"Now leave me,” he waved at both Cara and Omalin, first with one hand, then both when neither of them moved. “Both of you, out, out, now!" They sauntered at first, then ran out of the room as he began to shout, bumping into each other as they rounded the corner of the hallway. Moments passed, then what seemed to be hours until a crimson-eyed, almost albino-skinned elf entered the room, grinning from ear to ear.
"Malras Miradel, perpetually late." Zarkan placed his goblet on the tray Omalin had left in front of him on the floor. "We have succeeded in Silverwood," the elf remained smiling, though he moved to stand at his shoulder. Insolent idiot. Never shows any respect. Always trying to place himself on equal footing with me.
"And?" Zarkan raised an eyebrow, outwardly cool as a block of ice in the Northern reaches of the Silverfrond River.
"And..," The elf threw his hands outward as if he were about to take an elaborate bow, "We're in control of half of the continent while Barrad has the Kyrgan boy and all of the other descendants. Locked away," a smile broke out across his face once again and a silver goblet appeared in his hand. "Let us drink to our successes,"
"Bring out the Sapphire vintage from the Eastern Lands!" Zarkan shouted to the hallway where he knew Omalin would still be waiting. What did Malras do about the Noriakis in Foxmoor? Are they still at large?
"What did you do about the Noriakis?"
"They were not in evidence." Malras raised his hands outward once again, still grinning toothily.
"You better not be serious," Zarkan clenched a fist.
"We never found them," the veins seemed ready to pop out of Zarkan's arm as the elf continued. "No one was in either of their manors when we arrived in Foxmoor and the Noriaki riverboats had already cleared out. It would seem they knew we were coming." Miradel's bloody eyes flashed with anger as he spoke and seemed to still be there, still discovering these facts.
"Truthfully, no one in the city opposed us openly and we filled the prison, leaving only our supporters free to roam," Malras doesn't seem phased in the slightest bit, despite the problems his statements suggest. Curious.
"How is any of that possible?" Zarkan demanded. "How?" He said, this time quieter, having run right over Malras' attempt to answer. Let's see how deft his explanations are now when he's pressed. "I only live to serve you, lord. I have no other purpose in life," the elf said.
"I know," Zarkan ran his hands through his hair. I know and every time you're around, I can't sleep. I'm always imagining a knife in my back.
"Did you find any evidence at all as to why the people of Foxmoor didn't resist?" Malras nodded and Zarkan moved towards him, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. "Well, what?" He spluttered when the elf simply smiled at him for several moments. "A tiger shark figurine." Miradel tossed it to him and Zarkan began to turn it over, holding it an outstretched palm. A clay carving painted black and white, but a tiger shark. The symbol of Sarsallen. I should've seen this coming. This is Valayre's doing.
"I have never seen anything like this before my lord, have you?" Malras looked on him as a student to a favorite teacher. "Yes, it's the symbol of the pirates of the Eastern Isles. Now we know where to go next."
Malras grinned. "No one outsmarts you, my lord." Not even Barrad. "Obsessing over the mistakes of that fool takes up far too much of my precious time."
"Who, my lord?"
"Barrad, always Barrad." Zarkan spit a small draught of wine onto the floor, watching it seep through the minuscule cracks in the stone.
Malras took a deep draught from his wine, then cleared his throat a touch too loudly. "That is part of why I have come. Silas is growing more paranoid by the hour. He is having Merahir hold the Kyrgan boy and his friends." A man more insane than himself. A year ago, I never would have thought that possible in Barrad's case, but here we are. He felt the anger rising in him like a wildfire across barren land and snarled. "He took the honor of capturing the Kyrgan boy and his friends from us and now he's left them with Merahir?" Malras nodded, his left hand shaking until he steadied it with his right. He didn't even ask how I knew. Interesting. I'll file that one away. The fool thinks he's playing Barrad and me against each other but I'm merely using him. When he becomes useless, I'll send the Cheshen'ai after him.
"The difference between Silas and I is I see the bigger picture and he doesn't. We can take the Kyrgan boy, leave his friends to Silas's men and win out in the end. Either the boy joins us or we take his power anyway." In both cases, we win outright.
"Either way, we win," Malras grinned yet again. "Brilliant my lord. Who will you entrust with carrying out this plan?"
"Why, you of course. Wait until Silas's men strike and then make your move in the chaos. Take the boy and go to Astrakane. Await me there."
"And if they get in my way?" Malras said, with a furrowed brow. He's actually worried. Well, you see something new every day. "Then kill them, all of them if need be," Zarkan replied and both of their faces lit up, though for decidedly different reasons. He thinks to take the glory for himself. I mean to waste him in achieving it, instead of myself.
"When should I leave my lord?" Malras' face had turned to stone once again and Zarkan sighed, letting out a short chuckle. This bodes well. He's eager to get going.
"Tonight if you can. No time to waste."
"What if Barrad waylays me before I'm in place?'
"I'll handle him." Zarkan swatted the air as if attempting to kill a particularly persistent fly.
"Go to Cealano, just outside of Swynden, travel one hour south, and wait outside of the old prison by the river. Find cover there." "And when I capture the Kyrgan boy?" The elf looks as excited as a child on the Yuletide. Perfect.
"Then we take care of Barrad." Together.
Zarkan's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he laughed, the sound hissing through the chasm-like hall until he sent Malras on his way. Without another thought, he set off down the hallway himself, in the opposite direction the elf had taken, making a left at the first intersection and ascending a staircase to the keep's library. Once there, amidst the dust and smell of steadily decaying paper, he glanced over the stack of books he'd left on the nearest, mahogany-inlaid table and began to flip through one, then another until he reached a third with a page folded over and quill markings under the word "Azarian," which sat above a particular passage.
Reading the passage aloud, he felt a smile light up his face and let it stay there. Barrad's not even the true leader. There is none. All too perfect.
235Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡynD7TRVDI9
