of the Mind Order. It is my talent to see the unseen. What is past, what is now, and what is to be—I can see them all…sometimes.” Grak sighed. “But seeing is all I can do. The thief will need healing by a priestess if she is to be cured.”  The thief let out a dry, cold laugh, “I would have better hope of sprouting butterfly wingsand flying over the sea. We both know that a priestess would sooner die than help one of mykind. The medicine I need will not cure me, but it does keep the malady at bay. There is anapothecary in Jhargus that serves the thieves guild. I can get what I need there for no charge.”  “Thieves controlling legitimate business?” Laran said incredulously. “The world is trulycoming to an end!” “Then you are sorely ignorant as well as loud if you think our guild has only one face. We are like a great vine that spreads throughout the world. Few places have not tastedour influence.” She added with a dark smile, “Did you truly believe that your father, Tarsis,would be allowed to prosper in the jewel trade without our consent and compensation? He is infact one of our major contributors. Consider that the next time you turn your nose up at athief.”  Laran grew silent.  Grak was blunt, and the finality in his gravelly voice was unmistakable. “We cannot return to Jhargus. We only went there in the first place to give the mundanes a chance to seetheir families again before we got started. Our charge is a dangerous one and there is thepossibility we may not survive.”  

19 “What does that have to do with us?” Laran asked. “We are no warriors.” “True,” Talos said, rejoining the conversation. “If a choice was available to me, I would return you to Jhargus, and select a better qualified party. However, two facts prevent this: Firstly, you all possess the Brands, the key to our victory. Secondly, the magic required to produce a portal is too great for a single mage even of my learning. So we had to use gate stones.” “Gate stones?” Kelric asked. Talos let out an impatient sigh, momentarily lifting his eyes to the sky, grumbling, “Must I educate the masses?” Grak chuckled. “It is my life’s charge I suppose,” Talos concluded with a resigning whisper. His voice returned to its slightly louder speaking level. “Gate stones—sometimes called ‘portal stones’—are enchanted rocks the size of my fist. They are created by teams of mages channeling magic into the stone over the span of weeks until it is complete. We carried with us three such stones. We used the first two stones already. The third stone was with Thance. He is lost and therefore our way back to Jhargus is lost.” “Then how are we to get back?” the thief asked. “Complete our quest of course.” “And that is?” “I didn’t tell you? Oh, then listen and learn. As I told you before, Chrosynthium is comprised of many provinces. We are not far from the province of Tos, under the rule of the Chaotic Prince Motris. You see, just like you mundanes, we mages too have rulers—all according to which order we are born to serve. I, being of the Elemental Order, serve King Bramen of Esen. My companion is born of the Mind Order and serves Queen Ti of Sycrest. It is all very fascinating actually. This hierarchical structure has been in place for over ten thousand years, evolving over time using a system called—”

20 “You’re meandering again,” Grak warned. “Oh, yes, of course—where was I? Ah, the quest. The Council of Mages recently granted Motris approval to annex Jhargus as a property of chaos.” “The old stories are not forgotten,” the thief whispered in barely audible breath. “They say that once every thousand years, one order of the mages turns their eyes toward the lands of normals to conquer. It is said that one day, the mages will rule all the land, and normals will cease to be.” Talos nodded in remorseful agreement. “I am not one for prophesy and legend telling—that is my friend Grak’s area of interest. You are, however, are correct about your former statement. A thousand years had come again, and it is the Chaotic Order’s turn to select a mundane territory in which to expand. It is a flawed arrangement, but it has prevented war between the mages for a long time. Anyway, the Chaotic Order, under Prince Motris, chose Jhargus. My order voted against the action citing that the Chaotic Order was already too powerful, but they would not listen.” Talos frowned. “Tradition is a comfortable blindfold and the Council wears it well. That brings me to our quest. In an unofficial capacity, the King has sent us to seek out the Prince in his stronghold and quietly remove him from power. Our order has powerful acquaintances in the chaotic ranks that are sympathetic to our views, and are willing to fill the vacuum of power once we make it available.” The thief smiled slightly. “‘Remove’, as in assassinate. Interesting.” Kelric stared at the elemental mage in disbelief. “You want us to assassinate the prince of this realm? Murder!” “Aye,” Grak said, “and that’s exactly what Motris plans to do to your people.” Grak’s rumpled face softened a little, his hard eyes suddenly sympathetic. “I know a little of how the Chaotic Order do their business, lad. If they succeed in claiming Jhargus, they will kill most of its citizens, with the remaining survivors kept as slaves.”

