Chapter 23: Waiting Journal of Kalen Avanir TE 6051, Orhan 1, Day 1 (New Year’s Day) The Barge Inn, Canal of the Waiting Waters Sel-Kai City It is a grey, chilly morning here in Sel-kai, and I am up early despite the late -- and harrowing -- events of last night. Jad is still asleep though, so I’ve stoked the fire and ordered breakfast. I am not sure how much longer we should stay here; it seems that we have fled from a potential and known danger in Jaiman to a very real yet unknown one here. It was bad enough to barely escape robbery (or perhaps worse) but then last night’s strange encounter with the Security Minister almost makes me believe that there is some sort of conspiracy in this city. Who else might be involved? Should I trust any of Sel-kai’s residents? However, there is still much to do here. For one thing, I would like to pursue further research about Tethior the Alchemist. I know Jad won’t enjoy spending the day in a library, so perhaps he can find another diversion. And -- A loud knock at the door made Kalen jump and his pen made a blot on the journal paper. Even though he had ordered breakfast and was expecting someone to bring it up, he was still on edge after the strange events of the night before. He didn’t feel completely safe in Sel-kai, even locked up here in their upper-storey rooms. He got up from the desk and glanced back through the open double doors to the bedroom where Jad was still sound asleep. For an Elf, he sure does sleep a lot when it suits him, Kalen thought, shaking his head and smiling to himself. As he approached the door there was another knock and a voice filtered through, “Your breakfast, sir.” Kalen recognized it even through the door as that of the boy who had come up in response to his first bell summons with the food order. He unbolted the door and swung it open to admit the youth. “Here’s your breakfast, sir, and also, you have a couple of letters. I’m sorry they weren’t delivered earlier, sir, but with it being New Years Eve last night, everyone was kind of busy...” The boy apologized as he sat the laden try down on a table. “They each came by messenger, actually neither arrived no more than an hour ago, truth be told…” “That’s all right.” Kalen smiled and gave the boy a couple of coppers. The first envelope was of smooth, heavy blue-grey paper and sealed with an insignia that looked familiar; it took him a moment because he had never actually seen it in a wax letter seal: it was a Rhakaanian crest of a Viscounty; he realized it must be from Lukas’ signet ring. The wax itself was a deep purple with silvery flecks. Kalen broke the seal and extracted the letter. My Dear Friend Kalen, I hope you slept well despite the excitement of last night. I must confess that I had strange dreams involving water. But to the point: my guardian and teacher Yandar Vit was deeply concerned after hearing of last night’s events and actually thinks I would be safer back in Haalkitaine. I thought this seemed absurd considering that we had only just arrived here, but he believes that there is some sort of conspiracy to kidnap us all and ransom us to our families back in Rhakhaan. I often think Vit is paranoid, but strange things have been happening here; I sometimes feel like I am being watched, and after last night, it looks like you may be some sort of target as well -- though that the Security Minister might be involved in the kidnapping of foreign dignitaries does seem incredible! We have not made any concrete travel plans as yet, but I wanted to make you aware of Vit’s concerns. Let me know if you and Jad might want to join us if we do decide to make a quick departure. Finally, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you privately that I do not trust to a letter sent in this city. So actually, whether you might want to return or not, please contact me so we can meet at your earliest convenience. Your Friend, Lukas. Kalen read the letter twice, not sure what to make of it. He had come to trust Lukas almost completely, and yet Yandar Vit not at all. But obviously they were facing the same dilemma that Kalen was. It was also disturbing to read that Lukas felt that he was being watched. Kalen was under no illusion that the encounter with the Red Dragons was a random robbery: they had wanted the Phoenix Pendant. How had they known where he was, or even that it was in his possession? The other envelope was of a plainer, more coarse and off-white paper, sealed with an emblem that looked like a mug, in red wax. Kalen paused to pour himself a cup of steaming coffee before dealing with this one. Dear Lord Avanir, My friend has agreed to meet with you, but cannot until the evening of the 4th, If that is agreeable, Tad will pick you up at the sounds of the evening bell on the south dock of the Barge Inn. Please reply as soon as convenient to my attention at the Tankard. I also ask that you keep this meeting in the strictest confidence beyond your immediate party who attended previously. Regards, Hiiri Taldin. Proprietor T’revor’s Tankard. So it looked like if he wanted to pursue his curiosity about the pendant he would be here in Sel-kai for at least another four days. He wondered how much of a hurry Vit was in to get Lukas out of Sel-kai. And he wondered what the tutor’s real motive was. Kalen heard rustling behind him, and turned in time to see Jad sit up in bed and rub his eyes with his fists, looking somehow like a sleepy child. “Good morning!” He grinned then. “Have you been up long?” “Just long enough to get us breakfast, lucky for you.” Kalen said with a little snort. But Jad must have smelled the