Chapter 17: Dinner and Seers
Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6050, Orhan 5, day 67
Aboard the Naristral
Thirty Leagues Northeast of Sel-kai City
Jad and I are invited to a final dinner at the Captain’s Table tonight. I am looking forward to the opportunity to spend a little more time with the friends we have made here on the Naristral over the last event-filled fourteen days. Jad has brought out some of our better clothes for the event, though I am afraid they look a bit rumpled from being stuffed in trunks so long; there really wasn’t much room in our cabin to hang them properly. He is already dropping hints about going shopping in Sel-kai for new clothes. According to Ruuth the Herbalist, we will be arriving in Sel-kai at the height of an annual shopping frenzy. While most cultures seem to celebrate the arrival of the new year in one form or another, it has become a popular custom in this country to buy gifts for friends and family, and exchange them on New Years Day. The city merchants have nurtured this custom and over time it has grown into a huge event and an important source of income for many retailers. Ruuth said that shopkeepers will be eager to bargain and we might get some bargains.
Though I am looking forward to putting my feet on solid ground — and having a hot bath! — I have come to enjoy this little cabin with its spare but carefully designed furnishings. And drifting to sleep as the ship creaks and gently rocks has become rather pleasurable.
I feel some guilt over Taluk and Bertram not being invited to the dinner, but they seemed almost relieved to not have to attend a formal dinner. Taluk did shyly ask if perhaps we might pinch a bottle of wine for them on the way out, and I think that is the least I can do. I know they have felt like useless baggage on this trip, but they have offered to serve whenever possible and never complained. I must remember to write a letter to my father praising their diligence, once we are settled in Sel-kai lodgings.
The ship’s bell has rung and Jad is fussing about being late, so I will conclude this entry. My next should be in the great city of Sel-kai!
Captain N’tanga went all-out for the final dinner: the table was covered with a pure white cloth; crystal and silver glittered in the candlelight across its expanse. Already gathered in the room besides the Captain were Ruuth, Tar-esiir, Chak and Ilvia Vorhese, and in a rare appearance, Patrick O’Kiran.
As Kalen and Jad entered, Elerik the cabin boy immediately offered them glasses of white wine. “It’s Premier Jenari Chardonnay from Námar-Tol,” Elerik whispered. “The captain is sparing no expense tonight, my Lords; this is from his private store.” He added, trying to keep his hands steady as he poured from the ornately painted bottle, “I think he wants to make up for the misfortunes of the trip.”
“ ‘Misfortunes’?” Jad said with a snort as he took a glass. “I prefer to think of them as adventures! Imagine how dull this would have been without the boiling seas and the raiders!”
“And the mysterious metal submarine boat.” Kalen added, taking his own glass with a smile.
“One thing is sure…” Lukas appeared at their side, dressed in formal attire—including a green brocade jacket with gold buttons and red sash. “…we will have stories to tell… our grandchildren.” He smirked at Jad.
“Good evening, Viscount Ridgeston.” Ruuth nodded her head. “Is your tutor not joining us tonight?”
“He sends his regrets.” Lukas grinned shamelessly.
“And how is your wound healing?”
“It is as if it was never there, madam; I am in your debt.”
“I was happy to help. And Sur Vit reimbursed me for my expenses and then some, so all debts are settled.” She sipped her wine and turned suddenly to N’tanga. “Captain this wine is delicious!” She said with a little laugh of delight. “This must be ’31 or ’35, from the Jenari Thornwood vineyards.
“Someone else who appreciates a fine wine!” The Captain laughed heartily. “It is indeed Thornwood Reserve ’35. One of my last bottles, unfortunately.”
Ilvia Vorhese looked at her own crystal goblet accusingly and scowled; Kalen wondered if she was annoyed that a shopkeeper might know more about expensive wine than she did—and have the gall to flaunt such knowledge in front of her. Kalen’s previous interactions with Ilvia, though brief, had demonstrated that she considered herself the center of her world. She only viewed the actions of those around her through the prism of how they might affect her, and (naturally) assumed that people’s motivations usually involved… her. So it did not occur to the niece of Aldaran Elgata that Ruuth’s knowledgeable compliment about the wine was no more or less than what it appeared to be at face value. It was instead a calculated dig at the young aristocrat’s lack of appreciation for the subtleties of wine flavor. Kalen himself had to admit that, though he liked the dry chardonnay, his palate was far from discerning enough to identify a vineyard, much less a vintage.
