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| "Any good programmer who's awake at 7 AM hasn't been to bed yet."
- Unknown
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"When the student outsmarts the teacher, it speaks well for the student -- and probably better for the teacher. "
- Walter Slovotsky
(Guardians of the Flame series)
All Quotes
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Prologue
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 damp breeze drifted across the darkened bank of the hill and, with it, a thin fog. Down below, the various points of light shed by the many torches of the town of Borlene flickered inconsistently, leaving stray shadows to dance upon the walls of the antiquated buildings. Distant music and unrestrained laughter carried on the cool night air as the numerous inhabitants of the town roamed from dwelling to dwelling. A tower bell sounded in the distance. With the last of the crops gathered for the year, the townsfolk were gathering to feast on the fruits of their toiling under the light of the harvest moon. It was a time of celebration.
Not, however, for the three observers hidden upon the bank of that dark hill.
Concealed amid the dew-laden grasses that dipped and swayed in the moist breeze, the three dark figures crouched together conversing amongst themselves although an almost visible barrier of tension and suspicion surrounded their gathering.
"Did I lie?", asked the first, a tall, muscled figure of a man clothed from head to foot in intricately-stitched, black leather the chief distinction of which was the insignia of a blood red scorpion square on the chest. Although lacking a cloak, he shrugged off the dankness around him as a stone might; steeled by focus. As he spoke, his eyes never left the young boy who frolicked on the field that stood between themselves and the town. The pommel of a large broadsword strapped to his back protruded over his right shoulder. Its ominous presence offered him the reassurance that the discussion ensuing would conclude in his favour. Whether violence was required or not to achieve that end was left wholly in the hands of his associates.
Even entrenched within their shadow-ladened perch, the bright gleam of his smug grin betrayed the rhetoric of his question.
"I would never have believed had not seen him with my own eyes! The similarity is striking! He truly is his father's son.", remarked the second, smaller man garbed most strikingly in a deep red cloak. " Do we bring him with us tonight?"
"He shall be left here.", replied the first in a calculated voice, "Returning with him before we have received payment would be folly. He shall be kept here and, as Kledric's impatience rises, so shall the ransom. A contact will be placed near him. In that manner, we may collect the reward before we surrender him or have him moved if we are betrayed."
His last comment was cleverly directed at the final member of the gathering. When he failed to respond, the first pressed harder, goading him into speech,
"What are your thoughts?"
The mysteriously robed and hooded, third member of the trio broke his almost monastic period of silence with a educated, but surprisingly frail voice carefully screened of resentment.
"A sound plan. I shall return and report your discovery to Sovereign Kledric. On my Order's oath, he will believe the tidings that I bear."
Considering the tyrannical power at the man’s disposal, that meek voice was well out of place. Another might have been tempted to dismiss the worthiness of such a subdued man
Another perhaps, but not I, thought the first viciously. Diplomacy is useless on me my friend and your magistate talents will serve you to no avail here. I will not underestimate you. Knowing the indignation that the robed, third man of their improbable trio was barely containing had made the first almost want to smile until the bastard spoke of Kledric's title in mocking.
Father, have I not proven myself worthy yet?
Ah, but Kledric, Lord Kledric, Sovereign Kledric was only his father by matter of blood, not upbringing, the first scolded himself inwardly. He had not spoken with his nobleborn father since he was a child.
"The boy has not come into his birthright yet?", he asked wearily, tearing himself away from the tangent his thoughts attempted to follow.
If the third noticed, he gave no outward indication though that was frequently his way and needed to be taken as such.
"Of course not. It should be years yet before his talent emerges."
The first had his doubts about that.
"'Should' is a word that opens the door to many possibilities. I dislike possibilities. Those in my profession require some semblance of certainty. He is the youngest of his breed with whom I have dealt, save your niece of course, and therefore, my experience in this matter is limited."
He paused a moment, watching the third stiffen slightly at the mention of his niece, but then continued.
"'Assumption sires error.'", he quoted in a harsh voice, "And we can ill afford to make even the slightest of mistakes. All of us are aware of the stakes involved in this venture. Have you already forgotten your Precepts so early in life?"
Inwardly, the first cursed himself for allowing his irritation to show. Stoicism returned.
The third stiffened further at his blatant insult but regained his composure quickly. Ah, how easily his feathers are ruffled, the first thought with an inner grin. Tit for tat my dear magistrate.
"He will not be a threat to our plan.", the third voiced with grim determination.
Having made his point, the first conceded.
"Excellent. Then, our original agreement still holds?", he inquired, his eyes searching the third's face for the slightest hint of the betrayal he believed awaited him.
Not surprisingly, he found none. The man could bluff a rock with that supremely neutral gaze of his.
"It does. I will return and inform the Sovereign of your discovery and arrange payment. Establish a contact near him and I will return by the next full moon to collect him. My share in our profits shall remain confidential. Agreed?"
He speaks to me now as an equal. Good. It will make this game more challenging.
"Agreed."
"Good night then gentlemen. I have arrangements to make for my return trip. I do, in parting, offer you the smallest bit of advice however. Do not anger the Sovereign further. Not returning with the boy immediately may be viewed by some as treasonous. I, however, have only the boy's better interests at heart. Gold is a small price to pay to maintain the Sovereign's proper lineage. "
Especially if it lines your own purse, you ill-gotten son of the town whore. With sizable control, the first allowed the direct insult to pass. Magistrates were all the same and this one was a magistrate to his very core. He was powerful, yes, but then again, so was he. Too much would be lost on both sides were a battle to rise here. Still, that barb would be remembered and make victory all the more sweet. Biting off more than you can chew will choke you, magistrate.
Standing and turning away, the mysterious third figure climbed silently to the apex of the hill, his passage apparent only by his silhouette against the full moon. Figures could be seen materializing from other parts of the hill and converging on him as he quickly disappeared over the other side. Those men had represented an uncalculated addition to the first’s puzzle and he was glad to see them go. Then again, it should have come as no shock when they had arrived with him. Men such as he went nowhere without their personal guards.
The two remaining men exchanged a glance once the third and his minions were out of earshot.
"Korphael is going to be an unnerving business associate. The man steeps himself in politics and intrigue. He will, however, make a useful ally. You could learn much from him, my friend."
After reflecting on the first's statement with a disbelieving look, the second, smaller man asked, "The Administrator of the Sovereign? I think not. Where do his loyalties lie? Can he seriously be trusted, Colius? You aren't the only one with a stake in this. I could smell the Power in him. He dwarfs even you and you had best remember that lest both our heads decorate the gates at Rhyll for treason."
Colius allowed a thin smile to play across his face at his small associate’s question. The time has come to settle another matter.
"Korphael is Gai'leren and betrayal is the nature of his kind, Rian. Place your trust in one and you will be betrayed the moment your back is turned." Not unlike the scorpion.
Rian's eyes went wide.
"But, ... But ... you're ..."
With a wicked arc, the broadsword was out of its harnessed scabbard and, with a great cleaving stroke, separated Rian's head from his shoulders before another word escaped his lips. A fountain of blood rose from his truncated form as it toppled to the ground. The severed head, with Rian's surprised expression still frozen on its face, rolled slowly through the grasses and down the hill, disappearing into the light fog.
"My sincerest apologies Rian but business and friendship are not well mixed. Were you not familiar with the parable of the scorpion and the frog, my young tadpole? I never had the intention of sharing such a large ransom with the likes of you. I have plans for this one and I will not have them compromised by anyone. I'll be certain to give my condolences to your widow when next I see her."
With fingers muscled by years of swordwork, Colius tore a small section from the body's cloak and began the meticulous cleaning of his rune-encrusted blade. It was a few moments before the ancient relic was restored to its former pristine condition. He spent a moment marvelling at the immaculate artifact in his hands. The sword's name was Craken'rex - literally: Power's Gate.
Power's Gate was a vestige of a forgotten time and had been in his family for many generations. His father’s family albeit but an heirloom of sorts nonetheless. It had been bequeathed to him by Kledric following his accession into the upper ranks of the Order of the Blade. A placating gesture even when viewed in the best light but a revealing one. His father feared the bastard child that he had been so quick to disown a score of years earlier. And rightfully so. With only the lost boy that he himself had found standing between himself and the Heiring Rites to the Sovereignship, it was a well-founded fear indeed. While father had been able to sire three sons in his long life, the third was a blathering imbecile with the mind of a child though he was well into his eighteenth year. Not a threat at all. Certainly not fit to be Sovereign.
He allowed himself a small grin. As the Sovereign's top Administrator, Korphael would know all of this of course and would be swift in a counterstroke regardless of any oaths he may have sworn to the contrary. He was Kledric's man but served only himself. Korphael had his own plans in mind; he had seen it in the man’s eyes the first time that they had met. The man concealed his intent well now though but it was of no consequence. The man’s plans would fail. Or, more to the point, those plans would ensure that he and not Korphael would emerge as victor.
"I’ll not do what you expect of me, Administrator. Nor you, Father.", he mumbled quietly to himself.
A scheme within a scheme. Actions not expected of him. Therein lay his hopes for victory.
That brought him to rest his eyes again upon one of the tools of his task: the Sword. There were only two others of its like to be found anywhere in the known world. He hoped that, when the sequence of events that he had set into motion came to their foreordained conclusion, it would ward him long enough to be able to enjoy the fruits of his labour.
There was no point in tormenting himself over things that he could control no longer. Every facet of his plan had been meticulously scrutinized. There was little that could go wrong. After sheathing the artifact, he turned to what remained of his dead companion with a smirk.
"I do not suppose that I can leave you here to be found by some wayward farmhand, can I? Can you imagine the chaos it would cause if a dead man dressed in a Vor’ Ozlan warrior's raiment was found on the outskirts of their naive little hamlet?"
Colius' hand went to the sword's hilt as he narrowed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. A pale green nimbus surrounded him as the moistened ground surrounding his dead collegue shifted unnaturally, parting slowly to allow the body to descend into the earth. As the corpse lowered, the shifted dirt reversed, entombing the body and filling in the remains of the hole so that only a small trace of any disturbance save for the excess and the lack of grass remained.
Wiping the sweat of exertion from his brow, his thoughts turned to his job at hand. He had already decided on the perfect contact to place near the boy.
The thin smile returned as he mounted the hill, following in Korphael’s wake. The contest of strength and determination had only begun and he intended to see it through to triumph.
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Chapter I
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 or what eventually became a very important day in my life, the holiday of Kuresh' Tersan began as any other feast day that I remember. It was the last day of the year, yes, but that particular holiday also marked the last day in the Era of Aurvana: The Era of War. Of course, the continent of Elania hadn’t been involved in a war in over two hundred years but that was simply the way of the Brechenridge Almanac. It’s breakdown of epoch into era, era into year, and year into season and cycle tended to echo certain ancient elements of Elish history. With the last day of both the Era of War and the Year of the Warcry passing, my thoughts drifted to what the new Era, the Era of Travel, held for me. Good things, I hoped.
I realize that those of you schooled in the One Language might be attempting to suppress a grin at the name of our year’s end holiday and rightly so. For those of you not among my enlightened colleagues, I shall have to explain. Due to my education as a translator, I sometimes lapse into the archaic language though I will attempt to limit this only to areas of my tale where it is necessary. The One Language was the result of a massive convergence of both languages and cultures during the time of our forefathers. As a result, it became an expansive language that tends to be excessively descriptive and, in many cases, can be difficult to translate into commoner. The name of this particular holiday, however, is not one of those cases.
Kuresh' Tersan was a holiday celebrating the end of the cold weather that typically shrouded the beautiful city of Elsmere Major for several months during the Season of Moribund. Its status as an official day of rest was proclaimed by none other than Potentate Heldrinn over four epochs ago. Unfortunately, Heldrinn had imbibed more than his fair share of ale that day, as was his custom, and no one had fully been able to pierce through his drunken slurs when he named the holiday. Compounding matters further was the etiquette involved in requesting that a member of the reigning family repeat himself. By this I mean that there was no etiquette in existence, especially in Heldrinn’s era. Nobility simply didn’t need to repeat themselves.
Following this revelation from the head of our beloved ruling class, every scholar in the city began frantically pouring over every relevant text on the One Language in a vain search for the meaning of the obscure name. Soon, it became the central topic of conversation among the cityfolk and every person in the Elsmere Major wanted desperately to know what it meant. Unfortunately, the closest that any of the elder linguists could come was a dialect from the north-east some three hundred years earlier and even then, the closest translation was ‘soggy foot’.
Subsequently, a secret meeting of our Elders Scholars was called and it was pointed out that heads would roll if a suitable translation did not materialize swiftly. Being quite attached to their heads as most scholars tend to be, the decision to substitute their own translation was unanimous. From that time onward, Kuresh’ Tersan became known as ‘the New Beginning’ with overtones of a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day thrown in for added appeal. Also, Elder Scholar Beryl had accompanied this announcement to the city with an inspiring speech praising the Potentate for his knowledge of so ancient a dialect of the One Language that had confounded the scholars for several days. Thus, as the parablists of old would say, a single stone killed two birds. The Potentate’s honour was publicly salvaged and scholars were able to sleep peacefully again without fear of further nightmares. The secret of this has remained with our Scholar Sect ever since.
My sect has many such instances in history where compromises as such became necessary to protect the sect’s integrity but I fear I have revealed more than is justified already. I shall have to leave you to find another source to satisfy your lust for intrigue.
I instead return you to the time of which I initially spoke as it has some importance in the tale I shall tell. As both era and year passed me by, it was another new beginning.... of sorts.
