Chapter 19: Cloaks and Daggers In the Center of Sel-kai city, just off the Avenue of the Gods in the cloistered halls of Andasai College, a graduation ceremony was taking place… “Tallin, you may rise.” First Mentalist Voris Larigon smiled benevolently at the young man who looked up with eyes full of joy and trust. The Chancellor of the college placed the amulet of indoctrination about his best pupil, eyes agleam before the gathered students and faculty. Larigon’s smile was as much to himself as to the youth: smiling even as he plotted the course of this boy’s life. Tallin is the brightest in a sky of luminous stars. He has thrived under my expert guidance and supervision, and he will serve me well in the years to come. The first task will be to free him of the shackles of emotional bondage. The feelings he has for the young woman Laurianne will have to be suppressed; then we will replace them with loyalty to the College… and me. But Voris Larigon underestimated his student. Tallin Vedui had long ago read the elder Mentalist’s intentions and taken steps to subtly redirect Larigon’s maneuvers and manipulate his allies. Even now, seeds of dissention and disinformation that Vedui had carefully planted within the college were beginning to sprout. Let Larigon destroy Laurianne; she was a stepping-stone on a path I trod long ago — useless now except as an amusement. And eventually, Larigon will be supplanted as Chancellor — but not too soon; not before I am ready to take his place. Then we will see who pulls the strings in this city of puppets. All these thoughts raced in an instant through the powerful mind of Tallin Vedui, whose deceptively innocent countenance still bore the flush of youth. “Home at last!” Jad slumped against the wall next to the door while Kalen fumbled with the room key in the lock. “We would have been here sooner if you hadn’t insisted on going to that fortune-teller.” Kalen muttered, unlocking the door and pushing it open wide. “He was a Seer, and I thought it was well worth the time and money, even if he was a little creepy. He certainly seemed to know a lot.” “Or he was good at making things up.” Kalen rolled his eyes as he dropped his bags on the small sofa in their sitting room. Then he spied an envelope on the polished wood floor near the entrance. “This must be the message the desk clerk was talking about a minute ago.” He picked it up and turned it over. There was a large gold seal on the back with ribbons dangling from it. “Looks pretty elaborate. I’m surprised it fit under the door.” Jad set his own burdens down and joined his cousin. “It’s addressed to ‘Lord Kalen Kyrethan Irellion Avanir, Marquess of Endar,’ and by the seal I’m guessing it’s from the Prince of Sel-kai.” “He knows the proper Rhakhaan form of address, that’s impressive for someone so far away.” Jad raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure he has people to find out such things for him.” Kalen shrugged, refusing to be impressed, as he cracked the seal and unfolded the stiff parchment. There were several smaller pieces of card inside, all bearing seals and ribbons. “I’m wondering how he knew so quickly that we were here.” “I’m sure he has people to find out such things for him.” Jad said with a little snicker. Kalen gave him a hard look before turning his attention back to the letter, and reading aloud: “Greetings Lord Endar, Allow me to bid you welcome to our fair city and to invite you to join me in celebrating the coming of the New Year aboard the Prince’s Barge. There will be an evening cruise on the Great Canal, with entertainment and refreshments until well past the Midnight Quintar. Unfortunately my boat does not have space to accommodate your entire party, but I have been assured that they are welcome aboard the House Vorhese barge, one of several that will be joining us on the Great River for the evening’s festivities. In the hopes that you will accept, I have included invitation tickets for you and your Squire to my barge and two for your party to board the Vorhese barge. I also include a card that I ask you to use to make your reply to accept or decline. Simply give it to your hotelier and it will be returned to my office. All barges will be docked at the War Docks on the Prince’s Isle and begin boarding at the first bell of the Evening Quintar. At the third bell we will disembark and cruise the Great Canal through the evening. I look forward to meeting you. Your Servant, Rylec Qaterris.” “I’m not sure that I like the idea of you being in such a public place.” Jad frowned. “You’re the one who was so excited about being here for the New Year, and here we get an invitation to be in the center of everything. Besides, I can hardly imagine a safer place that aboard the Prince’s yacht. Though I don’t look forward to be stuck on a barge with a crowd of stuffy bureaucrats I don’t even know.” “Oh, I bet the Viscount Ridgeston will be there.” Jad smirked before turning away to begin unpacking his purchases. “I suppose you’re right.” Kalen said quietly. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. “I suppose we should go; why don’t you take these to Taluk and Bertram and let them decide what they want to do. Then let’s take a nap so we are fresh for tonight.” “So you want to go through with the meeting that Veriak said he would arrange?” “Do you think we shouldn’t? You are the one with so much faith in this ‘Seer.’” Jad pouted. “I said he seemed to know a lot. I’m still not completely sure we should trust him.” “It can’t hurt to meet this Hiiri person and see what he has to say. We don’t have any other plans tonight anyway.” On the western edge of Jaiman, pillars of rock jut up from the pounding seas of the Bay of Ulor, many just a few dozen feet from the sheer cliffs of that coast. Upon one such precipitous pinnacle rests a tower of unique configuration. Resembling more than anything some kind of deformed spiral seashell, it rises from delicate buttresses at the base, tapering upward until the very top where it becomes a misshapen bulbous knob. The tower looks organic rather than constructed, and indeed it was ‘grown’ by the efforts of countless sea animals: corals and huge sea-slugs whose slime trails harden to a surprisingly lovely yet hard coating like mother-of-pearl. The exterior is studded with sharp outcrops, while the interior is smooth and made entirely of softly curving surfaces. A graceful, impossibly slender bridge of similar material connects the base of the tower to the mainland, controlling access to this remote and impressive citadel. This was the home of the Priest of Yarthraak, one of the six High Priests Arnak. But like his brethren in the secret zephyr of the Iron Wind, the High Priest operated under the guise of a saged Elven advisor, and went by the title Prelate of Yaarth, spiritual advisor to the King of Helyssa (Helyssa being the more modest successor to the once-great kingdom of U-Lyshak). However, four years ago King Halek was killed, supposedly in a hunting accident. His only son and heir -- Prince Kier -- vanished that night, leading to speculation that the Prince had somehow been involved in a plot to murder his father, but had gotten cold feet and fled. The Prelate of Yaarth convinced the King’s Council to appoint him regent of Helyssa until the boy could be found and Halek’s death fully investigated. In the summer of 6050, after almost four years of consolidating his power base, the Regent declared that Kier must be dead or guilty, since no trace of him had been found. In the absence of anyone with a viable claim to the throne, he named himself Lord Protector of Helyssa. Several lords protested this move, and civil war ensued. What these rebel lords did not know was that Yaarth had already secured an alliance with the shadowy Lord of Ulor (ruler of an island to the west) and a powerful warlord in what had once been Ly-aran to the southwest. With their aid, he crushed the upstart lords and secured his hold on Helyssa. The King of the nearby Elven-realm of Remiraith, observing these developments, was understandably nervous. He laid what enchantments he could to protect his forest-kingdom. But Yaarth had bigger plans already. With Ulor, he supported Frelik of Nolgara, the would-be usurper to the throne of Rhakhaan itself. Bypassing Remiraith to the south, he sent his forces east into the outlying territories of Jaiman’s greatest kingdom… one more threat to add to Jerrin Faslurin’s headaches. On this night, a typically stormy one for the bay in winter, black gulls swooped down the coast to circle the shimmering opalescent tower. As one alighted on a small balcony, the Priest himself emerged, ignoring the whipping wind and icy rain as it plastered his ebony hair to his light brown forehead and soaked his silken robes. “What news do you bring me, my little messenger?” He asked of the bird as it ruffled its feathers and shifted from foot to foot. Strapped to one leg was a tiny tube, which the priest carefully removed. With a harsh cry, it leapt up and away to join its fellows. The priest withdrew inside to examine the message. What he read did not please him. Jad’s voice was tight with strain as he walked close behind his cousin. “Kalen, I think we’re lost again.” His gaze darted to every shadow as if it concealed some monstrous terror. “I know where we are; it’s just two blocks more and over a bridge to the left.” Kalen tried to sound confident, but the directions given by their innkeeper were convoluted even for this twisted place. The night was unseasonably warm, the air