Though Kalen was fascinated by Ilvia’s discomfort, her husband apparently did not notice her consternation; Chak Vorhese was deep in discussion with Patrick O’Kiran. Kalen noticed how the monk’s gaze constantly flitted about the room, as if he was watching for something. In fact his entire posture as he stood talking to the Sel-kai merchant was one of anticipation, like some sort of hunting animal ready to pounce—or a game beast poised to flee. That aside the monk certainly had a striking appearance. Kalen could not remember when he had last seen man or woman with hair of such a deep, almost metallic auburn color (at least, that was natural—and he had to assume that Patrick’s was—though he knew many women at court had their hair tinted anything from flaxen to pitch, but that was a cosmetic change in the name of fashion. Surely a man of religious calling would not be coloring his hair). And even so, all the few redheads the Marquess had ever encountered had very pale freckled skin, while Patrick’s complexion was a uniform fair color—except when his cheeks were flushed, which was always when he was outdoors in the brisk weather. Brother O’Kiran indeed had an almost alien (if not unpleasing) appearance…
At that moment the Monk’s searching gaze fell upon Kalen and his emerald green eyes locked onto the Marquess’ grey; his thick brows lowered as if in perplexity. Kalen looked away, feeling his own cheeks burn with embarrassment.
But the Monk’s attention was called back to the conversation when Chak Vorhese said “Your ‘Church of the Word’ as you call it seems like an enlightened organization, and I am surprised that I have heard nothing of it in Sel-kai. Surely your religion has a temple in such a Cosmopolitan place as our city!”
“We are yet a small order,” Patrick answered with a tight smile, “ and slow to spread from our home in Thuul.”
“Thuul!” Chak exclaimed. “That is indeed far. Tell me, what do you know of something called the ‘Alliance’? I have heard it is a trade cartel or perhaps even a loosely governed empire.” The young Vorhese leaned forward eagerly.
“I know of the Alliance, but I’m afraid there is little I can tell you.” Patrick frowned in thought. “I believe they are some sort of trade group, but operating in western Thuul and Agyra. I am from eastern Thuul, quite a few hundred… leagues from there.”
“I suppose so.” Chak’s shoulders slumped a bit. “You have that great sea and the Pillar of the Gods between you. Have you ever seen the famous Pillar? I hear that it is tall beyond imagining.”
“I have…” Patrick seemed rather guarded. “But only glimpsed from afar, through clouds. It was still… quite awe-inspiring.”
“I don’t doubt it!” The merchant prince’s eyes glittered and his attentive posture returned. “ I would love to travel to Thuul and see the Pillar. Our little corner of the world must seem quite mundane compared to such wonders.”
“Actually this trip has had as many ‘wonders’ as I care to encounter.” Patrick’s mouth worked into a crooked smile. “I look forward to settling into quiet apartments in Sel-kai City and spending the next few months exploring the wonderful library there.”
“It is one of the best in the world, I understand, though I admit I am not much of a scholar and could not tell you how it compares to Nomikos or Gorbintax or even Khofea. My father raised me to follow him in his business and that left little time for more recreational academic pursuits.”
Kalen’s eavesdropping was interrupted by an elbow in the ribs. “You’re finding the mysterious Monk especially interesting tonight.” Jad smirked, but his low voice held a little edge of irritation.
“They were talking about the Pillar of the Gods!” Kalen hissed back a little defensively.
“Maybe we should be thinking about a place we are actually going, like Sel-kai.” Jad rolled his eyes. Ruuth is going to write down the address of her shop for us so we can visit her, and also suggest some places to stay.” He nodded to the Herbalist, who was attentively watching the steward refill her wine glass.
“Very responsible of you, cousin—planning ahead!” Kalen smiled.
