The stone mason’s cart, though now empty, limited the pace of the Hand of Fortune as they made their leisurely way back to stately Elidar Manor. The pace suited everyone’s mood, spared the horses, and allowed Ergaboreth to keep a comfortable walk, as they enjoyed the high summer days. They celebrated Maita Lai, the summer solstice, quietly on the road. The turmoil of Bremkin and the handover of the Onyx Throne behind them, everyone seemed to appreciate a breather, and were content to enjoy their new companion’s tales of his homeland and people.
Erol alone paid little attention to the giant’s tales, seeming sunk in thought, and at each inn they stopped at he spent much of his evening alone, scribbling away at a letter. When asked about it he shrugged and changed the subject; he also had little to say about the meeting with his father, and his friends declined to pry.
The most excitement the Hand faced was in the villages they passed through, and most especially the ones they overnighted in, where their giant companion created quite a stir. Whatever fears his appearance might have evoked were quickly overcome by his gentle and curious demeanor – and Devrik’s darkly eyeing potential trouble makers and fingering the hilt of his sword didn’t hurt either.
On arriving back at Elidar Manor, Vulk’s young cousins and their friends were again quite taken with “Uncle Vulk’s giant,” a situation which Devrik claimed was just fine with him, since they usually swarmed him, and who needed that. Nonetheless, Mariala thought he looked a little wistfully as the rug rats climbed all over Ergaboreth. She wisely said nothing.
After several days of relaxing in the countryside, and following several hints from Vulk’s aunt that, charming as he was, feeding a giant was beginning to take its toll on her stores, the Hand decamped, setting out for the port town of Devok. Their ship Fortune’s Favor was due in port in just a few days, and they had decided to “commandeer” it for the journey back to Shalara.
It was pleasant to catch up with old friends in the town, where they were remembered fondly for past heroic efforts. Their former landlord, Helkam Grennan, was thrilled to rent them their old rooms at the Cloven Shield, plus a couple more for the expanded roster. And he hardy blinked at all at the challenge of putting up Ergaboreth… in the stables, as it turned out.
The most emotional moment of their visit to Devok, however, came on the second evening in town, when the town’s butcher, Marik Baysiron, showed up in the common room with his wife Elana and their now 12-year-old son Borin. They seemed very pleased to see the people who had saved their son, despite their failure to also save the boy’s younger sister. If the Hand had been in any doubt, it was removed when Elana unwrapped the bundle she carried to reveal the face of a month-old baby girl.
“We named her Mariala,” Elena said shyly. “In honor of both Mirala and you, Lady Mariala. Would you like to hold her?”
Too overcome for words, Mariala just smiled and took the infant in her arms. While she cooed at the baby and showed her off to her companions, Marik drew Vulk aside for a brief word.
“Master Vetaris spoke to me shortly after you and your friends left town last year,” he said quietly. “Borin was having nightmares, and we didn’t know what to do… I was surprised to see such an important man take an interest in such as us, but… well, after he told us what really happened that terrible night, or at least some of it, I understood.
“He spoke to Borin for a long time, and whatever he said seemed to calm the boy. The nightmares never came again, thank Mara, and he still has no memory of the horror… the horror that…” He had to stop for a moment to regain his composure.
“I know I’m just a butcher, Cantor Vulk, but if there’s ever anything I or my family can do for you and your friends, I hope you will let me know. We are forever in your debt, and will never forget it!”
“Thank you Marik,” Vulk replied, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. “I only wish we had been able to… do more… But whatever you feel you owe us, you can best repay by helping anyone you find in their own dire straits – pay it forward my friend! But that said, a nice cut of beef…”
♦ ♦ ♦
When Captain Levtor was presented with his employers’ request to take them all to Shalara, he reacted with his usual graceful aplomb, agreeing that he could alter his planned trading route with little trouble. He was less sanguine when he was presented with sight of Ergaboreth.
“But – I – we can’t –”
The others grinned at the sight of the usually unflappable and very urbane trader-captain flummoxed and at a loss for words. Of course he regained his balance fairly quickly, and after consulting with his first mate, agreed that they could make accommodations for the Gyantari guest. While the crew went about the business of getting the ship ready to sail with a giant aboard, Levtor, Vulk and Mariala repaired to the Safe Harbour for lunch and to go over the books for the last trading voyage to the Sydoran League.
