Coma - The Cataclysm
Dargoth stared out the window at the forest below, his shoulder length gray hair wafting slightly on the gentle breeze, his form one of practiced elegance. From the height of the chamber one could see far beyond the reach of the outer walls of Delwathe; the perfect roost for hatching well made plans and assessing incoming threats to the kingdom. The room itself was in perfect order; the carefully lined quills on the desktop, the ornate tapestries and slightly faded maps of outlying territories adorning the walls, all a reflection of the Minister of Arms and his desire for controlled order.
Breaking the silence, he spoke, not bothering to face the man standing behind him across the large mahogany desk. "They call you Dirk, yes?"
The man nodded automatically before realizing an audible response would be required. "Some do, Sah. Dirk Longfellow at yer service." He said in a thick lower city drawl.
"And your given name?" Dargoth asked.
"Delvan Elgani, Sir." The man answered, dropping the accent and standing a touch straighter.
"Delvan Elgani" The minister repeated, curling bits of gray beard between his fingers. "Yes, I knew your father. Let's hope history does not repeat itself this time around, shall we?" He turned, eyebrows raised, looking at the man for the first time. His narrow eyes scanned across his features, analyzing, assessing any sign of weakness. The man remained still except for the briefest look of hatred that flashed in his eyes, a detail some might have missed but one that would never have gotten past the minister.
He smiled and stepped away from the window, now giving Delvan his full attention. "Your father was a great man. He served the kingdom of Delwathe
very faithfully until the end. But mistakes were made, weren't they?"
Delvan remained silent.
"Lady Allusia, the last nether of Delwathe was your father's charge. His orders were simple enough, find the nether and escort her safely back to the kingdom, no stops, no detours. He failed these orders. By no means should Lady Allusia have reached the oracle before arriving in Delwathe." The minister paused and unclenched his tightened fist as he walked to a cupboard and retrieved an old bottle of wine, blowing the dust off the aged cork.
"Do you recognize the bottle?" he asked. Delvan said nothing but his face gave the answer the minister had expected.
"Yes, I thought you might." Dargoth smiled, taking pleasure in his game. "Elgani's finest, a wine like no other, but this bottle in particular is very special. Few exist of this vintage." He walked back to the desk, admiring the label with an apparent sense of pride.
"The Elgani vineyards were always highly praised both within Delwathe and far beyond its borders. What makes this bottle special, more special than most of the rare bottles that may exist, is that this vintage was born of a long standing tradition in your family.
"According to tradition, the new apprentice is taken to the vineyards where he learns about the earth and the vine. He learns about the grape and about the process of making a fine wine. Do you recall any of this?"
Delvan's gaze dropped to the floor. He was flustered; the arrow had hit its mark. The fact was, he didn't recall. Somehow he guessed the minister must have known the answer before he'd even asked.
"Afraid not, Sir," he replied.
Dargoth smiled and swept two very ornate golden goblets from a small table near the window. They were exquisite in detail, untarnished, buffed to a perfect shine.
"The apprentice has no recipe and the master watches as the first wine is made. The batch is small, perhaps ten barrels. The tradition, of course, has great purpose. The apprentice is excited and sets to work with untamed enthusiasm. The wine itself usually turns out as a monstrosity, the apprentice crushed by the outcome. The master then explains the nature of wine and the value of a tempered patience." Dargoth uncorked the bottle and a smooth, sweet autumn fragrance stole over the room as he filled the goblets.
"This wine, however, is the greatest wine a new apprentice has made for centuries. You will find, I am sure, that it has aged very well," he said as he raised a goblet to his nose and embraced the delicate aroma. "It's been nearly five years since I last indulged in this little touch of heaven. Go on, go on," he nodded toward the other goblet, indicating that his guest should do likewise.
Delvan walked to the side of the desk and picked up the golden goblet. The ornate workmanship felt foreign to the touch, unearthly and cold. The thought that this goblet could very well be worth far more than his own life angered him, but the intoxicating aroma of the wine beckoned. He noticed for the first time the tiny embedded rubies that glinted like the red, shimmering liquid that swirled inside as he mimicked the gentle motion of the minister's wrist, stopping to take in the fragrance on queue.
"The grapes, I understand, were picked after freezing on the vine; the skin left on during fermentation, thus the red color. This is all that is known. The master, your father, is long dead and the apprentice no longer remembers having ever practicing the art of wine making." Dargoth studied Delvan's curious expression and smiled his approval.