thick with humidity. A mist curled up from the surface of the quietly lapping canal-water. There were few enough lamps in this section of the city, and it seemed to get ever darker as they edged along the narrow canal-side walkway. On their left rose a moldering brick wall with windows only on the upper stories of the building -- and those were protected by bars. On their right the stone-cobbled walk dropped four feet to the canal. There was no railing or parapet of course, and the passage was so narrow in sections that they could not even comfortably walk side-by-side. The Canal Maze, indeed. Kalen thought grimly. What are we doing in this part of Sel-kai in the middle of the night? Looking for a tavern called T’revor’s Tankard... Raucous laughter echoed over the water from somewhere a street or two away, yet here it was quiet; no one else was in sight. A clock sounded the beginning of the Predawn Quintar. It seemed very far away. “Kalen…” Jad whispered. Something in his cousin’s voice made the Marquess stop and spin around. “Now what?” He demanded. But a glance over Jad’s shoulder and he knew. Two muscular young men were standing in the narrow walk behind them. They slouched casually as if they had been there for hours, but Jad and he had just passed there moments ago. One was Shay, the other looked like he had Elven-blood. They wore matching outfits, almost like a uniform: black silk calf-length breeches and sleeveless shirts with a circular red design on the breast. “Let’s go.” Kalen muttered, turned back again — and froze. Appearing out of the shadows and mist not thirty feet ahead loitered another two young men, identically dressed. One had the black hair and fair skin of the Laan, the other was clearly a High-elf; perhaps Dyar. Unlike the two behind them, both looked directly at Kalen and Jad and smiled. They began to saunter towards the cousins. “The two behind are moving up.” Jad loosened his sword. Kalen looked ahead — no alleyway to duck into; only high brick wall on the right and dangerous canal on the left. The Dyar youth stopped about ten feet away, hands on hips and feet apart. Several gold hoops glittered in his delicately pointed ears, and the twisting embroidered symbol was now easy to see on his shirt: it was a red dragon. There was another tiny one tattooed on his left temple. Like the others, the Dyar had knives in thigh-sheaths on each leg. “Welcome to Sel-kai, strangers. I am Seylars of the Red Dragons.” His musical voice held no tinge of threat, but Kalen dared not hope that the intentions of these ‘Red Dragons’ would be benign. He had the suspicion that they were members of some sort of criminal guild or brotherhood. “Thank you.” Kalen tried to match the other youth’s smile. “If you do not mind, however, we have business down the street.” Could he and Jad take the four of them? He doubted it; all seemed in excellent shape and there was little question that they were skilled with those blades. Seylars’ focus flicked to a point over the Marquess’ shoulder; surely a signal to the other two. He sensed Jad draw closer. “As newcomers you must be unaware of our service here in Canal Maze. We will personally escort you to your destination and guarantee your safety.” “I think we can find our own way.” Kalen replied evenly, sure that he would not get away with a simple ‘no, thank-you.’ “I really must insist.” An edge had entered into that lovely voice, a touch of menace. Seylars’ smile tightened just slightly. “Very well. What is your fee?” At this point Kalen hoped they could escape with just losing the few silvers they carried. “Ah, just one little thing we require, a piece of jewelry. I believe you have a certain amulet in your possession — ” Seylars took another step forward, extending his hand. But he stopped in mid-sentence, as from behind the cousins came a sound Kalen could not immediately identify: a soft thwik-thwik. Seylars’ expression turned from one of confidence to anger and surprise; he and his second each drew one of their knives. Kalen risked a glance around to see the two Dragons behind them collapse to the cobbles, apparently unconscious. And beyond them, a skiff glided around the bend of the black canal towards them. A lamp swinging from the prow illuminated the occupants: a boy with dark, tousled hair was pushing one pole, and holding another — Bryon the wainwright! What was he doing here at this hour? A third young man knelt on the deck, a strange elaborate device in his outstretched hand. Kalen spun around again and drew his sword even as Seylars rushed forward. The Marquess barely deflected his attack: the Dyar was strong and agile, and these close quarters were more suited to knife-fighting than broadswords. Kalen fought to keep Seylars between himself and the other