But in response Jad only scowled and muttered “I do try, you know.”
“Decent inns in Sel-kai!” Ruuth made it almost an announcement as she turned about to face Jad and Kalen. The Manse is very nice—lovely in fact—but a bit expensive. The Circle Lodge on the Great Canal is also—“
“That’s where I am staying!” Lukas piped in cheerfully.
“—well-appointed.” Ruuth shot the Viscount a look that suggested to Kalen that ‘well-appointed’ wasn’t what she was originally planning to say about his choice of lodging. “More modest but still offering clean and well-furnished rooms is the Barge Inn. Near the Avenue of the Gods, Agantha’s House is nice though a quite expensive. The Featherdown is even moreso. I would avoid the First Inn if I were you. Also I have heard bad things about the Homestead and the Wayside, though they are both in sections of the city I doubt you’ll be frequenting anyway. Those are the only ones I can think of off the top of my head.”
“That already seems like plenty of options, thank you!” Kalen’s head was spinning with names. “It sounds like we’ll probably go to the Manse or… Barge Inn. I don’t have unlimited funds.”
Just then the steward rang his chime to summon them to their seats, and their final dinner at sea began.
Sten grimaced just before he slammed his elbow through the windowpane. T’tania suspected it was as much from the thought that he was actually breaking into a home as the expectation of any physical pain. The Myr’s heavily wrapped limb crashed through the glass with what seemed like a deafening noise, but was probably nothing to be heard above the noise on the Queen’s Way around the corner. They’d chosen this place—Lady Winik’s Secured Loans & Exchange—as their burglary target for several reasons, not the least of which was this location with little traffic along the rear of the building. As with most of the shops in Haalkitaine, there were apartments above and behind the storefront that was facing on the main road. But also they had visited the shop by day and encountered the proprietor: Vegru, a dubious Shay man who seemed to have no reservations about dramatically undervaluing every possession they offered for sale or pawn. There seemed to be no sign of the ‘Lady Winik’ of the shop’s shingle.
And while they were there, having stepped aside to discuss his insulting offers, a man of middle years came in to retrieve a ring he had pawned. Vegru told the man that his time was up and he had already sold the ring, but the man produced a receipt showing that the date marked was not yet come, and the shopkeeper had no right to sell the item before the date. Vegru accused the man of altering the receipt and threatened to call the city guard. The poor man, obviously already in financial trouble, and —to T’tania’s eyes—someone who had trouble with drink, gave in shuffled away, his shoulders hunched in defeat.
So it was that neither the Dúranak nor the Myr felt too bad about breaking into the apartment of this Vegru, and relieving him of some of his probably ill-earned possessions.
They both held their breath for a moment, waiting for a cry of alarm to go up. Even though T’tania had carefully scanned their target building for Presences, and the had seem Vegru leave earlier, there was always the chance she had missed someone. Such spells, while generally to be relied upon, were not completely infallible. There were those who could mask their Presence (though that would seem unlikely in a place such as this) and even on rare occasions the spell could fail imperceptibly and falsely give the caster no Presence readings.
But the shop remained dark and silent, and the Dúranak’s mental scan once again revealed nothing. She reached deftly in through the jagged opening, found the crude lock, and in a moment had the window open. Sten lifted her easily and she was inside…
A few hours later Sten crouched at the hearth of the small room they had rented for the night at the rather modest Sunrise Suites Inn and stoked the fire under a pot of steaming water. He was naked, his filthy clothes in a heap nearby.
Over at the room’s bed, T’tania sorted through their belongings. She wore a cotton shift—simple but clean—that they had bought with a small part of their illicit income from Vegru after having (finally) bathed. Next the tub in the corner of the warm little chamber awaited Sten, then finally they would use the water to clean their wretched garments. “I know some people travel in the wilderness for weeks without bathing or changing clothes, but by my elders I don’t know how they do it,” she sighed, flinging more items in Sten’s general direction.
“I hope we did the right thing.” The Myr said quietly.
T’tania paused. “You mean taking money from that Vegru? That man who we know has cheated so many?”
