#kharrin

Zarakharn paced the room, talons clacking on the floorstones. At twelve foot four, he was an imposing figure. His eyes gleamed red as he strutted impatiently back and forth.

He flicked his wings impatiently, adjusting the silver spirals that adorned his magnificent nightforest horns: the imperial crowns.

Zarakharn was arrayed in other adornments of fine metal: a ring on each hand (one of which was the imperial signet, and the other a plain, argent ring) and a bracelet on his wrist.

It was this bracelet that had given him so much trouble. The band had belonged to Khriza, second emperor of the Denzaridian dynasty, though the band, like one of the rings, was more ancient than many supposed. Zarakharn had sought it for his own reasons, and that being that the band contained great magic. For Zarakharn was a sorcerer, and a darkly powerful one at that.

Ash had been unknowingly right in his jest to call the stone magic, for it was. Zarakharn had reigned for one hundred years--half a Khrizan’s lifetime--but in body he was as young as he had been when he assumed the throne at sixty. This was because of the stone’s enchantment, and should it be destroyed, Zarakharn would die.

But it was more difficult to destroy the stone than it seemed, a fact that would be evident had you known what the stone had been through on the night it had been stolen.

And here we return to the bracelet, and why it was so much trouble, for that was how it was stolen to begin with.

Zarakharn had been approached via letter by a dragon who had acquired the band. Jumping at the opportunity, Zarakharn had summoned him to the palace immediately and purchased it from him. But then the dragon, one Daktarash, had stolen the stone after the transaction was completed. But he was betrayed; Kharda, the crime lord from whom Daktarash had sought refuge, turned him in, and Zarakharn wasted no time in torturing him brutally for information. What he discovered made him so furious he killed Daktarash on the spot.

Daktarash had been hired by a nameless, faceless dragon who was a member of the Inquisitorius. This he had been able to prove, for until he was interrogated, Daktarash had been more terrified of his mysterious employer’s retribution than Zarakharn’s. Because he had lost the stone he was supposed to give to the inquisitor, and had sought refuge with Kharda for this reason. Upon learning this, Zarakharn flew into a rage and rushed from the cell, leaving Daktarash’s corpse behind for the guards to dispose of.

He knew what Daktarash’s employer was. A Shazarian. The Shazarians were the only enemies that posed Zarakharn any threat, for they too were wizards. He could not allow the stone to fall into their hands. And for this reason he had summoned Kharrin, the Chief Inquisitor, and for that reason he was growing increasingly annoyed.

“Kharrin is late,” he snapped. “If I did not require him, I would kill him for this.”

The black cobra slithering on the floor hissed. Zarakharn could understand him, for he was his only friend. His name was Sartigar, and the hiss had said, Then there is much time and opportunity for me to devise cutting remarks at his expense.

Zarakharn smirked. “Perhaps I shall repeat a few of them to our dilatory Inquisitor.”

Zarakharn stared at his rings, entreating the Rishnaran to please hurry things along, he was very busy and had matters of the greatest importance to attend to. He was soon obliged.

The guards pushed the doors opened and in flew a thin, middle-aged dragon with sharp, field-grey horns. On his finger he wore the signet of the Inquisitorius. It was Kharrin, and he had really tried not to be late. He would have preferred to get through this meeting as soon as possible. Meeting with the emperor always gave him a headache.

Kharrin landed and bowed at Zarakharn’s feet.

“Rise,” Zarakharn commanded, not bothering to touch Kharrin’s horns. Kharrin did so.

Zarakharn glared at the Inquisitor. Kharrin glared back. They stood like this until Kharrin realized the emperor intended him to speak first.

“Your majesty,” said Kharrin, trying not to clench his teeth. “It is to my great regret that the Inquisitorius has not been able to ascertain the location of your missing. . . crystal stone. Rest assured we are--“

“Call them off,” Zarakharn interrupted.

Kharrin’s eyebrow twitched. “My lord?”

“Call them off,” Zarakharn repeated. “The Inquisitorius is compromised.”

“That is impossible, my liege,” Kharrin growled. “The Inquisitorius cannot be compromised so completely that I cannot trust it to search for an insignificant tri--“

Zarakharn twisted his ring, the plain one on his left middle finger. A sharp headache flashed through Kharrin’s skull like lightning. He winced. Zarakharn spoke before he could regain his composure and continue.

“The thief who stole the crystal stone was hired to do so by an inquisitor,” Zarakharn said. “This inquisitor used his connections in the Inquisitorius to threaten him into upholding his end of the bargain. When this thief lost possession of the stone, he panicked. He turned to Kharda Arfat for refuge.”

“Kharda,” Kharrin growled. “I know him well. A crime lord. He has many spies within the Inquisitorius, which you insist I leave alone. Might not one of--“

“Kharda’s plants would be more useful to you than they are to him, if only you knew how to exploit them,” Zarakharn snapped as Kharrin gritted his teeth against another headache. “And you know I am on very good terms with Kharda. He would not betray his only cousin for something that, for all he knows, is worth far less than anything he already possesses.”

“And, with all due respect, my lord,” said Kharrin, trying not to growl, “is not the same true of you? You have far larger and rarer stones in your treasury. What does this lump of enzarite matter?”

“It matters enough that a member of the Inquisitorius hired someone to steal it,” Zarakharn snarled. “That is enough for you.”

