Chapter 25: More Questions; Fewer Answers Journal of Kalen Avanir TE 6051, Orhan 4, predawn The Barge Inn, Canal of the Waiting Waters Sel-Kai City This night has been like something out of a terrible dream. Attacked by the Red Dragons again -- this time in our very rooms -- only to be saved by the uncontrollable behavior of this strange pendant I wear. That and the intervention by members of a rather rough-looking group who call themselves the ‘Nightwings.’ At least they share our dislike for the Red Dragons, and they claim that they were hired to watch over us just in case the Dragons would try something like this. Hired by the odd little barkeep Hiiri of all things! I cannot believe the strange things that have happened to us since coming to Sel-kai: the attacks and rescues, the encounters with mysterious individuals with magical powers. I feel that Jad and I have been accidentally woven into some large and intricate tapestry that -- like rough wool in silk embroidery -- we have no business. Fortunately, we survived this encounter nearly unscathed. I have a cut on my shoulder, and Bertram has a nasty slash on his forearm, but the Nightwings claim that they know someone who can heal him. Actually what I would really like to do right now is go to sleep. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to, so here I sit in bed in another apartment near ours. Jad is sound asleep next to me, and one of the Nightwings is dozing by the fire. It must be close to dawn, though it is impossible to tell since they have drawn the curtains. The leader of this group -- they call him ‘Bat’ but in a tone of reverence -- has said that we must remain here until our appointment with Hiiri tonight. I suppose it is because this Loremaster cannot meet us any sooner, but still it rankles me that we have to wait in here all day, sitting in the dark like prisoners. The Phoenix is once again dark and cool, yet the jeweled image of the fiery bird inside glitters sometimes with a light that seems like more than could be just reflected from the lamp. The bird’s eye winks red at me as I look into it. My shoulder aches under the bandage. Poor Bertram is worse off though, with a bad cut across his arm. Fortunately they have cleaned and bandaged his wound. He and Taluk are on a sofa in the sitting room with a blanket draped over them. The porter -- who, it turns out, is another of this ‘Nightwings’ group -- is bringing up some wine, so I shall have a glass and hopefully get a few hours’ sleep. “Try it again” Yandar Vit said in his quiet, infinitely patient voice. But Lukas slammed the book shut and slumped back in his chair. “I’ve been ‘trying’ for hours now, and I don’t seem any closer to casting this spell.” “I can sense that you have almost mastered it. Just a few more tries.” “No, Vit, we’re done for today. I've got a date tonight with Nelvana Baragon, and I have no intention of being late.” “You have a date with one of the Baragon daughters?” Yandar Vit raised his eyebrows in an expression Lukas knew meant disapproval. “You didn’t tell me about this.” “You’re my tutor, not my father, Vit.” The young Viscount pushed back from the desk with more force than was necessary. “Yes, but I am charged with looking after you by your father. I’m not sure I approve of this liaison. Where are you meeting her? Will there be a chaperone?” Lukas felt himself unusually irritated with his tutor. Maybe he was just tired from working on this new spell; it was from a whole new book that Vit had produced just today, and the language was a bit different than he was used to; what did Yandar expect? He was not an academic and the Essænce did not always come easily to him. And he really wasn’t much interested in these Summoning spells that Vit had been pushing. “My Lord…” Yandar ventured. “Vit, have you seen Nelvana? She’s gorgeous! Even you must appreciate that. She’s also quite intelligent. I enjoyed talking to her the other night on the barge. And she asked me to dinner at her family house, so yes there will be plenty of ‘chaperones,’ including her father, all right?” “I would really prefer…” Yandar Vit hesitated. He was sorely tempted to forego the attempt at persuasion and simply cast a Mind Slave spell on the defiant youth, but restrained himself. If it failed, Lukas might know what he had done. The boy was no fool despite the way he sometimes behaved. And Vit could not risk losing this most promising pupil. “End of discussion, Vit. I’m going. Why don’t you take the evening off and go have some fun yourself? I won’t be in ‘till late.” Lukas smiled his most charming smile as he stood, then turned dramatically on the balls of his feet and headed into his bedroom. As if Vit even knows how to have fun. What would be fun