The others strolled around the docks, enjoying Ergaboreth’s fascination with the sea, something he had never seen before. He was rather nervous about the idea of going out on all that vast expanse of water on such a tiny boat. Toran’s own discomfort with large bodies of water didn’t help matters, especially as the two had become rather close on the road, staying up long into the night talking of the mountains and of metalcraft.
Devrik and Erol both tried to assure Ergaboreth that it would be fine, and even offered to teach him how to swim, if that would reassure him. Toran, too, but the Khundari was adamant. “I don’t float, I just sink,” was all he would say, shaking his head firmly.
“You know, most sailors never bother to learn how to swim,” Korwin interjected. “They genrally feel they’d rather dro-” Devrik’s elbow in his ribs shut his mouth, and a glare from Erol kept it that way. He shrugged and took a sudden interest in the seagulls flying over the harbour.
The swimming lesson was of marginal success, at best. Although the Gyantari didn’t sink like a stone, as his Khundari friend claimed to do, he wasn’t exactly buoyant either. He also seemed to have a hard time coordinating his strokes and his breathing.
After an hour of flailing about in the water, generally having fun but making little progress, while Toran and Korwin watched from the rocky beach, they finally gave it up.
“Look, just don’t fall in, OK?” Erol suggested. Toran muttered darkly under his breath, but no one asked for a clarification.
A crowd had begun to gather, despite their seeking out a secluded cove, and there was a gasp and some wide eyes when the giant emerged from the water with his trews clinging wetly to… well, everything.
Despite the mixed results of his lesson, Ergaboreth seemed strangely cheered by the exercise. After Devrik had shooed off the gawkers and they had dried off , as they began walking back to town, Toran asked the giant why he was so damn cheerful.
“Well,” he replied with a grin, “if I can’t swim very well, I suppose I can just walk along the bottom!”
It was true, the water in the cove had only come up to his chest, but when Korwin started to explain that the sea was very much deeper Devrik just shook his head and muttered “Let it be, water-boy, let it be.” Korwin shrugged and started whistling a sea chanty he knew particularly irked the fire mage…
♦ ♦ ♦
The voyage back to Shalara was uneventful, and while Ergaboreth quickly relaxed and began to enjoy the wind and the motion, Toran spent most of his time below deck. Except when he would come up to hurl his last meal back into the sea, of course. After a day of this, Korwin offered to cast a small cantrip he knew, and thereafter Toran’s sea sickness abated, although it did nothing to improve his dark mood.
The Fortunes Favor sailed into the harbor of Shalara in the morning of 11 Emblio, a gloriously beautiful day, which even Toran grudgingly had to agree with, especially once his feet were on the solid stone of the docks. The group made their way through the city towards their homes in the New District, the center of a constantly buzzing bubble of excitement at the sight of an actual Gyantari.
Actually, the South River Gate guards had had a momentary fit of panic at the sight of Ergaboreth, but the captain, at least knew who the Hand was. When Lady Mariala haughtily assured him she would take full responsibility, he relievedly bowed them into the city.
After some debate, it was agreed that the Gyantari would stay with Toran, both because of their budding friendship and because, paradoxically, Khundari House had the highest ceilings of any of their homes. Ergaboreth would only have to slouch a little, and then only in some of the smaller rooms. When the others seemed surprised at this, he shrugged and grinned.
“What can I say, my people build on a grand scale!”
As they parted company, each to their own home, Vulk muttered something to Mariala about “overcompensating,” which, perhaps fortunately, Toran missed.
Early the in the morning of the day after their arrival home, a page from Kar Landsar appeared on their collective doorstep, summoning the Hand of Fortune to attend on the King’s Council at the Third Turning of the Wolf’s Watch. This was not unexpected, of course, and the six friends gathered at the Green Tower an hour before noon. While they made their way to the Royal District, Jeb and Cris were left to entertain (and keep an eye on) Ergaboreth.
When they were announced into the Royal Council Chamber, they were all shocked at the appearance of King Maldan. The large, robust man they were used to seemed shrunken and wan, slouched in his chair at the head of the table, his usually sharp eyes dull and half-lidded, sunk in dark pits. His flesh seemed to hang loosely on his large frame.
