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Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6050, Orhan 5 (Fall), day 52
Inn of the Three Roses
Lethys, Rhakhaan
Three years! I can hardly believe it. I don’t know what moved me to resume keeping a journal after so long. Perhaps it was being away from home again, or the recent upheavals in Rhakhaan… or the dreams. More on them later.
So here I am in our room in Lethys in the south of Rhakhaan, with my brand new leather-bound journal (purchased this morning at the rather dear price of 2 silver crowns – everything is expensive these days it seems) trying to decide what of the last three turns of the world around the sun is worth including. I am of course now twenty-two years old, as of the eleventh of Autumn, and Jad turned nineteen last month also, on the 69th day. He has probably grown another inch in height (now at least two taller than me) and has become a fair swordsman. I must confess that I have made only marginal progress in weapons training (to my father’s disappointment) though in the academic arena I have won the praise of my teachers.
It seems that the final entry in my last journal left some things unresolved. We did indeed see ‘flying people’ as Jad called them, though we did not learn their purpose. Zaris said nothing to us the next day, though I thought I saw a look in her eyes that said she knew what we had been up to the night before. We returned to Leathes without incident -- unless you count Jad’s incessant crowing over being right.
Soon after our homecoming, however, came word of raids along the northern border of the duchy. Knights were dispatched, and we made preparations for a possible attack. Many suspected that these raiders were in league with Frelik the Pretender; or at least they saw the Emperor’s war with the Marquess of Nolgara as an opportunity to strike when the Empire was distracted elsewhere.
As a result, I have spent nearly all of the last three years in my father’s castle at Leathes, a ‘precaution’ because of the war. The conflict has dragged on far longer than anyone expected; there are suspicions that some other nobles are secretly aiding Frelik in return for promises of more land and greater power if he becomes Emperor. And in fact things have not gone well for the Empire, the northern and western fiefdoms in particular. Forces have been moving steadily south into Prevan and our neighboring duchy of Kaytha, despite the Emperor reinforcing the ducal knights and the local militia with many Imperial knights and mercenaries. Prevan – and especially Leathes -- is also vulnerable on the west from raiders coming down through the lakes.
So now my father has decided that his one heir would be safer away from the ducal castle, and ordered my mother, her sister Irina (Jad’s mother) and myself to Haalkitaine for safety. At first my father wanted Jad to remain at Leathes and serve in the garrison, but thankfully my mother intervened and convinced him that my cousin should go with us as guard on the road. So we – and certain other members of our household – departed the family castle. While I have never felt particularly fortunate to be heir to a powerful duchy, as we rode out across the great castle drawbridge I did wonder if I would ever see my home again.
We made it as far as Gryphonburgh, at the meeting of the old highways, when my aunt Irina suddenly became ill. She was taken by a fever… or that is what we thought at first.
But soon it became apparent to my mother that Irina was instead possessed by some sort of delirium. Deciding that Irina was in no condition to travel, we took rooms at the Green Gryphon Inn, a fine guesthouse right at the crossroads. The innkeeper was asked to summon the local healer.
Since her pregnancy with my cousin, Jad’s mother has suffered from some sort of catatonia. She has almost never spoken, or even showed more than the most basic awareness of her surroundings. (In a later entry I hope to recount the sad tale of what brought on her condition.)
But Irina now showed a sudden alertness and agitation – and was speaking more now than in all the last nineteen years. Unfortunately, what she said made little sense to us. Jad stayed by her bed, and mother and I took turns as well at her bedside. Irina seemed asleep, but tossed fitfully, muttering certain words over and over; words we could not understand. The town healer examined Irina and reported that he could find nothing wrong with her. He prescribed a tea with calming properties and said he could do no more.
Two more days of this followed in which she would move in and out of an agitated half-awake state, her head turning back and forth, eyes staring but not seeing, and muttering as if to herself. Then, late in the third night, as Jad and I dozed in her room, Irina suddenly sat up in her bed. Clasping Jad’s hand tightly, she looked at him, her eyes bright with mania. Then she said, in speech clear and lucid, “My son, take your cousin and the Pheonix south, away! Your fate is there! Flee the Iron Wind!” Then she fell back onto the pillows, in a deep sleep.
Only a few moments later my mother burst into the room, and I could read the expression on her face. Somehow, she knew something had just happened.
We told her what her sister had said, and she nodded, her expression one of resolve. “It is clear what must be done. Kalen, you and Jad must leave at first light, south to Lethys, and then to Emer, to Sel-kai. I wonder what she meant by ‘the Pheonix’, though.”
But I knew. I had almost left it behind in Leathes, but decided to take the bauble with me at the last minute. My hand trembling, I drew the Phoenix Pendant out of my tunic pocket on its chain. The bird’s flaming wings glittered unnaturally bright in the lamplight, and indeed it seemed to give off a radiance of its own, something I had not seen it do in years.
