The Journal of the Archmage Zahirus

Standing in the main entry, Devaril had managed to find one of the few corners next to the main door to the mansion that the torchlight didn’t quite reach. Unfortunately, for most, it put him within close proximity to Lomamir’s magical door. Fortunately, for the door, it remained silent in his presence. He supposed it was due to their last “conversation” when he’d gone into the mage’s private study. He had his arms folded across his chest, as he leaned against the doorframe to watch the guards in the courtyard as they prepared to embark on their excursion to Alachore Island. He’d already made preparations for The Eye to work in his absence, he didn’t carry any bags as most of the possessions he needed to travel were on his person. In his line of business, you had to move quick and light, prepared to move out at a moment’s notice.

“Lady Zahirus!” Sir Paint, the magic door, screamed out as Amalyn came jogging down the great hall, holding her bathrobe tightly shut around her tall, curvaceous body. Wet hair was plastered to her neck and face, water dripping around her, forming little puddles in her wake. Amalyn did not respond to the door that greeted her. Quick steps carried her dangerously closer to Devaril as she had to worry about slipping. Wet, bare feet on glossy, marble tiles made for a dangerous recipe for disaster. When she was close enough to see Devaril clearly, she pointed a finger at him, shouting at the youngest of her two brothers. “What are you doing!”

He didn’t even bother looking back at her, his eyes intent on the soldiers before him. When they actually marched out, he’d have to be prepared to make his move quickly. If Amalyn knew he planned to slip in with the group, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t have enough time to make it back to Lomamir before Devaril’s plans were underway, as long as he could stall her until then. “I’m standing here, watching the guards. I didn’t realize you’d gone blind.”

“Liar!” Amalyn screamed in a hysterical rage, wet hair whipping about her neck as he rolled her head on her shoulders. “You are planning on going with Lomamir and he told you to stay put!” She didn’t dare come any closer in such a vulnerable state she was in, but if she were properly attired, dry, and not in danger of falling on her ass, she might have slapped her younger brother.

“Yeah, you tell that ugly, one-eyed psychopathic brute!” Sir Paint hollered, encouraging the enraged woman. The childlike, talking magic door seemed to love these exchanges so long as their anger was not directed at him personally. “He does want to go! I can hear him whispering things you know, Lady Zahirus. He’s gonna go. You should clap him in irons and hogtie the dog!” Sir Paint, though he meant no harm or disrespect, always had a problem of getting carried away.

Devaril, in response to the door, only looked down the hall at the empty suit of armor that held an axe bladed pike. It sat easily within walking distance, and Amalyn was in no condition to prevent him from reaching it. Then, glancing at the door, he turned so that he could face his sister as well as watching the soldiers through the corner of his eye. He made sure to keep himself calm and measured, though he felt annoyance at this line of questioning. “I won’t bother with asking how you learned of this, when I made certain my instructions to turn over my affairs happened well after I’d left. The fact is, my intentions and plans are my own, and you need not meddle in these affairs. Why I’m going and where I’m going are none of your concern. In case you hadn’t noticed, Lomamir hasn’t been running this show since Lethallea was founded, and his orders don’t carry any weight with me now just because he’s gotten it in his head that he can start barking them out.”

“We help him, we assist him!” She screamed at him, becoming brave enough to take one more step towards him so as to make her voice reach his eardrums with increased volume. “He is the Lord of Lethallea, you are not! He told you to stay here and help me with running this gods damned city! You are not going anywhere!” Amalyn paused for a moment to gather her breath as all the talking had robbed her lungs of oxygen. “Why do you want to go! You will tell me at once! If his orders do not carry any weight, then mine should!”

Sir Paint’s glossy, multi-colored surface rippled like the surface of water, reflecting the door’s amusement. “Yeah, Devaril!” It screamed at him, adding one more angry voice to the mix. It sounded angry, but between its words, the door snickered like an immature child.

Devaril turned his back on both of them, paying more attention to the movements of the soldiers. Not only to gauge his timing, but simply because he didn’t see them as anything more than a nuisance. “He’s Lord in name, only. As for the weight of your words, they are trivial in this matter. In truth, I am the power behind the throne, here. Without me there would be no order, only rebellion and chaos. You write the laws, but the mean nothing without me to ensure that they are obeyed. Besides, my affairs are taken care of, and things will run smoothly for you until I return. I have my own reasons for going to see your father. Lomamir’s part in this is a small one, by comparison. Still, I suppose it’s time I settled matters with our brother, too. I’ll make a day of reckonings out of this trip, I suppose. One way or another, when I’m done with Lomamir, the true Lord Zahirus will be returning to take the throne of Lethallea.”