food, because he was already on his way to the table, his robe on but hanging loose. “Hmm, coffee, bread, cheese, those delicious little indigo berries and cream! Oh and eggs with ham; good thing I woke up so I can eat the eggs hot!” He shot Kalen a look as he pulled up a chair. “I was about to wake you.” Kalen smiled sidelong at him. “Oh and that juice I like so much, squeezed from the orange fruit.” “Enjoy it, because you know we won’t be getting it back in Jaiman. I asked; the trees that bear the fruit won’t grow so far north where there are hard freezes.” Jad glared at him over the crystal goblet of juice, his delicate eyebrows furrowed. “I was afraid it would be something like that.” He said between sips, each of which he obviously relished. “Are you sure we can’t have the fruits shipped up by Navigator? Or, better yet, move to a warmer climate where the trees grow and we can have this nectar of the gods every day?” “Maybe I can get father to buy a summer home on the Emerian coast, would you like that?” Kalen said facetiously. But Jad ignored the sarcasm -- or decided to play along. “That would be exceptional! Somewhere on the Sel-kai or Danarchis isles, not to far from home but across the straits.” Kalen just shook his head and savored the coffee. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.” Jad was his old confident, cocky self this morning. It was a reversion Kalen met with mixed emotions. “You think we could find a place to do a little sword practice?” His cousin abruptly changed the subject. “We haven’t since we were on the ship and you know we should keep it up, especially with the way things seem to be in this town.” Kalen buttered his toast with more care than was really necessary. Swordsmanship is one of the many things at which he felt that Jad far outshone him. Jad was stronger, a bit taller, and his reflexes were amazing. Perhaps most important of all, he had excellent instincts, always seeming to know when and where his opponent would attack. “I’m sure there are practice halls, maybe at the University. You could exercise while I do research.” He said finally. “I think we could both use the exercise, and the practice, my Lord.” Jad said with unusual care and formality. Kalen knew he was trying to insist without hurting his older cousin’s feelings. And Kalen knew he was right: he needed all the practice he could get if he wanted to be even passable with a sword. He’d been lucky that night on the canal against the Red Dragons; he might not be so fortunate the next time. “Very well, we’ll practice, and research. We can ask at the desk where there are suitable practice halls.” “Why wait?” Jad said around a mouthful of bread. He hopped up and yanked on the bell-pull. Kalen hated to summon the inn staff for trivial things -- it was a kind of servant/master guilt he felt at home as well, though at least the staff here were paid. Everyone in Sel-kai (as far as Kalen knew) was a free man. Back in Rhakhaan the castle staff were closer to indentured servants. There was a surprisingly prompt knock at the door. Jad found his breeches and fished around in his pockets before answering; Kalen decided to leave his cousin to the questioning. When Jad pulled the door to, the same boy was standing there, an expectant look on his face. “How can I serve you, sirs?” “Hello, can you tell us where there is an indoor hall for sword practice? We don’t mind paying a fee if necessary.” Wren pursed his lips. There were several places; the closest by far was just across the canal at the University of Kalingen, but it would be hard for the Nightwings to keep watch over their charges in that complex pile -- and worse, many secret intrigues worked within those walls. There were several other private practice halls and a few public ones, but none were very secure… “Ah, sirs, the best place would be the Temple of Cay, just off the Avenue of the Gods. It’s behind the Valris complex to the north, right on the Canal of Eissa’s Tears, so you wouldn’t need to go down the Avenue. Quick shot on a skiff.” “Why wouldn’t we want to go down the Avenue of the Gods?” Kalen asked, suddenly curious. He had glimpsed the great marble temples lining that wide road and had thought it might be worth a visit to see the architecture. He also had a reluctance to get aboard another boat after the incident of the night before. “No reason, I suppose.” Wren looked down, dug his boot-toe into the floorboard. “Except that those temples along the south are a dark lot, and their priests are always out on the Avenue looking for ‘converts.’” He’d done it now; piqued their interest no doubt! They would want to tour every temple on the cursed Avenue of the Gods! Bat would have his head in a clamp. “Thank you for the information.” Jad gave him a copper. “Sirs, if you let me know when you might be going, I can arrange for a skiff.” “That’s all right, I’m sure we can manage.” Kalen said, a bit more condescendingly than he meant. “He was acting a bit odd.” Jad commented after he’d closed the door and returned to the breakfast table. “Thanks for leaving me an egg or two.” He added sarcastically. “He did seem a bit nervous, and overly concerned about our welfare. Or maybe we’re just being paranoid.” “If we are being paranoid, it’s because this city made us that way.” Jad retorted. “And our friend Lukas and his tutor are also feeling like there is something strange going on here.” “Oh really?” Jad asked around a mouthful of egg. “Is that a letter from him then? What’s the other one?” “It’s from Hiiri at T’revor’s Tankard. He says that this person he spoke about can meet us but not