"No longer remembers, Sir?" Delvan asked before lifting the goblet to his lips and allowing the precious liquid to dance upon his pallet. A perfect hint of vanilla poured over his senses followed by a mellow chamomile as the flavors of the grape washed over him. It was a very good wine indeed, the best he could ever hope to taste. He struggled to hold onto the flavors he had caught in the aroma but the slight buzz settling in coaxed him to let go, to leave the wine a mystery. Only the faintest breeze of hazelnut lingered as he closed his eyes, savoring the sweet, intoxicating bliss.
"See for yourself," Dargoth's smile grew to a mischievous grin as he pointed at the old, dusty label. It read: Elgani
Heights' in beautiful script followed by a familiar scrawled signature, Delvan Elgani.
Delvan nearly dropped the goblet in shock. A vacant shadow of a memory flittered across his mind's eye for the briefest of moments and there could be no argument that the signature had been his; that the wine had been made by his own hands. The sweetness of the wine turned to ash on his tongue and his stomach wretched as he realized what the minister had done. It was a set up, it always had been. This day could very well have been planned before the first barrel had been tapped or the first grape delicately picked from the vine.
"You catch on quickly, like your father," he said. "You truly are your father's son. Of course you must be thinking how your life could have been so different?"
"It did cross my mind just now." Delvan concentrated on the eyes staring back at him from the surface of the wine in the golden goblet that was worth far more than he was now. Perhaps in a different future that boy would have been worth a thousand golden goblets far more exquisite than these.
"You realize that your father's death was no accident? By now you should also know that the last twenty years of your life have been carefully and meticulously planned." He stopped to assess Delvan's reaction. The boy had caught on. "Even though your father and I were friends for such a long time, since childhood, his betrayal was unforgivable."
"Betrayal?" The blood was draining from Delvan's head now and he set the goblet down with an unsteady hand.
"It's true. Your father and I had always been very close. We grew up together during the years of the great plague. We lived in a different Delwathe back then." The minister was staring out the window again, the all-knowing smile replaced with a far off gaze filled with melancholy memories.
"And you say he betrayed you, that he betrayed the kingdom?" Delvan winced slightly as the words slithered out of his mouth. As honest as the minister seemed now, everything was a game. Whatever feelings lie beneath, whatever portion of this man's soul that might remain human had all been twisted by corruption long ago.
"Yes, my son, your father failed at a time that Delwathe needed him most. It had been foretold that Lady Allusia's arrival would mark a great change for our kingdom. A mystic saw a vision that would have" The minister broke off, feigning the appearance of weighing the amount of information to share concerning this dark secret. "In this vision your father's roll was very clear. He knew the importance of his mission but he took it upon himself to deviate from the plan.
"Perhaps it was my own fault. I put far too much trust in one man, a man that had to carry such a heavy burden." Dargoth smiled. "This time our hero will have a bit of help."
"This time? What do you mean?"
The minister chuckled. "You are no common thief, Delvan Elgani. For years you have been trained to hide in shadows, you have been given the opportunity to experience the true nature of the kingdom
of Delwathe. Everything you have done, every assignment you have been given has been personally orchestrated by me."
"Why?" Delvan interrupted.
"Why?" The minister repeated, his eyes growing colder, fixing themselves on Delvan's rugged features. "I will tell you why. Because you are caught in my grasp and everything I hold, I own. Your life belongs to me; it became mine the moment that your father failed me!
"While your role in this has not yet been made clear, we have another window of opportunity. A new nether stands to arrive in Valmoria and with him comes a new vision."
"And this prophecy, I am in it?"
The minister's eyes grew weary, less falcon-like, "Unfortunately we don't have the luxury of prophecy," he sighed. "Most prophecies are self fulfilling in nature. The events surrounding the knowledge of a prophecy often lead to its fruition. This vision represents only one possible future for our kingdom. It is an opportunity that, I fear, will never again resurface."
Dargoth drained the last of his wine. Looking very solemn, he nodded towards Delvan's glass, indicating that he should do the same. Delvan picked up the goblet once more and stared at it briefly before allowing the rest of the wine to trickle down his throat and fill his belly with soft, fluttering butterflies. His head immediately began to swim as a fresh buzz settled over his consciousness.
"To answer your question more directly," the minister smiled as he relieved Delvan of his goblet, "it would seem that your father's bloodline is quite interwoven with these visions. Where the father failed, the son may succeed.