I had never shown it to my mother before, and when she saw it, Irisa made a gesture I associated more with the superstitious commoners than an educated Elven woman of the nobility. She made the sign against sorcery.
Chapter 6: Heading South
 Kalen paused in his writing and looked out the window. They’d arrived in Lethys late the night before and gotten rooms in a decent inn overlooking the Nea River. He had a view of riverboats moving up and down the dark green waters, and vendors with their carts on the shores. Also in sight was the longest of the Three Bridges, stonework spans connecting the eastern and western banks of the river. Like its sisters, the South Bridge was lined with stalls and was bustling with activity. The day was brisk, though still unusually warm for late Fall, and the sun peeked out intermittently from behind wind-tattered clouds.
It all seemed somehow strange and mundane all of a sudden, after his aunt’s eerie pronouncement and their flight south. All those people down on the streets, going about their daily business with hardly a thought to the politics of Haalkitaine, much less bizarre supernatural portents. True, many of the common folk (and nobility for that matter) consulted Seers and Astrologers, though it was assumed that half of what those card-readers said was invented nonsense, and the other half sly guesswork of what the customer waned to hear. Of course there were real Seers, powerful Essænce users like the Emperor’s Truthsayer, but you would not find such working out of a stall on the Lethys bridges.
Kalen lifted the teapot. Empty. Though it was almost noon, he was tempted to call down for another pot. His natural frugality made him hesitate, until he remembered the chest hidden in his bags. That locked box was small but heavy with gold; his mother had given him a princely sum before they parted ways, insisting that when they reached Lethys they take passage on a Navigator-guided ship and head to Sel-kai. Jad and one of the house servants who accompanied them, a youth named Bertram, were even now arranging their passage. Taluk, another member of the castle staff, was buying supplies and getting their clothes laundered. Kalen had never been very comfortable around servants, unable to order them around callously like most nobles did, and having trouble befriending them, as Jad seemed so easily to do. The notable exception of course was Jad himself, who adopted the role of valet when they traveled together. While not technically of Rhakhaan noble blood, Jad was a member of the Duke’s family through marriage, and so granted certain privileges, even if he only carried the title of squire. Kalen treated him as an equal; he was family and friend before any title. Though if Jad really did enjoy some valet duties -- as he seemed to -- that was fine with the young Marquess. He was about to ring for tea after all, when the door flew open with a bang, and he nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise.
“Ah, to be in a real city!” Jad was ebullient as he burst into the room with an armload of packages.
“It looks like someone has been shopping -- again!” Kalen raised an eyebrow as his cousin dumped his burden on the bed. Bertram shuffled in behind the squire, also carrying several wrapped parcels. The slender teenager wore an expression that seemed to shift between dread and relief, a condition that didn’t escape Kalen’s notice. “What’s the matter, Bertram?”
“Nothing, m’Lord.” The boy mumbled.
But Kalen saw through the polite lie. He had never seen him so unhappy. “Has Jad been bossing you around?” The Marquess teased, then smirked at his cousin after posing the question. Jad’s eyes went wide and he put his fists on hips, the picture of indignation.
“No, m’Lord! He has been nothing but kind. He even bought me these fine leather shoes!” Bertram put one foot forward, showing off his new footwear.
Jad grinned at that, and clapped a hand on the servant’s shoulder. “See! We’ve been having a fine time. You should have come, instead of staying cooped up in here.”
Kalen frowned at the barb. He was also uncomfortable with Jad buying gifts for the servants, though there was probably no harm in it. “But Bertram, you still don’t seem very pleased.” He pressed.
“Well, m’Lord,” Bertram stammered, looking at the floor, I’ve never been too partial to big crowds; I’ve never been outside of Leathes before this trip. This city is huge!” He looked up then, eyes full of awe, and more than a little fear.
“Ah, a little overwhelming, is it?” Kalen nodded in sympathy. He found crowds intimidating himself sometimes.
“Might as well tell him the other reason.” Jad said with a pat on Bertram’s shoulder before busying himself with his shopping haul.
Bertram shot him a sidelong look, and his mouth worked. “Well… I didn’t know for sure until this morning, when Sir Jad and I went to the docks, that we were going to sea…”
“Ah, well, it’s understandable to be anxious, but we will have a Navigator on board so it will be quite safe.” Kalen tried to be as reassuring as possible.
“It’s not that exactly. The truth is, I’ve been out on a boat a few times on Lake L’kyran, and, well, being on the water doesn’t agree with me at all.”
“He means he gets seasick!” Jad snorted, tossing wrappings over his shoulder.
“I figured that out, thank-you, cousin!” Kalen rolled his eyes. “Well, Bertram, that is a problem, but I believe that there are herbs available to minimize that sort of thing. In fact I’ve heard of a tea that does the trick. We’ll be sure to get some before we embark tomorrow.”
“Oh, m’Lord I would be so grateful!” Bertram wrung his hands. “Me on a boat, it’s not a pretty sight!”