21 “The people of Jhargus will not lie down and let themselves be conquered!” Laran protested.” “I’m sure your people are able fighters, as mundanes go,” Grak said, “but they will find their axes and swords of little use against chaotic magic.” Grak’s dark eyes grew hard once more. “It will be a slaughter, boy. I’ve…I’ve seen it. And my vision will come to past if something isn’t done soon. Some mages have little concern for the lives of mundanes—Prince Motris is one of them.” Grak tugged absently at his thick, scraggly beard. “He’s got too much power as it is—and don’t let the title of ‘Prince’ fool you. He’s already mightier than most of the kings. With Jhargus, he’ll have enough land and power to be an emperor. So we were tasked with preventing him from making good his claim. One man’s life to save a hundred thousand. Why do you think the mundanes before you volunteered for this quest? They knew their very homes and families were at stake. There’s no turning back now, lad.” Talos cleared his throat, reminding the others he had been speaking before he was interrupted. Then he went on, “Because the Council considers the matter closed, neither my King nor Grak’s Queen can act openly. They cannot amass an army without starting a mage-war, and heavens help us if we ever have another of those. And so, five of us were selected for this task, and to increase the odds of our success, we were entrusted with the Eternal Brands, the greatest talismans ever forged. You must learn how to use them quickly for the challenge ahead.” “And if we fail?” Laran questioned. “Would Motris not know your king endorsed this little maneuver?” “He will suspect it no doubt,” replied Grak, “but for the good of our realm, both my ruler and Talos’s will say we were rebels acting outside their wishes. We are alone in this. And one other thing. The displacement caused a brief surge in magic. I felt it when you came through. Motris may be chaotic but he’s no dunce. I am certain he has sensed our presence. He knows we’re here.”

22 “So much for the element of surprise,” the thief quipped. “There is no such element as an element of surprise,” Talos corrected, his stern face taking on a sour expression. “How I do wish people would stop referring to it as such.” “If, by the celestials’ favor, we succeed in our mission, finding a gate stone among Motris’s magical stash will be easy by comparison,” Grak said. The thief succumbed to another bout of blood-tainted coughing. She looked up at Grak with a glint of dark resentment in her eyes. “I may be dead by then. But it appears I have no alternative but to try. I commit myself to this quest.” The grizzled seer nodded. “Good. What say the rest of you?” Laran crossed his arms defiantly. “If going along with this foolishness is the only hope I have of getting back home, then I have little choice in the matter, do I?” All remaining eyes fell on Kelric, who stood at a distance from the others, afraid of what they were about to undertake. He looked at the mystical Brand on his hand. It depicted a sword within a circle, within yet another circle—all surrounded by symbols he could not understand. And yet…it seemed to beckon him. Calling to him. Urging him to begin a journey that would carry him to a greater destiny. With newfound fortitude, Kelric clenched his fist and stepped closer. Though his mind had much to say, the nervousness of his heart granted his lips but four words: “I am with you.” …And somewhere—far beyond the sight of mage and mundane alike—the celestials smiled. Chapter Three ~ Laran’s Bane The harsh heat of the mid-day sun was tempered by perpetual breezes from the East. The party had set up camp to gather their strength and prepare their minds for the task