I remember the particular year’s end of which I spoke earlier as if it had just passed. I recall being grateful because it meant a day's break from my apprenticeship studies and contracted services. Educator Berlauk was an excellent instructor but tended towards more of an extreme discipline than I felt was necessary. He had more of an excitement for studious activities than I did. While I did have free time to myself that was normally spent in any of a number of nearby pubs, a completely free day was a luxury that I was seldom given.
The celebrations in the city during the New Beginning, for those of you unfamiliar with them, have always been spectacular to say the least. Business, apart from those of the tavern owners, came to a complete standstill. Men, drunk into unconsciousness and lying in the gutters before midday, were not unusual sights. Now, to say that I was never among them at least on a few occasions would be untrue. I had acquired a taste for ale at a very young age and would be lying if I said that drinking did not occupy a sizeable portion of my extracurricular routine. In retrospect, I drank far too much for my age, ... or any age for that matter. But, as the renowned philosopher Gormetis once said, "Such is the invulnerability of youth."
Rising early in order to get a full start on the day, I quickly tidied my attic room that was rented for me by my Academy while I attended. Please don't ask me why I joined the Scholar Sect. I already realize that it is not among the most respected of Sects and pointing that out would only add insult to my fragile self image. It simply was a Sect suited to my capabilities.
The workforce of our fair city was entirely divided into nine Labor Sects, each of which controlled all interests under its domain. Unfortunately, all but five involved rather intense physical labor and I was strongly opposed to that. Of the remaining options open to me, the Merchant Sect and the Magistrate Sect were eliminated merely on the basis of my lack of resources; The former was elitist and required either the backing of family wealth or special business interests and the latter required a family member or friend at a suitable level of employment as to be able to refer you for apprenticeship.
I had neither.
Of the remaining three, I was discounted from entering the healer's sect due to my delay in applying. The eldest students they allowed admittance to were those that had seen no more than fourteen summers due to the intense amount of training involved. The Minstral Sect could have held promise for one such as I were I to have had even a shred of musical talent but such was not the case. Thus, my options were few and far between.
Please excuse my petty whining as I do suppose that it is uncalled for. I did have respect for mental activities. In fact, I prided myself on my intellectual prowess, but, at the Time of Choosing, I had no notion of what I wanted to do with my life. A Scholarship, in my eyes, seemed at least to allow me to delay my decision until the time when I was fully ready to commit myself to something. In all honesty, the notion of being put of the city as sectless played a sizeable part in my hasty decision as well. The Time of Choosing age was sixteen and only the nobles were exempt from it. Unfortunately, I had postponed my decision for much too long. I'm sure that there were few members of any of the remaining Sects that would have been willing to train an apprentice who was twenty-four. Like it or not, I had carved out my niche in society and was forced to live with it.
I suppose that my situation wasn't as unfortunate as I make it out to be. I was well schooled in linguistics, military history and etiquette and would be making a comfortable living through my contracted services once my indentured service to the Academy was finished. I would most likely be commissioned as a diplomat’s aide although scholar apprentices were never told until they were ready to bundle you up and send you there.
By the time I had finished eating a sparce meal of bread and cheese and left my residence, the sun had barely risen. Travelling through the streets of Elsmere Major in the early morning light always made me marvel at the grand magnificence of our land's capital. It was a sight that I rarely saw however as my late night carousing usually left me in bed until my afternoon classes began. To my knowledge, no city in the world was Elsmere Major’s match. It took two full days to walk its length if one took into account the areas surrounding the walled inner city.
To the north, the great Iron Citadel loomed amid the dense forest of Galaroe’s Wood. Potentate Jordoch Galaroe was dead now, having succumbed to a mysterious illness in the previous year, but his memory lived on. His family retained control of the throne as well. In an unexpected move, Queen Consort Porella had refused to step aside after his death and had managed to rally much of the city to her cause. I reflected on how nice it was to have a woman on the throne. The city was the cleanest it had ever been and they had even hung flower baskets on all of the torch brackets that lined the main streets. While most would focus on Porella’s ingenious role in the emergence of a booming economy for Elsmere Major, it was the small things that I appreciated most.
The cobblestone streets were busier than usual for cock's crow that morning but that was to be expected on a feast day. Slowly, I made my way through the six or so blocks through Merchant’s Alley to the Seven Finches Tavern, drearily breathing in the brisk air the entire way. The chill wind constantly blew the long curls of my hair into my face and I cursed myself for forgetting to tie it back before I had left. It may have been the last day of the Season of Moribund; the Season of Ice as most called it, but it seemed that the weather was choosing to ignore the petty dictates of our Almanac that morning. I was at least thankful that there was no snow. I despised snow. Snow had always represented hardship for my family while I was growing up. I plodded on comforting myself with the knowledge that Lucius would have a roaring fire started in the tavern's wood stove by the time I arrived.
Sure enough, a pleasing warmth enveloped me as I swung open the large door and passed through the arched entrance, remembering to give the old oak door a stiff push to ensure that it shut tightly. I had been scolded more than my fair share of times for forgetting to do so. With a final shiver, I stripped off my cloak, hang it on my usual peg on the door rack, and grabbed my usual stool among those few patrons that had already arrived.
The Seven Finches Tavern was like most other pubs found the world over. The atmosphere had a touch of something that always reminded me of home though it was more the inhabitants than the surroundings that did so. I had never lived in such lavish surrounding. The intricately carved tables and the chairs with their embroidered cushions had originally been part of a collection of furniture owned by one of the Houses some years ago. The particular and whimsical fashions of noble clothing and furniture rarely lasted for more than a year before being seen as hopelessly out of date so the new was commissioned and the old auctioned off as soon as it arrived. A silly trend really but not without its commendable aspects. The fickleness of noble styles seemed to maintain our oversized Craftsmen Sect almost single-handedly. Most of the old furniture and clothing tended to be sold off cheaply as well due to the large turnover of items that the Houses went through. Lucius had obtained his collection for a song but he treated his items as if they were priceless.
Archaic copper oil lamps, protected from tarnish by years of devoted polishing, adorned the plaster walls and illuminated the interior. Only a trace of oil smoke could been seen hovering near the vaulted ceiling. Mhorix oil filled those lamps and there was none finer. Anyone choosing to ask Lucius about it though only brought grumbles from the man. ‘Bloody noble House and their bloody control on the supply of oil!’, he would mutter, ‘Charging whatever they feel like and expecting honest folk to pay the price!’ But Lucius paid it. ‘Only the best for the Seven Finches.’, he had often said when in better spirits and I respected him for that.
I sat for a moment, inhaling the delectable aromas emanating from Illorin’s kitchen. Lucius’ wife was, in my opinion, the best cook in the entire city. The aroma of her delicately seasoned ham and poached eggs wafted past me, making me remember with distaste that I had wasted precious stomach space on bland cheese and day-old bread before leaving. I was rarely awake before her supply of breakfast meals was consumed and I had intended on treating myself that day. I decided to wait a bit to make some room. Scanning quickly around the common room, I searched for Lucius but he was nowhere to be seen. Impatiently, I rapped on the counter for service.
"What can I get you?", came the expected deep voice from the back room.
A mischievous thought crossed my mind.
"Her Grace’s Tax Collectors. We've come to collect this season's taxes.", I responded, disguising my voice as best as possible. I offered a wink and a smile to answer the questioning looks of the men seated near me.
"Eh.. one moment sir.", came the reply followed quickly by a muted grumble that I barely overheard, "Bloody season isn’t over yet and they’re already knocking on my bloody door!"
Abruptly an old, round face poked out through the curtains.
Now, to describe old Lucius simply as large would have done him a discredit. In saying this, I refer to his weight rather than any description alluding to great physical strength. It had been his love for Illorin’s cooking that had done it to him but no one could fault him for that, her food being irresistable and all. He was the proverbial jolly, fat man. He was also a good friend; the first that I had made when I had come to Els Major.
"Kaylor Baun' Shier! Why do you always have to try to scare me to death!? I've got half a mind to throw you back out in the street for that prank!"
His outburst brought a round of laughs from his other patrons.
"And a joyous New Beginning to you too, Lucius!", I replied smiling to myself.
The small flick of annoyance on his seasoned face betrayed the fact that he had fallen for my unplanned ruse and had not simply been humouring me. It was a rare instance in which I was able to put one over on old Lucius. I realized at once that it was primarily his wounded pride at having been caught with his guard down that was bothering him.
After a few moments, he calmed down and let out a small sigh.
"Ham and eggs will it be for you then?"
"Not just yet. A pint first if you please."
Resigned, he filled a tankard of that dark, rich ale for which the Seven Finches was so renowned. With a swift blow of the froth and a tilt of my head, I quickly downed it. The first pint was, after all, the most important pint of the day and there was no sense in dragging it out.
"That ale's supposed to be savoured, not supped back in an instant!", came his expected chastising, "Drinking like that will get you into trouble."
His latter statement was added for his benefit rather than mine. Lucius was the type of man that enjoyed being able to say his ‘I told you so’ 's. Regardless, it did add to his fatherly charm.
While my visits to the Seven Finches weren't necessarily as routine as I would have preferred, they always seemed to give my life a stable element that it lacked. Every visit was comparable to a small homecoming of sorts. Lucius and his wife were almost like family to me and I had been away from home for longer than I cared to admit.
After a moment's thought and a refill of my tankard, Lucius offered, "Care to lay bets as to whether you end up in the same condition as last year? I'll offer good odds."
I chose to ignore the remark. Short of a gruesome death, it was impossible for me to wind up in any worse condition than I had been on the previous celebration of the year’s end (one of those face-down-in-the-street incidents that I mentioned earlier). I wasn't able to hold solid food down for three days. But there was no reason to let him know that the memory of that particular day bothered me. If history chose to repeat itself, then so be it. For the time being, at least, I was up one in our little game and I wasn't about to surrender my point easily.
Whimsically, I put forth, "I am willing to lay my coin on which of my friends walks through your door first. Who do you think it will be?", I asked.
"Now you wouldn't be trying to bluff old Lucius into a wager when you already knew who was coming, would you?", he questioned with a small grin forming on his rotund face.
At that point, I started to wonder who would be coming that year. The number of us who had sworn our drunken oath several years earlier to meet there at every year's end had slowly lessened in number. From the original eight, only six had come the year previous and it had remained to be seen who would return on that the fifth year of our pledge.
"If that's what you truly believe Lucius, I yield first pick to you. Shall we say five copper orlets as the wager?"
"Done!" announced Lucius, "I'll lay my coin on Bjorn." His smug grin widened to a deep, knowing smile as his old eyes lit up with the fire of delight.
I realized that I had blindly stumbled into that one. Bjorn was Vyr' Kaersan and everyone knew that his culture took oaths very seriously. An oath-breaker's entire family was responsible for the shame of a shattered vow, even one sworn in drunkenness. I had also received word from him a ten-day earlier that he was in the city. He would come, and he was always an early riser.
While most would have attributed a mistake such as that to the ale, I think that I'll have to chalk that mental slip up to my awaking at cock's crow. I am not, nor have I ever been, a morning person. I bore concealed contempt for those who scoffed at anyone who wasn't awake before the sun came up. It was my belief that anything worth doing could be done just as well at midday or later.
My only prospect lay in the betting of my coin on one of the others who might come, and offer a prayer to Melrauna that they arrived early enough to beat him. Ah… a prayer to the Handmaiden of Luck; The last refuge of a gambler.
"It seems that I'm left with putting my coin on Arklasius.", I mumbled in a beaten tone, "I think that I'll have to ask for those odds though."
"Well Kaylor, the odds were for you ending up in the gutter today but I will give you a three to two wager that Bjorn is the first of your friends to walk through that door."
His fifteen orlets to my ten. It was just like Lucius to try and raise the stakes when he was certain of victory.
"Two to one and the bet is nullified if any of the others arrive first.", I countered, trying to limit my losses.
After making a show of mulling my offer over, he also countered, "Two to one but none of that 'nullification' nonsense. That is my final offer."
Feeling somewhat redeemed, I relented. There were few people I knew that would have been willing to alter a bet once it had been made. Certainly not in the others favour, that was for sure. Lucius did however enjoyed flaunting his confidence in a well-placed bet.
Turning around with pint in hand so that I had a better view of the door, my eyes fell on an old nemesis of mine perched on a nearby windowsill. It was Krinkle, Illorin’s cat. She bore a self-satisfied look as if she realized that her master’s mate had got the best of me.
Krinkle and I had taken an instant disliking to one another on my first visit to the Seven Finches. Not that I was afraid of cats; they just made me sneeze. She must have realized that right from the start. Every time I paid a call to Lucius, the annoying cat always lingered around me. Never too close though. Certainly not within swatting distance though I doubt I could have drummed up the courage for that. Illorin would have chased me out with her rolling pin and told me never to come back. She was the sweetest woman normally but was a terror to anyone who agitated her Krinkle.
And I had seen her break up a scuffle between two men, both of whom were much larger than me, with that rolling pin. I think that was one of the only reasons that Lucius kept the bloody feline around. Well, that and the fact that Krinkle was considered one of the best ratters in the city.
That in itself was a double-edged sword for me. On the one hand, it meant that there was never a shortage of homes for her kittens and, consequently, no other cats roaming around the tavern to annoy me. On the other hand though, Krinkle had achieved more fame at the ripe old age of nine than I probably would in my entire life. Even the Queen Consort had one of her kittens!
With a disgusted jerk of my head, I turned back to face to door, keeping a weary watch on Krinkle through the corner of my eye. She seemed content merely with the knowledge that I had acknowledged her presence.