for him? Lukas suppressed a shudder as he closed the door to his room behind him. I don’t want to know. Andraax watched, undetectable even by Tethior, from near the elevator shaft in the Crown Vault as the Artificer stood in front of the Unicorn pillar for a very long time. Perhaps I’ve finally piqued his interest again and he can get past this silly ‘Nameless One’ business, which isn’t really helping anyone. Things are beginning to accelerate, I can feel it in the Flows. I wish that I knew I could count on the Loremasters to do their part. No, actually it’s more interesting not knowing. It had been a long time since Andraax had felt a sense of exhilaration, but it was coming back to him now, and it seemed to be clearing his head. Most of the time. Andraax turned, and with the thoughtless ease of an Essænce Lord who wore a Compass on his wrist like a piece of jewelry, was suddenly standing in the middle of a jumbled ruin somewhere in Hæstra. Stretched out around him under the stars were rolling hills dotted with firs, pines and oaks. All would be bleached grey to mortals in the faint light of the sickle Orhan and faint Varin, yet they were vivid with various hues of green to his K’ta’viir vision. He paced the circular platform amidst the fallen columns as he sent his mental summons. It was only a few minutes before a soft silvery glow appeared over the treetops from the southeast. A few seconds longer and it resolved itself into a rider on a huge horse, the steed seeming to gallop in slow motion through the air itself, though it was clearly flying and at a pace that would seem to far exceed any horse at a sprint. The rider was a young man garbed all in shades of grey, a Unicorn emblem on his tabard and a staff in his hand. The horse’s velocity slowed abruptly -- but seemingly effortlessly -- and it came to land next to Andraax. The rider looked towards Andraax but not directly at him. “You called, Essænce Lord. I am the Unicorn Herald. How may I serve you?” The tone of his voice was unnaturally flat, almost without inflection. “Where is Thule, your master? I would speak with him.” “He is far to the north; Storm Castle rides a Flow to the heart of Jaiman.” The Herald’s rather mechanical delivery reminded Andraax of some holos of very crude robots from the early tech years of the K’ta’viir. The Heralds weren’t any more human than those robots in some ways. They were flesh and blood, but really they were not much better than golems, created by the Storm Wizard. Powerful, and humanoid — more or less — but not capable of much independent thought or action. Andraax’s brows furrowed. The Elder Ones -- though few in number these days -- were powerful and an unpredictable factor. Among the few K’ta’viiri genetic experimental mutations of their own race, the Elder Ones were an attempt to overcome the problem their race encountered when leaving Kulthea for an extended period: they began to age. That part of the experiment had only limited success, but most had strange, unexpected arcane powers: some were natural Mentalists, others masters of Magic, and still others had abilities akin to Channeling, yet they didn’t need to access the special Essænce of a Lord of Orhan to cast those powerful spells. Some aged incredibly slowly; some retained the youthful appearance of an adolescent, but all were apparently immortal at least on this planet. Only a few hundred were ‘born’ before the experiment was terminated. Some became dangerous and had to be destroyed, but most were benign and a few survived the fall of their creators. Some of them left the planet together with unaltered K’taviiri and when they returned helped to found the Earthwardens: caretakers of Kulthea while the weaker, younger races recovered from the devastation of the war against Kadæna. Unlike the Titans or the Lords of Orhan or other ‘gods,’ they did not seek nor need worship; they were powers unto themselves. But as the Elves and mortals of Kulthea rebounded after a time, they did sometimes become advisors and even leaders. They portioned out the planet amongst themselves, each taking responsibility for a continent or region. But even the Earthwardens tired after a time and most of them were gone now, back into space. Gone like the Duskwalkers. For a moment Andraax was overwhelmed by loneliness. He thrust the emotion aside and his expression hardened. It was strange indeed that Thule would intervene in a land outside of Emer, the continent he had adopted long ago. “The Storm Wizard wanders beyond his old province of Emer.” “He seeks to stop a war.” That old fool! The Essænce Lord seethed. He knew something strange was happening over Jaiman but had just assumed it was a natural Flow shift. In fact, however, it was the Storm Wizard