23 ahead. The she-thief looked down quietly at Kelric’s kneeling figure. When Kelric had finished, he looked up, startled by the thief’s presence. “Sorry,” the thief apologized, sitting down beside him, “I did not intend to frighten you, but it has been a long time since I’ve seen anyone in prayer. If I may ask, who were you praying for?” “For the three we were said to have displaced,” Kelric said. “I prayed if any had died, that their souls be kept safe from harm, and that their journey to the Beyond be a peaceful one.” “You have a kind heart, Kelric of Jhargus,” the thief replied, placing a soft hand upon his shoulder. Kelric found himself smiling uncontrollably. Embarrassed and eager to change the topic to something other than himself—he brought up the subject of the thief’s illness—realizing too late it was an inappropriate choice. “My medicine will keep me a few more days before running out,” she said with a defensive edge to her voice. “I am somewhat knowledgeable of herb-lore,” Kelric offered. “I can help replenish your supply.” “Thank you,” she said, her dark eyes gazing back intensely, “but my medicine requires many ingredients and I doubt we will find them all here. It would be far too convenient. Life is seldom convenient.” “But every potion has key parts,” Kelric persisted. “Surely we can at least try to find those. If it would help ease your suffering but by a little, it would be worth it.” The thief hesitated, as if unsure what to make of Kelric’s words and the intention behind them. Then she laughed. The sound was sweet, yet sad at the same time. “You truly do care,” she said. “Of course. Why would you doubt me?”

24 The thief glanced over at Laran, who was arguing loudly with Grak. Kelric laughed in spite of himself. “We are a bit different, for twins.” “Day and night different, I’d wager. You don’t even look the same.” “Not all twins do.” “I see. Well, I think you are by far the handsomer of the pair.” Kelric suddenly felt his face grow slightly warm, spreading to the back edges of his ears. “I fear I never had the pleasure of hearing your name,” he said. “You may call me Ciani.” “An unusual name. I don’t believe I’ve heard it before.” “I was named after my mother, who died giving birth to me.” “As so, your father raised you?” “At first, yes. My father was an alchemist, and he wanted me to learn the alchemy way. He was fascinated by magic-craft and alchemy is the closest a non-mage can ever hope of coming to spell-casting.” Ciani stifled a cough, reached into her cloak and retrieved a small glass flask, which she drank from sparingly. She winced slightly as the bitter concoction flowed down her throat. “Your father sounds like a man of great ambition,” Kelric said. “I too have been most curious of magic-craft.” “My father was a fool,” Ciani said coldly. She drew her knees close to her chest, replaying in her mind the painful memories of her childhood. “His vice was gambling and he would often tell me he would one day win enough money for us to have our own servant and a house away from the noise and filth of the city streets.” A single, shimmering tear fell down the curve of her cheek; it seemed out of place on her stoic face. “And so, every night, my father would take his damnable cards to the local tavern to play, never having enough to cover his many losses. He took on more and more debt.” The thief turned away from Kelric to stare into the woods, as if trying to glean meaning from the very trees. “Then one day, some members of

25 the thieves’ guild came, demanding full repayment of all debt, plus interest. Because my father had no money to offer, they took from him the only thing he had left—me. I was twelve at the time. Nearly four years past.” The thief revealed an ironic smile. “So you see, Kelric, I was forced to join the thieves’ guild, but in time I have come to see them as my family. They are all I have.” “But what of your father?” Kelric ventured, appalled at what he had heard. “What became of him?” “He took his own life that same night,” Ciani replied calmly. She stood. “I am finished dwelling on the past, Kelric. The past is dead. I am alive and I intend to stay that way.” Kelric nodded and stood also. “Agreed. And a good start would be to find some herbs for that cough. Shall we look together?” “Your persistence may get you in trouble one of these days, young merchant,” Ciani grinned, and they left together through the woods. ôôô “I’ve told you before loud one,” Grak said to Laran, “the outcome of our quest hasn’t been revealed to me—so stop asking!” “What good are you as our seer if you fail to see but a few days ahead?” “I’m good enough to see myself giving you a good boxing to the ears if you don’t soon learn to respect you elders, lad!” Laran looked to Talos, who was busy making notes in a small, leather book. “And you, elemental mage. Have you any idea of our chances?” Talos thought for a moment and answered, “Before the accident, I would have said we had a probability of greater than half in our favor.” Talos closed his book and tucked it neatly away in his pocket. “Now that so many variables have changed, I cannot say.”