Distantly, I could overhear old Bert in the corner mumbling something to one of the other patrons with what I thought must have passed for excitement among very old men.
"A Cycle, Season, Year and Era all ending on the same day! That’s cause for celebration!"
Of course, Bert would be the type to celebrate the cat’s birthday if he thought it would get him a free pint. A belittling thought I suppose but the near assurance of a lost bet to Lucius had blackened my mood slightly. The man was due a little respect; He was ninety-two after all. Ninety-two! Blazes, I’d consider myself lucky if I made it to half his age! Shaking my head, I pulled my attention away from Bert and back to the door.
A steady stream of patrons trickled into the Seven Finches during the course of my first few pints and subsequent breakfast. Predictably, Bjorn was one of them. Now, for those of you who have never been fortunate enough to have seen a member of the Vyr' Kaersan race, I will attempt to enlighten you.
Bjorn stood over two and one-third yards tall, and had to stoop slightly to enter even Lucius' unusually high front entrance. Dressed in a green velvet coat accented with gilded buttons and trim and complimented by dark woollen breeches, one would have thought him a noble were it not plainly obvious to all but a blind man that he was a Vyr’ Kaersan: A Person of the Woods.
Like every other member of his race that I had met, Bjorn was an exceptionally wiry soul with large, crystalline blue eyes and a head of long, ivory hair. I mean by exceptionally wiry that, despite his height advantage over me, at least a third of a yard or so, he only weighed one stone more than I did. And I am considered quite thin in most circles. Of course, I knew better than to be fooled by his thin frame. Strength unbecoming to muscles so long and thin lay waiting to be called forth. He was truly a model specimen of the Vyr' Kaersan race.
Bjorn Vyr' Treun was the closest thing I had to a best friend. We had met nine years previous when I had lived with my surrogate parents in Borlene. He had been there on diplomatic business for his father who was a member of the Vyrsaan Council. It seemed that he had overheard an argument I was having with the town bully in one of my old haunts. Thankfully, he decided that I might need a helping hand. If it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn't have lived to see the next sunrise. I had been unaware of it at the time but four of the bully's friends had decided that it was time to teach me a lesson and were waiting for me outside. They surprised me when I walked out but Bjorn stepped in to help me.
Ever since I had met Bjorn that day, he has always had Quill with him. Quill could best be described as a cross between a quarterstaff and a large cudgel. It was an exotic Klorn-forged weapon of intricate design and destructive force. Consisting of a two yard, rune-encrusted metal staff with a warhammer mallet on one end and a mace-like ball on the other, Quill was an impressive display of power in its own right. In Bjorn's hands, it was deadlier than mere words can describe. From its outward appearance, it seemed to be forged of silver but was actually of a strange and much stronger amalgam of metals. According to Bjorn, it had been in his family for twelve generations and had alone accounted for forty-seven deaths during the Vor’ Ozlan invasion two epochs ago. The weapon, not the person wielding it. It's interesting how the Vyrs think.
But I digress. When I was attacked, It was from behind. Something cracked into the back of my head and everything went black. From what I was told afterwards, Bjorn had asked them to step aside after I was knocked unconscious because he felt that it was sheer cowardice to fight an unarmed opponent in such a manner. They had simply laughed in the stupidity of their youth, drawn blades and moved towards him. A truly reckless and fatal mistake. Apparently, within the space of time it takes the eye to blink, he had them all sprawled on the ground clutching various parts of their bodies. Except for one. Apparently, that one had a skull that was not quite as strong as it should have been. His head had split open like an overripe melon.
Everything following the boy’s death had been sheer chaos. The boy who had died was the son of one of our town council members. He was also member of House Aphralm. Not powerful at all when compared to the Houses of Els Major but certainly the most powerful family in Borlene. The council was divided on a resolution to the situation; the majority of the town supported Bjorn's actions but the minority that opposed were the influential upper crust. The fact that it was Bjorn's first diplomatic assignment didn't help matters either. He offered to make restitution to the boy's family in order to alleviate any racial animosity that may have arose as a result of the incident but they flatly refused. Eventually, the council asked him to leave and it was inferred that he not return.
Their decision had sparked the fiercest public debate that anyone in Borlene could recall. The crux of their decision, decried as excessively lenient by the overly zealous Aphralms, was the need for a friendship with the Vyr' Kaersan people. Borlene was a northern town, cut off from the rest of Els during most winters. Bjorn's people had always helped during those especially fierce times by providing extra game at a fair price or for nothing at all if the families were unable to afford it. As an ambassador of goodwill for his people, Bjorn may have been a trifle excessive, but most felt that he had done nothing inherently wrong. In the end, he chose to abide by their decision and leave quietly.
Before he departed, Bjorn asked me if I would like to accompany him. I never really had any intention of staying in Borlene for the rest of my life and assuming my father’s role as a wheat farmer so I decided to take him up on his offer. It is amazing how the events of one day can drastically change the direction of one's life. That day had marked the end of my backward, rural mentality as well as Bjorn's budding political career. In retrospect, it worked out well for the both of us.
"So how are the little people today?", Bjorn boomed as he pulled up a stool, a surprisingly deep voice when one considered his thin build.
I noticed that several of Lucius' patrons stared at him in wide-eyed wonder as he sat down but I couldn't blame them. Vyrasians, as most Elsmen called them, were a rare sight in any Elish city. Personally, I tried to avoid that Elish name for Bjorn's race if I could. He had explained that his people had a large distaste for our Elish colloquialism. They much preferred the One Language name for their race.
"Sit down, grab an ale and shut up.", I said with mock anger, "You just lost a bet for me."
Grudgingly, I counted out the amount of my lost wager and dumped in onto the counter. Lucius was just a little too quick in scooping it up for my taste.
I looked back at Bjorn to see that a slight smile had crept across his face.
"That would make it the third bet in a row that he has lost due to me, would it not Lucius?", Bjorn embellished as Lucius pulled a pint for him. "Whenever are you going to learn, Kaylor?"
His large smirk was overshadowed only by the one on Lucius' face when he handed Bjorn his ale. It was a perfect time to change the subject.
"Have you seen any of the others lately?"
After a brief pondering as he considered whether to allow me to change the tangent of our discussion, Bjorn responded, " I spoke with Chloe a few days ago when I was attempting to set up a business venture with her father and she said that she would most likely come. Arklasius and Rhourell should be here soon but I am not certain of Crispen or Raila."
I quickly stifled any questions about Bjorn's "attempt" to do business with Chloe's father, Terian Nornkrill, the head of House Nornkrill. Everyone who knew them both, including her father, knew of Chloe’s infatuation with Bjorn. As a civic figure, old Terian would not endorse a public record of partnership with a known wielder of the elements who was outside of the Glory. As an aristocrat father, he also didn't approve of any 'extracurricular' meetings between his daughter and a man of another race.
"Does she still look at you like you're Graeth'al's gift to the women of the world?", I queried after an embarrassingly long visit to my personal limbo of thought. It has always been one of my bad habits.
The disapproving look that my question brought from him was all the response that I needed.
"She'll be here.", I announced with an evil grin.
I didn't quite know how I felt about that. Chloe was the sort of woman that left me with a lump in my throat every time I saw her. My dilemma was that our relationship had begun as a friendship and I had been unable to shake that connotation in her eyes. The way she ogled Bjorn used to be a small thorn in my side but I had kept my mouth shut. I hadn’t been prepared to lose my best friend over the whole situation. Thankfully, it seemed that he wasn't willing to either. He understood how I had felt and I knew she had no particular appeal to him. (except for the fact that she was female, amazingly ravishing, and incredibly rich) She was most likely more than I could handle anyhow. Chloe’s problem was that she tended to be too aggressive.
Traditionally, the noble woman's virginity represented the source of a House's pride and vanity. While that belief remained, times had changed since those days of old in no small fashion. I had learned that at least since moving to the city. Many noble women by then were treating their virginity as an affliction; it was something that they were glad to discard, typically with commoners. It continued to be a growing trend. Of course, the men had always done the same but the heads of the Houses had turned a blind eye. Mothers of the bastard children that arose from these encounters were always bribed into silence.
For the women to do the same was sheer lunacy in the minds of the most of the House families. An unmarried and pregnant member of the House was thought to be one of the highest disgraces imaginable. Fortunately, that rarely happened due to the rise in the number of herbalists who established themselves as this trend grew. Their herbs were reliable and few pregnancies occurred.
I was happy for the noble women and their emerging equality and not necessarily for the obvious reason; Me being a commoner after all. While the common females had been slow to follow, it was only a matter of time. Anyone with a fraction of a mind knew that it was the women who truly controlled the city. In the background perhaps but they held power nonetheless. It was about time that that fact was acknowledged. The women of Els deserved equality, if not more.
Now, I don't think that Chloe's forwardness unnerved Bjorn, he simply preferred to be the hunter rather than the hunted. An all-to-eager woman provided little sport for him. He likened it to fishing: It wouldn't be half as fun if the fish simply jumped into the boat. While it’s not something that we agree upon (I, of course, enjoy meeting women that make their intentions known), whoever said that friends were supposed to agree on everything?
You see, for all his refined and ‘gentlemanly’ qualities, under it all, Bjorn was a womanizer at heart. Oh, his humble and respectful nature tended to hide that fact from most women but it was plain as the nose on your face if you knew him. And he was good too. Call me vicarious, but I enjoyed seeing my friends do well socially even if my 'social accomplishments' were only average.
"With luck, she'll bring some of her ... well-endowed friends with her.", I quickly added with a smirk.
My comment quickly banished Bjorn's sullen look. With a devilish grin, he hastily began an account of his travels since we had last talked.
Now, Bjorn was one of the best storytellers that I had ever heard. He had an eloquence with the Elish language that others of his race could only have hoped to duplicate especially since it was a tongue foreign to them. Each adventure and conquest whether economic or sexual was told in riveting detail and I quickly lost track of time. It was after midday before I realized it.
Bjorn was in the middle of a story about a tryst with young Lucinda of House Druirmen, one of the most powerful Houses in all of Elsmere Major, when I suddenly found myself yanked off my stool from behind and locked in a crushing, choking headlock. Almost immobilized, I glanced over at Bjorn in surprise but was greeted only by his rumbling laughter. Shortly after, my assailant released me from his iron grip to the delight of my lungs and neck. I quickly spun, breathing heavily and brandishing my already-unsheathed dirk, to face my assumed adversary. Dressed in the brown leather uniform of a Tin' aldran soldier with short cropped hair and a menacing long sword at his side, I recognized him immediately and my anger dissipated. Somewhat.
It was Arklasius.
I had met Ark through Bjorn a few years previous and we had become good friends quickly. We shared many of the same beliefs on certain matters and met often whenever he visited the city.
"How many times do I have to tell you NOT to sit with your back to a door! Especially now that you've gone and humiliated Krintal Eracklin!", he yelled and then, with a smirk, he added with a softer tongue, "What am I going to do with you?"
I was dumbfounded. Any outburst that I had brewing as a result of his bone-breaking greeting quickly dissolved. What did Krintal Eracklin want with the likes of me? But then, suddenly, revelation washed over me, turning my bones to ice!
"What do you mean?", was all I could manage to blurt out, hoping beyond hope that one of my greatest fears had not come home to roost.
"Lauren.", was all he said.
It was all he needed to say. I hadn't said anything to anyone so, if Ark knew, then word had been spread and I was in some serious straits. Numerous emotions swirled around inside my head for a moment but one rose above them and banished the rest: intense panic! Krintal had found out. What was I going to do?
I suppose I should explain. Sometime during the Cycle of Dreams that year, I had met a very young and beautiful girl named Lauren in the Gull and Lark tavern quite near to where I was then. We had warmed to each other almost immediately and spent most of the night talking. And drinking. Excessively. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. To condense the story for unsuitable ears, she spent most of what had been left of the night at my attic room. The next day, after I had seen her most of the way home, Educator Berlauk pulled me aside after my lessons and asked how I knew her. He had seen us together at the tavern and wondered how long I had known Lauren Eracklin.
Needless to say, I hadn't asked her family name and what had occurred put both of us in a very unfavourable position. I truly still don't understand what she was doing out at night without an escort. Her family was nobility but she surely hadn't been dressed like a noble! Her virginity was priceless, of course, and, if they had found out what happened, the whole clan would be shamed. You see, Lauren was from House Eracklin.
While House Eracklin was just one of the nine Lesser Houses and had limited political power, its influence within the military was enormous. Their conservatism marked them as one of the most stringent of Houses in terms of their adherence to the traditional values of our society.
Krintal, her older brother, was a highly decorated Black Trillium warrior. The Black Trillium was comprised of one quorfex of the absolute finest fighters in all of Els. After one realizes that, it should put my fears into perspective. And it seemed that one of their most decorated men probably wanted to mount my head on a post somewhere.
"How did he find out?", I finally asked, swearing quietly to myself. I hadn't seen Lauren since that night and thought that the matter was behind me. Blind assumption always was one of the banes of my existence.
Ark took a long look at me before replying.
"It was probably rather hard for her to keep it a secret for as long as she did.", he explained, a twitch of a smile playing across his face.
I could tell that Ark was stalling, waiting for me to break down into a hysterical fit. If it were anything else, I wouldn't have given him the satisfaction but I needed to know.
"How?", I demanded through strained teeth.
"Well," he said taking a breath, "It seems that she finally confided in one of her maidens-in-waiting about your little indiscretion."
"And?"
"And the young mistress managed to hold her tongue for three whole heartbeats before she ran off and blabbed it to anyone who would listen to her!"