until the night of the fourth.” “That’s three more days!” Jad exclaimed -- after a brief pause during which he was obviously counting to himself. “Yes, so the soonest we could leave is four days from now, assuming we could even find a ship back right away.” “Maybe we should look into that now, before berths fill up.” Jad poured himself more juice. “So you are all right with us staying to meet this person?” “You know I’m not excited about any of this, Kalen, but it’s important to you. And besides, last time I checked, you were the Marquess and I was a Squire. I serve at your leisure, my Lord.” He grinned. “Don’t be smart; I was asking your advice.” “I think ‘smart’ is your department.” Jad busied himself with making a sandwich of egg, cheese, ham and toast. “Very well, we’ll stay till then at least. I’ll reply to Hiiri, and also Lukas to let him know that we won’t be leaving just yet. Then we’ll go find the Temple of Cay and practicing.” Jad ate in silence as Kalen got writing materials, but as the Marquess settled back at the desk to compose his replies, the Squire said “Juice from the orange fruit aside, I am starting to miss home.” “Me too.” Kalen sighed. “Though I also wonder what my father will say if we come back the Rhakhaan.” “He sent you here because he thought it would be out of harm’s way. War or not, I think you’d be safer in Haalkitaine than here.” Prince Toren of Rhakhaan opened his eyes -- and winced. Sunlight streamed into his windows -- the first sunny day in a dozen or so. Unfortunately for the Prince, bright sun was the last thing he wanted after a late night of revelry and drinking. That ass Simcox must have come in and opened the drapes; I think he does that on purpose. Damn him to Charon! Toren thought angrily. Sometimes he believed that his valet acted on the King’s orders to antagonize Toren, sometimes the Prince thought that the servant did it just because he resented his master for his own reasons. Either way, Toren vowed not for the first time to get rid of the truculent old valet and replace him with someone younger, more obedient… and absolutely more attractive. Toren didn’t realize it at the time, but his staffing problem was already being taken care of, though not in the way that he would have handled it. And he might have been more sympathetic to his old valet if he knew how loyal he really was. Deep beneath the Imperial Palace, in a small chamber adjacent to one of the many sewer tunnels that ran under the entire city, Simcox slumped against a cold, damp stone wall. His face was bruised and bloody, with one eye swollen completely shut. One of his arms hung at an unnatural angle: pulled from its socket. He no longer felt the cold of the stone, or smelled the stench coming from the foul water in the channel nearby. Simcox was not alone in that chamber: four others stood a few feet away. One was Korianas, the Arnak Priest who had captured Drey Laachek in Helyssa. Beside him stood a large man in shimmering scale armor holding a glass-globe lantern that was fashioned to resemble a jellyfish and glowed with a greenish light. He was a Messenger of Gorath, the enforcers of Yarthraak. Another man, not as tall but more powerfully built, was clad in tan garments and had a pair of huge clawed gauntlets hanging at his waist. Closest to Simcox stood another figure, tall and shrouded in a blacker-than-black cloak with a deep hood. “My Lord High Priest,” Korianas spoke hesitantly -- even fearfully -- as he addressed the figure in black, “The man nears death and yet we have not gained anything of value from him. Perhaps the time for physical torture has passed and we should simply extract the informa--“ “Silence!” The man in black bellowed, yet his voice was an incongruously musical tenor. He tugged impatiently at the hood, pulling it off his head and opening the cloak. Revealed was an Iylar Elf as handsome as any ever born on Kulthea. His wore his golden hair cut short, and at the moment his violet eyes were narrowed in anger, and his mouth was curled in a snarl. “I will deal with this prisoner as I see fit. You are a guest in my domain, Korianis, as a courtesy to your lord and as a convenience to me!” “Yes, my Lord High Priest.” Korianas bowed low. The Lord of Dansart’s temper was well known throughout the ranks of the Arnak priesthood. He’d been an idiot to even open his mouth. He certainly wasn't about to bring up to the Lord High Priest of Dansart that Haalkitaine was not entirely under his jurisdiction. Korianas now hoped he’d get out of this sewer with his life. “I can already tell you that this pitiful mortal will tell us nothing. I have raped his mind of what little he does know and tried to conceal from us, and there is nothing useful to you and your search for that bastard Kier Ianis. Though he did have some information I find… interesting.” High Priest Osaran leered then, an expression somehow even more disturbing on his beautiful Elven face than the snarl he wore earlier. He turned to the Priest of Yathraak. “Go back to your master and report as you see fit. I will inform you if there is any further news of Ianis. My Messenger will lead you to an exit and you can make your way from there.” “Yes, my Lord High Priest.” Korianas bowed even lower than before, then stepped back into the tunnel. Osaran turned to the man in brown, a Messenger of Ulkaya. “Show Korianas out, then return to your patrol in the hills to the north. We are finished here.” The Messengers followed, and they left Osaran alone with his prey. “Oh, my head!” Tad pressed his palms to either side of his skull as he staggered melodramatically to