26 “You cannot say?” Laran lifted his hands in frustration. “What a positively worthless answer! Can’t you guess?” “Now you’ve done it, boy,” Grak whispered harshly. “You’ve gone and set him off!” An unnaturally strong current of wind suddenly surrounded Laran, whipping violently through his hair and garments, forcing him to lie close to the ground. Talos straightened and looked down at the prostrate Laran. He spoke in a commanding tone that belied his thin, scholarly frame. “Mundane, I do not guess. I base my decisions on what I can see, hear, taste, touch, and smell. To put it another way, I am concerned with the corporeal—the physical. Why? Because the elements are all corporeal entities. They do not rely on emotion or dogma to exist. I’m sure even you, of limited mind, can understand that. For as long as time has existed, my people have been gifted with the burden and the ability to manipulate the elements, and we have ever since committed our lives to research in order to perfect that gift. We do not take kindly to having our legacy reduced to a mere guess by any tongue.” With that said, the wind ceased, and Talos calmly took out his book and resumed his writing. Humbled and frightened, Laran scrambled to his feet and took off. Grak grinned broadly, “You should have done that a lot sooner.” “He wears one of the Brands,” Talos sighed, “and that alone demands our patience. We will need all three for this quest.” ôôô Laran spotted Kelric and Ciani return from herb gathering. He beckoned for his brother to join him at a remote corner of the camp. “Talos is mad!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone. “He tried to kill me, but a moment ago!” He scrutinized his brother and then the thief, who sat at a distance. “What are you doing with her?”

27 
“I was about to prepare these herbs for her medicine,” Kelric explained happily. “Do youwish to help?” “Listen, can’t you see she’s putting her vile hooks in you. Now that she knows whose son you are, she’s plotting to put herself by your side.”  Growing annoyed, Kelric whispered back, “You know none of this for certain.”  “Hummph! Just as I had not known that drunkard would spend your gold on ale?” Laran’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Ciani. “Do you truly want to be that sicklyharlot’s trophy? To be forever beholden to that foul guild she serves?” “There is no harm in the exchange of kind words, brother!” Laran scowled, “Do you think kind words is all she’s after? She wants your gold—all of it! For once in your life, don’t be such a gullible fool. Knowing you, the thief probably told you some sad tale about dead family members and you are ready to wed her. You must not trusther!” Kelric turned from his brother. “I can trust whoever I choose. If I am wrong, I will accept the consequence.”  “I forbid it!” Kelric paused and looked back, angry eyes focused on Laran. “You are not Father, and you forget that I am the elder. It is I who is responsible for you. You can forbid me nothing!” With that, Kelric rejoined Ciani, leaving Laran to fume alone.  ôôô Later, that night, the party filled their stomachs with the food that Talos and Grak hadbrought: some dried meat and bread rolls. A small fire crackled, spreading the smell of roastedwood throughout the camp. In the new moonlight, Kelric could feel the silent tension aroundhim. He could tell even the mages were worried about the days ahead. The two lookeddistracted, whispering among themselves—their eyes falling on the others—especially Laran.  

