The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Mothlenor

Mothlenor was the first to break from the small council, turning down a vacant hall without a word to his brother. No one had made so much as a sigh since the First Knight had unlocked the council room doors and led the party out. Dars was his usual quiet self, as were the other King's Guards with him, but Mothlenor sensed relief in the way the old man walked back in the direction of Areanath's chambers. Hasani was also quiet, though Mothlenor suspected that he would break his silence as soon as they had walked out of hearing distance. Hasani knew how to be prudent, and could read people almost as well as Mothlenor himself could, and he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

As for Areanath, Mothlenor knew his brother's feelings better than most. When Mothlenor had chanced a glance at his older brother, Areanath's face was blank, his eyes staring straight ahead impassively. It was those flat, staring eyes that made it easy for Mothlenor to tell that his brother was deeply angered by what had occurred in the small council hall.

And that, Mothlenor thought as he tugged open the small wooden door that lead to his tower, is likely the only thing we have in common.

Mothlenor climbed the curved stairs to his tower study slowly, relishing the sudden chill that seemed to creep into his bones from the surrounding stone. The old tower smelled of arcane energy, of power.

My power.

Mothlenor let the fingers of one hand trail against the large square stones that comprised the walls, and the residual energy of years of arcane work coursed over him, making the skin of his arm stand out like goose flesh. It seemed to settle back over his body, mingling with the energy already filing him. He could have taken that old energy back into himself, if he had wanted. But he didn't, instead letting it settle back into the stones of the tower as he continued his climb.

Besides, there was something more pressing waiting for him up ahead.

The door to his study was opened just a crack, and flickering candlelight fell onto the topmost steps. The door had been shut and locked when Mothlenor had left for the small council meeting.

Mothlenor didn't even slow his steps. He knew what waited ahead for him, and he knew better than most how to defend himself if there was danger in the rooms beyond.

The first thing Mothlenor spotted upon widening the door enough for him to enter was a rather large chest, plain and unremarkable, sitting squarely on his work table.

There had been papers cluttering his desk, there nearly always were, but they had been nicely organized and set aside to make room for the little wooden box. The latches had been unfastened and were facing him as he walked closer, inviting him to open the box and peruse its contents. Mothlenor already knew what lay inside, and his palms nearly itched with anticipation.

But a small motion on the far end of the room caught his eye, and he looked up to find a thin, broad shouldered man with dark hair and eyes watching him from across his study.

"You must be Ferrand," Mothlenor said. He looked the man over, searching for any hint of hostility, and found nothing.

"That's right." Ferrand didn't move from where he stood, arms folded over his chest. His skin was oddly pale, almost sickly so, and the thick and dark clothes he wore made his appearance all the more disturbing.

"You're a northerner," Mothlenor said. "A true northerner. From beyond the mountains."

Ferrand's teeth flashed in a smile. "That's right," he repeated

Mothlenor arched an eyebrow, giving Ferrand a more scrutinizing look. "What's it like beyond the mountains?"

"Cold," Ferrand answered. "And dark." He moved, suddenly, dropping his arms to his side and taking a half step closer to the desk. "You're welcome to take a look. To make sure it's to your satisfaction."

Mothlenor nodded, returning his attention to the chest. He lifted the lid slowly, peering at the contents. He couldn't help the smile that crept across his face at the large golden rock within. He lifted it from the lined interior, cradling it carefully in his hands. "It's smaller than I imagined it would be. But it will do nicely."

"Good." Ferrand flashed another smile.

"You've received your payment already, yes?"

"I have," Ferrand said with a small nod. "However..."

Mothlenor gave him a hard look, setting the oblong golden stone back in its place. "We made a deal, Ferrand." If he tries to cross me...

Ferrand lifted a hand. "We made a deal. It's yours, and I won't ask for a copper more." With his other hand, he pulled a smaller box from an inner pocket of his vest. "However, I have another item that might interest you as well."

Mothlenor took the offered box, his eyes trained on Ferrand. The man was braver than he'd thought. Or more foolish. The box was surprisingly heavy for its small size, but fit neatly in his hand. He weighed it experimentally in his hand, considering it. "What is it?"

"See for yourself. If you're interested, I'll name my price."

Mothlenor snorted. He already had what he wanted. There was little more that Ferrand could offer him that would interest him nearly as much as what lay in the chest before him. But he opened the box, prying the lid off with a quick jerk.

The sight of the small orb inside nearly stopped his heart.

Mothlenor stared at it for a moment before quickly jamming the lid back into place. He took a long breath, hoping his face hadn't betrayed the sudden excitement he'd felt. "Is this what I think it is?"

Ferrand's teeth flashed again. "A dragon's eye, yes."

At Ferrand's confirmation, Mothlenor couldn't help the rush that came to his words. "As a collector's item alone, it would be worth—"

"Quite a lot, I'm sure." Ferrand took another half step towards Mothlenor, crossing his arms over his chest again.

"Was it Farnean's?" Mothlenor asked idly.

Ferrand snorted. "Farnean's eyes were destroyed over a century ago. They were too large to fit in this room." Ferrand jerked his chin towards the box in Mothlenor's hands. "That belonged to a young one. Barely more than an infant."

Mothlenor's hand caressed the lid of the box absentmindedly. "How much?"

"I'm not asking for money."

"Oh?" He wants the chest back. He'll offer a trade. And I'll have to kill him, and keep both for myself...

"No," Ferrand said, his chin lifting in an arrogant jut. "I want a seat beside you, when the time comes."

Mothlenor frowned, and his words had a hard bite to them when he answered. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Ferrand smiled again, more slowly this time, and Mothlenor realized with disgust that Ferrand had played him for a fool. "I think you do." Ferrand's head tilted slightly to one side as he stared at Mothlenor, that odd smile making him look like a madman. "I can smell the winds of change coming, Mothlenor. And when they reach Etritia, I want to be here to take advantage of them."

They stared at each other for a moment as Mothlenor weighed his options. He could reject Ferrand, and lose the dragon's eye. He would still have the chest, in that case. Or he could chance working with Ferrand, and have both items. Surely he could make very good use of the dragon's eye...

"The eye for a seat on my council? That's all you ask?"

Ferrand nodded. "That's all I ask. I'm sure you'll find yourself in need of someone with my talents eventually. Why not just take me, and get the eye as well?"

Mothlenor placed the smaller box next to the chest and offered his hand out to Ferrand. "You have a deal."