the table in the Cold Barley Soup Kitchen where his friends Kerin and Bryon were already seated. Both of them looked as pallid as the young boatman. Tad sank into a chair and rested his head in his hands. The tavern was unusually quiet this morning soon after dawn, with less than half of the tables occupied. Of course it was a holiday, and most Sel-kai residents had been out celebrating rather late the night before. “Not so loud!” Whispered Bryon. His blond curls were darkened by perspiration on his forehead, and there was a mist of sweat on his upper lip. “My brain already feels like it’s about to burst.” “Sorry.” Mumbled Tad, not wanting to anger his landlord. “You shouldn’t be drinking at your age at all.” Kerin peered over his coffee at the boy. “Where’ve you been, anyway? You were up awfully early this morning.” “I had a postal run for Loremaster Terisonen, though it was a pickup at T’revor’s Tankard and a delivery to our noble friends from the north, staying at the Barge Inn.” “I don’t envy you that trip this morning with a hangover, down to the stink of the Canal Maze and all.” Kerin said between sips of coffee. “How did you even know you had to make the run?” “Kyan Kim was at my door before the sun was up. I don’t think that man sleeps.” Tad scowled. “He’s an unusual type to be sure. Apparently the supposedly-locked door to the apartments didn’t slow him down much.” Tad’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “I know I locked it, Kerin!” “I’m sure you did. It doesn’t surprise me that he was able to pick it, from what you’ve told me about him.” “Maybe you need a lot of skills to be a Loremaster’s bodyguard, huh?” Tad grinned. “Ah, you boys have an enjoyable New Years Eve?” The three looked up into the friendly round face of the Kitchen’s owner, Divad Taminger. He, by contrast, looked quite chipper as he wiped his hands on his long white apron. “What can I get you partiers this morning? Perhaps my guaranteed hangover remedy?” “I’ve tried your hangover remedy, Div, and it sent me to heaving over the back railing for a good quarter-hour!” Kerin moaned. “But after that you wasn’t hung over!” Divad winked. “I think I was unconscious.” Muttered the toolmaker. “Best way to work off a drinking binge, I say.” Divad grinned, rolling up on the balls of his feet. “Ugh.” Moaned Bryon. “Time to pray to Kieron.” “Well you boys are in luck, actually, because I just got in a few jars of preserves made from siene berries. Very special stuff, it really will cure your hangover.” Divad patted Tad on the shoulder. “I’ll have Minnie bring you some more tea -- yes I know, coffee for you, Kerin -- while I make toast. A few bites and you will all be right as rain.” He scuttled back towards the kitchen before the trio could protest. “Did you hear that, Tad? Minnie’s working this morning” Kerin winked at the boy and elbowed him gently. “Aw by the Moons, I dunna want her to see me like this!” Tad moaned, even as his cheeks reddened. “I’m sure she’s seen worse.” Bryon wiped his forehead. “Well, maybe not.” Luronen Moje, Senior Loremaster of Sel-kai, angrily tossed the letter onto his desk. He was tempted to tear it up, or better yet -- incinerate it with a Firebolt -- but he reigned in his temper. This was the third request from Randae Terisonen to meet with him, and he couldn’t ignore the senior Loremaster any longer. Luronen yanked on the bell then threw himself into his favorite wing-backed chair. He couldn’t decide exactly why Randae’s presence here annoyed him so much (beyond the insult of intruding in his jurisdiction), or even whether his annoyance was justified. Though an immortal Iylar Elf like Randae, Luronen Moje was considerably younger, and had far less seniority among the Loremasters. Randae had the right to come to Sel-kai and stick his nose in things if he wanted, but it was generally considered an affront amongst the order to meddle in another Loremaster’s jurisdiction -- especially without even contacting them before showing up. And Randae had a reputation for meddling in affairs that he had not been assigned to by the council. Things were tense enough here in Sel-kai without the additional random factor of Randae Terisonen. Luronen chewed his fingernail (a bad habit he wished he could rid himself of, but he found comfort that there were worse ones -- like chewing garb leaf, for one). Randae’s first letter had been conciliatory, trying to assure Luronen that he was only visiting because his house in Tanara was endangered, and he was going to keep a low profile, just watch over some visiting nobility from Rhakhaan. That was part of Terisonen’s responsibility, as the Council had asked him to oversee most of eastern Jaiman. But the other Loremaster had barely arrived before Moje started getting reports through his contacts of odd new people in the city asking questions, and unusual Red Dragon and other criminal activity. The Redcapes, and -- worse -- the usually clandestine Security Ministry Guard, were unusually active. And then, last night there was the incident on the Tharal Barge involving Rhakhaan nobles. Moje doubted that the Rhakhaan youths mentioned could have been responsible on their own. He smelled Randae’s interference. He just wished Terisonen would take his Jaimani brood and go home. “Aren’t you glad we walked, rather than take the canal way?” Kalen asked his cousin as they strolled down the Avenue of the Gods. Bertram and Taluk followed a few paces behind, both looking a bit pale after a night of drinking. Bertram especially was glad they had not gotten into a boat. On their right was the pale-marbled Temple of