Sartigar brushed his tail against Kharrin’s hind talons, hoping to unnerve him. Kharrin resisted the urge to swat the emperor’s pet with his tail as he gritted his teeth against another headache. “Very well. Where is the thief? I must interrogate him.”

Then you may interrogate the guards’ bellies, Sartigar hissed gleefully.

“He’s dead,” Zarakharn said. “He committed suicide after the interrogation.”

Kharrin gritted his teeth. “Of course.” His eye twitched as Sartigar slithered between his feet.

Zarakharn made no attempt to reign in his companion. “You will find this traitor and bring him to me, alive. Though perhaps the fact that you have not found him already speaks to your competence and capabilities.”

“Kharrin quelled a few irritated sparks. “I can do a great deal more than you imagine.”

“I have yet to see as to that,” Zarakharn sniffed.

“Your father thought my service admirable,” Kharrin retorted. “Enough to promote me at a younger age than was yours when you assumed the throne.” He jammed his claws into his temple and cursed under his breath.

“That is only because he did not die an early death,” Zarakharn snapped. “And since your promotion, you have run on ambition that cannot be satisfied. It has corrupted you into a sniveling tool.”

Kharrin stamped his foot, nearly impaling Sartigar with his talons. Sartigar gasped and shot away from him. Zarakharn grabbed him by the tail with his foot before he could snap around and sink his fangs into Kharrin’s ankle.

Kharrin bowed. “My deepest apologies, your majesty.”

Zarakharn paid no heed, commanding Sartigar to come to him. Sartigar threw Kharrin a look and slithered up Zarakharn’s leg.

“Sire,” Kharrin said after a while, “there’s something else.”

“What is it?” Zarakharn snapped.

“Sar Argandi has reappeared,” said Kharrin.

Zarakharn whirled around, his tail cracking like a whip. “What?” he roared.

“We’ve been doing our best to track him, but he vanishes every time he stri--” Kharrin snarled and gripped his temples.

“Sar Argandi could be connected with the traitorous inquisitor!” Zarakharn shouted. “What have you been doing?”

“We have our best trackers on him,” Kharrin replied shakily. “But I had no idea he could be connected with an insider. How is it possible? Sar Argandi is an enemy of the Inquisitorius! He kills all inquisitors in his path!”

“And this traitorous inquisitor must be an enemy to the Inquisitorius as well,” Zarakharn replied.

“Are you suggesting they are in league?” asked Kharrin, eyes widening.

“Not in league,” said Zarakharn. “Not allies, not conspirators. But connected.”

Kharrin considered this.

“But perhaps I am wrong.”

Kharrin raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps they are indeed colluding.”

Kharrin sight inwardly with exasperation.

“I expect Sar Argandi will kill many more if you do not apprehend him quickly,” said Zarakharn. “What does the public know of this?”

“A great deal more than the Inquisitorius would prefer,” said Kharrin ruefully. “The terror of Sar nearly rivals the notoriety of the stone.”

“That is well,” said Zarakharn. “Eyewitnesses will be a great asset to you.”

“Rest assured, your majesty, we will apprehend him,” Kharrin growled.

“Rest assured that I am not reassured,” Zarakharn sniffed.

“I will not fail you, my lord,” Kharrin insisted, features hardening. “I will stake my life on it.”

“An empty gesture,” Zarakharn replied, brandishing his tailblade, “considering that it never wasn’t.”

Kharrin’s brow furrowed with anger at the threat. He bowed and flew from the room to his task.

Zarakharn sighed. He couldn’t trust a non-Kenshi to do anything. Which was why he was going to go after the stone himself, because he was the only living one.

The Kenshi were an order broken off from the Shazarians thousands of years ago. War had kept the numbers of both orders scant, but the Shazarians had always outnumbered the Kenshi. Still, with only one Kenshi living, which same Kenshi was the first in a thousand years, they had managed to acquire three of the of the five Bands of Power.

Zarakharn now turned his attention to the stone. He could not determine where it was or apparate to its location, but he could find out who touched it last and where that person was.

He did so now by squeezing a tiny pouch between his claws, releasing a marble which he caught in his hand. He lifted it to his gaze and pressed the white side to his eye.

He saw a dragon curled in a shabby mound of a bed, sleeping on his belly with his wings tucked at his sides. This was, of course, our young Ginzaekh.

Zarakharn’s eyes narrowed. The features of this drakeling seemed almost familiar to him. The contours of his snout, the curves of his ridged horns, the shape of his spined crest. This dragon uncannily resembled one Ginzaekh Arrissa, a Shazarian Zarakharn had killed. This dragon could not be him; even had Zarakharn been mistaken in his death (and I can assure you that he was not) this one was much too young to be he, for this dragon looked some five or six years from adulthood. But if Zarakharn’s suspicious had any foundation, this dragon was undoubtedly the Shazarian’s son.

Zarakharn’s brow furrowed tightly. He had to find out as soon as possible. If correct, this dragon was descended from a long line of powerful sorcerers. If he had the stone, it boded quite ill for Zarakharn indeed if he had already begun to be instructed in magic--and learned the identity of his father’s murderer. Zarakharn was certain the stone was not a good omen in this young dragon’s hands.

He turned the marble to the blue side. It displayed a map of Khriza. The village of Rer glowed blue. The stone was on the other end of Khriza.