“But… we aren’t giving the money back to those who he cheated. We took it for ourselves.”
“It’s not like we left him broke.” The Dúranak woman snapped an undergarment. “Just a few silvers. And we agreed to just have one night in a modest inn, buy food for a few days, and give the rest back to the Orhan Church shelter where we were staying. I don’t think we could be much more honorable about it.”
“I know.” Sten sounded miserable. “Bit it still seems… wrong. Two crimes don’t make justice. We weren’t starving… quite.” He sank to the floor, poking at the fire listlessly. “I… I feel overwhelmed by this place. I wish we could go home.”
T’tania smiled to herself, put down what she had been sorting and sat by her hulking lover. “My noble Sten. Maybe that is part of why I love you so much, you even feel bad stealing from a thief. “ She rested her head on his shoulder. “But we have not really hurt him; I doubt he will even notice the loss right away, judging by that hoard. If only we could give it all back to those who he treated unfairly.”
“If only.” Sten nodded with a conviction that seemed naïve to T’tania, yet somehow reassuring.
Somewhere near the northern edge of Boelterica in western Rhakhaan, many tents were clustered in a deep, windswept valley. Near the center of this encampment stood a much larger and more grand pavilion, decorated with banners and pennants whipping in the icy wind. This was the temporary home of Lord Frelik Malvion, Marquess of Nolgara. Inside, flames flickered in ornate lamps, sending light dancing across the tapestry-hung walls and carpeted floor. Lord Frelik himself, his hefty frame draped in a heavy fur-lined robe, sat on the edge of a travel stool and wrung his somewhat fleshy hands over a brazier. “I have risked my lands and title on this quest, Belock; everything that I own. If this doesn’t work I could even lose my head!” Frelik’s chin wobbled as his mouth snapped shut. Though tall in the manner of the Laan, the Marquess had a weakness for rich food and drink, and did not exercise as he once did. As a result he was rather overweight.
“And the reward will be nothing less than all of Jaiman, my lord.” High Priest Belock replied, his voice sounding fatigued… perhaps because he was tired of constantly having to reassure the querulous Marquess that this coup would in fact succeed. Once Jerrin is dead and we get the crown on Frelik we’ll be able to control him… and finally shut him up… the priest reminded himself. His own hands worked under the chausible of his crimson priest’s robes, fingers of his right twisting the ornate, ruby-set gold ring on his left. Belock, of average height and wiry build, was a stark contrast to the Rhakhaan nobleman in physical size, but what he lacked in physical stature he more than made up for with intelligence and guile. Once the new Emperor is under the influence of the ‘crown,’ the Order of the Cloak will have Jaiman in the palms of our hands.
“I just worry that this sorcery with the ancient crowns will not play out as you promise. You have not grown up here with the legends of the power of these artifacts! They say that when a king puts on the crown, it changes him.”
“We have been over this. My order has researched these things extensively and I am confident that we can annul or block any sort of powers the crown may still possess. If I were you, my lord—“ He said the title in a slightly mocking tone that was not lost on Frelik. The Marquess shot him a dark glare. “—I would concentrate on the military aspects of your conquest of Rhakhaan. We can deal with the crown when Jerrin is dead and you are ready to ascend the throne in Haalkitaine.” Pity we can’t put our control spells on him now, but too many people would notice the change. We must wait for him to put on the crown, then blame any personality alterations on that. Belock had enough enemies among Frelik’s followers already: those suspicious of his motives or simply jealous of how he had the ear of the Marquess. The High Priest was glad to have his four Champion bodyguards with him, two of them just outside the tent.
“Between our forces here and in Meluria, and the mercenaries in the Zor Wastes, it is only a matter of time before we will be marching into the city in triumph. If the weather cooperates of course. I don’t suppose you can do anything about that, eh, Priest?” Frelik said with a sneer.
“Perhaps, at a critical time…”
Belock seemed to be about to say something else when the tent-flap was pulled open and a guard ducked in, followed by a gust of chill, damp air. “My Lord, a courier from Haalkitaine.”