preparing to make mischief. This could create all kinds of problems… Andraax pondered the timelines. It was too late to stop what Thule was doing, but perhaps he could even work things to his advantage in the end. He really needed to get the curse removed from the Guardian Mind so he could fill in the gaps in his own memory before he could predict probabilities with any accuracy. He didn’t want anything interfering with Urulan, and this ‘pretender’ business was keeping the king of Rhakhaan (Andraax refused to think of him as the 'emperor' of anything) occupied elsewhere. The recent return of the Cloudlords in Tanara was an interesting twist, just another random factor that could go either way. And he still didn’t remember what his father had done with the Soulsword. Lukas Austrenos took the Paper Lantern Bridge by House Tharal across the Canal of the Lamplighters towards the Baragon mansion. The night had turned clear and chilly, though not as cold as it often got up in Rhakhaan. He stopped for a minute and leaned over the bridge railing, so he could look up past the roof (actually the floor of the upper, private, level of the bridge) at the stars. Orhan was still just a thin sickle so it didn’t drown out the other lights of the night sky. Are they really other suns like the great bright orb that warms Kulthea’s days, like some Astrologers claimed? It was hard for Lukas to imagine those little flickering lights to be like their own sun. And some even suggested that those suns might have their own planets like the ones swinging around this one. Planets that could have other people – or very different creatures -- on them. Not that Kulthea doesn’t have strange enough creatures, the Viscount Ridgeston mused. Much like the demon that Vit wanted me to summon today. What was that all about? I have no interest in summoning demons. ‘Expand my horizons’ indeed. Maybe it’s time to let Vit go and get a new tutor. Yandar Vit did not believe that the stars were other suns, but merely bits of the sun cast off into the firmament and burning fitfully like embers from a fire. Vit taught that Kulthea was the center of the universe, and beyond it lay other worlds — the Pales and beyond — through the Portals Preoccupied with these cosmic thoughts, Lukas did not hear the almost-silent pad of someone moving up behind him on that darkened bridge… It took Patrick O’Kiran, sitting in his apartment above Ruuth the Herbalist’s shop, even longer than usual to establish a reasonably clean connection with the base at Tower Isle so he could send his report for coded uplink to the orbital station. The strange interference on this planet was clearly increasing, yet it was of a radiation type that even the best Dia Khovaria scientists were unable to fully analyze, much less override. The Imperial and Devonian observers (who were the joint owners of the orbital station) had had no better luck, but that was not surprising. No organization in the Empire had more experience with electronic communications than the Dia Khovaria. Patrick wondered when -- or if -- he would be able to escape this world. He and his fellow monks scattered across the planet and stationed on the Tower Isle were essentially marooned here as long as the interference remained as intense as it did. It was believed to ebb and flow, but with no discernable regularity. He and his fellows had basically managed a controlled crash landing, but they had volunteered for this mission, so important was information about this planet to the Church. Patrick was beginning to feel a bit lonely here: it was different than his previous espionage assignments for the Dia Khovaria, where everyone was a little wary of everyone else and relationships were built on certain common understandings. Here he had been thrust into a bizarre pre-industrial society with a culture and politics at its best reminiscent of Renaissance earth, but with a twist of a small portion of the population gifted with strange powers like -- yet not always like -- powerful telepathy: understandably considered to be ‘magic’ here. He couldn’t even have regular contact with the other monks because of the radiation interference. Still, this work was critical. It was becoming increasingly clear that this was indeed the homeworld of the primary Sianetc Harbingers, known by some as the Altha. Part of Patrick’s mission was to find out more about this mysterious race, and if any still existed in the galaxy. The D.K. feared that one member of the shadowy interstellar criminal organization known as the League of Merchants was in fact one of this ancient race who had somehow survived. He was Moryn Kaldo, an interesting character who had appeared only recently on the Church’s information reports. This