At that, he, Bjorn and the half of Lucius' patrons that were sitting near us burst into howling laughter. It was intensely embarrassing but I had more important things running through my mind. Paramount among those thoughts was how to keep my head on my shoulders rather than turning it into a post ornament outside one of the Eracklin mansions. Of course, considering the nature of my transgression, my head might not be the part of me that Krintal wanted to cut off. I swore quietly to myself. The notion that my life had become forfeit because of a gossipy maiden's inability to keep her mouth shut irritated me to no end.
Bjorn slapped me across the back, saying something about how he never thought I had it in me.
"How long has he known?", I asked, praying that he wasn't going to walk in at any moment.
That statement brought another flurry of chuckles from Ark.
"Have some faith in me, Kaylor! I sent him looking in the direction of the harbour when I ran into him and his hirelings on my way here. I figured you'd need some space to run so I told that dog Torvil that the last time I saw you, you were making tracks to catch passage on the next ship out of port. I watched him tell Krintal and the whole lynch mob took off at a gallop towards the waterfront."
While I blanched slightly at his use of 'lynch mob', his help was a small comfort. Huge couldn't begin to do justice to the size of the waterfront. It would take Krintal and his henchmen a long time to talk to the people at every dock to find out where I was supposedly headed. The patrons of Lucius' establishment were people whom I had met so I doubted that any of them would run off and reveal my location even if a reward was involved. Most of us commoners enjoyed seeing members of the nobility lose a little face. The average man bore a revulsion towards nobles for their wealth and exemption from the Sect Time of Choosing rites. Thankfully, it seemed that I had some room to breathe.
We talked and swapped stories with each other for a while after that and my anxiety slowly subsided. Ale typically had that effect on me. I tended to lose the greater portion of my self-preservation instincts. The whole building could have been burning all around me and, if I were drunk, I'd most likely have finished my pint calmly before I left.
Arklasius brought us up to date on the various happenings in Torlyn where his command was stationed. Ark had entered the military there at a young age; Twelve or thirteen, I believe. The majority of the youth of Els waited until the Choosing age of sixteen to declare what Sect they would join.
After their Choosing, the new recruits were sent to train or apprentice with an established member of that order. Essentially, it meant inexpensive labour for the Sect member and an education of sorts for the apprentice. A good swap in theory but there were always some members that took advantage of the system. Thankfully for me, Educator Berlauk wasn’t one of them.
Arklasius was trained as a Tin' aldran soldier, a scout/tracker, and had soon become a skilled woodsman. Bjorn would probably disagree slightly with Ark's level of proficiency but that would only have been a matter of racial pride. The Vyr' Kaersan people were generally revered as the most capable woodsmen anywhere. If need arose, I knew that Bjorn could, despite his size, disappear into even the sparsest of woodland surroundings. Ark was good though, and he could probably have given Bjorn a worthy challenge. His commanding officer had realized that early in Ark's career and had set him up as his replacement when he retired. At that point, Ark was a quorfex commander in the Dan' Daera's Hope Conclave detachment in Torlyn and, if rumours were to be believed, was expected to rise in rank quickly.
Around dinnertime, Lucius brought us a plate of roast mutton and we had a small feast. It was at that point that our conversation took on a sombre note.
"So what shall we do about this problem of yours, Kaylor?" Bjorn broached the subject first.
"We?", I asked, not exactly certain but hoping that I knew what he meant.
"You don't expect us to leave you in a mire like this, do you?", Arklasius remarked.
"What do you two think I should do?"
"I am leaving for the Trade Caverns tomorrow and I think that you should accompany me.", Bjorn offered, "You also Arklasius, if you are able."
"Hmmm….. The military does owes me some leave that my legion commander has been harassing me to take." After a reflective moment, he added, "Why not? It sounds like it could be fun. How about it, Kaylor?"
I was truly torn. I had read about the Trade Caverns in many books. The Klorn populated them: a strange, almost unbelievably divergent race that resembled large insects; a cross between a beetle and a man, with the beetle part dominating. It would have been exciting to visit there but ...
"What about my studies? I'm supposed to get leave time approved! I'll be thrown out of the Academy! Finding someone to train me in another Sect at my age will be next to impossible!"
"Do not worry about that right now. One of us will have a word with your Educator Berlauk before we leave and we will settle matters. You honestly cannot stay here. You would not last more than a few days. Do not look at me that way, Kaylor. You know that it is true. The best thing for you to do is disappear for a while until this situation quiets down. We can make certain that you get out of the city without getting your head lopped off. Besides, you have never been down in the Southlands, have you? You will enjoy it."
Bjorn added that latter comment with a smirk. He knew that the predicament that I was in had me scared and was doing his best to comfort me. He was good like that.
His matter-of-fact interpretation of my impending doom surprised me a little but it shouldn't have. Bjorn tended to be excessively blunt when the need arose. Thinking it over, I concluded that keeping my body intact took precedence over the possible loss of my Scholarship. Simple decision really.
"Well, when do we leave?", I inquired, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"Stay with me tonight and we will leave at first light."
I felt somewhat more at ease after that. Bjorn was the first person I would choose to watch my back in almost situation. He was truly a pillar of a friend.
We finished the rest of our ale and decided that it was best that we left. Krintal might not have followed Ark's suggestion and could have inquired about my usual retreats. He was bound to find someone who knew who I was and where I spent my idle time. Another mumbled prayer to the Handmaiden of Luck crested my lips. I would most likely need more luck than Melrauna was willing to part with but every little bit helped.
With a quick apology to Ark and Lucius for not staying later, we headed out the door and were on our way to the Vyrasian Embassy.
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Chapter II
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 utside, dusk slowly encroached on the city and lengthening shadows draped themselves across the roadway ahead. Irritatingly, the chill breeze that I had left behind when I had gone into Lucius’ establishment awaited me when we emerged out into the street. The warm glow of the ale in my stomach offered a buffer to the chill bite growing in the air but I tightened the fastenings on my cloak nonetheless. A stoic smile crested my lips as I tried to forget that I was in for a sizeable headache regardless of leaving Lucius’ establishment so early in the evening. Meeting with old friends over a pint or two always made it worth the discomfort the next day. I'd have plenty of time to worry about my self-imposed malady once we left the city.
Leaving the city. It was a difficult thing for me to envision. I hadn't left since Bjorn had helped to set me up with my Scholarship some eight years earlier. I was mildly surprised to discover that I was looking forward to it. Well, as my mother used to say, 'Change is good for the soul.'.
We made our way quickly through the streets; Bjorn always set a quick pace with those long legs of his. Looking over, I noted that he had refrained from the use of a cloak as usual. He had always said that he was immune to the pathetic attempt at winter that the weather made this far south. I refused to remark on it however because it would have meant having to listen for the umpteenth time to his story about how he had to tunnel everywhere that he wanted to go during winter as a child in the Vyr' Kaelin Forest. Pointing out that it would have been faster to use snowshoes would only have earned me a strange look and a smirk.
I pondered instead whether to question Bjorn about the reason for his trip down south. It was generally well-known that most of the Vyr' Kaersan people had no particular liking for the Klorn. The reason for that must have been a well-kept secret because I had never come across any reference mentioning it in any of the numerous texts that I had read on either race.
"Why are you visiting the Trade Caverns?", I inquired as we walked through the darkening streets towards our destination.
"My younger brother Silvaun will be Joined soon and I need a suitable gift to present to him."
Joined. From what I had gathered from discussions with Bjorn and from my texts, Joining was a customary and elaborate ceremony that characterized a Vyr's attainment of adulthood and his/her union with the forests. It involved rigorous survival testing and could result in the candidate's death. Rarely, but sometimes. There were other parts to the Joining but Bjorn’s people held those mysterious rites in the strictest confidence, unwilling to share them even with close friends outside of their race. As I understood it, Joining was a very important time for a young Vyr. It also explained why Bjorn was willing to put aside any animosity that he had for the Klorn.
Most likely, he planned on purchasing a weapon or some such item. Like Quill. The Klorn were world-renowned for their forging and blacksmithing expertise. A Klorn-forged weapon was worth a noble’s ransom and subsequently were exceptionally rare items to come across. The Klorn were also said to be very particular for whom their weapons were created.
I started to ask him more about our proposed trip when I noticed that something on the road ahead had caught his attention. Squinting to see through the dusk gloom, I was able to make out the shapes of fifteen or so figures heading in our direction. The lead form carried a large pole atop which rested a banner and it's shape marked them as nothing other than a procession of the Glory of Graeth'al. My skin prickled while my stomach did a quick roll and dip to the right.
Graeth'al was deemed by most to be the mother of the known world and the ten Handmaidens were her daughters. Each Handmaiden’s name represented one Era in an Epoch as well as a particular element of society: from Eldress who represented wisdom and knowledge to Illmora, the patron of honest work. Graeth’al, however, was the true deity and the Glory of Graeth'al was the official church of Els. They were also the sole, sanctioned wielders of the elemental forces. In Els anyway. The Saimorn to the west practiced the control of Earth, Air and Water in everyday activities. So did the Vyrs. If what I had heard could be believed, Bjorn was considered a particularly strong wielder of elemental power for his race and that could have presented a large problem for us at that moment.
Elemental control was the power that allowed a person to consciously bend one or all of the four Elements to one's will. Depending upon the degree to which the Old Blood exhibited itself, a person was able to do many things from the lighting of a candle with a thought, to the commanding of a body of water to part. No one, however, had been born with the potential for the latter in Els since before the inception of the Almanac.
The ability was a power that was passed from parent to child at the moment of conception; control was something that could only be learned if one had the initial talent for it. In Elsmen, it was a highly recessive trait that rarely exhibited itself. Typically, the later in life it revealed itself, the more powerful the person would become. As a rule, however, if the power hadn't shown itself in a person by his/her twenty-first year of birth, it never would. As to the limits of the power, I was uncertain. Information of that nature was highly protected by the Glory and a lowly Scholar like myself had never been privy to any of the delectable details. As someone whose profession dealt primarily in knowledge, forbidden information was more than a simple stone in my boot, it was heresy to my way of life.
The Monarchy and the Assembly had seen to it that anyone in the realm with an aptitude for elemental manipulation entered the Glory and joined one of its four initial divisions. Their reasoning for it sprung from a rise in insurrections by elemental controllers during the Second Epoch of Taleren. They concluded that, as long as they knew where these people were, there wasn't going to be any trouble from them and they would be able to make use of them when the need arose. Unfortunately, they didn't think the whole situation through carefully enough.
What do you think happens when you invest political power and high status into an unelected, independent order that has a unique set of abilities? Exactly. Almost twenty-five years to the date of the Glory's investiture of power, they rose up against the Crown. It was the fourth day of the Cycle of Wolves in the Year of the Scythe of the Era of Serena during the Epoch of Druirmen. A fateful day that all history apprentices such as I were made to memorize. The time of Bresh’teth: ‘Betrayal from within’.
The ensuing conflict had destroyed half of Elsmere Major and almost all of Elsmere Minor. In the end, the Glory was defeated but, to this day, it easily remains the blackest mark on any Monarchy in the history of our culture. The Day of Bresh’teth became a symbol of the need for eternal vigilance and was remembered in the Almanac. No member of the Glory set foot outside of his or her residence on the fourth day of the Cycle of Wolves on penalty of death.
With the rise to power of House Vyrentil some fifty or so years afterward and a new Epoch begun, the Glory was restored but excessively strict controls and regulations were placed upon those committed. The Hierarch Order was established as the fifth division in order to better restrict the Glory. As a result of those precautions, the Glory had since remained under relative control. Relative is relative after all however. Does simply chaining a lion change the lion’s nature?
The Glory was quite possibly the most corrupt institution in Els, save for our beloved Assembly of course. They saw themselves as a higher level of humanity and that arrogance made even the nobles appear meek by comparison. Despite the population's perception of Graeth'al as a benevolent deity, the Glory's outward image showed something to the contrary; that perhaps of the leashed lion I mentioned earlier, awaiting a sign of weakness in its chain. That thought chilled me to the bone.
One commendable point that can be argued in favour of the establishment of the Glory was that it had unified all Elsmen under one Church. In the Old World, the great number of creeds and 'pagan' deities that abounded had almost been the cause of the extermination of the races as we know them. More blood had been shed in the name of religion than everything else put together. Everyone had a god on their side and their way was the only 'true and just' way. It makes me thank Graeth'al that I'm one of the Nal'graeth'den: an unbeliever so to speak. Fewer ethical headaches. Yes, I understand that acknowledging a deity that I claim not to believe in is a contradiction but I tend to contradict myself when it suits my purpose. I’ve always been a lover of paradox.
Historically, of course, anyone publicly admitting to being one of the Nal'graeth'den was executed with the swiftness inherent in nature of all highly superstitious people. It's very translation into the Elish tongue was "without the Goddess' Grace". Not among the most polite of designations, certainly, in a highly religious society. The name had arisen from the old doctrine that disbelief was given to unbelievers by Graeth'al herself. They were considered cursed because the Goddess had denied them the ability to accept her. While tension surrounding the name has declined from its frenzied intensity of the past, it was still unwise to declare oneself an unbeliever in the presence of the Glory. They abhorred anything that reproached their beliefs. An elemental controller in Els and outside of the Glory affected them in much the same way.
These non-ecclesiastic persons who had elemental control were strongly dissuaded by the Glory from remaining in Els for any extended period of time. A small amount of tolerance was given to the Vyr' Kaersan people as a result of the Gildenhurst Accords signed between our monarchy and Bjorn’s people; The Glory had sworn their oaths to the Potentate and his Queen Consort and maintained their loyalty. Trepidation still existed however and both sides tended to avoid one another when it was prudent. Unfortunately, Bjorn had a few pints under his belt and that usually made him a touch bolder than a situation like that required. I truly hoped that there wouldn't be a confrontation.