"In all fairness to you, young Elgani, I cannot forget the bond I had with your father, nor can I forget his betrayal. It is for this reason that I simply cannot trust you to fulfill your role of your own accord. You will be accompanied on your task by a skilled member of my military forces. You will find he is quite accomplished. Also, you should know I have personally given the order that you should be executed most excruciatingly if you deviate from the mission."
"And the mission?" Delvan asked, the wine's sweet intoxication now slurring his speech..
"In due time, in due time."
The minister placed his hand gently on Delvan's shoulder and escorted him slowly towards the door, stopping in front of a large wall painting. It was a remarkable image of the castle, banners waving on a regal breeze. The surrounding territory was depicted in stunning detail, to include the Elgani vineyards. The painting must have been painted before they were burned to the ground, before Delvan's father had been killed, before he had been forced to leave the life of a winemaker's promising apprentice and shoved into a cage, trained to steal, made to forget nearly every piece of the shattered life he had once led.
"Everything has a purpose, Delvan. You have a purpose. See here, in the painting?" Dargoth motioned toward the vineyard. "It could be yours again. The Elgani name could be returned to its former glory. Elgani Heights
could once again create the finest of wines that Velmoria has ever experienced!"
"I would like that very much, sir." Delvan stammered.
"Yes, of course. But first you must secure the nether. I will send an informant to you; they will detail your objective when the time is right. Naturally, secrecy is of the utmost importance. I must make myself perfectly clear, son, if you fail me everything you cherish will be taken from you, the Elgani name will die with your last, ragged breath. You will beg that I kill you but I will do everything in my power to prolong your suffering before you finally pass into the gates of hell. But if you do as you're told, if you succeed, you will have riches beyond your imagination. Your life and everything you once knew will be given back to you ten fold. And Delwathe will be safe from the great trouble that lies ahead."
Delvan found himself facing the large alder door he had entered from. Dargoth knocked twice and it swung outward. A guard nodded and slapped the shackles on Delvan's wrists, covering the rust marked bracelets they had left behind, and pulled him roughly into the corridor.
"Back to our cell now, Mr. Longfellow, the fleas and the ticks ave been waitin' fer ya." The guard laughed as a second guard, now visible on the other side of the doorway, grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the dungeon.
Dargoth closed the door and slowly slid the lock into place before returning to his perch at the window. His fingers found the gray hairs of his beard once again as he stared off at the tree line below. Soon the nether would be arriving in the land of Velmoria, an event that would finally swing all of his plans into motion. The sound of a latch behind him brought him back from his thoughts as the painting he had shown the young Elgani creaked slowly outwards. Completely unsurprised, he turned to face the new arrival.
The folds of smooth gold and purple robes were lowered to the floor, followed shortly by a tall and slender figure holding a golden scepter with a large black gemstone adorning the top. He moved slowly towards the mahogany desk, the soft murmur of silk upon stone was the only sound that could be heard with each agonizing step until the pointed tip of the scepter finally came to rest with a sharp plink' between his feet, just two paces from where the minister now stood. His hands now lay crossed over the top of the black gem of the scepter, exquisitely crafted rings danced upon his skeletal fingers, barely clinging to the flesh. While still quite young, his body seemed frail and sinister.
"Your Highness." Dargoth offered in an apparent attempt at a greeting.
"Minister." The man returned, leaning the scepter against the side of the desk and reaching into the folds of his robes. Seconds later he produced an ancient carved ivory goblet and held it aloof. Taking the hint, Dargoth filled it with wine before doing the same with his own golden goblet.
The man seemed to weigh the wine carefully in his mind, staring intently at the surface and flicking the side of the goblet gently. He set it on the desk and again his fingers disappeared into the folds of his robes. He smiled at the minister menacingly as he produced a small vile and held it up for him to see. The dull, murky glass container was encased by a small silver dragon figurine which mechanically opened its mouth with a whispered incantation and a gentle stroke of the neck.
"Is that really necessary, Prince Caspine?" Dargoth sighed.
"I wouldn't much like ending up like that winemaker's son, now would I Minister?"
"No, I suppose there aren't many who would choose to be in those shoes now." Dargoth chuckled lightly, still clearly annoyed by the Prince's obvious show of distrust.
Staring intently, the prince measured two full drops of the thick silver liquid and watched as they danced upon the surface of the wine before hiding the vile between the folds of his robe once more.