At his right hand sat his daughter, Crown Princess Miralda, now officially the heir despite the misgivings of some of the realm’s nobles. She nodded and gave the group a tight smile before turning her attention back to her father. He patted her hand and sat up a little straighter in his chair, nodding for Master Vetaris to speak.
The group’s mentor stood at the Kings left hand, a fact which both Mariala and Vulk, at least, sensed was annoying to the Lord Chancellor, Ser Tarkin Urhano. And more than annoying to Sera Derwen Verdeth, Mistress of Esoterica. If Vetaris was aware of the ire of the councilors he seemed to have superseded in the King’s counsels, he showed no sign of it and greeted the Hand gravely.
“We have heard some report of what has gone on in the west,” he began, “but His Majesty and His councilors would like now to hear first hand from those involved. Ser Cantor Vulk, if you would care to summarize, and then the Council will have questions.”
Taking a deep breath, Vulk plunged into the tale of their embassy to Arushal, the attack at sea of a kraken and their subsequent rescue by and alliance with the Tritani, the fight with, and death of, Grandmaster Yoridar in the ruins of Nirokilon, including the freeing of a spider-demon and the discovery of the long-lost Onyx Throne, Erol’s scouting mission to Bremkin and capture by his old nemesis, and the Hand’s mostly successful rescue attempt, followed by their own capture by General Satirnus’ legions and his blackmailing them into handing over the Onyx Throne to him, the recruiting of Ergaboreth to their cause, and finally the thwarting of Satirnus’ plan by the very public return of the long-lost Kildoran relic.
Master Vetaris, of course, knew most of this already, and had a hand in bringing much of it about – a fact which Vulk and his companions did their best to downplay during the subsequent questioning by the Council. The King said little, but most of the councilors were fairly impressed with what the Hand had achieved, and the questions soon turned into a debate about how these events would effect the current war effort.
It seemed to be the general consensus that, with Grandmaster Yoridar dead and the Iron Claw in disarray, and the Republic happy with both the return of Bremkin and the discovery of the lost Throne (and especially as the latter was accomplished by Arushali and Nolkiori agents at the behest of their respective monarchs), King Dorikon would now be able to honor the just-signed treaty and move troops east to bolster Nolkior’s forces.
At this point the conversation turned to matters of internal politics and the conduct of war against the Tharkian invaders and the “rebel” Earl of Yorma, and the Hand was dismissed, with thanks. Master Vetaris stepped out with them to have a private word. He seemed tired himself, and lacking some of his usual energy…
“It’s all this Gate travel,” he replied with a small smile at Mariala’s noting this. “I’ve had to be in five places at once, or so it seems, and keeping all these balls in the air can wear even a Gray Mage down.”
“What of the King?” Vulk asked. “He seems worse now than when we last saw him, shortly after he was wounded.”
“Yes, he continues to slowly decline,” Vetaris acknowledged grimly. “And not any of his physicians, archaists or cantors can figure out why. Even I am stumped. I have come to conclude that it is more a malady of the spirit than of the body, especially after Ser Draik sent some of his amazing Baylorium – though it seemed to raise the King’s energy levels and his spirits, the effect was only temporary… which reminds me, Draik sent along a new shipment of vials for you. I’ll have my man fetch them from my rooms before you leave.
“And now I must return to the Council, before the Chancellor suggests some new impracticality. We will talk again soon… and please tell your new Gyantari friend that the King regrets that the needs of war prevent Him from formally receiving such a rare and distinguished visitor to His realm as he deserves, but hopes that he might be presented soon, in a more informal setting.”
The Hand returned to the New District both gratified at the reception received from the King and his Council and worried about His Majesty’s health and the course of the war. But for the next two days they were able to set aside those worries and enjoy the many and varied reactions of Ergaboreth to the largest city he had yet seen.
Mariala received a staggering number of social invitations from her new peers in the nobility, all of them requesting that she bring her “marvelous new friend” along. After discussing it with Ergaboreth and the others, she accepted only two, from nobles who had treated her elevation to the peerage without the sniff of “old blood” snobbery she faced from so many others.