A quick glance up and down the street informed me that everyone else had the sense to steer clear of the delegation leaving us to face them alone. I looked worriedly at Bjorn but he seemed unconcerned. Bjorn knew that his height identified who and what he was even when he was seen from a distance and I could tell from his look of thinly veil disgust that he would have discarded any suggestion that I might have made about detouring down a side alley. They were perhaps twenty yards away when the procession was called to an abrupt halt but Bjorn continued his pace and I along with him.
There were perhaps eight warriors in the group who were obviously bodyguards for the one man among them that I recognized. When we drew within five yards, Bjorn stopped and spoke.
"Hail Prelate Mhorix! It is always a pleasure to meet you, your eminence! What brings you out on this chilly Kuresh' Tersan Eve?"
The Prelate, a round, bearded man of about fifty and the man I had recognized, was somewhat taken aback by Bjorn's forwardness but he quickly recovered. The bright crimson of his robe spoke with an ominous silence of a rank that held enough authority to have someone hanged on the spot with few questions asked. Prelate Mhorix was both a noble and a Glory member. You can imagine the inherent arrogance of someone who was an amalgum of the two.
"The same could be asked of you, Bjorn Vyr' Treun. Surely there is no business to be had tonight of all nights.", he retorted, his face having taken on a stony look that one would normally associate with the face of an experienced gambler.
Well, we had established that each knew the other and that in itself wasn't encouraging. The low murmur from the members of the Prelate's delegation echoed my rather nervous thoughts and helped to further focus my attention and clear my mind. I can honestly say that there is nothing that compares to fear's ability to sober oneself up.
Bjorn, on the other hand, seemed no more anxious than he had been at the Seven Finches.
"No business tonight, your eminence! Only a visit or two to various friends in this part of the city. I fear that I am getting on in years though. In my younger days, I would never even have entertained the notion of contemplating going home so early in the evening!", Bjorn rebutted with a blatantly false smile.
"But I must be off homeward. I do not wish to keep his grace from attending to worldly matters with my drunken ramblings. Good evening, your grace."
And with that, he bowed ever so slightly, turned to the side and continued his leisurely pace. My jaw, as well as those of the members of the Prelate's delegation, dropped. Bjorn's cleverly concealed mockery of the Prelate's position was lost on none of us. No one talked to a Prelate as an equal, let alone dismissed one in such a manner, with the exception of an Archprelate or, possibly, members of the Monarchy. Certainly, no one addressed a Prelate as 'your grace'; it was the designation of a lowly Acolyte.
If I had been with anyone else, I would have bolted. Insulting a member of the Hierarchs is a sure way to lose valuable parts of one's anatomy. After a brief, dumbfounded pause, and seeing the anger growing in Prelate Mhorix's face as our eyes met, I quickly jogged after Bjorn. If I can say one thing about associating with Bjorn, it was never dull. I had the distinct feeling that our planned trip would be anything but boring.
Thankfully, the Prelate didn't press the encounter. The extent of the Vyr' Kaersan race's elemental control was largely unknown, or so I've been told, and I think that the Vyr’s intended to keep it that way. For the Prelate to create an incident there would have been akin to initiating a tavern room brawl with someone whom you've never met or don't know very well; They may turn out to be Wersh'awn or a Black Trillium and you would quickly find yourself chopped to bits. Subterfuge or some such tactic would work better for the Prelate at a later date. Judging from his outraged expression, I'm positive it was a notion that he was contemplating.
That encounter emphasized another one of the traits that distinguished myself from Bjorn. Normally, Bjorn was extremely rational but he had a tendency to act first and worry about the consequences later when his emotions become involved. I tend to be the opposite; Generally, I try to suppress emotion for the sake of logic. The only time I don't is when some other part of my anatomy is doing the thinking. The scenario with Lauren was an excellent example of the problems that my small number of indiscretions have caused me. Well, perhaps ‘small’ is a little of an understatement but I'm sure that you understand my meaning. The truth is that I hate having to look over my shoulder constantly.
The Prelate was truly the wrong choice for an enemy. He was one of the senior Hierarchs in the Path of the Ember.
Fire.
Therein, however, lay the primary reason for Bjorn’s disdain towards the man.
The Saimorn and Vyr' Kaersan had forsworn the use of the element of Fire in an age long ago. They called it 'the Ruin' while the Ember clerics of Els focused on the image of it as 'the Rebirth'. Two sides to the same coin really and the coin's name was Change. Personally, I was generally opposed to the principle of change. It usually had a negative impact on me except in rare instances. Thinking on that, a small voice inside me chose that moment to remind me of my impending trip. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. But then, the Era of Travel was known for the change that it traditionally brought to people’s lives.
After a short time had passed and the Prelate was several blocks behind us, I swore quietly.
"What in blazes was that all about? He could have had us killed with you spouting insolence like that! I thought the whole idea of this trip was to keep me in one piece!"
My statement was unfair but I was angry. I understood Bjorn's contempt for the man and his practices concerning Fire but I didn't see what getting us killed would have accomplished.
Bjorn's sombre gaze, whether sympathizing or patronizing, I was unsure, helped to lower my anger.
"I am sorry Kaylor but it was something that had to be done. His whole life has been blasphemous! The Earth's Fire was never meant to be controlled. Fire cannot be guided as Earth, Air or Water! It has a life of its own and can easily turn on any who attempt to control it. Besides, we were never in any genuine danger. The guards would not have presented a challenge for me and the Prelate would have been hesitant to create a large incident by attacking me personally. Especially with Fire. The use of Fire on a member of the Vyr’ Kaersan would be considered an act of war."
With that said, he turned back to face the road on which we travelled and was silent until we arrived at our destination.
Our destination soon came into view. The Vyrasian Embassy was an immense building that dwarfed those surrounding it. It was ringed by a towering granite wall complete with arrow slits for the Vyr archers stationed along the top. There was no mistaking that it had been built under the assumption that it would someday need to defend itself from outside attack. The thought of that had always disturbed me. It was an extremely strange sight to see in the middle of the walled inner city.
The guards quickly opened the gates upon sighting us and attendants were waiting when we entered the Embassy grounds.
The small Vyr' Kaersan populations in Torlyn, Elsmere Major and Elsmere Minor made exceptional use of the Provisions of Extraterritoriality outlined in the Gildenhurst Accords. The Accords had been the beginning of a fellowship between the Els and Vyr' Kaersan people and had been signed following the joint effort that had made possible the victory over the Vor‘ Ozlans in their invasion attempt during the Epoch of Heldrinn some two hundred years ago.
Essentially, the Accords outlined the diplomatic relationship between our Assembly and the Vyrsaan Council of Bjorn's race. Prior to its signing, there had been little contact between our two races; each side had harboured a wariness of the other. The Provisions of Extraterritoriality provided for an area within each's realm where the visitors of the other race were regulated by the codes and laws of their own people. The Vyrasian Embassy that Bjorn had brought me to was one of three such places in Els.
No matter how many times that I have visited the Embassy, it's interior always gave me pause. The walls, floors and ceilings were all composed entirely of elaborately carved and inlaid stone. Even the tables and chairs were carved from stone though padded where necessary. Everywhere within the structure, the Vyr' Kaersan's love of stone was apparent. The masonry and engineering talent involved in its construction raised their respective skills to the level of artforms.
I was reminded of one of my history lessons that chronicled the first diplomatic meeting following this particular Embassy's completion. To commemorate the event and welcome the Vyr' Kaersan people to Elsmere Major, Potentate Heldrinn had commissioned the construction of a beautiful and exceptionally large oak conference table which he presented to the original diplomats from Mount Vyrsaan. Unfortunately, the Potentate had not been advised of their deep aversion to the murdering of trees and the use of lumber in construction. I’ve often wondered how many advisors were hung following that oversight. The table had caused a great uproar among the Vyrs and had eventually led to the First Corollary to the Accords: No article crafted from a live tree was to be brought into any of the Vyrasian Embassies and any wood used in the construction of the Elish Embassies at Mount Vyrsaan and Vyr-Hedra had to originate from forests south of Gildenhurst.
Thankfully, as a guest of a member of one of the more notable families, I was allowed to make a small number of social improprieties while in the Embassy without anyone making a big fuss. My Vyrasian social etiquette, I’m sorry to say, was almost non-existent. Their social interaction was much more intricate than anything that I had ever experienced. I believe that it could be attributed to their strongly empathic nature. So much could be conveyed with a single gesture or glance.
Language was a problem as well. While their diplomats and businessmen were heavily schooled in Elish, the remainder of the Embassy's population relied on their ancient, mutilated variant of the One Language. (Bjorn swears that it's our interpretation that’s mutilated so I suppose that it's a matter of perspective) Even though I had been schooled in the rudimentary forms of the One Language, I found it difficult to follow the Vyr' Kaersan's strange dialect. Complicating matters further was the tradition of each Vyr family having its own slight divergence of the master language and the use of vague gestures that could twist what was said in any of a dozen different ways. While there was no doubt that our two idioms had ancient connections, Bjorn's native tongue utilized a multitude of different pronunciations and structures that required an eloquence I felt would turn most Elish tongues inside out.
Three years earlier, Bjorn had tried to teach me the fundamental pronunciations and their accompanying gestures but I had eventually given up. It was like that old adage, 'The more you learn, the more you realize how much you don't know'. I preferred my small amount of perceived, initial ignorance to an educated, all-encompassing ignorance, if that makes any sense. I thought perhaps to give it another try during our trip. After all, I had already mastered Saimorn and I even had a working understooding of what passed for language among the Pe’ Louve. It was a skill that would greatly enhance any job opportunity that presented itself in my field.
After remaining in the greeting room a polite length of time while the attendants made a fuss over us, I asked Bjorn where I was going to be staying. I wasn't physically tired but I felt the need to find a quiet place to think. My whole predicament had truly destroyed my chances of enjoying myself that night. Bjorn was less than sympathetic however.
"I am afraid that you will be unable to go to sleep for some time, Kaylor! Tonight is a night of celebration and I have no intention of letting you evade your responsibilities! Surely you have no plans to leave me alone on a feast night, have you?"
After staring me in the eye, he continued in that boisterous voice of his, a look of victory twinkling in his eye.
"No, of course you could never do that to an old friend! The night is still young! I plan on being supremely drunk tonight and you are my only recruit. For some reason, the ambassadors here always seem to find pressing matters to attend to whenever I invite them along."
And with that, he let loose a deep laugh that only antagonized my budding headache. It was obvious why he was laughing. Bjorn could drink more than anyone else that I knew. It had something to do with his racial metabolism. His body seemed to handle alcohol much better than anyone else's that I knew, even the other members of his race that I had met. He could easily drink two of me under the table and that was an accomplishment that no member of my race that I had met could boast. We had tried on a number of occasions. My defence, however, was to challenge his ego. I'd get him to raise the odds, say two or three drinks to my one. It was always a sure bet with Bjorn. As long as their were odds to be beaten, I could always count Bjorn in. A level playing field simply made the game more interesting for the both of us. While I ended up feeling like I was on death's doorstep after every such contest, the gratification I received from the knowledge that he was in exactly the same shape made it almost worthwhile.
"Besides,", he added, his laugh subsiding, "Your Era of Travel begins tomorrow. A chance incident or a calling of destiny? Do not be so quick to scoff at the Enlightened Theories! I will convince you yet of the merits of the thoughts of Lars concerning the Grand Fate."
I won’t attempt to bore you with the writings of Lars as Bjorn has done so many times with me. The Vyr was a philosopher and perhaps the most prolific writer in history. As most Vyrs lived for almost 200 years, their culture was more than a little ignorant of the concept of brevity. It would take a lifetime to read all of Lars notes, let alone understand them. Boiled down, Lars simply felt that all event were tied together in some grand design that had been mapped out since the beginning of time.
As Bjorn motioned for me to accompany him, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to talk my way out of it. Putting on my finest defeated face, I allowed my proverbial arm to be twisted and followed him into one of the dining halls. I only hoped that there was no kush'enril about and we would have to drink ale instead.
Unfortunately, I was having a lot of luck that day and all of it seemed to be bad. A small cask awaited us on the table when we entered.
Kush'enril was quite possibly the most vile and potent drinks to which I had ever had the misfortune of being introduced. The literal translation was 'mind herb' or something comparable and it provided an almost exact description of its effects. I could liken being drunk on kush’enril to having one’s thoughts dragged through molasses. It was distilled from some wild vegetable called kushren that grew in a remote region of the Vyr' Kaelin Forest. Evidently, it was picked and then left somewhere to rot for a season or so. A form of fungus lived in symbiosis with the kushren while it was alive but took control of the decaying process once it was uprooted. That little organism was the secret to kush'enril's potency and it's, for lack of a more respectful word, 'unique' taste.
Kush'enril was excessively rare and expensive. It seemed that there was only one family in Vyr-Hedra that knew how to make it properly and they only made a few batches a year. As a rule, it was considered a holiday drink but the Vyr's in Els tended to drink it on a regular basis. Maybe it was a touch of home for them. I truly didn't know whether to feel privileged or cursed at having been one of the few Elsmen commoners to have tried it.