“Send him in.” Frelik barked as he rose to his feet and adjusted his robe. “A reply at last.”
“Do you think this is wise? Having a courier come here? And you don’t really think that Jerrin will consent to your demands for his surrender?” Belock said with a frown.
“It’s just protocol.” Frelik huffed, “It is tradition to invite the ruler to a truce-meeting where he can relinquish the throne without further bloodshed.”
“I suspect he’s going to need a good deal more ‘convincing’ before that happens.”
The courier was escorted in then, a Laan youth wearing a black tunic emblazoned with the phoenix emblem. His breeches were mud-stained and his hair was wet. He made a cursory bow to Frelik. “My Lord. I bear a message from His Imperial Majesty.”
The Marquess made an impatient gesture. “Well, out with it!”
The young man stood at attention and spoke as if reciting: “His Majesty Jerrin Faslurin rejects your presumptive and illegitimate claim to the throne of Rhakhaan. He makes you a counter offer: immediately surrender yourself, the Phoenix Crown and the names of all who conspired with you in this crime of High Treason, and his Imperial Majesty will consider sparing your life.”
“That arrogant bastard!” Frelik rose to his feet, hands clenched, his face red as a ripe apple. He took a step towards the courier, who now looked a bit afraid.
“You expected anything less?” Belock stepped between the two and raised his hands towards the Marquess. Then he turned to face the courier. “Say this to your Emperor: ‘There will come a time when you will beg His Majesty Frelik Malvion for mercy. We shall be ready to talk when you are prepared to do so.’ Now, go.”
The courier looked pained (for no doubt it had been a hard ride here and he had hoped for some rest while they debated some long-winded reply) but nodded his head and slipped out of the tent.
“What a waste of time. And now Jerrin knows you are here and not in the Zor Wastes.”
Frelik looked stricken with this realization. “We could kill the courier.”
“Don’t be so petty as to violate the courier’s diplomatic immunity. Learn to live with your mistakes.” Belock rolled his eyes. Maybe I should convince him to try the crown on now…
Tad felt the sweat gathering on his back and under his arms, soaking into his tunic. He’d already taken off his heavy sweater and he was still perspiring. The night was not as cold as the previous, and more humid, with low clouds and a clinging mist everywhere. Just as bad, there was a lot of traffic on the canals this evening, and some quirk of the tides was making the currents tricky as well. It wasn’t as though Kim and the Loremaster were a particularly unwieldy cargo, but the meeting time was nearing and Tad didn’t want to be late. It was rare that he ran on such a tight schedule. He thought that he’d allowed enough time, but with the Baragon family barge procession blocking up part of the Great Canal, there were delays. At least they were off the main ways now. He slammed his pole into the canal bed and heaved. They swung off of Quathe and onto the narrow Borg Canal. Revenant wasn’t far up on the left. He just hated to not give perfect service, after the Loremaster had paid him so extravagantly just the night before.
“It’s not the end of the world if we aren’t there right at the bell.” Randae said gently. “Don’t kill yourself getting us there, lad.”
“Yes, I doubt this Veriak will shutter his door against us if were are a few moments after the bell.” Kim added with a bemused smile.
“Just so.” Randae nodded. “He seems eager to meet with us, though how he apparently came into this information—not to mention his motivation in all this—continues to elude me…” He added in a lower voice.
“Sorry m’Sur Loremaster, I apologize for the delay.” Tad muttered as he paced down the length of the skiff past them, pushing the skiff as he went.
“It doesn’t appear to have been any doing of yours; no need for contrition!” The Loremaster laughed. “Not your fault when the high and wealthy decide to take their behemoth unwieldy boats out for a ride in the dead of night and clog up the canals.”
“Yes, m’Sur.” Tad sighed, letting his shoulders relax as they coasted down the canal. The Old City closed in on them: smaller villas, shops and apartments on both sides, most of wood construction above the foundations (unlike the mansions of the merchant barons in Five Oaks) some shuttered but many with lamp-lit windows. To Tad it was reassuring in a way, not like the wide, treacherous waters and the racket of the Great Canal and Circle. And he knew these canals, every pier and jetty.