was strange in itself, such a powerful player in galactic power appearing seemingly out of nowhere, and rising to membership in the council of the premier crimelords in less than a common year. Of course only the Dia Khovaria had such inside information on the machinations of the most powerful and secretive crime cartel in the empire, and they wanted to keep it that way. The D.K. dealt in information and they only sold it when they could profit in the long run. And they were not ready to reveal their knowledge about the Sianetic Harbingers on this planet and the link to the League of Merchants… yet. While supposedly only operating the communications array of this orbital station over Ceril VII, the Dia Khovaria was in fact running their own covert information-gathering operation while the Empire and one of its more recalcitrant Noble Houses watched the planet from orbit and bickered about who would own it. And it was only recently that the mighty Dia Khovaria had gotten a solid lead on the location of the base of the League: Starhaven, one of the most closely guarded secrets of modern times. Discovering and infiltrating Starhaven was the holy grail to D.K. agents. Part of Patrick’s mind longed for the corridors of a space ship or outstation, with its alloy walls and clean, processed atmosphere. The air here was too often polluted with smoke and foul odors of all kinds. In fact, these people had very loose ideas about sanitation in general. It had taken Patrick a while to get used to the crude way the residents of Ceril VII lived. He wondered if Starhaven was a space station of some kind, or a moon or an asteroid base. Then, suddenly his train of thought shifted, and he wondered if Teruk Caonabo was closely associated with the League. He shuddered. “Lord Ridgeston, I need to speak with you.” Lukas jumped and spun around, dagger already in his hand, to face the cloaked figure not five feet away. He tried to look like he had not been frightened, though he knew the charade was transparent. “Who are you? It’s rude to sneak up on someone at night alone on a bridge like this.” The Viscount spoke a little louder than necessary, hoping to be overheard. “Oh shut up, Lukas. It’s me, Randae Terisonen.” With that, the Loremaster pulled back his hood and stepped closer. Didn’t you recognize my voice?” “No I did not!” Lukas growled. “And I’ll thank you to show your face first next time. You scared me ten years closer to Eissa’s Gate!” He slammed his dagger back into its sheath. “Randae raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” “I’ve met you maybe half a dozen times, Loremaster! And you think I will know your voice in a strange city on another continent? “Perhaps I expect too much of the Duke of Lathoria’s prodigal son.” Randae said with a little smile. “Oh don’t start with that. Even by reputation you should know that I’m immune to such an amateurish attempt at goading me.” Lukas folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the railing. “So what is it you want, Loremaster? I have a dinner engagement with a very lovely young woman, but if I do not hurry along, I will be late. And perhaps you know: with all their clocks, they do not like lateness in Sel-kai City.” “I’ll be brief then. It’s about your tutor, Yandar Vit.” Lukas furrowed his brows. “What about him? You know, I was just thinking that it was about time to fire the stuffy old man.” Lukas smiled at his little joke, since Yandar Vit was an Elf and looked no older than the Viscount, though he was undoubtedly hundreds of years old. “Don’t -- though your impulse to do so is a good one. I need you to keep Vit busy… distracted.” “What are you talking about?” Lukas, now speaking in a much lower voice, stood away from the railing and took a step towards Randae. “It’s… complicated. But I’m asking for your help. There are greater things afoot: conspiracies, power plays, and dark organizations who would seek greater influence over affairs at the Haalkitaine Court.” Lukas looked pensive for a moment, then glanced back and forth down the bridge. “Are you talking about the Iron Wind?” He finally asked, very quietly. “Yes.” “If you were anyone but a Loremaster -- one whom my father has told me he has known since he was a youth -- I would laugh in your face. The ‘Iron Wind’ is a story told to little children to frighten them.” “Just so. And it should frighten you too. Your tutor, I fear, is a priest of that very dangerous order. And I am asking you to act as an agent for me, and draw him out if you can.” Lukas turned back to the railing but this time looked down at the water. Someone came on to the bridge, passed hurriedly between them and was gone. After a moment the Viscount asked, “Does my father know about this?” “No. You