“Don’t give it another thought. Now, if Jad has no further need for you, I think you can take your leave of us.”
Bertram nodded, all smiles, and slipped out.
Kalen, realizing he would get no more writing done, closed his journal and put his pen away. “So, my spendthrift cousin, what have you been squandering your silver on today?”
“Well, if you want to know,” Jad grinned, ignoring Kalen’s deprecating tone, “I figured if we were going south we might need some new lightweight clothes. I got this silk shirt, these cotton breeches, and this waistcoat. You know, this other shirt I bought would look good on you…”
“Did you remember to book our passage, amongst all these important shop visits?” Kalen teased.
“Yes, of course!” Jad made a sour face. “We have two cabins booked on the Naristral, a caravel based out of Sel-kai. She sails at dawn tomorrow morning, with a Navigator guide, and we are expected to be in Sel-kai before the end of the year.”
Tad gave a final shove with his boat pole, a last burst of strength from his aching young muscles sending the skip surging forward along the canal known as the Ale Way. After that he needed to only guide the flat-bottomed boat as it slid up alongside a bobbing jetty. Despite the typically chilly late-fall weather, he was sweating under his loose cotton tunic. Rope in hand, the youth leapt agilely onto the floating dock and hauled his boat hard against the landing. Bare feet gave better traction than any shoes. On board, his precious cargo of six wine casks remained nestled in the bilge.
“Halloo, Divad!” He called up. A few rays of the noon sun filtered down between the looming buildings here in the Old City district of Sel-kai. They fell on a narrow door about six feet above the jetty, and a steep stair connecting the two. A pudgy man with curly black hair kicked open the door and squinted into the space over Tad’s head.
“Down here, Div!”
The proprietor of the Cold Barley Soup Kitchen looked down as if it had never occurred to him that someone might be at his jetty, then his confused expression turned to a smile. “Ah! It’s Tad, here with my wine!” Wiping his hands on a grimy apron, he leapt down the stairs and onto the landing, causing boat, boy and floating pier to bob wildly. Divad Taminger knelt to examine the casks carefully, inspecting the Nikaru Vineyards seals with an intensity which belied his usual, somewhat vacuous, demeanor. “Not that I don’t trust you, Tad,” he muttered, “But one never knows these days… someone could have watered down this otherwise excellent vintage.”
Tad rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “I assure you, Div, that they haven’t been out of my sight since they left the Nikaru docks. And you know they guard their Námar-Tol wines like they were liquid gold.”
The Tavernkeep smiled, this time somewhat absently as he patted the seal on one of the cask plugs. “I do indeed, with their own family guards. As well they should. But they look fine, Tad.” He counted out the five bronze pieces for the boy, a generous payment just to transport goods, but this was a fine wine and a special trip for Tad to make. “Now if you’ll help me unload these, I’ll give you a good hot meal and maybe even a taste of this glorious drink.”
“Need an extra pair of hands?” A soft tenor voice called from above. Leaning over the bridge spanning the canal was a young man obviously of Nuyan-Khom heritage: the distinctive almond-shaped eyes with their fold of skin were quite a striking and unusual feature here in Sel-kai.
Divad squinted up against the sun. “As long as you don’t expect to get a free week’s lodging in return!” He called back good-naturedly. While an easy-going sort and seemingly a bit scatterbrained, Divad Taminger was quite observant and – like any good bartender -- a keen judge of character, with an extensive biographical catalogue of his clients all filed in his head. He was also a careful landlord, recognizing Kyan Kim immediately of course as one of his tenants, occupying the front room on the third floor for the past year: Always paid on time. Generally kept to himself, didn’t seem to have many friends, though he did have an occasional overnight visitor, always male. (Not that Divad cared; he was an open-minded man. Just so long as they didn’t bother the neighbors.) Never drank too much, though would visit the Kitchen every week or so and had a couple ales almost out of some sense of duty. Worked at T’revor’s Tankard as a door guard.
As this profile ran through Divad’s head, Kim gripped the railing of the bridge some twenty feet above the canal, then somersaulted out across the gap, and landed light-as-you-please and with perfect balance on the dock just above the jetty, right next to the dumbfounded barkeep. The dock hardly bobbed in the water. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiled. “It seemed the quickest way down.”
Taminger’s gaze darted to the back of Kim’s left hand. There it was, and he mentally kicked himself for not noticing it before. The red triangle tattoo: Changramai Warrior Monk. Kyan Kim was from that elite school of acrobatic, unarmed combat. He could probably take on half a dozen trained knights with broadswords at once and defeat them all. What Divad wondered was, why would a fighter with rare skills like Kim be living in a little apartment above a bar, and why after all this time would he suddenly show off his talents to the bar owner. Kyan Kim could be making gold pieces a day as an elite bodyguard, rather than as a bouncer at a dive on the docks, probably taking in a few bronze.
“Wow!” Cried Tad. “That was some jump, Kim! How’d you do that!?”
How indeed, or more importantly, why? Divad wondered.
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