Chapter 9

Tartaran's gnarled fist struck the tabletop with a heavy thump, causing bowls and cutlery to rattle about in a temporary state of distress.

"My decision is final!" he growled at his son, hoping that it would be the last time he would have to say it. "There is plenty of good work for you on these Isles, Talloran. You have no reason to go anywhere else. If you would stop acting like a fool and stay here, then I'll gladly help you find someplace of fair harvest and contribute to the foundations. Dorimear is out of the question. If you want to set up a farm there then you'll get no help from me! You'd do well to follow the footsteps of your sister."

Out of the corner of his eye, Talloran watched his sister Fallora who was sitting beside him. She looked calm and at peace, sitting silently with her hands clasped in her lap. It had been some time since she had finished her soup, but politely, she had decided to remain at the table until her father had finished.

"Fallora married a man who owned several farms on these islands already," Talloran said calmly. "The Calystonian Isles have very few resourceful locations left on the map. Dorimear is a vast land and there's plenty to harvest there."

Tartaran's fingers tightened around his spoon. "It's not safe there, Talloran. You've heard the stories. I'm not about to let my last son wander off into dangerous lands to get himself killed!"

"Ghost stories," Talloran said. "Those stories about Dorimear were made up by wandering merchants to scare little boys and girls."

Tartaran cast an uneasy glance through the dusty window that overlooked his estate. In the far distance, across the ocean, he could see the razor sharp spine of the Grabvine Mountain Range tickling the clouds. "There's a darkness growing in that region, Tal. I don't want you going there. There's been talk of magic. It's not safe."

"You're far too old to believe in magic," Talloran said, growing tired of his father's constant ranting.

"He's right," Fallora said in a timid voice, taking them both by surprise. She gave them both a hesitant look as though it weren't her place to intrude on the conversation. "You shouldn't hold him back like this," she said. "All your heirs should receive the exact same support you gave me, no matter what they decide to do with their lives."

Tartaran felt betrayed. The daughter whom he had considered to be the wisest of all his children had left his side when she needed him most. Talloran's future was a stake. He was only trying to protect him.

"Just look at the border city of Grabvine Gateway," he said defensively. "They're wary of the evil in that land. I've heard the talk. The residents speak of a fierce war being fought in Dorimear and they've barred their doors too keep it out! They say that Grabvine is the only thing that's preventing the war from reaching our shores!"

"And the next thing you'll tell us is that this war is being fought between witches and wizards," Fallora sighed. "Come now, Father, must Talloran repeat himself again and again? There is no such thing as magic."

Tartaran pushed his unfinished bowl away and wiped away the last drops dripping from his beard. "Fine then," he said bitterly, avoiding both of his children's eyes. "Talloran, you have my permission to go to Dorimear, but I won't be helping you fund your journey. And that's final."

An eerie silence fell upon the table. Talloran sagged back into the chair, his fingers tightly gripping the armrests. His father's decision was unfair. He looked at his sister and could tell by the expression on her face that she thought no different. He knew he deserved better. He had been a proud and loyal son to his father, working tirelessly to help him maintain his own harvest over the years. Why was Tartaran so reluctant in giving anything in return?

Without a word, Fallora eased out of her chair and circled the table gathering all their empty bowls. As she passed, she placed a delicate hand comfortingly on Talloran's shoulder and squeezed it gently before moving away.

Talloran watched his father fix himself a pipe across the table and puff on it gently. Where was the legacy of family that he had been brought up to respect? Why, of all his brothers and sisters was he the one to get left short, especially he had contributed more to the family business than anyone else?

Fallora stood by the window, absently washing the dishes in a bucket while something outside had her preoccupied. Through the dusty window the tropical flora of the Calystonian Isles swayed in the strong breeze, and the waves by the sand were tipped with the slightest caps of white. Everything was normal save for the huge longship moored not far up the coast.

"What's wrong?" Talloran asked her.

Fallora suddenly staggered back from the window and started to tremble. Her face had gone completely white.

Tartaran stood suddenly, his chair crashing to the floor. "Answer him, girl!" He had seen this look of Fallora's once before, and it had meant trouble.

"Something's going on down in the village," she said shakily. "I saw some strange people coming this way. I think that they're..."

The glass pane of the window suddenly shattered as a flaming arrow whistled through into the room, imbedding itself into a painting on the back wall.

Tartaran's pipe fell from his mouth. "Get down!" he roared at Fallora who instantly fell to knees and covered the back of her head with her hands.

The painting at he back wall began to burn, the flames quickly churning the oily canvas. Tartaran crouched low and tipped the table, cursing loudly as several more arrows followed through. Fallora and Talloran scrambled to join him. Behind them the flames were spreading rapidly.

"Goddamned pirates!" Tartaran spat. "Scum of the ocean!"

"They're not pirates," Talloran coughed through the smoky haze that was filling the house. "They're slavers! They're trying to flush us out so we can be captured!" Ash sprayed into his face as something black and smoldering fell from above and hit the floor. It was part of the straw-hewn ceiling.