Eissa, the white-clad sisters standing guard on the steps. The sisters were all tall and beautiful, their long flowing white garments trimmed with silver. Each had a staff of white wood with silvery metal caps. Just across to the left stood the great Hall of Moralis, its blood-red dome glowing eerily in the overcast morning. “Where else would we see such sights? The temples in Haalkitaine are not so large and set out in the open.” “Especially those of the Charon gods.” Jad said in a low voice, as he edged his cousin further to the north side of the avenue. Several ‘priests’ from the Moralis temple had come down the steps of their hall. At least Jad assumed they must be priests; perhaps they were some kind of guards. All were men, ranging from perhaps late teens to early middle age, all in excellent physical condition. They wore flowing dark red ankle-length kilts, wide black belts, and black leather straps across their chest. Each carried a long staff and had what appeared to be a sort of flail hooked on their belt. Their gaze fixed on the cousins as they passed, and a couple of them called a greeting then smiled in a way that Jad found… predatory. “Let’s just get to the Hall of Cay.” They walked over a gently arching bridge, and the next temple on the left had a large semicircular court opening onto the street. Even as they passed, a set of large metal doors at the back of the court were thrown open and a double line of men in shining breastplates, high grey-plumed helms and red cloaks came marching out. As they assembled to form an honor guard, a large litter carried by eight more men appeared from around the building. The men set it on the ground facing west. “Who do you think this is?” Taluk ventured, as the boys wandered over with a small but growing crowd to see the spectacle. “It’s the High Priest of the First Blood.” Someone in the group volunteered. “Comes every week.” The man had barely said it when someone emerged from the temple. Very tall and lean, he wore a dark grey cloak lined in red. Kalen peered up at him and noticed his shoulder-length hair, unusual for its starkly contrasting streaks of black and blond. Though Kalen could not see his ears, the man was clearly an Elf. Then the priest pulled his hood up -- concealing his face in its shadows -- and strode down the steps and across the courtyard. Zagul paused a few feet from his litter. What was that Presence? He reached out with his Astrologer’s powers. The priest stopped then, and his head turned, seemingly right towards Kalen, though it was hard to tell where he was looking beneath the concealing hood. The Marquess felt a sudden chill then, a chill like he had felt once before, on the Naristral… He clutched at the Phoenix through his tunic and just as before, a warmth spread from it. He felt dizzy, but not as bad as before. Kalen fought to keep his breathing steady, and fortunately everyone’s attention was focused on the priest, so his little attack went unnoticed. Zagul had felt something, an unusual presence among the typical background mob he was sensing as he left the temple. But he could get nothing more. He tried a Perceive Power spell and for a moment he thought he had detected something extremely potent, but then it was gone. It was possible his spell had been wrong, but more likely someone in that mob of gawkers was carrying an item of surpassing power -- perhaps an artifact. This was even more likely given the fact that it seemed to be there then was gone, as if it knew it had been detected and somehow shielded itself. Only enchanted items of surpassing sophistication had such power. Certainly Sel-kai was a city full of powerful people -- powerful in more ways than one -- but this item was possibly beyond the pale. But he could not order the entire mob searched, nor could he stop here and probe them all one by one. He climbed on the litter and ordered his men to carry him out. Meanwhile he would quietly scan them and see what he could pick up. Inside the practice hall, Jad bested Kalen again and again, but patiently showed his older cousin where he was letting his guard down or failing to press an attack. The room grew warm and they took off their shirts. The Marquess could not help but admire his cousin’s physique... the fine proportions of his body, lean but muscled, a sheen of sweat covering his hairless torso. Sweat darkened his blond hair and glued it in clumps to his forehead and temples, framing his handsome -- almost pretty -- face. “Ha! Got you again!” Jad grinned, has sword sliding easily past Kalen’s defense, the wooden tip up under his ribcage on the left side as he moved in. “You’re letting your guard down!” He said more gently, closing in and angling his sword upward as if to stab between the ribs into the heart. Their faces were inches apart in what would have been a death-embrace had they been real combatants. Jad’s blue eyes looked slightly down into Kalen’s grey; both their chests were heaving from the effort. “You’re not concentrating, cousin.” “I’m doing my best.” Kalen frowned. “You can sit for hours reading books about Jaiman history or the nature of some magical creature half a world away, but you can’t keep your mind on a few minutes of fighting that might save your life!?” Jad demanded, a little anger creeping into his voice. “I said, I was doing the best I could!” Kalen pushed his cousin away, hand slipping on his sweat-slick chest. “You’re just better at this than me, and you always will be.” He turned away, walked towards a shelf along the wall where some towels were stacked. “If you take that attitude, then it will always be