One good thing that I can say about it (the only other good thing being that a few mouthfuls made your head swim) was that, for some reason, it quickened the heart, energizing a person, and seemed to clarify one’s mind for a brief period after drinking it. A handy thing to have if you're not feeling at your peak and suddenly find that you need to be somewhere else very quickly. Drinking more countered the effect rapidly of course and generally led to the loss of the contents of one's stomach if one wasn't careful. I really didn't enjoy drinking something that tried to bounce back up after I had swallowed it but I was always reluctant to insult my host by refusing it.
Bjorn had said that, historically, the Vyr warriors sometimes imbibed before battle. Sound reasoning I suppose. A soldier needs every advantage that he can get.
Bjorn cracked the seal on the cask and filled two tiny glasses that were about three finger widths or, as the measurement is more commonly known, fidths tall. Kushen’ril was far too concentrated to drink from an ordinary glass. These traditional glasses were enough to hold a mouthful but no more. I believe that the idea was to swallow it before your tongue or stomach realized what you were drinking. The problem with that was that both became much more alert when you tried to sneak subsequent mouthfuls passed them.
I managed to quaff two before my abdomen began protesting. Given my already partially inebriated state, I decided to leave it at that for the time being. I instead leaned back and revelled at the comfortably volcanic glow in my stomach.
"Aren't you worried about making an enemy of the Prelate? He seems like he's a vengeful sort of man.", I put forth, an annoyingly perceptible slur slowly creeping into my speech. Losing my power of articulation is one of the things that I have always appreciated least about drinking.
Bjorn smiled at that.
"As I said, it was doubtful that he would have attempted anything. Well, not in the direct sense in any case. The Accords give us much power here in Elsmere Major. I have a modest amount of additional immunity accorded me because of my prominent business dealings and anyone attacking me personally would have to answer to Queen Consort Porella. I see no need to worry."
Having said that, Bjorn spent the next while updating me on what he had been doing in his 'quest to own the world' as I called it. He had made various acquisitions in areas that he felt were key sectors of the city; a bit of this here and a bit of that there. His talent for business was truly emerging. It was just as well that he had given up his political career. Before I knew it, much of the evening and a disturbingly large amount of the cask were gone.
We were in the middle of a discussion about a recent drop in salmon yields from the Crystalline Sea or some other such mundane topic that drunken people normally deliberate when one of the servants entered and announced that Bjorn had a guest waiting in the foyer. Trepidation welled within me for a moment before I remembered that the Embassy was a fortress that would have taken a legion to lay siege to, let alone assault. While I was determined not to underestimate Krintal, jumping at shadows wasn't going to accomplish anything.
The servant came back and announced with a flourish, "Mistress Chloe Nornkrill."
"Good evening all.", she said with exaggerated eloquence as she appeared in the doorway and then, sarcastically, "Very nice of you to wait for me at the Seven Finches."
As beautiful as always, Chloe entered the dining hall dressed in a full-length, black suede evening gown with a thigh-high slit up the side. It was tight and hugged her supple form, certainly the work of a master craftsman. Her auburn curls were piled on top of her head and held in place by an antique emerald clip. Protruding from the top of one of her calf-high leather boots was the emerald-encrusted hilt of a dagger that, coupled with the clip, served to complement her lime-coloured eyes. She always enjoyed flaunting her wealth. The price of that ensemble could have fed a family of four for a year or two. Despite my manners regarding a lady entering the room, I chose not to try and stand for fear of falling down. Kush'enril always made standing a hazard for me and I had at least one scar on my head to prove it. I smiled but left the greetings to Bjorn.
"A good evening to you, Chloe! I was wondering if you were going to grace us with your presence tonight. Please accept our humblest apologies! We encountered a slight problem tonight and were unable to remain as late as we would have wished. Come! Allow me to pull up a chair for you and join us in a toast to the quick return of warmer weather!"
"I see.", she replied with an amused smile as she looked us both over with a critical eye and then at the cask on the table.
"Oh Bjorn, you don't have Kaylor drinking that revolting vegetable extract again, do you? How do you expect him to travel with us tomorrow if he's throwing up all morning?"
Somehow, I caught the implication of her statement just ahead of Bjorn.
"Us? Don't tell me that the 'Jewel of House Nornkrill' wants to come along on a boring, mercantile trip?"
Bjorn looked over to me, "It sounds as if young Chloe has been speaking with our rather opened-mouthed friend Arklasius."
Then, turning back to her and meeting her eyes with that penetrating gaze of his, "Out using your feminine wiles again I see. What reason could you possibly have given him for needing to know what we were doing?"
Matching his stare with determination, an unspoken challenge gleaming in her eyes, she responded, "My wiles have been known to sway men from time to time. Let us simply say that I invoked an outstanding favour. You really didn't think that you could keep this from me, did you? I haven't been out of the city in ages!"
"Your father'll kill us if we bring ya along!", I said, adding my two bits with a drunken tongue that was beginning to fumble over even the most easily pronounced of words. I was beginning to see the wisdom involved in pacing oneself where drinking was involved.
She quickly turned in my direction and I just as quickly began to regret opening my drunken mouth.
"From what I hear, my father should be one of the last things on your mind. So how did you manage to seduce Lauren anyway? I always thought that the members of House Eracklin had taste."
Now that was a painful point to surrender. She was right though. About my worries concerning her father I mean. Personally, I had always thought of myself as a good prospect for a husband. I wasn't unattractive to look at, was relatively tidy and could cook as well. Resolving to have a private word with Ark about the increasing size of his mouth the next time that I managed to corner him, I turned back to Bjorn.
"Why not let her come along? The more the merrier, I always say. Besides, I'll enjoy seeing Chloe with a bout of saddle sores."
With one foul swoop, I had divided our defence against her and condemned Bjorn to at least a tenday of her advances. I couldn't help but smile at that. I think it's safe to say that I gained back my point and then some. Besides, when she wasn’t playing the part of the arrogant noble, Chloe was fun to be around.
Chloe's smile was absolutely triumphant. I turned back to gloat and see Bjorn's reaction to my quick change of heart.
His expression initially appeared to be more questioning than objecting but we quickly learned differently.
"Why do I have the feeling that I have not heard everything yet? Why are you suddenly so eager to leave the city? I find it as obvious as the nose on your face that there is more to this than a mere whim."
That took me by surprise. I couldn't possibly think what Chloe could be holding back but it seemed that he was right. Bjorn was rarely wrong about things like that. It must have had something to do with that racial empathy of his that I mentioned earlier. Chloe’s elated grin vanished under a defeated pout and she confessed.
"Oh, alright. Daddy has arranged to marry me off to Endriad Pelosien."
And that summed up her entire predicament. It took a moment for my drunken mind to fumble through the implications of that significant revelation. House Pelosien was among the four Greater Houses in Els and Endriad was the firstborn son of our generation. How crafty old Terian had managed to put together such an astonishing deal as a marriage between the two Houses baffled me. It was truly an amazing feat and it renewed my respect in the man. Terian Nornkrill always was a social climber but I never quite realized how much of one until that moment. Apart from the Royal Family, only the Druirmen, Waynlaun and Vyrentil families compared to the Pelosiens in political and economic clout.
I also knew Chloe well enough to know that there was no possibility that she would allow it to happen. First of all, she was always strong-willed and had never taken well to following her father's instructions. Secondly, she thought that Endriad was one of the biggest imbeciles in all of Els. I agreed with her on that point at least; Endriad was a perfect example of why cousins shouldn't marry. She'd be determined to leave the city whether we helped her or not, and we couldn't let her set out on her own.
Even in my drunken state, I swiftly grasped the immensity of the straits that we would be put in by bringing her with us. I let out a low whistle as panic again set in.
"If you come along, we'll have three Houses after us! One is bad enough but three ! And one a Greater House! Bloody hell Chloe, you’ll get us killed!"
"Your father has sworn his oaths to that note?", Bjorn interjected.
Chloe's composure quickly changed from a look of melancholy sadness to one of pleading as she nodded.
From Bjorn's expression I could tell that he was pondering the dire implications of my statement and his delay in reaching a decision made me uncomfortable. He could generally size up a situation like that almost instantly and his delay showed that even he was a bit reluctant to have that many noble families angry with him. In the end though, he came to the only logical conclusion available to us.
"There are two ways to view our situation. The first would be to perceive the danger as having tripled but that would be pointless. I feel that the best way to examine Chloe's and your need to leave the city is by being able to accomplish both simultaneously. We can deal with the Eracklin, Pelosien and Nornkrill families when the occasion arises."
"It seems that we have serious preparations to make and little time in which to make them. You two should go and get some sleep. I will send for Arklasius and we will have everything ready to go soon. We will leave shortly before sunrise."
With that, Chloe let out a squeal of delight and threw her arms around Bjorn, showering him with kisses. She then informed the head of her escort who had entered while my attention was elsewhere and was standing just inside the door that she would not be returning with him and to leave her bags. She had brought her bags! Suddenly, I felt as if I had been played the fool but, in truth, it only made me laugh.
To the escort’s credit, he did seem to consider voicing his opinion on being ordered to leave without his ward but one look from Bjorn was all it took to silence the man. With a stiff bow, he turned and left the room followed closely behind by Chloe as she went to make arrangements for her room presumably.
I poured Bjorn and I one final mouthful of kush'enril and we downed them quickly. There wasn't much more to say. Even though we rarely saw each other those days, we were all still good friends and friends looked out for one another. With a nod of my head and a thankful smile, I turned without a word, knowing that nothing needed to be said, and headed upstairs to find a place to sleep until we were ready to leave.
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Chapter III
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 was awakened by a gentle creak as the door to my room was opened. Startled, I quickly sat up and regretted it instantly. Red and white lights flashed before my eyes and I crashed back down on my pillow with a groan and a few select curses.
"Kaylor, you need to see this. There's a problem.", came the whisper from the door.
It was Chloe's voice. I set my teeth and slowly sat up again. A wave of nausea flowed over me but I held it down and slowly pivoted my legs over the edge of the bed. The sun hadn't risen yet, which was good. My eyes wouldn't have been able to handle sunlight.
"What is it? What's going on?", I mumbled as quietly as possible.
Dressed in an almost too revealing nightgown, she entered clutching a lit candlestick and crossed the room to the window. If my headache wasn't taking up a sizeable portion of my attention, I might have been tempted to make a joke about her visiting strange bedrooms in the middle of the night. She certainly was an arousing sight. Unfortunately, my pounding head bore the brunt of what little concentration I could muster.
She waved for me to come to the window. I painfully made my way to a standing position, allowing my shock at the chill of the stone floor on my bare feet to subside, before staggering over to see what was going on. What I saw really woke me up.
From our vantage point on the third story of the west wing, we could see the commotion occurring outside the Embassy's gates. On the other side of the walls, there were perhaps two quorfex of soldiers in place; most of them waiting directly outside the front gate. Bel' Rakin soldiers, military engineers who specialized in siege equipment, were across the street assembling various contraptions of their trade by the flickering torchlight. Fletch' Elin warriors, the archer arm of the Guardian Corp, were stationed on the roofs of the surrounding buildings.
There was also a sizeable number of Bloodhawks mulling around. Surpassed only by the Black Trillium and equal only by the Chrysalids, Bloodhawks were elite fighters who were trained to incite berserker rage. They were a powerful force in a battle but very hard to direct once the fighting had started. I also saw Krintal Eracklin and two of his fellow Black Trillium warriors.
At that moment, I regretted almost every immoral thing that I had ever done. It seemed that the whole incident was my fault. I advanced a step beyond my earlier panic. What in blazes was I going to do?
"Chloe, I need to get away from here!"
Without another word, I turned and bolted shirtless out the door and down the stairs. Midway down, I literally ran into Ark.
"Kaylor! I was just coming to get you. Almost ready to go?"
"What do you mean? There are soldiers everywhere outside! Krintal's out there too!"
My stammered remarks brought a smile to Ark's face.
"Don't worry. Bjorn thought that this might happen. He'll take care of it. Now, go and get Chloe and your things. We're getting ready to leave."
It suddenly occurred to me that I was rapidly losing control of every facet of my life as I knew it.
There wasn't anything else I could say so I turned back up the stairs. Chloe was already changing into her travelling clothes when I got back. Once finished, we both gathered our possessions and met outside of our adjacent rooms.
"What in blazes is all of that?", I asked, overwhelmed at the size of the pile of luggage that she was shuttling out of her room, "You can’t bring all of that with you! How do you expect to carry it all?"
"But I need all of it! Won’t Bjorn have horses and servants going with us? Can’t they help me with it?", she asked forlornly, the pain of near loss filling her eyes.
"Bring only what you’re willing to carry. I might be able to bring one bag for you but that’s it!"
With a deep pout, Chloe singled out three bags that she swore could not possibly be left behind. The black look that she gave me as she began pushing the remainder of her bags back into the room was unnecessary in my opinion. Bloody hell! You’d think that I was asking her to leave one of her arms behind!
"What did Arklasius mean by Bjorn 'taking care of it', Kaylor? What's going on?", she questioned as she finished.
"You know as much as I do right now. Let's go find Bjorn and ask him."
A servant arrived and instructed us to follow him. He led us down several flights of stairs, through the basement and into a cramped meeting room. Bjorn, Arklasius and eight sleepy-eyed Embassy ambassadors filled the small room almost to its capacity. A heated argument ensued.
"Bjorn, you have placed the Embassy in a very grave position and have jeopardized the Accords!"
"If you were in my position, you would have done the same Ambassador Anrael! Though he may be an Elsman, Kaylor is a friend and I would stand by and protect him as I would my own family!"
Pangs of guilt rippled through me as my mind slowly translated the general context of their debate. Bjorn’s initial language lessons did come in handy for something. The thought of putting Bjorn in such a predicament gravely concerned me. It was not within my right to ask for such a large favour.