"We can't stay in here forever," Fallora said desperately. "The roof will collapse on us all if we do!" She started coughing uncontrollably and scrambled for the door on all fours, kicking it open with her heel.

Sunlight streamed in. The slavers and fleeing villagers were nothing but black silhouettes against the burning village in the background. Rising to her feet amongst the smoke, she dashed out into the open.

"Fallora!" Tartaran shouted, but she was already gone. He looked to son, urging him onwards. "After her!"

Talloran grabbed his father's arm. "What about you?" he said.

"I'll be fine! Just find your sister!"

Swiping away the smoke with his hands, Talloran made for the doorway and had only made it five steps outside before a thick noose fell over his head, drawing tight and snapping him clean off his feet.

The horseman that had him snared gave triumphant cry and kicked his mount into a fierce gallop. Struggling with the noose at his throat, Talloran was dragged through the village, whipping and thrashing like a fish caught on a line. For the next minute, all he knew was a world filled with pain, screaming, and darkness. Dirt and dust sprayed into his face, rocks and stones tore at his flesh, and the sounds of the horse's rampaging feet filled his ears like thunder.

The torment continued to no end, no matter how much he pleaded for it stop. By the time the slaver's horse had come to a standstill, Talloran felt that he had endured an eternity of torture. Curling up protectively into a ball, he pressed his knees tightly against his chest and wept, unable to think of anything but what he had just experienced. Then from out of the darkness, footsteps and laughter approached.

"I think this one's had enough," a gruff voice said. "We're lucky he's still in good shape. If he was beaten up anymore then he'd be useless to those mancers. They only buy the best of the best."

"What about the rest of them?" said another voice.

"Throw the healthy ones in the cages and tie the weaklings up so they can't come after us. We're not here to slaughter an entire village, just to take what's of value to us."

"And the women?"

"Do what you like, just don't kill any of them. And check his eyes will you? He better still have two or I'll take one of yours for every one I find missing!"

Strong hands gripped Tallorans shoulders, turning him over. Then, with careful precision, his eyelids were drawn open and bright light flooded in.

"He's alive!" Nampag cried out with joy.

Cold and clammy hands caressed Talloran's face and fingers moved at his eyes, trying to pry them open once more. Emitting a groan of protest, Talloran swatted away the hands and tried to push the geomancer away. Finding little strength within him, he managed to crawl no more than a few feet before he collapsed on his side, completely exhausted.

The uneven rock floor of the cavern dug deep into his back, but the pain was trivial compared to the way the rest of his body felt. He felt as though he had slept forever; like an eternity had just passed and his aching muscles were seeing use for the first time since the beginning of his slumber.

"Water," he gasped upon tasting that his mouth was also as dry as dust. More bright light suddenly flashed across his face like curtains being drawn back early in the morning, and he raised his arm to shield his eyes from what looked like a miniature sun hanging directly over his head.

"Dull that thing down," Nampag scolded, his words echoing off the walls several times before fading into the depths of the great cavern. "You're blinding him."

With a wave of his hand, Kaligmar dimmed his illusion stone and set it down next to Nampag. "How is he?" He said, leaning over Talloran. "Is he injured?"

Talloran saw the strange new man hand him a water pouch and he took it greedily, feeding the round nozzle to his parched lips. Once it he had it completely drained, he stared at the wrinkled old man, watching him cautiously.

"Who is this?" he asked Nampag in a hoarse whisper. He studied the old man again, this time noticing the violet robes that clung to his frail frame and the gold emblems embroidered on its breast pockets, something that only Masters of the elements were ever seen wearing.

"This is Kaligmar," Nampag said. "He's the master of conjuration at this monastery. You have nothing to worry about. He's here to help us."

Talloran faintly recalled the name being mentioned earlier. Kaligmar was renowned as being one of the wisest mancers in the Azure Monastery - a comforting notion.

"What happened?" he said, still struggling to recall even the most recent of his memories. The image of soft coils of delicate white hair, swimming like ribbons in the wind flashed through his mind and he recoiled sharply as though stung by a bee.

"Where is she?" he found himself shouting. "Where's Neriah?"

"Hush!" said Kaligmar who had almost seemed to flinch at the mere mention of the master illusionist's name. "I want you to keep your voice down. There's no telling what we else may disturb down here." He then stepped aside, presenting Talloran with a clear view of Neriah in all her glorious beauty.

She stood motionless no more than a few feet away from them, her body tilted at a precarious angle, frozen still like a statue in the position of the downward stroke with the sword. Not a hair on her head was moving, no fold on her robe swaying. There was nothing about her that was not held in complete stasis.

"When I arrived I found you passed out beneath that sword," Kaligmar continued. "One more second and it would have cleaved your skull in half. I'm not sure what you made that chameleon do, Talloran, but you're still in one piece because of it."

The Chameleon! Talloran thought, and then realized that it was no longer in his hand. Where was it?

"There's no need to worry," Kaligmar assured him. "The stone is just over there."

"Did you try to touch it?" Talloran said.

"He almost did," Nampag grunted. "Even despite my warnings. The stone went bright orange on him just before he pulled away. Smart move."