are an adult now. I came directly to you.” “I appreciate that. However, you ask me to betray my tutor of many years, to spy on him because you say he is one of the priests of the Iron Wind —“ “They are known as the ‘Priests Arnak.” “Whatever you say.” Lukas made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “This is quite an acting job you are asking me to perform.” “I’ve seen you operate, my Lord. You are quite an accomplished actor.” Randae smirked. “The risk is also a bit larger than the danger of being slapped across the face by an offended lady-in-waiting.” “Yes the stakes are considerably higher. The lives of your friends the Marquess of Endar and his squire are in danger, and I believe that Vit may be involved.” Lukas’ eyebrows raised. “Kalen and Jad? In danger how?” “I’m not sure. Perhaps you can find out more about that. But more importantly, I need you to keep him here in Sel-kai, where his powers are lessened, for at least another week or so.” The Viscount straightened. “Very well, I’ll do my best.” “Excellent, now go enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you in a few weeks, I imagine.” Randae pulled his hood up and headed north. Lukas noticed that a fog was beginning to come up from the canals. He tugged his own cloak tighter across his shoulders and continued south towards Baragon. He wasn’t going to enjoy his dinner nearly so much now. Journal of Kalen Avanir TE 6051, Orhan 4, predawn The Barge Inn, Canal of the Waiting Waters Sel-Kai City This night has been like something out of a terrible dream. Attacked by the Red Dragons again -- this time in our very rooms -- only to be saved by the uncontrollable behavior of this strange pendant I wear. That and the intervention by members of a rather rough-looking group who call themselves the ‘Nightwings.’ At least they share our dislike for the Red Dragons, and they claim that they were hired to watch over us just in case the Dragons would try something like this. Hired by the odd little barkeep Hiiri of all things! I cannot believe the strange things that have happened to us since coming to Sel-kai: the attacks and rescues, the encounters with mysterious individuals with magical powers. I feel that Jad and I have been accidentally woven into some large and intricate tapestry that -- like rough wool in silk embroidery -- we have no business. Fortunately, we survived this encounter nearly unscathed. I have a cut on my shoulder, and Bertram has a nasty slash on his forearm, but the Nightwings claim that they know someone who can heal him. Actually what I would really like to do right now is go to sleep. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to, so here I sit in bed in another apartment near ours. Jad is sound asleep next to me, and one of the Nightwings is dozing by the fire. It must be close to dawn, though it is impossible to tell since they have drawn the curtains. The leader of this group -- they call him ‘Bat’ but in a tone of reverence -- has said that we must remain here until our appointment with Hiiri tonight. I suppose it is because this Loremaster cannot meet us any sooner, but still it rankles me that we have to wait in here all day, sitting in the dark like prisoners. The Phoenix is once again dark and cool, yet the jeweled image of the fiery bird inside glitters sometimes with a light that seems like more than could be just reflected from the lamp. The bird’s eye winks red at me as I look into it. My shoulder aches under the bandage. Poor Bertram is worse off though, with a bad cut across his arm. Fortunately they have cleaned and bandaged his wound. He and Taluk are on a sofa in the sitting room with a blanket draped over them. The porter -- who, it turns out, is another of this ‘Nightwings’ group -- is bringing up some wine, so I shall have a glass and hopefully get a few hours’ sleep. Kalen was awakened by a gentle shake on his uninjured shoulder. It seemed like he had just gone to sleep. He blinked as his eyes focused. The Inn steward known as Wren was leaning over him, a concerned expression on his face. “We are ready to go, my Lord. We’ve been told that your usual boatman, Tad, will be arriving shortly. And you’ll have an additional escort, the Loremaster’s own bodyguard, Kyan Kim, a Changramai Monk.” “Well sure those Changramai Monks can fight hand to hand, but what good’s one of them against arrows and crossbows?” Cricket, who was loitering nearby, sauntered up as Kalen got to his feet. “I’ve heard those Changramai can deflect arrows with those wrist guards they wear.” Jad volunteered as he buckled on his sword. “I heard they can catch arrows in their bare hands.” Bat added with a wink. “And I heard they can catch ‘em and throw ‘em back twice as fast as they