remaining Dragon, hearing the reassuring shing as Jad drew his own blade. Then came the sound of wood scraping against stone nearby. “In the boat!” A boy’s voice called, but Kalen didn’t dare glance away from Seylars. Another, quieter voice said “Run now, red lizards, and I won’t kill you.” Seylars looked at Kalen, then over towards the canal -- then with a head gesture he and his companion started backing down the street. “This isn’t over, foreigners. The Red Dragons will be waiting for their chance. Guard your backs!” Then they turned and fled into the shadows. Behind, the trio on the boat looked up at the cousins: Bryon grim-faced, the tousle-haired boy grinning widely, and the third standing uncertainly as if he expected the boat to flip over at any moment. “Veriak said you two might need, uh, help.” Bryon volunteered. “G-get in, before they come back with reinforcements.” “The other two will wake in a few minutes as well.” Added the unsteady young man. “This is my friend Kerin,” Bryon gestured toward the tall youth with the strange weapon, and then to the boy with the pole: “and that’s Tad. It’s past his b-bedtime.” “Hey!” Tad snapped. “You take my boat and then make fun of me! Let’s get going; I don’t like this place.” “Thanks so much for your help; I don’t know what we would have done.” Kalen took Bryon’s hand as they clambered down into the skiff. Bryon blushed. “Aw, they would have run when you decided to fight; they’re all c-cowards.” Meanwhile, Jad was looking curiously at the weapon in Kerin’s hand. “What’s that little thing — and how did it drop those two guys?” “Dart pistol.” Smiled Kerin proudly. “It fires barbed needles with a sleep-poison on the tip. Works good at short range against targets with no armor. See, it has this spring that fires these little darts...” he showed the device to the fascinated Jad. “I don’t know how you knew we would be here, but I’m truly grateful for your help. How can we repay you?” “Let us take you to T’revor’s. Hiiri will give us all some, uh, coffee, then I’d like to know what you g-guys are up to here in Sel-kai. Veriak thought it was important and he knows an awful lot.” “Especially for a blind guy.” Tad giggled, then Kerin cuffed him across the back of the head. “That’s not nice.” Kalen hesitated to share the purpose of his mission with strangers, but these three seemed as trustworthy as anyone he had met in some time. Without them, Jad and he might very well be floating face down in the canal right then. “Very well, But you might regret being drawn into this; apparently we are on a dangerous errand.” “My favorite kind.” Bryon said, though Kalen couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Less than an hour later found Kalen and Jad in a booth in a quiet corner of the large bar, sipping strong Namárian coffee with their new friends while they waited for Hiiri to take a break. Hiiri Taldin supposedly ran the bar in the name of the owner, T’revor Dekdarian Arain, a member of one of the noble families of Tanara. Kalen found it ironic that he had fled Jaiman for another continent only to find himself in a bar named for a lord of a country neighboring his homeland of Rhakhaan: Tanara was one of the other ancient Six Realms of Jaiman, with its own magical crown-helm. Though while Rhakhaan had grown and prospered, Tanara, its own crown missing for many centuries, had slipped into relative obscurity. And of course, T’revor himself -- the legendary Dúranak Lord made famous in many tales of adventure and exploit -- may or may not even exist... At last Hiiri was free, and came to their table while wiping his hands on his aprom. He greeted the three Sel-kai natives warmly; apparently they were all close friends. Hiiri was a small man, by appearance perhaps his later twenties and with a boyish character as he interacted with the other young men which gave Kalen the impression that he was even younger. If not for his small stature Kalen would have guessed him to be of the Myr people; he was certainly not Shay or Laan. Then Hiiri introduced himself to Kalen and Jad, and looked them over with eyes that seemed suddenly too perceptive for a man his age. But Kalen detected no Elven character about him, so he must be only as old as he appeared. Their Sel-kai friends politely excused themselves to an adjacent table, understanding that this conversation was private. “Welcome to my humble tavern, honored guests from Jaiman.” Hiiri smiled and settled into the seat across from them. “Veriak said I might be able to help you with something?” “The Seer suggested that you might know something about this.” Glancing warily about, Kalen pulled the pendant chain over his head and – with some hesitation -- handed it to Hiiri. Perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight, but