Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (13 page)

Cite nodded and rubbed his temples. “Yeah, it was me. You wouldn’t open your mind for me to place a thought, so I triggered unconscious reactions from you, the scratch and belch.” Rogen tilted his head at this. “Then when you relaxed your guard in your surprise, I was able to put a thought in your head. I think I need to go lie down.”

“Are you all right?” Rogen asked, putting a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“I think that it is bruised, my mind that is. Like when we train with the daggers. You block, you hit back, and even without all that my muscles ache because they aren’t used in that way. I think my mind is like that now, but it shows in the form of a headache.” Cite shook his head and stumbled from the movement. Rogen put an arm around Cite’s waist, and guided him towards the forecastle and the door that led below deck.

“You rest for now, practice more later,” Rogen told Cite as he helped him.

Dawn stood on the quarterdeck and watched the two with curiosity. She had seen the ease in which they had befriended the crew. She knew the myth of Rogen the Plague, but what she saw in front of her was very different from what she had heard. How could she even know if this was the legendary slaver? It was said the man always traveled with a small army and could take over whole kingdoms without so much as a second thought. If rumor were true, he was as much of a threat to any government as Nomed, a part man, part demon, part fae that supposedly roamed the land. Also, rumor never mentioned that Rogen was one of the Stone Folk.

The Rogen that paid for passage on her ship was a man with presence; when he walked by, the men watched him. They found him charismatic and helpful. He cheered them with his tales of heroes and beasts, helped them fold sails and coil ropes, and took a turn on the watch saying he did not need as much sleep as humans. He joined them when it was offered and stood aside without complaint when they did not invite him. She had seen him at work with Cite with the weapons training, and Rogen was quick and solid.

She had seen him tend his weapons every day for any sign of wear or rust. She had also seen him checking the ships weapons and tending to them. She had checked with the first mate and verified that he did this without being asked. She made sure that anything he touched was double-checked, in case he was up to no good. So far, he seemed only to be helping and left anything he touched in better shape than it had been before he picked it up. He reminded her of her father. Both men took pride in their work and expected everyone to do the same, and put in equal effort. Her father had gained trust and respect of everyone he dealt with.

She wanted to trust Rogen, but had to wonder if he was truly the man he said he was. He had equipment that was quality, he paid with fine gems and everything showed he was a man of means. But that did not tell her if he was truly the man who ruled an empire. Why was he traveling alone, with only Cite for company?

She looked to the sky and breathed deeply. That storm to the south would turn and would be coming tonight; her senses felt it. It would not be so bad, but she would have the men prepare for it. She listened to the wind and felt the words of her crew upon it, as she had felt the words of Cite and Rogen. She leaned back against the railing and thought about the tides. They were in place and moving them at the best speed they could hope. They would reach Paradise Island tomorrow before the sun reached its zenith at this rate. She smiled and opened her eyes again. Her uncle Tildan was watching her. She nodded at him and turned to check the instruments to let him know she was on deck and in control, though they both knew she needed no instruments to do her job, or any other job on this ship.

5854 – Thon – Quebal – Dunwith

They sailed down the wide slow river that led to the center of Paradise Island. The rain from last night had dissipated in the early morning hours and had not slowed their trip at all. The river opened into a lake that was miles across that created the illusion of an island of water surrounded by the ocean of land rather than the reverse. On the shoreline were various small towns. They sailed towards one near the middle of the far shore. Jumper had told the truth about some of the island at least; there were waterfalls. They dropped showers of water hundreds of feet into the lake. A volcano that had died had made the island long ago. One side of the volcano had collapsed into the ocean, opening a waterway to the center where the crater was waiting to be filled. Natural underground aquifers had surfaced under the lake in time and between them and the natural runoff from rain, the lake became a tropical freshwater paradise. Cliffs rose up above the lake on more than a third of the surrounding area; the rest had gentle sloping ground. The whole island was fertile from the volcanic ash that had settled to create rich topsoil.