that way! Please Kalen, It’s important that you can defend yourself.” Jad’s tone was now more pleading. “You’ve got good form, but your mind wanders, I can see it.” “I know, you’re right.” Kalen slumped in a chair and wiped face with the towel. “It just seems to come so easily to you.” “No more easily than language or mathematics or history does to you, Kalen. You still need to learn and study and read to keep that knowledge and expand it. It’s the same here, there is a lot to learn. It can be an art.” As if to emphasize his point, Jad nodded towards a par of combatants nearby. Both were clearly expert swordsman, wielding light, curved Elven swords called saren. Their body movements were as graceful as a dance, and their blades flashed in the light filtering down through skylights above. “Look at them,” Jad breathed. “I’ve give anything to be able to fight like that, with one of those swords.” Kalen looked at his cousin surprised at the wistfulness in Jad’s voice. It was true, the fighters were very accomplished, and their techniques with those swords were remarkable. He hadn’t realized how much Jad idolized such martial skills though. “I wonder where we could get trained in those swords?” Jad asked with a wry smile. “Nowhere in Rhakhaan, certainly.” Jad stood then and grinned down at Kalen. “Oh well. Shall we go again?” “If you insist.” Kalen sighed and rose. “I do.” Jad smacked his older cousin lightly on the behind with the flat of his wooden sword. Randae Terisonen pulled his hood down further over his face; ostensibly to keep the icy drizzle out, but in fact he was trying to conceal his features. He could have altered his appearance magically of course, but in a city like Sel-kai, casting illusions might attract as much attention from the wrong people as walking around bathed in the light of an Aura spell. His old friend Hiiri’s report of his meeting with the young cousins from Rhakhaan had been fascinating, and the news of the foiled robbery by the Red Dragons more than a little alarming. The Loremaster agreed with the innkeeper, that the encounter with the Dragons was no coincidence. They were after what Kalen Avanir possessed: the Phoenix Pendant. He hoped that setting the Nightwings to watch on the Rhakhaan nobles was enough protection. A gust of chilling, rain-laced wind caught Randae as he came off the Gold Bridge next to the Circle Lodge. He grimaced. He probably should have taken a skiff instead of trying to navigate this maze. Not many people out this morning; can’t say I blame them with this weather. This cold rain in Sel-kai is worse in its way than snow in the Tanara hills. The Loremaster was also increasingly concerned by how much the blind Seer Veriak seemed to know about the situation. He could not see what Veriak had to gain by his recent interventions, and Randae was always suspicious of actions that seemed to be altruistic. He still wondered if the Seer might be a member of the Grey Ring, despite Agonar’s denials. According to his fellow Loremaster Luronen Moje there was at least one other vigilante group operating in Sel-kai, known as the Nine. But Moje had little more useful information than the name, which Randae found disappointing. Moje had been here many years, and this was one of the most important cities on the planet; a Loremaster should be better informed -- especially about clandestine organizations. Randae had meant to ask Hiiri about it, but it had slipped his mind. Too much of that happening lately; maybe I should cut back on the wine consumption. He smiled grimly to himself. Randae thought back to when he had first met the little innkeeper, before Hiiri had ‘settled down.’ It was several hundred years ago, when Hiiri had joined Randae and T’revor Dekdarion on an expedition into an ancient tomb complex from the old days of the Cloudlords. It was a good thing Hiiri had come along, too: his Repel Undead spell had come in handy several times, for one thing. And Randae bet that the patrons of T’revor’s Tankard would be quite amazed to see how ably their boyish barkeep could wield an Absolution Pure. The Loremaster still didn’t know what Hiiri’s true ancestry was. He would only say that his mother was Myr, so his father was obviously of some immortal race, because after many centuries he still appeared to be a young man. Yet he had no outward Elven characteristics, and when Randae -- overcome by curiosity -- had surreptitiously cast a Mind Typing spell, the result was half Myr and half… undetermined. He wondered if Hiiri’s father could be one of the legendary Earthwardens. He definitely wasn’t K’ta’viir, Randae would have recognized that racial signature. The Loremaster snapped out of his mental digression and looked up. He found himself in a narrow alley opening onto the Great Canal. Just to his right was Ruuth’s Herbs & Remedies. He was a little surprised that the map he had studied earlier had actually been correct. He’d been meaning to stock up on some medicinal herbs, and actually heard that this shop was about as good as they come in Sel-kai, so this was his mission for the morning. As he entered he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, someone slipping around the corner in a manner that was meant to seem nonchalant. But to the experienced Loremaster it seemed out of place somehow, even beyond his sriking red hair. Randae did a quick Mind Type. Mortal, but the race was something a bit odd, and the profession… Monk? Also not quite a fit. Something incongruous about this person. I’ll have keep track of him and see what he’s up to. He cast a Mind Store so that he could keep track