I finally yelled out, "I'm sorry that I've caused so much trouble! I'll leave right away!"
Abruptly, the room fell silent and all heads turned in my direction. It was a few moments before anyone said anything. Bjorn was the first to speak, reverting to Elish so that Chloe and Ark could understand him.
"You need not think twice about it Kaylor. The ambassadors understand why I brought you here. We were simply arguing about the means by which I plan to get Chloe and you out."
An elderly ambassador at the back piped up.
"I believe that what you plan is unwise! How do we know that your three friends may be trusted?"
Bjorn shot the old Vyr a black look, "I have already sworn as to their discretion! Does the word of a Vyr' Treun mean nothing to you?"
The silver-haired Vyrasian paled slightly at Bjorn's outburst and said no more.
Bjorn continued, "My plan is the best possible way to accomplish what needs to be done. They can be blindfolded and led through if that comforts you, but that must be the way they go! Agreed?"
A slight pause followed but soon the ambassadors mumbled their weary consent.
"Done! Everything shall be resolved before midday. Thank you my Emissaries."
Slowly, the ambassadors filed out of the room.
Bjorn turned to me, unable to give me an answer about how my presence in the Embassy was discovered.
"I truly do not know. It may have been the Prelate but I do not think that he would have recognized you. Most likely, it was someone in his delegation or a scout of Krintal's set to keep watch out front to see if you came here. Perhaps it is well known that you and I are friends."
"As Arklasius has probably told you, I have not been caught unprepared. There are a number of concealed tunnels leading from the Embassy. Most of them lead at least five or six blocks away. That will be your escape route. Once the three of you are away from here, you will need to hasten for the city limits as quickly as you can without calling attention to yourselves. Anrael will lead you through the catacombs."
"I don't understand, Bjorn? Aren't you coming with us?", I asked, suddenly becoming worried.
"Not right now, no. It has become necessary for me to remain here and settle several matters. I will meet up with you in two or three days. Arklasius has been shown the route to follow so I should not have any trouble in finding you. I need to make certain that there are a few false trails for them to follow. Krintal, also, must be dealt with. He has become a large thorn in my side. The Eracklins must be made to understand that my people do not treat threats made against their friends lightly. With luck, I should have quite a story to tell all of you the next time we meet."
Having no other option available to me, I relented.
"My thanks, Bjorn. I truly am sorry for causing the Embassy so much trouble. I wish that you were coming with us but I suppose that it's settled."
"Let's get going folks! We've got a lot of ground to cover and not much time before sunrise!", Ark ordered as he bent over to retrieve some of the sacks of supplies sitting in the corner.
Hefting one of Chloe’s bags, he added playfully, "You aren’t planning on bringing all of these, are you Chloe? What do you have in them? Gold bricks?"
If looks could kill, the gaze that Ark received for his jest would have set him several yards under.
In an attempt to stave off Chloe’s wrath, I offered the briefest of explanations to Ark with slightly wide eyes to warn him of the danger that the topic he was exploring held.
"We’ve already had this conversation."
Exchanging a glance between Chloe and I, common sense quickly superseded Ark’s curiosity. Ark knew what Chloe’s temper was like. I quickly moved to fill the silent void that began to permeate the room.
"What did you manage to get?", I asked.
"Well… essential items mostly. Rations, money, and a few things that I knew the two of you would want. I managed to get that old longbow and quiver of yours from your room though I don't know why you like it so much. Composite bows are much more efficient for their size. Graeth'al only knows how I got it out without anyone noticing me."
The presence of my bow was a small comfort. Bjorn had given it to me as a birthingday gift shortly after I had joined the Scholar Sect. His uncle had crafted it from the branch of a maple tree split in two by a bolt of lightning. As it was taken from a dead tree, it was Accepted Wood and was allowed in the Embassy. The arrows however were another matter and I was thankful that they were concealed within the quiver. I found it strange that Ark hadn’t thought of that. The last thing I wanted to do was reproach the beliefs of Bjorn’s people while they were helping to save my life.
"I also had a few words with your Educator Berlauk about a short leave from your studies. He was very co-operative."
That took me by surprise.
"How did you get in to see him in the middle of the night? The Faculty of Scholars is usually locked up tight as a drum after dark! I've tried to get in a number of times to find exam notes but I could never find a way in."
"It seems that the Educator was a little lax in his security tonight. His shutters weren't even locked! I snuck in and found him lying unconscious and fully dressed on his bed. He absolutely reeked of Kendarth brandy! Out a bit late celebrating would be my guess. Judging from his drink of choice, the Educator must have come into some money. I imagine that it would be hard to afford brandy of that quality on an educator’s stipend. I finally got him to wake up after a few of pokes and prods. He has a rough understanding of your situation and has promised to keep your place at the Academy vacant until you get back."
"Oh, you should have seen his face! I thought he was going to wet himself when he saw me hovering over him!", exclaimed Ark as he chuckled to himself.
That was certainly something that I would have liked to have seen. Ark had a tendency to be a little exuberant with situations that required a semblance of tack. I just hoped that Educator Berlauk wouldn't be too hard on me when we got back. Well, the deed was done so there was no sense in worrying about it.
"Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Let's go!", I said, grabbing the remaining packs.
Bjorn, accompanied by Ambassador Anrael, led the three of us into the lower reaches of the Embassy’s extensive cellar level and through many naturally formed passageways and torchlit caverns until we came to a halt in front of a plain-looking strip of rock.
"This is as far as I will go. Now, I do not need to tell you about the delicate position that I have been put in by showing you these tunnels, but I have trust in your prudence. Arklasius has been shown the best way out of the city so I will leave you in his care. I will find you in two or three days. I wish Tanara’s Blessing on you all for a safe trip."
With an affectionate pat on Chloe's behind and a wink to the rest of us, he disappeared back down the hall through which we had come, leaving us alone with Anrael. After pushing up the sleeves of his robe, ancient Anrael's gnarled fingers began combing the section of the wall for what I could only imagine was a switch of some kind. He quickly found the object of his search and, with a sharp click and a push, the wall swung inwards. Stepping through the irregular crevice, he motioned for us to follow. Arklasius hastily lit a torch and the three of us accompanied him into the black crevasse.
Once inside, the portal was pushed shut and we pressed on with only the pale glow shed by the small torch to light our way. Anrael assumed the conventional attitude that most Vyrs seemed to hold in regards to the dark. He almost seemed to enjoy himself as he led us through the many twists and turns that gave the tunnel its character. According to my texts, the Vyr' Kaersan ancestors of a millennium ago had ventured out into the open only at night, spending their days hidden away in the immense caverns under Mount Vyrsaan. I imagine it was that history that explained their very large eyes and phenomenal night vision. As for the rest of us, it was all we could do not to trip over every loose stone on the tunnel floor. Chloe and I took more than our fair share of tumbles but Ark remained annoyingly sure-footed.
As we continued our silent pace, the stale air slowly took on a smell that could best be described as a tang that soured my mouth. Within moments, the tunnel began to broaden until we stood in the centre of a large cavern. The source of the stench quickly became apparent once we were within the den. There were dried animal droppings everywhere.
Anrael brought our procession to a halt and looked up. The sight above us was spectacular. The cavern's ceiling was dotted with millions of crystals, each of which splintered the torch's faint light and refracted it in many directions. It reminded me of the times when I had lain on my back in the middle of one of the fields surrounding Borlene on a summer night and gazed up at the stars. It seemed as though all of the night-time sky was condensed to fit within that one cave. Luckily, the cave was also empty of its usual inhabitants.
Anrael spoke in a thickly-accented whisper.
"It would be best if you put your cloaks on now. This is the home of many per'arlon and they may begin to return at any moment. I am afraid that your exit is through the front door to their home."
Per'arlon, or perlies as they were widely called because of their mother-of-pearl-like scales, were a type of nocturnal, flying lizard that plagued our city. Generally, they fed on the many insects that thrive in a city of Elsmere Major's size, but became bold around the beginning of winter when their food source became scarce and their time of hibernation had not yet come. Every year around that time, there were many cases of attacks reported from around the city. That particular cave provided them with ideal shelter during the cold season. It was warm, probably heated by one of the many hot springs in the area. If we had passed through that cavern a fortnight or two earlier, most of the it's inhabitants would have still been there hibernating. Judging from the look on Ark's face, he had realized the same thing.
"Thank you for the help Anrael. It won't be forgotten.", Ark offered as the three of us hurriedly tied on our cloaks.
"Do not pay it any worry young Arklasius. Regardless of what I may have said at the Embassy, I was delighted to help. Bjorn’s father and I are old friends and I have known Bjorn since he was a babe. I simply could not allow the other ambassadors to see that I was showing a bias towards him. Good luck to you all. I must be leaving now but, do not fret, the passageway to the surface on the other side is a short one."
Anrael gave us one final wave before he disappeared back up the tunnel behind us.
"Are we all set?", I said, "It has to be getting close to dawn and I don't want to get covered with flying lizards while we're trying to get out of here unless it's absolutely necessary."
We crossed the cavern and slowly made our way through the tunnel and towards the surface. As we neared the exit, Ark took the lead and moved forward to survey the situation outside. After a few moments, he motioned us ahead and we stepped through a wall of leafless induraweeds and out into the fresh, frigid air.
Looking around, I saw that we had emerged in the middle of a stand of young firs that further shrouded us from view. Certainly one of the wilderness preserves kept by the Queen Consort. The cave entrance was well hidden there. A brisk bite remained in the air but our thick cloaks were more than enough to keep it at bay. The barest glimmer of sunlight crested the horizon as the sun prepared for its daily ascent.
Ark motioned for us to stay put while he scouted the surrounding area, so Chloe and I sat ourselves on a nearby rock and ate a cold meal of cured mutton, cheese and spring water. With all the excitement that morning, I had all but forgotten my headache. Only a small twinge and a slightly parched mouth remained. My thanks for small miracles. I gulped down more of the water greedily.
Ark soon returned with a gloomy look on his face.
"We've come up in a preserve some three or four blocks from the Embassy. I've seen two different patrols around us in areas that wouldn't normally need to be watched. We can only assume that they're around here because of us or some other situation that one or more of the Houses considers just as important. I also recognized one of the patrol leaders. He's a known Pelosien cohort which means, Mistress Chloe, that your disappearance has probably been discovered. That may complicate things a little. I was hoping that we’d be out of the city before word of your departure spread. If the Pelosiens have caught wind of what we’re doing, we're in for more of a challenge than I bargained for."
Shrugging, he added in a somewhat despondent tone, "Well, that should teach me to underestimate the omniscience of one of the Greater Houses."
He paused for a moment and then briefed us on his plan.
"I think that it's become necessary to split up for a short while. We need to cross the road on the south side of the preserve and make our way to a storefront near that tower over there."
He pointed through the trees to a guard tower that lay to the south and slightly east of our position. The area there marked the beginning of one of the more disreputable parts of Els Major: The Tenements.
The Tenements were home to the poor of the city as well as those belonging to the Disavowed Sects; Thieves and mercenaries numbered heavily among their ranks. Originally named the Crowned Estates, it had been the home of the Houses before the Golden Elms district to the west of the Iron Citadel had been constructed during the Epoch of Heldrinn. An Epoch and a half of ill maintenance had reduced the once beautiful buildings in the area to ruins on the verge of collapse and had earned the area its more recent name.
Ark continued.
"Roughly half a block south of the tower, we're to be met by a contact of mine who has promised to help us out of the city. I don't know his real name but, in the Tenements, he's known as Crenfax."
Judging by the gasp from Chloe, I assumed that this Crenfax character was a well-known or powerful person. The name rang a faint bell at the back of my mind but I wasn't able to place it at the time.
"How do you know him?", Chloe blurted out, "I never would have thought that you would stoop so low as to consort with a man like Crenfax!"
"Hold on a moment, Chloe! Just who is this Crenfax anyway?"
Ark gave me my answer.
"Crenfax is an Overseer."
An Overseer?, I thought with disdain. What was Ark doing associating with an Overseer? And how did Chloe know him? As far as I knew, the Overseers controlled the various criminal organizations in Els and were considered disreputable company at best.
"He is a thief and a murderer! I'll have no part in any of your dealings with him!"
It had been a long time since I had seen Chloe that furious. If Crenfax lived in the Tenements, his description matched several of Chloe's acquaintances to whom I had been introduced. She had a liking for making friends among the lower class; myself included, I guess. Anyone that she thought would irritate her father. She enjoyed exhibiting her 'haves' in front of the 'have-nots'. What could he possibly have done? It must have been something personal. Either he was some oaf who had rejected her or ...
I suddenly burst out laughing and both their heads swung in my direction.
"Now I remember! Wasn't he the man that took your father for a small fortune in that land swindle a few years ago?"
Ark's eyebrows shot up for an instant before the corners of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly. Ark knew that poor deals were something that were painful for egocentric families like the Nornkrills to acknowledge; Especially since they considered themselves to be major players in Elsmere's monetary universe.
Chloe, on the other hand, looked three hairs short of hysteria; her face had taken on a furiously red hue. I almost thought that steam would come out of her ears.
Apparently, my little quip hadn't been taken as well as I had hoped.
"How do you know about that?", Chloe lashed out, "Everyone connected with the deal was threatened with death if they ever breathed a word of what happened!"
"Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but it's been common knowledge for quite some time."
I watched the colour drain from her face and, suddenly, a pang of guilt ran through me. Regardless of her shallowness, Chloe was a friend and I was acting like the south end of a northbound horse. It did make me feel good to actually win an argument with her occasionally though.