On to Revenant and under the Takara Bridge, past the milliner and the alchemist… “Here we are, The Serpent’s Eye, Number Seven Revenant.” Tad eased his skiff alongside a worn stone stairway leading up to the street level. Just as he was tying up, the College tower range the first bell of night.
“And see, you got us here right on time, no need to have fretted.” Randae stepped lightly off the boat.
“No, m’Sur.” Tad smiled gamely, nodding as the Loremaster and the Monk disembarked. No frettin,’ just a lot of sweatin.’
“You don’t mind waiting for us? I don’t think we’ll be too long.” Kim paused on the landing.
“Not at all… Kim.” Tad smiled.
“Good, then stay warm, we’ll be back presently.” Kim turned and jogged up the steps; Randae had already passed around the corner to the front of the building which faced on a small courtyard. Like most others around here, it was three stories tall, the upper floors overhanging the street level in front, both to provide a sheltered entrance and to add space on the upper floors. A shingle hung above the doorway depicting a large slit-pupiled eye, a few runes Kim didn’t recognize and the words “The Serpent’s Eye: Fortunes Told, the Future Seen.”
Randae raised his hand to knock, then turned to the Monk. “Of course, this could be some sort of elaborate trap or deception.” The Loremaster deadpanned.
“It’s a good thing we have Tad for backup then.” Kim put his hands together inside his robe. He glanced around the courtyard: deserted but for them. All the other buildings were shuttered on the lower level; a few lights glimmered through windows on the upper floors. The Old City was not the safest section of Sel-kai, but it was far from the most dangerous. While it did not house the wealthiest residents, it was home to many respectable merchants and craftsmen, and much of it had a sense of community that was lacking in other districts. Neighbors looked out for each other, and that made it a less appealing target for muggers and other criminals. Still, even in the Old City it was not prudent to go walking alone late at night.
Randae knocked.
A few moments later that the door was opened by a tall man with shoulder length blond hair. He was unmistakably a Linær Elf: the golden locks, delicate features, gracefully pointed ears, and that barely visible nimbus that surrounded that race of the High Elves most noticeably—to those who see such things at all. To Kim it was barely perceptible; to Randae it was almost like a minor aura.
But there was something else different about this Elf as well: the way his clear blue eyes did not look at quite anything in particular. Kim had seen Veriak before on the street, but those blind yet piercingly blue eyes were more disturbing now in close quarters. “Good evening, I am Veriak rin Thrallion.” He turned towards the Loremaster. Clear faceted gems glittered in his earlobes. “Randae Terisonen, I presume?”
“Just so.” Randae nodded. “And this is my aide… Kim.” A blind Seer. Fascinating.
“A pleasure.” Veriak nodded. “Please come in, and we can begin. “ He stepped aside so they could enter. “Ah, Tad brought you… good lad. Interesting dreams.”
“So you put some value in the symbols of dreams?” Kim asked conversationally as the Seer pushed home a heavy bolt on the solid door, led them through a comfortably furnished sitting room, and down a corridor
“I do undeniably. Dreams are another part of our mind speaking to us in our sleep. It is important to heed that voice. Some of my work involves simply helping my clients to hear their own inner self. It involves no more magic than a desire to listen and a small talent to make associations. But that is most peoples’ dreams: I suppose they would be called mundane, but they are important in their way. But others have a real gift. Tad’s dreams are sometimes different. I think he has the gift of foresight, and could even be a Seer with training.”
They emerged into a windowless chamber beyond. In the center of the room was a small round table of polished black wood surrounded by three identical chairs. The light came from an elegant copper lamp in the center of the table and three tall candle-stands set around the perimeter. The room’s walls were covered by heavy drapes blue-black in color and made of some soft-looking velvety fabric. Kim noticed that Veriak wore a tunic and breeches of simple cut and similar hue, but the cloth looked to be a fine silk, and the cut well-fitted over his lean but clearly muscular body.