Kalen could have sworn that it glimmered with a golden-red glow when the barkeep’s hand touched it: a softer and more undulating light than what it did when the Seer’s finger grazed the orb. As he turned the crystal globe in his fingers, Hiiri’s eyes widened a fraction. “Veriak was right. I have seen the kin of this before...” “Where?” Kalen whispered. He noted Jad’s skeptical look out of the corner of his eye. “The design is identical, except within the crystal is a beautiful silver and gold Pegasus instead of the fiery-winged bird. How did you come by this?” Kalen told again the story of how, traveling one evening in Prevan, by chance he noticed the globe reflecting a golden light in a shallow riverbed. Hiiri smiled tightly. “I assume that Veriak told you that it is unlikely that this item was lost and then you found it simply by chance. This is one of the pendants made by the great artificer Tethior! They have a will of their own, and it would not surprise me if they could seek out the bearer of their choice if given the chance. As I am sure you know, the Phoenix — the firebird — is the ancient symbol of Rhakhaan. This was one of a triad of items made for that realm by Tethior, along with the crown and sword. The pendant was usually given to a magician in the royal family or an advisor to the king.” He handed it gingerly back to Kalen. “Do you have any skill with the Essence?” “I have been told that I have an aptitude, but my father discouraged its pursuit. Sorcerer-Dukes would be looked on with suspicion in the Haalkitaine court.” He thought of Lukas and his tutor. Hiiri shrugged. “That sort of provincial paranoia is unfortunate. Nevertheless, I would urge you to consider training even at your relatively late age. I might be able to locate a suitable tutor for you — one who may also be able to instruct you in the powers of that phoenix pendant.” He smiled in response to Kalen’s look of surprise. “I imagine that you may have already inadvertently discovered some of its attributes, and an heirloom such as this could be dangerous in unskilled hands. Surely by now you have noticed some sort of odd behavior from it.” Kalen nodded, recalling how it would suddenly become hot or cold -- or glow in different ways -- apparently in response to people or situations around it. “The person I have in mind could also be helpful in other ways — from what I hear about your trip to the Tankard, Sel-kai is not safe for you now. He is completely trustworthy, and could serve as an adequate guide, at least in Jaiman and most of Emer. Would you be interested in meeting him?” Again Kalen inclined his head, ignoring Jad’s fierce glare. Hiiri seemed to know an awful lot about the cousins considering they had never met before. The Marquess felt like he was slipping deeper and deeper into this tangled web of people who know people who know some other person… “Excellent. If you give me a few days, I believe I will have an answer for you. I’ll send a message to you at your guesthouse through Tad. I understand you are staying at the Barge Inn. Oh, and I would avoid going out at night alone in the future, and even during the day you would be wise to keep to the more heavily traveled areas.” He started to rise. “I have one question, if you please...” Actually Kalen had dozens of questions, but it was late, and Hiiri plainly wanted to return to his duties. “Certainly.” “Who is the owner of the other pendant you saw — the one with the Pegasus in the crystal?” “Ahhh...” he said with a slow smile. “It was worn by The Dúranak Prince, T’revor Dekdarian Arain, the same T’revor after whom is named this tavern. Now I must be going, but I’m sure Tad and his friends would be happy to take you back to your lodgings.” And without waiting for a reaction he hurried into the kitchen. “If it were possible for me to like this whole thing less, I would.” Jad muttered. Hiiri made his way through the kitchen -- which was bustling even at this late hour -- and into his tiny office. He closed the door behind him and settled into the chair before a cluttered desk. “So, what did you think?” He asked the room. “I think we’re in big trouble.” The room seemed to answer, punctuating the reply with a derisive snort. Then a portion of the aged wood-panelled wall seemed to bulge out from the rest of the plane. It distorted and the color shifted until with a snap it separated itself and resolved into a human figure as the illusion collapsed. He was about six feet tall -- not counting the mane of white hair spiked up and around the head like a great corona three inches or so long -- and lean but fairly muscular, skin looking particularly pale against the black leather breeches and sleeveless tunic. T’revor Arain favored his old friend with his trademark crooked smile, wide