were shot!” Wren added excitedly, not realizing he was being baited by his elder Nightwings; that is until Cricket and Bat burst out laughing. The boy’s face went red, then he joined in the laughter. Kalen and Jad just looked at each other, not sure what to think of this strange group. “What happened to that Red Dragon magician?” Jad asked. “Did you turn him in?” “No, the little weasel escaped before we could deal with him.” Bat seethed. “He must’ve woken up and before we realized it he’d zapped himself away.” “We gave ‘em a pretty good bloody nose, though. I don’t think they’ll be bothering you again.” Cricket grinned. Kalen noticed that Jad looked troubled despite this reassurance. “Do you really think they’ll come after us again?” He asked his cousin as they gathered their things. “No, that’s not it.” Jad answered in a quiet voice so that the others could not hear. “I feel kind of badly for the one Red Dragon, the one who grabbed me and was blinded by the light from your amulet. I’m pretty sure that he spared me when he could have cut my throat. I just hope he isn’t permanently blinded.” “You amaze me, Jad. Worrying about the welfare of one of a group who would do us harm.” “Well, you wouldn’t see me shedding a tear over that Seylars!” Jad retorted. “He doesn’t have merciful bone in his body. I’d enjoy seeing him go straight to Charôn and rot.” They all filed down the back stairs and along the great room, which was well-lit by the hearths and many lamps, and nearly full with evening diners. Kalen, still groggy from just having been awakened after a long sleep, and following the violent events of the night before, found this scene almost surreal. A moment later and they were outside in the bracing chill night. Several boats were moored at the stone landing, but Kalen immediately spotted Tad’s skiff, the boy waving so vigorously that it seemed like he would capsize it. Next to the tie-up stood a cloaked, immobile figure. Kalen was just wondering how all of them would fit in the narrow boat, when the steward touched him on the arm. “We will take our leave of you now, but be assured that we will be guarding your passage to the Tankard, watching from the walls and rooftops.” Then he faded into the shadows. The other two were already gone, leaving Kalen with Jad, Bertram and Taluk. The man in the cloak approached them and pulled back his hood. “Greetings, I am… Kim. I am here to escort you to meet Hiiri and the Loremaster.” This man was handsome in his way, but his features—yellow-brown skin, small flat nose and wide cheekbones, and the epicanthic fold over his brown eyes—bore the unmistakable mark of the people of Nuyan-Khôm. He had shaggy hair that was blacker-than-black, and Kalen spotted the tiny red triangle tattoo under his left eye: the mark of a Changramai. He was tall for a Nuyani, Kalen thought, about six feet in height. Under the open black robe he wore a slate-colored tunic and loose pants. “We are grateful for your protection.” The Marquess extended his hand. “I am Kalen, this is Jad, Bertram and Taluk.” “Honored to meet you Lord Kalen, Sir Jad; gentlemen.” He smiled and held out his own hand. Kalen noticed that he wore hardened leather wristguards reinforced with scuffed metal, just as Jad had mentioned. “Are you Nuyani?” Jad asked, as he and Kim firmly gripped each other’s forearm in a warrior handshake. The Monk smiled good-naturedly. “Yes I am… originally. But I call Sel-kai my home now.” Jad blushed, sensing that maybe there was a history here that he was better off not delving into. “Let’s get on board and make haste to T’revor’s Tankard. Loremaster Terisonen is eager to meet you.” “Seylars? Is that you?” Teo sat up in the bed, his right hand grasping frantically for the dagger he’d left on the sheets next to him. Tyrenis and the others had fled -- gone into hiding -- after leaving him at Seylar’s apartment, assuring him that surely the leader of the Red Dragons would appear soon. Then they left him, alone and blind. He’d fallen asleep, despite the ache in his eyes, and wondering if he would ever see again, and worrying about Seylars. He had heard of magical herbs that could heal blindness, but they were incredibly expensive. And could anything repair what that strange artifact had done to him? Teo knew now -- too late -- that Seylars had gotten them into something far too dangerous and complicated for the Red Dragons. Political intrigues, robbing and killing nobles from another empire, and fighting against powerful magic -- these were things they were not equipped to handle. Perhaps the agents of their employer had learned of the Red Dragons’ failure already and had come to deliver punishment. Teo’s hand tightened around the handle of his dagger. “Yes, it’s