Regretfully, my tolerance for argument that morning was much lower than normal due to my lack of sleep. I wasn't in the mood for any disagreement. Too much was riding on our need for escape.
"Chloe, I'm sorry but it's something that you can worry about later. You were the one that insisted on joining us so, unless you've changed your mind, you're going to follow Ark's lead just like I am. If he believes that this Crenfax person is our best prospect for getting out of the city, we'll do as he says. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to acknowledge the man's part in this. But this is what we are doing! Is that understood?"
I took her pout as a sign of yielding.
"Let's get on with it. I want to be a safe distance away before all those perlies decide to come home."
I looked to Ark to find out how we were planning to bypass the patrols but the look that he returned caught me off guard. Silently, he mouthed a quick 'well handled', and then turned and led us to the edge of the stand of trees.
The sun was beginning to wake the birds as it crested the horizon, and they broke into song as we passed among their trees. As we came to the edge of the stand of trees, I gazed out across the preserve and recognized it immediately. It was Dan' Daera's Preserve. I had done much of my studying while lying under one of the nearby trees during the hot days of the Seasons of Warding and Yielding. I always seemed to work harder in the fresh air.
"Where are the patrols?"
"The first must have gone down the alley near that cobbler's shop.", Ark said motioning to the west side of the preserve.
"The second is over there."
I peered south across the preserve. Standing outside a butcher's stall was a group of men talking amongst themselves. I didn't notice anything unusual about them.
"What makes you think that they're soldiers? They don't have uniforms or armour on."
"The smaller man on the left is the one I recognized. He's known as the Ferret and he is one of the most irritating men you will ever meet."
I examined the small, rat-like man from our vantage point. He was an aptly-named, old, short and hunched little fellow whose presence, judging by the body language of his associates, seemed to bear with it an air of veneration.
"He controls one of the largest information networks in the city, outside of the Hive. There's not a brothel, pub or back alley that the man doesn't know intimately. If the Pelosiens didn't value his skills and protect him, his arrogance would have been the death of him a dozen times over by now."
"How much trouble is he going to be?", I asked.
"Plenty. He's bound to have many contacts in the Tenements. Our only hope is that Crenfax has more influence in the area. As an Overseer, he should but it's been a while since I've been there so things may have changed."
Turning to Chloe, Ark started to chuckle, "Are you sure you don't want to marry this Endriad fellow? He does stand to inherit a fair amount of money and it would really save us a bundle of trouble."
I didn't look at her but I could almost feel her black look burning the side of my face.
"What should we do now?", I asked, trying to change the subject before another argument erupted.
Ark's face slowly took on a serious look before he answered.
"Well ... it seems like we have only two options. We could wait here and see if he moves off or we could send you out to distract him while we sneak past them. Personally, I think that waiting would be unwise. It's getting light out and the streets are going to be filling up soon."
"Not that I'm against this distraction plan of yours but why me specifically?"
"The Ferret already knows me. We've had dealings in the past and we definitely don't want him seeing Chloe so you're the only logical choice. I can't think of any reason for the Ferret to know about you. He always prided himself on never working for any but the most powerful Houses in Els. I can't envision Krintal parting with the large fee that the Ferret charges before he's exhausted all of his other options. Besides, he probably still thinks that you're hiding in the Embassy."
I was a little weary of his scheme but I wasn't about to let it show.
"What should I do?"
"All you need to do is keep their attention away from that road for a few moments while we cross behind them. We're to meet our contact at an old, boarded-up blacksmith's shop just a ways down from the tower that I showed you. We'll wait for you there."
"I hope this works.", I said as we stood and returned to the safe cover of the trees.
"Just try not to get yourself killed."
I didn't bother replying as I handed him my packs and bow and crept back further into the grove and to the path that I usually took when I came here. I knew it would lead around to the street where the group of men stood.
As I made my way down the path to the street, I considered the few choices available to me and settled upon my course of action. As I left the trees, I began a drunk, staggering gait which I had unwittingly 'practiced' many times.
Slowly, I wove a path in the general direction of the group of men. My assumed state was a common one on the morning after a feast day and would not, in itself, attract much attention. I was perhaps five yards away before a few heads turned in my direction.
"What are you lookin' at, you piece o’ gutter slime!", bellowed one of the younger men as I lifted my gaze in their direction. Not the most inventive insult that I have ever heard and, considering its source, I was disappointed. Soldiers were supposed to be quite resourceful with their curses. Nonetheless, I had a clear route for my distraction attempt.
"A face that could warp wood at a hundred yards.", I replied in suitable fashion, overly loud but with a drunken slur.
Yes, I realize that there were better ways to attract someone’s undivided attention but I was caught on short notice.
My plan worked. All of the other members of the Ferret's group dropped their conversation immediately and turned in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ark and Chloe crossing the street behind them. The crafty part came next; I needed to escape with my full complement of limbs.
I squinted at the soldier for an instant and then widened my eyes.
"OH! Beggin' your pardon, sir! I thought you were a friend of mine!", I stammered as he reached for his sword.
He paused, looking to his older companions for support.
I began to step to the side and then around them, all the while stuttering my apologies. However, life, at that point, decided to take one of those nasty little twists that have the tendency of throwing one's life into utter chaos. That twist came in the form of a familiar face at a most inopportune moment.
As I backed away, a figure emerged from the stall and our eyes met for an instant too long. A look of astonishment crossed his face but quickly shifted to a chaotic glower. Why do bad things always seem to happen to good people?
The man was Gherid Aenevrek.
Gherid was a Naval Prime Chrysalid whom I had met inadvertently through Bjorn. The two of them had come to blows a few years earlier over one of the women from House Aenevrek; it was Gherid's sister as I recall. From what Bjorn had said, Gherid had walked into the room during an 'encounter' between himself and the unmarried sister. Gherid had then sworn the usual blood oath of vengeance and had attacked Bjorn.
The Chrysalids were exceptional naval fighters trained in ship to ship and hand to hand combat. From what I had heard, the stringent training course that had to be passed before acceptance into the order was allowed broke most men. Those who passed gave new meaning to the word rugged. What had always intrigued me was their water combat training. I was said that a Chrysalid was more deadly in the water than on land and that they could hold their breath underwater longer than most fish.
Even so, an Elsman trained to our pinnacle of fighting perfection would normally think twice before engaging someone of Bjorn's prowess. Evolution had moulded the Vyrs into the most destructive warriors on two legs. Vyr' Kaersan fighters were eminently more skilled in combat than all Elsmen but the Black Trillium. Add their inherent elemental control into the equation and they made for an almost unbeatable opponent.
Gherid had presumably lost his mind; something that, as I understand it, happened to many members of the Aenevrek clan at some point in their lives. Inbreeding does have its price after all. I'm sure that the blows to his head from Quill didn't help his sanity either.
Needless to say, he had lost then as well as the next three times that they had met. I had been with Bjorn on the last two of those occasions. What rankled me the most was that I had been the one that had talked Bjorn out of killing him!
Now, you are probably wondering what all of that had to do with my fear of recognition. You see ... Gherid was also a friend of Krintal's and would have been overjoyed to be the person who captured me. If he had heard. Regardless, from the lustful look of desire for retribution that dawned on his face, he was ready to carve me into tiny bits whether or not he had received word of the siege at the Vyrasian Embassy. It was time to run.
I dropped my distraction ploy, turned, and instituted a full-fledged, terror-powered flight for my life. As I put some initial distance between us, shouts echoed behind me. The one that imprinted itself most in my mind was 'reward' and that only served to fuel my incentive to be out of crossbow range as quickly as possible. It seemed that he had heard.
I sneaked a peak over my shoulder as I rounded the corner and the sight I saw wasn't very encouraging. They were pacing me. I really wished they had been a normal patrol. Armoured soldiers don't run very fast.
I was faced with a dilemma. Run to the blacksmith's shop and risk involving Ark and Chloe or just keep running. I had to decide quickly. The tower was looming closer and closer.
Blood and blazes! The tower!
Melrauna’s name crossed my lips as my eyes scoured the platform for any sign of occupancy. Melrauna’s luck truly was with me then because there were no soldiers to be seen. Archers of the Fletch’Elin were usually stationed atop the platforms. Anyone running into the Tenements was assumed to be a thief attempting escape, especially if they were being pursued. Because of that, the soldiers tended to shoot first and question later. The last thing that I needed was a barrage of arrows fired in my direction.
Fortunately, my decision on whether to continue running or not was made for me. As I passed the tower, I sighted Ark. He was standing in the doorway of the old blacksmith's shop. After he realized that I had seen him, he motioned me to follow him and then disappeared through the doorway. I followed closely behind. Three other men awaited us inside the vacant room and the smaller one swung open a panel in the back wall for us. Before I was able to voice a warning of my pursuit, we were hustled through the concealed opening and into the downward-sloping tunnel beyond. The other three followed and shut the panel behind them, bolting it in place.
We continued at a run along the passage for a short while, the banging and yelling from back at the blacksmith's shop growing fainter. Suddenly, the passageway behind us caved in and sent a cloud of dust up the tunnel.
"What in blazes was that?!?", I yelled.
"Be quiet and keep moving!", came a voice behind me, "Take the next corridor on the left!"
We did as we were told and eventually arrived at a dimly lit room in which we were advised to stop. Chloe was already there. Breathless, I sank to the floor, exhausted. I promised myself there and then that I would begin a steady regiment of exercise if I ever managed to leave the city alive.
"Can't you do something as simple as a diversion?! What in Graeth'al's name happened back there?!", exclaimed Arklasius.
Between gasps, I told him the story and I had him laughing before my tale was finished.
"Bjorn’s told me about Gherid. He must be frothing at the mouth right now!", he commented between chuckles, "You know something? This could only have happened to you.", he said, shaking his head and then added, "Trouble seems to find you wherever you are."
"That's me, always the innocent observer.", I replied with a smile.
Ark turned to our saviour.
"I can't tell you how much your help is appreciated, Crenfax."
I looked over at the person who had made my escape possible. The two larger men, presumably mercenaries, had left us already.
Crenfax was a man of average height and build. A long wisp of a moustache loomed over his upper lip. A large, foppish hat adorned his head while a rapier sat nestled in its sheath at his waist. The remainder of his body was decked out in silken finery. Crenfax looked more like someone that I would have expected to see in the Potentate’s court rather than in a tunnel under the city.
"Do not worry Arklasius. My bill will allow you to fully express your gratitude. I needed to collapse that tunnel behind us so they would be unable to follow. That alone will run you a tidy sum. Still, Melrauna seems to have taken a liking to you three for you to have made it this far."
Melrauna, of course, was also the patron ward of thieves. I disliked the notion of sharing a Handmaiden with so dishonourable a society.
From his dialogue however, Crenfax seemed to be an educated man and that, for some reason, surprised me. Ark turned to me, a roguish grin lighting up up his face.
"Well... since it was Bjorn's enemy that caused us all these problems, why not simply bill him?", Ark said with his trademark mischievous grin.
"Why not? He has more money than he knows what to do with.", I said in agreement.
Chloe, having sat quietly pouting in the corner, finally spoke out.
"What are we planning to do now? If this Ferret person is as good as you say he is, won't half the city know where we are soon?"
That cast a sombre gloom on our spirits. It seemed, however, that Crenfax was prepared.
"Ah yes, the Ferret was involved, was he?", Crenfax queried, seemingly to himself, "That is a pleasant turn of events. There is somewhat of a rivalry between the two of us. I enjoy any action that leaves him empty-handed. Not to worry though, Mistress Chloe! We will be leaving after these two finish catching their breath. I have a safe house for you to stay in until tonight. After dusk, I will see you past the walls."
Chloe didn't seem buoyed by his enthusiasm. She merely turned her head and resumed her pout. Ark continued the conversation.
"How are we getting past the walls? You can't expect Kaylor to scale a wall ten yards high, much less Chloe."
"Who said anything about going over?", Crenfax replied with a wry smirk.
"You have a contact among the Border Guard that takes bribes?", Ark asked incredulously.
"Unfortunately, no. Bordermen are prohibitively expensive to buy and have the tendency of forgetting where their allegiance should lie when paid off."
"How then?"
"Why, under, of course."
Even I didn't believe that. The city walls were constructed following the Vor' Ozlan invasion and were considered impenetrable. The Assembly had been unanimous in its determination to ensure that they weren't taken by surprise again. A team of Pe' Louve engineers captured during the invasion had been forced to design and oversee their construction. The walls were roughly ten yards tall and three yards thick at their base but their strength lay in their foundation. The walls were sunk a further six yards into the ground and rested on solid bedrock. Tunnelling under them would have been almost impossible. In the event that that near impossibility came to pass, the very design of the walls would have given the attempt away. The blocks were interlinked in such a way that, if a tunnelling attempt was made, a shift in the pattern of their linking would occur and reveal the location of the effort. I recall reading that the construction of the walls had very nearly bankrupted the state.
Our looks of scepticism seemed to further lighten Crenfax's mood. With a shake of his head and a smile, he elaborated, slightly.
"One of my best kept secrets. It's also one of my greatest sources of income. But, for old time’s sake, we will just say that you owe me a favour.", he said winking at Chloe.
Coming from a man with Crenfax's reputation, it had an expensive ring to it. Chloe scowled at him but remained silent.
As we gathered our belongings and supplies in preparation for another march, Crenfax turned to us, sporting a look of the cat that had just caught the mouse.
"Oh ..., and by the way gentlemen, welcome to the Tenements and, more importantly, the Hive."
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