of the young man. Randae proceeded into the shop and was greeted by the sweet smell of Kenja and Shuab, mixed in with at least a dozen other fragrant plants. The room was lined on one side by banks of trays filled with green plants of every type, and on the opposite side -- behind a long counter -- by shelves and shelves of glass jars of many sizes, all labeled in the same spidery handwriting. Behind that counter sat a woman of middle years, her short black curly hair shot with strands of grey. She was poring over a huge book that looked to Randae to be beautifully illustrated with watercolors of herbs and plants. Without looking up she said in a cheerful voice. “How may I help you, good sir?” “I may need several things actually. Are you the eponymous Ruuth?” “I am.” She glanced up for the first time, looked Randae up and down, and gave a somewhat curt nod. “Very good. How much do you charge for your preserved Darric berries?” Randae figured if she asked a reasonable price for Darric, her other rates would not be out of line. “They aren’t cheap, you know, but my preserved berries are full potency. Eleven gold Orlini each. If you buy a dozen I’ll throw in one free.” She said with a little laugh. How many people had a hundred and twenty Orlini to toss around on healing berries? “Excellent! I accept your offer.” Randae produced a fold of Diamond Notes -- each worth a hundred gold -- from the recesses of his waistcoat. “I also need several other herbs.” Ruuth raised her eyebrows at the man’s surprising wealth. “Stocking up for a dangerous journey?” “I like to be prepared for anything.” The Loremaster said with a tight smile. “I’d like a Radoje, and an Amar leaf, a Gursamel, and an Irona if you have it.” “I see,” Ruuth said, turning to begin gathering the herbs. “It’s your affair of course, none of my business.” “It’s not that, really. I do plan on traveling soon, and I just have a feeling I might need some supplies.” He rattled off several other herbs. I hope I won’t need them, but I’m not sure where this trail will lead. We will see if things become more clear after I meet with these cousins from Rhakhaan. “Never hurts to be ready, if you can afford it.” The Herbalist said with a little shrug. “All these leaves are preserved, potency guaranteed for three full months from purchase, by the way.” Ruuth opened each sealed jar, extracted a leaf with wooden tongs, placed it on fine gauze on her immaculate polished countertop, and made a notation on a pad. When they were all laid out, she nimbly calculated the total on her barka (a cluster of beaded strings hanging from the waist, a common calculating tool used in Sel-kai). Randae winced melodramatically at the total, and handed over the bills. Ruuth took the notes and begin to examine them one by one, apparently looking for something in particular. She clucked her tongue and nodded, setting each one aside. “Nothing personal, but you are a stranger to me, and this is a large purchase.” She said after the first couple bills. “None taken. If I were you, I would be careful making a large sale to a stranger with a roll of paper money. I am Randae Terisonen, a Loremaster.” He extended his hand so she could look at his ring. “That’s very nice, though I wouldn’t know a Loremaster -- or his ring -- if he teleported into my sitting room.” Ruuth said with a little chuckle. “…And my associate, Luronen Moje, will vouch for me. He resides at number 14, Bluebell Way.” Randae added quickly. “Ah think I’ve heard of him,” Ruuth muttered, noting down the name and address. “Southern part of the Old City, if I’m not mistaken.” But that’s all right; I can tell you’re money’s good, Loremaster.” Ruuth made change from a worn lock box, then gingerly folded up the herbs into a little packet. “Thank you.” The Loremaster took the packet and slipped it into a lined, reinforced leather pouch. “My pleasure, and safe journey to you.” As Randae exited the shop he rifled through his pockets and came upon a folded scrap of paper. He glanced around then opened it. Priest of Yaarth Yandar Vit Osaran al Delphys It was the paper he had come upon back in his study in Tanara. How did it get in his pocket here? Something about those names… Then he caught sight of the red-headed young man he had spotted earlier, heading off to the northwest towards the more residential areas of Black Oak. Hmm, skulking about outside of large house? I wonder what that’s all about. He didn’t strike me as the burglar type, though I’ve been wrong before… He followed discreetly, determined to find out what this person was up to. The man ducked into a narrow alley headed into the center of Villa Valmarana. But when he got to where he detected the Presence and peered around the corner, there appeared to be no one in the alley. Invisibility? He wondered; that was the only reasonable explanation. Then the Presence started to rise vertically. Overcome by curiosity, Randae cast a Fly spell and then his own Invisibility. He drifted up behind the Presence as it rose along the wall – apparently climbing, from the little sounds and shivers of dirt as feet and fingers found purchase on the ornate wall. A window on the third storey was delicately forced open and the Presence entered. Randae was impressed at his skill, not only at climbing and breaking in, but maintaining his Invisibility. The Loremaster hovered at the window and waited, but he didn’t have to for long: the Presence wavered like a heat-shimmer and materialized into the redhead. Randae watched as the young man moved then without hesitation to a bookcase covering one wall. He pulled a small, palm-sized