me.” Seylars sounded tired. Instantly Teo relaxed. “Then you are all right? What happened?” “The little bastards beat us again, and I got a crossbow bolt in the shoulder as my reward.” Teo heard Seylars moving about the room, the sound of the hanging-rings of the drapes sliding over the rod. “Are you all right? Is it serious?” “I’m fine now. I went to our usual Healer, though he said he couldn’t do anything about your blindness.” “Oh.” Teo lay back on the bed. He felt it shift as Seylars sat on the mattress next to him. “Don’t sound so pathetic, you know I hate that.” Seylars snapped. "Open your eyes.” Teo did, swallowing hard. He felt his lover pull at his eyelids. “Good, your eyes don’t look damaged at all. That means I can use this Reslyn. It only set me back a Diamond Note.” “A hundred gold?” Teo grimaced. “Yes, I got it from a Herbalist over in Black Oak this morning. Oh, guess you can’t tell, but it’s about midway through the morning quintar. Just lie still while I make a poultice, she told me how to do it.” Seylars got up from the bed. “Where are the others?” “They said they were going to lie low for awhile.” “Probably smart. Once you are recovered, we should probably get out of here for month or so too, and hopefully Minister Maas will have moved on to other things.” What Seylars did not know was that Minister Koren Mass already had other things to worry about besides the Red Dragons’ bungled robbery attempt. Even the usually animated Tad seemed subdued, apparently concentrating on making the best time possible. They cast off and he headed almost immediately south, passing the Sel-kai Library on the left, then abruptly swinging west the south onto the Canal of the Wizards, with the granite buildings of the University of Kalingen looming all around. Two more turns, they passed under the K’garian Bridge and emerged into the Great Circle. Tad grumbled a little under his breath then, as the Circle was deep and he had to use most of his pole to hit bottom, leaving him little leverage. Kalen noticed that there were many party barges scattered about the circle, all alight with lamps. Still it was nothing compared to the gathering of ships from a few nights before when all the craft of the merchant barons were on display. Tad built up what speed he could, and in a rush they were under Harpie Bridge and racing along the Quathe Canal. They sped across the Great Canal and swung onto the Canal of the Mudskippers. A quick turn onto the narrow Crawfish Canal, then south again onto the oddly-named Canal of the Spinning Moths. Within moments they were pulling up at the Tankard’s south landing. As they disembarked, the Library clock sounded, now far off to the north. Hiiri came out onto the terrace and greeted them with a gentle smile. “Welcome, friends. I heard you had another encounter last night. I am deeply sorry that your visit to Sel-kai has been fraught with such unpleasantness. But hopefully I can help in some small way.” Kalen wondered at Hiiri’s timing on the dock. How had the barkeep known they were here? Had he watchers on the lookout for them? As Hiiri took Kalen’s hand, a look of concern crossed his face. He reached up with his free hand to the Marquess’ shoulder and touched it lightly. Kalen felt a tingle there for a moment, and the ache was gone! Hiiri just smiled and nodded. Then as he met Betram he did the same thing, only touching the young man’s arm. Kalen thought he saw a slight shimmering white glow for a moment from the barkeep’s palm. Then Bertram gasped. “My arm! It no longer hurts!” He yanked up his sleeve and tore off the bandage. There was no sign that he had been wounded. “Thank you, sir!” The young man-at-arms bowed. “It is the least I can do for you who have suffered here. Please come with me.” Hiiri turned and led them inside. The noise was deafening: loud voices, the clank of crockery, and somewhere on the other side of the smoky room, a wind band. The barkeep led them past rows of tables filled with patrons, showed the group to a curtained booth, and pulled aside the drape. “Take a seat. Randae will be here in a moment.” Two waiters appeared: one set a pitcher of ale and mugs before them, the other laid out a tray of bread, cheese and fruit, then both left without a word. Hiiri nodded as he stepped back and let the heavy velvet drape fall closed, cutting the foursome off from the racket of the common room. Taluk cocked eyebrow and started pouring. “So, really, what is this all about exactly, my Lord?” he asked, his gaze flicking between Kalen and the filling mug. “With these Red Dragons and all the other things going on, even I can tell that strange things have been happening since we left home. And now we are meeting with a real Loremaster! I’ve