enough to make his eyes squinch up and almost conceal the two different-colored irises: one green, the other silver-blue. The Dúranak Prince slouched against a cabinet and folded his arms across his chest. “If the Phoenix Pendant is choosing that whining half-breed as its bearer, then things are worse than even I feared.” “Things are never as bad as you think they are.” Hiiri said with a gentle laugh. “And I find it ironic that you derisively call him a half-breed when you too are of mixed Elven and mortal blood. Still, I am concerned for their safety. This incident with the Red Dragons is only the beginning, I suspect.” “Agreed. Veriak is right, I suppose, that this deserves the attention of the Nine. Once again we have to play secret stage-hand so the Loremasters may take limelight, and no doubt bow for the ovations when the curtain falls.” “Very poetic, but we both know that you would not have it any other way.” Besides, if I remember correctly, you are still wanted by the Redcapes for any number of crimes against Prince and State.” “Oh yes, whatever.” T’revor flipped his hand dismissively. “It’s not like I haven’t escaped from the Justiciary dungeons more than once.” Though Hiiri saw him grimace ever so slightly at a memory. T'revor had been lucky. Those who enter the Justiciary often do not come out. Kim ordered his third butak with panaberry juice, knowing he would pay for it with a headache in the morning, but he was enjoying the warm tingling from the first two and didn’t want it to wear off just yet. The crowd at the Eastern Standard was not as dense as the last time he was here, and the entertainment was a lone musician: a singer strumming a quindera and crooning a mellow tune in a minor key. The bartender placed the purple beverage in front of Kim, and the Monk started to place his silver sellin on the wood, but he was beaten to it: a long-fingered hand pushed a gold orlin across the bar towards the server. “Here’s payment for my friend’s drink, and a double-straight butak for me… cold.” Kim’s head snapped around and he found himself facing Seylars. “Just wanted to let you know there are no bad feelings about the other night at the Tankard. We were drunk and deserved to be thrown out. You were just doing your job… Kim, isn’t it? Kyan Kim?” Seylars punctuated his question with a little sneering smile to make sure the Monk was aware that Seylars already knew the exact answer. “It’s just ‘Kim’ now, and I don’t need you to buy me a drink, thanks all the same.” He pushed his sellin closer to the bartender, whose expression was shifting between confused, impatient, and slightly alarmed. The Red Dragon nodded his head curtly at the young man behind the bar, who hesitated, then took the orlin and scuttled off. “No need to get hostile, Nuyan. I’m here to make you a proposition.” “I don’t think you’re my type.” Seylars cocked his head back and forced a laugh. “Not that kind of proposition -- though you are not unattractive… for a mortal.” He smiled again and looked the Monk up and down in a way that made Kim even more uncomfortable. The Monk reached for his drink. “What then, to join your little gang of thugs?” He took a swallow, felt the alcohol burn even through the juice. “We are not thugs,” Seylars pretended to shudder in distaste. “And why would you not want to join our group? The pay is excellent, the hours reasonable and the work often… interesting.” His drink arrived: clear liquid in a tall slender glass covered in frost. Seylars gave the bartender an obscenely large tip from his change. “You neglect to mention that most of your ‘work’ is illegal.” “A technicality.” The Elf shrugged, then took a delicate sip of his drink. “I suppose so, after you have paid off the Redcapes.” “We could use someone with your unique skills.” The Elf ignored Kim’s last comment. “I imagine having a Changramai Monk in the Red Dragons would be a selling point for potential clients.” “You also have knowledge that would be of great value to us. If you are not interested in joining us as a member, perhaps a short-term business arrangement?” Kim pursed his lips. Seylars is about as subtle as a Spring Flowstorm. They aren’t interested in my Monk skills; I’d bet on Cay’s Altar that they only want what I know about Randae and his visit to Sel-kai. “I don’t think so. And now if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I actually want to talk to. Thanks for the drink.” Kim pushed past the Elf and headed away from the bar. Seylars sipped his beverage and frowned. Two failures in one night, though he’d had precious little to go on from the beginning: two brats from the Rhakhaan nobility, one had some bauble of interest to a client. And there was some link to that Loremaster staying at the Manse. Selyars knew he associated