object from his belt and waved it along the wall as if using it to search for something. He seemed to find what he was looking for then, and after a moment of seeking by touch with light fingers he located a release, causing a section of the bookcase to swing out. He was out of Randae’s sight for a moment, then reappeared with a large flat case, which he placed very carefully on a table. He made short work of the lock and flipped the lid back. Inside were several objects of varying shape and size, but all at least partly made of a dull silvery metal. Randae knew immediately what they were: artifacts of the Essænce Lords. These items were priceless; that Valmarana even had them was a surprise to the Loremaster. But who knew what resided in the private collections of the very rich? While Randae pondered this, the man had pulled that object from his belt again and held it over each of the items in the case, then moved the items slightly as if to view them from all sides, while again waving the thing in his hand over them. So perhaps this man was not a thief, and this thing he possessed was able to somehow record information about the artifacts. Interesting. But who was this young red-head, and who did he work for? He obviously possessed considerable skills and had access to tools that rivaled even the Loremasters. Randae wished he had that data; the tools of the Essænce Lords often no longer functioned, but some still had power, and those that did were often items of amazing abilities. All things to ponder. But the man was packing everything up and would soon be at the window. Randae had him Mind-Stored, so he could check on him again later. He floated away from the window, then headed straight up. He had some time left on his spells, might as well use them. Randae headed back towards the Manse, enjoying the aerial views of Sel-kai City as he went. It really was a rather pretty place in its way, with its canals and chaotic tile and tin roofs. But he couldn’t tarry too long, he had a few things to do before he made a short trip north; then he needed to be back here in time for his planned meeting with the cousins from Rhakhaan. On the eastern outskirts of the Canal maze, Seylars threw open the windows of his bedroom and reveled in the cold wet rain that splattered across his nude body. He had an unobstructed northeastern view of the Sharhya Bay, and today it was a sheet of grey under a low dark ceiling of clouds. He loved days like this, and was a little sad that it was almost over. The drapes on either side of the tall, narrow window began furling in the wind, and papers in the room rustled. The room itself was beautifully furnished and in considerably better shape than what one might expect from an ancient villa in the Canal Maze. But Seylars had seen to it that, while the building retained an appearance of being run-down on the outside, the roof was repaired and all interiors were maintained. He took in enough as leader of the Red Dragons over the years to build himself a comfortable life. “Shut those windows and come back to bed!” A male voice called from the large four-poster across the room. “Maybe the cold doesn’t bother you, but it’s going to give me the Cough or the Shakes for sure.” “Quit whining, Teo!” Seylars barked over his shoulder before turning back to the view. He ran his fingers through his now-wet obsidian hair. He continued, more to himself than to Teo, his fellow Red Dragon and lover, “I have to decide how I want to get hold of that amulet from the Rhakhaan brats, and what to do with them afterwards. Do I dare sell them into slavery to make some extra gold?” Seylars leaned forward, placing his hands on the windowsill. He heard sounds of movement behind him but ignored it until Teo appeared at his side, a blanket pulled tight around him. The Laan youth was a couple inches taller, and a good deal heavier -- all of it muscle -- than Seylars, but his demeanor was all deference. “You know Dolnegan would never take them, too risky.” “They’re pretty though, Teo; maybe our client would like to erase their memories in return for a cut.” Seylars smirked. "Then I bet the slavers would take them.” Teo pursed his lips. He moved behind Seylars and wrapped his arms around him, enveloping them both in the blanket. “Before, you wanted to rob them and roll them both in the canal. But they’ve seen our faces now. Why don’t we just rob them: take the thing and let them go. What difference does it make?” “As always, your solution is inelegant.” Seylars pulled away and strode back into the room. He poured a glass of wine from a bottle they’d opened earlier. “But I think they need to be permanently silenced. First we need to get them out of their inn at night. The situation before was ideal, until those others showed up.” He frowned. How had those others known, and managed to appear just in time to rescue the visitors? That question had plagued Seylars. He had to be sure that his targets were in a place where they could not be so easily aided. Teo closed the windows most of the way and joined Seylars, gently taking the glass from him and sipping from it. “Maybe we don’t even need to get them out of their rooms. The Barge Inn isn’t exactly a protected place like the Manse. We could get in, get the thing and get out.” “Make it look like a burglary gone bad.” The Dyar Elf mused. “That wasn’t what I meant.” Teo sighed. “My boy,” Seylars smiled and slid his had up and around Teo’s muscled neck, kneading it firmly, “Perhaps your solution is the best. Ill think on it and decide… later tonight.”
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