The most interesting feature of the room by far was the wooden tree-like structure at the back, inhabited by the huge serpent that was Veriak’s usual companion. The snake was coiled about the trunk and branches, its head extending towards them as it eyed both visitors with opaque reptilian eyes, tongue flicking out as the head moved to and fro. So much for my theory of the snake seeing for him, Kim thought. Obviously Veriak had no trouble at the front door and navigating the house while his pet waited back here. Just as he was thinking that, the snake’s head moved to point directly at him.
“Indeed?” Randae shrugged off his cloak as they entered the inner chamber. “The Loremasters are always interested in potentials; he could have a comfortable and rewarding future with us if he does have the talent.”
“Indeed.” Veriak affirmed with a smirk. “Though I was thinking of asking him to be my apprentice. I hope you do not steal him away from me.” Veriak paused then and looked towards his snake, then turned back to his guests. “I am sorry, Loremaster, but I think this consultation would be best carried out… in private.”
Randae frowned, then nodded to Kim. “Sorry, but maybe it is for the best. Do you mind keeping Tad company?”
“Not at all, if that is your will.” The monk bowed, then strode back towards the entrance. Before he even reached the door, Veriak raised his hand and gestured, and the bolt flew back and the heavy door swung open. Kim tried to conceal his surprise as he stepped through and said over his shoulder, “I’ll be on the boat awaiting your return.”
After he had gone Veriak made another hand gesture with a twist of his writs and the door swung to, the bolt slamming into place. “I don’t mean to imply anything against your guard; in fact from what I can tell he is an honorable man and loyal to you, not to mention a skilled warrior with the Changramai training. But I think these things are better discussed between the two of us. There will be some delicate moral issues, I suspect.”
“I’m relieved to hear you have no suspicions about Kim’s loyalty. I have trusted him completely, based largely on my own intuition.”
“And your intuition has proved reliable in this case.” Another flickering smile—there and gone—across Veriak’s face. “At any rate, welcome and please be seated.” Veriak took Randae’s cloak and hung it in a hidden space behind the curtain. He closed the door to the room and pulled the curtain across it, then moved with seeming confidence and ease to the far side of the table.
Randae sat, and Veriak did the same, staring straight ahead with his strange blind gaze. The Loremaster found it particularly disturbing on someone so beautiful as a Linær Elf. Veriak also seemed so out of place here: one of the most lordly of the Iylari operating a modest shop in Sel-kai’s Old City. He would look more at home mingling with the merchant barons on Eidolon. But this was an eclectic city, and Veriak was not it’s most unusual resident. He pulled himself back to the matter at hand. “So, obviously your note was of interest to me.” Randae got to the point. “You have mentioned things of great importance to the Loremasters. It is imperative that I know what you understand about this verse and what else you can tell me.” He pulled the document out of his tunic and unfolded the stiff material. “Naturally you will wish to be compensated for your efforts.”
Veriak’s eyebrows rose. “As you can see by my surroundings, I live a modest though comfortable life, and I am well-enough compensated by a few of my wealthier clients. Let me suggest this: I ask for no payment at this time, partly because I foresee that my skills might prove useful again in the near future. When you decide that we are done, I’ll allow you to set the compensation.”
“An unusual arrangement, one that I will confess leaves me a bit uncomfortable. You could lure me in further with more hints then suddenly demand a princely sum.”
The snake’s head turned suddenly and its gaze fixed on the Loremaster.
Veriak closed his eyes. “I give you my word I will do no such thing. You are welcome to decline my offer now with no debt to me. I make this suggestion because this is not a normal situation; I received this information unbidden. If you prefer, I agree now to no payment whatsoever—though I know of course that the Loremasters could well pay many ‘princely sums’ for information they value.”
“I believe you. It just goes against my usually suspicious nature.” Randae smiled tightly. “And yes, the Loremasters might pay, but that does not mean that I am authorized to promise such sums.”
“Completely understood. But it is imperative that you trust me if we are to gain any additional insights into the information I sent to you. You appear to have come to Sel-kai at a propitious time: others will soon arrive: those whom you seek.”
“What an interesting coincidence.”