The small towns on the lake were run independently and didn’t answer to any government from the mainland. No kingdom or country with a naval power was close enough even to try to take the island for its own. Various councils, dictators, pirates, or mayors ran each town. Each left its neighbors alone, just looking to live an easy life. Everyone knew if they attacked their neighbor, everyone else would turn on them, and that kept the peace.

The Lady Luck docked and the Captain took to her cabin, letting her men enjoy an evening of shore leave, taking only the name of Captain Redblood to mark her existence. Tildan stayed on the ship with Maurence and a few volunteers to make sure the ship was not troubled while the crew was gone. Cite also volunteered to stay, but Rogen said he had business to attend to on land and would be gone for a few hours. Cite didn’t know how the man could have business on an island that he hadn’t even known he was going to, and even if he had known there had been no way to get word here before he had arrived.

The minstrel watched his friend and crew bounce down the gangplank to the dock. Looking beyond them, he watched the people of this small town. Everyone wore light clothes that caught the sea breeze, and they smiled easily and often. Shopkeepers stood outside talking with customers, traders stopped on the street to chinwag with other merchants, and women gathered in small clusters to gossip. Children ran through the streets, some on errands, and others just running free and laughing.

Cite smiled at the activity, and began to hum a small tune, putting words to it in his head, and making a song that would capture the spirit of this place.

Rogen waved at the crew as they parted ways. As they turned towards the Lusty Lilac - a tavern, gambling house, and brothel all rolled into one – the Rokairn headed for an alley between a cartwright and a blacksmith. A shadow separated itself from the wall, and Rogen was approached by a tall lanky man with a limp.

“Master, I am Handle, your humble servant. You trained me to raise horses, and teach them how to ride into battle.”

The Rokairn looked at the man, who wore the clothes of a merchant and dressed in shades of scarlet.

“Yes, I remember you, “Rogen said, looking up at Handle, “you have grown since I last saw you.”

“Yes, I was but a lad of thirteen when I was in your care.”

“How did you end up on an island which only has a handful of horses, and none of them meant for war? That cartwright makes wagons for people and goats to pull, I doubt he has made one for a horse in the past year.”

“Tis a long story, but it involves a rogue knight who employed me after I gained my freedom and a woman.”

“Ah, enough said. Did you get the messages from my people in Tarnish?”

“Yes, and I have the information you asked for, and your meeting room set up. Would you care to follow me to someplace more private?”

“Lead on, Handle, I am eager to be done with tonight’s business.”

The two men wound their way through the small village and out the other side. The tall man led Rogen to a hut on the edge of volcano wall, which towered hundreds of meters above them. A tiny wrinkled woman poured brandy when she saw them approaching, and then disappeared around the side of the hut.

“My grandmother,” Handle explained, “I sent for her once I arrived here. I had been sending her money, but she was getting on in years and this seemed like a good place for her to enjoy her twilight years.”

“You are a good man, Handle.” Rogen said as he sat in a wicker chair, it creaking from his weight as he did. “Nothing speaks higher of someone than a man who will care for those who cared for him.”

Handle sat across the table, opened a polished wooden box, and offered Rogen a cigar. Rogen chose one, and lit it from the candle on the table. Handle did the same, and waited for Rogen to begin.

“What news do we have of Khelikian, Obsidian, and Verl’zen-luk’s followers? And keep it to events in the west unless you feel something east of the Rolling Mountains is important or related.” Rogen asked as he leaned back and drew on the cigar.

“Much of it is standard information,” Handle began, sitting straight up with one hand in his lap, and the other holding his cheroot. “Khelikian’s followers are sacrificing people whenever they find an insect horde, but aren’t organized in any fashion. The insect attacks are random also, and show no pattern. They don’t even have the same kind of bugs, time of day, length of attack, or anything else.