On the third day, however, the Hand were awoken just after dawn by a pounding on their doors – a messenger from Master Vetaris, with an urgent summon to the castle at once. Fearing that it had something to do with King Maldan’s health, they hurriedly threw on clothes and made their way through the still dark and silent streets of the city to Kar Landsar.
But it was not the King’s health that had the Magister upset and pacing the floor of his study in the suite of rooms given over to him. He gestured them to seats around the room and immediately launched into the problem.
“Not an hour ago I received… well, word is not correct, let us say ‘news’… of an attack of some sort on a location that the Star Council deems of top importance. In itself, this alarm would be cause for concern, but the chain of reasoning that this news has set off in my mind – I’m still processing it all, but I fear we face a potential disaster of fearful proportions.
“The Shrine of St. Helathor, an obscure holy site of an even more obscure saint, in the ruins of Xaranda, seems to have been attacked just before dawn. Obviously, this place is more than it seems, for the Star Council to have set up powerful wards to alert us instantly of such an event.
“You are all familiar, I assume, with the tragic story of the Desolation of Serviana?” Everyone nodded, even Korwin, for that was one of the greatest of the many tragedies that resulted from the Great War and the Necromancer’s mad bid to free the Chained God.
“You may know less of the details of the story of the Iron Knight, however. It’s Heart of Metal, the power core that gave life and animation to that massive golem, imbued with a portion of the great soul of the Telnori King Taharazod, has lain hidden in this obscure little shrine for 500 years. Guarded by Telnori Druid-Warriors, it has remained secret and safe, until now.
“Now it seems that someone has breached the defenses, and in doing so, it has made me recall the legend of the Demon Khanaribas the Corruptor. The Necromancer created the body of the Corruptor, and placed within it a greater demon, and this monstrosity had a hideous power. Everything it touched became infected with the Corruption, a dark, life- and energy-draining force that killed everything it touched, including the very earth itself.
“No one knows how Pürshok Vindu created this effect, although Talorin Silvereye believed he had acquired a sliver of the Shadow and had distilled some essence from it, and this essence was the Corruption. How he controlled this powerful minion we don’t know, but we do know the Vortex has been seeking out and studying old texts from a number of would-be mage rulers, including the Mad Astrologer and the Necromancer.
“If they have discovered how Vindu controlled the demon Khanaribus, and the Corruption itself, they may want to free the old horror to use in this war they’ve started… and now the seemingly insane attack of Tharkia into eastern Nolkior begins to make sense! The confusion and chaos of that invasion, and their control, however brief it may prove to be, of the region, gives their agents perfect cover to steal the Heart of Metal and to cross the Blasted March to the Corruptor’s prison. The Heart and the Sword together could break the Seal that holds that horror at bay…
“Furthermore, if they have discovered old texts of the Necromancer’s, they may have been experimenting with the Shadow, as he did, trying to recreate the Corruption themselves – and while they apparently haven’t succeeded (or we would certainly know it), perhaps the malady that infects the King is what they have achieved. Certainly the symptoms support the possiblity, at least.
“I need you all to go, as fast as is humanly possible, to the Shrine of St. Helathor, discover what has befallen, and stop whoever has done this before they can awaken the Corruptor, if in fact that is their goal. This matter is of such import, that I would accompany you myself this time, but I dare not leave with Maldan so fragile – time is of the essence in both matters, but only I can hope to cure the King, if what I now theorize is true. So once again, the Star Council calls on you, if you will take up this burden.”
There was no hesitation, as six voices assented as one. Vetaris smiled, for a moment his old dry humor peeking through his exhaustion.
“I had no doubts of you , my friends. Now go, prepare, and whatever you need you may requisition from the Royal Stores. I will operate the Gate myself, so you arrive fully refreshed and ready for whatever awaits you. And remember, if this journey takes you into the Blasted March, it is one of the most inhospitable places in the world. Nothing grows there, the very land itself is dead and the water foul and dangerous to drink, even if you can find it. Only the great River Asamira remains relatively untainted, though I would not drink even from it except in great need.”
With those words the hand rose and began to confer about what they would need, drawing up hasty lists and dispatching Vetaris’ pages on various errands…