with Kim so it was worth a try. But so far he had exactly nothing to show for his efforts. His master would not be pleased. As he idly surveyed the room, the Dyar considered his options. He had been advised to keep this assignment low-key: just take the amulet, no killing. Those he served did not want to provoke an international incident by the death of a foreign noble in the city. Seylars himself didn’t relish the thought of something as high-profile as murder. Not because it bothered his conscience of course, but it tended to attract the attention of the Grey Ring. Seylars winced. He had already crossed paths with one member of that vigilante group many years ago, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. Where the Redcapes were incompetent, corrupt and generally bound by laws, the Grey Ring was none of those. As long as the Dragons kept to minor crime, they usually remained below the Ring’s threshold of interest. But killing some noble from Jaiman… that would probably earn the Elf a trip on the Great Canal… face-down. Robbery on the other hand was a common misfortune in Sel-kai, and no permanent harm done. Their expedition tonight would have succeeded too, if those locals hadn’t interfered right when they had. How had they known? The foreigners must have friends in unusual places. Not the Grey Ring, but perhaps other Essence-users. Once again Seylars came back the Loremaster, someone else he would not want to tangle with. Tonight he had failed, but he had a few more days before he had to report. There would be other opportunities to get to his quarry. He knew where they were staying; if it came to it they could get them in their rooms, though breaking into Inns was a sure way to actually get the attention of the Redcapes, what with the Innkeepers creating an uproar. He would put one of his stealthy boys onto watching the foreigners first thing in the morning, see if they had fallen into any patterns. If not, the New Years celebration would no doubt offer an opportunity. Seylars downed the rest of his drink, felt the chill of the liquid followed by the satisfying burn down his throat. Without so much as another glance around the bar, he strode out into the damp night. In Haalkitaine, the Priest Arnak Tamalak waited nervously in a small snow-covered garden in a remote corner of the Haalkitaine Palace complex. A wet snow fell from the predawn sky as he huddled in a breezeway and considered the content of his report to his master, painfully aware that he had not learned of Kier Ianis’ current location. On the verge of divulging it, the thrice-cursed little Loremaster in the Prince's chambers had suddenly gotten vague about the details, and Thraysk said they could discuss that later. Tamalak was sure that his Long Ear had not been detected, unless the Loremasters had some method he was unaware of. At least he had learned Kier's approximate location, narrowing things down considerably unless the Loremasters moved fast to relocate him by some magical means… Tamalak felt a shiver run up his spine as his ring alerted him that his master was approaching. He did not know the man’s name or even his true appearance, only that he was a Priest Arnak of Dansart of higher rank than himself. The priest appeared then out of the swirling snow, his face hidden in a deep hood and his body covered by a full-length grey cloak. Shadows seemed to gather about him and increase the darkness to shield his identity. Even his voice to Tamalak seemed unreal and distorted somehow. “You said you have something to report.” The priest intoned. Tamalak bowed low. “I do, master. A Loremaster arrived here a short time ago, apparently Teleported from Helyssa, and he reported meeting with Prince Kier within the last few days.” “Interesting, though that is more the province of our brethren of the Sea-drake. Was there any mention of a missing Loremaster, assigned to the Northern Frontier? The junior priest paused, taken aback momentarily by this sudden change of topic. “Err, no, master. No other Loremasters were discussed; they talked about the elder one reporting to their council.” “Very well. Continue your surveillance. I will be here through the New Year, so you may continue to report to me directly.” The elder priest turned away. “Will you be informing the High Priest?” Tamalak asked hopefully, eager to gain some favor with the Arnak Lord of Dansart. The other priest stopped dead, then the hooded head turned slowly back towards Tamalak. “Fear not, our master the High Priest Osaran will be fully appraised of your performance.” The he vanished into the snowy darkness. For some reason Tamalak now wished that perhaps his name would not be brought to the attention of the High Priest.
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