“You believe in coincidences, Loremaster? That’s rather… quaint. While the Lords of Orhan rarely intervene directly in our affairs here, they watch… and they whisper a suggestion in a receptive ear. Sometimes they even nudge. And there are those here on Kulthea who manipulate events just as a skilled Castles player moves his pieces in such a way as to cause other pieces to shift, creating a greater strategy. ”
“You suggest we are being played as minor Droloi to be cast aside as part of a larger strategy?”
“Only if we allow ourselves to be played so. And I believe in my heart that the Lords do not think of us that way… at least most of them do not. It is hard to know their true minds; they are as alien to us as we are to a dog or… snake. But no matter; what is, is. Shall we begin?”
“Very well.” Randae sighed.
Veriak folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Without additional input from you I cannot give you much more information beyond the verse itself, except for a few fleeting images that accompanied it, but perhaps those will help you to in turn provide me more to work with.”
“Very well.”
“First I believe you are looking for a thing, when in fact first you must find a person, or in fact two people. This has something to do with a very ancient item of tremendous power for destruction. If I did not know better, I would say it was the Shadowstone.”
“And I would say you were correct.” Randae frowned.
“So it was not destroyed then.” Veriak said in a flat voice. “I thought I sensed… something… growing in recent years.”
“Your sense is true. It has been recovered, and I fear that its new owner plans something catastrophic.” Randae sighed.
“And to stand against the Shadowstone, according to legend, someone must have the Soulsword. But perhaps this time, with two one can wield the sword while the other can deal with the stone.”
“The way you describe it, someone is indeed laying out some sort of plan, and apparently has been for some time.”
Or perhaps that is simply the way things are falling into place, by ‘coincidence’ as you would say.” Veriak shrugged.
It was nearly an hour later when the Loremaster returned to Tad’s skiff.
“Was it an informative visit?” Kim asked from the shadow of his hood.
“It was, in several ways.” Randae said curtly. “Tad, take me home.” The Loremaster did no speak again until they had pulled up at the pier of the Barge Inn. As he prepared to step off the boat, he turned suddenly on the young boatman. “Veriak may be in need of your services in the next few days; please give his request you top priority.”
Tad nodded dumbly, but Randae was already looking to Kim. “I’ll have an errand for you in the next day or so as well.” Without another word he was off the skiff and gone into the Inn.
Toren sent the event planner away to get started on the things he had already approved and the guards were ordered back outside the Prince’s chambers. “I’ll get you that robe!” He said gleefully, happy to have any part in a Loremaster adventure.
Drey at first had been reluctant to give his report in front of the Prince, but Ren brushed his doubts aside. “Toren is frequently present at the Emperor’s council meetings; he knows how to hold his tongue.” So, after he’d changed out of his wet clothes and into the offered robe, he sat by the fire and began to tell his tale. Around the time of his capture by the Messengers, there was another knock at the door.
“The tea, finally!” Toren leapt to his feet and let in his valet. “There you are, Simcox, you can set it over there.”
Drey eyed the valet skeptically. He felt a tingling in his ears and the hairs at the base of his neck rose. But there was nothing out of the ordinary about the middle-aged man. Perhaps he was being paranoid. After the valet left and the doors was shut, he finished his story.
“Well you did have quite an adventure.” Ren paused to take a sip of his tea. “Messengers, a Priest Arnak, and a legendary former Loremaster!”
“A bit more than I had bargained for.” Drey rolled his eyes and clutched the robe tighter across his chest with one hand. He inched on his cushion a bit closer to the roaring fire and glanced at Prince Toren and Ren, who had pulled up chairs nearby. The three were alone; at least they thought they were alone. In fact, someone else was listening.
When Drey had first appeared in the palace courtyard, one of the guards sent a message to a certain Tamalak, a prelate and aide to the Archprelate Osaran of Purll Kirn. Tamalak was not, however, a cleric but a Seer, and a Priest Arnak. Using a Long Ear spell, he listened outside the Prince’s quarters, though he only picked up snatches of conversation. He had a lucky opportunity when Simcox entered with the tea and he could send his invisible magical ‘ear’ into the room. He heard many things that would no doubt interest his master the High Priest…
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