Irisa

Chapter Seven

Salem paced before the prisoner, a dark cloak billowing from his shoulders. His head interrogator stood to the side, expression unreadable. Salem was not fooled. It was unprecedented for one of his tank to take over the questioning, but the interrogator's efforts thus far had been futile. It was time for a change. 

Salem lifted his head, staring the prisoner in the eyes. He wasn't surprised when the man flinched. Salem's features were as fair as his fathers had been, yet they contained a hard slant. The weak-minded humans could not bear to meet his gaze. "You mean to tell me that you have never heard of the Ragatorum, and that your son, renowned musician Isaac Wempthon has been missing since he reached the age of eighteen. You did not know of his status or location."

The man bobbed his head up and down feverishly. A simple smile was on his face. "Yes, lord." Salem nodded agreeably. The man didn't look like a sorcerer; the long sleeves of his overcoat were in style, yet lacked in practicality with the stifling summer sun. Still, the village's early warning could have allowed him to change. Even in haste, a jacket could be pulled on to conceal what was below. Salem nodded once to himself, a practiced gesture that mimicked the irrational motions the humans had. Never would he give such thoughts of his away, unless it served a higher purpose. 

"Seeing as you know nothing, I suppose we can let you go..." Salem sighed, signalling to one of his warriors. the man stepped forwards and severed the bonds with one stroke of his sword. The prisoner rubbed his wrists absently, staring at nothing. Seeming to come to his senses, he dropped to one knee. 

"Thank you, lord," he said, "I will serve you and the empire for my life."

"We shall see about that," Salem replied. "Return his affairs."

The guard stepped forwards and handed the prisoner a jewelled dagger and a short sword. "You may leave," Salem said, sweeping his hand towards the horizon. The man looked at him warily, betraying that he was not as simple as he might appear. The look was gone in an instant, however, and he tipped his hat in thanks. He started down the road at a walk, but then broke into a run and then a sprint within a few seconds. 

Salem snapped his fingers and a bow was drawn. The arrow flew through the air before meeting its mark. It sank into the prisoner's back, and he collapsed dead, on the road. Salem relaxed, returning to the lilting tones of his own language. "Retrieve the body and remove the coat." The archer that had fired lowered his bow and removed the string, preparing it for storage. 

A female inclined her head at Salem's common and set off at a jog, two other male guards behind her. Although the distance was far, they retrieved the body in a matter of seconds. The two males dropped it at Salem's feet and retreated while the female remained. She drew her sword and it flashed, twin movements faster than the human eye could follow. The coat slid off, ragged ends catching the lint where her sword had cut. 

There was no gasp or intake of breath, the only sound was that of the female sheathing her sword. with a steely scrape. Salem could see the gathered men straighten. One the dead prisoner's arm, carved out in black ink, was the image of a snake, twisted around a sword, biting its own tail. The mark of the Ragatorum blazed and vanished before their eyes. 

Salem rolled the body over with the tip of his foot. the pouch of wet earth was fastened to the dead man's back, cleverly concealed between the folds of the coat. Salem levelled his gaze at the head interrogator, who gave him a nervous glance. 

"You are all dismissed," Salem stated. A series of respectful bows and clasped fists heralded their retreat. Salem gazed out at the road, and the patch of blood that glistened there. He turned to look at the female as she approached and kneeled gracefully. Her silver hair was a shade darker than his, but it gleamed in the sunlight like white fire. 

"Lord Salem," she said respectfully. 

"Ambassador Aranel." Salem paused, not removing his gaze from the horizon. Aranel did not move, listening quietly when he spoke. "Your assistance with the death of my father is appreciated."

"It is my duty," Aranel replied. When she had come to him with the news, only two days hence, he could scarcely believe it. The renowned sorceress Irisa had broken into the hold, with a Wulf no less. When the word had come that they had been tracked to the kitchens, Salem had left his chambers and sprinted up the stairs, scarcely daring to hope. The sight that had met him was a grisly one. His father, the general, dead in his own blood that seemed to pour endlessly from all offices. The tears had come then, the weight of emotion crushing Salem to the floor. He collapsed, laughing, onto the general's bed. After all his planning and plotting, the arsenic on the sheets, the dagger aimed at the general's heart, an unconnected magician had done it herself. The irony had made Salem cry ears of mirth. 

With Aranel's help, Salem's position had been secured. Although she was of a lower rank than him, her youth and excellence had earned her a favourable reputation. She used her influence to ensure Salem had support, a deed that had indebted him to her. For now, that was a prospect that didn't seem so bleak, yet Salem knew that in the course of Aranel's long life she would not forget he owed her. The game was subtle at the moment, yet it was still very much being played. 

After a polite pause, Aranel continued to speak. "I have been studying the old books. I have heard tell of a spell, one that might be most useful to you."

Salem sucked in a quick breath, choreographing his features into a look of astonishment. He doubted that he would be able to conceal the amusement below it; Aranel was more bold than he had thought. 

"The books of eld have been banished for over two hundred years, since my father reached the age of four and twenty. What reason would you have for seeking them?" 

"It is a matter concerning your revenge at the death of your father." Aranel's tone betrayed she knew exactly what he thought at his father's murder, and that she did not care. 

"My ears are open." Salem replied. A smile touched Aranel's lips.

"The spell allows the sword of an opponent to be tracked, so long as it drew recent blood and is wielded by the person for whom it was forged. The sorceress's blade is fabled, it was wrought by the oldest ocean tribe of the Zlakra."

Salem's tone was measured. "Even if you have found such a spell, which I do not doubt you have, it is of no use to us. We cannot wield the power of the magicians."

Aranels stood, quickly and gracefully. She met Salem's gaze with a cold and merciless smile.

"You can find the workers, here they do not hide. Your warriors have proven that they may catch and subdue a sorcerer. So, it is not any of the Helvera that will work the spell." her words held the ring of final fate, "A magician of the Ragatorum will wield the magic, and thus we will find her," 

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Words of power:

Ignis-fire

Wulfish

Note: R's in Wulfish are either growled or snarled.

Frrahh Rrond'ra 'Fang'. Ra'crravrrarran 'Novrrack'.- Call me not 'Fang'. My name is Novrrack.

Novrrack- Fang, but in his native tongue

Grrrawrrd Rrrack M'krrad- I challenge you

Zlarkra

Koorrdd- Come

Lokrrah- Go

Flagrah- Leave

Gavrondii

Nvrawch ont refletcj!- It's awake!

Helvatian

Oe! Havral adure yeolle rookah!- Hey! What are you doing?

Jeon, lea vra treth thring grala- No, the girl doesn't speak (Helvatian).

Yeolle thring Helvera?- You speak Helvatian?