never seen one in the flesh before, and he apparently wants to meet you.” “I’m sorry everyone, but I haven’t been sure exactly what all this is about either.” Kalen sighed as Jad shot him a wary look. “As you know, my father sent us south for the winter because of the war. And I know that you are not too happy to be here rather than fighting for Rhakhaan. However, there are greater powers in the world than a sword, and I believe that we are on the trail to unraveling the secret to something… powerful.” Bertram looked skeptical, so Kalen added: “Need I remind you of the enchanted Crowns of Jaiman? Can you deny their power?” Taluk opened his mouth to speak, but just then the curtain parted. Taluk shut his mouth, as all attention was on the two now standing before them: next to Hiiri was what to the Jaimani looked like a tall, handsome young man, or -- more accurately -- Elf. His high cheekbones, arched eyebrows and delicately pointed ears clearly spoke of his Iylar ancestry. And there was something familiar about him… Kalen was sure he had seen this man before. But where? His clothes were those of a traveler of average means, though Kalen thought he caught a glimpse of the long, elegant hilt of a saren, the gracefully curved sword used by the High-elves. “Indeed my Lord, you are right,” the man’s voice was a lilting tenor, and he spoke as if he had been here all along. “I beg your pardon, sir?” Kalen made no effort to hide his irritation: clearly this man had been eavesdropping. “My apologies,” the man bowed slightly, “But my hearing is exceptional, and I happened to catch what you said as we approached. The Six Crowns are indeed artifacts of immense power.” Hiiri cleared his throat in the uncomfortable pause that followed. “I’m sorry Lord Endar, I’m sure he meant no harm. This is the Loremaster Randae Terisonen. You will find no one on Jaiman or Emer better suited to be your guide and tutor.” “You’re a real Loremaster?” Asked Jad, his voice something between wonder and skepticism, as Randae and Hiiri joined them at the table. Kalen thought he saw a silver flickering light dance over Hiiri’s fingers for just a moment. What manner of enchanter is this young man? And if he has such powers, why does he work as a barkeep? “Yes, a ‘real’ Loremaster, though they have tried to kick me out more than once.” Randae said with a crooked smile, then proceeded to pour himself a tall mug. “Now that Hiiri has made this booth truly soundproof, my Lord, we need to talk. I assume all who are here have your unreserved trust?” “Yes.” Kalen answered without hesitation. Randae gave each of them around the table a hard look. He had an unnerving gaze for one who looked to be hardly older than Jad. “Very well. It seems that you give your trust rather freely, though in present company perhaps not without cause. Now I must ask you to trust me. You are in even greater danger than you might think. You are lucky that you were not attacked again since last night, by those who hired the Red Dragons to do their dirty work for them. Yes, I know about that, and a few things you don’t.” “Then why haven’t you done something to help us sooner!?” Bertram demanded. “I did what I could; I had the Nightwings look after you. I was unfortunately detained elsewhere. We Loremasters are unfortunately spread rather thin.” “I remember you now.” Jad said slowly. “You have been at court in Rhakhaan! I saw you there years ago when I was just a kid.” Randae smiled indulgently. “And you are all grown up now.” Jad scowled. The sarcasm was not lost on him. “What would you have us do?” Kalen said tiredly. “We must do two things at once: you must be attuned to the Phoenix Pendant; and we must get out of Sel-kai.” “And where shall we go then, Loremaster?” Jad asked, his liking for this man clearly lessening the longer he sat with him. Meanwhile, Kalen was puzzling over what the Loremaster meant by ‘attuning’ and just what he knew about the Phoenix Pendant he wore. “To Haalkitaine.” Randae answered and took a long draught. Everyone else sat in stunned silence — it was a moment before even Kalen could find his voice. “We just came from Jaiman. May I remind you that the Rhakhaan Empire is at war, and that our capital city of Haalkitaine is also, the last I heard, buried under several inches of snow?” But Randae only smiled. It was a self-confident smile that perhaps most would find charming but only served to make Kalen uncomfortable, and to further irritate Jad. “Ahh, Kalen!” The Loremaster sat back slowly. “I am used to wars and bad weather. But the war has not yet come to Haalkitaine, and what is a little snow on the ground when you are traveling by a skyship with a Navigator on board?”
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