“Verl’zen-luk’s people have dug deeper into the politics in Pantageas, but nothing new or unexpected. There is a necromancer, named Rondarius, who is gathering an undead army. He travels north of the Oracle, and is heading west towards larger civilizations. He doesn’t seem to be a follower of Verl’zen-luk but…”

“What is it, lad?” Rogen asked, sitting up.

“He is surrounded by his undead, and has no living servants. It’s very hard to get information about him, except for survivors of his attacks. We did find mention of him in Land’s End journals, mentioning he was imprisoned over a century ago, but it couldn’t be the same person. Could it?”

“Necromancers are an odd sort. Find out more about the man he should not be, and go from there. What else?”

“Kala the Black is a follower of Obsidian, and has become the leader of the Dasism in Ocean Wood.”

“I know that, he took over that region decades ago.”

“Yes, but he has ramped up his attack on villages, and even a few cities. He won’t trade with humans at all, and any trader that tries is never heard from again.”

“Find out more about him. Ask at all the surrounding towns; get me the information from the streets and the bureaucrats. Have that information waiting for me at Stadia Isle. Go on, what else is happening?”

“In Humbrey there seems to be a shift in power, and many things seem to happen when Duke Malvornick is around.”

“Is his Duchy not in Trysteria?”

“Yes,” Handle said as he tapped his cigar, and then crushed the ash that fell to the ground with his booted foot.

“I do not think that relates to anything, but go ahead and find more in that area. I have had too many slaves disappear under his care, and have even stopped selling to him, but cannot prove anything to take retribution. Hm, in fact, send notice to Kaht, and tell her I want to see her when I get to Edgewater.”

Rogen’s mood darkened as he listened to more of Handle’s report. Duke Malvornick had been a growing problem for nearly two decades, and shadows were his weapons of choice. The man had always been a distant problem, never immediate, and considering his current situation, Rogen still felt that Malvornick could wait until a better time. Kaht would be enough of an effort for the moment. She was one of his best slave trained spies, and knew how to use her head and body to get anything she needed. She had also built a very impressive network of informants from the Slim Desert east to the Sinking Swamp in the west and all the way to Red City in the south, covering Humbrey, Pantageas, Everyway, Dragon Estates, and two dozen other smaller cities. Then there were the connections she had made after tracking down the threat from the Troöd’s magic syphoning device. Rogen focused on Handle again and the man wrapped up by telling about frogs and blood raining from the sky in Land’s End in the eastern peninsula.

“You have done well, Handle, “Rogen stood, and took the hand of the scarlet clad man, shaking it. “Thank you for everything. I need to get to my second meeting, I am sure you understand.”

“Of course, Master,” Handle stood also, towering above the Rokairn. “I have prepared the sacrifice, incense, and gems… as you required.”

“Good man, now keep an eye out up here. See to it that I am not disturbed, or your life and everyone’s life on this island could be forfeit. Have the men ready to burn the shack, and slay anything coming out if I do not give you the correct responses.”

“I understand, sir.” Handle swallowed. “Be careful, the world needs you now more than ever. Besides most of your trained will expect you to give their eulogy. “

“You are a funny man, Handle. You know perfectly well I do not have time to travel to another country every time someone dies.”

Rogen pulled a wax-sealed letter from a satchel and handed it to the man.

“Prepare this list and have it waiting for me on Stadia Isle. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a demon to summon.”

Rogen turned away, and walked to the door of the hut. He took and deep breath and squared his shoulders, and then stepped forward and opened the door, turning to close and latch it afterwards. The interior of the small shanty was dim and dust motes danced in the light that streamed through the cracks of the wall. The supplies – still in the crates they were delivered in - were laid out on a rickety table. The Rokairn set to drawing the circle and runes to contain the otherworldly being that waited for him around the three baby lambs staked to the ground, flask of wine, and bags of pearls. After checking his preparations for a third time, Rogen began the incantation that would call upon Titusian and bring him partially into the world. The Rokairn closed his eyes and fastened the invisible cords of power to the anchor points of the circle.