28 Laran stared back defiantly, saying aloud what Kelric only dared to think. “What are you plotting, and why are you looking at me like that?” Talos spoke. “Plotting? No. Merely observing.” “Observing what?” “Shilorizu,” Grak replied, squinting. “You are infected with a Berserker Shilorizu. That explains your ever-foul temper. It hid itself well, for I had not been able to see it until now.” Laran frowned and shook his head. “The only person infected here is that blood-retching thief. I am of full health and my body free of illness. I know nothing of this Shilorizu you speak of.” “Ignorance of something does not make it not so,” Talos replied. “Allow me to explain. “Shilorizu—roughly translated as “lost spirits”—are ancient disembodied entities. They are everywhere floating around us, unseen and unheard. However, occasionally a Shilorizu grows bored roaming the land without form and decides to take a host. They may choose any living thing to inhabit. An animal, a tree—or in your case, loud one—you.” Laran managed a nervous laugh. “Surely you jest. I feel nothing inside me. I am in control of my own body!” “Different Shilorizu affect their hosts in different ways. The one inside you is a Berserker Shilorizu, normally neutral and dormant in nature. It usually asserts itself only during combat…or the prospect of it.” “I am a jewelry merchant! I have seen precious little combat!” “That will change with this quest, and because you are the first live case I have ever seen, I cannot predict what changes will come over you when that happens.” Kelric voiced his concern. “If it is true, that some spirit creature has possessed my brother, surely a great mage such as you can expel it.” Talos, though flattered by Kelric’s words, reluctantly shook his head. “That is beyond my ability. Shilorizu are old and powerful. The only way I know to get them to leave their host is

29 voluntarily…or, of course with the host’s death. In any event, I deal with elements, not disembodied demons.” “You must try something,” Kelric insisted. Talos hesitated. “The elemental texts mention nothing of this, but just as the unseen wind can be summoned and tamed, perhaps so can this Shilorizu. Your confidence in my ability may be misplaced in this event, young Kelric, but I will do as you ask and try.” Laran crossed his arms stubbornly. “I need no help from you, mage. I told you I am fin—” “Silence!” Talos commanded. “This requires much concentration. Be thankful your brother cares enough of you to ask for help on your behalf, for I would not be taking this risk for your sake alone.” Talos focused his eyes on Laran and mumbled faint incantations softly under his breath. At first, nothing appeared to happen. Then Laran began to shiver as if cold; the pupils of his eyes grew larger, and took on an odd silvery hue. Laran—or rather something within him—began to speak. The voice was sharp and inhuman that seemed to bore into its listeners’ minds, like a fiery poker. The words were at first of an ancient dialect, long since forgotten, and barely comprehensible to the ear. But gradually, as the entity continued, its language evolved into common-speak: “…trifle not the affairs which thou knowest not, little mage. Old was I when the world was young. I have taken a thousand hosts, lived a thousand lives, and fought a thousand wars. Who are you to disturb me?” Talos stood firm and rigid, like a tall gray statue. “I am Talos, High Mage of the Elemental Order, and loyal servant to King Bramen.” “Though I know many names and faces, yours is not important. Leave me be, while I am yet entertained by your bold rudeness.”

30 “Berserker Shilorizu, I command that you release the host you have taken at once! Laran is but a boy and has not seen enough battle to suit your needs.” Laran’s face shifted and twitched unexpectedly as his silvery eyes studied the mage. “It is true,” the Shilorizu said, “the host I have now has seen little battle. He has cut many stones, but no flesh. He has polished many diamonds, but no steel. My craving for warfare has been unfilled, but I will not leave. For when this pup tastes first blood, I shall have a greater hold upon him and we will see many battles then. Only in death will I abandon him, and so only in death will he be free.” The Shilorizu was silent for a while before speaking again. “You have shown lack of knowing by calling my name with a Wind chant. I answered your call only because it amused me. But I am much more than wind, little mage. You toy with things beyond your understanding. Disturb not me, or my vessel again, or you shall taste my rage, and see the bright face of my deed, red and flowing, with your dying eyes!” Laran jerked back and nearly fell; the presence within him had receded and he looked himself again. With a trembling, raspy voice, he said, “It was if I were looking in a mirror, but my reflection was not my own. I could hear myself speak, and yet they were not my words.” He looked at Talos and pleaded, “You can’t just leave that thing inside me. You must pull it out!” Talos shook his head regrettably. “I can do nothing against a power such as that.” Laran uncharacteristically conceded without argument. He looked down at the ground. “I see. So I am damned to be devoured alive by the parasite inside me, until there is nothing left but madness and unquenchable thirst for bloodshed and slaughter.” “This is what the Shilorizu told you?” “When it spoke through me, I saw for a brief moment all the victims before me and the state they sank to before death. The unlucky ones—the ones that did not die fighting—became little more that wandering dead. Their crazed minds forever fixed on battle.”

31 Talos straightened his posture and offered the troubled merchant comforting facts he hoped would give him solace. “Though the Berserker Shilorizu is in you, his influence has been minimal. You must resist the urges to let its rage blind your judgment. The Chaotic Order dabbles in all forms of unusual magic. If we are successful in taking Motris’s stronghold, his laboratory may hold the key to freeing you.” Laran laughed bitterly. “You heard with your own ears what the Shilorizu said. When I make my first kill, his control over me will be much greater than it is now. And each kill I make thereafter will draw me even more under its control. By the time we reach Mortis’s lair, my thoughts will be more Shilorizu than human. I doubt I would allow you to help me then.” Talos’s brows knitted in consideration,” Perhaps we can finish the quest without you killing a soul—at least not directly. If my memory of obscure lore serves me, a Berserker Shilorizu can only claim first blood if you kill another with your bare hands or with a physical weapon. Killing by magical means does not count—a loophole if you will. You bear one of the Celestial Brands, a most potent magic. If you learn to wield its magic to strike out at your enemies and defend yourself in battle, you will not suffer the fate the Shilorizu promised.” “And so,” Talos sighed wearily, “all of you—especially you, young Laran—must learn how to summon the power of the Brands.” “Easier said than done,” Grak said, tugging his beard skeptically. “The intended keepers of the Brands were carefully chosen and tested. This bunch—they may not even be able to summon the magic at all. And now with the knowledge that the loud one is infected with a Shilorizu, it makes me wonder if our charge is doomed to failure.” Ciani surprised everyone by speaking suddenly. “You mages are all the same. You read your dusty tomes, you debate, and you study—too far removed from the affairs of others to truly care about anyone but yourselves. To you, this is a friendly gamble, a challenge, a test for your magic and your precious Brands. Jhargus may not be your land, but it is mine, and the fate of Jhargus will be decided by our deeds. We may be but lowly mundanes to you, but we

32 desire life no less. Let us not waste more time talking of what we may not or cannot do. For the sake of my people we must act now!” Kelric agreed. “I am sure in my heart we can succeed. Do not judge us before we try.” Grak relented. “Oh well, we shall see soon enough. My instinct tells me that Mortis knows we are here. We don’t have much time. At sunrise, we start the lessons.” Laran felt something hit his foot. He looked down and picked up a coin purse. His coin purse. “You can have it back,” Ciani called over her shoulder as she looked for a spot to lie down. “If it is as cursed as you are, I want no part of it.” Quietly, Laran examined the purse’s contents: A large handful of gold coins—a small fortune. He had spent so much of his life in the pursuit of wealth. When Kelric would waste whole days idle in the garden, Laran would still be in his father’s shop hoping to sell one final ring or necklace before closing. All in the name of profit. Laran let the purse fall to the ground, its treasure of dull gold spilling out among the grass. For the first time, Laran felt unsure about everything he believed in. What of himself was truly his own? Gold, he scoffed. He would gladly surrender all the gold he ever earned if it would remove the darkness that lived inside him. A darkness that had so subtly mocked him for much of his years. Manipulated him. His short temper and violent rages were all cunning tools to move him one step closer to taking a life. Under the Berserker influence, he chased Ciani, and if he had caught her, he would have killed her, or died trying. That would have been first blood. Laran put his hands to his face as if in shame…or to hide the tears as he wept in silence. The others had settled down to sleep, but sleep would not come for Laran. The full moon disappeared into a covering of midnight clouds, shrouding him as a silhouette of darkness. A cruel omen of what was to come. <<End of Sample>>

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